07 April 2009

Yet another holiday season and I have to grit my teeth to make pleasant memories for my offspring. Once again I can't have them reminiscing as saying "Mom was a raging psycho bitch during (insert holiday here, excluding Halloween of course.)" Now Easter is a fine holiday and, while I try my best to instill the real reason for Easter in the kids, we all know they only care about the candy. And eggs. I hate eggs unless they are made of chocolate and filled with caramel. I dream of the day when dying eggs is something the kids think about and go, "meh." I hard boiled 24 eggs (gagging nearly the whole time) and set the little artists to work. Unlike AWTM I can't make the effort to do cool eggs with old silk ties like she did...and cool they are. I take the lazy way out and buy kits with stickers and shrinky dink wrappers, but the kidlets seemed to enjoy themselves nonetheless.

Luckily, it's my weekend to work so the kids will be taking their delightful stinky masterpieces to my parents house.

Knucklehead McSpazatron has still not gotten over the chewing everything that isn't nailed down stage, so I bought him a giant joint/knuckle/big-ass bone to keep him busy. Which, as you see, he thoroughly enjoyed.

And proceeded to yak up all over my carpet two hours later. Woohoo.

I was wide awake from 0100 to 0330, which I'm sure had nothing to do with the ten Peeps and two chocolate dipped sugar cookies last night. I might think it had if it weren't for the fact I'm always up and don't always eat Peeps. Damn this holiday anyway! It's a plot to make my ass the size of Australia! Is is passe to say it's a communist plot? What other kind of plot can I say it is without being slammed by some kind of label with "ist" at the end? It's a confectioner's plot, that's what it is! The point is, I can withstand a lot of temptaion, but Peeps aint on the list. Disgusting little buggers, that they are. Tangent aside, I got a phone call at 0515 and was saying yes into the receiver before they could even ask if I wanted to be on-call. Despite the reprieve from work, I still couldn't sleep. I did get all grades of fertilizer/moss killer spread on my lawn at an ungodly hour of the am. I've tried to go organic on the lawn, but that is an arse load of work, so I've gone back to the ol' Scotts "kill 'em and feed 'em and don't let it get in your water supply". Goes along with driving the planet killer and threatening to squash Priuses as I go. I've turned over a new leaf and it includes increasing my carbon footprint at every turn! Haha!

I still get crunchy lawn care magazines and one has a product called "Bird Grub." Which is bird food that is actually larvae. See? Cute little play on words there...they're so funny! And look, right next to it is the ad for the Bird Grub feeder.

Just what I want to see every morning outside my window while hammering back some high fiber breakfast: a clear plastic container full of larvae. Yum.

Watching "Brian's Song" (the original and the only one that counts) and it's about to get sad. I've seen it enough times since the 70s to know it's cryin' time. I've cried enough in the last while to be dry heaving from my tear ducts, but "Brian's Song" still gets me going.

"When you dedicate a game to someone, you are then supposed to actually win it, idiot. I mean, Pat O'Brian never said 'let's blow one for the Gipper'."

"I love Brian Piccolo and I'd like all of you to love him too. And tonight, when you hit your knees, please ask God to love him."

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