Confessions. (title to be read in a breathy whisper for effect)

Here are some little known secrets about me. Hope we can still be friends after you read this.

For few days in a row now, my breakfast has consisted of at least 2 of the following: Whipped cream, Ice cream, chocolate sauce and vegetarian corn dogs.
A mental funk and lack of funds has created the perfect storm for (ahem)...alternative food choices. If God thought this was wrong, he would have brought me an egg McMuffin or a pack of waffles. (I am 97% positive that this is written somewhere in the scriptures.)


I have no idea what is going on in politics or the world.
I can tell you what one of my facebook friends had for dinner last night or what funny thing their kid said. I can't tell you anything about a debt ceiling (besides the fact that people on twitter keep talking about how Lionel Ritchie should dance on it). I am OK with this. Judge me. Hate me. Just don't try to explain anything to me. I can't pay attention that long. I know how to google stuff if I need to.


There is a live wasp in the window by the couch today. This will keep me out of the living room indefinitely.
Will someone with a healthy sized pair of balls come take care of this situation for me?

I don't know how to hula hoop. Never have.
I will never be the hot girl next door who innocently turns everyone on by gracefully keeping that hoop around her hips. I, instead, am the short, fat, awkward girl that seems to be humping the air wile the hoop falls to her feet. This may not seem like a big deal, but it is. How I handle a hula hoop represents my lack of ability and tact in so many other areas of my life.


When I was in middle school, I was convinced I was part cat.
A whole summer with hardly any social interaction and access to national geographic specials on VHS will do that to you. My parents were far too accepting of me. I also had a crush on the kid down the street that liked to set fires and torture animals. Not a shred of disapproval from my parents, still.

I don't think all babies are cute.
This one is a shocker, I know. I value all babies and I know that life is more than looks, but sometimes I am left speechless by the bug-eyed wrinkly sack of skin that came out of someone's uterus. Looking back, even my child looked a little like the crypt keeper when he was fresh out of the oven. I'm not saying yours isn't cute. But if I haven't said it is, well...

Maybe that's enough for now. It's been real.