Uuuuuuuh.

1. Wow, my profile pic sucks ass. I'll have to try to find a better one.

2. Yesterday, on my way home from work, I saw a frightful, strange, sad, yet hilarious sight.

There was a couple on the sidewalk, and both of them were probably tipping the scales at a quarter-ton or more. I'm not sure exactly how they were walking without breaking their ankles under the sheer weight. I guess it was good they were trying to walk, at least.

But I digress.

These two people were not alone. Oh, no. They had a small child with them, probably about two years old. I think it was a girl. Cute kid. This child was sporting a very unfortunate fashion accessory: a pink harness and leash.

That's right, you heard me: the poor kid was ON A LEASH. A bright pink LEASH.

Once the initial shock wore off, I alternately felt disgusted and amused. Waves of nausea followed by fits of evil laughter.

Okay, I get why the baby was on a leash. Hi, we're a rotund couple, and were somehow blessed with a healthy, active, curious toddler. We need exercise, and we're gonna try walking. We'd like to take the kid out to enjoy the sunshine, but we have some concerns. If she starts running, we're both screwed because neither of us will ever catch her. EVER. And, if she biffs it, neither of us can bend down far enough to pick her up to comfort her and kiss away her boo-boos. HEY.... if we put her on a leash, she can't run away! And if she biffs it, we can just hoist her up into our moist, doughy arms with the leash! Problem solved! Now, how are we going to get our tennis shoes tied?

Then, there's the other side of the coin. The humiliation and restriction of being on a leash. Trying to exercise those chubby toddler legs, chasing a butterfly, only to be yanked back by cruel disappointment in the form of a pink webbed nylon harness. DENIED. Stopping and bending down to pick a dandelion from a sidewalk crack, only to be dragged to an upright position and forced to move along like a puppy sniffing a fire hydrant. Fun, leisure and life in general passing you by at the age of two.

Oh, the years of therapy awaiting this poor child. And not just because of the leash. I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.

Of course, as all this ran through my head, there was the horrible undercurrent repeating itself in my head and inducing bubbles of insensitive chuckling: "Bark! Bark! Bark!"

I'm doing it!

I'm going back to school to get my RN! (What did you think I meant, you perverts?)

I start my first class in June. I'm equally excited and scared shitless. Failing is not an option, nor is lollygagging, procrastinating, or half-assing. I will be dedicated to this program for the next year or so, until I get my ASN and pass my state boards.

After that? More responsibility, more autonomy, more credibility, better pay.

My family is totally on board with this. Thankfully, it won't be like when I got my BA at Bethel: "Oh, sure! we'll help you around the house! We'll give you time to study!" Shya, that was a dirty lie. This time, though, I know my man is committed to helping me get through the next year. He already takes care of most of the housework, and he's even helping me pay for school. He's vowed to help me in any way possible. I have no worries at this point!

So wish my luck and shoot up some prayers for me... I'm jumping in with both feet!

I got OWNED.

Yep, I totally got owned. By Fibromyalgia. Poopy dumb disease.

I had two week-long flares in three weeks. Extremely painful. Muscle and joint aches, debilitating fatigue, vertigo, the works. It was everything I could do to drag myself to work and try to hobble through my day without bursting into tears. I went home every night, fell asleep on the couch until Mike got home, then fell back asleep with my head on his lap until bedtime, and then crashed for the rest of the night. Luckily, both flares were during weeks when the kids were with their dad, so I had the luxury of crashing in peace.

Man, this disease completely kicked my ass like never before.

Why were these episodes so much worse than all the others I've lived through over the past eight years, you ask? I can answer without hesitation: BECAUSE I AM SOBER. A few months ago, when I started feeling the pain, I could just drink it away. Even Fibro doesn't hurt when you're hammered. So I just made a point of being hammered as often as possible to make the pain go away. Now I have no choice but to feel the pain in full and live through it. Did downing a few Jag Bombs to ease my misery cross my mind? You bet your ass it did. Did I succumb? Hell no! I worked my Program and hung in there. Yeah, I'm totally patting myself on the back here.

