A rambling about absolutely nothing

"Yes, my mamas, but your language makes my ears turn red. Oh, mija, where did you ever learn such words? It wasn’t me, I’m sure. It had to be your mother." Stated in an e-mail from my dad this morning. I know my dad reads my blog, shit, I sent him the link, but I just can't seem to blah myself down. Because then that wouldn't be me, you know. Nila has to keep hers a bit clean, though she's not as "foul-mouthed" (as she puts it) as I am, but her christian, God fearing mother-in-law reads her blahg everyday. Though that would not deter me from any of my regular use of sailor language. Meh.

Speaking of e-mails: I come into work this morning...turn on my computer...as I'm waiting for outlook to finish loading, I notice an e-mail and the name looks oddly familiar. I can only see part of the name, and I'm wondering if it's from who I think it's from...But no, I think, it couldn't be. I haven't heard from him in years. Even the "I hope you're still alive" e-mails I randomly sent went unanswered. So FINALLY my computer is done loading, and I get the chance to glimpse the mystery e-mail...it IS from him...and all it says is "stupid". That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. Of course I HAVE to reply to this. "I think I'm confused right now. Who's stupid?!" That was at about eight or so this morning...and no response as of yet. I'm sure I'll here nothing from him for another 3 years or so. Only time will tell. But I hate hate HATE getting shit like that because then I obssess over the meaning of the mystery e-mail...same goes with phone calls. If I get a call from an unknown number and there is no message left, I dwell on who it could have been for day. There is A LOT that bugs me and will send me into a high strung rant of sorts. Just ask my weasel, I went into one of those tirades last night. And trust me, it doesn't take much to get me started. OCD isn't the right disease, but it's the first that comes to mind.

Currently, this is my To Do List:
1. Plan derby awards party for this season (it's next month and we've done...not a whole lot)
2. Plan the geniuses' birthday party. He'll be 9. NINE! Ack! I can't believe I have a kid that old. AND not to mention the fact that he's going to be in the fourth grade this fall. FOURTH grade. Boy, how fast they grow.
3. Strangle the new chick...or at least smack her upside the head. I think that will suffice.
4. Strangle my boss' boss...love her to death, but she's bugging me right now

Maybe I'm just a tad grumpy right now. I'm tired, even though I didn't stay up late...go figure, I'm more tired now that I get sleep then when I was an insomniac. But it's almost time to go home. And my weasel just told me that he's getting a 1969 caddy with a chopped top and flame throwers on the exhaust...cause ya, we're that cool.

I'm not so sure I'm making much sense here, so I'll stop on that note...you know, the note that says I'm that cool. Home. The weekend. Excitement. Should be interesting to say the least.