Would someone please tell the dwarves...

currently pounding on my fucking forehead like it's a gogdamn mine shaft, to knock it the hell off?

While you're at it, tell those elves that have managed to wrap my whole head in cotton, thereby trapping the aforementioned dwarves, on my damn forehead in the first place, that they're so, like, totally, FIRED.

For crying out loud, I have an overnight babysitter tomorrow night.

One does just

not

get

the

fuckmotherfuckerfuckshit

FLU

the day before.

Fucking asshole-ly little germs.

Bunch of inconsiderate little monsters, I tell you.

fuck off or I'll breathe on you: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

Being NOT pregnant is so. much. FUN!

My very best friend, in the world, is pregnant. Amy and I have been best friends for more than half of our lives. She was my Maid of Honor, and I will be hers, in her October '06 wedding. She was there, throughout all of my pregnancies, even though the mere thought of little people's sticky hands, makes her all squicky inside.

She recently, found out she is pregnant. Apparently, her and Paul, celebrated their engagment, with champagne. Now, she's in her 16th week, is just starting to show, and according to her "If my boobs weren't sore, and I wasn't not getting my period, I'd never even know I was pregnant".

When I'd pee on a stick, and it turned pink, I never announced I was pregnant, "Let the vomiting commence" would do.

So, I'm bouncing around the internet last night (speaking of which, anyone else aware that the dork that married brittney spears, has his own website now, LOL?), and find a pregnancy calculator. I punch in her due date and get this....

"Your baby's nails are well formed, and some babies are even in need of having their nails trimmed at birth. The ears have also moved from the neck to the head.
Your baby is emptying his or her bladder every 40-45 minutes. The limb movements are becoming more coordinated. Your baby is about 3 ounces (85 grams) and 6.3 inches (16 cms). The gender may be detectable by ultrasound. "
http://pregnancy.about.com/cs/pregnancycalendar/l/blweek16.htm

So, like any good best friend, I sent her a quick email...

"Thought you'd like to know, that your little person is peeing inside of you, every hour or so. What do you want to do New Years Eve?"

let the peeing commence: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

Like, the best day-after-christmas EVER.

Do you know what I got to do today???

Do you??

Do you care??

LMFFAO...

I did nothing.

Literally.

It's 8 PM, my kids are still in their pj's from last night, and have only left the living room for bathroom breaks. I got dressed about 2 hours ago, to run to the store for a salad.

That's crap.

I got dressed to run to the store for cake, but they didn't have the kind I wanted, so I picked up a salad and frozen meatballs to throw in the frozen spaghetti sauce that I threw in a pot for dinner.

And oreos.

Oh, and Lindt truffles.

I'm thinking, it would have cost me less, calorie wise, if they'd just had the damn cake, LOL. You know, the really bad kind, with the thick white icing?

Rots your teeth in under 60 seconds.

I spent most of my christmas cash, on totally not-fun-to-a-remotely-normal person kitchen crap, a 12" skillet with a lid, marked down from $99 to $39 (shitFIRE I'm old, to get excited about A pot, and not just pot, LOL), a food sealer, and a Foreman Grill, with removeable grill plates...

How old again, do you have to be, to get a senior citizen discount?

being thirty SUCKS.

early bird specials @ drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

Merry Christmas to all...

and to all, a good fucking night!

Damn, you never realize when you're little, just exactly WHY your parents are so damn tired on Christmas day, besides the fact that you were doing cartwheels on their bed at 4 AM.

I love Christmas. I mean, I LOVE Christmas. I'm that girl. The one who starts blaring Christmas music November 1, and unabashedly celebrates Christmas in July almost every year, since I just can't wait that long until December.

But, I gotta tell you. Playing Santa, with kids that just can't fall asleep until around 11 PM, followed by the ones that were asleep, waking up at midnight, and not being able to fall BACK asleep until well after 1 AM ...

I'm OLD.

I can't hang. Only through the prodigious amount of coffee consumed (I think I just may have broken a record, and with all of it prepared on my brand new Brewmaster coffee pot!), laced with equally prodigious amounts of Baileys, have I been able to stay awake. Though, the unwrapping of both seasons one, AND two, of Quincy, MD, on DVD, did produce a high that lasted about an hour, LOL.

Christmas is fun, it's sparkly, and pretty, with wrapping paper and bows, surprises, cookies, and booze, but damn.

It's exhausting.

I'll ha-ha-have a bluuuue christmas, without you: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

In the spirit of the season...

fuck...

the laundry

the cookies

the peanut butter balls

the wrapping

the shopping

the inlaws

the mounds of tape

the tiny little shreds of wrapping paper that are stewn through out the house, because they stuck to your ass while you were sitting on the floor wrapping

the trees that are only 1/2 lit

the ornaments that were batted off the tree by the cat, and broke

the full trashcans

the cranky/sick/cracked out on santa/ kiddos

the fucking people that steal the spot you were CLEARLY waiting for, in the Dunkin Donut's parking lot, preventing you from being able to order a caramel creme latte on a day that you really, seriously, NEED it

the fucking projects that require you to pull a colonial costume out of your fucking ASS for the damn history project that is...tomorrow

the cards that never got sent

the fuckers you forgot to buy gifts for

the crusty floors

the dusty bookcases

maids that wont pick up shit

BUT...remember that I love all of you, LMFFAO...

It's christmas DAMMIT: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

I. am. SO. offended.

In my profile, those dirty blogger bastard's say I'm thirty.

THIRTY.

What the hell is it to them, if I've decided to skip my birthday this year?

I'm thirty?

Well you're FAT.

fuck off: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

It's all about the kids, man...

One of the best parts about having children?

Totally being able to pull off, belting out, Feliz Navidad, with the window cracked so that random strangers stuck at the traffic light with you can share the festivites.

One a semi-related note...

I made 20 pounds of gogdamn fudge today.

Twenty pounds.

That's a lot of fudge, LOL.

Have a piece: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

Where the hell is the damn panic button??

So, I did have a whole post planned...unfortunately, panic arrived before I was able to finish the whole thought process...

and now I forget, LOL...

which, incidentally, is why the panic initially set in.

See, normally, I click the link, and blogger takes me right to the page where I click the little gear link, and *tada*, I'm able to post.

Tonight, it asked me sign in.

Seriously?

After not asking me to sign in for months, tonight it decided, "You know what? Let's fuck with her a bit!"

I'm schrounging around in my desk (screw you, it's only messy to the untrained eye), trying to find the itty-bitty slip of paper I cleverly decided to write passwords on, at which point, baby daddy walks past and delivers..."you know, if you cleaned that thing out once and a while"...

Luckily, his reflexes are good, and he was able to dodge the shoe I hurled toward the general vicinity of his head.

No luck on the slip of paper, I'm completely freaking OUT, when I notice a cute little link...

"Log in difficulties?"

Why, now that you mention it...YES!

Now, passwords are easy to retrieve, but what happens if you forget your own name?

The scary part is, that, apparently, I'm not the only one.

Hi, my name is: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net