So very, very absentary

Hush. It's a word.

I don't know what it is about work, but people have been calling here as if this is a place of business. I'm like, sheesh people! Don't you know I'm in the midst of some very important Myspacin'?

But apparently there are crisises (crisii?) abounding. And only I can fix them. *Sigh* Sometimes it is painful to be so genius.

But on a lighter note ... Fall TV (in the form of Dancing With the Stars) debuted last night! And must I say, I want boobs that don't move just like Scary Spice! I'm not even kidding ... those things were lactating miracles. How she just had a baby and her boobs aren't dangling by her belly button is beyond me. Maybe I should be wearing a leotard with magic hoisting powers. Certainly that is the secret.

Looking forward to the men dancing tonight. I am interested in seeing Cameron Mathison do his thing as he sooo couldn't walk down the stairs last night without tripping over his own feet. Probably doesn't bode well for the dancing, but we shall see.

And as for The Bachelor -- did ya'll see it? Apparently he is the sexiest bachelor yet. And I'm thinking, huh, really? Well, if you like that sort of caterpillar-y eyebrow thing, then yeah, he's alright.

K, I'm out. Gotta go sling some videos tonight with Sadie. Hopefully I will have a better, more exciting post for you tomorrow. Regardless, love you miss you wanna kiss you (but only the cute ones)!

I am boring...

...and not a very good blogger today. I am almost certain this post will have nothing by way of entertainment, education or interest in it whatsoever. So let that be a warning to you if you choose to proceed.

(And you do.)

Current state:

1. Eating a chocolate caramel candy bar that the paper boy sold to me.

2. Swigging down a bottled water that I've been drinking on since last night. I figure day-old water is a billion times more healthy than the latte I've been craving since lunch time. But then again, maybe the candy bar has cancelled that out.

Hrmphf. Whatev.

3. Corresponding with my beau on Myspace. Did I tell you I got that back? Yeah, apparently high tech firewall equipment and our archaic invoice printers are no likeee. Hahahaha! So because my boss would rather have travel itineraries print out for our customers instead of keep me from giving the whole universe a virus (of the computer kind, to make that clear), I am now officially back on Myspace duty. Trust me, you have no idea what this does to my office morale.

Oh my gawd. I'm about 2 keystrokes shy of pocket protector. Good gravy.

4. Still harboring Dorito crumbs inside my fake fingernail. And maybe some mold.

But hey! Guess what happens starting September 24? None other than the beginning of ABC premiere week! I so excite! There's nothing I want to see more than Wayne Newton and Marie Osmond duking it out for the Dancing With the Stars crown. And then, of course, The Bachelor is back to pick the girl of his dreams that he won't marry. Although I saw a teaser that said we won't believe how the show ends. I'm intrigued ... simply because I don't see how anything else could happen other than him admitting he is gay.

Alrighty, I'm off. But I will leave you with this:

You may have to click on it to make it bigger, but Brad is wrestling an anaconda out in the jungle. Or a plastic snake glued to the top of a fake rock at the zoo. Your choice.

And the boy in the corner ... that is either Brad's son, Jordan, or a funny little Asian head I found online and photoshopped onto the picture for laughs.

Toodles!

Happy Birthday!

Today is Brad's 30th birthday, so here's a little shoutout to my old man!

And I know technically I am three years older than him. However, in woman years, I am only 21. I don't really understand the math, but that's just the way it works.

Picture at left was taken this past weekend at the St. Louis Zoo. We took the kids plus Brad's dad, his girlfriend, another friend and her daughter went as well. We rode down there in a huge 15 passenger van. And can I just say with 3 boy kids in there, we might as well have been traveling in a clown car. Cuz I don't know what it is about taking trips, but it makes little boys want to poke people, ask questions, need to pee (like, A LOT), whine that Jaylon's arm is touching me, and other such behavior. It is an adventure, needless to say.

But as for the birthday soiree this evening, there is lots of fun to be had. And it includes pizza. Which is enough said. (And also presents, although not for me, so the point is moot.)

Happy birthday, baby! I'm so glad I'm not the only one who is in their 30s. We are on equal ground now, my dear (except, of course, I am still the boss). I love you!

Cuteness...

...Who ordered the cuteness? Cuz I got your cuteness right here.

Awwwww. What is it about naked babies that make you wanna go all squishy on the inside? And sitting in a seashell no less. Priceless.

I'd get me one if it wasn't for the pooping and the having to take care of it all the time. Dang babies. Hrmphf.

But I make a great babysitter! Just drop your kids off between the hours of stinky diaper change and What the Sam Hell is That NOISE, and we're all set.

Sigh. Babies. So love.

Education is a good thing -- or, NOW it is

If you get a chance to go see The Bodies exhibit, by all means, go. Brad and I took the kids to see it in Branson a couple weekends ago, and it was truly fascinating. However, having said that, "slightly creepy" would be another good descriptive because these are real dead bodies here, people ... and they leave the penises on.

Alrighty now, kids ... Focus ...

