My five year old son is sick. I'm stuck on the couch with him as he moans and thrashes and tries valiantly to keep down his lunch, and...I'm not kidding, you guys, I could seriously kill Spongebob Squarepants right now.
Do you (those of you with no children, anyway) know how many times a day Spongebob Squarepants is on? Seriously? I've got no fucking clue, it's so many I don't even think the TV studios know, it's like "well we have this show and that show and sometimes we show this other show, but Spongebob? That shit is constant." It's on different channels, but at the same time. Like, you could be flipping channels, but still be flipping through different episodes. Of Spongebob.
I was supposed to go to a munch today, but I can't. Well, I guess technically I could, just load the kid up with benadryl and let him zonk out on the resteraunt bench while I smile and shmooze, but I don't think the other munch-goers would find that particularly pleasant. Or normal.
I have discovered, however, how easy it is to turn a laptop screen away from the eyes of a five year old who is deep into the social drama of Spongebob so that I can do my best to focus on something much more meaningful. Like Twitter. Or tumblr (read: porn).
Oh my God, my autocorrect (which has been going batshit crazy lately) just tried to change "porn" to "prom," "batshit" to "bats hit" TWICE and "tried" to "died." I am at a loss why it thinks "died" is a better option than "tried." Maybe it's giving me a hint about where this blog is headed.
Or maybe it has its own death wish against Spongebob Squarepants? One can assume?
I think you've all gotten a pretty good idea by now how muddled my head has become. Husband tried (shut UP autocorrect, that's not even remotely funny anymore) this morning to cheer me up, but it didn't go well, and by the end of the conversation he was swearing at me in Spanish. It seriously annoys me sometimes how many languages that man speaks. I mean, I get it, you are brilliant, but what's the point of swearing at someone in a language they don't even know? Doesn't that somehow defeat the purpose? Maybe? Isn't that like having a private joke--with yourself? Kind of creepy, even?
You know what else I realized today? Every time I write LMFAO, I can be taken literally. I really do have a fucking ass! Husband fucks it all the time! And it fucks him back! I crack myself up.
Cause I'm creepy like that.