Of course, it wasn't all my spectacular willpower that got me through. It was also Mike's love, patience and care, his tireless rubbing of spastic feet, stiff neck and sore back, and his saintly listening skills while I whined, cried and complained. His quietly making dinner while I slept, waking me long enough to eat, and cleaning up after I crashed out again.

It also was my awesome doctor, finally coming up with a drug regimen that keeps me almost pain-free and able to function once again. Yay, modern medicine!

One fabulous side effect of my ordeal: since all I did was sleep when I was home, I lost six pounds instantly. Now I'm back to my fighting weight. Bonus!

Okay, I gotta ask: when you read the subject line, did you gleefully scroll down, hoping that I took a massive wipeout and lived to tell about it, complete with pictures? You evil people... you totally did.

Sorry to disappoint. Better luck next time.

It's Official!

As of April 1st, Mike officially moved in with us.

It shouldn't be a huge deal, because we've spent almost every waking moment together for the past 2+ years, but somehow it kinda is.

Our relationship somehow feels a little more permanent with his name on the lease. It sounds silly, I know. I mean, we both know our relationship is already permanent. Yet somehow we feel a little more settled, a little more domestic, a little more comfortable than we felt on March 31st. Like I said, silly, I know.

I'm really happy. The complete absence of drama in our life together is wonderful. Our almost freakish compatibility rocks my world. For the first time, I'm in a relationship where every single piece fits. And I'm not kidding, not exaggerating. We fit together in a way I never thought possible.

Life is unbelievably, ridiculously, fabulously perfect right now. I wouldn't change a thing.

Awesome.

Happy Birthday To Me!

That's right, bitches. It was my birthday yesterday. A lady never tells how old she is, but I'm no lady.

I am officially 41. But inside I feel about 25. And I look damn good for my age.

Mike made me a steak dinner, and my youngest daughter made me a marble birthday cake. It was her first home-made cake, and it was a super difficult recipe, but she really wanted to try. She did an excellent job. She even made home-made frosting.

I got many lovely gifts and lots of flowers.

Then, to top everything off, I got an hour-long foot rub from my man.

Oh yeah..... birthdays rule!

Happy Easter!!!

Guess what I saw on Sunday???? Only the best Easter Surprise EVER!!!!

I was at an intersection, and what did I see driving up the sidewalk? A little old lady riding a Hoveround scooter. Wait, it gets better.

In the basket on the front of the scooter she had a bigass stuffed toy Easter Bunny... it must have been three feet high. She kinda had to peek over it to see. Wait, wait! I'm not done!

On the back of the scooter, secured with a bungee cord, was an identical giant Easter Bunny. Every time she went over a bump, the thing's head would flop wildly.

Man, I laughed my frickin' ass off!!! I actually purposely missed a few opportunities to turn so I could stay and laugh a little longer. I would've snapped a picture, but my phone was far out of reach.

The only thing that would've made this whole thing even more magically delicious would've been if the old lady's scooter tipped over and the Bunnies had gone flying.

Ah, the joys of Spring.....

FYI...

No more Dark and Dangerous. I've moved on to Light and Fun. I've changed my hair color yet again. I'd gone from deep burgundy red to dark eggplant violet. Last week I decided to go platinum blonde. Most people are liking it, a couple are hating it, but I love it and that's all that matters.

Big Kid update: the twins turned 21 last week! Heaven help me! My daughter is home for spring break, but doesn't spend much time at home. My son is in Las Vegas for a week with his girlfriend. I am quite jealous. I've never been to Vegas.

Little Kid Update: Awesome conferences at school, awesome efforts and progress in their coursework, and really trying to get along and be rational with each other.

I'm proud of all four of them.

Life with my partner is good. We're building a sober life together, and things just keep getting better.

I'm very proud of him, too.

Life is good. Light and Fun.

Stupid neighbor.

