You are currently browsing the monthly archive for September 2008.

Dear Candidate,

I love you and you are not a liar.



Dear Other Candidate,

I don’t love you and you are a big fat meanie.  Why you gotta tell lies?  Right in someones face?  It made me mad.  I got my eyes on you.  And, also?  Your arms are too short.




Dear Other Candidates VP Choice,

Yeah, I didn’t know what that was, either!  I think yer perty.  (Other Candidate?  I’m still available…)

Love and Lipstick,



Dear Clay Aiken,

Gosh.  You ARE brave.  I mean, I know it takes a lot of courage to say something that everybody ALREADY KNOWS.





Dear Star Magazine,

Don’t talk about Jude Law like that, okay?  I mean, its one thing when your calling Rumor a whore, but its a whoooole nuther story when you are picking on a beautiful dude for going bald.  Back off, or I’ll quit receiving you in the mail.  For free.  Wait, no I won’t…But still.  Also?  Leave Sarah Jessica alone.  I also love her, and she’s my fashion icon.  Don’t kill my dream that they are the perfect Hollywood Couple.  Because I already don’t believe anything you say about Brad and Angelina (who I also love).

Devoted to Trash,



Dear Stupid People That Actually Write to Star Magazine,





Dear The Word Love,

I know.  I use you too much.  If only there were a word that meant that I loved something a little less, but didn’t hate it at all.  Ergh.

Emotingly Yours,



I’ve been working out for a couple of days now, so I feel like I’m gonna be pretty buff here in a few months.  Watch out now!  Here’s what gets me though; Big Hands has been getting up at the ass crack of dawn for the last two weeks and either swimming or running.  I say to him the other day, “Babe?  Will you please just make sure I’m up when you leave?”  Hey.  I want to look better than him at all times, and if his ass is tight, then, well so shall be mine.

But you know what?  He did not get me up.  I told him that I was onto his little trickery.  I know that he just wants to be hotter than me so that a) he can look down his nose at my fat behind and b) have an affair on me.  I told him neither was acceptable.  He told me I needed to be a little more self motivated.  I told him, then, to suck it.

Plus.  We both know me, and I am not self motivated.

Except for that I HAVE to be as BH still won’t wake me up!  But, whatever.  I’ll show him.  I’ve gotten up on my own for the past couple days.  And, I’ve devised a little workout that will firm and lift all parts of me that need firming and lifting.  If anyone around here is going to have an affair, its gonna be ME, dammit.

But, I think the adrenaline from working out has gone straight to my head.  Either that or I just think I’m more likable than I actually am.

See?  Here’s my story:  I fell in love with a blogger.  No big deal.  I do it a lot.  Not a lot, lot.  But enough.  I’m pretty sure that I fawned over this one here for quite a long time.  We even had plans to move in together, no?  But even though she didn’t know me, she understood me.  (Erin?  You complete me.)  She got that I was just joking (a little) and that’s just how I make friends (kinda like those Night at the Roxbury guys from SNL).

I recently (and by recently I mean yesterday) found a blog that I love.  I often think that if I love something then it will love me back.  

I think that I’ve scared this woman to death.

I mean I told her that I’ve fallen in love with her, but REALLY.  What blogger haven’t I told that to?  Sheesh.  I just can’t help myself…I love to make friends!

When I first started the job that I used to work at before I got the current job that I work at, I used to make people be friends with me.  I’d go up to the new girls and say, “Hi.  My names Jennifer.  Do you smoke? Lets be friends.” And, that was that.  We were friends.  Still are.  I still do this, to a point.  Anymore, I just don’t ask them if they smoke (though I secretly wish they do, so that I can stand next to them and inhale).

I mean, I’ve had the same best friend since I was 10.  I make ’em and I keep ’em!  Usually.  A couple have slipped through my fingers, and that always makes me sad.  I take it very personally.

But, you know…maybe I’m a little too forward.  Maybe not everyone’s gonna get me.   Thats o.k.  I’m good enough.  I’m smart enough.  And, doggone it, some people like me.


Written from memory from a conversation we had about five minutes ago.  I should carry a tape recorder with me at all times:

In Middle School and High School there are a lot of groups.  Cool, Nerd, Jock, Jerk.

The Cool Kids get the girls and wear the good clothes.

The Nerds are all about schoolwork, schoolwork, homeword, social studies work, and educational work.

The Jocks are too physical, and the Jerks are just ‘eeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh’.

You don’t want to be in any of these groups because you don’t want to be too educated, you don’t want to be too physical, you don’t want to be meanie, but I guess you want to be a little cool.

You don’t want to fall in love with a girl thats older than you because if that girl already has a boyfriend, well then that’s bad.  And she’ll also think that she is a Wolfette and you are a cute little puppy dog.

I said, Where in the world did you hear such a thing?  He says, I just KNOW things Mom.  I said, Yeah.  But where’d you hear it from?  He says, Suite Life of Zach and Cody.
Thanks Mickey.


I try really hard not to force my opinion on Holden.  I wish I could say the same for BH!  This conversation WAS indeed apropo of nothing.

He: I really don’t think John McCain made a very good Vice President choice.

Me:  Who IS his choice, Buddy?

He: I dunno her name.  That lady from Alaska.

Me:  Why don’t you think she’s a good choice?

He: Well, Mom!  She’s got like FIVE kids!

Me: So?  There’s lots of mommies who work.  I work.

He:  Well, she’s got a baby who has Down’s Syndrome!  When you are the Vice President, I suppose you hafta spend a lot of time in the Office, and she should be taking care of that baby!  What if one day when she’s spending all her time in the Office that baby just (at this point he makes the universal Throat Slit and Croak sign with his finger across his neck)????

Me:  HOLDEN!  That baby is not going to DIE from Down’s Syndrome!

He: Oh.  Well, still.  I could understand if those kids were all college age.  Then they could all feed their own selves.  But they’re not.  Who is going to make them dinner?

Me:  I really don’t know, Buddy.  She fired the Chef.

Dear Candidate,

I love you.  Oh, of course I don’t love you!  I don’t even know you…but I sure like you a lot.  I’m sure there are others like me.  Beyond the obvious, what really got me was your chivalry.  And, of course, your eloquence.  I watched your speech, and cried.  My friends will tell you that’s no big deal, I cry about everything. But I tell you what: I was crying because we’re making history, baby!  I think of all the others that went before you, and I know they’d be proud.  I cannot wait to see you as our president.

Don’t eff it up, okay?

Warmly and Excitedly,



Dear Pierce Brosnan,

Please don’t sing anymore.



Dear Other Candidate,

I just want you to know?  Just in case it doesn’t work out with your veep?  I’ve volunteered in my son’s classroom for like four years now, so I think I’m ready for the job.  Just wanted to put that out there.




Dear You Know Who You Are,

You should be ashamed of yourself.  Not for the predicament your daughter is in, oh no.  Not at all.  Got myself knocked up before I was wed, and I consider myself a most sincere Christian, with morals coming out of my ears.  No, no.  You should be ashamed for feeding your daughter to the press.  Career be damned!  You sure are showing me what’s important to you. (Hint: not your family.)

Hope its worth it,

Disgruntled voter who’s sure as hell not voting for your ticket


Dear Kris Radish,

I get it.  We should all be lesbians.  Probably are.  Point taken.  Can we move on now?

Loved your first book more,



Dear what my husband refers to as Nicotine Withdrawl Dreams,

Stop it alright?  Yer freekin’ me out and making me lose sleep.  Don’t make me start smoking again.




Dear Big Hands,

Thank. You. 

No really.  Thank. You.

Wink, wink.

Very Happily,