Some Days

Some days I’m busy and happy and impatient and exhausted and have 87 things to do.  Some days I pull it off and get in my bed and go right to sleep and wake up and do it again.  Some days I cry and yell and get frustrated and fight with my husband and call my best friend a lot.  Some days I buy a five dollar coffee and get whipped cream and some days I eat all the right things instead.  Some days I feel like I’ve been just surviving for the past four years in diapers and bottles and nursing and budgeting and endless grocery store trips.

And some days I’m sinking.

I’m sinking right now.  And I can’t sleep and I’m crying.  And nothing about my life is terrible but some days it’s unbearable.  I’m unbearable.  Why can’t I be happier and why can’t I think myself better and why can’t I still want to have sex even if I’m taking an anti-depressant and then why do I stop taking them just so my husband will still love me and why do I keep yelling at my beautiful children.  And why in fucking god’s name do I watch an Oprah show about how to be a more present parent when I feel like this and then I feel worse and obviously my children are great but do they deserve better than me.  How could I want them so awfully bad and then lose my fucking mind at them for spilling bubbles on the floor.

And some days I feel so terribly alone in it.  My husband doesn’t understand and thinks I’m addicted to being depressed and I don’t even know how that’s a thing.  I don’t want to talk to my friends about it anymore because who wants to listen to you being sad all the time and from the outside it’s all great.   And really from the inside it’s great too, just not on my inside.  Are neurotransmitters real and can they be fixed and are they really even broken.  Some days I don’t know anything.  I hope to know more tomorrow.  



Recently a question was asked: What do you like about being a mom?

I’ve really given it a lot of thought.  I’ve decided that there are a few blanket things I enjoy about being a mom, but most of them have to do with the individual involved.  Like there are so many things I love about being Bugs’s mom, but they don’t necessarily apply to L or Tiny Dancer yet, and vice versa all around the worldsies.

So that’s my segue into this post is going to be complicated.  And probably a little long.  So grab your coffee and welcome to my mind.  Lesbi honest.  Grab your whiskey and hold on tight.

First of all, selfish reasons.  Shouldn’t selfish reasons come first based solely on the idea of selfishness?  Well anyway, I love being a mom because there are three little kids (almost) everyday who think I. AM. FUCKING. AWESOME.  They want to sit by me and cuddle me and hug me and listen to me.  They want me to play with them and read them stories and all because I’m their mom.  When I leave, they are sad that I am leaving and when I get home, they are so god damn happy to see me.  It’s great.  Like really, really, really great.  Bugs, for example, is right in the heat of loving all things video games, and he wants to tell me EV-ER-Y-THING about his favorite characters and show me everything they do.  L likes to make me laugh and constatnly wants me to chase and tickle him, and he has the cutest fucking laugh that gets my heart every time.  Tiny Dancer loves to hug me and says “Mommm” in a way that the last “M” sounds like a hum and she tips her little head back and purses her lips for a kiss and says “MMM-ahhh” for her kiss noise.  I can’t get enough of those kisses.  I could just eat her face off.

Next, I enjoy watching my children grow and learn.  It is interesting, in like a nerdy psychological, anthropological, and cool-ological sense.  It is so rewarding and interesting to watch their little minds work.  And their little bodies.  And to see them change and learn and have feelings.  Tiny Dancer gets her feelings hurt so easily when she is hurt or sad or even tired.  Bugs and L wrestle on the floor and contort themselves in ways I can’t even comprehend.  Oh and also, boy parts.  That sounds weird, but I don’t have brothers.  So to see boys get hit in the crotch and have it bother them at like, age 6, is just weird.  And interesting.  And now I sound like a perv, but I don’t mean it like that.  It’s just I didn’t grow up around boys so it’s cool to see how boys live.  And weird.  And kind of gross to be honest.  

It’s also totally awesome and amazing when they learn something new.  And even awesomer and amazinger when you are the one who taught it to them.  Take noses for example.  Not ONE of my kids knew where their nose was until I taught them that.  And all 3 of them have now been subjected to hours of “Show mommy where your nose is!”  “Now, where’s mommy’s nose?”  They have also had to demonstrate this little gem of intellect to countless relatives.  Not to be bragadocious, but they also all know where their eyes, mouth, teeth, tongue, belly and various other body parts are.  (Tiny Dancer is obviously still in the early stages of this, but I feel confident she is going to know right where her head, shoulders, knees and toes are very soon,)  It basically makes your heart feel full and proud when you have taught them something worthwhile.  Although sometimes the stuff that’s not that worthwhile is hilarious.  Like swearing and fart noises.

