I Really Should Be Teaching A Class

Way To Embarrass You Teenager Number 458:

1. Put Kelly Clarkson's latest song, I Do Not Hookup, on your itunes and play it on the computer.

2. Turn up the volume.

3. Dance around the house with the teenager's small siblings, singing at the top of your lungs (off-key is preferable).

4. DO NOT STOP, even when the teen emerges from her room, on the phone with a friend (boyfriend or girlfriend nets extra humiliation points).

5. Loudly sing "Hello, Hello (Insert friends name here)" as you dance close to the teen and phone.

6. Later, when you are being berated by the teen, kindly point out that at least it wasn't "My Humps" and that if the teen continues to be upset, that will be next on the playlist. While the friends are visiting. You might also point out that brassieres might become optional items of clothing.

Prop 8

I spent a very short time at the Capitol steps last night, protesting the upholding of Prop 8. When I left, I left in tears. There is so much anger.

I felt unwelcome there, in the midst of the grief and outrage. For once, I was hesitant to reveal myself as a Christian. Because we're the source of the problem. And that's the reason for my tears.

I wish I could make my brothers and sisters in Christ understand for a moment just what they are achieving. They aren't protecting the sanctity of marriage. That is between the two souls entered in that covenant. What they are doing is driving a group of people so far away from God's love that it will take a miracle to ever reach them. I don't think God's okay with that.
You tell me you don't hate homosexuals, but where is the fruit of your love? Don't lecture me on Sodom and Gomorrah. I've done some research on that and the depravity that so angered God was far beyond a man loving a man and entering into a committed relationship. If you're going to throw scripture at me, about homosexuality being an abomination, let's look at Luke 6:42, John 8:7, Matthew 23: 22-24. Pray on those for a while.

And here's another thing that the Church doesn't realize. This door that they are opening, forcing the Bible into law? That swings both ways. Separation of church and state protects freedom of religion and if you think for one minute that the Church can influence legislation without being influenced by politics, you are wrong. The Church was never meant to be a governing body. We are in the world, but not of it. We are a safe harbor for those in need and the money that has been spent passing this legislation should have been spent ministering to those in need. The direction of right-wing Christianity scares me. There is no good end to this path and maybe I'm a nervous nellie, but persecution begets persecution. And no matter what you say, this is persecution.

No matter who you are, what you do, who you love, know this. God passionately loves you. He wants to have a relationship with you. And there are plenty of Christians out there who feel the same.

Things That Are Making Me Smile

*The PROJECT FROM PRESCHOOL is done! For Missy , anyway. Big Red's needs to be done as well, but his will be much smaller scale and not nearly as fancy.

*I love Costco's online rebate system. SO EASY to just fill out the info online, no proof-of-purchase-clipping, receipt-highlighting nonsense. Thank you, Costco!

*The Black Eyed Peas single "Boom Boom Pow." Yeah, the lyrics are silly, but you should see me shaking my business, getting down to that song. Whoooooo!

*This face and the crystal blue pool behind him. They've been in the pool every day for the past two weeks and I am loving it!

*My mom and I were talking about how trapped she's been feeling, caring for my dad full time and she was telling me that she needed him to be healed, either here or in Heaven.

I replied, "I know, Mom. You don't want to tell God to shit or get off the pot, but..."

"No, I don't," she said, "because I would be the one cleaning it up!"

Thank you God for not striking us dead in our blasphemy.

*We're running errands last night and drove by a tuxedo rental place. Mr. Clairol turns to me and says, "Do you think there's a market for ass-less tuxedos? You know, like the chaps?"

I swear to you, I laughed for miles. And yes, he has an excellent ass.

MomFail.com

I love my friend Jenny. She has led me down so many paths in the course of our lives. Blogging, Facebook, late-night Jack-in-th-Box runs...the girl is my hero.

And my hero is branching out. She's trying her hand at vlogging with hilarious results. She's pimping her writing out to her local paper's mommy blog section and now, she's become a visionary.

