So, tomorrow is Zombie Jesus Day… AKA Easter.  Some people might think it’s sacrilegious to call Jesus a zombie but he’s really the first zombie that we have record of.  And he’s the best at being a zombie.  I mean, most just wander around mindlessly eating brains and stuff but not Jesus.  Nay… Jesus runs around doing awesome things like healing people.  Then, he ascends into the heavens like some awesome Zombie seppuku, that way we don’t have to mop him up later.  I mean, who wants that job?

And so, because of Zombie Jesus sacrificing himself for all of mankind like any great zombie would do, the Easter Bunny was born and lays pretty eggs for us all to find.  My wonderful and oldest friend, Tama tells me it’s because eggs represent new beginnings.  I’ll drink to that!!  Who’s with me??

Jesus has a sense of humor… I’m pretty sure.  I mean, he’s God.  & God invented humor.  So there.  Happy Easter!

Well, for starters… I am getting a divorce. It was probably over before it started. You know how you just have all this chemistry with the wrong person? Yeah, that’s been my life. And you just can’t make someone be who they’re not even if you wish really hard on a shooting star. I’m not lying. It didn’t work. Praying didn’t work either. Life goes on, although for a few seconds I wasn’t sure if that was an option.

So, I decided to go back to school and finish my nursing degree. You’re probably wondering who would let me be a nurse. Well, you had better be nice to me because one day I might be your nurse and I may come armed with sharp, pointy objects. Yes, I am referring to needles.

I’m not sure if I will be posting less or more once I start school. My hiatus has been due to all the family issues going on. However, I am sure I will need to bitch to someone about my days and you’re the lucky sons of bitches who get to hear about what happens to me when I get puked or pooped on by complete strangers.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

I had this baby in the house, she was whoa!
Had the house stinkin’ up, I mean whoa!
Bought her diapers and wipes, I mean whoa!
Should’ve seen them sittin’ on her butt like whoa!
Now diapers ain’t a problem, see my Huggies like whoa!
Pulled out my wipe box on y’all babies like whoa!
Floss da booty with Aloe & E like whoa!
Mama want my hypoallergenic, I’m like whoa!
Had to hit the brakes on ya mamas like whoa!
Gotta get Huggies points for baby like whoa!
Runnin’ to get a new change of clothes like whoa!
So that my baby smells fresh and clean like whoa!
More or less, more or so

Onesie for the torso
I live the fast life, come through slow-flow like whoa!
My baby likes to go, like her bro
Little toes, Evenflos, nice clothes like whoa!

To appreciate this song, you may want to listen to the much more vulgar, non PC song, Whoa by Black Rob right here.

Since I haven’t seen the zombie since the other day, I have come up with an artist’s depiction of what he looks like. Beware if you see anyone who looks like this:

Similarities to any rappers are purely a coincidence…

Are you prepared for a zombie apocalypse?  I sure as hell am not!!  If zombies attacked, I had better hope I have a strong man nearby because I’d be toast.  Seriously.  I will likely hide in the corner and scream like a little school girl.  I keep saying that once I buy my new house, I’m going to build a fall out shelter.  Well, not me… but whomever I can trick into doing it for me.  So far, all I have is a BB gun, and some kitchen knives.  I hope everyone likes ramen noodles and kidney beans.

I had a very real scare the other day as I was walking into my house.  Purse on the left shoulder, baby on the left hip, I start hearing what sounds like a rooster being violated by an elephant.  Assuming there are no elephants in my neighborhood, I look up to see where the noise is coming from.  It’s a man, or at least, what used to be a man across the train tracks, doing what appears to be yard work.  He continues screaming and making these god awful noises.  That is, until he saw me.  He then drops his rake, turns his body, arms to each side, and stares at me for what seemed like an eternity.  He was scoping out his prey.  He was looking at me like all he needed was a side of mashed potatoes and gravy.  He definitely wanted to eat my brains.  Realizing that my keys are in my purse in the most difficult spot to reach, I start to panic.  I swap hips and dig out my keys in a frenzy, all the while, he is still plotting his kill.  I find my keys and look up only to realize he’s gone.  HOLY FUCK.  I did not know zombies could move that quickly.  There’s only one thing going through my mind at this moment.  ”Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Open the motherfucking door!”  For sure he was on his way over to have some brain stew.  I get the door open, lock the vestibule, double deadbolt the door, and pray that this keeps the zombie out.  So far, so good.

The zombie was out there again today.  Steven said he was singing.  I asked him to go tell him he was writing an exposé on lawn care and ask him if he could take his picture, but he won’t.  What a Debbie Downer.  This entry would be so much better if y’all could actually see the zombie that is stalking me.  I told Steven that it was his fault I didn’t have the proper zoom lens on my camera and that he owes it to me, but still… no.  So, blame him for not being able to see the zombie.  I haven’t given up, though.

Meanwhile, I figure perhaps we need some supplies.  I found this really awesome bone-cutting carbon steel blade that is hand made in America (Montana to be specific) for all of you Occupy Wall Streeters.  It’s called The Hellion.

I could totally kick zombie ass with that, no?  Anyway, it’s on my wish list, along with the camera lens and maybe some assault rifles.  Here’s to hoping I get my attack coyote soon.

