“GO IN, YOU STUPID FUCKING PAPER! YOU? are paper. I? am a human. I am smarter than your stupid ass self and I will get you in this dumb plastic sleeve!”

Then I looked up and there was Cort looking at me like I had lost my damn mind.

What?

And also, this lone Junior Mint’s will-to-survive would make a great Lifetime movie.

LOVE YOU, LOVING EVIL MOM! hehehe!

Except the firetruck was yellow.

And the fireman looked like Tom Arnold.

Anyway, Archive styles. Please look at Yarn Harlot & Crazy Aunt Purl. They list the archives by month and then in the month all the postings so you don’t have to keep resetting. It looks like this:
August 2010
July 2010
June 2010
Etc
Thanks to Mark if he can change this.

Patting you on the head now.

Will you clean out my car? Lots of tasty morsels in there!

I know.

Sometimes I am all ridiculous.

Although “What the fuck?”

Always makes me smile.

It just does.

As do you.

The score:
Junior Mint: 1
Kris: 0
:)

And he loves you again.

Don’t fuck with his comb.

Snort!

Reconsidering.

Hold on . . .

He wants to know if you will eat Costco samples without bitching (as someone who shall remain nameless does).

And if you will walk with him aimlessly through the electronics section even though there is nothing there he needs.

And if you will encourage him in his useless bulk purchases of cereal bars that no one ever eats.

Your answer?

I have so many hobbies!

My favorite?

Fucking with people.

Watch out, you!

Love that!

Bu then I would have been revealed to my family as a complete and utter loon.

Oh, but wait.

That happened anyway.

So next time?

Flanking and fucking.

Snort!

I seem to be having PC issues; which my beloved husband refused to acknowledge. Until, while reading a post he found a glaring error that was not typed that way. I do proof, you know! I fixed, he went to comment on my new post about today’s killing spree; and GUESS WHAT! It went bonkers on him. I quote, “What the hell just happened to the comment I was trying to make?”

Ahh… sweet, fuzzy, warm giggles. Except now I really should try to correct the other posts. Or not.

SNORT!

You are going to have to leave it to my imagination.

And in my imagination?

You are trapped in the car, and your husband tries to free you, but eventually?

Gives up and tries to flag down passing motorists.

No one stops.

And so he calls 911.

And the firemen arrive on a big shiny red truck, and one of the fireman (who looks a lot like Denis Leary) reaches in over you to see what he can do. Your face brushes against his uniformed chest as he tries to assist you and you inhale deeply. He smells of oranges and pizza and sweat. He climbs into the car with you and explores your trapped arm, and as his fingers touch your skin?

You shudder with tension, but also?

Delight.

Your husband is busy climbing the fire truck and setting off the sirens like a small happy child, by the way.

Back in the car? There is the weight of this man, this rescuer . . . and the closeness of him as he maneuvers within the small space.

And then there is oil. Lovingly applied to your hand and arm by Denis Leary’s hands. He is very gentle, and he speaks soothing words to calm you.

You are very close and breaths mingle and you lean in a bit so that his hair brushes your cheek.

Your heart races.

And then your arm slips free, and for a moment?

You allow it to drape over the shoulder of the man who is too close, too heavy, too much.

And then your husband honks the firetruck’s horn and blares the sirens . . . and the spell is broken.

Was it like that?

Because that would be a great fucking story.

Sometimes? It’s easier if you lay on the floor behind the front seat & reach in that way. Flank the fucker.

That’s lovely.

And so if I were driving?

We would have to pull over to the side of the road.

So that I could do candy battle.

Otherwise?

We would run off the road.

And that’s not good.

Plus also?

Candy giggles when you crash.

Is always the smartest and most evil of the candies.

I have found.

And how long was your hand trapped?

Giggle.

Mark says to tell you that your Costco date?

Is fucking OFF.

Snort!

Damn it.

I am.

Annoying.

Stupid wily fucking candy.

Snickers?

Delicious candy bar.

Just saying.

Love that!

I am all for getting on that.

We can get on that.

This has been a PSA for Kris and all her fans.

Work this shit out.

Snort.

Lifting the minivan upside down and shaking it until the mint is released.

However, if that becomes necessary?

I will let you know.

That’s what I want!

Death to the candy!

And then a good ride.

What?

But I know what I know you know I know.

So yeah.

Out-logic that one!

So there.

Let me know if we need to send heavy lifting equipment to get that candy…

Only I?

With more just cause.

SNORT!

You get me.

This situation cannot stand.

Are you?

Bwah hah hah!

Disturb me greatly.

I know the above comment was not for Ben, and I replied to you. I don’t believe Ben to be a mommy.

I don’t vote for any Mommies (including you, Ben!); because I? have moms who follow and moms I follow, as well.

Like you? I really don’t always fit in. They say find your niche; but I blog about lots of things. It’s taking a while to find my “audience.”
Probably since I have no idea how to do any of this sort of thing. I have to even troll back through blogs to find replies to comments! How sad IS THAT!

But I write. For me, and anyone who finds me. They are finding me. Slowly. And now they are commenting. And I’m no whore!

I love you, too; sane Ben fan!

Snort!

Asshole mint.

He will be all mocking.

Nope.

He must be consumed.