Everyone in your wagon has died. Many wagons fail to make it all the way to Oregon.

Holy crapbag, you guys, I need a break. Stupid articles! I hate you! It's all your fault that I'm stuck writing you instead of sitting on the sofa in my pajamas watching all those episodes of Futurama that TiVo recorded!

Speaking of Futurama, one of the episodes TiVo recorded is that one where Fry finds his fossilized dog and he's going to clone him and Bender is jealous and then he finds out that his dog lived for 15 years and probably had a good life after Fry was frozen and then they flash back to the dog searching and searching for Fry and then WAITING FOR FRY OUTSIDE THE PIZZA PARLOR WHERE FRY WORKED FOREVER AND EVER BECAUSE FRY NEVER CAME BACK. And then I cry and cry. I'm about to cry just thinking about it. Damn you, show!

Last night, Heidi and I watched part of 300 and after a while, I was all, "this is sort of gay," and Heidi was like, "but this all happened before gay was invented," and I was all, "nuh-uh, what about Ancient Greeks, they had the penis-in-butt-sex all the time," and Heidi just stared at me and so then I was like, "it's true, they did it for warmth and camaraderie," and then I realized I had no idea where I had gotten this information and was probably actually making it up. But it turns out I wasn't. Thank you, Wackopedia.

Speaking of penises (sure?), I watched this documentary on the Discovery Channel or something that was all about sex and the chemistry of love or something and it explained how men's penises are bigger now than they ever have been. Because, see, apparently big penises are more desirable than little ones (sorry to those with tiny peepees) and women are drawn to big penises on the most basic level and so they seek OUT the big penises. Therefore, men with big penises have more sex and more of a chance to procreate, leading to the ginormous schlong gene (scientific term) to be passed on to the son. Which creates more big penises for women to procreate with. I was telling Heidi about it and we decided we were glad to be living in such splendid times and she said that it would have sucked to be a pioneer woman because everyone knows that the only thing to do on the Oregon Trail besides hunt, cross rivers, and come down with Typhoid fever is have sex and I believe the phrase, "if the wagon's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'," might have been shouted but I'm not going to tell you who shouted it because I think you can probably guess.

There are several penises there I’d love Phyllis to run her eyes over.

It's like . . . OK, sometimes I worry that I've run out of things to talk about on my blog. And then I go to lunch and this guy in a truck cuts me off and after I wave my middle finger at him I notice that he has something odd hanging from his truck:


Do you see the red thing? It's kind of small (that's what she said) so I drew a picture of what it is:

He had balls hanging from his truck. BALLS! HANGING BALLS! Also, Ohio license plates are way fugly.

if I had a million dollars, I'd build a tree fort in our yard, if I had a million dollars, you could help, it wouldn't be that hard

Sometimes I worry that really small things can have a such a big effect on my mood. Small things like that even though I was an English major, I can never remember the difference between affect and effect. I KNOW the difference, I just always second guess myself. Other little things that can affect (ha!) my mood in good or bad ways? A phone call, an email, lack of a phone call or an email, making a tiny mistake, hearing a good song on the radio, hearing Creed on the radio (that can send me into a murderous rage), or something even less tangible, like getting good or bad news I wasn't expecting. Or, you know, someone calls me "hun" at work and I wonder how much trouble I'd get in if I kicked them square in the nuts. I spent the majority of yesterday on the verge of tears, ready to punch someone (I didn't, though, but if I had, do you think I could have blamed my uterus? Lawyers? A little help?), and didn't start to feel better until I got back from the gym last night. Now, part of this could be because, as Elle Woods says, "Exercise give you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands. They just don't," and I did not even have to look that up and I don't know whether to be proud of that fact or not. Anyway, Elle Woods IS right. I always do feel better after working out. Or at least I feel less guilty about eating all the birthday cake at work but OH MY GOD why do people keep having birthdays and making me eat chocolate cake and ice cream all the time? Selfish.

Where was I? Oh yes. Sure, the exercise gave me some endorphins, so I didn't shoot my husband but I wasn't REALLY in a good mood until I walked into the kitchen and saw Heidi packing her lunch. She was putting sour cream in a Ziploc baggie because all of our tiny, plastic containers are dirty, and let me just say . . . it made me giggle a lot because a bag of sour cream looks a lot like a bag of semen which looks NOTHING like a bag of pot. True story. I have pictures. Of the sour cream! Not a bag of semen! I've never put semen in a baggie, I promise.