Anyway, I have decided to write my letter to Santa early, so the fat, jolly man can get a head start on making my wishes come true.  I’m a planner like that.  Plus?  I’m demanding and want everything on my list.

Here’s my letter:

Dear Santa,

I think I’ve been a good girl this year.  Sure, it’s only February, but I’m not planning any naughtiness unless you count ringing my neighbor’s doorbell and running away as she opens the door with only her ratty blue nightgown on and her hair in a crappy ponytail with mascara streaked down her face as she holds a bottle of beer in her hand.  That’s all in fun – hardly naughty.  Anyway, as it stands, I’m gonna be a damn fine little princess.  So?  I think you should fulfill my wish list.  While some things on it may seem unobtainable, I’m sure you can make it happen.  I mean hello?  YOU ARE SANTA FUCKING CLAUS.

First, I need you to make Octomom go away.  No, I’m not asking you to kill her.  That request would certainly put me on the naughty list and/or jail and besides, who would look after her 76 children?  Oh, right.  The nannies.  But still.  I’m not saying kill her, just make her go away.  If I have to see her ridiculously bad photo-shopped bikini photos one more time, I’ll punch you in your fat gut and vomit in your shiny black boots.  Yes, see?  You’ll be the one paying the price if she stays around.  She’s a lying, narcissistic fame whore who thinks the rest of us are sitting around drooling over her tummy tuck I just ate veggies and worked out at midnight while my babies were sleeping to get these abs kind of body and when I see her fish lips move, it makes me slightly insane.  Please take her back to the North Pole with you.  She can feed your reindeer.

I’d like a Hummer.  I do have a SUV but a Hummer is bigger SUV than what I currently have.  Why do I need a bigger SUV?  Duh.  To run over the bitches that try to cut me off while driving or run stop signs and then give me the finger.  The hell?  Oh no you di’int.  And while I can technically run over those crazy bitches, with a Hummer, there would be way less damage to my vehicle.  Yes.  It’s all about me.  I’m cute like that.

I’d like a new pair of sharp, shiny scissors.  You know, for shanking.  I like a clean, perfect shanking and with dull scissors, you don’t get that.  Make them pink, please.

I’d like you to eradicate all stupid people.  Start with the woman who works at the grocery store who constantly spews her stupid.  Her stupid is so stupid it wants to stab itself in the stupid face.  And honestly, doesn’t this make me very selfless?  I mean people will love me if all the stupid people are gone.  They’ll be all like, ohmygosh! you asked Santa to get rid of all the stupid people, we love you!  See?  Win-win situation for everyone.

A bag of money.  Oh come on now, I’ve helped get rid of all the stupid people… I deserve a big bag of money.  Like a huge bag of money.  Huge money.  Lotsa money.  Make it happen, you jolly old soul.

Burn all the Snuggies.  Seriously, dude.  Snuggies are redonkulous.  It’s a fucking robe worn backward.  It is.  Just look at it.  And I’d like you to to ho-ho-ho punch all the people who buy their loved ones a Snuggie.  Really?  What kind of asshat are you if you purchase someone you care about, a Snuggie?  I’d rather have Vince the Slap Chop dude sprinkle his nuts on my ice cream cone.  Anything is better than a Snuggie.  And now?  There are Snuggies for dogs.  The fuck?  No.  Burn the Snuggies.  I know you can do it, Santa.  You’ve got people.  Or elves.  Whatever.  Same difference.

Drop the guy at the post office a note that lets him know when he talks to me as I’m purchasing a stamp, I’d prefer if he looked at my face.  My face is not down my shirt.  Tell him that his slyness is so not working.  He’s about as subtle as Miss Piggy and twice as annoying.

Boots.  You know what I like.

Please don’t let Paris Hilton become a mom.  Is that wrong of me?  OK, at least not until she matures.  I mean really, she’s only 28, just a mere child with a wonky eye.

