Hello Lover....

I got tired of begging my husband for attention...so there's a new man in town...

And guess what...

"I love him...I love him...I do...I love him for the camera that he wants to be...and I love him for that camera that he definitely is...I...LOVE HIM!!"

Moto Moto...you're such a perv...

OH.MY.GAWD!!
I don't consider myself a prude, or uptight, by any stretch of the imagination. However, I do my best to monitor what my children are exposed to on television and movies...wait...

Nope, I take that back. As I recall it was my 4 year old who asked the lady at the bakery for a shark cake for his birthday. When she pulled out a cake with a "Shark Tale" theme...if my memory serves, it was my preschooler who said, "No...not like that...a shark like Jaws...with blood and stuff...cuz he eats people." The look on the ladies face was priceless!! Mother of the friggin Year!!!

My point...I'm usually not surprised by what comes out of my children's mouths. Shocking, right...seeing as I'm their mother, and all! But, this one...even I thought was a little inappropriate.

I'm driving down the road with The One Who Gets Away With Murder happily watching Madagascar 2 in the backseat. Then...in his best "Will.i.Am impersonating Barry White" impersonation, the youngest of my brood breaks into song...

"I like 'em in bed...I like 'em chunky...I like 'em round, with somethin somethin..."


Is it just me...or do you think it's ironic that he misinterpreted the lyrics as "I like 'em in bed"...just a couple of weeks after he walked in on The One and I doing a little somethin'-somethin' in our bed???

B****, PLEASE!!

Dear Bitch,

Can I call you bitch? I don't know if you'll remember me, or not. You did have your hands full.

I was at the table next to you today, when you and all your uppity, nipped and tucked, bored-housewife friends decided it was a good idea to take your obnoxious offspring to a very grown up restaurant. Honestly...who takes a herd of 5 snot-nosed, little brats to a Japanese hibachi steak house? Unless, of course, you are insane...or, maybe you're a masochist. Maybe you just like the idea of the people around you plotting your torture and murder.

Your children are young and you are likely very new to motherhood. As 2008's Mother-of-the-Year, I feel inclined to share with you a little of the wisdom I have acquired during my sentence term.

I would advise that you control your children by any means necessary. Sit on them, pin them to the ground...hell, bind and gag them for all I care. But, for the sake of your fellow diners...DO NOT allow them to hang over the back of their chairs chanting, "FIRE...FIRE...FIRE...WE WANT FIRE," as loudly as they can. It's not cute and it makes people want to hurt them.

I would also suggest that when your 2-year-old begins to vomit before you walk into a restaurant...TURN BACK. DO NOT GO IN! This is kind of an important one. It's NEVER a good idea to take a vomiting child...or vomiting anything, for that matter...into an establishment where people are trying to eat and enjoy a meal. Especially when that meal isn't cheap...we weren't in a McPlayPlace, lady!

You wanna know what's almost as un-appetizing as vomit on the ground next to you at a restaurant? The over-powering smell of the bleach and industrial cleaner that was brought out to clean the BIOHAZARD that your little princess had spewed all over the restaurant!

YOU TOOK YOUR PUKING KID INTO A RESTAURANT!!! Serious foul, my friend.

Lastly, I would like to express...how lucky I feel you are. For, had my level-headed husband not been there to restrain me...you would have had a set of chopsticks in your eyeballs. I'm just saying...

Your friend,
The lady who almost killed your sorry-ass

Tuesdays with Cletus...

I have a bit of a bone to pick with Cletus.

Last night we were discussing some of the gross things we'll see when we become nurses, or begin working in the medical field. We talked about snot...and blood...and vomit...and poop...and men "falling on flashlights in the shower" and having to seek emergency medical attention when the flashlight is lodged inside their rectum (yeah, right dude...that's how the flashlight got there!)...and holding up fat rolls so babies can find their way out of the vaginas of morbidly obese women...which led to the following Cletus-ism:

"Any a you who wanna work in Gyn-o-colugy or watch babies being born should thank about whether or not you can hannle it. 'Cuz some of us ladies are RRRRANK down there!"

