well happy saturday to you all

i hope it's been a super one.
or at least a super sized one.
or, hell, at the very least--i hope it hasn't sucked the dance out of you and left you begging for a bullet to the skull.

mine's been good.
it's freaking cold here in weird weather utah, but whatever.
we dyed eggs (for the record, it took me three tries to spell "eggs" properly), made easter themed cookies and had naps.
all of us.
...except the mr. and I.
ours was not technically a "nap", but if people can call sex "sleeping together" then doesn't that seem like a similarly fair evaluation?
food for thought.
granted, it's mexican food in new england for thought, or seafood in utah type of food for thought.
but you get the picture.
and speaking of pictures.
now i don't want to go off on a rant here...(trademark: dennis miller)
but come the fuck on, people!!!
since when are shoulders and half a cleavage considered inappropriate for a role model?
and who the hell am i supposed to be modelling rolls for?
i mean a role model for?
the only thing i can assume this refers to is the fact that i have children.
since when is posting a slightly suggestive picture on the internet--
wait.
stop right there.
that sounds suspiciously like internet porn queen in the making to me.

oh what am i doing?
i don't care anymore, it's over.
it just really gets my goat.
judgementalism is so 90's.
if you're wondering about my sanity--you're not the only one.
but if you're wondering what i'm talking about, just check the buzznet thingy.
only don't do it at work, cuz it could get you into trouble.

so tonight our friends are coming over to chill.
i'm supposed to be cleaning up and starting dinner so we'll be ready for them.
hubby took the kids to do a quick errand to give me some quiet time.
and here i sit.
fuck the house.
who cares if my friend is PT Martha Stewart (pre-trial).
not i.

i only have a few things to do, and i still have about a half hour, so i'm cool.

and now i'm out of things to say.
no i'm not.
i was very excited to discover that my writing has improved since i first embarked on the creative writing trail a little over a year ago.
that's the positive way to look at it, at least.
the flip side, of course, is that the "novel" is a large pile of maggot infested garbage....
there are a few priceless antiques buried in there somewhere, but do i have the energy (or for that matter--the hazmat suit??) to dive in there and retrieve them?
eh.
probably not.
i need a boss.
i need a slave driving, ass kicking boss.
i need someone to say, "Lisa, you gooey piece of brown shit--sit down, and focus on writing or i'm going to scoop you out of the litter box with the rest of it!!"
yeah.
that would seriously work so well for me.
well, minus the grody to the max threats.
but i'm thinking of paying someone to kick my ass.
and no, not very much, so don't get all excited and apply for the job.
more like, i'd buy you lunch once in a while and force nude self portraits on you.
role model, schmole model--you dig?

have a crappy easter.
or actually, a happy one.
and please, please, don't tell my mommy on me.