She's created a community site called MomFail. A place where we can go and share our finest mothering moments, laugh about them and then realize, "Holy heck, I am not the only one who pulls that shit!"

My words, not hers.

I'm carefully crafting a few unsolicited entries for this site. I urge you to do the same. Share it with your friends, forward the link on. This is something that we can all use, because the Lord knows mothering if a tough job. It's why He gave us chocolate and wine, yo. Preschool is apparently why he gave us tequila! I'll be sad when preschool is over for our family. But I'll always have...no, I guess I won't have the memories, will I?

So go. Dad's are welcome to share as well, but the banner is pink, so check your macho at the door, boys. We'll keep it safe for you, promise. *wink*

Whore Yourself Out. Go Ahead, All The Cool Kids Are Doing It.

Last week, I was perusing Hey it's Free and Goob posted about an opportunity to make a little money. Naturally, because I am eternally poor, I jumped at the chance.

Turns out, it's pretty cool. The site is called YouData and quite simply, they pay you to look at advertising. Here's how it works.

1. Go to the YouData homepage and sign up. Fill out several short surveys on various topics to create a profile. Link your profile with your Paypal account (you must have one).

2. Load the YouData five stack onto your desk top.

3. Log into the player while you are on the computer and see what's available. Click on each ad, close the window and move on to the next. That's it. No survey to fill out, no response required. The ads pay varying amounts, from 5 to 25 cents a piece. Don't scoff, it adds up. (pun intended) I signed up on Tuesday and today I had $3.50 deposited into my Paypal account. It takes a second or two to look at the ads. Pretty easy money.

The downside is that I'm getting more spam email. Not a horrendous amount, 3-4 a day. All told, I'll take the trade. So get signed up and earn a little coffee money or something. I won't even charge you commission.

*Hiccup*

I have to get this out of the way. I'm so sad that Adam lost. I thought he was adorable. But I didn't watch AI and didn't vote, so I can't be too up in arms about it, though if I hear someone tell me they couldn't vote for him because he's gay, I might get a little ugly.

On to my real topic: what happens when Mommies get drunk.

Tuesday night was our last curriculum meeting for the year. We were supposed to finish the ME BOOK PROJECT OF DOOOOOOOOM! No, I didn't finish. Shut up. I totally have a good excuse. There were margaritas at the meeting, so it is all Jose Cuervo's fault that I failed preschool this year! Damn him!

I actually planned some stuff out and got pictures printed, so unlike the last meeting dedicated to this project, I actually got something done. I was, "productive." Please say that in a British accent, as it makes it sound very important and worthwhile. Not at all like glueing pictures onto construction paper and sticking stickers onto it.

My table got to talking about Farm Town. Four of us are "farmers" which includes the recently infected Andrea (whooo!). Who knew geekiness spreads like a Zombie -borne virus? Anyway, Ramona started popping off and she said something so funny, I snorted margarita salt. Which, may I just say ouch? Don't ask me what she said. I can't remember. Welbutrin and liquor don't mix.

I swore I was going to blog about it, but that's hard when you can't remember what was said. It was hella funny though. You'll just have to trust me.

So that was my Tuesday night. Getting liquored up with other mommies, attempting to scrapbook and laughing my fool ass off about something I no longer remember. I want to say my life is pathetic, but honestly, it was a lot of fun. Aren't you glad I care enough to blog about it?

Hand to God, I haven't had any alcohol since Tuesday. I have no idea why this post is so incoherent. I'm on my meds and everything. I'll be back when I can write something worth reading.

Self-Discovery

Big Red is eating his breakfast. Yogurt, toast and melon, in case you were wondering. He just produced a really impressive belch. Nice tone, medium length and even a vibrato quality to it. As a mother, I'm pretty proud.

Better was the delighted look on his face as he turned to me and asked with wonder, "What dat?"

"You burped, Red. Say excuse me."

" 'Scuse me. Dat was cool!"

