Frustration

I am becoming increasingly bothered by my lack of time to blog.  I've taken the last half an hour to get caught up on my email and such and in that time, I realized how out of the loop I am.  I can't remember the last time I read Pretty All True which became glaringly evident when I noted today, via Facebook, she is having a contest of sorts and posting her favourite blogs.  Guess who's not even in the running?

Me.

Why?

I didn't know about it because I don't have time to read it and when I do get any down time, as of late, I use it to either a) sit like a zombie in front of the TV or b) eat something not good for me or c) both of the above.

This sucks ass.  For any of you who've been around for any length of time you likely have caught on that I idolize Kris over there at PAT and it would be the ultimate validation or reward to have her recommend my blog and post it right there on hers. It would be akin to Jax from Sons of Anarchy showing up at my house on his Harley and declaring his love for this mother of four who has neglected the gym for quite some time now while at the same time paying extra-special attention to cookies, chocolate and ice cream (in no particular order).  He'd be all like, "Oooh, it's so sexy they way you're all nice and soft and squishy; I hate women with flat stomachs and pert breasts".  Then he'd tell me I'm insanely sexy not only because my roots are showing and that the white patch of hair at the very front of my head is driving him wild with desire but that he also can't get enough of my sweat pants.  He's wax on poetic about the wiles of women in elastic waisted pants.   Then he'd throw me on the back of his bike and we'd ride off into the sunset (Charming) where I'd become Gemma's protege, because I'm seriously more bad ass than Tara, and his old lady for keeps.

Or something along those lines anyway; I really haven't given it much thought.

For the time being though, I need to finish making supper, feed these people, drive my daughter to Drama rehearsal, make a couple of work-related phone calls, bathe some of these people and then work on a my other website.  The only chance of any part of the above fantasy coming true is the fact that I am currently wearing sweat pants and my roots are showing.  I'm not expecting Jax; instead my own husband, in a Chevy half-ton, who never appreciates my sweat pants for their hidden sex appeal.

Jerk.