So I got this meme...

in my email box. I hate these things. When people "tag" me to do one, I tend to go into hiding and pretend I didn't see the tag. I won't do them. I never even did that "100 Things About Me" that is so popular on peoples blogs. Who the hell needs to know 100 things about me. Further, I talk about my yeast infections, UTI's, my sex life, my periods, my husbands dick, etc. Do I really need to get into 100 things you don't know about me? Isn't that the purpose of a blog...to find out things about a person you are interested in? If you go back to the beginning of my blog and read, you can see the rise and fall in reader interest. There are times I received 100 plus comments and now, I receive 15-25 on average. It's not that my life has gotten less interesting. I'm still the same ol' wacky Jew Princess who is always getting into all sorts of shit. The fact is, I don't blog as much anymore. It used to be a daily thing for me, like peeing. Only now, I don't pee as much. Rather, I haven't found the time to blog as much as I would like and when I do have the time, I find I have nothing to say. It's like window shopping when you are broke...but then, when you have money to spend, you never find anything you like.

Wow. That was a great metaphor. Yes, I know self-praise sucks but if I don't do it, who the hell will? I gotta watch my back lest I start to feel less important than I actually am.

Lately though, I have found out that a lot of people are delurking just to tell me they love the blog! I find this to be the wonderful thing about not having 70 commenters. I know that if I am the 43rd person to comment on a post, it is likely my post isn't going to get acknowledged anyway. But, when I comment on a new blog or one that is less frequented, I always get these sweet notes of gratitude and appreciation. And lets face it, folks. I am a total whore when it comes to compliments. I love the delurkers. I love my old faithfuls too. I just love knowing that every once in awhile, I make someone chuckle.

So anyway, I got this meme and I figured, since I have nothing to say today, that I would answer it...you know, so you know more about the Princess that you bow down and worship to on a daily basis. (I am so full of shit. I know this. But, it's my bubble so don't go bursting it, kay?) The meme is called "Four Things". Enjoy.


A) Four Places I go Over and Over: Lets see. I go to the movies over and over, except when some crack whore breaks into my shit and steals everything I own. I pick up my son from school over and over. I should make the little fucker walk home. It's only 3 blocks. I go to 7-11 every day to buy the same little shit a Slurpee. And, I go to bed...a lot. I'm good at it.


B) Four People who e-mail me: (regularly) I get emails from my husband every day when he is gone. I get pretty regular emails from my parents, although, they are all forwards that I never read anyway. I get emails from my credit card companies telling me I am free to charge more and how much they love me. I also get a lot of emails from people in the UK who need me to help them out with some Bosnian Lottery winnings.


C) Four of my favorite foods: I have a fetish for cold chinese food. I will take my dinner and stick it right in the fridge for it to get cold...then I eat it. I love steak...the bloodier the better. If it would still MOO I would be happy. I love pasta and can eat it all day long for weeks straight. Curly noodles are my favorite, but I dig those little shell shaped thingies too. Oh, and chocolate. It gives me orgasms. I like those a lot.


D) Four places I would rather be right now: Face to face with the Crack Whore who stole my shit. I would love that. Just a chance to beat the lungs out of her chest would please me like nothing else. I would rather be in New York...but not at my mothers. Stick me in the Hilton in Manhattan please. I would rather be in Las Vegas pretending to be rich while I spend my husbands hard earned money. I would rather be in my husbands pants. I think I shall do that after this post.


E) Four movies I would watch over and over: Any porn with Ron Jeremy. That is classic 70's porn and should be revered. I love the movie Goodfella's because I wish I was all caught up in that gangster shit. I would love to be Karen in that movie. A real mob whore. I love it. I can watch Ferris Bueller's Day Off to the point of ad nauseum. I don't know why I like that movie so much. I identify with the older sister who is hating on Ferris. I also like a movie my husband and I made together. It has a very happy ending.


There you go. Four things. Interesting, no? I don't think so, but you might. Anyway, if you are a lurker, come out and say hi! I love that! If you are a long time reader, than you probably expect all this stuff out of me anyway. If you are a new reader, please do not be shocked or appalled by the things I say. I am an attention whore and will say and do anything to be in the limelight even if only for a moment. I believe that is why my tits are so big. So everyone can see me enter a room before I even get IN the room.

What does that have to do with anything? Nothing really. I just like my tits.

I have recovered.

After a two week break from blogging, I am feeling more energetic and willing to share my life once more.

In truth, I have been struggling with my illness. I have never made a secret of the fact that I am a diagnosed bipolar with mild schizophrenia. It is controlled very well by the medications that I take. However, once in a while, I fall into that puddle of muck called depression.

When depression takes over, it is a hinderance to my life. Everything suffers. It's not a mild depression, but one that renders me helpless, keeps me bound in my bed and not eating or sleeping for days. It is never "triggered" by an event but rather, is just part of my brain function. It drains the creativity from me and I find myself with nothing to say. The thought of blogging will make me cry, because I feel I have nothing to offer to the outside world. I stay away...or I make a quick YouTube post...anything to fill the silence on this blog.

This time, I opted to just stay away. A self-induced sabbatical until I felt whole again. I am still not quite there, but I found it necessary to explain my absence. I have been having horrible nightmares for the past two weeks, all of them involving my ex boyfriend, Tony, who I have written about on this blog numerous times. In November of 1991, Tony beat me within an inch of my life, using my cranium for baseball practice. He swung a bat at my skull and placed me in a coma for 3 months with brain swelling and multiple skull fractures. When I fall into a deep depression, I find myself obsessing over Tony. I find myself on the internet, searching for him just so I can be sure he is no where in Florida. On the other hand, I get intense urges to find him so I can kill him. I am a woman of God. I have faith in the Lord and in my Jewish heritage. I know that first and foremost, though shalt not kill...and yet, I have severe desires to kill this man. It has only intensified with time instead of dissipating. This only adds to my depression because it makes me recollect a time in my life that I would prefer to forget. My mind does not allow me to forget let alone forgive, though I know that is what I should do. I have so much venom in me that it only exacerbates the mental illness that I already suffer with.

And so, I fall into a silence. Not just here, but in my homelife as well. I stay in bed for days, panic stricken, unable to hold a job, unable to breathe at times. It seems that the beating from this man only continues to keep a hold on my life. I have been to therapy, counseling and every type of support group. I can't identify with the women in the support groups. We aren't the same breed. They seem so hollowed out and victimized. I don't exude that same emptiness when I am out and about. I sail through my days confidently and with great exhuberance for life...until the depression hits. Thankfully, they are few and far between and only render me helpless for a week or two every three months or so. That's the trade off. Instead of living dead for the rest of my life, I fall into the grave once every three months or so. My medications allow me to function and I do so much more than exist. I live. I live my life to the fullest every single day...even when I am struggling with it.