He missed the point, but he's actually right. He must have known Mommy needed a blog topic.

Heavy Mom Thoughts

Because I stay at home, I take for granted all of the time I have with our children. It becomes a chore, caring for them, taking time to read or play with them. I have been looking forward to the coming school year with giddy anticipation: Missy in school five days a week, Red in preschool for two days. I even spent half my JBF earnings on two weeks of vacation Bible school. Yes, I want my children to have a fun experience in a Godly setting, but the real draw is 10 days of three hour drop-off.

And then, as is His tendency, God gently smacked me upside the head and gave me a little wake-up call. Three, actually. Because I like to hit the snooze.

Our preschool hosts a camp-out night. The idea is that the parent who has not worked the majority of the time spends a fun evening with the child at school, spending the night in a tent and doing all the typical "camp" activities.

Flag Making

Hot Dog Eating

Zip-Lining

Tent-Pitching

S'more-Eating

Camp-Song-Singing

I over-heard one of the mothers complaining that the dads got the fun part and wishing that she could come camp as well. My first thought was , "Lady, you're crazy," but I think I can sort of see her point. During the typical preschool workday, we're very busy and there isn't much time to interact with your child. The camp situation is rich with "quality" time. In as much as sleeping on the ground and waking up to the 4 am rooster call can be called quality.

But there it is. The taking for granted. This is Missy's last preschool camp out. Those nights are treasured memories and all the more precious because they are with Daddy. I don't begrudge him that time at all, but I feel the need to create some of those memories myself.

I've been reading about my friend Heather's IVF process and how hard they have worked to be blessed with their children. As someone who actually got pregnant while taking birth-control pills, this is eye-opening. These are good parents. They practice the kind of sacrificial love for their children (and each other) that I aspire to. I want to ask why, why this couple who gives their children an amazing life must struggle for each blessing and other families, who could care less, are given child after child, resentful of the intrusion on their life.

Then there are friends at church, who are trying to adopt their young son. He's two now and has been with them since he was six weeks. The birth mother has appealed her parental rights being terminated and so the adoption that should have been finalized a year ago is still undone. My heart breaks for this couple. They adore their son and he is so happy in their care. I'm praying for the courts to rule quickly and in their favor, so that they can rest secure in the safety of their family.

All of this has caused me to wonder why I am so casual about these gifts God has bestowed on me. Are they less precious because they were easily obtained? No, of course not. Still, I have fallen victim to the frustration and business of motherhood. Somewhere along the line, I've forgotten to store up moments in my heart, to be patient and remember that a little more mess while cooking is a fair trade for Missy's sense of accomplishment. That the time spent reading to Red is not better spent doing dishes or laundry. And the chatter that fills every moment with Drama Queen is worth listening to, because she needs my ear and my attention.

I'm a good mom. I know that. But there's always room to improve and I'm ready to start that process.

$10 Buys A Lot Of Happiness

Yesterday afternoon, I engaged in one of my very favorite activities: Target clearance shopping. I love the endcaps at Target. You find such interesting things there. Like store brand tampons, reduced for quick sale. Why? Do they go bad?



I did find any number of bargains to bring home though. There was the nail polish, marked down to $.75 and the Physicians Formula Mineral blush for $1.48. All destined for DQ's Christmas stocking, along with a Glinda the Good Witch notepad for $.69. Best of all was the ballet dress marked down to $10. Just Missy's size, it needed to come home with me. And despite my best intentions, she is currently dancing about the living room, pirouetting and jetteing to music in her head. I need to dig out my copy of the Nutcracker, so she has something to dance to.

Too bad they didn't have one in my size...

Geekery Is Hereditary

My poor children.

Did I mention that Red only has one tennis shoe these days? It's awesome. On Tuesday, I tried to find him a new pair at Marshall's and crapped out spectacularly. The light-up Spiderman pair were on clearance for $7 but no size 8s. The super cute OshKosh sandals that he loved had every size but 8 as well. The Nikes that he wanted desperately? If you guessed no size 8s, you win a big fat fart! Woot! Or Poot! as the case may be. And Marshall's? You're invited to suck it.

