Mini Thugs

It hit me today. My children are going to be crazy little gila monsters. Much like the soccer hellions that peed outside Dana’s window in Dillard, much like the ones that took over the exercise room tonight, much like Lynette’s on Desperate Housewives. As much as I wanted to yell at the rats, I couldn’t because there, on the treadmill, I knew that monsters of that nature would someday spring from my loins. It’s inevitable, much like my regression back to geriatric playing. Which brought on the thought that I’ll be raising a brood fit to serve as the horsemen of the apocalypse. I can see it now, on my hiatus from jury consulting (how the hell did he convince me I should stay home for a few years to raise the 3 boys?!), I’ll be at home trying to keep house as the triumvirate of evil play cowboys and Indians (an ever so PC game for the children of a once history major) trying to kill each other and me. Mini Thugs.

I find it ironic that I’ve dubbed him the Thug. I was informed upon disclosure of my Nelly music choice that he was eh hem, “A Rocker.” Tonight he reinforced that with a mention of playing his guitar, and two dogs, a husky and golden retriever. I melted upon word of the husky, died from that HUG, but recovered in time to make him blush. Go me. Found out he’s a mortgage broker and found out I don’t know anything about that. Does that mean he’s got money honey, or is it that he’s got moola and is two steps up from a sleazy car salesman? The overall lack of bling would support hypothesis ‘a’. And he sounds like he’s from Yankeeland, so I’m guessing the sleazy businessman fits more with the tacky Miami accent than the pretentious Yankeeland accent.

I still think I might be playing with fire. Is that my perception of y’alls thoughs being projected into my mind? Cause I’m so comfortable in my GP. Think HOLLA. And then am like giiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrl!

Cynthia asked me to refrain from working out until I’m skin and bones. I assured her that I’m nowhere close to my fat reserves yet. What can I say, I had to do it; I was turned on. It was inevitable. She also asked if my flight was at 6am. I reassured her that it was not and that very few things are on my list of things to do at 6am. Flying would not be one of them.

I got called a “mami” by a guy the other day. He’s a nice patron of Borders so I’m at least grateful it wasn’t in the sleazy Petey Pablo version. But it was still an evolutionarily viable male that uttered the Miami-esque term of endearment. And it still broke me.

Looking forward to the breast exam and full cavity search tomorrow. At least I got in a little practice of one tonight ;c)

“Cigarettes and chocolate milk These are just a couple of my cravings Everything it seems I like’s a little bit stronger A little bit thicker, a little bit harmful for me
If I should buy jellybeans Have to eat them all in just one sitting Everything it seems I like’s a little bit sweeter A little bit fatter, a little bit harmful for me
And then there’s those other things Which for several reasons we won’t mention
Everything about ’em is a little bit stranger, a little bit harder A little bit deadly”