Holy Mackerel

So, my daughter informed me that my last few posts were boring, and that I had to stop talking about my feces all the time. She's so picky. And judgmental. Okay, so I'll stop. But, as I explained to Em, my blog is about me and my life, and if all that's really going on it at the time is centered around the toilet, what's a person to do? But still, I'll try and refrain from mentioning my poops or the toilet at all in this post ... although I've now mentioned them four times already. Sorry. I spent the better part of the weekend getting my brain and body ready for Christmas, because, as I'd said in a previous post, I have to take on ALL the Christmas prep responsibility this year because Mr. Handsome is working so hard. Whatever. He's just lucky I enjoy spending lots of money working so hard. As part of my preparation, I spent the better part of an afternoon shopping for gifts. I couldn't believe my good fortune since in one stop, I'd found proba...

My husband wants Susan Boyle, and in a bad way. Everytime he goes upstairs to the office, after a few minutes' time, just long enough to allow the computer to boot up, I hear the faint strain of Susan trilling her little song on Simon Cowell's British cash grab show, Britain's Got Talent . Out of utter curiosity, and because my background is investigative journalism at its finest, I asked him why in hell's name he does this. His response: "She's hot." Last night, he listened to her six times. SIX. TIMES. He tells me she's inspirational. I tell him, "I'll show you inspirational. Get over here, big boy." But no, guys, he won't budge from the computer. He sits there, staring at her, like a dog at a bone. She's irresistible. I even found a pool of drool on the keyboard later that evening. Then, Mr. Handsome was sitting beside me on the couch, and we were both watching something inane, as we always do after dinner, because that'...