Wa-Bam!

As you might have noticed (I hope)--I haven't posted in, uh...well....it's been a bit. I recently had a ton of shit go down, but I'm happy to report that I'm still alive--quite obviously.

Let's choose to look at is as a "blogger" vacation--though it definitely wasn't the type spent on warm beaches making fun of strange-looking people in speedos.

yummy.

So why has it been so long? I recently had an accident that involved me injuring my shoulder. Well, by "accident" what I mean is--well, fuck it, I'll just tell you the story...

I was sitting on my ass on my chaise lounge while my toddler was eating his oatmeal next to me, and for some reason he suddenly had the urge to throw said oatmeal across the room, so I,--in my super-powered-lightning-fast speed--got up from my "lounging" position, and in bolting up I promptly heard a sharp "snap" in my right shoulder.

Yeah....

My first internal thought: "shitmotherwhorefuckergodhelldamnfuckingfuck!!"

What I loudly exclaimed (no joke): "Ouuuch! GOSH that hurt!!!!"

The dance move I pulled after that was actually quite impressive as I look back on it.

But, the entire event was not worth a little oatmeal getting on the floor--trust me.

"she missed it by that much"

So, with that happening, it was quite hard for me to use my entire right arm more than I absolutely needed to. As some of you know (and if you didn't before, now you do) my job consists of using a computer all freaking day long. That being said, there wasn't a way that I could continue my job and use my arm any extra period of time doing things that I actually like to do. So....I had to choose my lame-o job instead.

Too bad I'm not cool enough to be a Blogger for a living and have enough followers to get noticed by someone important and become famous and get sponsored and not have to work a normal job like everyone else and only have to worry about tickling everyone's brain cells for a living with my obvious enormous sense of humor that eventually everyone in the entire planet would fall in love with. Too, too bad.

(I've always wanted to say that.)

So anyway--I'm back. Have no fear, I won't leave you again--unless anything tries to literally/physically keeps me from you. And it'll take a lot for that to happen

I'm glad to be back, too. You all are a safe place for me to barf all my internal "Jillianisms"...and it's a heck of a lot easier to barf them here than to barf them face to face sometimes. Trust me, barfing at someone face to face doesn't work well. It can get messy.

You know, I once made a list with an old friend of all the different words for "barf."

I'm out!

(geez, guys, it's only for now....don't be clingy--it's not attractive)



being rude is for losers.

I was grocery shopping the other day and I came to a realization that I've had multiple times before in my lifetime--but this particular time it seemed to hit me quite strong:

*sigh*

Tell me, what is it about human nature that makes one individual feel, at any particular time, that they are more important than another individual...when the truth of the matter is, that we all are the same pathetic, wanna-be, lustful, dirty-little-secret, do-the-best-with-what-we-have human beings?

If we all could see, in even the littlest way that we are alike...then I think that maybe we would stop, think for a second, and be like:

"Man, I really should stop being such a dickhead"

Literally.

Maybe then the negativity level that I'm constantly surrounded by would decrease.

One can hope right?

I'm thinking it's because we all try to be someone we're not. Then that ends up making us feel terrible about ourselves, and we take that out on everyone around us. Maybe we're jealous of others and we're fat people in jeans that are too tight, or poor people that spent their money unwisely, or ugly people wearing too much makeup. Or, maybe we came out of the womb a naturally mean person.It's possible...I've been around those type of people. But it's not the adults that are the scariest (even though they could seriously use some pills)--it's the children you need to fear.

I realize that I might be hoping for too much when I wish respect from people, because let's face it....people are going to be rude. No one is perfect. But what I don't understand is why. Maybe it's not something that I'm meant to understand and it's meant to be something in life---another thing in life---that always annoys the shit out of me.

As a matter of fact, I think that's just it.

Geesh, I have such a love hate relationship with my mind.

It's true.



I think way too much.

I'll never understand why people are so fucking rude.

Some people are kind-hearted, some people aren't. I guess that's a good thing because a lot of things in history wouldn't have happened the way they did if people weren't dicks.

I should stop thinking about it, really.

I'm not even making sense to myself anymore.

But is it....?

I'm out.

The Hairy Result...

Okay, everyone...

You asked for it.

Actually, I told you I'd show you..

So, I'm going to share the results of my perm I got last Sunday.

Sorry I'm late--last night I came home, promptly sat my fat ass on the couch and fell asleep.

 Rough day. My bad.

