I'm hungry and I'll kill you!

My nightmares are just ridiculous. I wish they would be about actual scary things instead of random inappropriate ADD thoughts like they currently are.

I had a nightmare a few nights ago that Christmas music was playing in my living room, and no matter how much I tried to turn it off, I couldn't.

I somehow came to the realization that the only way I could stop the creepy Christmas music was by killing the naked Cuban angel rappelling on my backyard fence.

I had been reading The Hunger Games before I went to bed. If you hadn't read it, it's about people killing each other as entertainment for rich people. It's super fun.

It got me thinking.

If I was thrown into a situation where I had to survive and kill people so they wouldn't kill me, what skill would I fall back on?

So I made a list of my best skills:



Playing the guitar.



Don't question why I gave myself a rockin bod and a bikini. Just go with it.




Singing.

Figuring out what percentages are using this formula

Crying.

Drawing a stegosaurus.

Making people laugh.

Arguing.

I decided this would be my best negotiation tool in keeping myself alive. Those people may want to stab me with a spear but I think I could probably talk them out of it. Explain why they're wrong in wanting that, what led me to knowing they're wrong and I'm right, and why they should probably team up with me and tell their Grandkids about me.

Big Hipped Mary-Haters

Most weekends of mine consist of Dateline and pancakes.

But my favorite Matthew (brother) (with two t's) was in town from Ecuador and I was gonna take him to drink some booze and meet some hotties with bodies.

Husband with one T's younger brother, Spencer, came out with us, too. He's gay. Yay! And super fun. He said, as we were leaving, "I'm the only gay one, right? I don't want to have to fight for all the gay attention."

Spencer and I are driving to pick up my brother from my parent's house. My parents live in a family-oriented neighborhood with the word "Farms" in it, even though there are no farms nearby to speak of. A long stretch of the neighborhood road is upon me, and I am happily driving along and thinking about how fun I am. I notice an ugly and probably sexually inactive mother of three, walking with her children. She turns suddenly and shouts something at my car and raises her arm in the air like Harry from Harry and the Hendersons.

I immediately have become concerned that perhaps her hips had exploded. Maybe her kids had an "I'm ugly" stroke or something and she needs to use my cell phone. I stop beside her and roll down the passender side window, leaning over the console to have a sweet conversation.

I wasn't even speeding.

Story tomorrow about a big-hipped Mary-Lover from the same night!