Just in case you're wondering, my children are more brilliant than yours.

Just when you think you have kids that have reached a certain age where your watching their every single move is no longer necessary, they engage in behavior that makes you realize that you are pretty much screwed until they move out of the house. Hopefully at around 18 yrs of age if you're lucky.

Over the past couple of days my lovely offspring have been trying to outdo one another by seeing which one of them have the least amount of brain cells.

Exhibit A
























That's right. My 9 year old has decided, without any input from her dear old Mom I might add, that it was time to shave her legs. Ah yes, it's basically a rite of passage that every girl goes through eventually. I just sort of assumed that I had more time.

I got the news delivered by, you guessed it, a text message while I was at work.

Brent- "Yeah, so YOUR daughter decided it was time to shave her legs tonight. We're out of band-aids by the way."

Me- "You're shitting me?"

Brent- "Nope. She'll be needing skin grafts tomorrow. Oh, and she also shaved her arms as well.

Me- "What the fuck? Who does she think she is? Michael Phelps? Jesus!"

Brent- "No worries. The bleeding is under control. She asked me if you were going to be mad. Now she's concerned that you're going to laugh at her."

Me- "Yes. Because she now has flesh and 9 yr old girl hair in my new Venus razor and yes. Absofuckinglutely. Gotta go. Morphine to dispense."

Exhibit B
























So the next afternoon when I woke up, I was fully prepared to have a little chit chat with my leg amputating 9 yr old, but first I was greeted by my son who had apparently taken it upon himself to write on his own freaking forehead "I'm going to Will's house". Nice. Since when did he start printing out his itinerary on his head, you ask? Hell if I know.

Make me feel better. Those of you with kiddos, feel free to tell me about something they've done that made you question if they were switched at birth in the hospital.

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Tweet THAT, biatch!

Sometimes I surprise myself by thinking about something totally random and off the wall. Then I will spend more time wondering if I'm the only one who has thought of this particular off the wall thing. You know, because who else would spend time and energy thinking about something so stupid!?

Are you following me?

So this exact scenario happened when I got home from work this morning. I did my usual decontaminating with my wire bristle brush and scalding hot water in an effort to scrub all of the nasty hospital germs off my body. While I did this I thought about how comfortable my bed is, and how good it's going to feel to be comatose in it. I was also thinking about this guy.



As I lay my head down upon my pillow (which just so happens to be a flat piece of shit. Note to self. You need a new pillow!) and settle in for a nice long nap, it happened.

What's that?


Tweet ta tweet tweetle tweet tweet tweet. Chirp.

You've got to be freaking kidding me?

Chirp cha chirp chirp. Tweet ta tweetle tweet!

Well I'll be a son. of. a bitch!

So I got up out of my warm cocoon of blankety goodness and I stormed to the door that leads to our back patio, and I opened it to see if I could figure out where the offending bird was. Then I slammed the door in an effort to hopefully get it to fly off and finally shut the fuck up. I really was wanting to be a card carrying member of the NRA at this point because popping a cap in his ass was on the top of my agenda. NOBODY messes with my sleep. NOBODY!

Tweet ta tweet tweet. Chiiiiiiiiiiirp cha chiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirp.

Yeah, so clearly my door slamming technique didn't work.

It was obvious to me at this point that I was going to have to dust off the trusty ear plugs. So I popped them in and I was pissed because now I could hear myself breathing, and I could hear my own heart beat. I was essentially annoying myself. Perfect.

Then I started thinking what kind of retarded bird stays up in the middle of the night? Do birds not need their sleep too? What kind of point was this asshole bird trying to get across? Was this particular bird a dude? Was he trying to impress all of the lady birds? You know, trying to get a little bird ass perhaps? Maybe a bird booty call type of scenario, if you will?

If I was a girl bird I would not have been even the slightest bit impressed. In fact, I'd spread the word to all of my bird girlfriends to NEVER have sex with that particular douchebag bird due to the fact that he likes to be the only goddamn bird to make all kinds of noise in the middle of the night when every other logical fucking bird is asleep! I'd also spread the word that he's desperate and a male bird whore. . . and he has small wings. You know what they say about a bird with small wings right? Yeah, I thought so. His reputation would be ruined. I would ruin him! He would think twice before he opened his big ass beak before the crack of fucking dawn again!