So why this? Why should this be the first post of the New Year? Old news in a new year? No, this is more of an apology to those who wrote me emails addressing their concern for my absence. I never answered any of you, not for lack of want but for lack of ability. I haven't been online very much except to read an occassional email. I haven't been a very good blogger in the past two weeks, let alone a good friend to anyone in my life...virtual or otherwise.

I have made a resolution to try to do the simple things when my depression is on the attack. Small goals, baby steps. Something as simple as dragging my body into a shower is a major accomplishment when the depression hits. I resolved to forgive myself for not having anything to say. I am learning to embrace my illness and remind myself that when mania steps in and dissolves my depression, that I am gifted, talented and shine like the sun.

I am desperately trying to find "normal" and am only now realizing that it may never be in the cards for me.

Generally, I save posts like this for my "bipolar" blog, but I feel the need to use it to let others who suffer with these cumbersome depressions to know that it is temporary. It is possible to rise from your bed, make it back over to the things you love and embrace those things. I pulled myself from bed to make this post, despite the fact that I have a laptop laying alongside my bed. It was a huge deal to rise up and head toward my computer in the living room. The whole world is going on around me and it is time to become a part of it.

When I read the post below this one, I can understand why I nestled into this hotbed of depression. I abused my body. I drank until I could no longer function. My brain is not wired for that sort of abuse any longer. It goes against all my medications and undoes all the good they should be doing for me. This one was entirely my fault.

But God, did I have fun at that party.

Still, this is the first post of the New Year, the one I will look back on when it becomes December 31st of 2008. This is the one I will re-read and see if it has made a difference in my life, or anyone else's for that matter. This is the one that I will reflect upon and hopefully, smile with the success of knowing that my resolutions have come to fruition.

This is the first day of my New Year. Welcome to it.

Happy New Year and...

Love to you all.


11:15 Upda5e> U am so drunk right now I think I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. Is that normal? Are you supposed to be able to do that? It's very strannge. I amn at my best friends house. Her name is Abby, /we have known each otyer practically since birth. We met in kindergarten, and we call each other womb mates. *snort* The hotband is totally trashed and flirting with all the dirty whores who are here. Of course, none of them are as remotely hot as your majexty but they can aspire to be the goddess that I am. So there. I know I am going to regret typing this in the morning...but right now, the red bulls and vodka are making me completely not care. We did a murder mystery party...I was Gabby /Gosssip,,,perfect character for me cause I have the biggest mouth on the planet. My husband keeps coming over to me and telling me that he is going to fuck the shit out of me later. Sadly, I do not believe this becAuse he is so intoxiczted that I dont think he will be able to locate his penis, let alone use the damn thing. I hope you all are having the fun time that I am because you all desrve it. WE deserve to have the best year in the wrold this 2008 because bloggers are te greatest fucking people alive. We are all the bomb. We care so mucyh about each other and get so involved in each others lives. I really fucking care so much about all of you. I don't consider you "internet" friends. You are like...my real friends. I like you all so mucyh better than the people I associate with in real life...because you people are...REAL. No bullshit. I am really drunk but I sincerely mean this. I do. Don't question the Princess bitches. Ny husband keeps squeezig my tits every five seconds and it is very distracting. But, I love you guys. I do. You know who my first comment ever was to? It was to Mr. Fabulous. He was my very first blogger firend. Then afgter that was Big Pissy. I would link to their pages but sadly, I cannot even feel my own face let alone link to anyone. Their links are in my sidebar as Pointrless Drivel and Southern Circle of Hell. They are the fucking coolest people. You know who else is really cool? Avitable. I love this fucking guy. He is a pisser in a silent byut deadly way. And Laurie. Laurie is the most beautiful person. And DEb. Let me tell you about Deb. I love her. Not just love like a friend love...but I would totally become a lesbian just to get into her pants. Seriously. She is like my best online friend. You all must show love to her because she is bery special to me. And if you ever get a chance to meet Britt, you simply must because she is the most awesomest person alive. She and I have the same tattoo. You know the drama thingie...the sad mask and the happy mask nexdt to each other? I forget what it is called...but we both have that on our left shoulder blades on our backs, Hiw cool us that. /anyway, IU have to go because I can feel in my heart that this is the stupidest post I ever made. But the part about loving all ofg you? That is completely true. Never doubt that. You all have made such a huge impact on my life...that when I refer to you I always say "my friend so and so" because I feel saying my online friend cheapens the feelings I have for y'all. Anywaym, I have ti take me and my big ol' tits back to the party because my presence is missed...but I love you all and hope you have the most happy new year ever. I feel like this is going to be our year, people. Everyone is goign to shine this year...I can feel it. Not like I am a psychic or anything...more like a psycho...U have to stop writing now because it is almost midnight and I need to be migngling with the peons at this party. All bow to me.! Hail m3e! Oh my God...Why does being drunk feel so good? I dont usualoly get drunk but tonight I feel it was imporatant to. Anyway, let me shut up already. I will blog more later after it is 2o908. Wow. /that s not even a number. Holy shit. I think I am going to vomit. Let me give you all some advice? Don't go near your blogs if you have been drinking because you start to sound like a total asshole even thoggh you are a complete and utter goddess. Just saying. Wow. I erally feel like I am going to puke. But in a good way, you know? The last time I was this drunk was at Avitables Halloween party and it rocked. It was like the best party ever. If you have a chance to go to his Halloween party...I say DO IT@@@ Nothing is more fun than his party is. Notyhing. I have to go...it is almost midnight and I need to present myself to the masses and slide my tongue down my husband s throat. He's so hot. I love that man. Whoa. I really need to stop blogging but it is like...I can't,,,byt I anm going to. So, I love you guys so much. I wish all of you were here. Love love love love love.


Midnigh Update. Happy New Year. I haven't puked yet, so I am feeling pretty good for the new year. My husband put on a phemonenal fire work display. Yes, he will definately get a blow job for all his hard work. Just saying. More later.