Can I just say that I hate my new neighbor with a passion???? I'd take a hundred sumosans over this one inconsiderate, loud, ghetto bitch.

Last weekend she was having a loud party. I waited until 11:30pm, and then I lost patience and banged on the ceiling with my broom handle. She and her homies shut up. Then, the next day, she called the apartment manager and said that Mike and I were having a loud domestic dispute in the middle of the night, complete with screaming and banging around. BITCH.

Luckily, I have a very good relationship with my super, and he knows me well. He knows she's a dirty nasty liar, and says that she's pissed him off several times in the couple weeks since she moved in. He asked me to call him each and every time she makes noise so he can gather ammo to get her evicted. I am happily complying. Funny, she's been very quiet for the last couple days...

The other day she started stomping on the floor over our heads when we were trying to have sex. Um, first of all, IT WAS NOT QUIET TIME. It was late morning. Second, we weren't even being loud! I called my super later that day and told him she was being an intolerant bitch. Now I'm even more dedicated to busting her chops every chance I get. How dare you ruin my sex?????

One morning, I heard her in her bathroom right above mine. It was about 6:30 AM, and she was obviously on the phone. I hear her ghetto voice yelling, "AH EXPECK YOU TO CAWL ME BACK WHEN I LEAVE YOU A MESSAGE AN AKS YOU TO CAWL ME BACK!!!" Um, yeah. Real nice. If you're the kind of bitch who starts leaving bitchy messages for people the second you get out of bed, before you even take your morning piss, you should be punched.

Please come back, Sumosan... you weren't so bad after all.

You may have noticed...

A new link under the "links" section of this blog. Operation Reclamation is a journal of sorts... Mike and I joined A.A. and are getting sober. This new blog is a journal of my side of this journey... it's probably the hardest one I've been on so far. You can read it if you want.

Santa Claus is Stalking your Ass

Yes my dear friends, the holidays are upon us once again. Yippee Skippee.

I was trying to coerce my son into good holiday behavior by using the old "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" spiel... you know the drill: "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake," etc. My son, my silly, hilarious Japanese Snow Monkey, gets this strange look on his face and goes, "You mean Santa is stalking me?" I thought about it for a while, and came to this disturbing conclusion:

Santa Claus is stalking your ass.

I mean really.... if you think about it, it's creepy. How does he know when you're sleeping/awake/bad/good???? I really don't want Santa to see some of the things I do, even though they're not summarily bad.

My son and I altered the lyrics of this whimsical holiday tune to reflect the awful truth:

"He sees you when you're sleeping
He watches when you pee
He knows when you are showering
And he looks at your winkie
OOOH you better watch out
You better not sleep
He went through your trash
Your nail clippings to keep
Santa Claus is stalking your ass!"

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.
Happy Holidays.

How do I love thee......

Mike is it for me. The man of my dreams. We were an extremely unlikely couple when we first got together, with the age difference, different lifestyles, etc... but now our friends and families can't imagine us apart.

It seems that every day I discover something new about him to love. He's never completely predictable. He's definitely not who I thought he was when we started out; he's much, much more, and I love every facet. I've been with Mike for well over a year, and I still feel mushy/lovey-dovey/butterflies in the stomach every time I think of him, every time I'm with him.

He's determined and forthright. He says what he means, and he means what he says. Once he makes a decision, he sticks to it and follows through. He definitely does it at his own pace, but he follows through.

He's meticulous. If he's going to commit to doing something, big or small, he takes the time to do it right the first time.

He's funny as hell, and he thinks I'm hilarious. We're constantly laughing, joking, and gently bagging on each other. We can be ridiculously silly and juvenile, and we both have an evil sense of humor. People watching with Mike is a side-splitting occasion. His wit is quick, smart and sharp.

He never leaves the house, never falls asleep at night, and never hangs up the phone without telling me how much he loves me. He texts me randomly just to say I love you. We can be cooking, shopping, watching TV, whatever, and he'll just stop to tell me he loves me and give me a kiss.