Tell Kanye West he’s annoying.  Put coal in his stocking.  Explain to him that most people think he’s a big, whiny douchenozzle.  Make him understand.

Boots.  Did I mention I want boots?  A few pair.  Heels.  Thigh-highs.  Ankle.

I’d like Russell Hantz to win Survivor: Heroes vs Villains.   Not that Russell needs Santa to help him out, but still.  I want him to win.

In closing, I’d like to thank you in advance, Santa.  I know you won’t want to disappoint me because I’ve been a good girl (see opening paragraph) and a lot of my wishes will help others, not just me, so that makes me awesomesauce, right?  Right.

I promise to leave you your favorite cookies and a big glass of milk (I may get hungry while waiting for you, and in that event, you can just get your own damn cookies and milk.  You know where to find them).  I’ll just ask you to take off your snow-covered boots before tramping across my hardwood floors.

Thank you, Santa.

Love, Sassy.

Do you have an iPhone?  I do.  I love mine.  I sleep with it.  I mean, uh, that’s creepy.  Only freaks sleep with their iPhone.  But I digress…

Are you an iPhone apps whore?  And by iPhone apps whore, I mean do you love downloading new apps and get totally giddy when you see a new one is available?  And pee your pants, let’s not forget that.  Wait, no, I do not pee my pants when I see a new app is available.  That would be gross.  Anyway, let me be the first to show you these never before seen *exclusive* iPhone apps.  I know, right?  Exciting!  It’s like it’s Christmas or something.  On to the iPhone apps I have developed in my demented mind:

Check out these iPhone gems after the cut!

Who My Baby Daddy Be? App:

Sweetheart, who needs Maury?  I mean paternity tests can take like a whole hour on the Maury Show!  They make you wait until the last few minutes before revealing if Dave or Tyrone or Billy is the daddy.  I mean, damn, who has that kind of time when you need to know who the hell your baby daddy is now?  You have shit to do.  Never wait again.  With the Who My Baby Daddy Be? app, you can find out now.  With the press of a button, you will know who put that bun in your oven.  It’s only $1.99.  Totally affordable.  Lotsa dough left over for diapers.

Fat? Yes or No? App:

Ever ask your significant other “does this dress make me look fat?”  Or, “do these jeans make my ass look huge?”  Of course you have and you usually get a big, bald-faced lie.  With the Fat?  Yes or No? app, you get total 100% honesty and you know the app is not going to lie to your face because it wants to get into those hideous pants that do make your ass look huge later, because? it’s an app.  It just wants to give you the answers you need without strings.  Download now for just .99!

Douche Detector App:

Are you a little insecure socially?  Are you usually unsure of someone’s first impression?  You never can quite pinpoint if the new person you’re meeting is nice or actually a total douchebag?  Well, take the guess work out of that first time meeting with the new Douche Detector app!  Never again wonder if Doug or Angie is a slimball because with the Douche Detector app, you get an accurate reading with one press of the button.  When you see the thumbs-up symbol, you know you’ve met a bona fide douchebag.  No need to continue conversing with said douche.  Feel comfortable in your decision to stab them in the face (uh, ’cause they’re a douchebag).  Free download!

ShankABitch App:

You’re talking to Jane and she’s really getting on your last nerve.  You’ve rolled your eyes at least 12 times right to her face, but she can’t take the hint.  Or you are trying to get through to Steve, but he’s so pigheaded that you just want to scream, but since you’re in church, screaming is out of the question.  No worries, with ShankABitch app, you can quietly and discreetly take care of your annoyance.  This app is $4.99, but totally worth the price.  If you can get some shankin’ done with the press of a button, then you’re off to a great start to the day.  Bring sunshine to your life with this app.

Neighbor Spyin’ App:

Are your binoculars just not doing the job when it comes to spying on your neighbor?  You wanna see what the hottie next door is doing at 2 a.m. but her blinds are blocking your view?  No worries.  With this $3.99 app, you will see more than you ever expected to see and maybe some things you could have lived without seeing.  Hey, spying isn’t all fun and games.  Mostly, but not always.  But seriously, dude, worth the cash for sure.

