A smelly smelly that smells smelly

What the heck is that smell?? You know the one. The way your house smells. Take a whiff, what do you smell. I'll tell you what I smell, cuz I am sure you want to know and that is the whole point here. I smell stink, and frankly I am tired of smelling stink. Granted I am not the most fabulous housekeeper in all the land. I'm not even mediocre. In fact the term negligent comes to mind. Basically I do what has to be done- wash clothes when someone needs something washed, wash dishes when there are no more glasses, clean toilets when they start to look gross. Look, I hate cleaning. I do what I have to- to get by. I have never been a good at this. Once again... my parents didn't set a great example here.

Now people will tell me, oh it's ok, you have the twins, and yea, I do. But they nap and they sleep and while they are doing these things I have plenty of time to clean. I have time to clean right now while the TV is babysitting them. But, I'm not, because I loathe it. Don't get me wrong- my house is not an episode of 'Hoarders- Buried Alive'. And while we're on that subject, I secretly watch that show when no one is around and then pat myself on the back for not being those people. (You go girl!) I don't understand how these people let stuff get so dang bad. Like- hey check out these 400 pizza boxes on the kitchen floor and don't step on the cat feces in the hallway. And seriously, why do these people always, ALWAYS have cats. They do. Fact. And sometimes they're dead. The cats that is. Crap, I have a cat.....

Just one cat though, and then we have this dog. I really think he is probably 95.89% of the problem. He smells. It's horrid. You can bathe him six ways to Sunday, and he still smells like he rolled in his own poop. Which he probably did. He was abused as a pup, and he has some serious anxiety issues, and my mother-in-law claims that I should take him to the vet and get his gland expressed. Ew. I should do this, but he's impossible to get in the car, and did I mention, he smells. He's a good dog though, loyal, but needy. Protective, but clingy. He also sheds. A lot. And that hair... it gets everywhere. It is unreal the places dog hair turns up. Hey look, there's a dog hair in my bra. Looky here in the fridge, under the milk, there some more dog hair. I feel like I'm going to hoark a hairball just thinking about it. As much hair as he loses, one would think he was bald. He's not. I think my vacuum cleaner just groaned at me. I could knit you a dog hair sweater, if I knew how to knit. He just farted as I wrote that. Not lyin'.
So this morning, on my way down the stairs to the coffee-maker this odor assails my nostrils, and I think to myself... oh gosh (actually it was more damn, WTF), does my house really smell like this, because dang it, it stinks. It smells like dog, and store bought room deodorizer, and last night's dinner (which had garlic in it- which no one ate but me), and dog, and something else that I'm not sure of... I shall just call it stale-ness. And then I think, I really, really don't want to clean today, in fact, I'd rather be back in bed. I stagger into the kitchen and start making coffee and when I open the dishwasher to pull out a clean mug... I think dammit man... why does the dishwasher full of clean dishes smell like crap too. And then I smelled coffee... and I didn't care anymore. I filled my mug and added my delicious creamer and stared into it's beautiful brown depths and inhaled it's amazing aroma... and the rest of the smells just fell away like someone blowing the white stuff off a dead dandelion.

You know how those white things on dandelions are like seeds or whatever, and they get in the soil and make new dandelions and dandelions are actually weeds? Well I drank my coffee and got the twins up (the older 2 are away with their dad and step-mom this week- not that that is relevant here, but still)... and then the twins simultaneously filled their diapers with poop and tried to blame one another for the stink that they each created. Yay!! More stink! How awesome!!! One would think my nose hairs would have been singed off at this point. I wish they would actually, would save me from having to tame them with tweezers and scissors and nose hair trimmers and stuff. Srsly. Why do I have scary nose hairs? I'm not a 70 year old man. C'mon already!! Jeesh! Annoying.

I cleaned their butts, refilled my coffee cup, and lit my Yankee Candle and pretended that I didn't smell the smelly smells that were smelling smelly, because frankly I'm just lazy and I don't want to scrub crap, and that is that.

By the way.... when potatoes rot in the pantry, they can make the whole house stink. So if you smell a smelly smell and are not sure where it's coming from, check your tatties people cuz holy hell that stank!

This product contains no yucky ingredients....