Another exciting thing I love about being a mom is that I am right about a lot of things some of the world is wrong about.  Let me explain.  I think LOVE is the most important thing that exists.  Like ever.  Other people have little to no regard for love.  They are obsessed with being right, or being “moral” or worrying about how something irrelevant is going to affect their hate filled lives.  I believe in tolerance and love and kindness and passing that on to other people.  Of course, practicing this love can be difficult at times, but I believe it strongly enough to teach my children the same.  And I think there needs to be a lot more parents who do the same.  Mean girls, gangs, war, bullying, discrimination, etc etc and so on and so forth could be a thing in our past if more people would just believe in love.  Religion falls into this category as well.  I don’t think that any one religion is right and that we will all burn in hell if we aren’t kneeling on the right pew or praying to the best god.  Religion, to me, is a relationship with all things and again, love is what cultivates it.  So I want my children to know that they don’t have to go to church on Sunday to be a good person, and that if they have a friend that is a different religion, they don’t have to try to be like that friend, nor do they have to assume any damn thing about that person based on their religion.  

Most of all, I love being a mom because I get to watch my kids every day.  I get to kiss their faces, tuck them in (and drink wine by myself afterward.)  I get to go on in this life knowing that even if they have nothing else, they have each other.  I get to look forward to all the big days in their lives that have already come and gone in my own.  Proms, graduations, college, weddings, babies.  Hell, I even get to look forward to Christmas and Easter and the tooth fairy all over again.  It’s fantastic and hard as shit, but I love it.  Clearly, based on this blog alone, it’s not always easy.  Or really, it’s not ever easy.  But this is it for me.  I’ve always known I was born to be a mom.  It didn’t look like this in my mind, but I would not, could not have it any other way.  


I got a call from my sister today asking for advice about her daughter and daycare. A family member has offered to watch her baby for her but my sister is hesitant because she was thinking of putting her in a daycare that has a preschool curriculum and is afraid that the family member might not spend the time to do lessons.

This got me thinking about the amount of time I spend (or don’t spend) doing educational activities with my kids. I am so god damn busy every day with work, meal planning, grocery shopping, ass wiping and the like that Mickey Mouse runs a majority of the lessons in my home. When I do have down time, all I want to do is sit on the couch and decompress. So today I got on the floor with Tiny Dancer and did puzzles and talked to her about where her nose is. It was fun and all but I really can’t see myself doing that for several hours every day. And it made me feel horrible.. What kind of mom am I if spending time with my daughter on the floor is a (rare) exception?

I started contemplating what to do and wondering if daycare/preschool would be better for my kids too, which lead me to MBA applications and job searches. I’m so tired of breaking even with money every month and I am college educated and have a great resume and could be making some pretty fantastic money if I work 40 hours a week. So now I’m really considering going back to work because why? Because I hate budgets and doing puzzles?
So obviously that lead into another guilt spiral about how maybe I am really the worst mom ever if I have to leave my kids to keep my sanity. And will it really even work? Or will I be more miserable because I have to drop them off at daycare and miss their little faces all day? Great now I’m crying.

It’s been a hard day.

Thanks Captain Obvious

Being a parent is hard dudes. 

For my first example of “obvious statements of the world” I give you my beautiful daughter.  I mean guys, she is a beauty.  Like really really really cute and funny and super duper sweet.  So now comes the part about where I tell her how beautiful she is.  It sounds a little something like this, “Oh Tiny Dancer!  You are so pretty!!!  …………………..  And smart too!  Yes, SMART.  So pretty AND smart!”  Because I guess we’re not supposed to comment on things about our girls’ appearance?  Because then they get too wrapped up in in?  So I need to compliment her mind too.  Yes, her mind.  She’s not just a pretty face.  So follow that up with, “You’re so cute! ….. and FUNNY.  Oh my are you funny!”  

But here’s the deal dudes.  I don’t ever remember my parents talking about me being cute or pretty.  Maybe they did and I just didn’t hear it?  That’s a possiblilty.  But I was always the smart one.  I did great in school, got straight A’s constantly and just could read and understand things from a very young age.  And my parents DID talk about that.  A lot.  I understood that they valued my intelligence.  

