The thoughts I am currently having

Sometimes I try to write but I can't think of anything to say so I stare at the blank screen and start daydreaming and then I get up and walk away. That just happened, the part about me staring at the blank screen, except for instead of walking away from the computer just now I decided to go back and read all my old posts for fun, just to see exactly what Ann Marie Hacic has to say about all manner of things.

Now what I am about to say is going to sound beyond egotistical, although I admit I am not quite sure what constitutes beyond egotistical, but anyway here goes - get ready to roll your eyes... I enjoyed what I read and I kind of amused myself just now and I thought to myself, well now, you are quite entertaining to read. I hardly ever read what I write. I typically write something and hit publish quickly. If I go back and read what I write I know I will just ask myself, "do people REALLY need to read this?" or, "do PEOPLE really need to read this?", or "do people really NEED to read this?" No matter how many variations of that question I ask myself, the answer to it will always be no, so I never read what I write more than once and that's just to make sure everything is somewhat coherent.

Anyway, I can ask myself if people need to read this now and say why yes, they most certainly do because it is so entertaining and brilliant that I almost owe it to you all to write as much as possible. Do you know that I am joking? Because I am. So you can stop looking at the screen and saying things like, "you ain't all that and a bag of chips, Ann Marie."

Does anyone remember me writing about the dark shadow that is appearing above my upper lip? I wrote about it once because it was causing me distress. I must have deleted that post when I was having some sort of nervous breakdown wherein I believed people should not be reading this garbage. That was before I got real full of myself though, so no worries, I will never delete again and you can rest assured that me talking about the dark shadow that is appearing above my upper lip will be here forever and ever.

I went online and discovered that this shadow is most likely caused by a hormonal imbalance and this shocked me as I have no other symptoms related to hormonal imbalance. Just ask my kids and husband. They can relay to you how happy and balanced I am at all times. Anyway, the dark shadow ( which sounds so glamorous, but trust me, it is not) is quite humiliating and causes me a huge amount of embarrassment. Please refrain from leaving comments in which you tell me you've never noticed, because I will know you are lying and I will never trust you again and I'm not kidding.

The worst part about "the dark shadow" is that it is now taking on an Adolf Hitler look. It is so troublesome that I have decided I may never leave the house again, or if I do I may put a Hello Kitty bandage on that part of my face, which I know will be so much less distracting than the dark shadow itself.

Now I have to break here and tell you that I am currently sober. I know someone is reading this and feeling a need to call my husband and work out some sort of intervention, but don't bother. I am sober, albeit not completely lucid and rational and the reason for that is due to my daughters leaving their room in such a state that I can only describe it as a toxic waste dump and the fumes from the room have gotten to me a little. My mother is coming soon and so I decided to go in there and see what was happening, try to work out the sleeping situation and I suddenly realized we need to move out of this house immediately, or I need to clean their room. The latter option seemed slightly more realistic.

I know some smart ass is sitting there thinking, why not have the girls clean it, and I will tell you that me trusting the girls to clean their room has led to this disaster in the first place. The truth is, I have pretty great kids. They love me and each other and they don't complain about having to spend large amounts of time with me and their father, they don't talk back and act like those snotty little teens you see on TV, and they mostly get along and if I can clean their room for them and try and come up with some sort of organizational plan I will do it. Someday they will have children and they will call me and complain about the little pigs and I will remind them that they were blessed with a kind and gentle mother who spent huge amounts of time doing them favors, like cleaning their bedroom, so they need to shut up now and go be good mothers.

Now my mother and me have never had such talks as I was a perfect child who never made a mess so I can't call her and ask her what to do because all she will say is, "Ann Marie, you were a saint, right from the time you were born, and I have no advice for you." My biggest regret in life is that I never caused my mother any stress and now I have no one to go back and talk to when my own kids cause me heartache.

Anyway, where do I go now? Do I talk about the dark shadow and how I'm turning into an older, much more hideous version of myself, or do I talk about my kids and their inability to keep a clean room? Well neither topic is interesting and that leaves me with nothing to say but this - I am getting old and my kids are slobs and my mother is coming and I have no choice but to blare the itunes and put my nose to the grindstone and clean the mess and then go on and on to everyone who listen about what a fantastic mom I am.

Tires and soaps and doctors

I went to get new tires for my van on Friday and ended up spending close to five hours in the auto shop. It turns out there were many more things wrong with my van than it just needing new tires. What kinds of things? I have no idea, because when the nice man came over to sit down and tell me the bad news, all I heard was blah, blah,blah, blah, blah, blah. I tried hard to feign interest. While he was rambling on and on, I was only thinking about how I wished he would just stop talking so I could tell him to call my husband, who happens to find car talk much more satisfying than I do.

As it turns out, being there for as long as I was proved to delightful. I got to catch up on my daytime soaps, which I haven't watched in more than two decades. Rest assured, people are still sleeping with people they shouldn't be sleeping with and babies are still being born to mothers who have kept the pregnancy hidden from even the closest of friends, and no one is really sure who the father is, but it certainly is not the man living with the mother of the baby. Unfortunately no one came back to life while I was watching. That was sad for me as I always love to see a person come back to life after having died in something like a fiery plane crash. It gives me hope that if I ever die like that I may somehow come back to life.

On top of watching disturbingly good looking people overact, I got to watch the Dr. Oz show. Do you know who he is? He's that hopelessly hairy doctor Oprah forced on us several years ago. He likes to talk about bowel movements. Not only does he like to talk about them, he encourages you to go look at yours and discuss it with your doctor. It's all so interesting and educational. He also does programs in which he lovingly spreads fear into our lives by stating, with one hundred percent accuracy, that apple juice contains dangerous levels of arsenic. Hearing that kind of news doesn't bother me though, as I only allow my kids to drink beverages containing alcohol.

On Friday, Dr.Oz was talking about how to lose weight successfully and keep it off. It was almost like I was destined to have something horrible happen to my car, just so I could be present to see this show. Dr. Oz conducted an experiment on this particular episode in which he allowed three women who were on diets the luxury of cheating for one day. They actually received, at their front door, a box in which Dr Oz left a note telling them he was allowing them to cheat. (Knowing his love of all things poop I really was worried that when they opened the box it would contain fecal matter.) Anyway, as you can imagine, getting permission from the one and only Dr. Oz to go ahead and cheat on their diets was thrilling for the women.

The next segment showed said ladies indulging in levels of gluttony that proved to be so disgusting that I promised myself whenever I was about to be a glutton, which is typically everyday between noon and five PM, I would think of these women. The only thing worse than seeing them eat like this was that Dr Oz. kept calling their cheat day, "Faturday." He assured them that they would be allowed to cheat once a week ( that's where his clever name of Faturday came from) , but he was going to show them how to do it properly. See, he really does have all the answers! He used the word Faturday so much and I was so repulsed by it that I am thinking of crossing out all the days of the week on my calendar and calling everyday Faturday, as I truly believe it may make me want to spot eating forever.

Long story short I was so bored and annoyed with Dr. Oz that I went outside and walked up and down Route 19 for several minutes and contemplated throwing myself into traffic just so I would never again have to hear or see the hairy beast that is Dr. Oz. Then I reminded myself that life is not a soap opera and if I did get struck by a car and die I may truly be dead forever, so I went back in and sat down and read The Orlando Sentinel. That just made me want to go run back out into traffic again. Really, how hard can it be to publish a well written and interesting newspaper? Apparently very hard. I am much too tired to complain any further so I'm just going to shut up for now. Happy Faturday!