I would like to respond by saying...

Speak for yourself Cletus...'cuz my shit smells like roses and daisies and at the very least, GINGER!

Has anyone seen my compassion???

It's gotta be around here somewhere. I know when I lost it...and where I was when I lost it...but, I still can't seem to find it.

This has been on my mind a lot lately...especially now that I've been poking around the blogosphere. Reading blog after blog about sick kids and dying babies...it seems that around here, compassion is contagious. I, however, seem to be immune.

Don't get me wrong...I don't wish bad things on people. I promise, I don't. I consider myself a good person and wishing ill will on another is just plain mean. But, when I read these stories of pain and loss...I am not consumed by compassion. I am not filled with the desire to take away their pain. I am not compelled to drop to my knees and beg for God's mercy.

I'm afraid that the death of my son left me somewhat hard-hearted. I'm not emotionless, though. I am able to feel empathy for others...but, only in the sense that I acknowledge the pain and/or suffering with a big ole, "Wow, you were dealt a shitty hand...life's a bitch, ain't it!"

I've said it before...that I feel lucky to have had the experience I did with Joey...so, I don't think it's a bitterness or anger that I feel. Just an understanding that prayers aren't always answered...problems can't always be fixed...and whether we like it or not, people get sick and eventually everybody dies.

Kinda...in a round-about sort of way...like this children's book:

Everyone poops...and everyone dies! Two things that we ALL have in common!
I apologize for the fecal analogy and the morbidity of this post!

Signed,
Wednesday Addams

Hurry up...you'll miss the bus...

**DISCLAIMER: THIS POST CONTAINS RANTING AND RAVING...A LOT OF IT...CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED.**

Yesterday for MammaKat's writing assignment, one of the prompts was to write about a pet peeve. My first thought was...

Pet peeve, Shmet peeve...I don't have one. I'm cool. I'm chill. I'm laid back. Shit just rolls off of me like water off a duck's back.

Well, I DO have a pet peeve and this is it: I can't stand it when people pretend to listen to you, but aren't really listening. They throw in obligatory "uh-huh's" and "dang's" and "damn, that sucks" and "really's" at all the appropriate places, but you know good and well that they haven't heard one word that you've said. I think it's rude and disrespectful and personally, it makes me feel like what I'm saying isn't important enough for you to pause the fucking basketball game and at least look me in the eyes while you're pretending to listen to me, HONEY!

It's been a while since I've thrown The One "under the bus". Well...I hear the brake's squealing and can see the front of the big yellow thing heading this way...so, baby...the bus is here, let's do this thing!

He never listens to me. He knows it...and bless his heart...he does try. He does this thing where he repeats the last few words I said to give the illusion that he actually followed along in whatever I was talking about.

Like he could be at the computer and I could walk up and hypothetically say, "OMG, honey, today...the doorbell rings and it was the super hot UPS guy...by the way., that thing you ordered came in...anyway, super hot guy, so I invite him in. All the kids are at school...so he and I have wild, hot sex right on the kitchen counter. Not much chit-chat...he leaves and on his way out I tell him, 'I appreciate your service.'" And my dear sweet husband who has a very good short term memory will peel his eyes away from the computer long enough to smile, nod, maybe give me a little fake laugh and say, "I appreciate your service...cool." Then he's right back to whatever-the-hell he was doing!

Part of the reason it makes me so crazy is that all day...every day...I'm expected to drop whatever it is I'm doing and tend to the needs and whims of EVERYONE in this house. Like:

The One Who Knows Everything wants to tell me...very loudly, I might add...every single thing he's thinking and/or doing so as to be the center of attention at all times. To which I want to say, "WILL YOU SHUT YOUR FRIGGIN PIE HOLE FOR ONE SECOND AND LET THERE BE SILENCE FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE." But, I usually don't. I stop whatever I'm doing, put on my best poker face and feed his insatiable appetite for attention.

