Tomorrow is my birthday. If you think about it, validate my existence by leaving me a naughty birthday comment. Set your alarms for tomorrow so you can post your comment at the EXACT moment of my birth: 4:23 AM CST. Having said that – I have a HUGE day planned tomorrow, and will most likely not be playing on here. Try not to miss me. Now that I've got that shameless plea for your well wishes out of the way, let's move on.
I am polishing the tiara as we speak for my big night out tomorrow, and yes, I'm REALLY wearing a tiara. It was given to me last year by a friend and holds wonderful memories. It's been passed around the office, depending on who got to be Princess for the day and I reclaimed it this morning. It should be fun and anyone who would like to come is most certainly invited. The more the merrier. Can I get a "Woot!"?
And now, for my last blog as a 35-year old psycho princess (who forgot to put on panties this morning), I would like to share some of the silliness that has been my life this past year. Yes, it's all over the place, but my mind is mush. Besides, no one said you had to read it.
Just this morning, I read on Yahoo! that "World powers await IKEA report on
There's a song by a band called abc – OK smart asses, I'm sure they sing more than one song, but I'm only talking about one. It was sometime this past year that I learned that they were singing "When Smokey sings". I always thought they were singing "When smoke gets in." It never made a lot of sense to me, but then most things seldom do.
Whenever I type a word that ends in a t followed by the word "it", i.e., "about it" I always misplace the space. It usually winds up being "abou tit". When I type the last name Pushkin, I either type push king or pushpin. I can't help it – that's just how my brain works.
My son misunderstood something his child care provider said to him. She told him to stop being so nice to the little girl that hit him when she's on time out (he wants to hug her because she's crying about being in time out). She told him "You're not her boy toy!" From that moment on, he likes to look at you and say "I'm a boy toy!" This is especially cute when he's wearing the "Ladie's Man" shirt in the picture in my pics section. It's not right for me to laugh, but I do every time. He so obviously gets his sense of understanding from me. Poor thing!
I asked Jerry to tell his mom that for my birthday I would like a facial. He refused, saying HE'LL give me a facial AND a pearl necklace if that's what I really wanted. He giggles every time I mention facial.
It took me 36 years to like my boobs. They might be small, but they're loveable as they are. I'm just glad that I don't have these:
I think that this might be my most favorite tattoo EVER:
In the end, most of my questions this year have been answered except for one. What the hell is going on here?
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