let the horse whipping commence...

...'cause i've got nothing...

beggar's night tonight here, so my devilish spawn will be joined by the older, wiser ninja boy on the quest to ensure their dad has as much candy as possible for the winter. poor children. they are, in essence, the squirrels foraging for nuts so my husband can be sustained on sugar for the rough winter ahead.

and ok, yeah, should they come home with a 100 grand bar, i'm likely to steal that. chocolate and caramel, my friends. whisper that in my ear and i'm yours forever. do with me what you will.

we're practicing jokes for tonight. mini-satan wishes to us the following laugh riot:

q: why did frankenstein cross the road slowly?
a: to beat the pumpkin with a hammer.

perhaps i should spend a bit more time with him from day to day, extend more of my loving self. of course, why stifle creativity like that? the kid could be blog gold down the road.

do kids even tell jokes anymore while trick-or-treating? it was protocol when i was a kid. no tired joke, no stale hershey bar, little hobo girl (yeah, my mom wasn't that creative in the costume department). these days, when i answer the door and ask if these wizards, bloody serial killers and 'dressed like they're just going to their physics class' teenagers have some witty bon mot to regale me with, they look at me like i'm a sad, sad old woman (obviously the only ones on the planet who seem to think i'm as old as i am). naturally, they don't even respond (which is like living in my house anyway, so it's not like i'm confused by their blank stares) and just thrust their open bags in front of my face like the greedy little animals they are.

here's your damn butterfinger! now eat it before your dad steals it from you, too!

warned you...i've really got nothing.

i could mention my breasts. that's always good for something. currently, i'm in my pajamas. decorating the top, spread across my rack, is a cute little redheaded smirking girl and the words "i'm good looking. just ask me."

however, you wouldn't need to ask to realize i look stunningly like the only hard thing i got last night was the sleep. i'd give you proof, but sometimes isn't it more fun just to use your imagination...

good.

besides, for those of you in the know, the camera is still a disaster. today came the words "really scary problem" across the screen when i tried to turn it on.

or something like that.

now, since i've charmed you with my family life, my snarky observations of the people around me and the mental image of my boobs, imagine me ending this entry for i wasn't kidding when i said i had nothing. someone really should help me out, toss me a bone. something. give me something to consider.

like a 100 grand bar, even. 'cause you know, i'll do just about anything for chocolate and caramel. the crunchy crispies are just a really pleasant bonus.

and as for that whipping deal...just give me a warning so i'm in a good position for it...