You know who didn’t?  The kids at school.  I got made fun of for getting good grades.  Can you imagine?  

Now I get that kids are mean and I’m scarred and blah blah from that.  But I wanted to feel pretty.  And I didn’t.  I was the smart girl.  Or the tall girl.  Or the smart tall girl.  My mom bought my clothes off the clearance rack at Shopko the season before.  We got haircuts at the dollar salon.  And we certainly never sat around talking about how pretty I was.  

Don’t get me wrong.  I am glad my parents valued my intelligence, because in the end, obviously it is what matters.  But I did go through some troubling years questioning my appearance and my value based on what some mean girls at school said.  So I just feel that rather than ignoring appearance and what it means, I should at least address it with my daughter.  I want her to know that she is beautiful inside and no matter what her outside looks like, her fantastic personality will make her beautiful on the outside.  And dudes, let’s face it, I’m probably going to dress her pretty cute and try to make sure her hair is in style.  

Example 2 of “why are you even writing this post, obviously parenting is hard you moron” is taking my 2 year old son, L, to get a haircut today.  I resorted to bribery, or as I prefer to call it, a “reward.”  He was going to get a reward of ice cream if he would just sit still and get his haircut.  I should mention that Tiny Dancer (1 year) and Bugs (10 years) were also with me.  So I have a bat shit crazy 2 year old, afraid of the clippers, plus two other kids with me.  L decided he did not give one tiny shit about the “reward” and no way in hell was he going to sit in the haircut chair.  Not even for a sucker.  Basically, he took the sucker and ran.  So here I am, sitting with a screaming 2 year old in the salon.  He is trying to hit, kick and yell at this poor darling 20-something that obviously is thinking I am the worst mom ever.  That, my friends, is when I decided that getting boys’ haircuts is a dad’s job.  

Happy New Year!

Hey dudes! It’s me! I exist! Things around here are the same as usual, someone is pooping or puking or sneezing up stuff. I’m outnumbered by my children and chores everyday, but we are happy and mostly healthy. It’s pretty good.
Now on to my experiment. I’ve decided to Benjamin Button myself. I refuse to get older and fatter and stupider so I’m going to get hotter and skinnier and smartier.
Now for the younger and hotter part, I’m going to just keep buying creams and shit and eventually I’ll probably break down into Botox but the time hasn’t come for that yet. I’m going with the theory that any wrinkles I have are due to dehydration so I must drink more water. I enjoy living in denial.
Skinnier part is where the experimentin’ comes in. I have been cross fitting the shit out of myself and I am getting pretty buff dudes. I’m super excited about it but still have quite the jelly roll around my middle section. This is not new for me. I’ve always carried extra fat around my waist because of my heritage and genetics (or maybe purple laffy taffy and ciabatta bread). So I’m going to experiment with my diet and see what combination of things might help my guts release the Kung fu death grip they have on fat cells. Don’t get all worked up guys – I’m not going to starve myself. In fact I’m going to eat a lot. Like a-hole lot. Just different stuff. January’s experiment is cutting out extra sugar (like whipped cream in my latte), wheat, and alcohol. I know it sounds extreme to give all of these delicious things up at once but as someone who has been drunk for like 2 months straight, I can tell you that I am more than ready to take a break from alcohol. Also as someone who has eaten treats since Halloween, I am ready to give them up as well. Wheat might be a different challenge for me, but I feel like it’s going to be super beneficial for my “lose the spare tire” goal.
Now the smartier part is a little trickier. I have been toying with the idea of getting my MBA and have visited a couple of programs to check them out. If money was no object, I would sign up today. Unfortunately, I haven’t won the lottery yet (note to self: but lottery tickets.) So, I’m still tossing this idea around but trying to figure out a way I can do it.
I hope one day that I can set a goal to not constantly have crazy goals. Right now though, it turns out I am a gal who needs things to keep changing. I think I drive everyone around me crazy.

Na Na Na Boo Boo, I’m Better Than You

I’m not sure how the FB got started on the mom posts about how “everything you are doing sucks and here’s a post liked by a gazillion people that will prove to you that you should follow my advice.”  But I’ll tell you what, every time I see one of those mother fuckers, I roll my god damn eyes.  I’m over it people!  The one that really set me off was about how a woman was never, EVER, in her ENTIRE fucking life going to tell her daughter to “Hurry Up” again because she wants to teach her to take time to smell the roses and look at rainbows and sunshine and just mosey through life never hurrying because she might miss something.  So I read this piece of shit and then every time I tell my kid to hurry up I feel like the world’s worst mom because this person I’ve never met is telling me I’m wrong.

