Today is my fine ass husband‘s birthday. He doesn’t believe he’s fine, which is good for me because he doesn’t have the self-awareness to leave me for someone hotter. WIN for me!

Anyhooters, he made a list of 34 things about himself, but only one tiny smidge of the list was about me. bygones

So, to one-up him, I’m writing a list of 34 things I love about him. DON’T LEAVE. You won’t puke from the sappy-ness.

And don’t you want to know about that picture*?

1. great ass
2. great smile
3. magic fingers
4. EP (earning potential)
5. passionate about his teams
6. best father EVER in the history of EVER
7. fills up my soap dispenser
8. buys me nice things
9. funny
10. makes grocery lists
11. goes to buy groceries
12. makes yummy Sex Sauce**
13. went to prom with a stripper while his mom babysat his date’s daughter (see photo)
14. makes me go on trips
15. comes with me on trips
16. ignores bill collectors with me
17. realizes my mom is in charge
18. doesn’t fight with my mom
19. can throw the remote across the couch right into my hand
20. hands over the remote
21. yells REALLY loudly when his team scores
22. brings me water and always asks if I want ice
23. don’t make me feel bad for being lazy
24. is lazy himself
25. remembers to take out the garbage at least once a week
26. plays only one sport at a time so he can have more time at home
27. is good at every friggin sport he plays
28. appreciates a good fart
29. laughs when I call him an ass
30. realizes I love my TV
31. doesn’t want more kids and made sure of that
32. takes extra super good care of me when I’m injured and/or sick
33. laughs at me when I make a fool of myself
34. great ass

Now. Wish him a happy 34th birthday.

DO IT.

*True Story: I couldn’t find this picture on my computer or blog, so I Googled images for {patrick prom}. THIS IS THE FIRST PICTURE. I love the internets.

**it’s a real thing. yummy on fries, chicken, burgers, etc.

From time to time, my brain ceases to function. It’s not really anything that’s predictable or fixable. It really just stops being creative.

I’m not a monkey. I can’t bring the funny just by putting my finger up my ass then smelling it.
bee tee dub: if you have a video of that, please send.

For me, being creative is work. I’m no artiste or magical wizard with a pen or crafty son-of-a-bitch. That work of being creative with my keyboard ebbs and flows like the waves of my gushing menses.

You never know when it’s gonna happen.
if patrick didn’t have the snip, i’d think i was pregnant every single month with the way my menstrual cycle calendars.

Aren’t you glad you know so much about me?

“Hi, my name is Angie, and I like warm fudge brownies, endless hours of TV-watching, the beach, and my period is unpredictable.”

I also write way too many blog posts about how my brain doesn’t work. You’d think I’d get the hint that I should just write and quit complaining, but now I’m 181 words into this post, it’s 8:10 on a Tuesday night, and this is the first productive thing I’ve done today.

Unless you count ordering my cheeseburger with gouda instead of the standard American. THAT took some thought and experience in knowing my cheeses.

Today was a #couchtozeroK day with #bumknee and really, my knee hasn’t felt better in over a week. That should tell me that “hey, dumbshit, you should do more “lazy” and do less “doing” cause your #bumknee actually feels good when you do nothing.”

I got out yesterday to the beach and stayed on the deck at the bar (mmmm… margarita on the beach) while my mom took my girls to the shoreline so they could play at my beach in my Gulf. I was able to get some amazing shots of the water and the sand and the whole beach from my pedestal.

(no, that’s not oil in the water – it’s June Grass seaweed. still gross, but safe for human touch.)

Tomorrow, Tara is picking me up for an early-morning date to the beach then breakfast at The Donut Hole. Any restaurant with the words “donut” and “hole” in the name was made just for me. I hope to be inspired by the morning light (note: not SUNRISE light) and the donuts (PLURAL) in my belly.

What inspires you to create magic in my pants? Can you lend me your inspiration? Or do I just need to suck it up that’swhatshesaid and quit my whining?

Don’t mind me or expect me to get anything done thanks to Brittany for introducing me to Lightroom so now I haven’t the ability to focus on anything more than putting down the lappy to watch The Hills or yell at my kids to “get Mama her ice pack.” Or to construct a complete and grammatically-correct sentence.

Knee? Frucked up. I wish I knew more. I just get this pretty new accessory and an ice pack for now. Exercise is stupid, kids. Think of this when you think of running (especially if you haven’t run since you were 5 and you start running 3 days a week right off of the couch):

And then there’s these. *siiiigh* I’m pretty sure I’ll be asking for Lightroom for my birthday.