But I have some stories regardless.
May or may-not Monday.. where you can divulge in the secrets of life's mishaps without feeling like a failure. So go on... own up. I may have...
I may or may-not have done SO much homework last week on Wednesday that I spent the night lying wrapped up in a fleece blanket in front of my fireplace with hubs for like two hours, relishing in the doing of nothing-ness. Yes. The bliss of refusing to do a single, darned, thing.
I may or may-not watch the X-Factor every time it airs. Shamelessly. I also may or may-not cry every time the 14 year girl (yes, Rachel Crowe, she is phe.no.men.al.) sings.
I may or may-not have been joking around with my husband while I was showering. We were laughing, talking, you know. Usual couple bathroom stuff (TMI?). Well anyway, I make some comment (mistake) that goes something like "Oh, I thought you were coming over to scare me." And before I know what's happening, Matt pulls the shower curtain back (from the opposite side I would expect), and screams at me. I can't even explain how scared I was. I immediately screamed at the top of my lungs, turned like I was going to run, started crying, and peed myself. Yes, I peed. I immediately, out of shear fear, starting peeing. All of this was so frightening and so funny that not only was I bawling and peeing, I was also laughing uncontrollably. I can't even imagine what my face looked like. But when something is reeeeally funny, my husband gets this real squeaky high-pitched laugh, and once that shows up you know it's good. Well. He was squeaky-high pitch laughing. "Eeeee-heeeee-heeeeee!!!!!"
I may or may-not have finally created a twitter. Ughhhh I didn't want it to happen. Now my challenge is understanding the tweet world. So far my attempts consist of: logging in, looking around a little at my home page, attempting to search for somebody and failing, and getting frustrated and logging off. I got an email notifying me that I have a "follower" and I'm not even sure what that means, or what they're following. So I begin telling Matt about all of these twitty tweety troubles. He tells me that I need a "twitter education. A twittercation. A tweducation. A TWOOTER!!" To which I agree that I most certainly need a twooter.