BAH!!

For some reason every journal that I view is set up in MY style. I KNOW that's not right, but I have looked and looked, and CAN NOT find the place to fix it.


BAH  I tell you!  BAH!!!

Monday

I think I'm going to make one of those wish lists this year.  You have probably seen them on someone else's journal - you make a list of things you would truly like to have, no matter how large or how small. You expect nothing, and must be willing to accept any of those things should someone take a notion or have the ability to give it to you.  So none of that "I wanna howse!" business if you turn around and say "Oh no I couldn't possibly!" when your suddenly-wealthy LJ buddy decides to buy you one. You know who you are *insert finger pointing*.  I've never made such a wish list, and I think I will enjoy it.

Also, I am going to have a friending frenzy, ala bluesgirly  and inspired by same.  I'm not going to do it today because things are all a-twitter over there and we'll need a day to catch our collective breaths.  Maybe by Wednesday, neh?  So get your photos ready.

I cleaned my kitchen this weekend, I am much pleased!  Didn't get the cabinet doors, and haven't done the floor yet, but I have the Swiffer loaded and waiting.  Next stop - DINING ROOM!  Look out leftover kitty kibble!

I told my mother off Sunday morning without raising my voice.  A hale and hearty Huzzah was heard around the world.  Actually, I only told her that while my child was talking with me on the phone it is completely unacceptable to say in your smartassiest voice "Well? Are you coming to church or are you going to let your mother talk you out of going???"  Especially while I am on the other end of said phone attempting to calm down said child and make her get in the fucking car to attend church, you harpy.   Yeah, not quite those words.  Still... I DID say smartassed to her while she was driving to said church.  Take that, Pastor Seth - here's mud in yer eye.

For those of you who are new - I am NOT an unholy bitch on a Baptist hunt.  I'm a disgruntled Baptist 43-year-old mother sick of being guilted by my own mother.   Just make a ballet-leap over the sarchasm, and I'll be back to normal in a day or two.  Ah sware.

Can anyone else tell that I read a big ol' chunk of Life Is Ridiculous this weekend?  Yeah. Me too.  That Valerie, she rubs off, ya know?