Smork App:

Feeling down?  Need a pick-me-up?  Then get your Smork app!  It’s only $.199 and for that price, it’s absolutely worth it – I mean, you can get smorked all day long if you want.  What is smork?  Well, duh, it’s happiness.  It’s what-the-heck-ever makes you smile.  Smorking means glee.  Joy.  Smiles galore.  It’s the app that keeps on giving.  Smorka smorka.

Stab Your Boss In The Face App:

Although the ShankABitch app could work in a employee/boss situation, with the Stab Your Boss in The Face app, you get specific results.  Is your boss being a total dickwad or bitch?  Then this is the app for you!  At $5.99, it’s slightly on the pricey side but worth the peace of mind you will achieve once you press that button.  Shut that asshat of a boss up now – do it.  Download this app and make your 2010 a better year.

Merry Christmas.  Don’t say I never gave you anything.

*All fake apps were created by me – use them without credit to me and I’ll use ShankABitch on your ass.*

This year I also decided to buy a new tree. We’ve had the same artificial tree for a few years now and since I needed new lights anyway, why not buy one of those pre-lit trees? Exactly, why not! I looked at several different stores, including the grocery store that carried quite a few different ones but at the time, most were pretty pricey. There was one that was really nice and it was on sale for $219. That was still way more than I wanted to spend, so the searching continued.

I ended up at a department store that is similar to Walmart and I’ve had good luck finding great deals before and low and behold, I was going to find another one – this time on a pre-lit tree! They had several on display and one of them caught my eye. It was a seven foot tree with white lights, was full looking but not so big it would over power our living room – perfect. It was regularly priced at $150 but on that particular Saturday, it was on sale for $89. Awesome! The sales guy and I matched up the code number of the tree on display with the one in the box and I was set to go. It was a tree similar to the $219 one at the grocery store but way cheaper. It was a good day.

I had planned on putting it up on Sunday but ended up sick, so the kids and I didn’t get around to it. So I told them we’d do it the next day. They wanted me to get the tree out of the box while they were at school and set up and then we’d put the ornaments on it when they got home. Seemed like a good idea. At about noon, I went to the basement and got the tree and brought it upstairs. Opened the box and was kind of excited about getting it up and seeing how pretty it was going to look in the living room. And oh how great it was going to be not to have to fight with stupid lights since the tree was pre-lit – imagine my joy. Now imagine my horror when I take the tree out of the box and put the three pieces together and it’s not quite the same as the one on display at the department store. Oh, not at all.

This was my face:

I must have done something wrong – put the pieces together incorrectly? Uh no, it’s a fucking three piece Xmas tree, and unless you had your brain removed, there’s no way you could mess it up. I know – I didn’t ‘fluff’ the branches out enough. That had to be it. I fluffed that sucker like there was no tomorrow but still, no matter what I did, it just did not resemble the tree on display at the store. I looked at the photo on the box – it looked nice. Full, and almost like a real tree – it was virtually perfect. Why wasn’t the tree that I took out of that box anything like it? I got it – let me plug it in so the lights are on and I’ll put my ribbon around it – that will surely make it seem more like the pretty, full, fluffy stupid freakin’ tree that I saw at the store. That didn’t help. At all.

As I’m standing here, looking at the sorry ass tree that I bought, my husband and grown sons come in. The three of them immediately burst out laughing – I mean, roll on the floor, dying, DYING laughing. I get a little defensive that they’re laughing so much over the tree. I mean, it’s not that bad is it?

Are you serious? That’s your tree? *Insane laughing*

Yes, what’s wrong with it?

Look at it. It’s ridiculous. It’s not even tree shaped.

What do you mean?

Christmas trees are usually wider at the bottom and then get narrower as they go up. Like a triangle. What the hell is that?