The One Who Doesn't Say Much wants to play a game of Crazy 8's, or Memory, or Go Fish, or...God help me...her Hannah Montana trivia game. To which I want to yell, "NO...SWEETIE...I HATE HANNAH MONTANA, I SUCK AT MEMORY, I DON'T EVEN REMEMBER ALL THE RULES TO GO FISH AND...CRAZY 8'S...WELL, THAT'S KINDA FUN, BUT I'M BUSY RIGHT NOW!" Instead I say, "Sure, babe...you pick."

The One Who Gets Away With Murder wants to tell me about, "that part...in that movie...where the guy...he goes like this **TOWGAWM jumps, or shoots, or does sound effects, or flips, or all of the above**...and then that other guy was like this **he does some other crazy motion**...no, wait that wasn't it...the guy went like this **this time he nails whatever he was trying to do**...yeah like that...then they were like, 'whoa'...and then he punches the guy right in the face...ya 'member that part?" And I want to scream at the top of my lungs, "YEAH, YEAH, YEAH...I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR STUPID BOY MOVIE NOW BEAT IT KID." But, I refrain...and stop, turn towards my boy and do my best to follow along in the tales he spins.

The One...well, I'll skip the details...but, he wants what he wants and I want to yell, "OH YEAH RIGHT, FUCK FACE...NOW YOU'RE GONNA PAY ATTENTION TO ME. NOW THAT I'M NAKED...YOU'RE HANGING ON EVERY EFFING WORD!!" However, I actually say..."You must've read my mind, baby, because that's just what I wanted to do."

That just gave me an idea...maybe I should drop trou and show him my tits every time I talk to him. Maybe he'd pay a little more attention then!

Brotherly Love???

It's Thursday and my brain has been muddy lately...so, I hopped over to MammaKat's for something to blog about!

The Prompts:

1.) If you were starring on American Idol TONIGHT and HAD to sing, what song would you choose and why. Probably Dani California by the Red Hot Chili Peppers...because it's the only one I can stay on pitch with on Rockband...because it's more like a rap...because I suck...HARD!

2.) Take a picture of yourself right this minute without primping and explain to us why it is you have not washed your hair today. You would like that wouldn't you...to make yourself feel better...you'd be all, "Daaaaaaamn...that chick needs a shower...at least I don't ever look like that in the morning..." Yeah, I DON'T THINK SO!

3.) I just asked Pat to help me with a writing prompt so here's his: "What do you think about the NBA All Star game"...blech. You lost me at NBA...

4.) What's your number one pet peeve? Develop a punishment for anyone caught in the act. I prefer not to blog about my murderous rampages...

I will, however, blog about my brother's...
5.) Write about something mean you did to a sibling growing up.

Okay...I have to change this around a little. I grew up with one brother, who is 8 years older than me. I was just a little girl when my brother was around before he left for college...I was neither big enough, or smart enough to ever do anything mean to him. The worst thing I ever did was tattle on him for one of the following things:

Like the time...when he was in his Rambo phase...which, by the way, prompted my Rambo phase (I worshipped the ground my brother walked on, I did!). I had full camo-gear...so did my Cabbage Patch Kid! See, I may have been a tomboy...but, I was still maternal! Anyway, during his Rambo phase, both of us donned our camo attire, and he tied me to a tree and started throwing Ninja stars at me. Not little dollar store, plastic Ninja stars! NO!! I'm talking straight from the Army/Navy store...metal disc...polished to a point. But, not just one point...not even two, or three, but FOUR SHINY, SHARP POINTS! So, I'm about 8 years old, tied to a tree while my brother...who I adore...is chucking sharp hunks of metal at and around my head! I'm all, "Bub, please let me go...I'm gonna tell." And he's all, "Nope." And I'm all, "Bub, you're the master...you're the king...you're the coolest," because he made me say that kinda shit all the time. Finally, I panic and spew..."Bub, ants...there's ants all over me...please untie me." I was lying, or so I thought, and he bought it and set me free. Then, I realized that my subconscious mind had realized the ants in my panicked state. I truly was covered in ants. So, my bro grabs me and throws me in the shower...fully dressed...to wash them off. I tattled...he didn't get in trouble.