Martha Stewart does not live in my house. I mean, that's what this blog is called right, so there should be no question. There is a plaque above my stove that affirms this very fact. I do not spew 'good things'. I do not make bows out of discarded newspaper funnies. I don't sift my flour, salt, and baking soda together. And I certainly don't grow baby salad greens or other exotic vegetables, hell, I can't even grow tomatoes. I do however... cook. I cook A LOT. Mostly because I have to, ok... all the time because I have to. And perhaps if it wasn't for the clean up, or the itty bitty size of my tiny kitchen, or the critiques of an amazingly picky 10 year old I venture to guess that I would actually enjoy cooking. Almost like a hobby. (Hence my expanding waistline- or maybe that was caused by the Funions. A moot point really- although I do like funions.)

Now way back when I was married to my first husband I really was lost in the kitchen. Growing up my mother fried steak in a skillet (ok, steak didn't happen often, but spam did) and followed the directions on the back of the rice-a-roni box. My dad cooked amazing things, but he did it so infrequently I really didn't glean much from it, only that he apparently took lessons from Julia Child- i.e. a little drinky for the dish, a lot of drinky for him... if ya know what I mean.

This all left me a little lacking in the cooking department, and my first husband was rather traditional and expected me to do the cooking mostly all the time. Not good folks, not good. Mushy meatloaves abounded, burnt spaghetti sauces, chilis, chicken; these were all common. And if I managed to get it right in my mind, he would inevitably make the comment- my mom doesn't make it like this. No, she didn't. She didn't use recipes, or processed food, that came in boxes. I was clearly inexperienced and out of my element and he seemed to delight in this. This caused a great resentment towards cooking... among other things.

Fast forward- I lost the zero- as we all know- and moved onto the hero (another blog for another day). I have amassed quite the collection of cook books and cooking magazines. Those magazines are evil. They would jump right off the rack at the check out line and end up in my bag, and be all like yea!! And I would be like Yea! I'm gonna cook this and that and that other thing on that page over there and shit! I cook and unicorns appear sliding down rainbows of glitter and landing on butterfly wings etc etc. Sgt. Dad loves my cooking. He raves about it. He whines about not having it in the 'sandbox'. (you get the point) Which brings me to my current problem.

Sgt. Dad is not here, and will not be here for quite a while. And before you start stalking me and my house in real life cuz I am (alone)- weirdos- please know that I have a shotgun and 100+ lb. monster hound/ rotty mix and we will hurt you so don't do it. Had to be said. Anyway- moving on. Like I said- he's not here, and so I have these children to cook for. The oldest- he pretty much devours any part of a cow, and not much else. My booger-butt... well he's the worst... pbj, microwaved cheese quesadillas,  and that mac 'n' cheese that comes in the blue box- you know the one. That's all. That's it. He's 10 and that's about all he puts in his body. I don't know how this kid grows. Everything is yucky to him. Now the twins have their hit and miss days. Some days they do like things and then a week later... they don't. That's the age they're at. I get it.
So what's the point you ask after all this rambling? Well let me tell you my esteemed reader.... I am sick and tired of trying to do right so to speak. The whole balanced meal thing. The more time I spend cooking the less inclined they are to eat it. Especially Booger Butt. I'm sick of blue box mac n cheese and peanut butter and jelly. And most of all I am sick of, 'I don't like this'. OMG- did you even try it?! Every single danged night. And it's not like I can take a night off and let someone else do the cooking and get the critiquing. Nope. All me. All the time. I don't like to take them out. It costs too much, and well the twins are 2. So I guess I am looking for ideas. Minimum effort meals for maximum rewards. I don't generally ask for advice from others. It usually irks me (again- another blog for another day). But if you have a fail-safe tried and true meal for picky folks please share it.... unless it has ground beef in it... Booger Butt won't eat that cuz it's mushy.

~sigh~ dang picky kids......

A nomination? For me? Na-ah!