I was reading today that Korea has successfully cloned a coyote.  I need one.  Not quite as bad as I want a pair of micro piggies, a few hens and a couple of goats but pretty damn bad.  You see, I live in the city… Not like New York City, but as city as you can get for the eastern panhandle of West Virginia.  Despite state laws, they won’t let me shoot intruders in the city!!  I have a lot of shady people walking by my door.  Some I’m pretty sure are a bit schizo.  Not that I’m one to talk, since I’m a neurotic fucking moon bat.  So, since I can’t have attack micro pigs, I figure a clone coyote will do.  I’ve already contacted a man about it and he wants to chat.  I am looking forward to it.

In other news, I’ve renamed Stuart to Machiavelli.  He has eluded my humane peanut butter trap.  Maybe he’s allergic?  I haven’t seen him around and we’ve got a new family member.  My new black kitten, Tarot may have given Machiavelli a run for his money.

Thanks to @shellthings who writes thingsicantsay.com, I read an excellent blog entry from @LeslieVeg about “Liking” on Facebook. In the entry, she asks Facebook’s legal team whether or not they allow using Facebook Likes as a bonus entry for product giveaways. Unfortunately, they do not but one of Leslie’s readers mentioned about a loophole where Liking a Facebook Fan Page could allow readers access to exclusive content such as coupon codes, scavenger hunt clues, etc.

My question is: Is this bribery? I will give you this if you like my Facebook Fan Page. If it is bribery, does anyone care? After all, it is just a click of a button. My dog can click a button. No one is threatening anyone. It’s more like “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” It’s a trade off. So what do you think? Do you want to see what’s up my skirt… I mean… on my Facebook Fan Page?

I’ve been having a cricket problem lately. I hate crickets. They look like jumping cockroaches to me. In fairness, I hate almost anything with more than 4 legs. I don’t mind some of the glorified bugs like butterflies and lightning bugs but absolutely hate flies and silverfish. Don’t even get me started on spiders. I will run to the opposite end of the house and cry my eyes out over a spider if he’s scary enough or startles me.

Other “pests” don’t bother me as much. I’ve become quite the bat wrangler the past two years. I’ve caught about 5 of them. They only freak me out when they make their chirpy noises. I spent half an hour trying to catch a bird a few months ago. The bats were so much easier. Down in Florida, I was showering when I had a little green frog flying at me. He was a slippery little mofo. I spent a good while stark naked and soaking wet chasing the little guy to get him back outside.

I have a love of animals. I want to kiss most of them. Some might try to bite my head off but I’ve definitely shared the love with dogs, cats, birds and even my hamster, Walnuts, may he rest in peace. I named him Walnuts because he had ginormous nuts. I’d really like to kiss a seal or walrus or something. I figure maybe they won’t press charges or bite me if I really find that special one.

I had an unexpected visitor in the house today. I named him Stuart. He walked out from behind the TV and startled me. I chased him around the room saying, “Come on out little guy! I’m not gonna hurt you!!” It’s probably something he’s heard before and surely sounds like something out of a horror film. I thought I caught him inside of my husband’s sweat pants but when I took him outside to release him, he was nowhere to be found. I hope my hubby doesn’t get a surprise later… So, I bought a humane mouse trap from Amazon for less than $6.00. Do mice even really like cheese? I’ve always seen mouse traps with dried up cheese. Peanut butter? Everyone likes peanut butter… Except for weirdos and allergy sufferers. Hope this sucker works before Phoebe cat decides to make friends with him. Fatty McFatterson is too busy sleeping the day away in my bed so I think he might have a chance.

I am so thankful I am not a teenager in today’s world. With the internet, social networking and picture messaging on our phones, it’s a recipe for a social disaster. I hate to say it, but it doesn’t surprise me that more and more teens these days are on antidepressants, cut themselves, and attempt suicide. Being a teenager was traumatic enough for me as it was.

I’ve been picked on ever since about 5th grade. I developed early so I was teased that I was stuffing my bra. In middle school, it just got worse. I was shy. I didn’t date like some of the more popular girls. By 7th grade I was more developed than many women are as adults. Suddenly, I became “the slut.” Never mind that I had never kissed a boy. In 8th grade, I got jumped. Luckily, I was able to defend myself. Most kids that are picked on aren’t able to. But, I did send one running and beat the other’s ass.

That was a total turning point for me. I felt empowered. Had I not gotten into those physical altercations, I probably wouldn’t be as feisty as I am. Which, is pretty feisty. You should have seen me when I was pregnant. I was ready to fight everybody, despite my condition. After high school, the slut name carried on. It’s funny, though. I was in love with the same guy throughout my entire high school career, and I wouldn’t even put out for him. There were a few girls who would tease me incessantly. I think I’ve seen their names in the paper. Drugs are bad, mmmkay?

I feel so sorry for the kids of today. It’s so easy to sit behind a monitor and say things about someone you would never say to their face. Sadly, adults do it too. It doesn’t go away. There’s no age limit for a keyboard warrior.

If you are a mean girl (or boy), think about the harm you’re causing others. While you’re at it, why don’t you go fuck yourself?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my iPhone. I just don’t want to blog from it. I’m already irritated with FaceBook from the iPhone. However, my laptop probably needs a new motherboard so here I am, blogging from my phone. It’s annoying the crap out of me, though cuz I can’t currently connect to the Internet. Not from 3G. Not from my wifi. It’s frustrating. So I’m going back to Jersey Shore… so I can feel better about my life knowing I’m not showing my cooka to the world.