Anyway, without further delay...

The Glamour Shot

The Cheesy Shot

The "Poser" Shot

So, there you go, friends.

And, after much thought and pondering, much like the picture above, I decided to share one last picture, but only because I trust you all to not judge me.

Right?

The "2 Day Grease-Fest" Shot

I'm smiling--or trying-- even though my hair feels like it weighs about 10 pounds.

But anyway, that's that.

The perm is done.

There's no going back now.

And, ABFTShower, no Carrot Top-type results, so no tragedies to report.

And I have no complaints.

Yet.

Hairy suspense.

So, this past Sunday I went and, for the first time in a very long time (I can't even remember how long its been), I had my hair professionally done. I decided to go because I was sick and tired of looking like a wet rat when I got out of the shower, then a dry rat when I walked out of the door for the day.

Enough was enough, damnit. I can do better than this shit.

So, I forked down $200.00 and got a wash, cut, and a body perm.

Yes, I spent that much. And yes, I'm ashamed. Don't rub it in.

I can imagine your first thought when I say that I got a body perm. Not a lot of people get perms anymore. And, not a lot of people even know what a "body" perm is, for that matter. Even my husband said:

"What the heck is a body perm?? Is that when they curl or, like, do something to your...ya know?"

All I could do was stare wide-eyed at him. And shake my head.

I would NEVER pay $200.00 for that.

But I digress...

When my stylist did my hair, which took 2 hours and smelt like ass, she informed me that I'm not able to wash my hair for three days after I get my hair done that day, because all the stinky ass chemicals that she puts in my hair need to settle. I'm thinking to myself: 

"okay, no worries, my hair will be curly--people wont really notice."

Well, it turns out that--and I didn't know this--you have to have your perm "blown out"--basically straightened with a hair-dryer after immediately after it gets done. She said that the heat helps it stay in, or whatever. Who the hell knows. So then I was informed that I get to wear it that way for the next 3 days. Lovely. So now I'm thinking: 

"Soooo basically, I still get to look like a rat."

And yes, I looked like a rat yesterday, and all day today. The best I could do was put my hair up in a pony-tail and pin my "bangs" back with a bobby-pin, but that totally didn't disguise the fact that I had a PAM factory working away on my scalp.

I guess I shouldn't complain so much because getting a perm was totally my choice. But--I'm a griper. Get used to it. And--I was expecting to leave the salon, after forking over that much dough, with some friggin curls. You should have seen the look my husband gave me when I walked out of there with flat hair.

 And, I'm nervous to finally wash my hair tomorrow morning, because what if when I finally see the results of  my perm it turns out that it looks like hell? I'll be shit-pissed angry, I'll tell you what.

If it looks like this:

or This:

or, God-forbid, This:



Someone's going to have a problem.

Me, mostly.

Are you wondering why I got a body perm? Well, I can tell you.

Before I got pregnant with my son, my hair was beautifully curly all on it's own, and--I don't care how much they say it isn't true and those who say it isn't true can go to hell--now that I had a child my hair can't hold a curl to save it's life. And I loved my curls. My hair was easy to deal with, especially when I felt like being lazy. I would just shower and let my hair dry.

Now, I actually have to do things to my hair to make it look good.

It's as annoying as fuck.

How feminine of me, no?

Anyway, that's why I got my perm.

Just so I can feel better, and feel justified, let me show you what I mean.

This is my hair a few years ago, before I got "up the spout", so to speak:

(pretty curls *sigh*)

Here is a recent picture of me, now that I've released my spawn into the world:

(nope, not a curl in sight.)

See? So, that's why I paid the money to get my curls back. My hair is also a lot longer than it was years ago, as you might be able to tell from the difference between those two pictures too. So, maybe tomorrow morning I'll end up with glorious flowing locks of brunette hair. Who knows. Time will tell.

Fuck, I'm nervous. 

Well, aren't you glad that this entire post is about my hair?

Maybe that is a little girly after all.

Well, perhaps it would help you to know that I'm sitting here typing this tonight chugging seltzer water, which makes me burp every other minute. Quite impressively, I might add. Oh, and remember, I've got greasy hair that hasn't been washed in 2 days.  

Better?

bi-polar workplace

So I was thinking, and perhaps I may have lead you guys to believe that my job is totally
and completely terrible. I miiiiight have gone that route with some comments I made in a previous post::


"Seriously, how much can one person expect from another person?"