Holy Mother of Pearl Batman! I received not one but two bloggey nominations from two fabulous fellow bloggers My Daily Jenn-ism and The Vintage Boomer! Thanks Mamas!! Really, it's quite shocking since I just burst onto this scene. I really think I am a bit in over my head with this bloggey stuff... oh... and did I mention... I started a FB page? (Yea, I'm pimpin myself... call it narcissism if you will) Yea, I did that. I must be crazy. Anyway, here's the dealio- There are certain rules that come with this nod so here goes:

The Rules:

1. Include the award logo in a post or on you blog page

2. Answer 10 questions about yourself

3. Nominate 10-12 other famous bloggers

4. Link your nominees to your post and comment on their blog, letting them know about the nomination

5. Share the love and link the person who nominated you

Now that I shared the rules, let me add that while I am honored to be nominated I kinda feel like I'm in a weird sort of chain mail thing... but ya know what, I kinda like it (narcissism aside of course) :P

Ten Questions and Answers:

1. What would you most like to change about yourself?
Well this is deep. Mostly I would like to change wanting to change, ya know. I wish I were more comfortable in my own skin. I am not. Anxiety abounds and that sucks. It affects ones perception of everything. I would also like to be fabulously gorgeous, skinny, and independently wealthy.

2. What is your theme song?
I wrestled with this one for a while. I love music, and have several favorite artists, and I spent a while pondering several songs that I absolutely love and this what I settled on- 'What I Am'- Edie Brickell- cuz I'm not aware of too many things, but I know what I know, if ya know what I mean. That and someone once told me this song made them think of me. 

3. One part of your life, a memory or action, etc. that you wish you could surgically remove from your brain:
Oh gosh, well now this is tough. I would like to believe that I don't regret things, because truly they make us who we are, but I can think of several things here. My first pregnancy and the loss of it... that memory sort of rises to the top. But the experience of the pain has shaped me, and so no, I don't want to remove it. Perhaps a more realistic action to remove? Wearing a black mid-drift tank top w/ the word 'Crazy for You' to the amusement park as a kid. Other kids found it amusing, and I found it embarrassing, but it was the 80s, and we were poor, and it was a hand-me-down from my uber cool cousin... what'cha gonna do, ya know...

4. What generation do you wish you had been a part of?
I kind of wish I had been in my teens/ early 20s in the late 70s early 80s mostly because of the music, and I don't mean disco. I'm talking about Fleetwood Mac and The Rolling Stones, Rock N Roll n such. I believe I was born about a decade too late...

5. What was your favorite childhood toy?
We was poor when I was kid, just sos ya know. I can't name one specific thing. I loved my fashion plates, and my barbie dolls, and my homemade cabbage patch kid (Cindy-Lou) and various stuffed critters. I was not particularly partial to one. 

6. What is your favorite housecleaning chore? 
Seriously? I don't play favorites when it comes to housecleaning chores. I hate them all equally. There is not one redeeming factor about the lot. Laundry, dishes, vacuuming, cleaning toilets, mopping floors... doing any of these things sucks. I do not enjoy any of them. Perhaps the better question would be which is my least favorite... hmmm... Nope. Still, I hate them all equally. 

7. Do you Twitter?
I twitter-pated when I was young. But then most teenage girls do. They twitter-pate over this boy or that boy. Heck, sometimes my husband can still make me twitter-pate. I know that's not what was meant by twitter. I do not live under a rock. Twitter annoys me, and therefore I do not.

8. Any Goals?
Ask me again in November, because my sole purpose right now is to make it til then with my sanity intact. 

9. Do you really drink Margaritas all the time?
I do not. Which is sad. My husband bought an epic Margaritaville Margarita Machine last year for Mother's Day in an attempt to ease my anger about him taking a job in the 'sandbox'. It is epic. Huge in fact, and it's size in comparison to my kitchen... well... if it does not fit, you must acquit, and in this case Mr. Margarita Machine spends a lot of time in my basement atop the dryer. And this is why I do not drink them every day. Also, purchasing tequila etc in the liqueur store with 4 children hanging off you... well... let's just say it doesn't look good. 

10. What is the ugliest car you have ever driven and were embarrassed to be seen in?
There is something you must know before I answer this question. I used to have a beautiful white Ford Mustang- 5 speed manual transmission, big V-8 engine, all the bells and whistles. My standards are high. My x-husband once had a Plymouth Gran Fury, that was pretty hideous and brown. Like a big brown turd really. There were also several other less than stellar autos in my past- the x's Suzuki Samarai with it's top speed of snail, a Honda Prelude with fabulous bondo trim, and the Toyota Tercel... nothing really wrong with it... it was just embarrassing.

Ok, there it. My 10 get to know me questions. Time to pass this little nod off to some other great folks.

