Notes from the desk of crazy

Hi.

OK, so. I realize that my last post was more than a little harsh. And while there is a huge part of me that wants to just pull that puppy down, and stash it away in a dusty box containing ridiculous letters I wrote in 8th grade, I will not let myself do this. My thinking is that I am trying to find my blogging voice (which appears to be slightly different from my journaling voice), and while I am creating said voice, some of my posts are going to suck big hairy donkey balls, quite frankly. I don't want to mess with the process, so I won't.

That sounds incredibly self-serving and disingenuous, doesn't it? Oh, well. It is what it is, people.

I am in the mood for some non-structured thoughts, of the weird (and possibly derogatory) variety. Join me, won't you?

Yesterday, Barack Obama told a female reporter in Michigan to "Hold on a second, sweetie." Oh, Barry. Inward, disgusted groan inserted here. I know that the pressure cooker for your long-running and very public job interview just cranked up about 5 notches. I am sure that you haven't slept in a good 9 months. It is more than likely that you miss Michelle and the girls quite a bit. And, if nothing else, your wife is going to kick your ass for this more than the rest of us ever could. I have forgiven you for a wide array of bizarre shit you've said and done, but I am having a big problem with this one. My core issue is this: I thought you were a Democrat. Isn't that some bullshit line Rush Limbaugh would utter to his potential 4th wife?

If I listen to that new "4 Minutes" song by Madonna (featuring the awesomeness of both JT and Timbaland) one more time, I will be able to sing it, every word and nuance, loudly and verbatim. My booty-shaking has even morphed into some kind of Soul Train dance routine. I never really got into Madonna back in the day, but that woman is frickin' 49-years-old! Damn. She deserves some respect, yo. Word.

How cute is it when your daughter makes you a beautiful bracelet (complete with pretty beads of your favorite color) for Mother's Day? And how lame are you, if you can't actually put it on by yourself?

So You Think You Can Dance? starts one week from today! I am so very excited. Alright, calm your ass down, will you? Fine, laugh if you want. Chuckle. Guffaw. Cackle. ROTFLMAO, even, you have my full permission. But you are all dweebs! Dweebs, I say. Because dancing and dance movies can SAVE THE WORLD! They help us believe in ourselves, and our dreams, and inspire us to be better people. Also, the sweetness and sappiness that I have just spewed helps us to vomit in our trashcans.

At what amount of blood loss do you become anemic? I should probably research that kinda stuff. Sometimes, I really hate being a girl. Grr. Argh.

Hey! I am going to lose 30 pounds by August 31st! I have a plan and everything: starting June 1, I am going on a strict diet (OK, eating way less McDonald's and Taco Bell) and committing to work out at least 4 times per week. (Alright, maybe 3 times per week. Or two times. Or occasionally walking to the TV instead of using the remote.) I am going to lose a doctor-recommended and extremely healthy 10 pounds per month. My goal is to keep my face, which is fine enough, while obtaining Mariah Carey's body, which is more than luscious. I feel that my plan is foolproof. Wait, what the hell do you mean that didn't work out so well for Oprah?

On the whole, I think we can all agree that cheerleaders are evil. Even though Meghan will be attending cheerleading camp in less than a month, I will keep my feelings to myself. I will keep my feelings to myself, Self. Got that? Also, stop renting her Bring It On from Blockbuster, because you are only encouraging this disgustingly girly obsession with the pom pons.

Is there some kind of text messaging class older folk (read: no longer 25) can take to catch up to Generation Y? I would be laughed right out of Starbucks with my lack of game, Holmes. Well, if I could actually afford to go to Starbucks, that is.

Speaking of being broke, the last two times I filled up my car with gas, I received looks of pity and words of sympathy from the cashiers. As it turns out, $5.00 doesn't get you very far these days. And that is why I firmly believe that George W. Bush sucks big hairy donkey balls, but I suppose that goes without saying.