"Let me tell you, my job is going to be the death of me."

"I'm a sales person, and it seems like...the more sales I get, the more they want from me."

"Whatever, you lame-os"

let me think....

yes.

I should say that I'm not taking back any single thing that I said. I'm just going to explain myself a bit further. When I said those things I had had a particularly suck-ass day at work. We're talking every-person-I-spoke-to-chews-my-ear-off type of a day. And, everyone in the office-whether it was guy or girl, seemed to be PMSing. The atmosphere was crazier than a bunch of adhd kids on meth.

Usually work has a typical rhythm to it. I get there at 8:00AM, take my breaks on time, go to lunch, and leave at 4:30PM each night. And in-between all of that I do my job, and pretty much enjoy it.

This is me on an average day at work:

(older picture...disregard the bangs)

I'm a very pleasant person to be around (as long as things don't get too stressful, as you might guess), and as long as things around me are run legitimately, I'm a happy camper. It's just when other people start to act ridiculous and find ways to be better than everyone else by going to whatever lengths necessary to conquer the world of sales--that's when I start to despise my job. It's almost like some of the people would beat each other up in the parking lot after work to guarantee that they would be the top sales-person the next day.

say my name, bitch!

It's gets completely and totally out of control. I mean, all that you're asked to do is your job. Who decided to make it a cut-throat game of making it a mission of lowering your fellow employee's self esteem?

I know it's never going to end though.

*sigh*

It's okay though, because I can go to my job, do and succeed at what I'm asked to do, and all I really need to focus on is the glorious and copious amounts of this:

oh the sweet smell of a family that's secure...

and a few Coach purses here and there.

Because that's really all that it comes down to at the end of the day, right? Money? My job does pay a very generous amount...as does my husband's because he works at the same place (in a different department). But maybe they only pay us all that much because they know how much bull-shit there is to put up with each and every day. Or maybe it's because they know that's the only reason ANY of us would stay. After all, they're always having "game day" or "daily prizes" or "raffles" or the like. And I'll admit it, I'm totally guilty of participating in those fun activites, because any chance for a good time, and I'm there.

No, no, no, not this type of "good-time" (unfortunately)...

this has been done in our office before, though.

not by me, mind you, but it's been done.

But this type of good time:

face painting freckles on my face

at the workplace fair.... 

wheeee...?

Okay fine, laugh all you want.

But I get paid to participate and wear painted freckles on my face and talk on the phone all day.

I have one of the weirdest jobs in the entire world.

I hate it. And I love it.

It's making me lose my mind.

But, I don't see it ending anytime soon, so....

I might as well embrace it.

holy geez.

Okay that's it.

What the frick.

My life is SO stressful. Can a girl catch a break? I seriously need to find some sort of stress relief that actually works, besides the tiny little microscopic pill I take every morning for "mild anxiety."  (They tried to prescribe me more, but because I have epilepsy, they couldn't--it totally made my body tweak out, but that, my friends, a story I'm sure you'll love for a different day).

What types of stress relief work for you guys?

I need some ideas.

I'm about to lose my mind.

*sigh*

Seriously, how much can one person expect from another person?

Let me tell you, my job is going to be the death of me. I'm a sales person, and it seems like the more I try, or the more sales I get, the more they want from me. There's no validation or anything. No commendations.

Okay, maybe I should stop complaining, I know. Maybe I should just suck it up and realize that it's the way of the world. Maybe I'm being a puss. But I tell you, it's people who are never satisfied that are on my "do-not-like" list (not like I really even have one, although that could very well be created). I mean, would it kill those people to be nice every once in a while?

With them, probably.

I especially "dislike" those type of people because for some reason I'm so bothered by them that they even get their own blog post. I mean, obviously it's bothering me enough to feel like I have to write about it.

You know what, screw that. I'm not writing about all of those losers anymore. I dont need any of them to feel good about myself. Whatever, you lame-os.

 I'm sure I could be doing something much more constructive with my time.

I'll think I'll go eat something.

Queen of my...apartment building?

So, guess what.....?

We have new neighbors.

again.

Seriously, the apartments below me and above me are rented out like twice a year. Someone moves in, then someone moves out, and on and on. You never get to know any of the neighbors because none of them stick around long enough. I always end up referring to them as "the guy/girl with the hair", or "the guy/girl with the teeth"....because believe me, in this part of town, it's either the hair or the teeth (if the person has any) that needs the most help. An example of both:

I see these things every day.

your pity is most welcome. 