I jest. I love Marshall's. And Ross. And especially TJ Maxx. I'd make out with TJ Maxx if I ever met him.

Anyway, he detested the only pairs that were available in his size. Which is a lesson to never take your children shopping. Ever.

But that isn't the point of this post. No. I was so frazzled and stressed after the unproductive trip to Marshalls, I opted to drive through Wendy's for lunch. It was close and we were hungry and nothing cures the no size 8 blues like a bacon cheeseburger and a frosty. Trust me on this. Turns out that they're giving away the Petz games in their kid meals. How times have changed. I remember getting a tiny plastic Barbie figurine and feeling like the luckiest little girl in the world. Of course, I'm a dinosaur and remember the days before personal computers.

Andrea, if you point out that you, in fact, do not remember those days, I will bitch slap you. I mean it. Silence is golden, grasshopper. Oh and Happy Belated Birthday, by the way.

Sorry, I'm birdwalking today. Anyhow, we get home and I get the game installed. Missy is entranced. She has three kitties now, one of whom was designed for Red and named Dinosaur. Cute, huh? She feeds them and waters them and teaches them tricks. Sound familiar? Like maybe a certain mommy who plants virtual crops and vigilantly checks every day to see what's happening on her hundred plot farm? Hmmmmm?

This has led me to consider buying her a Webkinz for her upcoming birthday. The games appear to be easy enough for her to master and as much as she loves this, can you imagine if she had a tangible counterpart to the pet on the computer? Best part is she can pick up the virtual poop. Now if only I could get The Beast to do his business virtually.

Any thoughts on Webkinz, Internetters?

Crazy 101

I'm pretty laid back as a parent. There isn't much that sends me South. And what does tends to be of the trivial variety. Such as:

*One shoe. Red has a genius for hiding one shoe of a pair. It's always from whatever pair is the "must wear" set, like his tennies. He currently owns one tennie and it is the third time such a situation has occured. THE THIRD. This is too much, even for me. He's stuck wearing his brown fisherman sandals, with socks, mind you, because he will not wear his sandals on bare feet. Screaming, kicking and Oh My God The Fucking Humanity ensues when I place a sandal on his bare foot.

*Sand. I hate sand with a purple, humping passion. I don't go to the beach, I avoid sand boxes and if my children fell into a quicksand pit, I'd hesitate before trying to save them. So naturally, this week's science project at preschool involved digging in the sand to find seashells, gems, et-shit-era which had been buried. Who buried these things? Me, that's who. Me, the woman with a fresh and, may I say rather stunning, pedicure in a darling hue called Tiki Punch. So now my pedicure is effed up beyond redemption and my husband will be a very sad man tonight.

I keep forgetting to post about my husband's aversion to lingerie and his not so odd little fetish...soon, little ones. Very soon.

*Toys that have a million little pieces, five of which are missing. Not Legos, since you can always build something out of Legos. I'm talking about these damn PollyPocket/ Puppy in my Pocket/ Tons O' Miniature Crap To Lose toys. I've been searching in vain for a two inch pink plastic bench, a tiny little flocked Yorkie and a dog bone the size of a splinter. Missy is devastated by their loss. My response has been, "If you'd put them away in their bin after playing, this wouldn't have happened," and strangely, she is not consoled by it. Hmmm.

*Whining. This is a no brainer and universal. Raise your hand if you enjoy listening to other people whine. That's what I thought. Wait! Blogs, especially mine, don't count! Come back!

So there you have it. The keys to my insanity. Use them wisely. What drives you batshit?

Counting The Days

May 19th is shaping up to be a big day for me. The HBO series Trueblood is out on DVD, which means I finally get to finish watching it. I tried finding it online, per David and Raven's suggestions, but every time I found an episode it had been pulled. HBO is vigilant, I guess.

