When I grow up, I want to take endless naps......

Dream job at 10: Scientist
Dream job at 13: Army
Dream job at 16: Actress
Dream job at 23: Travel channel talk show host
Dream job at 29: The first ever rock and roll Accordi0n player. ("Polkadonna" I'm still working on this I swear)

...notice how the jobs went from pretty reasonable to totally ridiculous as I "grew up?" that's because I think I've slowly figured out that working sucks hairy donkey balls and working for someone else is about as satisfying as hitting yourself with a bag of hammers...in the conch. Yeah, I work for someone else NOW but that's only because I get to take care of the munchkin AND work in my pjs. Otherwise, it would have been rock and roll stardom already.. accordion STYLE! Plus, that whole hogbull about wanting to be a "scientist" at 10 was because I thought being a scientist meant that you mix crap up in test tubes and watch them fizz over. Little did I know that was the path to creating a meth lab.

Actually, I'm quite surprised that I don't have body parts hidden in my floorboards right now (although there are some people at work who are vying for that honor). I stumbled on my early attempts at story writing from 6th grade. I was digging through some old shit when I saw a big red 'A' scrawled across a paper I had written. Wanting to see what genius I had spewed at such a tender age, I reread my paper (plus I was looking for an excuse to pat myself on the back, even though its kind of hard with stubby midget arms....) It was called, "The Answer is Blowing In The Wind." I can tell you right now that I had no idea who Bob Dylan was in 6th Grade, I just know that Elise Keaton sung a beautiful rendition of it on an episode of "Family Ties." The title sounded kind of pretty until I kept reading. The story was about a boy that gets picked on at school. While walking home depressed about his lot in life, a piece of paper hits him in the face. He looks at it and it says, "The Answer is Blowing in the Wind." Suddenly, he driven by an unseen force to build a robot in his basement, complete with razor sharp implements for some slicin' and dicin'. The robot then goes on to kill the bullies that picked on him and whoever else decides to pick on him. (heads being sliced in class, blood spurting on classmates clothing, the little boy doing the evil "mua ha ha" laugh.. this story was CHOCK full of CRAP that was seriously disturbing and entertainingly descriptive.) Consequently, the little boy gets drunk off his power and the robot goes on an uncontrollable killing spress, turns on him and kills him at the end. I described how his brain sounded as it hit the floor, how it resembled cottage cheese after the robot ran over it... nice. The end is of another little boy in another little town, getting hit in the face with the bob dylan posessed piece of paper, getting the robot buildin' urge and causing more carnage to those who dared screw with him.. (I left the story open to a sequel which I knew was good for book AND movie sales.)

I was quite a charming little 6th grader wasn't I?

other random musings just to fill up blog space....

*Is there pain like the pain that one experiences when one stubs ones little toe on the corner of a coffee table? It literally renders you speechless. You can't scream, you can't move, you just bite your lip and shed a tear. It hurts the soul.

*It is truly a shame that guys in my high school didn't look like Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles.

* I can eat bags and bags of Salt and Vinegar chips until my lips are white and my tongue has salt burn on them. Why? Because chips that smell like feet gets my stomach a' growlin.

* Instead of just sayin, "gross, there's bird poop on the windshield" my husband says:
"Did you know that birds poop their pee? Yeah, they don't have a regular urinary track so the green stuff is poop and the white stuff is pee."
me: "okaaaaay.... thanks?"
husband: "that's gross huh? you KNOW another bird that gross?? The blah blah blah......."
then he talks about some bird that pees on itself to keep itself cool.
Aaah, my husband. He just oozes poetic songs doesn't he?

* When my husband hacks a loogie, he lovingly calls it "Lung Butter." Again, the charm..it just OOZES.

...aaaaand I'm spent............

Spank it.