And Me Without My Rosary Beads

Forgive me, you may think it is a sin:

I live in Minnesota, birth place of Bob Dylan, yet I know not one Dylan song. I know he has a huge following but I've been busy. As my penance, I will call him dad when I marry Jacob, and he can sing at our wedding.

I don't care a hoot about the oscars. Wouldn't bother me a bit if no one won anything and they all wore semi recycled garbage bags instead of designer duds. To make up for this, I don't care about the emmeys or the grammys either. Or any celebrity for that matter.

I have not slept with my husband in nine years. Oh we do have our fun time but I draw the line at sleeping with him. The man has snored himself awake and could accidentally crush small villages in his slumber. He is capable of holding intellectual conversations when he wakes up hourly and expects me to answer appropriately instead of yelling,"Shut the hell up. I do not know where the house taxes are." I would get a better nights sleep in the food processor.

I don't care if my kid never uses a pencil in class again, so stop sending me home notes in your athoritative red pen, Ms. Caulkins. It makes me feel good he writes in ink using a permanent attitude. And then re writes it. And writes it again. Because he can't erase, his handwriting is improving ever so much. I do feel slightly guilty about the names he labels you with . Kinda.

In general I think all Britons are self inflated unattractive rude twits. But I have a thing for chef Gordon Ramsey. But if he ever came into my kitchen, I'd get so nervous, I'd wack one of my own fingers off to get away from him.

I hate the color purple. When I was a little girl, I'd always take my purple color crayon out of my box of eight before the school year began and bury it in my mothers flower garden. Keep all concord grape flavored stuff away from me. I can do green grapes, red onion and cabbage as long as you do not refer to them being purple. If I have to stay in a purple room for any period of time I become aggravated. I have zero purple pride. Mauve I consider ify.

I clean before my maid gets here. And by clean, I mean I shove all my garbage and dirty clothes into the boys bathroom. Dirty little pigs.

I have this fantasy involving a certain club downtown, my boss, Pearl Jam, finger food, and that black leather thing in my closet. I'd confess more but it's ugly.

I feel little a sympathy for the substance abusers I mother at my work. But it is the damn staff I hate. The ones who will not acknowledge me, and make my job more difficult, want special attention just to come across as caring individuals to their patients. Till they want a free meal. Then they turn into food whores.

I have never been in the boundary waters.

I'm sorry I call my husband "Old Goat". I will only refer to him as any of the following, Goat. Goaty Mc Goat Goat. Crusty the Goat Fart. Old as the Hills Goat. Goats R You. Gizzle Goatypants. Goatpie Grizzle Crust. Goatbait Dust Breath. Bill.

I love K1 more but K2 is my favorite.

When the cops pull me over for speeding and I apologize, I am not the least bit sorry. I am just sorry that caught me and I gotta pay.

I am not sorry I told my kids I was raised by wolves on the Canadian border. It was so much fun to tell them of my survival techniques and see that scared look in their eyes.

Back when my hubby would leave a LOADED shot gun in our barn to hunt ducks that flew over our pasture on the weekends it really ticked me off. He never shot a duck the whole time he left that stinkin gun out there. So when my friend Cadilack Cliff came by and asked if I wanted a couple ducks he had just shot I said yes. I then whent out to the barn and fired off the shotgun into the air. When I called my hubby and told him I got two ducks and only fired one time with his gun, he never left a loaded weapon laying around again. I'll tell him the whole story one day, just not yet.

I have never liked U2. But then again, I don't like River Dance either.

Kim Jong-Il is way too goofy looking to be a serious hazard. Somebody plant a bomb under him please.

My husband's ugly throphy musky he had mounted that now resides out in our pole barn was never involved in an "accident." The damage was caused by me and a hatchet. But I was really really mad at the time. I wish I could remember what I was mad about as it must have been good.

Whenever I see Elaine, the spiritual consular heading toward my kitchen with her organic eggs that she wants me to make special for her while at the same time cooking for sixty other dinners, or when she asks me to separated the broccoli and cauliflower veggies so no cauliflower touches her plate, I smile real big and think of her toothbrush holder. She, on occasion, has left her vibrator behind in her room, when staying overnight and had the nerve to go to the housekeeping lost and found and claimed it was her toothbrush holder. Brush your teeth a little more often there Elaine, would ya, and just leave me alone.

I called Ms. Hugaprick er Huminick a bad name when she pestered me about my keyboarding skills back in school. She was nothin but right.