But now, I find out that the latest book in the Reacher series by Lee Child will be released. These are excellent suspense/action type books and the protagonist is one of my favorites. You don't have to read the books in order, since they stand alone and there is very little referencing back to previous plots.

If you're looking for a good summer read before June 23, when Finger-Lickin' Fifteen drops, check out Gone Tomorrow.

Mojo Wanted

I hope everyone had a lovely Mother's Day. Mine was wonderful. Breakfast in bed, pedicures with my mom and Andrea, dinner at my mom's house and then an episode of LOST. Does it get any better? Not for me.

I alluded to my lack of gardening in Friday's post. We've had intermittent rain here, and I was using that as an excuse to procrastinate. As it is now sunny and warm, that excuse has crapped out. I need to get in and lay compost this week, but I can't get excited about it. The beds are cleared (finally!) and I found potatoes online, but I don't know...I just have very little motivation.

Just as I was feeling like I had a workable schedule in place, I began preparing for my surgery. I just couldn't maintain the schedule while doing that. It should have been possible. It probably was possible. I just didn't do it. And now, I'm trying really hard to get my mojo back.

Have you seen my mojo? Because it's not anywhere around here.

So this week's goal is to maintain my previous schedule, to some degree.

WAIT! I think I know where my mojo is! I'm going to go check on Farmtown!

Damn Lucky To Get A Post At All

You know what? You're getting in bullet form today and you're damn well going to like it.

Raise your hand if that got you a little hot.

* DQ made it to a year with The Boyfriend Who Might Or Might Not Be Gay, then broke up with him the very next day. She's cold that way. Today, they are back together. My head hurts and I am officially dreading the next 4 years.

* Today was the Spring tea at preschool and I stuffed my effing face. I predict at least a three pound weight gain. Yay!

* I dreamt about goats last night. They were chasing me and trying to chew on my pants. I woke up to some "amorous advances" from my husband. I'm not sure what this says about my marriage, but I'm too afraid to examine it closely.

* Farm Town continues to fascinate me. I made a spreadsheet for my farm. Biggest. Nerd. Ever.

*All I want for Mother's Day is some peace and quiet. Seriously. And some White Citrus lotion from Bath and Body Works.

*My bad attitude has developed horns, a tail and is carrying a pitchfork. I'm naming it Belinda.

*STILL haven't planted my garden. The IRL one, anyway. My virtual one is going great guns, thanks for asking.

* On a positive note, school pictures came and I have to say, my kids are pretty dang cute.

Drama Queen

Missy Hoohaw

Big Red

Yes, I know, he's not really red-headed anymore, and I could give him a new nick-name, but my laziness is a pretty well-established fact, so deal with it.

Hopefully, I'll come back from this weekend refreshed and cheerful and not resenting the time it takes to write a post when I could be tending my "farm."

In Which I Chime In On The Gosselins

*Update* So I need to say that Jon Gosselin is denying the cheating allegations and I think the guy got a bum rap in the whole marriage department, so I want to believe him. I don't, but I want to.

I don't generally blog about gossip, celebrity or otherwise, but the news that Jon Gosselin cheated on his ring-tailed bitch wife? How can I not talk about this?

So he cheated on Kate and public opinion is pretty much of the "she totally had it coming," vein. While I'm not a fan of hers, no wife has it coming, unless she's cheating as well. Frankly, I'm amazed it's cheating he indulged in. Were I him, she'd probably be in a shallow grave in the backyard. Right after she bitched at me for breathing.

Given my personal history, it can't come as a shock that I am pretty anti-infidelity. It's a chicken-shit thing to do and I really don't want to hear you don't understand, it just happened my spouse doesn't understand me, I'm so unhappy, the Ambien made me do it, garbage that cheaters seem to spout. Because it is garbage. You knew who she was and you married her anyway. There is no excuse for cheating on your spouse in my book. None. If you have to leave, then just leave for God's sake. Don't abandon your family while staying put. Still a shit thing to do, but it's a lot more honest than screwing someone else.