He's very physical. If we're together, he's touching me in some way. He watches TV with his hand on my thigh. We sit at a bar or stand around at a party and he has his arm around me or his hand on the small of my back. He holds my hand when we're out shopping or going for a walk. I fall asleep every night wrapped in his arms. He frequently walks up behind me and kisses the back of my neck or takes my hand and kisses it for no reason at all. And the sex... I won't go into detail, but... SO amazing. Every single time.

He takes wonderful care of me. He makes me tea and soup when I'm sick, rubs my feet, legs and neck when they hurt, and rubs my back when I can't fall asleep. When I thank him, he simply replies, "I love doing that for you." He does the housework. He even cleans toilets. He takes care of my truck. He never lets me carry the bags when we go shopping. If I'm in the kitchen cooking, he's right alongside me, helping me the entire time. He never complains; he tells me that he does the things he does because he loves me and wants to take care of me. He's not in the least bit afraid of my neuro disease. He's seen me crawl because I was too weak to walk or too dizzy to balance, he's found words for me when I can't get out what I'm trying to say, carried things for me when I couldn't lift them, and it's never colored the way he sees me. He still thinks I'm strong and sexy, even when I feel weak and ugly. He treats me the same as he always does, and is even able to joke about it with me to make me feel normal.

Mike respects the hell out of me. He has never said an unkind word to me, EVER. Even when I've been less than lady-like, less than normal, more than evil, this wonderful man has held his tongue. Does he eventually say what needs to be said? Hell yes. But does he wait to say it until I'm able to hear it? Each and every time. He has never called me a name, I don't think even in his head, and he has never belittled me in any way. Has he said things that have stung? Oh yeah. But I needed to hear it, and he voiced it in a way that didn't destroy me. He protects my feelings, and he protects my ego, because he knows that my ego is HUGE.

He's always appreciative of anything I do for him. He never takes me for granted and never lets my efforts go unnoticed.

He's an amazing step-dad to my kids. He's very loving and patient, but he's also a strict disciplinarian. The kids rarely cross the line with him. Even when he disciplines them, the younger two usually end up on either side of him on the couch, cuddled up to him, watching a movie or something. For the older two, he's more like a trusted friend. They talk to him about their lives, and listen to his advice. If my son is having car trouble, Mike is the first one he'll call. They stop by occasionally for dinner, or just to hang out with us, and I love listening in on their conversations with Mike. I love him even more because my kids love him and he loves them.

Even though we've been together for a while, we never run out of things to talk about. After we put the kids to bed we turn off the TV, sit on the couch with a glass of wine, and talk... usually until well after midnight. He always has interesting stories, ideas and theories. When he comes home from work at night, the conversation immediately starts flowing and usually doesn't stop until we realize how late it is and go to bed.

He thinks I'm beautiful and sexy. I was worried about this at first; after all, he's 25, and the girls he was with before me were all young and hot and hadn't popped out four kids. Somehow, he doesn't see the stretchmarks and the loose skin. He tells me, "I only see my Baby, the beautiful woman I love." I never feel self-conscious, because everything he says and does makes me feel sexy and lovely. He notices what I wear, and compliments me. When I get my hair cut and colored he always notices. Well, half the time he can't help but notice because he goes with me to keep me company.

He wants to marry me. He tells me I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him. Truth is, he's the best thing that's ever happened to me. We complement each other, ground each other, help one another fly, keep each other honest. We can tell each other anything, even things that may cast us in a bad light, without fear of ridicule or recrimination. We can share fantasies, hopes and dreams without embarrassment. We very rarely argue, and when we do, we both know that we'll work it out and move on. There are no grudges, no repressed anger or resentment. If there is something bothering us, we know we can say it without hurting each other's feelings. There's no need or urge to be defensive. He will protect and defend me to the death, and he knows I'll do the same for him.