Well BULLSHIT.  I’m calling BULLSHIT.  Sometimes I am in a hurry.  Sometimes I have to get my son to school on time.  Sometimes I am just impatient.  Sure there are days that I have nothing to do so I will let my 2 year old look at every mother fucking rock on the half mile walk home from school.  It’s annoying and takes forever and the 1 year old is in the stroller screaming like a lunatic because we have to sit there and wait for him to decide it’s time to move the next 2 feet to the next rock/flower/stick he finds.  Great.  But other days, it’s fucking cold, I’m fucking tired, I have work to do, or I just want to be home.  I’m okay with telling him to get his rear in gear.

There are others too.  Countless others.  What you should/shouldn’t say about school, food, money.  How you should ENJOY EVERY MINUTE because every minute is enjoyable and you are going to miss it so bad one day.  Look, I realize time is precious.  My kids are growing at an exponential rate.  I hate it.  I get it.  It does go by fast.  But that doesn’t mean that if I’m not thrilled about cleaning shit off 2 asses that are not my own every day that I don’t appreciate my life.  I’m pretty much not going to clean ink stains off the floor and think, someday I’ll look back on this moment and relish it.  I promise you I won’t.  I don’t like cleaning ink stains off the carpet.

I realize this post is hypocritical.  I’m tellling you I hate posts that say you’re doing it wrong, and here I am saying “You’re doing it wrong.”  But I’m not actually trying to tell you that.  I’m just trying to say GOD DAMN IT STOP POSITING SHIT ON FACEBOOK WITH THE INTENT OF MAKING A MOTHER FEEL SHITTY.  Thanks.  And Amen.


What I find the most fascinating about having girl friends, like really real live girl friends, not the fake kind who only say nice things, is that your really real life awesome amazing girlfriend can give you some advice that could possibly have the ability to offend you (or inspire you to stab a bitch,) but if it comes from her, you know you have to listen, and listen good.  And it isn’t easy.  You can stare at her and think to yourself, “I really can’t believe she just said that.”  But then your self says back to you, “Yes you can because she is trying to help you love yourself and be a better person.  She’s not being a bitch.”  Although she is a bitch for other reasons, like having a perfect body even though she doesn’t work out and loves McDonald’s vanilla cones.

But I digress.  I had some lovely lady time (in a mostly non-sexual way) with some very good girlfriends this week.  I felt like it was a little bit of relaxing, a little bit of drunken haze, and just the perfect amount of soul searching and giving each other advice.

So here it is.  I feel like I have pretty great self-esteem.  I know I talk shit about myself on this here blog, but about 95.24% of that is because I make myself laugh when I say it and so it adds to my self-esteem that I find myself so amusing.  But in real life, like all humans with a vagina, I do have some insecurities.  And even though they exist, I recognize them and tell myself, “Yes, but I am working on it.”

Which on the surface sounds great right?  I recognize this thing about myself isn’t perfect, but I’m working on it.  So I say that.  A lot.  Like a lot.  For example, since I brought Tiny Dancer home from the hospital, I have lost 40 pounds dudes.  40 fucking pounds.  That is basically a small human, and only half of that was actual baby weight.  The other half was just extra flab I’ve had floating around for awhile.  So I mean, really, that’s pretty awesome.  But to my friends, I say, “Yeah I’m really really stoked” (which honestly I really am) “but clearly I still have a lot of work to do” (while pointing at my midsection which I’m still not thrilled with.)  To which my McDonald’s loving friend says, “You need to work on that.  You should just be happy how you are.”  (As in work on your attitude, not your midsection.)  The instant she said it, I knew it was true.  (Also she might not have said it just like that because I may have been drinking, but it was something to that effect.)

I’ve been saying this about my body for awhile now.  It’s not perfect, but I’m working on it.  My body will be great when my stomach is flat.  I’ll be happy with my body when I’m such and such weight et al.  Which don’t get me wrong, I still have a goal in mind that I’m working toward, but I also have developed a new goal.  And it isn’t loving my body when my stomach is flat.  It’s loving my body now.  Just the way it is.  And never ever trying to convince people that I know it isn’t perfect, but I’m trying to get it that way.  Because that’s just asinine.

