Week 17, Day 6. I’m in a bit of a funk today; it’s probably because I haven’t eaten a fucking cheeseburger. And now, I will delight you with some random observations:
- The worst show in the world to watch when you are expecting is "Runway Moms". (Look Mia, that lady is about to have her baby! Yes, I know her tummy doesn’t look big enough…)
- It is even worse to allow your husband to watch this show about pregnant models. (Look Mia, while Mommy shows you how to have what’s known as an eating disorder…)
- Las Vegas is rigged so that no one gets good cell phone reception, therefore making it impossible for wives to keep their husbands from spending their measly life’s savings in a Casino.
- If you have a child under 10, you are going to have to go see "The Chipmunk Movie". It is inevitable. Resistance is futile. For 99.9% of you, this is bad news; for me, well, I had a childhood crush on Alvin, and listening to squeaky-computer-animated-rodents for 2 hours will not bother me.
- Do not expect to have normal kids when you yourself are far from normal. The girls are nuts. I knew it was a matter of time before they revealed their true warped-ness. Mia’s room, 8:00 p.m.:
MIA: I’m a puppy and I love to bark and lick things! Ruff Ruff!
CHEYENNE: And I’m the police man! I’ve had reports about you!
MIA: I’m sorry Mister Police Man! I’ll never draw blood again! I promise!
CHEYENNE: It’s not right to bite!
MIA: Oops! Wait! I have to go pee-pee! (lifts leg over Candy-Land)
CHEYENNE: That’s it! I’m taking you in for urinating on private property!
MIA: Don’t touch me! I’m a fluffy doggy!
CHEYENNE: Here’s what’s coming to you! (injects poison with syringe)
MIA: Ugh…Ack! I’m *cough, cough* dying! Ugh…
CHEYENNE: Oh No! Alert the owner!
MIA: I’m so cold! I’m…dead. Owner? Mom? Did you hear that? Your doggy died.
CHEYENNE: There was nothing more I could do–your dog was choking on cookie dough.
MIA: Blechhh…I just threw up. Mom, can we get some cookie dough?
Caleb’s in Vegas. He’s had a terrible time getting signal on his phone–probably all those gambling-pinballish-machine thingies–and we haven’t talked to him too much. I’m not worried–just really, really jealous. Ooooo…this is the second "business convention" the company’s had out there. They all got the smackdown from the big boss last week: THERE WILL BE NO LATE-NIGHT PARTYING, so I can rest assured he’s not having too much fun. It is kind of crummy though–why the hell have the big meeting in Las Vegas when you’re not going to let anyone have any fun? I can think of a million and one places across the country that would make for a more boring week. Jack ass. I hate gambling. I get pissed off and want to leave after 5 minutes or $5, whichever comes first.