you know, i was thinking...

that's a miracle in itself...

but i digress.

i'm surprised i don't talk about my kids more.

what? you're thinking, you talk about them PLENTY.

well, true.

HOWEVER.

if you think about my life for a moment (and i wouldn't recomend giving it much more than that or youll need a prozac or 6 to bring you back from the edge...) it IS rather surprising i don't talk about my children incessantly.

i mean, that's all i really have to talk about on a regular basis since i don't leave the house much (my fault, not complaining).

i have no sexist pig boss to talk about, i have no annoying co workers to tell funny things about or to hear funny stories from and in turn be stimulated to think funny things.....that's what i miss most about being in school or working--the stimulation.

oh, my kids stimulate me, alright.

They stimulate my medula oblongata!

(at least that's what makes crocodiles so angry)

god damn.

okay, so the sad part is, i wrote this whole post just to fit in that medula oblongata thing. i'm a huge dork.

but i had fun at the gym today. i did intervals (one minute sprints) with my jogging. LOVE that. it kills me, and i love getting killed at the gym. hmmm....i hope Boz isn't reading this cuz if he's REALLY a serial killer, he might enjoy knowing where i want to die. which reminds me, there's a guy who's usually there the same time as i am who reminds me enough of Boz that i almost went up and asked him if he was in need of any new angels, but i remembered just in time that he doesn't live in Osmondville.

lucky bastard.

all of you.

lucky and smart.

to live in not-Utah

lucky and smart and a little bit sex-ay.

well, not all of you.