Maybe I didn’t fluff it enough?

Uh, I don’t think fluffing is going to help. *More insane laughter erupts*

Come on, you have to admit, the tree is kinda stupid looking.

My husband then pipes in and says he hopes I didn’t pay more than $25 for it. Let’s recall – I paid $89 for it. Yup, that’s more than $25. At this point, I’m slightly pissed. I mean, they were just being so cruel to the poor tree, and really, it wasn’t so horrible. Right?

They left to go back to work and I was left to stare at the tree. It was ridiculous. Oh my god, they were right. Look, it’s not even triangle shaped. It’s dildo or rocket shaped:

I bought a dildo tree. Just my luck. It’s now after 1:30 pm and my kids are expecting a pre-lit, beauty of a tree to come home to so they can decorate it. I can’t present them with that tree.

I get my coat and boots on and head out. I have about an hour to find another tree before I have to pick up my kids. I go to the grocery store and look at the one that I had admired before and it was marked down slightly – to $199. That was still more than I wanted to pay. I go to the hardware store and look around and see all of the $300-400 trees, which of course, I was not paying. As I’m walking around and not paying attention to where I’m going, I run into a display of snowflakes and angels and santas and they proceeded to fall on the floor. The two people working in that section of the store are clearly not happy with me. Nothing broke (at least I don’t think so) and yes, it made a mess of the ornaments that they just hung up nicely on the little hooks, but listen, I was in a panic. I have 34 minutes to find a tree, go home, set it up, pick up my kids and bring them home to see a full, beautiful tree that they would be happy to decorate. I cannot let my kids decorate a dildo tree. That would be just so very wrong.

I’m near freakin’ the freak out and then I see it. A crushed, dented, ripped box. I’m not sure what made me walk over there because the box looked like it had been run over, but I had to investigate. I see that there is a picture of a beautiful tree on the box. It’s 7 1/2 feet tall, full and quite real looking. But I’ve been fooled by pictures on boxes before (ya, see above) and had my doubts. The tree was $250 but I’m guessing because the box was extremely damaged, it was marked down to $114. I pick it up and throw it in the cart. By throw it, I mean I dropped it twice, knocked over a wreath and almost tipped the shopping cart but in the end I got that thing to the checkout. I pay, rush home and take it out of the box (holding my breath), put it together, fluff and then stand back. Thank the Christmas Tree Gods. It’s not a dildo. It’s a triangle.

I wept. I picked up my kids and they were so excited when they got home. They did however, look at the other tree, which was still standing there and asked me what it was. Was I playing a joke on them? Yes, it was mommy’s way of being funny. Ha. Ha. Merry frigging Christmas.

Mom is the Easter bunny like real?

Sure.

Ya but is he real? And…is he really a he? Or a she?

What do you think?

I think he’s a boy and I think it might just be some dude dressed up in a rabbit suit. I mean really, a giant rabbit going around with eggs and chocolate? Plus, rabbits poop ALOT. And I never see any rabbit poop in our house at Easter time.

True. Thank goodness for small miracles.

I think I’m going to write about this in my journal.

Good plan.

I’m sure all of the parents out there that do the whole Santa routine, put out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk and may or may not put something out for the reindeer. This year, we had to do something slightly different after a pre-Christmas conversation I had with my seven year old daughter.

Mom, this year we are not putting out cookies for Santa.

Um, why not?

Well, because have you seen him? He’s fat. He doesn’t look healthy. I’m sorry Mom, but Santa Claus just does not need one more cookie. I will not contribute to his unhealthyness. Is that a word Mom?

Ah, well I’m still stuck on the fact that you used ‘contribute.’

I’m seven. I know that stuff.

Of course you do.

So? Can we leave Santa something else instead of the cookies?

Sure, what do you want to leave him?

He can have some fruit and those reindeer can have a carrot. They probably pig out too and there’s no need for that.

You’re probably right.

Yes I am.

