It's that time again. You know, Bachlorette time. Time when I invest 8 weeks of my life watching the demise of a relationship that won't make it past the reunion show. But, I can't help it. It has a hold on me I tell ya. It takes over my mind, soul and body stronger than a Celine Dion CD.
My birthday was over the weekend. I'm not a huge fan of the birthdays idea that you have to have 5 different celebrations with huge amounts of people. It makes me nervous. I know what you're thinking, "How in the hell could a narcissistic, self-absorbed, amazing, awesome person, like JPO who likes to refer to herself by her nickname, in the third person, in all caps, NOT want to have a day where everyone focuses on her amazing awesomeness??"
I know, I know. Sometimes I find it a little crazy myself. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE birthday presents. Actually, I like pretty much any kind of present; birthday, Christmas, Easter, YOUR birthday, Hanukkah, St. Patrick's Day, National Pet Week, Michael Jackson's Death anniversary, Halloween and Memorial Day. A present is expected on those days....and a few others. So of course, on MY birthday. I expect THE PRESENTS. And thankfully, Buckethead did not disappoint.
My Dad joined Facebook. Crap. My FB updates will now talk about Rainbow Ponies and Disney Princesses. My fear is that one day he will actually figure out HOW to use the FB and will somehow discover this blog and then I'm completely toast. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I keep my musing a secret. My mom reads this as does my Grandmother, Grandfather, my pastor brother and a large part of his congregation that I'm sure keeps me at the top of their prayer chains....but my Daddy? I mean, I'm his "baby girl". He thinks I'm angelic and that somehow I was miraculously a virgin on the night of my honeymoon to my second husband. I can't shatter his dreams.
Nothing else to say except I painted my toes green. That was a bad decision.