look who's a doofus now?

I totally spelled "unintelligent" wrong in the title of the post where I'm ripping on someone I think is stupid.

and then realized it AFTER I hit "publish."

wow.

humbling.

and funny.

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I am an artist.

I really am. But not one of those deeply moving, "what do you mean you don't understand my painting, it's BLUE" kind of artists. I'm more like one of those "oh hey, a pen and a napkin, doodle doodle doodle" kind of artists. Because I do it for fun. And yeah, for money. But still. Fun....most of the time. But I feel like branching into new mediums. Do you know how long it's been since I painted? Like with something other than finger paints or the kids' water colors where all the colors are mixed so they just come out brown anyway? It's been awhile. I've been itching to paint for months. I've also wanted to let Monkey loose on a canvas for awhile. He's not like my other kids (who all carry mine and Husband's arty genes) who like to draw endless pictures of unicorns, princesses, transformers or dinosaurs. Monkey likes to feel his art. He'll probably end up being one of those deeply moving types. And I'

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I won't be offended if you answer NO to the question at the end of this post

So this post will probably lose me a lot of respect and friends and possibly even a few phone calls to the Health and Welfare department. But I just feel like posting it, it's kind of like saying it outloud, but without having to watch someone's face react to the horror. And today, I really feel the need to say it outloud. So if you read this and don't feel like being friends anymore, I get it. With everyone's kids going back to school (and our school district being the last to start in the entire world, so I'm still sitting here dealing with summer child overload) I keep reading the posts about how mothers are sad to see their kids go, and how much they're going to miss them, and how much they absolutely love motherhood. Want me to tell you what I think about motherhood? I hate it. There are times when I hate it more than any other thing on the planet. And there goes most of my friends. But I'm sorry. I do. I hate being a mother. I don't hate my c

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I'm not fat, my scale just hates me.

That's what it is. It's probably an evil scale anyway. Always lying to me. Telling me I'm fat. The worst part about it is that the scale has also convinced all the mirrors in my house to play along. And I know it got my pant size on board ages ago. It's also managed to get the camera to cooperate, even though I treat that camera like one of my dear precious children. And this evil, hateful scale has attached a big mound of blubber right on my midsection. Well guess what scale - I hate you too. ***************************************************** I think showers are a waste of time. You get in just to get all wet, emerge dripping, get a nice clean towel wet, redress yourself, figure out something to do with your crazy 'just got wet and now it's going to dry ultra fuzzy, don't even think about using a blowdryer' hair, and put on all the makeup that you just washed off even though your mascara could probably have passed for a whole extra d

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because I really can't get enough of myself

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