This sort of thing is why the empire is collapsing around us

Blah blah boring blah. There, does that count as a blog post?

Lately I've just not been in the mood. I have had a traveling husband and a lot of one-on-one kid time, and while you might think that would be a boon to my catalog of subject matter, it was really more of a boon to the malt liquor industry. Not really. But sort of.

Want to talk about my private lady business? Oh good, me too. I had the monthly visitor something fierce, so bad that I felt a lot like that lady raccoon I saw get raped in the street in front of my house a few months back. At least I sounded a lot like her, with all the hissing and spitting and whatnot. It was so bad that my husband - Mister Just Say No, never took a drug stronger than Motrin himself - suggested I might want to see if I could get a prescription for some medical marijuana. I think it says a lot that he would prefer me completely useless, eating Doritos and watching Cheech and Chong or whatever.

Actually what he would really prefer me is knocked up again, which is just absolute crazy talk. For at least another four to six months.