I found this on pinterest and loved it so much that I need to devote an entire post to it. Mom, family who just read this for pics and updates about the kids- ya’ll just skip this. This is JUST about this brilliant little…what’s the word? Pin? Board? Thingie that I want to have professionally framed? You decide.
So, we’ll start with number one. I promise that (I think) I’m not going to do EACH AND EVERY ONE. Today.
Number one. While I don’t think she needs to wipe my computer (alls I do is stalk people’s blogs and facebook and stare at pinterst) but I do worry that either Angela or I will get murdered and then some poor CSI will die from boredom as he has to sift through endless hours of our boring, pointless, endless texts. We text for probably two hours total a day. At the very least. I can just see that CSI crying, wailing “This is the most BORING murder victim in the HISTORY of murder!!! I want someone to murder ME just so I don’t have to read any more!!!”
Number two. So true. Then you have to decide: keep going and never ever give in, or admit you’re wrong and deal with it. I have to admit, unless it’s my dad, I usually just keep going. Never give up!!
Number three. I don’t remember EVER not wanting to nap. A high school boyfriend once got really mad at me because LITERALLY my favorite thing to do was sleep. And sleep I did, all the time. I still love to sleep.
Four. Seriously. I recently found out that someone who occasionally reads my blog is worried that I might drown my kids. Perhaps this could have been avoided with a sarcasm font? Listen up, because I won’t say this very often: I love my kids. No sarcasm. I love them to pieces and wouldn’t want to carry on living without them. I just wish they weren’t so damn loud.
Six. Always hated cursives, still do, and even more now that it really truly has become obsolete. Here’s hoping they finally stop doing it.
Nine. I can. It was early February, 2005. The day before I got pregnant with Ava. It’s all been downhill since then.
Eleven. When I worked on 4J, this would happen to the entire staff, at the same time, almost every night.
Fourteen. That means I will never BUY this.
Sixteen. What a waste. And OF COURSE, the day you leave in jammies and your hair sticking straight up, you see EVERYONE. Absolutely everyone. OF COURSE.
Seventeen. I actually have a girl’s number stored, just in case she ever calls, so I can ignore it. That’s pretty sad.
Twenty. I also wish your realtor would tell you that it’s pretty ghetto and not show you the house. I’m just sayin.
Twenty one. Dirty Dancing anyone? Rewatched it with Angela in junior high or high school- yeah, she’s getting an abortion from a diry, back alley doctor, ladies and gentlemen. I’m pretty sure I saw that movie when I was eight.
Twenty two. AND I’ve passed this on to my children.
Twenty three. Or put on makeup.
Twenty four. Sadness and hunger, anger and hunger, loneliness and hunger, happiness and hunger…
Twenty six. I learned how magical this was when I lived in Norfolk and used a tunnel twice a day for five years.
Twenty eight. And slutier, and meaner, and worse dressers.
Twenty nine. In junior high, in math (can’t think of that dang teacher’s name!!!) I was leaning back and she grabbed my chair and pulled, like she was going to tip me over. She didn’t. But my heart actually STOPPED BEATING. Lesson learned, I never did that in her class again. What the heck was her NAME?!?!?!
Thirty one. And, after I look down and actually SEE what time it is, someone will ASK what time it is, and I’ll just stare at them blankly because I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA.
Thirty two. I can sleep through a snooze like no one’s business. Freshman year of college, the fire alarm was going off. And I just kept right on sleeping. A fireman actually CAME IN and patted the bed. I did hear him open the door, so I pulled my legs up. I was on the bottom bunk, and he didn’t come all the way in. I guess you get fined if you stay in during a drill, but that’s dumb. Even dumber? I had no idea it was a drill. I could have died from my own laziness and stupidity.
So. Is it just me, or is this thing BRILLIANT? Not my post, but the thingie, the black picture with the Truths on it. What the heck are you supposed to call these things? How about poster?