Last month I was appalled and shocked at Madge aka Madonna’s new song 4 minutes. I love Timbo and I love Timberlake’s music. All the more together. But when you add Madge and her annoying vocals, it just gets really painful.
Don’t get me wrong. I loved Madge when she was fresh and young and new and I was 10 years old. I had Madonna posters everywhere, I had rubber bracelets that climbed up my arm, and I had mesh hair bows in an array of neon colors. She was chubby, cute, and Italian.
Now she’s old, wrinkled and British.
She’s trying too hard.
Now she’s in her 50’s and I am in my 30’s. Stop Madgey Poo. Stop.
The video was equally painful. Madge in a painful corset, looking malnourished, running from some kind of shit that is turning the world into some kind of Cubed Lego Thing.
The background mix sounds like a really bad parade of high school bands playing underwater. And when you add Timberlake, he sounds whiney. GASP. I blame this on MADGE.
“I’m out of time and all I got is four minutes… chicka chicka, four minutes…” FOUR MINUTES TO WHAT?! Please explain! “Tick tock tick tock!” STOP!

Another gal who should just fughettaboutit, Mariah aka Mimi. Girl… wtf is up with this Nick Cannon BS? I won’t believe it. Partly because Ashton Kutcher has been up to his usual prankster mess with that new Pop Fiction crap. NICK CANNON? And have you seen the latest video?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGEDm8UKeg0

 Yea I know, I was just raving about NKOTB about two posts back. But they left and did stuff and are coming back for a lil fun. They haven’t kept this nonsense going and going and going. They are themselves. And plus I am NKOTB biased, ok?

It’s time for these ladies to call it quits. Time for the Memaw Home, women. There’s a time when you are cool and hip and can just keep it going, and then there’s a time when your butt is trying to damned hard. Is it worth it? Naw, man. Naw.

It’s Sunday. I should be relaxed. What is this relaxed word people always speak of? I can’t understand it nor can I achieve the definition of the word at this moment.

Every five minutes someone wants something from me. Is asking me something. Is crying or whining or bitching or moaning. Every ten point 2 seconds, an animal is barking or hissing or yelping or running around me. I am in a cyclone of insanity.

My youngest is in rare form today. Being mean and just full of strange energy. It figures the day that my oldest son (Keifer) decides to relax and give us a break from his normal hyperactivity/possible ADHD/possible Spirited Child Syndrome, that Reese decides he wants to take his place. Reese is usually the laid back child. The child that lets the world whizz past him as he is content in his vivid imagination of being Spiderman.
 
My husband is whiney. My daughter has joined him on the whine boat. Too bad it’s docked in my living room. Right next to my computer area.

Do you remember that woman that went on strike from her family? I think she lived in a tree or something for a long good month, leaving her family to their own devices. Making them realize how much she did for them on a daily basis, how much they didn’t appreciate any of her daily chores, love, food, intentions.
I seriously need to go camp out in the tree behind my house. Maybe it will make these people stop acting like fools.

I haven’t written much. I promise that will all change.

Things have been nuts around here. Spring has sprung, the kids have more energy than ever before, and that means actually GOING OUTSIDE. Doing stuff like gardening (yay!), walking, playing, and hopefully soon, grilling and all that good spring/summery goodness.

I also have been toying around with my look around here. Please excuse the changes. While doing so I am learning how to make layouts, which will in the long run, be not only therapuetic but also help me work with Maddie much more. Something I definitely am looking forward to.

Before we talk about Spring , can we talk about this:

Oh. Em. Gee. They are back. And they look spectaculor. Jordan, you ruined my teenage dreams on Surreal Life, though. You creeped me out seriously and took my little virginal dreams and stomped them with your rude, strange, vile ways, ok? And that Mr. Rogers sweater is not doing it for me, dude. It makes the fact that you liked the Olson Twins even creepier. Besides all those strange mixed emotions, I am sooooo PSYCHED! I HAVE TO PLAN ON GETTING SOME TICKETS.
Blockheads 4 life, yo.