Behind the Times

I like this page and blogging.  However, I cannot help but feel like an idiot as I am not the cosmopolitain of interenet socializing.

I realize this is a cue to get a life.

I argue to myself my lack of prowess proves I have one.

I hate losing to myself.

Hickory Dickory Dock - Me and the Mouse Think You're a ____ .

You know, the mail man hates me because Christmas has come in boxes and if he'd smile a little nicer I'd tell him that until he became an asshole, my former mail-lady got a gift card every year from me personally thanking her for working hard.  However, this prick left records in the rain and sun.  He can eat shit and do his job.  I am unmoved by attempts to be nice since he saw I have have tits.  Should have thought of that over the summer you prick.

Is he what I am mad at? Oh no, I have had no time to really keep this blog up to date with my life in general, and I have to be careful at that.  Right now I truly would get coal for Christmas from Santa, as my thoughts are downright mean.  Truth is, I'm sick of being nice, it takes up too much of my precious time, and I'm no faker.  My current target actually is pushing me to the point of opening my mouth, and boy I think his little dick syndrome will stop being my problem after I do so, but it is entangled with my kid's school, so it gets hairy.  However, I trust that intuition I have about people.  From day one, I have not liked this guy because pretty much I have been delegated everything.  I teach character education at my daughter's school and I am a member of PTA.  Get off the fucking floor before I really put you there for laughing.  Yes, I teach Kindergartners the fundamentals of life.  This month I am teaching Responsibility.. and the prick I teach with tells me its my turn to teach.

Can I just insert that he opened his mouth?  That is all?  I wrote the teacher, who totally gets me, and told her I've got out the waders and to not fret, but I am sick of politics.

I live in the burbs of a bunch of self entitled assholes who drive escalades and poo-doo people that think I carry around a pack of star stickers in my back pocket.

Nope, I carry my brass balls in there asshole..

Fallout from Separation

I am really trying to keep what I put on the Internet categorized, as I see and hear the horror stories of people realizing much later that putting their life online is not always the smartest thing to do.  Can I tell you this has been a difficult path?

I began being on the Internet with good old yahoo.  Then Google arises and one must have a google account if they want to look at utube and in my world, use my smartphone.. Being married, I shaved off all the lard and got rid of too much fluff and blog sites, so after much thought, and dislike of Facebook stalkers, chose blogspot to ramble and be myself.  Then inside that, split google to carry twitter and my familyless blog. 

Enter windows 7.  What! Now I need an ID to go anywhere.  And hello, my good old ISP has email too.

And the Internet wants you to connect them all.

I really don't want to, but the moment you buck things, panic ensues.  I have to be a real person on Windows.  So people can hunt me down like a dog.

So in order to not ruin my future employment chances, I'm counting on google to shut up and accept me as Maleficent.  What a pain.

I just want to be myself, but with the world watching, one can't even do that.

My Newest Fish buddy

I don't have anything that adheres to strict policy and definition.  I saw my coral was not positioned correctly, so I was moving it, and Hansel (he's so hot right now) the newest additon to the center of the universe, attacked my hand.

And continued to the entire time, and much like Romeo, looks me dead pan in the face and I can hear a little muffled voice saying oh food Godess:  Feed me now bitch.

So Funny

My daughter gave Tigger a makeover. Complete with bra.  Oh Lynn I wish you could have seen it!