So he's an ass. Let's be honest and say we all saw something like this coming. But her reaction to all this blows my mind. I didn't realize it was possible to dislike her more than I already did. She calls it a "learning experience." She's "focusing on her kids." Ooooo-kay. When I was cheated on, the only thing I learned was how far I could accurately throw a sharp knife. Yes, I focused on my child. But I actually did it in our home, not while I was away on a book tour. I certainly didn't claim I was dealing with it privately, then go on the Rachel Ray show. Plus, her reaction to her critics? "No one is perfect." Again, I say, oooooo-kay.

Now this isn't a slam against working mothers. This is a slam against a woman who is actively pimping out her children to fund her lifestyle. Blech. The whole concept is distasteful, even before you factor in her abrasive and ugly personality. The sad thing is I don't pity her and I always feel bad for a woman who's husband has broken his vows. She doesn't really seem to feel bad about this. She's probably pissed because he didn't follow her instructions on how to carry out a affair. Because you know she had a set written out.

HELP ME

Hi, my name is Jen and I am completely addicted to this stupid Facebook app called FarmTown.

Because I apparently have no life and all the friggin' time in the friggin' world to spend planting and harvesting virtual crops.

This is not a challenging or involved game. You get a farm. You plow some fields. You buy some seeds from the store and plant them. You wait and harvest them when they are ready, then you sell them in a virtual market. You plow more fields and plant more seeds with the proceeds. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I am dork, hear me roar.

I can't even claim the title of dork, because at least the role playing games are interesting. This is just gardening without the rewards.

What has the computer done to my life?!? I have a husband, so this isn't sexual frustration driving me. I have a backlog of four books and a dozen magazines. There's LOST and House and Days to watch. Oh, and you know, meals to make, clothes to wash, houses to clean...all that trivial nonsense. Plus, my crocheting! Because it would be a shame to squander that particular talent.

Do you know why I'm awake at 11 pm on a Tuesday night, writing a blog post? Because I planted some grapes earlier and they mature in a half hour or so. I'm waiting for my fucking virtual grapes to ripen so I can cyber-harvest them. Otherwise, they would wither and die and I'd be out 80 FarmTown coins. What a tragedy.

I am sick. And pathetic. And checking to see if those damn grapes are ready to pick.

S.O.S.

Buried under massive loads of laundry. stop.

Send help. stop.

Preferrably Wolverine. stop.

Back To Real Life

This weekend was perfection. Saturday, I took off all by myself and while I did do errands, I also treated myself to breakfast at one of my favorite cafes, read my new Jim Butcher novel and had a relaxing cup of tea. I shopped for myself, even though I didn't buy anything, and just generally enjoyed my freedom. Then it was off to my mom's house, where I stuffed myself with Chantara's delicious green curry and my mom's sour cream lemon pie. YUM! Oh and had two glasses of La Crema chardonnay, Welbutrin be damned. Good times.

Sunday, we heard a fantastic message on the importance of work. I love our pastor, because a) he's silly and b) the messages are not the standard fare you get in most churches. They are always biblical, but he is an intellectual, so there is always a twist that never would have occurred to me. I really would like to post a link, so you guys could hear his words of wisdom, but it hasn't been loaded to the website yet. Darn it!

That afternoon, DQ graciously agreed to babysit while Mr. Clairol and I ran off and saw a movie. Let me just say, I personally think Wolverine is worth the money to see on the big screen. I LOVED this movie and not just because there is a lot of footage of a nekkid Hugh Jackman. It was funny and exciting and best of all, GAMBIT is on the big screen! My very favorite character in the cartoon finally gets a real face. And Taylor Kitsch does a fabulous job.