My husband and I have been in this apartment building the longest out of anyone. That's why, each time someone moves in, the Land Lord makes it clear to each new tenant that we are here. It's actually kind of nice to know that the Land Lord cares about us. Actually, come to think of it, out of all the Land Lords we've had, he's probably the best. Okay, I'm shutting up about the goddamn Land Lord.

So, the only thing that's bothering me about the new neighbors--the ones above me--is that they have moved in with too many children to count. They're all quite loud, even if they try not to be. It sounds like a marathon is being run up there. That, piled with:

 "wah, wah, wah!"

"honey, he's just a child"

"shut up! I'm the father in this house!"

there should be more flowers around here.

I can't help but roll my eyes at those upstairs folks. They're a one-of-a-kind family. Plus, every.single.one. of them looks like each other. I'm serious, they all look the same. It's freaky. Like for reals.

Thennnnn, there's the family that's moving in downstairs as I speak--err, type or whatever. They have a 5 year old son that is not afraid of anything....including riding a bike while chewing gum with his shoelaces untied without a helmet. He's always running, climbing, asking questions, running, jumping, asking more questions, interrupting himself to ask a different question, then forgetting about everything and running away. So random....so, so random. His mother says to me yesterday,

"Oh yes, he has A.D.D. but he hasn't been taking his pills lately."

Great. fucking great.

This morning that child was knocking on our door asking my husband if my 2 year old could come outside with him and play, ride bikes, etc.

Why sure, sweetie, my 2 year old would looooove to come out and skate-board with you.

*sigh*

Oh, and another thing. The grandmother is also living downstairs, and this morning while we were getting in the car on our way to the store she comes up to me and says,

 "your little child can sure run, can't he? he's such a good runner! better hope he doesn't trip

and fall up there! but boy, can he sure run! he's such a quick little mover!"

um.

Okay, I'm not sure how I feel about you now....now that you're basically implying that my 2 year old is loud, when all he really does up here is toddle around and watch Elmo while he plays with his train-set. Yes, he runs through the house sometimes, but how can you even hear him with that grand-son of yours bouncing off the furniture down below?

 So yes, all of this is going to be interesting. All I can say is that as we've had a long-running problem with past tenants being noisy past 9:00PM, which is the "courtesy" hour. You know, when children typically should quiet down, loud music should be lowered, etc, etc.

If this isn't the case with this new circus that has arrived in town, I swear I'll be like,

 "you're in my building now, so shut the fuck up after

 9:00 pm, bitches, or I'll get all Mother-like on you're ass".

Be afraid.

Cheers!

I'm gross, but this is funny.

Okay guys, last night something reeeally funny happened.

Although it might show you that I'm a thoroughly disgusting individual, I really don't mind, because that's partially true. I think that gross things--most gross things-- are funny, so I, myself, am not afraid to be gross.

Anyway, I was having a conversation with my husband in the kitchen last night, and I can't even remember what it was that we were talking about, but right in the middle of my sentence I had the loudest, most strangest sounding burp that I have ever experienced in all my years, including my pregnancy. It was totally and completely involuntary. I swear to god I did not feel it coming, and I could not have stopped it. 

Guys, it seriously sounded like a combination between a whoopie cushion deflating and a bear growl. It lasted about 3 seconds and was extremely loud. But the funniest thing was how it felt. It felt like a million little microscopic men were doing the river dance in my tummy and throat.

I laughed for about 5 minutes straight.

My husband didn't.

Yes, I'm gross.

You're welcome.

A super proud wuss

Okay, so.....

*sigh*

Today, at work, I called the dentist.

This describes perfectly how I feel about this.

I made myself call them, because I've had a toothache that's been coming and going for a while now. I don't know if it's my wisdom teeth or not, because it's been hurting into my upper jaw, but damn, it hurts like a mother fucker. And nothing really helps it, either. Trust me....nothing.

So I call them, and they are so super cheerful on the phone. Like yanking people's teeth and scraping people's gums is super-de-duper fun-comparable to a merry-go-round or running through a field of daises or something. I introduce myself and the receptionist/hyper-active-phone-lady says to me:

"Tell me a little about yourself!!!!"

Well, this caught me off guard. All I wanted to do was make an appointment, get off the phone, and tell everyone around me how proud of myself I was that I finally got enough balls to call the dentist--

even though I knew they'd all look at me like this:

I probably work with someone who looks like this.