Or, the time when he was home one summer from school...I think I was about 11, or so. Bub and I were fixing lunch, or something and he grabbed a knife...and threatened to stab me, or kill me...or worse! I freak out and run from him...he chases me...with the friggin knife...all around our 1400 square foot house! I finally lock myself in the bathroom to get away from him. He bangs and beats on the door...I'm picturing the movie, The Shining, and just knew that any minute my deranged brother would cut through the door and announce, "Heeeere's Rusty!" Then, it gets eerily quiet in the house. My ear is pressed to the door, listening for the psychopath...when I hear a tiny, tiny tapping behind me. I turn slowly...to see my brother outside the window still wielding the knife, his face is contorted and his eyes are wide. I about piss myself and I think I started crying at this point. He realized that he'd gone too far, and his twisted little game ended. We go watch some MTV. When my parents got home...I tattled...he didn't get in trouble!

Now that I think about it...the meanest thing I have ever done to him...may be posting this picture...

There you have it...I was terrorized and tortured by my brother when I was a child, and seeing as he was never punished for the aforementioned acts...it's obvious to me now, that my parents loved him more than they loved me! I'm off...gotta call my therapist and tell him we've had a break-through!

Hard up for cash...

So...I stumbled across this little contest via TMM's blog and thought...what the hell. Somebody's gonna win...it might as well be me.

The only rule is that I post a handful of my favorite posts so that people who don't know me...might get to know me a little better.

Here's what you need to know:

This is where I grew up.

I have a handsome, funny, wonderful, loyal and very honest husband...who I love more than life itself.

I'm the world's best Mom. Truly, I am. If you don't believe me...then check this out...or this...or better yet...this! See...I told ya!

I'm a redneck and am taking classes so that I can become a better one.

I hold grudges...and what's worse, I seek revenge.

Nothing interesting has ever happened to me...except this.

Those are the highlights. Go here if you want to enter, too.

Tell me...is this wrong???

Cletus isn't the only redneck in my class...I do have some in me, as well. I'll be the first to admit it.

Last night, Cletus had us pulling out hair and sloughing off some dead skin cells...things like that...to check out under the microscope. Somebody went and got a blade of grass...boring shit like that.

I thought it might be a little more interesting to examine something...oh, I don't know...maybe like a little spermatozoa. So, I asked two dudes in my lab group if they would kindly jizz in a cup so that I might examine some of their best swimmers under a microscope? Is that wrong?

I mean...come on...we're all adults here. I wasn't asking him to cut off his arm so that we could examine his internal anatomy...I was asking him to pleasure himself privately, prepare the slide and show us his goods.

I tried...but couldn't talk them into it. If I were a dude...I would've done it.

Self-inflicted pain...

I don't know why I watch this show. I don't enjoy it. I watch the thing in horror, time after time.

I hate the way she talks to her husband.
It drives me nuts how anal and psycho she is about her house and her kids.
I hate her fucking hair.
I want to beat the fire out of that one twin who throws tantrums all the time.
Most of all...I hate that people like this chick!!

This has to be what this guy is thinking all day...every day...

It takes balls....

While the words penis and vagina are both anatomically correct and my children find them incredibly fun to say...the word testicles has never caught on in our home. They use the word "balls." Manly men, they are!! Around our house, every time the word "balls" is uttered, in any connotation, mind you...the kids erupt in uncontrollable laughter.

Me - "Jack, get the balls out of the yard."
Kids - "Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha...Mom said balls!!"

Me - "Let's put the balls on the tree, next."
Kids - "Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha...Mom said balls!!"

Baseball Commentator overheard on the t.v.- "So-and-so at the plate with 3 balls and 2 strikes...."
Kids - "Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha...That guy said balls!!"

