A funny thing happened to me-

on the phone last night.

"So you have a blog", "what 

does that mean" (insert laugh here). "Do people actually read your blog" (insert second laugh here).

The answer is yea, people read my blog, I mean, my mom does count right. No, nobody reads my freaking blog. Did you not hear the part where I said "I have only been blogging for a week". Or how about the part where I sa

id "hey I just started blogging". So let me apologize now for the moment that someone other then  my mom does read my blog. I am not a writer, so you ask what does that mean. It means that in the third sentence of this paragraph I typed weak not week, and last night I typed leave not live. Wtf is wrong with me, I will tell you what's wrong. I cant spell. I don't remember shit from English class and although I would love to spend my whole day on Webster's website, I  lack the energy to do so. So bottom line, deal with it.

Man that is the thing about blogging, I mean it felt really good to type that, although hence the paragraph above, I keep wanting to say it felt good to write that. But we aren't writing here folks, we are TYPING!!!!!!!

Today I am tired! Not sure if that is because my tylenol party last night or the fact that I haven't chugged a gallon of red bull yet this morning. Either way its one in the afternoon and I can hardly think. My brain is so cloudy from my life right now, that I have to get through my day in segments. So what is my current segment. Force this red bull down my throat, attempt to make myself presentable and go to the bank. Not as exciting as my next segment. Drive back from the bank, change back into pajamas and attempt something else productive. As dramatic as that all sounds I am smirking right now. If you cant amuse yourself, what good are you.

So keeping with the current venting theme, let me just get it all out. I don't think women go through mid-life crisis's. I personally didnt wake up, break up with my girlfriend. Tell her I am moving out, turn her life upside down and then order a DVD set so I could make my body beach ready. Give me a fucking break. You think thats hard to watch, try watching a huge piece of steel being moved in to where said X is moving out. What is this steel? A vertical, gravity boot, chin up, upside down, hey I might do a sit-up,  I am going through a mid life freaking crisis thing.

I can hear it now without having heard a word. Bitter and Jaded.

Let me tell you about B&J, or BJ. 

Women don't:

a. Cough up their entire internal organs as soon as they wake up

b. Wipe off a counter and then claim "they cleaned the kitchen".

c. Wipe items from said counter onto floor

d. Forget to put the seat down, and never replace the empty TP roll with fresh TP

e. Scratch our nuts and smell our fingers

f. Beat their chests

g. Put up personal ads when in a relationship, to see if someone else will deal with the above.

All that being said, I do wish women could beat their chests. Yes we all want to experience the whole penis for a day thing. But, what I want is to beat my chest. What if after washing the dishes for the 6th time in a 6 day period, we finished and starting beating out chests. Kind of like we just saved a life or something. Oh and then we could walk around for an hour with our chest out, and talk like we are tim off of home improvement. Why do men do that its just weird, not cute not funny, WEIRD.

I am done, I will now put on Bob Marley's everything is going to be alright. This way I can put myself in a zen like state, before I go deal with the psycho teller in the BOA drive through.

this is my life.