A face for blogging, smashed spaghetti, I'm going to bed.

Let's pretend for a moment it's 2009 and the only people who read this blog are the handful of ladies who actually like me. Let's act like we're back on Blogspot and I don't have hate groups or gun nuts waiting for an opportunity to call me a whore (I saw that Monday night, boys, you know who you are!) Ah, feels nice. Now I get to bitch about my day.

1. This morning my BFF mom-friend announced she is moving away. Her husband got a highfalutin' job in Cali-for-nigh-ay so they are moving to the land of real tans and fake boobs. LA. The stinking sunshine. That means Bee's boyfriend is gone and there's no one to make fun of the playground nannies in 5-inch spike heels who feed their kids dynamite anymore. I'm going to miss that.

It's over, kids.

2. I was rejected for reality TV. I have a producer-acquaintence who thought I might be a good pitch for a national show, so I gussied myself up and let her tape me in my living room. Apparently I am as vapid and unattractive as one might suspect of a blogger. Face for radio! The higher-ups gave me the kibosh and I will forever wallow in obscurity. It's just as well. I'd only incite anger from the elderly white male population anyway. Professionals can sense these things.

3. I have to get an MRI. Scary! I forgot to mention that I was in a minor car accident in January. When they asked me to rate my pain on a scale of one to ten, I gave them a two. Let it be known that when I had been in labor half a day and begged for an epidural, I answered the same question with "four". Anyway, a month into physical therapy I now have to get an MRI due to "a possible serious issue". I'm half-inclined to say that is bullshit and my cocktail of wine and Ibprofen are doing me just fine, thank you, and the other half of me is convinced I'm going to die. I'm German. We alternate between cold denial and certain panic.

4. My child shattered a ceramic dish full of spaghetti on the floor tonight. If old-fashioned whoopins were still in vogue, I might be a capital punishment sort of gal. As it is, she just spent 30 minutes shrieking in Time Out while I mopped up curry sauce. What's that you say? Spaghetti? With curry sauce? You'd throw it on the floor too? Look, I ran out of spaghetti sauce, okay. One more peep out of you and NO BIRTHDAY. Or something. Damnit.

5. I don't have another item, I just feel that lists with more than three items should have at least five.

Say anything mean to me in the comments and I will feed you curry spaghetti through your eyeballs.


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