So wow, this post just took a serious twist into seriousness.  Now back to the drunken debauchery.  It involved a drinking version of Sorry!, a mouse in my lunchbox, nighttime kayaking, Loons, and loving myself just a little bit more (in a mostly non-sexual way.)

How Not to Hire a Nanny

Remember the days when I was a stay at home mom and I was bored to tears and calling my husband every five seconds to complain?  Ahh those were the good days with the green, green grass.  Well, awhile back I started my own bookkeeping company and had just a few clients and it was glorious.  Phone calls from adults daily, using some math skills, taking a few hours a couple times a week to get away from take a break from my children.  And then all of the sudden, all these new clients kept coming my way.  Which, I mean, it’s great and all, but it sure made my work time add up quickly.  And… I couldn’t say no because I am a money grubbing whore.  Ok, maybe not, but having extra money so we can actually have a life is pretty great.  (Case in point, we are going on a tropical vacation for A WEEK this fall, WITHOUT children, and WITH all inclusive BOOZE.  Made possible by my work at home business.)

Anyway, with all this work adding up, I decided to hire a couple of employees to lighten my load and to find a nanny again so that I could pack all of my work into a couple days a week instead of parking my kids in front of the tv and working all the time (which by the way, I’m doing now so I can blog.)

How does one hire a nanny, you ask?  Well, I’ll tell you, I have no fucking clue.  There are tons of websites out there you can advertise and look for people on, but still dudes, you’re still hiring someone from the internet.  Like some stranger you meet online, leave your kids alone with, and basically know nothing about because you met them on the internet.  So I did what I thought was smart – posted on Facebook.  (Which turns out, is the opposite of smart.)  I was thinking maybe someone had a niece or church member or someone they could send my way.  That way, a person I knew would be in common therefore ensuring that I was not hiring a crazy person or a crackhead.

But then people I knew started asking me about it.  Like people my age and people I haven’t seen since high school.  And dudes, I’m in my mid 30’s, so high school was awhile back mmmkay?  One girl from high school literally complains about her children DAILY on FB and she sent me a message telling me how she loves other peoples kids and she would be teaching preschool this fall too so she’s just perfect for the job.  Ummmmmmmmmmm.  Hmmmmmmmm.  How do I put this delicately?  Fuck no.  My neighbor also asked me and said she “could do it” like i was asking her to feed my dog while I was out of town.  The same neighbor who stands outside her back door bellowing for her children every day and then yelling at them so loudly I can hear.   Thanks anyway neighbor!  One friend told me her sister was interested and had just graduated high school and was starting college nearby in the fall.  Jackpot!  Only problem is – friend’s sister didn’t show up for the interview.  Twice.  Awwwwwk-warrrrrrrrrrd!

I reverted to the internet.  Found a stranger.  Facebook and Twitter stalked her.  Hired her.  So far so good.

I Can’t Believe Oprah Hasn’t Called Me

A few months ago, I was talking to my husband about church.  You see, I like the idea of getting together with like minded people (or even not like minded I guess) once a week and discussing ways we can be better people.  You see, despite my sarcasm and constant swearing like a trucker, I am actually interested in making this world a better place.  So here’s what I like about church:

1 – Getting together to discuss how to be better people.  (I already said this once, pay attention.)

2 – Giving thanks for the things you have received, and asking for the things you want.  Putting it out there is important, whether it’s just to yourself, the Universe, or some higher power.

3 – Feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Here’s what I don’t like about church:

1 – Judgey Wudgeys

2 – All that talk about God.  (You see I’m one of those new wavians that likes to think of God in terms of the Universe.  Please don’t stop reading.)

3 – Putting on pants.

So I was trying to figure out how I would open my own “church.”  A place where people could meet up once a week and have a topic at hand.  I didn’t want it to be a book club because in my experience, book club night is mostly just finding out who actually read the book, discussing our favorite parts for about 10 minutes, drinking a lot of wine and then talking about blow jobs for the rest of the night.  So yeah, church should not be about blow jobs.

I feel like a weekly discussion of how to make people feel good (again NOT blow jobs), how to be better parents, how to set and achieve goals, and things like that would be super motivating and positive.  The only thing is that I’m super lazy so I never did anything like that.

And along came Oprah.  Stealing my thunder.