Probably.

So nevertheless, I try to think back about "myself" like this girl is asking me, and then I realize, stupidly, that she's asking me about my dental history, not about my life in general. Thank God I realized it. Because boy, I would have felt seriously dumb if I had started off by saying:

"Well, basically I'm pretty much a

super happy person, like, all the time,

 and omg I soooo totally love monkeys

 and rainbows, giggle, giggle, wheee!"

( in case you're wondering, yes, I do enjoy seeing a cute monkey,

and yes, I'm a happy person,--that is accurate information. rainbows--meh.)

Anyway, I switched my thought process to a more depressing state-of-mind, and remembered the details of my dental childhood. I just basically told her that yes, I got kicked in the mouth when I was a young teen, yes, it totally sucked, yes I'm more-than-likely traumatized by it because I had removable teeth (although it was killer an Halloween). I also told her that now my basic point was to just get my tooth ache looked at, and to brighten up my teeth, so that I can take care of the thousands of dollars that I spent on my mouth. I honestly feel kind of bad that I might have a cavity or two. I should be taking better care of my teeth.

Shame on me.

But anyway...blah, blah, blah, I finished my conversation with her, after spending a grand total of 25 minutes on the phone with her. I mean, who spends 25 minutes of their lunch break talking to the receptionist at the dentist office? I was basically getting a counseling session from her. She was very nice, I can't say that she wasn't....she was just very, very, happy. Too much fluoride, maybe?

I don't know.

But when all was said and done, I made an appointment for next month, first thing in the morning, so I don't have an excuse to cancel. I can't believe I'm nervous for it already and the appointment is so far away. I feel like such a wuss! I am proud of myself for calling though. VERY proud. I feel like I deserve a pat on the back or something. I mean, I was SCARED....

But I said that already.

Anyway, you get my point.

Go me.



still recovering...

So yes, I haven't posted in a couple of days. I have good reason though.

My adorable now 2 year old son decided to actually share--for once. Only this time he decided to share generously and give me his germs.

As I told you days ago, he got sick with croup. Now typically that isn't contagious to adults, unless they have a crappy immune system, and/or damaged lungs. Well, I'm lucky enough to have both of those problems. Let's think, it's not even the end of the year and I've had pneumonia not one, not two, but THREE times.

I know right?

I hasn't been fun. I missed an ass-load of work and as a result of it, my lungs haven't been the same since. I pretty much always feel like I'm running a marathon. Even now I'm still in physical therapy once a week to help improve my breathing and the strength of my lungs. It sucks big-time. Or it doesn't, depending on how you read into that last sentence.

So, nevertheless, when my son got sick, I pretty much expected to get a little bit of it, but I didnt expect for it to hit me as hard as it did. When it first hit me it was on Friday, my son's actualy birthday. I felt terrible--we're talking like headache, the pure exhaustion was setting in, and I knew something was happening, so I started chugging water, and preparing for it. My husband and I had taken the day off from work (thank God) to spend with our son on his birthday, so we took him out that afternoon. I chugged along, mentally telling myself that I would kick this thing in the balls before I let it take me down, but I think I knew it had me already.

I woke up Saturday morning feeling like complete shit. I'm pretty sure my first thought, felt with anguish, when I woke up was something along the lines:

"Please tell me that the piles of sand I have in

my throat are from the dream I had last night about me

rough-housing on the beach with my secret celebrity crush"

 

shut up guys.

Well no, it turns out I just snore worse than a team of horny lumberjacks. Because my throat hurt so bad I couldn't even swallow at all. I also had the cough and my lungs felt like they were practically glued shut. And then by the afternoon came the chills, and the fever.

No, no, not this fever...

but THIS fever...

it was miserable.

So I slept all day long. And I mean all day. I only got up to pee, eat some soup, drink water, down some heavenly cough syrup, and blow my nose. Other than that, I was asleep. Thank GOD my husband didnt mind taking care of our son while I tried to feel better. I wouldnt have been much help even if I had tried anyway, I'm sure. I was a snotty, coughing mess. And, I needed to feel better over night, because the next day was my son's birthday party, and we paid a fortune for it and there was NO WAY I was cancelling it. I was going to that thing and hosting it whether I felt like hell or not. I was determined to be:

So when Sunday morning came, the day of the party, I woke up and unfortunately, as luck would have it, I still pretty much felt the same.

