March 25, 2007

Eleven. My favourite number and now the age of my youngest son. Where does the time go? I guess it flies when you’re like a super hero, smart and pretty awesome like I am. But I digress, this isn’t about me.

It’s hard to believe I was punching nurses in the face and screaming obsenities calmly pushing out a 7lb 12oz human 11 years ago. True story people,true story.

Ryan didn’t want to turn 11. He liked being 10 so much that he begged us not to let him turn eleven. Ah, well son, what would like us to do? Stop time for you? Honestly, I would if I could but I’m not authorized to do so. You’ll have to suck it up and get over it. But don’t worry, when you’re my age 39 25, time does stop and you’ll stay young and hot just like your mother. I kid you not. Would I lie? No.

We had a party for him yesterday (Friday was his actual birthday), and although my son is normally quiet, let me tell you, my ears bled from the noise. I’m now suffering from a migraine but that’s what moms do for their kids. Let them have friends over to help celebrate their special day, terrorize adults with the loudness of their play and destroy your home. That’s insanity love.

Happy Birthday Ryan and listen, if you fall in love with being 11, just like you did with being 10, I’ll give you a hundred bucks. Or maybe I’ll just give you a hug. I’m broke right now.

March 22, 2007

Knock, knock, anyone home? Remember I shared my ‘hopefully will happen soon’ good news? Ya? Well, I was thinking I’d be flooded with house warming gifts, such as huge wads of cash, jewels and socks, everything a new house needs and/or a big swanky party. So far, nothin’. Nada. Zip. Zero. I see something very wrong with this picture. You all say, ‘you’re a crazy bitch’, ‘we love you’ but I’m not feelin’ it or seein’ it people. Get your shit together, mmmkay?

It’s Thursday (although I’m going to tell you in a later paragraph that I’m confused on the days, you just wait and see…you didn’t know I was psychic) and besides feeling slighted that noone cares enough to host a big schwing ding for me, I’ve got nothing to bitch about. Well, almost nothing.

Does anyone watch American Idol? I pretend to and when I’m pretending to be into a show, it really pisses me off that they allow people who can’t sing on that show. Girlie haired boy really has to go. Sure he’s young, just a baby really, has pretty hair and nice teeth, but last time I checked this was a singing competetion. And he. can’t. sing. I guess Howard Stern’s mission is working. Do I care? Not as much as I care that noone has sent me any presents.

Oh, did I mention I’ve got the perma-headache from hell? It’s a migraine that never fully goes away, lingers, making one feel nausous and wanting to punch people in the neck. Maybe that’s why noone is sending gifts or having parties for me. I’ve been on a punching rampage, thus alienating potential gift givers and party throwers. Duh.

My daughter informed her father last night that she needs $12.50 for a diary she wants to buy. She told him that he only needs to worry about the 12 bucks as she can spare the 50 cents. She needs to write her ‘private crap’ down as she put it to me this morning. Oookaaaay. She’s six. Although she looks six, I’m thinking she’s 24. Gotta be some joke on me.

I’m all mixed up this week, thinking today was really Friday but no, it’s only Thursday (see, told ya I was psychic). Survivor was on last night and I think that’s what messed me up. Doesn’t take much does it? Or maybe it’s because I’ve been drunk for 8 days packing like a mad person, even though we still don’t know for 100% sure if we have a house to move into. I suppose it’s better to be prepared. I should save a few of the cardboard boxes I have incase we need them, you know, to live in. Cardboard is the new condo.

It’s spring now incase you missed it. I like to make sure my 7 fans 957 fans are up to date on the latest news and world events. I’m informative like that. Just a big bag of knowledge I am. Or maybe it’s just a big bag. I’ll get back to you on that one. Are you as bored as I am? *Yawn*

I should perhaps get off of my duff and do more, ah, cleaning. Ya, cleaning. Or is it sleeping I’m thinking of? I get the two confused sometimes. Maybe that’s why we have no clean clothes or dishes or floors, or bathrooms. Hmmm. Okay, gotta go scratch my head and wonder what happened to my brain.