I frequently tell him that I'm the luckiest woman in the world because he's mine. He tells me that he's the lucky one. I think we're both incredibly blessed to have found each other and to be creating this beautiful life together.

Okay. I've been wanting to say all that for a while. Now that I have, back to my characteristic Bogurdine meanness.

By the way: Mike, Loveyouloveyouloveyouloveyou, Baby! Scissors!

We Quit!

Smoking, that is. Yeah, you heard me right. Mike and I had our last smokes Monday, June 20th at 7:30am.

It hasn't been as hard as I thought it would be, probably mostly because I'm not doing it alone. We're both using the nicotine patch, so we're not totally jonesing for a smoke. It's mostly social habits and stress that trigger us to want a puff. It's nice to sit down after we put the kids to bed and talk about how we did, situations that made us want a ciggie, situations where it was hard to resist the urge, and how we overcame them.

When we made the decision to quit, neither of us was real confident that we could do it. Now, almost a full week in, we're both feeling pretty confident.

We're saving the money we would've spent on cigarettes, and we're putting it toward an awesome romantic getaway. Maybe somewhere tropical next year.

I always thought my sense of smell was that of a bloodhound. I'm realizing that no, no it wasn't. Now I can smell EVERYTHING. Things I couldn't smell before. This is not always a good thing. Now I can smell the cat pee in one old lady's apartment. I can smell old people ass as they drift past me down the hall. EEEEEEEEW.

Interesting thing, though: I can also taste more. I was kissing Mike the other day and commented, "Hey, you taste like Lucky Charms! You're magically delicious!" Needless to say, it killed the mood for him... but it did make him laugh.

Wish us well.... we're determined to kick the smoking habit!

Old people

So last night I was at an outdoor concert by myself. A friend of mine is in a band, so I went to this park to hear them play. I sat at a picnic table kind of away from other people, because other people kind of suck. Don't give me that "A stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet," crap. A stranger is someone who will bug me, or rape and kill me.

So there's this old man looking at me, and he comes over and sits down, totally uninvited, and starts chatting me up. I tried to be polite, but I was extremely annoyed. I was there to hear the music and see my friend, not to chit chat. Then I realized he was totally staring at my boobs. I started getting pissed. I lit up a smoke and was thinking about moving to another table, when he started coughing because of the smoke and got up and left. That was cool. So what did I do?

I chain smoked for the next hour and a half to keep him from coming back.

I must have permanent old person stink on me or something, because old people seem to gravitate toward me like a moon to a planet. They're always trying to chat me up in the grocery store, at church, on the street, EVERYWHERE.

I know I work with old people, and they don't annoy me as much at work because I'm supposed to take care of them, but I don't want to see anyone over the age of 65 from the time I punch out until I punch back in the next morning.

Old people smell funny, dress funny, and all little old ladies have the same blue hair set in the same blue style.

People with boundary issues suck.

Sometimes I want to turn hermit and go live in a cave and never have to see another soul ever again. There is a handful of people at work who have absolutely no personal or professional boundaries, and I want to punch each of them in the back of the head. This one's for you bitches, and you know who you are.

Stay the hell out of my desk. Do not take my pens or highlighters. Do not open up another pack of my pop-up post-its, tear a bunch off, and then try to stick them back together and put them back in my drawer. I hope you choke on the peanut M&Ms you stole out of my bottom drawer last weekend. It just blows me away that I have to hide my good pens/highlighters/post-its/food/nail files/lipstick/lotion in a top-secret spot so you won't steal them. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you twelve years old or what? No, I don't give a shit that you lost all your crappy bic pens. Go to the business office and get some more, jackass. You are not using the big green coolass Aricept pen with the gel grip that I got from the drug rep. Bite me.

