Can we just talk for a moment about how retarded it is for the media, when reporting on a celebrity that has died of cancer, to say that the person 'succumbed' to it? Can we please? Why not just go one step farther over the line and say "Zippy Doodah kicked it today when he came to the stunning revelation that he's a freakin wimp and just couldn't fight it any more. Yep, Zippy just tossed that ole towel in and gave up. The pussy." Because really, isn't that what they're implying anyway, when they say the person 'succumbed'? That's what I thought.

Ever been to Outback steakhouse? Great steaks. Really. Not as good as Aspen steaks, but cheaper, to be sure. They even offer take out service. I thought, since George is outta town and I am un-freakin-able to cook a meal for less than 12 people, that I would order some take out for the kiddo and me. The verdict? Tastes less like steak n' baked potato and more like grilled cat turd. Yerrrrk.

Hiccups gone. Cool! Let's smoke s'more!

Okay, could the person that placed the Parking Curse on me PLEASE remove it now? I've totally learned my lesson, whatever it was. That is the only thing I can come up with for WHY this keeps happening. I love my car. No, no...I L-O-V-E my car. Because of this, I tend to look for either veeeery large parking spots, or I will park very far away from my destination to ensure that I do not ding anyone's car when exiting mine, and so that nobody accidentally dings me. But I swear, I could park in a gawdamned field 8 miles from the store, nary a person or car or building ANYWHERE nearby, not even a MOO-cow, and happily trot off to the store. Come back an hour later, and there will be a )(#*$)( car not just parked next to me, but so )(#*$ close that I can't get into my car without channeling houdini. Assholes.

I know it's a bit past Easter, but this makes me laugh reeeeally hard every time I look at it, and I've decided to share. Coworkers have probably already seen this, as it's become a fixture in my cube(s) but I'm doing it for those of you that don't have the pleasure of having to see me and my tchotchkes every day. It's been at least 3 years since this happened. That I've kept it this long says a reeeally lot about me.

My mother is one of those people that celebrates each holiday with us kids. I have a brother (29) and a sister (23) and I am 33. She still celebrates the holidays as though we were little kids. And we L-O-V-E this. I'm pretty sure we'd take her out back and beat her with a lead pipe if she stopped lavishing us with candy and little gifts on each holiday.

So Easter 3 years ago was no different. She bought easter baskets, malted balls, M&Ms, chocolate bunnies, and that paininthegawdamnedass easter grass that, much like an alcoholic redneck, never leaves. Now, remember that we live in Atlanta. Where it's hot. HOT. all. the. time. She bought these things and, as I'm sure you can guess, forgot them in her trunk for several days. Because it's not just my father who we gained our humor from, you need to know that she saw all these melted chocolate bunnies, laughed her ASS off, and decided to give them to us anyway. And laughed like a GOON when she saw our reactions that began as confusion, morphed into a bit of horror and, finally, hysterics. I laughed harder at that image on Easter morning than I have in....well...since the time my mom got hit in the head with the rubber heart. My son, of course, ate his. I don't know what my brother and sister did with theirs, but I saved mine. For 3 years and counting. It looks a bit like Easter Poop, no? Here ya go:

After

I love my mom.

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