Then he would be a lonely bird. He would have no lady bird friends and he would spend the remainder of his life masturbating on the telephone wire, and all of the other birds would point and laugh, er, tweet. The only birds that would even consider giving up the booty to this assclown would be the transvestite birds who were missing half of their feathers and infected with Avian flu.

Ha! Sucka!! Tweet that shit!

Ya know, I could have continued on with this train of thought, but I knew that I had to get some sleep. And finally, sleep I did, with the help of my trusty ear plugs.

Now tell me this. Have you ever thought of something so off the wall, or do I need some type of counseling?


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Hey kids, it's another gym story for ya!

I woke up today to the scary realization that I will be going on vacation in 43 days. FO-RT-Y THREE! Remember operation hard body? You know, the one where I was supposed to look like this by then?


Uh, yeah. Not so much. I mean, from the neck up I've pretty much met my goal, but since Brent isn't going to be carrying around my head on the beach, I've got some serious fucking work to do. So I've got this new totally attainable goal to lose roughly 102 pounds in the next 43 days.

I'm so motivated to make this happen, I managed to get myself to the gym this morning for a little workout. Spin class specifically. Yes, I do think I'm a glutton for punishment, and I figured a little bike seat wedged in my ass cutting off the circulation to all of my "action", while I simultaneously rode this little stationary bike so hard that my heart was going to explode, would be the perfect way to start my day and eventually meet my goal.

So I walked into the room to quickly find a bike. I notice that I have two options left. Sit by the lady who had pretty bad body odor before the class even fucking started, OR sit by the hot dude in the corner.

Would you like to take a guess at what I chose? Okay, take a minute. I'll wait......

Cue the Jeopardy music.

"Who is Mrs. Funky, Alex?"

"Oooooh, no sorry. She chose the hot dude in the corner."

I know, I know. Patrick Swayze always said, "nobody puts baby in a corner", but it was a no-brainer really. To the corner I went. Unfortunately, I figured out that I definitely chose the wrong bike about 5 minutes into the hour long class

WHAT A NEANDERTHAL that dude was! Seriously, I've never heard so much groaning, moaning, and grunting in all of my life!

"UGH. UGH. AGGGGGH!!!!"

"OOOOOOH. AHHHHH!!!! UGH UGH."

"AH. AH. AHHHHHHHHH. UGH UGH"

So I looked (glared, actually) over at him just to make sure I was hearing what I thought I was hearing. You know, cause in times like these I never really know for sure. I was just thinking to myself, is this dude over there whacking off, or is he spinning, because really, WHAT. THE. FUCK? I just wanted him to shut up. And I know what you're thinking. No, I didn't want to kick him in the balls or anything. What I really wanted to do was lean over to the side and Billy Blanks his bitch ass with a roundhouse kick right in the head. That's right. No focus on south of the border today, baby. It's all about the kick to the head, specifically the mouth region.

After I visualized laying a beat down on hottie neanderthal, I then looked across the room longingly at Mrs. Funky. I saw all of the peace and (quiet) harmony over there, and I was more annoyed with myself for the crap decision I had made. Sure she had a PePe le Pew smoke cloud emanating from her body, but I didn't give a damn at that point. She was quiet. Period.

One more annoying thing about HN is that he was sweating like a hooker in church. It was pouring off of him. Literally. He also didn't have a towel, so when class was over there was a huge puddle all around his bike. I know this because I damn near busted my ass in it. GAG!

So my next spin class I will wear a freaking slicker suit and earplugs.

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Now who's your death messenger? Hear it here first folks!

Billy Mays, the really annoying guy in most of the infomercials, is now a goner.

I'm not sure how he died as of yet, but I'd like to imagine that someone probably busted a cap in his ass with a salad shooter. Or perhaps it was death by ShamWow. It's really all unclear as of now.

I'll keep you posted with any new developments.

Now if you would pardon me for a moment. I'm going to go and put my Orange Glo up for sale on Ebay.

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