2am update. My husband and I shared an intimate moment in the bathroom vomiting. I had to show him how to do it without getting it on the floor. I pride myself on being a professional vomiter. I missed my calling in Hollywood. I would have put Linda Blair to shame if I was cast in the Exorcist. No one vomits better than I do. I can literally vomit and get up as if nothing ever happened. I'm good like that. My husband? Not so much. Notice I am typing better now? That is because a good vomit clears the mind. You must vomit and become one with the universe. That's just how it is. None of the children are on fire or bleeding, so I consider this a successful New Years Party. I know I am going to feel this in the morning...and I am dreading it...but for now, it is great fun to drink and vomit and then, drink some more. Vomiting is a wonderful past time for lovers. It forces you to bond over bodily fluids...not like sex, which is also slimy and sweaty. I wish I could have an orgasm when I vomit. I would become bulimic. That's really not funny, but at the moment, I find it to be hysterical so shut the fuck up, kay? Thx.

Almost 3am update. Apparently I wasn't done vomiting. I peed in my pants because I threw up so hard. I have admitted this to several people at the party and now, to all of you. I am in my pajamas now because I wet myself like a five year old on the first day of school. Whatta tard. I am ashamed to be me right now. That's not the important thing. The important thing is that I hogged up all the good pillows so I can sleep with all the fluffy goodness tonight while everyone else suffers with the flat, lameass pillows. I am a selfish cunt. But I am dry now...and that makes mama very happy.

Almost 4am update. Oy vey. How. How did I ever do this in high school and college and survive, can I ask? I am sick as a fucking dog right now. I vomited again, only this time, it was those very sexy dry heaves? Ya know? The kind that break the blood vessels under your eyes? I look like fucking death warmed over, but my bra is still on, so there is hope for my recuperation. I doubt I will be back on here until morning. I am looking forward to the bed spins. My husband and I actually thought we were going to have sex tonight. Ha. If he touches me, I will combust and I do not mean that in a good way. I feel like the Titanic...right before it went under. *gurgle gurgle*

4:05 Update. I have just invented what is called "vomiss". This is when you vomit and piss simultaneously. I had to do this quick switcheroo thing in the bathroom where my face was promptly replaced by my ass. This happened several times until I couldnt figure out what fluid was coming from what orifice. Fortunately, no one has seen me do this...so my secret will remain safe with all of you. I am going to bed now. Again. Dear God...please let me sleep without vomeeping. (vomiting while sleeping).

4:30 am update. No danger in my vomeeping, because I can't do the "eep" part. Too many red bulls. I have the shakes. I also vomited so hard that I made my period start ten days early. Either that, or I blew out a major artery somewhere in my body. In either instance, I am fucked. I have no tampons and I am residing in a house of a post menopausal person. *sigh* Do you think anyone would notice a towel balled up in my pajama pants? Probably not, since I am the only person in this house who is still awake. Fucking red bull. Die fuckers.

9 am assessment. Head pain. Check. Matted down sweaty hair. Check. Vomititious breath despite multiple brushings. Check. Broken blood vessels, burning stomach and jaw pain from my ribcage passing through my esophagus. Check, check and check.

Yep. Must be New Years Day.

Fleas La Dee Dah!

(as my daughter used to say.)

Hope everyone has a beautiful Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Love you all.

Damaged Princess

Hey all, just checking in. I ruptured my eardrum and worsened it on the plane ride home. I am on a ton of antibiotics, drops and painkillers. Depending how things are by Thursday, I will have to have surgery on my eardrum. This is not quite the way I hoped my time in NYC would be spent. But leave it to my being with Esther to suddenly burst my eardrum.

Coincidence? I think not.

Leave me a hug, a kiss or some good wishes. I am in a lot of pain and could use the love right now.

Talk soon.

*smooooooches*

Esther and her XXX career...

Even Harold gets involved in this one.

Esther answering Avitable

I don't think I got his question exactly right...but I think it was close. This was as we were cooking Thanksgiving Dinner and she was in one of her snotty assed moods.

"White, Black, Chinese...I did them all."

I love that line.

Nothing like getting your mother to scream "DILDO" across a room during Thanksgiving.

I have that kind of magic in me.

A Video Message from the Princess

Or click here

Remember, if you want to ask a question of Queen Esther, leave it here in the comments! Ask her anything. Ask her for some wisdom. Ask her about how excellent it was having me as her firstborn. Ask her if she still has pubic hair and if so, is it gray now? Ask her anything...and the more embarassing, the better. I will have this video compiled by Monday, so go for shock value, people!

Have an extraordinary turkey day...and for those of you in foreign countries, get your ass back to work. This day is not for you! Celebrate ME instead! It can be CP DAY in every other country! I think this is a great idea! Everyone go shoe shopping in celebration of ME!

Blog Buddies...

I have been thinking about my online relationships. I suppose that we all do from time to time. I am wondering why I prefer my online friendships to "real life" friendships. And I think I've gotten it figured out.

Online friendships are safer. They don't require as much effort as "real time" relationships. They are always a keystroke away. But most of all, I think that online friends are more accepting of your flaws.

I've been online since 1995 when I was pregnant with my boys. I was bedridden and I was bored. My husband (now ex) bought me a computer and I was immediately hooked. I went into a place called "The Chathouse" and started chatting with people. Eventually, those people became more than just handles in a chat room. They became friends. I learned about their families, their personal lives and things that you wouldn't normally reveal about yourself to the people in your "real time". Eventually, after I had my son, I started to meet these people. I met a woman from North Carolina who I was very close with online. I met a guy from California. I met a man who was in the army in Jacksonville, North Carolina. I had a girlfriend in Seattle who came to stay with me for a week. She and I road tripped up to Georgia to meet another friend. There was no awkwardness between these people and myself because we had already been chatting online for years. I knew their intimate secrets just as they knew mine.

Eventually, my marriage started to unravel because I was spending more time with my online friends than I was with my husband. I met a man from Connecticut, fell for him head over heels and had an affair. It's not something I am particularly proud of, but I felt this man really knew me, understood me and wanted nothing from me but to spend time with me...online or offline.

That relationship eventually came to a screeching halt and I met the Hotband around this time. There was that awkwardness that comes with first meeting someone and dating them. There was a lot of small talk to fill in the pregnant pauses during our dates. I yearned for the closeness I had with my online friends. There was none. At least, not right away.

Online, we reveal ourselves fully. It is safe. There is a monitor between you and that person. I feel no one judges you online. You can wear whatever you want and your friends online won't care. They only care about you. Over the years, I have stayed friends with the people I met over 10 years ago. We write to one another frequently. We stay in touch with one another. The relationships are so free and non-demanding. They don't require as much maintenance as offline relationships do.