So one morning (on a Sunday no less) I see that Oprah has a show called “Super Soul Sunday.”   It is basically MY church on her network, and of course, she’s the host.  Each week there is a new, inspiring person, talking about get this, being a better person.  God damn it Oprah.

So now I have a new idea.  It’s a reality show.  You see, I was watching this new, super terrible show called Pretty Wicked Moms, have you seen it?  It’s terrible.  These women are the WORST to each other.  (Also, maybe I should watch less tv.)  Anyway, this show is all about these moms competing to be the best at everything and still be skinny and not pee their pants when they jump on trampolines.  It sucks.  Don’t watch it.  I was thinking that these reality shows now are about who can be the nastiest to whom all in the name of entertainment.  And we watch it!  And these people and networks make money off of it!  So I thought, HEY! what about a reality show where women are actually being kind to one another.  And then I thought BORING!  Because who is going to just follow me around with a camera and watch me be nice to people all day?  There has to be an end goal.  So, that’s the show.  A woman has a goal in mind, like say a half marathon 5K, and then her friends (like real friends, not fake ones) support her in that goal.  Like they show up and offer to run with her, or they give her running socks, or some other thing like that.  And at the end of the season, the final show is these super awesome, funny and supportive friends meet their goals together.

I mean, I’m a total sap, so obviously I’d watch that, but I think other people would too.  (How about it Oprah?)  Since Oprah doesn’t have my phone number, I decided to just do this in real life.  It’s time to step up to the plate and be a supportive friend.  I mean, not like I’m not a supportive friend, but I want to be a real live support in my people’s lives.  Because who doesn’t need another person on their team?

Tired as a One Legged Man in a Butt Kicking Contest

Holy Mary, Mother of God, I AM FUCKING TIRED!!!!!!!!!!

Hubs was out of town last week, and again for a couple days this week.  I’m not sure if I blogged about this or not, but my amazing, crazy house cleaning, wonder nanny quit awhile back.  We have plans for my 19-year-old niece to come stay for the summer, so I didn’t want to hire anyone until after that because why pay someone when you can force your family to babysit for free?  (Does any of this sound familiar?  Oh nobody remembers anything I say because I only blog every other fortnight?  Okey Dokey then.)  (Also I’m not 100% clear on what a “fortnight” is.)

Anyway my point is that I have been waking up at the ass crack of dawn to work (ok I realize 7 am is NOT the ass crack of dawn, but it feels early.)  Hubs gets the kids ready and fed and I work until about 10 or so until he has to leave for the day, and then he is working later into the evenings.  This accomplishes several things: 1 – I get (mostly) uninterrupted work time every day instead of just twice a week like I had with the nanny.  2 – I don’t have to think of things to feed my children for breakfast.  3 – I’m done working before noon and have the rest of the day to do fun things with the kids (like put them down for naps.)  4 – Less nanny = mo money, mo problems.  By the way, I know they say money doesn’t buy happiness, but it does too.  

So back to me being tired as obesity.  With the hubster out of town for several days at a time, this leaves me to fend for myself.  Meaning, I have to find time to work, be a mom, feed my kids, get Bugs to school, scouts, tennis, choir, etc.  Not to mention the fact that I’m trying to get a smaller ass so I am working out every day.  I tried to give myself a break, I really did, but I am in a really good place with diet and exercise and I felt like if I just stopped because I was overworked and/or stressed that I would end up giving up for an unknown period of time, but if I just kept myself on the wagon even with these circumstances, then I could eat whole bundlet cakes and stay the same weight.  I also ate lots of pizza and let’s be honest, I’ve had a drink or two in the past few weeks.  (Also, how do single parents do it?)

Through this chaos, I have also had a lapse in memory when it comes to taking my anti-depressant.  I realized over the weekend that I had missed 2 or 3 doses in the previous few days.  I’m not sure if that really makes a difference or if it’s all just psychological, or I’m just tired as a teddy bear, but I am all sad and woe is me today.  And yesterday.  I think it must be because I’m tired as a penis because I got all sad yesterday when I was running (imagine that) and even almost started crying.  Now that I type this out and try out some “tired as” lines, I am convinced that yes, I am sad because I am as tired as a chicken.  

Well that was a tangent.  Sorry, I’m as tired as a cactus.

So back to my story…. wait, what was my point?  Oh yeah, my life is hard and shit.  And I love cake like a fat kid loves cake.