I think you are.

Good, it’s settled then. Santa can have fruit. And water. He doesn’t need to fill up on milk either. Water is good for your body.

Yes. How did you get so smart?

Duh, I was born this way.

There you go, that’s my heartwarming Christmas story. Santa is fat. Happy 2008.

Oh, and by the way, thank you to anyone, whether you’re a friend or a stranger, who clicked my posts and helped me get to the bonus level for work. It’s a great way to start out the new year!

I decided that my 2 youngest children needed five pumpkins as opposed to just one each. Who buys 5 pumpkins? Someone who seemed to forget just from last Halloween how absolutely fun it is to carve pumpkins. Wow. She sounds like a moron.

By the time I was done carving the said 5 pumpkins, my hands looked like I got into Lindsay Lohan’s medicine cabinet. No, no, no, not like all white n’ powdery and stuff, but orange. My hands honestly looked like I’d had a bad fight with a huge bottle of self tanner. I was day-glowing. They’re still slightly ‘tanned’ today even after showering. Not the most attractive look.

As for the pumpkins, I might take pictures of them tomorrow night when they are all lit up and glowing and share them with you because I know ya’ll (my tribute to Britney) be waiting for them. I have nothing else to say, so I’m going to go eat a pumpkin.

Okay, what the hell is with a migraine that never fully goes away? I practically gag at the thought of popping one more pill but what can I do? Short of loping my head off, which, quite frankly, I kinda need, I’m not sure what the solution is. Perhaps if someone would kick me in the ass, then my concentration would be on my butt and therefore, I’d forget my head pain. I’ll sleep on it.

I took my kids to see Shrek 3 this weekend and I personally thought it was really funny. The ‘critics’, whoever the hell they are, said there wasn’t ‘enough donkaaaay’ but let’s remember people, the movie is called Shrek, so if Shrek appears in the movie more than the donkey, then duh. I thought all the characters were funny and laughed quite alot, so there. Bite it.

My husband bought me a lawn mower and a weed whacker/whipper snipper/thinga-ma-jiggy, so I’m guessing that means my job is to mow the lawn. However, I don’t mind because I like a nice lawn and I know I’ll hire the 12 year old across the street anyways do a great job and make everyone proud.

We hit a few yard sales on Saturday but since it was the long weekend here, they were few and far between. We did find a handful of good deals though and as well, did see a whole lotta shit out there too. One lady was selling trophies. As in, someone, perhaps her son, won for hockey or golf or some such thing. Ah, ya, his name was on them too. So I guess if a Randy Stairs comes along and wants to pretend he won some stuff back in ‘85, then maybe he’ll snatch those up. Another person was selling an old rotary phone from like 1980. In beige. Okay. It’s between an antique and out of date. So basically it means, it’s a piece of shit. Throw it out. Noone is going to buy it. Another lady was selling wire hangers. For $10. There were 7 in the pile. Listen, it’s a yard sale. People want deals. If you want to go into business with your wire hangers, fine. But selling them in a dirty cardboard box in your back yard isn’t going to make you rich. Just sayin’.

I did get 2 brand new picture frames for a dollar and a very nice lady gave my daughter a like new stuffed dog with a red leash and she was on happy high for the rest of the day. She called him doggie. Very original. My son got 2 hockey games, one for his computer and the other for his XBox, so he was also floating. Amazing how you can put a smile on your kid’s face for under $5 bucks. Dollar store here I come.

