Why you should be glad I'm not your wife.

We have people over a lot lately it seems. I try and make people feel as comfortable as possible when they are at my house. I asked Rob if he thought people would think I was rude if I left this note in this basket in the bathroom. He said, and I quote..."Well, people will definately know that you wrote it and not me." Nice. I left it up and still put it out when anyone comes over. Ok, so that's maybe not the most convincing reason you wouldn't want to be my wife. Lets try the fact that I drink too much, have terrible writing and normally end up in a ditch. This note may seem cute and funny to you, but how many notes like this could you actually wake up to?"It is in THAT ditch. I KNOW it." hahaha. The retarded thing is there are about 24 ditches on your way to MaMiller's (my close enough to walk to cold beer and wine store). There is no THAT ditch. I actually don't even remember writing this note. I stood in my kitchen reading it laughing to myself as if I was reading it for the first time...picking ditch out of my hair. I later went for a walk to try and find my phone. What did I find? Not just my phone, but my wallet AND one of my shoes. Oh ya, nothing but class with me. For the record, I was fine in that ditch. If my friend hadn't threaten to go get Rob to come and get me, I may still be there.Ok folks. Admit it. Almost 9 years later, you'd be so sick of me. I am chronically tired, annoying, forgetful, self-absorbed, addicted to my computer lately, and fully aware of it.

Pet Peeves

• getting goose bumps right after I've shaved.
• waking up
• lately, any form of housework
• realizing I'm not listening and it's actually something important.
• bruises
• trying to sleep every single night and not succeeding
• forgetting everything
• Dave never comments on my blog
• when someone takes it upon themselves to throw out my coffee because its cold.
• trying to do anything with 2 boys climbing all over me while they yell at the top of their lungs
• dry mouth
• people who can't merge
• hair in the soap
• Star Jones
• forgetting everything
• Auto immune disorders
• almost always wishing I was doing something different than what I am doing
• worrying constantly
• my concentration levels lately
• not owning a 67 or lower VW bus yet
• cat hair everywhere
• being one of the worst decision makers ever
• people who actually have and can keep a fully stocked liquor cabinet
• the power of suggestion
• how much Rob is working out lately and how lazy and flabby he's making me look
• when one of my kids is having a meltdown but not believing in spanking
• being late
• listening to people eat
• never knowing where my eye drops are
• bumping into things and people all the time
• when people say it will be ok and you know it will never be ok again
• only ever thinking about tripping people and never following through
• forgetting everything

blah blah blah sports...

T.Leach. I hope you are safe.

Life inside my mug

The other morning, a friend of mine said to me, "EEEW!!! Cher, I can't drink this! It's so gross! It doesn't even taste like coffee!!" Then, literally moments later, my other friend Mike, walks off of my porch and back inside and says to me as he puts his empty mug on my counter "That was, without a doubt, the BEST cup of homemade coffee I've ever had!" Go figure.

I like my coffee strong. More than strong really, rich, dark, nice head, black.

I want to taste coffee.

Not bitter, flavorless, thin, watery coffee served by retards (who for sure had to wear a helmet on the bus on their way to work and were hired to fill a quota) that leaves a nasty after taste in your mouth from not just the crappy service, but because the coffee itself has no heart.

I like espresso.

I like triple shots, short, long, easy water americanos (how weird is that to say? Of course MY coffee is an oximoron).

I will drink decaf.

I will occationally sip your flavored sissy coffee to remind myself how much better of a person I am than you. Oops. I mean to remind myself how much better coffee is when it's just left alone. I'm just not into dressing my coffee up and parading it around and around its mug like some child beauty contest entry.

Coffee... I love you.

I love you hot, I love you cold, I love you luke warm and even reheated. I just thought that since you are so dependable and make my day...every single day... you deserve a shout out.

you decide

OK DG and T.Leech.
Email me which photo you want autographed because I can't make decisions lately at all. I guess my lazy-assed, brain damaged, trailerpark mentality can work its way into my blog world quite successfully too.

GET ME A COKE!! do my laundry.... "hi, i'm Phats and I'm the hottest blogger alive (oh, and the only cool thing about me is that Cher is my friend.)"