I have a friend of 35 years. We are close, but not as close as I would like due to time restraints and "real life" taking over. We don't talk as often as I would like. No ones fault really, life just gets in the way. With my online friends, there always seems to be time to nurture the relationship. I feel closer to some of my online friends than I do the people that I meet throughout my "real life". Even when I meet these online friends (such as Deb, Avitable, Mr. Fab, Miss Britt, etc.) it is as if we have been good friends for years and years. We get to know one another so intimately and freely allow these people into our world. We know about each others families and friends. We know about financial issues and emotional issues. We bond with one another so strongly and ferverantly that you can scarcely believe you have only known this person for a year or so.

I love my online friends. I love them because they are completely accepting of who I am, warts and all. They are always just a keystroke away and always seem to make time for each other. And while there are people in the world who don't "get it", I know the relationships I have online are healthy and realistic. They are true and run much deeper than my offline relationships. I don't know if that is considered unhealthy, but I consider my online friends to be some of the most valuable, considerate and kind people that I know. We tend to rally around one another in very passionate ways. I feel I can discuss things with my online circle that I cannot discuss with my "real time" friends. I feel less pressure and less need to put on an air with my online friends.

My mother doesn't get it.

"Why do you talk to these people online? How do you know who they are? They could be serial killers and rapists."

That may be so...but how is it any different than meeting someone in a bar, at the laundromat, at school or any other place? She doesn't buy into that theory.

"There are all sorts of freaks and weirdos online!"

How do I tell her that I am one of them?

"Why don't you make some REAL friends?"

I try to explain to her that these are real friendships. These relationships stand the test of time and are sometimes more healthy than the friendships we have in our everyday lives. There is nothing to hide from your online friends. They are less judgmental and more willing to listen and accept you regardless of your flaws.

I could never give up my online friends. They mean the world to me. Everytime someone leaves a comment about anything I write, I feel it is their way of reaching out to me. I enjoy reading about everyones daily lives and would be saddened if I could no longer do so. I am fortunate in my relationship with my present husband. He really gets it. He didn't in the beginning, but he gets it now. My blogging friends are priceless treasures and I couldn't ask for more.

I guess what I am trying to get at is I love each and every one of you for being exactly who you are. I treasure the moments we spend online chatting, exchanging emails or leaving comments for one another. I think about you guys often and I am always excited to rush home and share a funny story or something that happened during the course of my day. I love your feedback and that you share your lives with me as well. I feel fortunate to have you all in my life.

I am a very lucky girl, indeed.

Pictures from the Party as Promised...

Wow. That was pure alliteration!

Anyway, Avitable put up a whole slew of pictures from the party that can be seen HERE.

The decorations were phenomenal as these pictures will show.

In the interim, here's a few pics from the party as well.

This is Miss Britt and Mr. Fab doing a rousing rendition of "Turn the Page" by Bob Seger. It wasn't awful! They did a good job!





This one is of me as the ghetto girl gold diggin' hood rat! Slammin! Clarence thought I looked more like Bette Midler than a ghetto girl, but whatever! Either way, it was a compliment!





This is what you walked up to when you first get to Avitable's house. The hazard lights were flashing, there were strobe lights, bloody body parts all over the car. I did a double take and jumped when I saw this! The whole place was roped off with crime scene tape! It was insane looking!







This is Avitable and Dave from Blogography! The rest of Avi's t-shirt said, if there is grass on the field, play ball! He is such a sicko! I don't know who Dave was, but he reminded me of the Wendy's character with the braids sticking up! He had a cute penguin though.



For more pics, head over to Avitable's website.

Purely Avitable.

Pay homage to the greatest party giver to ever live. Avitable is your new deity. Suck him with a fervor that you normally save for your blow pops, bitches. This man and his sexy side kick of a wife are livin la vida ZOMBIE!

This bitch was off da chain! (For you whiter, waspier types, that means, lovely party) I can't get into too much detail because I am detoxing from all the redbulls and vodkas my hotband plowed into me. I spent the whole night up vomiting...ugh, farklempt. Shouldn't happen to a dawg. I think one time I vomited so hard that I peed at the same time! It was so awkward to try to do a face to bowl/ass to bowl switch up, but your Princess came through, Babies, without too much damage to the floor, her pedicure or her self esteem.

I will toss out some of these tasty tidbits though...

Britt has tremendously large nipples that felt really good in my left eye. Truly. Yes, I was that close to the glory that is her bosom. Worship me.

My husband is presently Britt's hubby's Hebrew tutor. He has taught him to say "sit on me" in Hebrew. The line was completely lost on Britt who was more interested in hooking up with some belly dancer chick, or watching me twirl my 44F's around.

Yes. Debauchery...and I haven't even mentioned FAB yet.

Fab, ladies and gentlemen...can suck his own dick. True. I witnessed it. Several dozen times. The technique is a little lacking, but I think with some hard work on his part, he should develop quite well. I think this is why he spends so much time at home working on his blog. He is an artist in the making. A diamond in the rough...and he is living the dream, Dolls! Living the dream.

And lastly, because this bitch is SO worthy of a post of his very own...DIVA thy name is CLARENCE! This was one pink and sugary bitch with just the right amount of marshmallows! Much love to my fellow dancing queen.

That's all. I am far too hung over and without sleep in the past 24 hours to say much more than that. Wipe the drool from your mouths, Puppies. Mama will make sure to cum back with sum more delectable delights from the Avitable Halloween Screamfest.

Until then, lovers!

Tonight's the night...

of Avitable's Halloween Bash. Mr. and Mrs. Fab will be in attendance as well. Miss Britt will be there too.

I expect to become imprisoned or impregnated by later this evening.

Hopefully, I will see you all on Monday.

If not, send bail or college fund money as needed.

Welcome to the GOOD LIFE!


Kanye West Lyrics

Happy Birthday to me! 41 on my 41st!

Last year, I posted a festive little post called 40 on my 40th It was just one fact a year, every year, about the Princess that I thought you should know about me.

Here is a reprint. Get a cup of coffee. This will take you awhile.

Yee haw.

40 years ago, this very day, CP arrived kicking and screaming into this world, via Esther's caesarian. Certainly you don't think that Esther allowed me to pass through her vagina now, do you? No. That would require breaking a sweat and surely, we have all come to know...

Esther don't sweat shit.

In 1966, the world was graced with my presence. The first doctor that laid eyes on me said I was so beautiful. I offered to sleep with him because he was jewish and a doctor. I figured this would please my mother and keep me comfortably in the retail heaven I would soon become accustomed to. He declined and told me to call him back when I turn 40. He's 80 now. God bless you, Dr. Edelstein, wherever you are. I have the Viagra. All I need is your phone number.