They're so immature!

Tuesdays with Cletus...

You know...kinda like the acclaimed novel, Tuesdays with Morrie. Only it's not about an "old man," it's about a Redneck...and it's not about a "young man," it's about me...and it's not about "life's greatest lesson," it's about the shit that goes down in the classroom of bonafide Redneck!

On today's episode: She may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but she ain't the dullest either!

I feel sorry for Cletus...I do. Because, the only thing more frustrating than living with the fact that sometimes you don't know the difference between your arse and a hole in the ground...has to be that your profession is trying to teach a class half full of morons the difference between their arses and a hole in the ground!

We had our first exam last night. Even though her test was FIFTY questions, (100% of which were fill-in-the blank and short answer essays...and that is always intimidating) I wasn't too concerned. I don't know if ya'll know this about me, or not...but, I'm a pretty good BS'er. I can BS my way out of a box and I was pretty sure I could BS my way through Cletus' test.

Plus...get this...she reviewed us for a good 30 minutes before the test and gave us time to jot down some more notes. She even asked questions DIRECTLY from the test itself, for us to highlight in our notes. There was a possibility of 116 points on the test...so we had 16 bonus points built in! To top it all off, she said that she would give us 10 minutes at the end of the test to use our notes on any questions that we were unsure of! HOW SWEET IS THAT! I was starting to get a little sweet on ole Cletus!

After the test, she went over the answers aloud while we grade one another's papers. Cletus says it's another opportunity for us to absorb the information...I have to agree. Anyway, the test I graded...the chick made a 60. The chick next to me in class made a 59. The guy in front of me made a 73. After all Cletus had done for us...these yahoos couldn't even swing a "B".

To make matters worse, a few geniuses had the balls to ask if she would be giving us a chance at any extra credit!! One jackass had the audacity to give my dear sweet Cletus a little unsolicited advice on how she could make her tests a little easier to understand. SHE DAMN NEAR GAVE US THE ANSWERS TO THE TEST...she all but hand delivered an easy "A" in a little package with a bright red bow! What more do these people want!!

I was really shocked...I don't know why, but I was. This Tuesday with Cletus...I did learn a little about life. It was further proof that, for the most part, we're a generation of lazy, greedy, self-indulged assholes...who are looking for the good things in life handed to us on a silver platter! I don't ask myself why this country is in the shape that it's in...I ask myself, "Why not?"

That's deep shit from the classroom of a Redneck!!

Oh...you wanna know what I made on the test? Is that what you asked? 110...put that in your pipe and smoke it!!

25 Things...

about The One Who Knows Everything!

If the eldest of my brood were to list 25 random things about himself...this is, most likely, what he would say....

1. I know EVERYTHING. Seriously...I do. I know it ALL!
2. I'm a big chicken. My mom was overprotective of me when I was a baby...and now I'm afraid of trying new things, of heights and roller coasters. It's all her fault!
3. But, not scary movies...I dig scary movies!
4. I will rule the world one day.
5. I might be the only kid alive who doesn't drink soda...I hate carbonated beverages...the bubbles freak me out!
6. I'm messy...very messy. I eat messy...my room is messy...I will leave snot and food on my fingers and face until my mom yells at me to wash myself! So what...boys are gross.
7. I'm honest...to a fault. Even when I could lie and get away with it...I can't do it.
8. I know more than my mom and dad...put together...and am compelled to teach them about life.
9. To prove it...when I was 2...I used the word "diabolical" correctly in a sentence and my mom had to ask Dad what it meant. See...I told ya!
10. I try really hard to be funny and get sooooooo mad at my brother and sister because they invoke laughter easily.
11. I lose things CONSTANTLY...especially shoes...Mom hates this about me and yells when it happens.
12. I'm loud...severely, seriously, painfully loud...and have been since the day I was born. Really...that unexplained screech heard 'round the world that woke you at 11:47pm on the night of September 8, 1999...that was me! Sorry about that!
13. I have to be the center of attention.
14. I don't know why Mom had 2 more kids after me...she had already given birth to perfection.
15. I want to be exactly like my Dad when I grow up...only better and smarter...of course!
16. I'm kind when it matters most.
17. I like to fish...but am afraid to hold the fish that I catch.
18. I'm handy around the house...if something isn't working or is broken...I can usually fix it.
19. Sometimes...no wait...most of the time...I feel like I'm the parent, and my parents are the kids.
20. I hate being late...and my Mom ALWAYS makes me late.
21. I'm always talking about driving a car...college...getting a job...and being a grown up. Mom says I'll be sorry for this one day...but, what does she know!
22. I make friends easily and people generally like me.
23. I might be the smartest person to have ever walked the earth! Did I say that already?
24. I do things that I know will make my Dad angry...just to be annoying. On my 8th birthday, my friend gave me a stuffed animal...I hate stuffed animals...so does my dad. When Dad told me to get rid of it...I pretended to love it and slept with it every night and talked to it...just to make him mad. It was cool.
25. Mom says that I'm her favorite kid...but you didn't hear that from me!