Oh speaking of Shrek again, I tried one of those McFlurry things from Rotten Ronnie’s today, the fudgy sludgy pudd n’ pie Shreky minty ones with pieces of fudge and candy in them. They look very green in the picture and claim to be mint flavoured with pieces of fudge. Sounds good in theory. Not so good in real. First off, the guy waiting on me, only gave me half of the small that I ordered. Sure I don’t necessarily need more jiggle to my ass by eating a whole small McFlurry but dammit, if I’m paying for the fucker, then I want the full small. Not half a small. Get it bud? Ya. Second, he didn’t mix it well enough, so most of the green coloring or whatever it was, toxic dayglo shit for all I know, was all clumped at the bottom of the cup. Third, it did not, I repeat, did not taste the least bit minty. False advertisement people! Unless dinkledorf forgot to mix the mint flavour into it, which based on his skills performing his tasks, is entirely, very possible. And lastly, the bits and pieces of ‘chocolate covered candy’, were in fact, rock covered candy and I’m pretty sure I broke a few teeth. I highly recommend NOT eating one no matter how much you love Shrek. Or maybe just don’t order it from the Mickey Dee’s at the Walmart I go to. Beware is all I’m sayin’.

It’s midnight and that means my pumpkin is going to rot or my stage coach is going to turn into a pumpkin or my bed is going to melt into pumpkin pie……..see, I’m tired and can’t even get that right. Sweet pumpkin, err, dreams.

We couldn’t decide on what to do for our family day. We had wanted to go to a movie but there wasn’t really anything playing that the kids wanted to see. So after much humming and hawing, we decided to take the kids to the Shrine Circus, to which Ryan proclaimed that he hated circuses.

You’ve never been to one though. How can you hate it?

I hate the circus.

After much protesting, we convinced him to go. It said on the website, that the show started at 1pm. We arrived at about 12:54 and my husband kicked me out of the truck to go stand in the insanely long ticket line while he parked. He had tossed me his banking card. The line is moving fairly quickly, so I’m thinking that I’ll get the tickets before one and we’ll get half decent seats. I finally make my way to the front of the line, get to the ticket window and ask the guy if they take debit. Nope. Just cash.

Ah, can you make an exception?

Right.

So out of the line I get and go find my husband in the parking lot. I tell him the great news, that I stood in the mile long line up for nothing and that we need to have cold hard cash or we ain’t gettin’ in that damn big top.

We go into the mall and as we’re looking around for the debit machine, he’s telling me to get back outside and get back into the line. Fantastic. I head out and hop back into the now even longer line up, again waiting for my turn. I look to my right and see a frigging bank machine set up just outside the circus tent. Good Lord, couldn’t the guy at the ticket booth have maybe, oh, MENTIONED THAT?

I called my husband on his cell and tell him to forget searching the mall for a cash machine, that’s there’s one right in front of me. He comes back out and I see Ryan smiling. Oh, good maybe he’s got a better attitude about going to the circus now and we’ll actually have a drama free afternoon in a hot, giant tent. While standing in line, there were people passing out coupons that would save us a few bucks on the admission price, so I took 4 and that would only cost us $40 bucks to get in. My husband brings the cash over to me just as I get to the front of the line again and I hand the girl the 4 $10 each passes and the forty bucks. She carefully counts out the tickets THREE times and then says, ‘that’ll be forty dollars please’. Ah, ya, well I just handed you forty dollars, so I’m not about to hand you another forty. ‘Oh you did’? Yes. ‘Oh, I guess you did’. Ya think?

As we’re making our way to the front entrance of the tent, my son turns to me and asks if he should go to the truck now?

What? Why would you go to the truck?

I’m not going to like this. It’s stupid.

I can hear the panic setting in now, so I bend down to his level and explain that there are no scary clowns (I hope to God there aren’t), no man eating tigers nor will anyone call on him to perform in the big ring, so not to worry.

We get in and find some seats and then the crying begins. I see my husband talking to Ryan but whatever he’s saying it’s not working. I get Ryan to come over and sit beside me, where I let him lean on me and tell him to relax and that the circus might be fun and he might actually find parts of it entertaining. He’s not buying it however and is begging me to let him leave. Well since you’re a 5th grader and not in college, sorry but that will not be taking place. After much hugging, back rubbing and hushed tones to calm him, he settles in to watch but assures me that he’s going to hate every minute of it and that he’ll never go to another circus again. Fine by me because as I’m sitting in the hot, dark tent, remembering how I took Sean and Matt to the same freakin’ circus 12 years earlier, I forgot how much the circus tent smells like sweat, B-O and urine fun it really is. You know buddy, I’m thinking I’ll never go to another circus again either. You might be on to something there.