In 1967, I was being raised by a gorgeous black woman named Lily. Esther was suffering from post partum depression and hasn't touched me in a year. I think I had this in common with my biological father. Apparently, she hadn't touched him in a year either.

In 1968, I was still under Lily's care. Thank goodness. If not for her, I would have white woman rhythm. I'd be doing the Carlton dance at Bar Mitzvah's.

In 1969, the first known human afterbirth dripped down Esther's thigh. They named him Brad. He's my brother.

In 1970, at the commencement of the disco era, my father, the sperm donor, left my mother, brother and I. He took off to Germany with his secretary. Very cliche, I know. I am ashamed that something so textbook took place in my rockstar life.

In 1971, I met the girl of my dreams. Her name was "Abby" and she was the first love of my little life. I was older and wiser by three months. Abby would remain a lifelong friend. This may soon end if she continues to make fun of my hitting 40 a full three months before her.

In 1972, I started first grade. I was fat, had stringy hair and I ate my boogers. Since then, I have stopped eating boogers. They're high in carbs.

In 1973, I was seven years old. Esther smoked pot. I think it stunted my growth.

In 1974, somewhere in a little city called Haifa in the country of Israel, my future mother in law was squeezing out a little turd who shall be known, eventually, as "the hotband".

In 1975, we would play Charlie's Angels. I was always Kate Jackson's character. Abby got to be Jacklyn Smith. She's a cunt. Damn, cute little fucker. Why did I always have to be the smart one?

In 1976, I was 10. I had a birthday party at Burger King. Mia Fineman shit in her pants right after the cake. Total buzzkill.

In 1977, The Son of Sam made me have to stay inside the house a lot. This meant more time with Esther. Suffice it to say, I wasn't a fan.

In 1978, I got pubic hair and tits. I didn't like either of them very much.

In 1979, I got pubic hair and bigger tits. I realized why I should like them very much. Marlon Friedman made me aware of why I should like them very much.

In 1980, I went to sleepaway camp and gave my first real blow job to Monroe Makowsky. I don't know if I was any good at it. The poor little fucker came the second my lips got near him. I'd like to think of it as a compliment and a sign of things to come (pun intended).

In 1981, my mother married Harry, her boyfriend since 1977. This would prove to suck ass as now I had a father figure. I also moved to Long Island from NYC. This meant saying goodbye to Abby. We'd find each other again via Classmates.com in about 20 years or so.

In 1982, I started taking college classes. I was a total prodigy. Sophomore by day. College student by night. Perfecting my blowjob skills on coke bottles in my spare time.

In 1983, I officially graduated high school a year early. However, due to lack of ambition, I hung around for my senior year and to take half a credit of gym class. This would prove to be the last known time that CP would ever exercise.

In 1984, I graduated high school as Valedictorian. Okay, no I didn't. But, I am sure Esther tells people that anyway. You know, bragging rights for me giving her that huge C-section scar on her stomach.

In 1985, I would begin college full time, while working full time and partying full time. I'd write more, but frankly, most of 1985 and 86 were a blur. I just remember a whole lot of cocaine and men. Maybe they were snowmen. Who knows? It was the 80's.

In 1986, I got knocked up with my daughter. This would prove to save my life.

In 1987, Sammi was born, kicking and screaming into this world. Being a tougher (or dumber) woman than Esther, I pushed out 7 pounds of pure big head out of the ol' vajayjay. Without drugs. I hit on Dr. Edelstein again, for old times sake.

In 1988, I was deluged with diapers. I remember very little from this year. Just a whole lot of shit coming out of my daughters ass. This would continue for the next 19 years, only the shit came out of her mouth.

In 1989, I married the first of what would be my three husbands. He was a very sweet alcoholic. A lovely drunk. I threw his ass out 6 months later. The ink on our divorce was dry before the pictures from the wedding even came back.

late 1989-1991 were the "Tony" years. I refuse to document this shit on my birthday. If you don't know, well, ya just don't read my blog enough.

In 1992, I find love once more with an old friend of mine. Hope and faith in the future is renewed. So is my drivers license and my library card. Big landmarks in my life.

In 1993, I married husband number 2.

In 1994, I actually recall being happy, much to Esthers dismay. I was married to goyum (a non-Jew for all you...er, non-Jews) and it was enough to drive her to drink. Of course, the drink of choice would be an Italian wine. No different than what I was sleeping with really...I just preferred my wine on tap.

In 1995, I was knocked up again with my boys. I was the size of a battle barge. If the titanic would have hit me instead of the iceburg, there would have been no survivors. I would lose one precious son while bringing my other one into the world. Vaginally. Again, no drugs. Only this time, I shit on the table while pushing. For a moment, I questioned whose child it was...then I realized it was shit. Just...the shit looked SO much like my ex husband, ya know?

In 1996, we were living in Florida. I remember a big hurricane. I think it was my mother in law. I had my 30th birthday and got a tattoo and a belly piercing to mark the occasion. I also pierced my labia but removed it because it kept getting infected everytime I peed on it.

In 1997, I met a guy online and had an affair. He slept in a coffin. I have to admit, I found it somewhat erotic.

In 1998, I was over it. And separated from my husband. Hooray.

In 1999, I met this cute Israeli guy up at my school. I thought he was manly, mysterious and complex. Turned out he was quiet, shy...and pretty simple in the brain. It would be another 3 years and marriage before I realized that simplicity was in the form of complexity. I graduate nursing school. Short of stretching my vagina over the heads of two children, this will prove to be my greatest accomplishment.

In 2000, the future hotband and I broke all sorts of sex records. Go look us up in Guiness.

In 2001, the future hotband got smart and proposed to me on a carriage ride through Central Park on a crisp night in March. The horse took a shit during it. He didn't get me a ring. Asshole. My divorce is finalized. Hooray. Failure number two fully documented for public record. Sweet. Abby tracks me down and we reconnect after 20 years. This will prove to be the best thing to ever happen to me with someone that I have a) not given birth to or b) did not give head to. If she asked me to, though...I would.

In 2002, the future hotband officially takes his place as the Hotband. We get married on a Tuesday in a courthouse. We are both in jeans and sweaters. We don't have a honeymoon. He hasn't told his family he eloped. Again...asshole.

In 2003, I start to like my new husband a bit more than I did in the past two years. We get along great, laugh a lot and share a lot of things in common. We also have similar goals, like multiple orgasms. It's a match made in porn heaven.

In 2004, we celebrate our two year wedding anniversary by going on a cruise. Hotband spends the first night vomiting. I get to stay up, alone, watching the season finale of The Apprentice. I missed shrimp cocktail night. Hotband still has not lived this down.

