I want to kick some ass with Alex Cross!

Anything having to do with the written word has always fascinated me.  I love it.  English is a breeze for me.  Words are like air to me.  English is like breathing.  I’ve never had a problem with it.  I aced every English and literary class consistently throughout each grade and level of schooling I took.  So naturally, reading is a great love of mine.

What I like about books is there is no judgement.  You know the old saying, “You can’t judge a book by it’s cover?”  Well, the saying is correct.  Books, unless non-fiction, cannot be deemed right or wrong.  No one can tell you how, where, when, and who to write a book to and for.  Characters, places, events and themes are all made up as you go along, or they can be carefully planned out.  The point is: it doesn’t matter.  There is no set time, place, or person to impress.  (I know there are writers out there who do it for a living and obviously have to impress to make a living, but I’m sure you can comprehend the point I’m trying to make.)  I’m definitely beyond jealous of these people.  Incredibly jealous.  Reading and writing is a huge passion of mine.

Currently, I am on a tremendous James Patterson kick, reading the Alex Cross series.  Why has no one EVER told me about these in the past?!  And more to the point: how did these slip by me?!  Reading, writing, and gross disgusting crime scene blood and guts and rolled into one?!  Now that is more like it.  That is me ALL. THE. WAY.  Someone get James Patterson on the phone.  I want to meet him.  Now.  He is my hero.  I want to kick some ass with Alex Cross!

I just finished Double Cross and I am just starting Cross Country.  I have read all of his books, starting from Along Came a Spider and Kiss the Girls, all the way up to Cross Country in just a few short weeks on my kindle touch.  I seriously can’t put them down – when I find them time to read!  When I have some time to myself, that is what I find myself doing, sitting down holding my kindle.  I don’t go anywhere without my kindle and my phone.  I won’t go upstairs or downstairs in my own house without it; I won’t leave the house without it; I’ve become addicted, all thanks to Mr. Patterson.  He is like a drug.  He feeds my addiction to disgusting crime scene stuff through the use of my passion of words.  What a powerful combination.  He knows how to get to me.  Good job, James.  Good job.

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A three ring f’ing circus.

Don’t get me wrong – I am not all negative all the time.  I LOVE my life.  I have an amazing life, and I laugh everyday until I cry.  I have it great.  I have the best kids and husband ever.  My dog is okay, but he can be a bastard face a lot of the times.

I just post a lot of negative things on here because this is my outlet.  This is where I vent.  I can’t vent to my kids – obviously – because I’m usually complaining about something they did!  And I’m definitely not going to be that mom that complains to her kids, yells at them, and makes them feel like little pieces of shit, because they definitely don’t deserve that.  They’re amazing.  And they’re actually incredibly well behaved and awesome kids.  I’m so proud of the way they’re turning out.

I just write a lot of negative crap because I can.  I can complain on here.  I can voice my opinion, my thoughts and fears, and announce my irritations to the world.  To anyone besides my kids.  That’s basically what it comes down to.

Now that I’ve said all that…

I’m taking the kids to the movies today to see The Lorax.  I can’t wait.  Know why?  Because they’re so excited they’re driving me f’ing crazy. They’re bouncing off the walls, couches, and everything else they’re not supposed to be doing, because they’re so excited they can’t stand themselves.  Little bastards.  (Just kidding!)  But seriously, everytime I tell them we’re doing something and they get crazy excited, they start becoming maniacs.  I just had to yell at my daughter, who is incredibly well behaved in almost the perfect way, because she was jumping from the coffee table to the couch, and vice versa.  What the f—?  I definitely didn’t raise them to be doing that.  At this time – that’s when I’m grateful for my crazy pills.  Whoever invented them is a freaking genius.  And my new lover.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.  Sometimes it’s like a three ring f’ing circus around here.  With three kids, who are six, five and six months, and a one-year-old stubborn ass English bulldog, it gets insane.  Like crazy insane.  When one is sick, tired, hyper, in a bad mood…anything ranging from good to bad, everything around here changes dramatically.  Because when one isn’t happy, they piss the other one off on purpose constantly (the big kids).  And when the baby isn’t happy and she’s screaming and crying – no one is happy.  And when the dog gets a wild hair up his ass and becomes that instant asshole that he does randomly – no one is happy – again.

And when the hubster is home and all this craziness is happening, the poor guy goes crazy.  He can’t handle it.  He always says, “and that’s why I go to work.”  And I roll my eyes (in jealously) and wish I had a job at those times.  He’s so lucky he gets away sometimes.  Even though it’s to work.  Poor guy.  Once again – here is my daily chance – Thank you God for putting him in my life and all he does for us.  He busts his ass to support us.  And he doesn’t get thanked enough.  I tell him as much as I can.  But even thanking him everyday doesn’t do him justice I don’t think.  He’s just that amazing.  Jealous?  You should be.

And guess what my freakin’ son just did.  Hopped over the back of the couch onto the floor.  What the f.  No way.  It’s time to go.  Or time to knock them out.  Is that allowed?  Can I just knock them out until it’s movie time?  Now he’s running from one side of the couch to the other.  Time to go…

***UPDATE***

Right after I posted this, my daughter came to me and told me she wanted an MP3 player.  She has an iPod touch.  And she’s 6.  I know, spoiled rotten.  I just got so upset.  Thankfully, my medicine helps me hold back what I actually want to say (you little beotch, you have the best iPod touch there is and you’re 6, don’t be an ungrateful bastard.”  Instead, I say, “You have an MP3 player.  You have the best one they make.  It’s your iPod touch.  They don’t get any better.  Now if you’d like me to get rid of it, I’ll gladly sell it and get money for it and buy you a cheap one.  Is it not good enough for you?  Would you like a little MP3 player you can’t play games on and download games onto?”  And she said, “But I still want an MP3 player.”

Holy hell.