Here is my list of nominations for the Sunshine Blog Award. I nominated these folks because, to be honest, I haven't got a huge list of blogs that I'm reading. That said- I thoroughly enjoy the ones I do read. You all rock, even if I don't comment on every post! ;)

1. You Know It Happens At Your House Too

2. Food Good, Laundry Bad

3. Figuring it Out as we Grow

4. The Real Housewife of Santee

5. The Underachiever's Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess

6. Somewhat Sane Mom

7. Twins Happen

and yea... since I'm just getting started and I'm mostly self-absorbed I only made it up to 7 blogs before I was like... Uhhhhh... idk. So yea... I almost feel like it's one of those forward or God will kill kittens things... but it gives me a chance to talk about me, and and pimp myself... and what blogger doesn't want to do that?! I knew you would understand :P

All joking aside, thank you again The Vintage Boomer and My Daily Jenn-ism, I appreciate the face time!

Now back to your regularly scheduled blog posts... already in progress!

Cheers folks!

50 Shades of..... WTF am I reading??

~~~~~~****Spoiler Alerts Abound****~~~~~~~

There's been a lot of chatter lately about 'housewife porn' trilogy 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. Now let me start by saying- I am not usually one to jump on the proverbial bandwagon. Not my thing. For instance movies that get huge hype... not interested. Here a few specific examples: Titanic, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Twilight (blech!), Magic Mike (altho the scenery looks nice in that one)... That said, I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but I bought it. I mean, I bought all 3 books at once. Okay- I am ashamed. I'm better than this, really. But loneliness does strange things to the psyche I suppose and so here they are in their fantastic gray glory.

Incidentally, I'm never sure if it's 'gray' or 'grey' because according to spellcheck they are both spelled correctly. Ironically the word spellcheck is showing up as incorrect. But I digress, I am getting off topic. If anyone can clear up the gray/grey thing, that would be great. Thanks.

Anywayyyy..... I understand the preface of this. Here is this dude, Mr. Grey, who has some seriously freakish control issues and he's got this thing for trussing woman up and smacking them with riding crops and such. And he insists on written contracts with all his trussed up woman to obey to play his little game. And now he's got this thing for this plain-Jane-clumsy-as-I-don't-know-what college chick. Now, this story sounded good in theory especially for a woman whose husband is 8,000 miles away for the next 5 months. Some straight up somewhat acceptable 'entertainment'. So I open book one, and it begins, and right away I'm thinking somewhat aloud... 'WTF is this shit?!' Much like Cookie Monster being served a plate of vegetables. What high school kid wrote this drivel? Let me tell you all, it is written in first person from Ms. Steele's point of view, and I find that utterly obnoxious. Just my opinion, but this is my blog so deal with it. And what do I care if Katherine wants Nyquil? And since you mentioned it why didn't Anastasia Steele give Katherine any damn Nyquil. I mean you asked if she wanted it, and then got busy fussing with your jacket and never gave it to her. Why bother asking her in the first place. This annoyed me, and I believe I was only on page 2 of the book. Already I am struggling with the inane b.s. of each paragraph. The blushing, the flushing, the biting of the lip, and Ms. Steele's ums, uhs, ers, and later on her arghhhhs when she gets smacked with a riding crop. I want to grab the damn riding crop and smack E.L. James across the knuckles for typing this. While I'm at it, I would like to beat the hell out of the little demon inside me that said- yea buy it- you'll like it. Idiot. Who says arghh anyway? I mean, is she a freakin pirate?? Arghhh matey! Thanks fer smackin me snatch with a riding crop? Perhaps she should have screamed 'Parlay' and asked for Cpt. Sparrow, Saavy?

Basically, so far, this is crap. Good preface, crappy writing. Really crappy. And yet I spent money on this crap, so now I feel obligated to finish it while I loathe and resent every lip bite this chick makes while kneeling in Mr. Grey's 'red room of pain'. Not only is Mr. Grey '50 shades of fucked up' but apparently so am I for reading this. Whatever. I'll keep you posted because I'm sure you're all keen to hear the outcome, and that way you won't have to waste your own time reading it yourself.

Saavy??

An interesting read?

