I figured I was done here. So I was kind enough to sing you a song and turn off comments so that I wouldn't be accused of just trying to milk the comments cow. And then... of course... I feel like blogging again.

But probably not regularly. I don't take enough fiber for that.

Anyway... CELEBRATE WITH ME!

I took the entire week of spring break off from work. I avoided the many phone calls that were coming in from work. I figured this: I'm on vacation. Leave me the f*** alone.

Right? Wouldn't you say the same thing?

Going back to work on Monday sucked. I had had such a wonderful week playing stay-at-home mom, and really enjoying it. Got mad at my husband because I have to work just for insurance benefits. And had a badass easter egg hunt that ended with 8 dozen confetti eggs being smashed at my parents house, making it look like their backyard was the staging area for the upcoming San Antonio FIESTAS! Fun Times. I'll have pictures later (i know. i always promise that, but this time it's for reals)

So sitting at my desk Monday, I get a tap on my shoulder. It's one of the managers. He says "We've been trying to call you all week long!". "DUDE! I was on vacay!" (I'm so not respectful to the managers, I think this particular manager likes this about me). "Well ... yeah - we figured that out, but just we just wanted to know if you were serious about considering a future with the company." say what? This sounds like I've done something bad, and am about to be put on notice or something. I decided to tread carefully: "Well...DUH. I need a job... for benefits"

Which effectively ended the conversation (after I offered him cheezy poofs. This particular manager is a 45 year old South Park fan).

Anyway, about an hour later, I got a phone call. I was PROMOTED, with a 10 PERCENT RAISE!

YAAAAAY!!!!!

So I guess maybe next time I'll answer my phone on vacation.


:)

Normy

Sometimes, I don't have an explanation for why I feel the way I do. I just wake up some mornings, and whatever my feeling is at that moment, underlines the way I feel the entire day.

And sometimes, watching the news in the morning puts me in the mood for the day. Which is why I don't watch the news. I try to click it to the Disney Channel to get myself going. But this morning, I lost the remote.

Bicker Bicker Bicker, that's all that was on. Democrats vs. Republicans, Obama vs. Clinton...YUCK! I hate politics. It's why you never see a political preference on here from me. I like the candidate I like, I have my reasons why, and I don't try to cram MY opinion down everyone's throat. But still. The division bothers me. And it got me yearning for something.

Remember the days following 9/11? Everybody loved each other. Everybody joined together. Solidarity. I remember walking in the mall about a week after, seeing yet another replay of the hit, and realizing that if it hadn't have been for a meeting on that very day, at that very time..... I would have lost my brother. (Pentagon). I blinked back some tears, and a complete stranger walked by and put their arm around my shoulder. Solidarity.

Everyone was there for each other. Everyone was proud of their country. Everyone's favorite color was Flag.

And I miss that. I hate that it takes a tragedy of gargantuan magnitude to make everyone realize that we are all in this world together. I hate that some people feel that THEIR VIEW is the PROPER VIEW and strive to beat down others to make them see that point of view.

I hate that other people care what Britney Spears is doing instead of caring for their neighbor, or checking on an elderly neighbor.

I hate that. My wish for the day, is that whoever is reading this, will just go out & do a random act of kindness for someone -- and not expect anything in return.

Thank you.... that is all

Spanking Messes Up Sex Lives, Author Says Corporal Punishment Linked To Masochistic Sex

Read the above link. I'll wait...

back??

OK.


Wow. Just WOW.

So between the above headline, and THIS former blog entry, we can all reasonably assume that my children are truly messed up...huh?

And dammit. Now I need to call my mother & explain that NOW I know why I have an insane urge to step around the house in a slick plastic catsuit attempting to drip hot melted wax on my husband's nipples while beating him with a whip.