We branched out and had dinner at a new eatery in downtown Sac. I really wish we'd do this more often. While Cool Hand Luke's and Visconti's have great food, I want something new every now and then. We hit Burgers and Brew (a Davis favorite that has migrated to us) and I had the best french fries of my life. That and a cold Stella? Heaven. The service sucked, but hey, whatever. We'll definitely be going back, so that I can suss out if they pour a decent black and tan.

Of course, there's a price to pay for my drunken revelry. My house is horrible. Don't believe me? Take a look at this:

The living room doesn't look too bad, but keep in mind I performed massive triage on it early this morning. The unfolded laundry is hiding in bedrooms and you can't see how badly to floor needs vacuuming.

Missy Hoohaw's room and one of the batches of laundry I mentioned. The room gets worse as you cross the threshold, but I'm just not that brave this morning.

I saved the worst for last. AAAAIIIIIYEEEEEEEEEEEE! The Kitchen That Ate Sacramento! It's horrible and I see several rounds of dishes in my immediate future. So farewell, blog friends. I'm off to enjoy the integrity of work, which apparently my soul needs. Now that I think about it, maybe that message wasn't so great after all.

Ryan Seacrest Got Beat Up By A Mommy Blogger

Recently, my favorite radio station picked up Ryan Seacrest's radio show and plays it in the afternoon. I accidentally heard some of it and died a little. I realized why I don't watch American Idol. The man climbs my ever-lovin' spine.

Why does this man get paid for ass-hattery? WHY? And if he can, why can't my ex, because dear God, a little child-support would be nice! Since then, I've changed stations. I don't volunteer to hear Ry-Ry, ever.

So imagine my shock when I hear Jackie from Momlogic is going on his show! NOOOOOO, Jackie, NOOOOO! There is no vaccination for ass-hattedness! No cure! We don't know that it isn't contagious! Why would she do this? Because she wrote a little post about Ryan giving lame advice to a married father, using the literary device of an open letter to his beard "girlfriend." Seems Ryan got his feelers hurt. Awwwww.

Now, let's for a moment imagine that you are in such bad shape that you feel the need to turn to the host of American Idol for help. I know, it's a stretch. The idea of anyone asking Ryan-fucking-Seacrest for advice on anything besides hair products boggles the mind. But lets say you are that desperate or delusional. One would imagine that a person with any sense of moral responsibility would say, "Dude, I am DJ/television personality and I am in NO WAY QUALIFIED to give you marital advice."

Not Seacrest. Nope. Homeboy tells the guy to get out. "Life's too short," says our little love guru. When Jackie calls him on this, he gets his panties in a wad and starts whining about her "snarky" blog post and the fact that she doesn't knooooow him. Um, Ryan, you are aware that you are the butt of our collective national joke, right?

He wants to know why she doesn't give "Marco" advice.

Well, let's see:

a) She's not a licensed therapist and she knows it.
b) Being married, she's aware that there are three sides to every story: hers, his and the truth.
c) She understands that when you give shitty advice, there are consequences. That may resonate through another person's life and all of the lives he touches.

I'm not going to address Mr. Seacrest's girlfriend. I don't know the woman, I don't know him and I don't give a rat's ass where their relationship goes. But I will say this: Ryan, you're beginning to take yourself far, far too seriously. Being ridiculously overpaid does not make you in any way, shape, or form qualified to dispense advice about anything not related to skin care, hair care or fashion. Talk about celebrities and pop music and let professionals handle people in crisis.

Thank-you, David

Often, when I have nothing to say here, I peruse a few blogs looking for ideas to blatantly steal inspiration. I hopped over to David Dust and he had some pretty hilarious swine flu jokes. One was so funny, I had to send to my dad. It's from a site called someecards.

Here's where I confess my tendency to spend hours in the greeting card aisle, laughing at random cards. I'm actually not allowed in certain Hallmark stores. So after about ten minutes of perusing the hilarious ecards, I found one that made me spew tea. I sent it to Mr. Clairol this morning.

Not that he would ever do that. A-hem. And just to clarify, this was NOT the card I sent to my dad. Even I have limits.