I Bought a Ticket to the World, But I've Come Back Again

Things I've learned or been reminded of lately......

Threatening to moon The Spawn and getting my pants halfway down is an effective parenting tool. They'll comply immediately with any request if it means I keep my pants up.

Sometimes being wanted has a down side. It can feel like a threat or an obligation.

It is generally frowned upon when a mom expresses aloud that she's ready to quit the "whole parenting thing."

There is a lot of crap on my iPod that I didn't put there.

A cat will commit angry, furtive pooping to prove a point. You may never figure out what that point is, but you'd better find that stealth dookie or the smell of it will drive you slowly insane.

I can make very unpleasant jokes about Germans that I would never dream of making about any other ethnic group.

I like the word unfortunate. A lot.

Sprite makes me burp more than it used to and old Coke - not Coke Classic, but Coke that's been sitting in a closet at work for two years, doesn't age like a fine wine. Out of desperation yesterday, I drank one (our tap water is brownish and our water cooler has been empty for three weeks). Shortly after I drank that old Coca Cola, I noticed that my vision was blurry and I kept referring to the guest chair next to my desk Harold.

The Actor would prefer that I not sing the worst of Journey's songs during the ride to school. He's even less fond when my singing involves the shutting of my eyes so I can really feel the music and corresponding hand gestures.

Truck drivers can see me adjusting my boobs in my bra when I have the cover over my sunroof open.

Semi truck horns are very loud when blasted right next to you.

At certain times in my monthly cycle (that's different from my bi-cycle), I prefer softer porn.

My coworkers think I shouldn't answer the phone when I'm brushing my teeth to rid myself of nasty coffee breath.

I crave quiet.

Just because I agree to stop singing falsetto with Steve Perry doesn't mean The Actor will reward me by joining me in a snappy rendition of Spandau Ballet's True. What a stick in the mud. He won't even do the ah-ah-ah-ahhh-ahhhhh-ah-I-know-this-much-is-true chorus for me.

I can take a picture of my boobies with my phone and send them off to my loyal subscribers from behind the wheel of my car. It's not smart, but in this age of massive job cuts and layoffs, I believe that anything I can add to my resume goes in the personal PLUS column.

I can live on very little sleep, but is it really living or am I just another zombie?

I don't read poetry unless it thrust into my face. Then? I like it very much and I'm grateful that someone has taken the time to show it to me.

I like MathMan's yellow shirt.

I get pony-tail headache much sooner than I used to. Maybe that's because I'm pulling it so tight in a lame attempt to give myself a cheap face lift.

MathMan wouldn't mind those periodic episodes where I jump up from my chair and clog to the music in my head if only I would limit it to clogging only. "Yodel or clog. Don't do both," he says. "It's impossible to do them well simultaneously."

Garbo's hormones are kicking in and I'm not sure I'm ready for that wild ride.

Cats sniff things with great determination and concentration.

Green M&Ms do not make me horny. They do, however, make me crave more M&Ms.