Holy Mackerel

Here I sit, brokenhearted. Paid a dime, only ... Wait! I sort of went off on a tangent there. What I MEANT to say was: Here I sit, brokenhearted, waiting for my intestines to stop cramping so that I can plan my day, seeing as I've spent the past three days prostrate on either the couch or an unmade bed, writhing in pain as I battle yet another migraine IN ADDITION to the continuing saga of the uncooperative abdominal cavity. It's quite disconcerting, really, because you see, I have so much to do in the next couple of weeks that, when I think about it too much, I get all discombobulated (even more than usual) and I end up having a panic attack, which makes me have to lie down in the fetal position and suck my thumb while I watch The Duggars on 18 Kids and Counting over and over again. It would really be enough to say that Christmas is just around the corner, and with that, all the stress. We here take the Christmas season very seriously. Let me just say that, without Christmas...

(* Just a warning: This post is a bit naughty in a very good way (if you haven't already noticed), and also a little bit about religion, so please do not read this if you might get the least bit offended by it. Onward.*) I honestly didn't think I'd be posting about the Duggar Family yet again, and so soon. My last post on them was enough, and it was only part of a post. But, really, is it ever really enough when we're talking about the Duggars, the family with 18 -- count 'em! -- children? Apparently they don't think so. Sorry, did I say that out loud? Now I've found out the Duggars don't believe in listening to music that makes them want to dance in general, and they do not believe in dancing. As Jim Bob said, and I paraphrase, "Music will make you get into all sorts of trouble," as he watches his little boy wiggle to some children's music in a store. What the hell? Now, I already knew they weren't allowed to kiss until they were ...

Recently, I was whining. What? Yes, I know. It's a rare occurrence, to be sure. I had good reason to whine, however, as opposed to the times when I just whine because I know everyone loves to hear my sweet voice ring through the halls. Tra la la la! Anyway, I was whining , as I said. About what? About the fact that I'm responsible for getting the groceries this month (Mr. Handsome & I take turns getting groceries so that neither one of us cracks under the pressure), and there never seems to be any food in the house . Ever. No matter how often I go to the grocery store and spend all our pennies on all the goodness nature can bring. Things like super-sized bags of potato chips and cocktail wienies and marinated artichoke hearts. Nummies. So, I go to the store at least once, sometimes twice, a week, filling up our fridge and pantry as any good mother should. After all, god forbid my offspring or -- horrors! -- Mr. Handsome be without for more than maybe three seconds tops. Y...