An oldie, but a goodie. Thanks to Bonnie for this! Good timing!
13 Things PMS Stands For:
1. Pass My Shotgun
2. Psychotic Mood Shift
3. Perpetual Munching Session
4. Puffy Mid-Section
5. People Make me Sick
6. Provide Me with Sweets
7. Pardon My Sobbing
8. Pimples May Surface
9. Pass My Sweatpants
10. Pissy Mood Syndrome
11. Plainly, Men Suck
12. Pack My Stuff
13. Potential Murder Suspect
OK, so I have a thing for cute, dorky guys. And America’s should-have-been Idol Clay Aiken is melting my butter in his new Rolling Stone interview (well, other than the fact that he claims to bite his toenails). But he does get pedicures now, so one can hope that rumor/practice is put to rest!
I am sending some serious love to Scott today for an awesome party last night! Along with being a considerate and witty host, he was also considerate of his Atkins-friendly guests and was sure to provide plenty of meat and salad and diet pop. I did break down and have one drink and some Wasabi peas, and I thought the Atkins gestapo (i.e., one of the other guests) was going to report me to the feds. Yeah, let ’em try. 😉
Shawn and I took advantage of the weather to hang out on Scott’s deck and enjoy the warm, breezy evening that was surprisingly torrential downpour-free.
The boys who showed up were mostly pretty cute. I thought Jay was cool, and J.R. was rather amusing as well. The girls were a riot — Fenni is the second coming of Margaret Cho, and all I can say about Jen is that she’s unquestionably a screamer in bed. 🙂 The Billy was a charming co-host, although I admit, my favorite party guest was Charlie, with whom I spent most of the evening. 🙂 I know I’m omitting a mention about other party guests, but well, I have my reasons. 🙂
Speaking of the diet, I cheated and had french fries today (just a small handful). I went to BK for a sandwich today, and after the standard intial lline, “You want combooooooo?” and I said no, I got one anyway. So I couldn’t resist a few nibbles. Oh well. I’ll live. 🙂
Went window-shopping today. Nothing exotic, by any means. I did realize that, now that I’ve been leaning toward wanting kids, I see and smell these people with five unruly children in the stores, and I want to stab a knife in my womb. Honestly, how can these people not discipline these ragamuffins? Do they not hear the children screaming in unison at the top of their little lungs?