Diaries are awesome! That is the truth. Look at Anne Frank's- her diary sold like hotcakes and was made into a movie... a couple times over. They are full of truths and dreams, disappointments and tears, confessions and obsessions (some of the stalker-like variety- not that I would know. Looks thata way --->). A book filled with handwritten pages about one's life, and last night I found 4 such books hiding in a box in my closet. These books spanned over 15 years of my life... from the age of 12 on. I opened the first and began to read my 12-yr old girl scribble scrabble, and immediately LMAO. WOW! How lame was I? How completely obsessed with boys, how insecure, how lonely I felt, and how grown I thought I was. It was hysterical. At the back of one book was a list of boys names and I how I 'loved' each one. Girl, let me tell you something, at 12, 14, and 16, love isn't love- it's luv. It was like reading someone else's words. Who the heck was this immature obsessed young girl, and why did she let all these boys treat her like crap, and why did she blatantly walk away from the guys (using the term loosely) that were good to her, and why the hell does she do nothing but talk about guys anyway.... she's so dang young. I laughed because it seemed so long ago, and then I started to remember these things this girl was writing about. These trials, these mini-heartbreaks, these hopes. I remembered them like they happened yesterday, not 20+ years ago. I realized that even though these things I wrote about were not earth-shattering, mind-numbing painful experiences, they were my experiences. This person broke my heart, and that person broke my trust, and this other person made me feel bad about myself. And then there was the embarrassing stuff, and the events, and the things people said, and the movies I saw and who I saw them with. But mostly it seems as though I was just boy crazy. The following statements jumped out at me repeatedly and seemed quite ridiculous:

~I've never felt like this before

~No one cares

~I'm confused

~I love (fill in the blank) {Incidentally- these were the most ridiculous statements- I have had only one great love in my lifetime and that is my husband. Whatever happened before him was ridiculous foolish nonsense including my first marriage}

The point here is that even though I laughed hysterically at my naive, immature, innocence, and boy crazy obsessions from 15+ years ago, those things that I wrote about actually happened and those people were part of my life and in some way that stuff has actually shaped the person I am today. And now here I sit blogging about writing in my diary... and that I find to be ironically hilarious, don't you? No. Well, alrighty then.

I had intended this post to be humorous, but as usual of late, I am missing my witty-ness. So I have an assignment for those that read this. Did you keep a diary? Do you still have said diary and would you be willing to share something humorous from said diary with me? I think it would be nice to know that I wasn't the only one suffering from teenage bipolar schizophrenia and raging hormones.



P.S. Do not attempt to zoom this pic and read the words that are written. It could be dangerous to your health. Yes, that is actually my diary, but no, I'm not feeling brave enough to share actual excerpts yet. Quite, quite embarrassing...... :D

Cheers!

A window into my lost eloquence....

I used to be eloquent. My use of expensive words was well known, even lauded by my close friends. Then the twins became toddlers.... and now I use words like... poopy, handy, papey-towel, tubby-bath, boo-boo-owie, sissy, and bubby. 
I used to be witty, funny even, producing my own brand of gut-busting humor. I am serious when I tell you I could make you pee yourself with laughter. Then the twins became toddlers, the days are full of poopy diapers, temper tantrums, timeouts, sibling rivalries, and the like. I have found that these things seem to be sucking the wit and expensive words straight from my brain like some brain sucking aliens despite my intense intake of caffeine. 

These things have become blatantly obvious to me what with Sgt. Dad's absence from the house. If you've never experienced deployment, you can not possibly understand this. I don't mean that to sound nasty or rude, truly I don't. But it is true. And this isn't even a true deployment in the military sense. Sgt. Dad chose to go over there to keep food on our table. I won't lie- the money is good, excellent even. He can not find employment stateside that would ever pay this much. This is good. It pays stuff off, like car loans, and mortgages (of which there are many in our case), and it feeds and clothes the kidlets. I am thankful for this man, and his commitment to take care of our family. He amazes me everyday. 
That said- I shall be launching into a whining tantrum of my own of sorts. This totally sucks. Since this is my second go-round I speak from experience and current suckiness. I tried telling myself I was used to this. I have done this before, therefore this should be no big deal. FAIL. I was wrong. I don't think one can ever get used to this. There is a constant worry sort of niggling in the back of my mind. And then I sit and ponder all of the things he is missing with our kids. And then comes the anxiety... what if this happens, what if that happens, how do I do (insert whatever) by myself. And ultimately there is straight up missing him. Like gut-wrenching, painful, missing him. It's like that. It actually hurts.
Now that I have whined, I shall proceed to share what things I have learned through this experience, because I am certain you would want to know. First, and foremost- I am apparently stronger than I ever knew, both emotionally and physically. Second- and almost as important- I have learned that I MUST swallow my pride and ask for help when I need it. Help comes in many forms and comes from places and people I never expected. Those are the most important lessons I've learned. 