After two and one half very long hours, the show is finally over and Ryan lets me know that he hated it (even though I caught him laughing at things several times during the show) and he was relieved it was over. I can’t say as I totally blame the kid because after inhaling the nasty scent of what seemed to be stale pee and elephant shit co-mingled, I was sorta relieved that the circus was over too.

All in all it was a nice day even though I had to work overtime to console a weepy, paniced kid, smell elephant body odour/pee/poo, listen to tattling, put up with some whining, break up a fight and clean up a few messes. I also got some nice hugs, a phone call, some kisses, homemade pictures, a new purse and a whole lot of ‘I love you’s’.

I think the Easter bunny was a little tipsy this year. She ended up putting a bottle of bubbles in her son’s Easter basket. And what’s the big deal about that? Well the bottle was a duck. Yes, a duck filled with bubbles. You’re thinking to yourself, what’s the big deal? Well, the retarded Easter bunny forgot that the 11 year old boy that lives in this house is terrified of ducks. Although we don’t know why, he just is. So great job Easter bunny. You suck rock.

We had such an exciting Easter lemme just tell you. I am probably a bitch for telling you all about our excitement because then you’re going to be jealous and then end up throwing food at me but that’s okay, my shirt’s already stained from the chocolate remember?

I was awoken at 7am by my daughter. She apparently didn’t get the memo, that Easter isn’t like Christmas and mommy doesn’t give a rat’s ass about baskets and candy and that we do not need to wake at the ass crack of dawn to do an egg hunt. It’s really just not necessary. So she pestered me for 2 AND A HALF HOURS while we waited for hubby and her brother to wake up. They decided to sleep in. Just my luck. She just couldn’t believe that we had to wait for them to get up. I told her that, sure, you go wake them up and see what happens, I dare ya. She decided that maybe she should listen to her mother and instead of waking them, she tortured me with reasons why we should wake them up and how life isn’t fair when you wake up super early because you’re excited it’s Easter and everyone else just wants to sleep. Oh the injustice of it all. She made me do a questionaire. She asked me things like ‘do you think the Easter bunny is just some dude dressed in a giant rabbit costume or do you think it’s just a giant bunny’? And ‘if you were allowed to rob a bank, would you’? And ‘what’s your opinion on parents who are snoopy, you know, parents who go through all your stuff’? What is she 17? Am I on trial here? Geez. All I wanted was to be able to sleep until 8am. Is that asking too much? I think not.

Once hubby and Ryan got up, the kids rifled through their goody baskets and then did the chocolate egg hunt. They told me the Easter bunny was kinda lame in his/her hiding of the eggs and that he/she should make it harder next year. Like they aren’t 2. Soooorrrrry. *Note to self* Don’t hide eggs while drinking eating.

After all that fun, we got dressed and went to the new house to work. We spent all day there. All day. I was envisioning a barbequed steak and a baked potato and thought for sure we’d go home and make it a dream come true. Instead daughter begged her father to take us to McDonald’s. Yum. I love eating there so I can feel nausous and bloated and become delusional from the toxins in their food. It was the best Easter dinner ever. Ever. I know, I know, you’re so freakin’ green with envy right now that you almost want to beat me up. I know I shouldn’t have said anything but I’m evil like that. I just have to make you all drool over my daredevil, livin’ on the edge of my seat lifestyle. It’s a habit that I just can’t break.

I’m off to do more packing. How can one person have that much stuff in her closet? I mean really, who has that many trophies for being cool and sexy in their room? Sheesh, it’s embarrassing for me. It’s just not fair to you how awesome I am. But you’ll get through it and love me just the same.

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