Patented Airplane Farts

I'm the world's shittiest blogger.  Let us not mention my several-day departure from blogging.  We can also throw under the bus the fact that I lost my notepad (which I use to jot down ideas for the blog, etc).

I think its best to shape this entry in a High Low High format.  I'll tackle some recent highlights, followed by some dumpy times, then bring it in the rear with more happy stuff.  Let's begin, shall we?

Highs
Greta.  Writing her name should be crack enough.  I swear, I literally live for the daily pictures of Greta sent from Carrie's shitty Blackberry.  Whether its her baby bird hairs, sweet outfits, or general anatomy shots, Greta is a precious biscuit from every angle.  I can't wait to see her again; I know she has packed on the poundage and grown a few millimeters (from all the juice weezing taking place) since the last time I saw her.

Since I'm somewhat cheap and don't know jack about flowers/gardening, I'm super pumped that the seedlings I planted several weeks ago are starting to bloom!  Moonflowers, Morning Glorys, Sunflowers and Zinnias have begun to sprout, some of which are growing kick ass vines.  These potentially awesome flowers have not only caught my eyes, but the eyes of Felicia the Chipmunk and her dirty, slutty offspring..... I will address this in the LOWS pile.  Nonetheless, our flowers don't look as bad as other people's yards:  Close your eyes and let your mind wander to someone/anyone in your neighborhood that find it completely normal/appropriate to put FAKE POINSETTIAS in a pot and place it in the MIDDLE of the front lawn?  These neighbor-offenders are often caught with crap in their front yard/porch/sideyard; items such as a broke-ass rusty lawnmower, Christmas/Jesus decor and let us not forget the always-awesome half-cocked above-ground-pool.  REALLY?  How about selling the Fiero and getting some landscaping and a dumpster.

Hudson Robert Bowles.  Another baby was borged!  One of my two best friends, Melissa Ann Wills Bowles and her life partner, Chadwick of Boston Bowles, birthed baby Hudson last week via C-Section.  Gorgeously pink and smooshy, Hudson can now set his sights on my niece, Greta.  In 30 years, they will marry and live in the Great Valley with the Star Tree (reference the "Land Before Time" if you're confused).

LOWS
Don't get me wrong-- I'm so pumped to marry Chris in November.  He is my best friend, has really soft skin on his arms, likes puppies and is good at painting, Chris is my dreamweaver.  Had I known that the whole wedding to-do would morph into the biggest shitshow of my life, Chris and I would've eloped months ago.  Holy cow.  I'd like to let everyone know that Chris and I are getting married..... no one else.  We don't want your opinions, ideas, or whatever else you have to offer us.  Our ears are closed and no longer in the business of listening.  Apparently, etiquette and general manners get tossed out the ole window like yesterday's diapers when it comes to a wedding.  Here's some advice:  I don't want advice.  Thanks.

Hangovers.  I've gone through this one a million times.  I think there should be an acceptable loophole for heroin use when it comes to be being over-served the night before.  I swear, no matter the amount of alcohol or what kind, I can bet you a doller-to-a-donut that I will awake with a vice grip on my cranium and a feral cat in my digestive tract.  True story.  McDonald's orange pop?  A #4 from Burger King?  Nope.  There is no cure..... not even a marathon of the Casey Anthony trial.

Felicia and her offspring.  Dirty whore.  Though cute and soft-LOOKING, Felicia the Chipmunk has started to snack on my freshly-sprung flowers.  Living comfortable under our patio and within distance to constantly taunt Kasia, Felicia is making a mockery out of my gardening skeelz.  That's right--SKEELZ.  Not skills.  I've noticed some very tiny teeth marks from a late-night binge involving Felicia's whole gangster crew.  She's gonna get it right in the old tailpipe from Mr. Hose if she's not careful.

HIGHS
I'm sitting in the San Antonio airport, posted up in a little Mexican restaurant, and the guy next to me just used the terms "dog fart," "pig fucker" and "dumb dick" while on a business call.  Whatever he does for a living, I want to know and I want to be hired asap.

The 5th season of Celebrity Rehab started on Sunday.  Yes.  Dr. Drew you're awesome.  The cast is a ridiculous myriad of has-been loser outcasts with problems ranging from steroid addiction to alcoholism.  I can throw this show into the fabulous pile of other shows which make me feel good about myself: Hoarders, Intervention, RHOOC, RHONJ, Addicted, Freaky Eaters and Keeping Up With the Kardashians.  Chris makes fun of me for liking said shows however, I really feel great about my shortcomings when I compare myself to people that eat mattresses, chalk and sleep with a hairdryer.

The dog fart guy from the booth next to me just said "go pound sand."  He might be related to my dad.