In addition, their are several smaller, perhaps not as important, lessons that I have learned. Let me share some of those with you to enlighten you:
~The old adage is true- if ain't broke, don't fix it. And by broke I mean completely useless. This lesson is especially important in regards to my car, which likes to do strange things at inopportune times- like stall out, or rev all by itself, or break window switches. But I still get where I need to go and that's what counts.
~If any child is ill, I will inevitably get ill and therefore should have a constant supply of vitamins and medicine on hand because no one can just run out to the store and get them for me.
~If the cat is not in the house, the basement door should be closed because even though the dog never goes down there when I'm watching- he will go down there in the middle of the night and eat her food thereby making me believe that the cat has a dang tapeworm. Dork.
~BJ's is an excellent place to shop for diapers and wipes and milk. However, it is not a good idea to purchase things like bulk fresh fruit and vegetables, because, let's face it, the kids are not big fans of said things, and I can only eat so much broccoli before it goes bad ya know. P.S. shredded cooked broccoli does not make a great quesidilla filling- the kids figure it out before eating it.
~The toilet only gets clogged when he isn't home. btw- you should invest in a good plunger and know how to use it. Also, you should know where it is at all times, and make certain all children know it is not a 'silly hat'
~Cheese, crackers, and carrot sticks are a perfectly acceptable meal option for toddlers. Of course, too much cheese and you will have to counteract it with some raisins, or in my youngest son's case, mandarin oranges. The less time you spend on dinner, the happier they are. Truth.

These are just a few valuable lessons. I have also learned that I seriously need a real hobby other than the internet, and that sometimes I need a break and a babysitter, and that it's okay to have a glass or 2 of wine at night after the kidlets go to bed. It is how I cope, how I survive and I am okay with that and don't care much what others think.
So despite my missing eloquence and usual snappy wit, the sarcasm still remains, and I am learning new things every day. For instance today I learned that if you spill the powdered cheese from the box of mac'n'cheese onto a hot stove burner it sorta smells like vomit, and that is not cool. I am though- cool that is- at least in my own mind.
Cheers folks!

What are you lookin' at?

Really? Don't you have something better to do? Wait, I'm sure you do, but since you are here let me fill this space with some obligatory rant. First let us be clear, I am NOT Martha Stewart, I would Never win a mother of the year award or even be nominated for one. My house is a disaster, I don't like arts and crafts, my children could use a bath at the moment, and I am currently watching them shove peanut butter and jelly sammiches in their mouths while I type this... cuz honestly nap time is getting shorter and I don't get much other free time. Was that a run on sentence? Whatever. I actually don't have a point today other than to introduce myself to whoever may happen upon this page. I need an outlet to rant about things and this is it. There are 4 children in this house (Smarty-Pants- 11, Booger-Butt-10, Prissy-Pants-2.5, and Loki- the demon child- also 2.5), 1 smelly old hound dawg, and a bitchy cat who enjoys chewing the heads off of small animals, and then there is me. I am woefully outnumbered. Nothing is normal around here and then at the same time it is. We often draw attention when out in public, and I have never been one to want the spotlight shined on me (and yet I am blogging, publicly- whatever). People love to ask questions too when you are lugging small children around, and they like to ask them at the most inopportune moments, like when you're standing in the only check-out line available in the whole grocery store, or when one spawn informs you that they have to pee, or when another spawn has decided to have a tantrum, or worse, when you yourself need to pick a wedgie. Really people, can't you see I'm busy here? I mean my underwear is stuck up my ass-crack because of the juggling dance party required to keep track of these kids and you choose now to ask me the obvious and annoying question- are they twins? WTH do you think? I envy your brilliance. Really, I do. Now go away and be stupid somewhere else, cuz I don't want it rubbing off on me and my kids. Thanks. People who stare make me feel awkward, stupid people that stare annoy the piss out of me, mostly though I am just awkward and those that know me are ok with that, and if you keep reading the crap that I post maybe you will be ok with my awkwardness too. So what are you lookin' at?? huh? huh? Move along, nothing to see here folks, nothing to see... Cheers~ gonna go pour more coffee.... the cup is empty....