In 2005, Hotband loses his job and finds a new one making kick ass money in order to take care of me in the lifestyle to which I have become accustomed. Oh, and Esther turned 65. I know it will make her SHIT if she gets wind that I made this announcment public. Ha. Fucker.

Which brings us to today. 2006. My 40th birthday. It's had its share of joys and sorrows, but I have to admit, it's been a helluva ride y'all.

*****************END OLD POST*****************

Here is the new thing you need to know about me for my 41st year of life:

The 41st thing that happened to me? In 2007 I received my nursing license 10 years after graduating school. It's akin to having an orgasm one hour after your partner has left. It's satisfying, but it would have been better if it happened when it should have. My breasts grew another cup size. I am officially a 44F which sounds more like a cough syrup than a bra size. My husband and I renewed our vows in Las Vegas with a pastor in a drive through window. This is appropriate as that is how I prepare dinner every night.

Here's to 41 more years of non-stop drama in the life of a Jew Princess. Rock on, CP. 41 and still FABOO!!!

AAAAAAAAnd...she's back.

Whew. So much to say.

First of all, thank you for worrying over me. That was nice. No. Really. It was. I could use a good thump in the morale right about now.

My time on the other coast was well spent. I ate a lot of Pastrami like a good Jew girl should. I spent a night with some drag queens at Madame's. If ever in Miami, you must go. Ask to see Genesis. She was so damn hot, I almost left the hubby for her/him/whatever. I bought some beautiful handbags (Coach) and spent a lovely two days at the pool.

You know what I got for that?

Raging mother fucking yeast infection from hell, that's what.

When your mama tells you don't sit around the pool in a wet swimsuit, I must advise all of you to LISTEN. It's the one time I should have listened to Esther.

This ain't no ordinary infection, y'all. This is the Yeast Beast. The infection from hell. Three doses of Diflucan and Monistat later...my vagina is officially laughing at me.

Moo ha ha...this is for all the years you abused me, it says. Next time, treat a bitch with some respect. R E S P E C T. I am at the point where the itch is the least of the worries. It seems that the inflamation has caused my lips to swell to the point that I can no longer find what used to be my clitoris. I think they fused together actually. I couldn't pry my shit open with a crowbar right now.

"Here," my doc says, "insert this cream twice a day and you should get better."

Sure. This is after he says "WHOA!" when I spread my legs. "I've never seen this before," he says. I look at the nurse. She's wincing. She's cringing. If I had a penis, it would have retracted. However, if I had a penis, this wouldn't be happening to me. "Could be a lot of things going on here," he says. Really? No shit, Doc. It looks like a giant advertisment for a Rolling Stones concert...ya think something is wrong here?

Okay, so I am in the stirrups, getting awfully self concious. I am squirming, in fact. It takes a lot to embarass me (hence, this post) but for some reason, I felt myself turning crimson.

"Can you spread your legs a little more," the doc asks.

"Not really," I say tentatively, "it sort of hurts."

Sort of hurts. Like...an elephant is sort of big, ya know?

"Well, I need to get a culture of this," he says...sort of the same way like you would say "Holy shit! I need a picture of this" if you saw some freak of nature on the street. Like a two headed fish juggling matzoh balls outside of a pizzaria. (note the fish and cheese reference?) He stabs me with his culture stick (sounds erotic, no?) and then...he feels the need to show me what he just smeared on his slide. Let me paint a picture for you...

Hopefully, none of you were in the middle of your breakfast or some shit. Yeah. This is what I am dealing with. Let me tell you how close my hotband and I are. I can't find my fucking hole. It is under a pile of inflamed skin...a big heaping mound of raw flesh. I hand him the applicator for the cream. He goes in, like a spelunker looking for buried treasure. All he needed was the hard hat with the light on top.

"I can't find it, Babe," he says, sounding completely panicked! Of course he's panicky! This is HIS infected abyss! Where will he possibly stick his penis now? You know that's all he is thinking about. Selfish bitch.

"What the hell do you mean you can't find it? It's there! It didn't go away...did it?"

Now, admittedly, I am a little nervous? Did my vag decide to slam shut after all the years of perpetual banging on it? My husband is breaking out into a sweat. I am staring down at him from between my spread legs, terrified.

"Find it, Hotband," I shriek!

"I'm TRYING, BABE!!!"

Eventually, he finds his way through the rotting flesh, past the cottage cheesy goodness and slips the applicator in. He releases his goo. This is all vaguely familiar to me...despite the fact I haven't been able to have sex for two weeks because of this pussy drama.

This is what I brought home from Miami. My souvenier to all of you who so patiently awaited my return.

Aren't you glad you missed me?

Feel free to vomit in the comments.

The Endless Mound...

and no, we aren't talking about Avitable's crotch. We are talking about the endless mound of laundry that seems to grow from the corner of my bedroom on a daily basis.

May I ask how the fuck the laundry grows? No one is watering the shit. There is no fertilizer on it, as I don't let my dogs shit in the house. There is no one cultivating, weeding, ho-ing or whatever else you do to things to make them grow. (I guess that would include a nice handjob too...but I swear, I am not stroking off my whites or my colors). How? How does it keep growing?

I keep washing the crap. I make piles. Colors. Whites. Delicates. Other shit that defies definition. I wash them. I fold them. And then, I walk back into my room and the pile not only hasn't budged, but it seems to have grown?

Is it like a horny dick? The more you touch it, the bigger it gets? I don't know. I always say "One day I am going to wash every single fucking thing in this house and see if it stays away." I only did it once. I took off my clothes afterward, cause they were sweaty with the ravishing stink of the Princess. Suddenly, the pile grew! There wasn't just a tank top and shorts...there was underwear! A bra! Some socks! Even a pair of jeans I haven't seen in 14 years! HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN?

Is it the same phenomenon that causes you to lose one sock per each load of laundry?

I don't know. I am so confused.

Enlighten me. Your laundry experiences. Tell me them now...and tell me how to keep the pile from multiplying like rabbits in heat...please!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vote for Certifiably Shopping with Certifiable Princess as BEST SHOPPING BLOG. If you don't, I won't play with you anymore. I will make all the kids call you names like Freaky Four Eyes, Penny Pees A Lot, Brace Face or Fatty McFatFat.

Don't test me, bitches.

Movie Reviews...in Haikus.