For those who have no clue as to what I'm talking about, I urge you to click on the link I gave you -- as I am not scientifically qualified enough (read: too damn lazy) to try to explain it. But in all seriousness, this exhibit was well worth the hour and a half I spent wandering around, reading all the incredible information about the human body.

And also, let's face it, pretending not to stare at the penises.

New e-mail rule

Number 147: If you ask me a question in your e-mail by way of saying, "May I ask you a question," without actually asking me the question, therefore leaving me in suspended excitement (which isn't all that fun, trust me) until you respond back to my email stating quite clearly that Yes, you may ask me a dadgum question, but then you effing disappear for like eons for no apparent reason whatsoever other than just needing to have a good laugh at my expense because you know I'm on the other end about to pee my pants ...

*deep breath*

Consequence to this behavior shall be a karate chop to an area towards the front and centrally located, complete with a hi-yahh and spitlets.

Way to avoid said consequence: take all the information given above and do the exact opposite. This should cover things quite nicely.

Also, please note, an Addendum:

Number 147, Paragraph 4, Section 1 -- Those named Brad shall benefit quite nicely from following this new email etiquette. Or so I've been told.

Learned something

And it is this:

Artificial nails are nothing more than trapper keepers for things like Dorito crumbs and brownie bits.

And I know this cuz I gots both of them in there.

Urgh.

Oh, and one last thing...

We are the two most cutest people on the planet. Here's proof:

See me practically all up in his grill? Like about 2 seconds shy of "Get A Room"? Yeah. We like that all the time. Seriously. We will make you throw up.

It's fantastic.

Icky. Boo.

Ever have one of those days where your sinuses feel like they've been hit in the balls with a steel-toed boot by a girl who just found out her boyfriend likes to dress up in ladies underwear?

Yeah. Today's my day.

(Not the boyfriend thing, but the sinuses. You know, to make that clear.)

I feel like poop. Not even a latte makes me feel better. And I'm pretty sure mashed potatoes won't do a dang thing for me either. The only thing that worked was the neck rub from Brad at about 3 o'clock this morning. But then he decided he needed something called "sleep" and so therefore, I kissed my massage goodbye. Blah. He doesn't even realize how close he came to getting a birthday present.

(Which is in 1 week and 5 days, and he will be an age that is not quite 29 but not quite 31 either. Be sure to tease him mercilessly. He will likee.)

Okay, I'm leaving now. I am in dire need of a nap and some NyQuil. And if ya'll don't feel sorry enough for me already, then something is wrong with your brain.

The end.

It's a birthday fandango!

I know ya'll didn't forget my birfday ... so by your lack of exalting me with gift giving, I will assume you were planning a soiree so huge, that it was just virtually impossible to get it all arranged by August 30.


That's okay. I'll wait.


In the meantime, here's good schtuff:

First stop ... salon. Where I gots me some french manicure and a 7-years-in-the-making pedicure. Mom treated, or else I wouldn't be there. Seriously, it's nice to be pampered, but not on my wallet. That sounds terrible, but it's true. I also don't go to the gym unless someone holds a gun to my head. Same principle.

Oh, but hey ... added bonus just for you, as a reward for planning that huge, yet severely belated birthday shindig! Not only do you get to see me sitting in a vibrating chair (weeeee!), but you also get to see the lady next to me hacking the hell out of her corns.

Wow. Good timing on that pic, Mom. And so I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

But look at the after ... wow! Still ugly feet, but the toenails are divine. (And I swear, if I hear you giggling, I will touch you with them. Like on a sweaty day after wearing plastic shoes.)

Later, Brad came over and he took me out to dinner. For the very first time in my life, I finally decided it was not okay to order chicken at Red Lobster. And so I ate a crab cake. With a remoulade sauce on it. Which is a fancy term for Thousand Island dressing, cuz seriously ... there be pickles in it.

Anyhoo.

Gifts from Brad include a pink RAZR cell phone, a satiny lavender shirt, grey pin-striped pants, and cute black heels -- all being worn by me today, so get ready cuz you know there's a picture forthcoming. But the piece de resitance ... the best gift ever given to me by any guy ever in the universe and beyond to infinity ... THIS:

That's right, ladies. My man scrapbooked me a birthday card. Oh my ever-lovin' GAWD. If I wasn't already in love, this here would be my stepping stone. *Sigh*

If you don't have a man who makes you stuff, you better get one. Cuz nothing spells "love" better than a guy who will break out the glue and stickers just to make his lady smile.

(Well, that and bringing me mashed potatoes when I don't feel like it. Cuz you all know once I hit that couch, there better be a tornado coming, or I ain't gettin' up.)

I've got stuff...

...yes I do! But you will have to wait. Work has reared it's ugly head today, and I'm thinking ... blasphemy! It is Goof-Off Tuesday ... what is wrong with people?!

So I will come back lata when I have more time. But I know ya'll've (yes, that's a word) been stalking me and wondering what the frickety frack sam hell holy crap on a cracker (don't lie ... you said exactly that). For some bizarre reason, I've been crazy busy like woah. And I don't take too kindly to that. But eh. What can I do?

Anyhoo, I've got pictures to show and stories to tell, and you won't wanna miss it. Now go squirm a little in anticipation.