However, showering in cold water (because our upstairs neighbors used all the hot water--thanks guys.) helped to wake me up out of my daze. It only took me 1/2 hour to get put myself together, which, on average is pretty good for me.

We arrived to the location with the balloons and the cake, and still had enough time to decorate it before the 12 toddlers and their parents and the family arrived. It was a tremendous amount of fun--the inlaws were even there and everything still went down without a hitch. All the toddlers wore themselves out, and I got thankful looks from parents, as they got to visit with eachother while the kiddos played and did their thing.

Here's my son, enjoying his birthday cake :)

The party was a complete success, but I'm super glad it's over. It was exhausting. And today I'm still coughing up a lung. Thank God I had today off too.

Well, 2 down--only 16 left to go.

I think.

Mr. Pissy Pants Doctor Man.

Yesterday was like "omg" stressful. So stressful that I can only write about it today. My child would not stop crying, the poor thing. A few days ago, as I told you all, he was diagnosed with croup. The doctor saunters into the office where we take my son, and asks me what's wrong, and I describe to him that my child has a fever of 100.3, he sounds like an 80 year old male smoker, and he's coughing like a sea mammal. Aaaaand the doctor looks at me like I'm stupid. Like I should know what's going on. Like I have no business being here or something.

He does THIS:

And says "It's probably just croup."

Uhm......"It's probably just croup?"  I stand there looking at him, having no idea what the hell "croup" is. All I know is that my little kiddo has been crying for 24 hours, and I somehow need to find a way to make him feel better. This boob better tell me how the hell to help my son. So, I ask him what exactly "croup" is, and he gives me another look and explains to me that "it's just a cough that sounds exactly like what he has, and every child gets it this time of year. it's fairly typical....blah blah blah".

Basically, the more he talked, the more annoyed I got (although I'm excellent at hiding it when I want to, I might add), because the son-of-a-bitch was treating me like I was every other Mother out there--"too concerned, paranoid, too worried, etc etc". I mean, can't he have the decency to have some respect, and treat my concern like its important and it's his only focus at the moment, and not seem like he's concentrating on the affair he's probably having the nurse practitioner instead? God.

So, I calmly listened to him with an understanding smile, trying to understand, practically doing one of these:

Okay, Mr. Doctor-Man. Sure thing. Sounds Super-de-duper!

When internally, I really am feeling like this:

I'm faking it, you poop! You really piss me off, Mister! Grrrr!

I seriously can't stand it when they expect me to know what the hell is wrong with my son, when it's quite obvious that I came to them for the answer. And, on that note, dont treat me like why I came to see you is either not a big deal, or a waste of time. You get paid big bucks, pal, to tell me about croup, so at least pretend like you're interested.

And, watch your back, because next time you're so incredibly rude to me, I'll tell my 2 year old son, and he'll come and hunt you down and fight you. Don't think he won't, either. That kid has a mean sucker punch.

And, we all know who will win THAT fight.

Bitch, please.

The things I see...

So today I had to take my son to the doctor, and it turns out that he has croup. This totally sucks, to put it frankly. The poor thing sounds like he has emphysema when he talks, and his cough is just nuts. I'm staying home with him tomorrow, and Nana is watching him later in the week, so it looks like everything will work out okay.

This post isn't mainly about my son, though. The main reason I wanted to write this post is because I wanted to describe to you what I saw in the waiting room today at my son's appointment. It was scary insane.

I saw mom's texting or doing God-knows-what on their phones (come to think of it, they were probably playing Words With Friends with their bestie) while their children ran around getting into everything and anything they could get their snotty hands on (btw, that makes for a great way for those places to stay in business). Also, some children I swear hadn't showered in weeks, and they were stinking the place up.

BUT--this one is the best of them all. Guys, words cant express what I saw, so I searched the Internet until I found the following two pictures that I'm about to show you:

I swear I saw THIS mother:

Carrying along THIS baby:



When that child that you see in that picture right there was looking at me....honest to God, upon my life, I changed my seat. The baby was the scariest I've ever seen in my entire life. Judging from his mother, though, that wasnt a big surprise. The picture that I found on the internet was fairly accurate of her, only without the ciggarette, because she smelt like blueberries. At least she had that going for her.

Life and everything in it is so interesting. That's why I love it so much. It will never cease to amaze me.

And now, back to my poor sick 2 year old darth vader.

"Mummy, i am your son. give me what i want without any hesitation whatsoever."