But first...Score with a Whore! That's right, I am whoring/pimping my other blog Certifiably Shopping with Certifiable Princess because the little blog that could is up for Best Shopping Blog! How exciting is THAT shit? If you haven't been to the Bloggers Choice Awards then GO! NYC Watchdog was nominated! Most Obnoxious Blogger! That's him alright! Mr. Fab was nominated for Best Blog of All Time! Avitable was nominated for Best Humor blog! Kentucky Girl is up for Best Blog Design! Lynda's got a nod for Best Educational Blog! A whole assload of our little posse was nominated for various awards and I would love to see us slay the dragons like "Overheard in New York" or "Dooce"!!! (Who I refuse to link to because they get more than enough of their own traffic, thank you very much!)



Okay, so not THIS blog...but the other one was nominated. Please take a look at Certifiably Shopping with Certifiable Princess and if you feel it is worthy of a little love, click the badge to vote for my little sexy pink corner of the universe!

I was also nominated for Best Blog Ever along with Fab, but, I don't want to steal his thunder. This is all he has in the world. But, if you are so inclined...VOTE FOR ME!!!

*ahem*

Now, onto the movie reviews. Movie Reviews...in Haikus.

Babel:
I loved this movie.
Not really sure why.
Thank God for Brad Pitt.

Premonition:
A boring movie.
One redeeming quality.
Julian McMahon.

Grindhouse:
Three hours of gore.
Tarantino is a God.
So is Rodriguez.

Shooter:
There is Marky Mark.
Alas, there's no funky bunch.
No good vibrations.

Number 23:
A lot of numbers.
Crazy coincidences.
Not Jim's finest hour.

Reign Over Me:
Phenomenal Film
Sandler is incredible.
Best movie all year.

Follow the Bouncing Princess!

The Certifiable One is pleased as shit to announce her latest endeavor.

Certifiably Shopping with the Certifiable Princess!

This is the place where you will now be able to go on virtual shopping sprees with me. I find the bargains, you get the benefits. I whore myself out...you reap the lovliness that is me! Do not despair, fine reader. You will still get all the CP you can handle...but now, you get my girlie side to the extreme! Everything will be poofy and pink and fluffy and sparkly and glittery and girlie! It is a place where the girls can be a girl and the boys can spy! It's like high school...with a no limit credit card! Wheeeeeee. I will even leave some panties around for the boys to steal now and then. There will be gift cards, prizes, contests and virtual shopping hunts online!

Let's start now! Contest announcement!

I want a banner for THIS page, sponsoring the NEW page. I am now taking submissions for entries. Must be sidebar size. Must capture the essence of shopping with the princess. Must include the words "Certifiably Shopping". Must sign into the comments to note participation and then, send entry to certifiablePRINCESSatYAHOOdotCOM (put that into proper email format, all lower case) Winner shall receive a gift card for the online site of their choice! Please state your giftcard preference in the comment section along with a "CP, I am gonna rock your world with my banner". If you suck up hard, I might give yours a bit more consideration! Can't make a banner? Then just come up with a sweet little poem, limerick or haiku as to why you want to Certifiably Shop with CP and post to the comments! Then, leave your giftcard preference within your poem, limerick or haiku for extra bonus points!

Sample Haiku:

Shopping with CP.
It is better than oral.
Target gift card please.

See? It is THAT easy! I am such a sucker for a suckup. Just show me the tiniest amount of attention and you own this bitch...and a gift card! Sheesh! I rock! You may only enter ONCE whether it is for art love or written love. Got that, Fabulous One?

Sound interesting to you? (And frankly, how could it not?) Then click the princess below to become a part of Certifiably Shopping!



Click this shiny, gleaming, bright neon green logo button and I'll double your entry! I'll know who you are, my pretties! I'm watching you! Moo ha ha!

It's All About the Benjamins, Babies!

You know I'm out of work. Yeah. You heard. Still brokeass unemployed, makin' a little money on the side with a website I do customer service for. It's Kmart kind of cash. Not the Coach Outlet store kind of cash I am used to bustin' my pretty butt for. And you know, you gots to do what you gots to do to keep the family fed, roofed and clothed.

I was digging around in my blogs and realized that after a few months, I have made $126.75 in PayPerPost revenue. Now, mind you, some people do a PPP blogpost like, every single day. I don't. I think maybe, two a month? Some other people *cough*Mr.Fab*cough* have devoted full websites for only their PPP blogposts. Smart. A very good source of income too, as you can do up to three opportunities a day. Each one of those can rake in anywhere from $4.00 to some as high as $125 PER POST, Y'ALL!!!! Hello? That's like, what I used to make in a day. You can make that in an HOUR...on your blog!

So, why don't I just stay home and blog all day long? Why bother with a real job? I will just get me a blog solely devoted to PayPerPost blogposts and sit on my booty all day long just writing!

Hey, look. It's more than K-Fed did. He just married into kizzash. I am honestly trying to work for mine. I'm thinking that if I did focus on this a bit harder, I could easily bang out a hundred bucks a day!

I think I am going to pull my resume off Monster.com. I found my calling. I will sit home, ass glued to chair, blogging every single second of my life until I am thigh high in pizza boxes and really cool Fendi bags. Like the nurse that I am, I will still be forced to monitor intake and output. But, instead of food and urine, I am talkin' Benjamins, Babies! Blog up, money in, shoes on sale...money out!

What is not to love about this?

Besides, I don't have to pass a drug test to make money doing it that way, cause y'all know I didn't do so well on the last one!

Yep. Goodbye nursing career and all you stuck up snobs who refuse to hire me because I look so damn cute in white and hello PayPerPost who never judges me, even if I sit bare-assed naked in my office chair, teeth unbrushed, hair not combed and completely lacking deodarant. PPP won't judge me. They will embrace my skill, my fortitude and my verbosity. No longer will I have to wipe anyones ass...but my own! This is wonderful! Wonderful, I tell you! I have been liberated! I am free once more! I will blog...and the shoes will come! I will blog...and the purses will appear on my doorstep via FedEx! I will blog...and my children shall eat for yet another week! My priorities are too screwed for nursing! Purses and shoes before bread and water! Line up, children! The gruel will be served by your stepfather. Mommy will be out getting a pedicure and her hair did! PayPerPost will save my life and keep me in the lifestyle I am accustomed to! I will suction no one but my husband from now on! This is great! This is fantastic!

Oh. And before I forget?



You knew that was coming...didn't you.

Look at me! Look at me!

I am exhausted with the cattiness of women. Exhausted.

If I hear one more stinkin' ounce of MEOW from anyone, I am going to tear someones head off their neck and literally shit down their throat. I think that women are a little overly sensitive.

Case in point?