Your professor MIGHT be a redneck if...

THIS POST WAS PREVIOUSLY RECORDED
I have a little bit of redneck in me...I do. I was born and raised in Texas...have lived here all my life...and will probably live here for the rest of it, as well. I try to use big words sometimes, and take college courses, and brush my teeth...but, I still have juuuust a little of it in me. It's mostly evident in my speech.

For example.... I don't know why (pronounced whaah), but I say things like, "bless his heart." I say "ya'll", and "ya'll's", and even "all ya'll." I don't yell, I "holler". When I say the word "eye"...it sounds more like "aah," with an unmistakable Texas twang. Words like went, and dent, and tent...sound more like wint, and dint, and tint. When The One asks me if I'm finished blogging, I will reply, "I'm fixin to be."

I understand that I'm in Texas and even educated Texans use the above phrases and words...but, I expect a certain level of professionalism from my professors when I'm paying $400 a class! I challenge you to put on your best Texas accent...I'm talking go all out...make it as country as you can, and read the following quotes from my Anatomy and Physiology professor's lecture last night...

"I don't mean to be a hard ass, but this is a competitive field and when it gets down to nut-cuttin' time...some of you just can't (the "a" in can't is a long a, as in hate) hang."

"Last semester, I brought a deer into class for us to cut up...but, it froze in the truck. It was cold out there!"

"Any of you go to Padr-y (meaning South Padre Island in south Texas) for Spring Break. I take a tent and a coupla dobermans, maybe a rottweiler, and camp out on (pronounced own) the beach...you can learn a lot about biology down there."

"Yeah, if you have any meat that's freezer burned or going bad...just tho' it in that white (pronounced whaaht) truck out there. I'll feed it to my lion (pronounced line)."
*yes, she has a lion...she didn't go into great detail other than she fought the county to keep it...your guess is as good as mine...(pronounced "maahn").*

When a student, who obviously has a lot of redneck in her as well, asked if it's true that a dog's mouth is really clean, my professor with a masters in biology answered...
"Not really...I wouldn't kiss 'em...in fact, I'd rather kiss my lion than my dog. I do kiss my dog on the nose, but sometimes I can smell where he's been lickin' his ass!"
*I fuckin' KID YOU, NOT...she said that!!!*

For the record...I do solemnly swear that these quotes are entirely true and damn-near (that's another Texas thing) verbatim...I couldn't make this shit up, people!!

What'd'ya think? Should I drop the class and ask for a refund???

Why have I not seen this before??

It's on like Donkey Kong...

Fuck it!! Now that I've gotten that F bomb of my chest...let's move on...shall we?

Some of you guys read my redneck post...some may have missed it. A couple of weeks ago, I censored myself for the first time and was quite proud of myself...thinking I'd made a grown up decision...but...fuck that sheet, main!!