I'm your supervisor, dammit! When I ask you to do something, get up off your ass and do it. Not whenever you feel like it... NOW. It's not your break time, you aren't busy, so MOVE YOUR ASS. Don't make me ask you twice. When I tell you not to leave the charting books or service schedules in the dining room, STOP DOING IT. The next time I find that book in the dining room, I swear on everything that's holy that I'm going to shove it up your ass. When I ask you to change the way you chart because you're doing it incorrectly, don't sit down where I can see you and continue to chart in your halfassed, corner-cutting way. Stop making retarded, common sense mistakes. Gee, someone used Friday's 8am pill and it's only Tuesday. Hmmmm... you signed for all the meds you gave except ONE. Which you obviously gave. You used SCOTCH FUCKING TAPE to bandage a wound. You sat in the dining room during lunch and bellowed a gross story about your period to the other aide, in front of the residents. You should not be working in a healthcare setting. You should be wearing a hockey helmet and protective mittens and be licking the windows on the short bus.

Did you really just ask me how big my boyfriend's dick is???? Seriously, I'm speechless. And speechless is something I rarely am. No, I'm not going to go with you into the break room and show you my bra. And no, I don't want to see yours. I don't give a crap what it looks like, where you got it, or what size it is. I am not going to give you all the juicy details of my sex life, and I don't want to know anything about yours. Just the fact that you're getting sex grosses me out. And, whoever he is, he must be blind, deaf and have no sense of smell.

And you: back the hell away from me. You have zero sense of personal space, and I absolutely loathe close talkers. Oh my god, I think you just spit in my eye. You need to stay at least an arm's length away from me. Here, let me stick out my arm to demonstrate. Oh, gee, I'm sorry... maybe I should've told you that that arm has a little pink fist at the end of it with a huge diamond ring, and that it's aimed at your too-close face.

Okay, now I feel better.

Go ahead, judge me for my evilicious nature. Like I really care. Go wipe someone's ass and shut the hell up.

Seriously???????

Yeah... I just got an event invitation on Facebook from The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up. Remember The Thing???? Apparently he's getting ordained as a minister next Sunday. Just goes to show that some churches will ordain anything that moves and breathes. The Thing is pretty much a tard... he can't write an intelligible sentence, he can't muster up an original thought, and he lies like a rug. He even used to misspell HIS OWN NAME on his term papers. I know, because I had the misfortune of proofreading those pieces of crap. And The Thing never did finish his degree! He just kinda gave up and fizzled out... which was not such a bad thing, since the program director out and out told him that he'd never be able to finish, and that he wasn't cut out for full-time ministry. Apparently, whatever church he attends disagrees.

Anyhow, I'm totally not going, even though I replied "Maybe". I'd rather poke my right eye out with a ballpoint pen.

Does this post seem like sour grapes? It's totally not. I would never in a million years wish to become an ordained minister. I just can't believe that this dude is going to be ordained. How many searching people is he going to singlehandedly direct straight to Hell because of his own backward theological stupidity???

It's like a 10.0 on the Rectal Scale. (That's right, Thing... I still remember the night you said that and I still laugh my ass off when I think about it.)

Evilicious

Ladies, we all know PMS sucks ass.

For some reason, this month I am feeling particularly evil.

I saw some dude that just had skin cancer removed from his face. I can't stand this dude. He bugs the living crap out of me, even on a good day. It's nothing he's done, it's just HIM... the mere fact of his existence. Anyway, he walks up to me with this big bandage on his face, and I couldn't muster up a single shred of sympathy for this poor little troll. The only thought that came to my head was, "REALLY???"

There was some lady who needed to be let out of my unit after a visit to a resident. I stopped what I was doing and walked her all the way down to the elevator, where she stopped and said, "You know what? I changed my mind. I think I'll stay for a while longer." Okay, everyone knows how it infuriates me to be interrupted when I'm really busy. This really pissed me off. I stewed about it for about half an hour until she came back and asked me to let her out again. I swear to God, all the way down to the elevator I had visions of pushing that lady in the back so hard that her head would snap back, her road-kill-like wig would go flying, and she would do a beautiful faceplant into the ugly carpet. Of course, I would never actually do anything like that, but the thought and the desire were there.