Ok, Phats.

Enough is enough. It's been like what? 3 years since you've been asking me for it?

I am tired of telling people they can't have your coke. I'm done. I have so much stress in my life right now that I just simply can't focus on your can of coke any longer. It's just silly now.

It's been sitting in my fridge wasting space. And trust me, as a non pop drinker (we call it mix) there is just no room in my fridge for your silly, little, single can of coke. Do you have any idea how many times I've knocked it over trying to cram my 2 litre back in? Oh, wait, ya I guess you do because you don't sleep either and you keep me up all night. (This is true people. I don't know if you know about Phat's power to keep you on line, but it can get down right annoying when you are sitting on a wicker stool and your back is sore. He is in a very strange way, one of our best friends, as well as one of my biggest fans.

All slander aside, I can make him laug, oh, wait, i mean HE can make M..no, again, I apologize. I was right the first time... I can make him laugh and he's aparently not going anywhere, so I may as well keep him. HIM...not the COKE. I'm done with the coke. I think I may have mentioned that earlier. Drink it or I will Phats. No, drink it or I DUMP it!!! (look Duck...2 !!'s points!! wow!!)

What do they say? 'have a coke and a smile'? or 'coke is it'? or 'here's your stupid coke you whiny bitc...' oh, wait a minute. I don't think that was so much a commercial per say, as much as a guarenteed thought I have when I talk to you...

Phats, this drinks on me.

Bottoms up buddy.

Cher



PS (Rob was afraid to do a cameo "hello Phats" bit mid post because he was on his way to bed and was afraid your on line powers might suck him in even if he wasn't actually talking to you directly.)

OK, for those of you who wonder why my camera wasn't focussed last night at some rediculous hour, cope. It says.. "PHAT'S COKE. THERE. NOW SHUT UP ABOUT IT."

PPSI bet if Phats knew I was about to post this post about him he'd be chomping at the bit and driving me nuts right now and it would have taken an hour and a bit longer to write this..

Crofton kicked his soother to the curb. Which is good because he had like an $8.00 a week habit. Once he started chewing holes in them, it was time to say goodbye to the "soo".

3 nights of horror is much more appealing than lying in bed awake wishing I knew the Heimlich.

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I have a friend of mine visiting from out of town. Lucky her hey?

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I still owe DG and T.Leech an autographed photo of me. I need a personal assistant to gently remind me how forgetful I am. I am sorry you guys. It's just that I am so completely full of myself that its hard to truly focus on other people and their needs.

DG is at least compensated with random text messages. T.Leach is rewarded by me drunk emailing him.

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I don't feel like I have anytime for myself. I also have brain damage and completely forgot my new bath itinerary already. Time to remember to give it another whirl. I need to relax and breathe and feel calm...not as easy for me as it sounds.

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I loath clutter and trinkets and figurines. My perfect house would look like no one lived there. However, it looks like I run some kind of hostel for people who bring crap with them and leave it all over my house. How does this happen? My house looks so lived in. It is looming over me like the threat of liver disease on the worm. My house feels out of control and on top of me and it has for too long. Forget the yardboy, I need a house cleaner. Full time.

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My radio is on 24 hours a day.

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Lately I am enjoying words a lot.

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I wear clothes that are 3 sizes too big for me. I don't know why. It is comfortable to me. Always has been. It could stem from being too lazy to bother with buttons and zippers. If I can't undo the belt and be done with it, it's just too much work. I will hold it.

I've been told lately that I look like I've lost weight.

Hint, if you switch from 3 sizes too big of clothes to 1 or 2 sizes too big, or even a t-shirt that fits, people lavish you with compliments of how good you look and how much weight you've lost.

My personal favorite lately has been "you're wasting away to nothing!" hahahaha. ya right. That's exactly what's happening. Poor tiny, shrinking me.

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A Starbucks card is the best gift possible for me. Pretty much always. AND you can reload someones card online. My brother is such a great brother.

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My best friend Lors thinks I should scan some pictures of stuff I've doodled or made.

What do you think?

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