I missed a class because of the weather and went back Tuesday for my 2nd class. OMG...OMG...OMG!!! I'll give you the abbreviated version of what happened...because I tried to tell The One about it and I bored him to tears...ACTUAL TEARS! The man was crying just BEGGING me to leave him alone and get out from in front of the TV.

Anyway...long story short...is there still time for that?? My professor...who from henceforth...I shall call, Cletus, was asking us the answers to our lab exercises. Not because she wanted to see what we knew...NO...because she didn't have the answers. AND...she didn't seem to know them either! We kept asking her to tell us the "correct" answer...and she couldn't. She just kept asking us which, of 3 possible answers, we'd like to use!! Keep in mind...that only ONE of them was the correct answer! WTF?? I get the idea of making students think for themselves...but, that's not AT ALL what was going on here. This chick was CLUELESS...CLUE.LESS!!!

So...in honor of Cletus, not only am I going to RE-POST my original "Redneck" post...I am going to start a little ole series on this here blog...I don't have a name for it yet and am open to suggestions. But, I will regularly post quotes and happenings from the classroom of a BON-A-FIDE...BORN AND BRED...PURE D...RED.NECK!!!

Tomorrow...the original "Redneck" post. Today...I share with you my prayer...

Oh, my dear sweet baby Jesus...if you are, indeed, the son of God...then, PLEASE...hear my prayer. Please protect my sanity. And protect the lives and well being of the morons in my class from my INsanity. But most importantly...Oh, Lord...please, beat Cletus silly with the stick of knowledge. For, if you don't...then I will be inclined to beat her dead with a baseball bat. Amen.

I like to drink Potent Potables for $2000, Alex...

Ginny...which, for fun, I like to pronounce with Forrest Gump flare...at Praying to Darwin posed a brilliant question on her blog.

If you were on Jeopardy...what 30 second, interesting little tidbit of your life would you share with the world?

I don't know if you've ever watched the show...but, most of these people are dorks in the highest sense of the word. On a recent episode...one lady's "interesting thing" about herself...one of the events that stands out when she looks back at her life...the thing that she thought all of America would LOVE to know...was that she found a good parking spot in France and a bunch of birds shit on her car! I kid you not...this is what she and Alex Trebec chit-chatted about on the show.

On another episode...the lady's cool fact was that she ALMOST got stopped by border patrol trying to get into Canada. The guy stopped her, asked her the purpose of her trip...then, sent her on her way. That was it! Do you wanna know what would have made that story interesting? If she had said that she had the cold dead body of her ex-husband in the trunk of her car...and ALMOST got stopped by border patrol. Or, if she had 100 balloons of heroin shoved into her vagina and colon...and ALMOST got stopped by border patrol. Those would've been cool stories. That would've been something worth chatting with Alex about!

These were my first thoughts when I read Ginny's post....

Yeah, Ginny...you're right! These people are soooo lame. They lead such dull and uneventful lives. If I were ever on the show...Alex would want to use the other contestants 30 seconds and spend 90 seconds talking to me...because I have a bad-ass life! I could come up with some seriously interesting shit to talk to Alex about!

So, I started thinking about my life. You know what I came up with...NOTHING!! I GOT NOTHING! Bird shit and border patrol...would be a wild and crazy time compared to most of the events in my life! I have decided that I would have to embellish some stories to make me seem cooler than I am!

Like....

"I went parasailing in Jamaica"...which is an entirely true, albeit totally LAME, story. To which, I would add..."When all of a sudden, the cord snapped and my husband and I plummeted 100 feet into shark infested waters. A great white approached me and latched on to my leg. My incredibly brave husband poked the shark in the eyes and punched him in the nose, because we saw on the Discovery channel that sharks hate that. He let go of my leg and we swam to safety!" Then, I would show Alex the scar where I had a suspicious skin lesion biopsied and removed from my leg and claim that it was my souvenir from the shark attack!

PLEASE allow me to live vicariously through you...and tell me...What would you talk to Alex about??