Mike and I were headed for the liquor store to get some hooch to calm my rage, and all the way there I was full of evil rants about the drivers and pedestrians around me. "Wow, lady. You must have a really long neck to support all those extra chins." "Oh my God, was that a man or a woman?" "Nice. Once again, I've managed to end up in the Retard lane." "I want to rear-end your crappy rustmobile so bad I can taste it." Even Mike, who knows me better than anyone, was a bit shocked at my rancor. He was smart enough not to comment (I think he was a little afraid of me by that point), but I could see it all over his face. So I made myself shut up for the rest of the trip. Oh yes, I bit my evil little tongue.

And why is it that, when I start to rant about my craptacular day and everything that's bugging the hell out of me, people start to laugh??? Is Donna on Progesterone Overload really all that funny? Why are you laughing??? Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

This bout of PMS really needs to end before I go postal and end up on the evening news

Here's where it stands...

Never thought I would be here, never thought I would be saying these things. I am head-over-heels in love. I am going to marry Mike. We are going to get married and adopt babies. Never thought I would do the baby thing again, but it is going to happen with this man. We've even named our babies. We have our wedding planned... music, people, place, everything. I am building a life that I never, ever imagined with this incredible, amazing man. I watched him sleeping this morning and actually broke down and cried with happiness because this man is everything I want, everything I need, and he loves me with everything he is.

Could life possibly be any sweeter than this?????

Cartoons are cool

Check this out... I made a cartoon Me!

Things that bug the crap out of me...

1. People who butcher the English language with mispronunciations such as "warsh clothes" or "liberry card", or with hideous grammar such as "I ain't got no money" or "She don't have none" or god forbid the not-even-real-word "FUNNA".

2. Slow drivers and idiots who have no clue how to merge into traffic.

3. People who invade my personal space.

4. People who interrupt me with stupid stuff that could've waited while I'm busy with something.

5. People who know I leave work at 4:30 yet stop by at 4:25 with a "quick question" that inevitably takes 30 minutes or more.

6. When some crisis with a resident comes up right as I'm walking out of my office for the day. This has happened THREE TIMES just in the last week. Really? You couldn't have fallen at 3pm instead of 4:30?

7. My big fat upstairs neighbor, who tromps around at all hours. I swear to god, one of these days one of his big fat feet is going to come crashing through my ceiling... he actually makes the light fixtures shake.

8. That bug-eyed chick Carla on Top Chef this season. Seriously... could she look any more like a totem pole? I shudder each and every time I see her. I just cannot get used to her hideous face.

9. Strangers who talk to me and basically stalk me at the grocery store. Um yeah... Security?!?!?!?

10. Weird, creepy people who somehow think they're normal.

11. People who chew with their mouths open, especially when they're eating crunchy things.

12. People who rattle popcorn or chip bags while I'm trying to watch a movie.

13. People who try to carry on a full-blown conversation with me when I'm trying to watch a show on TV.

14. People who cannot for the life of them retain and follow simple instructions.

15. People who tell me what I should do with my hair, wardrobe, figure, relationship, etc. when I haven't asked their opinion or advice.

16. People who don't signal turns or lane changes.

17. Below zero temperatures and icy sidewalks or driveways.

18. Cats. They're no fun and they shed.

19. Dudes who sag their pants. Seriously, sometimes they're not even on the ass at all! Guy, I am totally uncomfortable with the fact that the only thing between me and your bare ass is a very thin layer of skid-marked cotton.

20. People who have extremely loud conversations in restaurants, like everyone needs to hear the ultra-important crap they're spewing. Like the other night when Mike and I were out and this gaggle of geese was squawking at the next table... one exclaimed that she'd just found out what "teabagging" is, and proceeded to bellow the definition to her companions, and to the rest of the diners by proxy. I'm sure the couple with the elementary school-aged children at the next table really appreciated that.

Oh.... My.... God....

He wants to marry me. He wants to settle down and adopt babies. And the really shocking thing is this: I think I want it too.