The Blog Awards. I cannot believe the way women lose their minds because people don't like their blog. I cannot get over the absolute childish behavior that goes on during these events. I must be one really secure bitch, because not only do I give a rat's ass what people think of my blog, but I don't bother to push for my blog to be awarded anything...ever. Sure, I whored myself out during 25peeps, cause that was fun. That was my picture, not my blog. And, quite frankly, I am superbly stunning and my ass deserves to be plastered from coast to coast as the fat chick you should aspire to looking like.

Please do not call me conceited. It is convinced. I have very, very healthy self esteem. Probably to the point of delusional. That's the great thing about being me, well, that amongst a million other things. Even when I am having a bad hair day, it's always better than most womens great hair days! Yes, I can say that.

And that's my point. This is my blog. I can say whatever the hell I want here. If I want to tell you the sky is purple, then by golly, it's purple. If I want to tell you I am Cindy Crawford, then I am. How the hell do you know what I am or what I'm not? How do you know my sky isn't purple in this corner of the world? I slept with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie...and that baby of theirs? Yeah, she's mine. Tom Cruise once barked on my front lawn all night til I rubbed his belly and sent him home to Katie. Matthew McConaughey once showered in my home.

Okay, that one is hard to believe. I'll grant you that one. Not the "in my home" part. More like the "showered" part.

I have read too many blogs lately talking about the stress the authors are feeling to bring the funny or cowtow to their audience. Many people stop blogging because of it, or suffer blogger burnout. They feel the need to blog daily, almost to a compulsion, for fear of losing their readership.

This is not what I am about.

Scroll through my posts. Some have 60 comments. Some have 11. A few have over 100. Does it matter to me? Not at all. First of all, I know many people read but don't comment. I am not going to have the typical tantrum and beg for people to delurk and prove their love of my blog. I don't need that kind of ego inflation. But, the thing I really want to address are the people who feel that everyone must love them all the time. Newsflash! Not everyone has the same taste in bloggery goodness. One of the best rated blogs on the web, Dooce, makes me cringe. I simply do not see her appeal. Why would I say something like that?

Because I don't believe in mincing words and I surely don't feel the need to cower under my opinions.

When you guys come here to read me, I am hoping that you know you are always going to get CP, the real deal, sometimes shrouded in greatness and othertimes, vulnerable and serious. You will always get honesty. Perhaps too much at times. The people in my sidebar are my genuine daily reads. There are others, and those are in my favorites. Some blogs I find really interesting I don't put in my sidebar, because I think they may be a bit much for a lot of people.

I talk openly about my job, my family, my life situations, my mother and my illness. I have nothing to hide and save for my pseudonym for my husband, I generally use real names in my posts.

I wish people would remember that everything you say on your blog is not going to be the perfect fit for everyone. Tommy Lee may slide real easily into the cavernous Pamela Anderson...but would cause me some serious pain, ya know? Sue me for libel? They can't. It's the truth. I've seen the tape and my gynocologist would testify to the virginal tightness that is the royal golden cooze of mine!

So there.

Don't reach for the funny. Don't beg for it. Don't try to presume that everyone is going to like your blog. They won't. Maybe people just don't get you. Maybe a younger reader won't quite understand the trials and tribulations of the older writer. Maybe a younger writer won't appeal to the older reader. Or, maybe your shit is simply trash and no one likes it or you for that matter.

Why does it matter? Why do you care?

When you started this blog, you started it for you. Don't lie, bitches. You said to yourself "I am going to start a blog as my own personal outlet for my feeeeeeelings." Then, some asshole read your shit. They commented. You were like...wow! People like me! Then you wrote something else. Now three people commented. Maybe even some dumb schmuck put you on their sidebar. Holy crap! Ego Boost! Straight to your head! Now you are trying to think of every single funny thing that ever happened in your life. You stick your blog into 23492387 search engines. You add a counter, a stat meter and some cool hyperlinks. You create a header and then, a template! You find yourself answering every single comment...and now, your blog no longer belongs to you.

It belongs to your readers.

Eventually, you create another blog. A more secretive one, because you realize that the blog you intended to be your creative outlet is now an utter attention whore.

Go ahead. Tell me that's not you. Lie to me. See where that gets you.

Some of you spend more time commenting on others blogs than you do posting on your own. Nothing wrong with that. You like to see what your friends are up to or perhaps their lives are more interesting than yours. You are living vicariously through them. Whatever.

The point is, no need to get catty. No need to toss out insipid and ridiculous remarks at people who don't get you...or who you don't get. If you feel that you would rather shove a hot curling iron up your own ass, sans lube, instead of reading someones blog...that's YOUR opinion. You are entitled to it. Don't send your minions out to attack the person whose opinion doesn't mesh with yours. And seriously, don't go to that persons blog and start a little petty war in the comment section.

How utterly silly. Seriously. I have an 11 year old and a 19 year old who wouldn't even stoop to those kind of lows. (Although, I might...if provoked)

I don't see this going on with men as much as I do with women. Men whose blogs are criticized tend to shrug it off. Oh well. Can't please everyone. Women? Nah. Women take that shit very personally. You call their blog shitty, you might as well be calling their kids fucking nose picking trolls. Truthfully, you can call my kids nose picking trolls. I don't care what y'all think of my kids. My children are beautiful. I know that in my heart. You can call my husband a bald stupid fuck. And that may be...but he's MY stupid, bald fuck.

Of course, you could always call me a fat, ugly bitch.

But, then...you'd be lying to both me and yourself. Why bother?

All I am saying is that there are a lot more important things to get worked up over than who likes your blog and who doesn't. Take that energy and focus it on charitable issues. Or better yet, take your fat ass out for a run. Get your flatchested self some implants. Cut your long straggly nappy hair or get your ghetto nails trimmed up! You might want to clear that acne up or do something about that snaggletoothed lookin' mouth you got going on there. Shave that hairy back or please, do something about that ear wax pouring out of your shit. Try working on your heart, your mind and your attitude before you spend every single waking moment worrying about who does and doesn't like your piece of shit blog. WHO THE HELL CARES???

In ten years from now...are people going to remember you for your blog?

Probably not, but they will remember your snaggly ass yellow toenails for decades to come.

Throw some Lamisil on those bitches.

Results...

Exam Date:
Tue, 30 Jan 2007 at 9:00 AM

Candidate:
CP

NCLEX ID:
2075****

Registration #:
2172*****

Exam:
NCLEX

Grade:
pass

Thank you all so much for believing in me.
Gotta go celebrate! Love to all!!!!

Officially Licensed Nurse CP.