I’m probably supposed to be doing something important. Like feeding the dogs or cooking something or straightening the dish towel so Tim’s brain doesn’t explode.  Or changing the clocks…but that’s Tim’s job cause he’s the only one who knows where all of the 50 clocks are…I’m not exaggerating. It’s like the house of clocks…I once counted TEN clocks that I could see from my perch on THE BED.

If the clock changing responsibility was left to me, we’d either be an hour early or two hours late…because I’d probably forget which one’s I’d already changed and change them again…during which I’d forget what time it was and then go check the nearest clock…which would be wrong…and then I’d second guess myself and make the clock I was changing an hour earlier than the one I just checked…and by the end I’d totally be fucked.

Personally, I think it’s asinine. This daylight savings crap…fall back…spring forward…why not just leave it the hell alone. Not only is it a pain in the ass…but it makes traveling confusing as hell…since PARTS of the United States (I’m talking to you, Arizona) have decided just that. Fuck you. We’re not changing. Which is all well and good…but it really pisses people off (Tim and me) when they’re trying to visit part of your state and find out they’re an HOUR EARLIER than scheduled and have to find something to do in a town that is about a MILE LONG (Now, I’m talking to you,  Page, Arizona…what the hell do you do?…other than go to one of the fifty churches crammed onto one road across the street from the high school or vandalize the Walmart?).

But, back to the clocks. When in the history of…ever have I ever been all Suzie Homemaker? Never. I’m Jessica. Home Destroyer.

So instead, let’s do an activity that will do nothing to improve my current housal situation…hell, it’d probably deteriorate it in some random, indirect way.

And without further stalling by yours truly: I have an announcement.

It’s finally here.

An actual, bona-fide blogroll. The one I promised…however many posts ago.

You thought I forgot? Thought it was some ploy to get you to add me to yours (Did you? Cause that’d be awesome)?

Hell no. I reward shameful self promotion.

Now go find yourself.

Or add your blog (which will require you to admit to said shameless self-promotion).

I mean, it can be our little secret…until your name magically appears…then, well, we’ll all know you’re just as desperate as the rest of us.

Which is awesome in a bad popularity contest kind of way (because you know, fame will not come from being listed. What you’ll get instead is way better: an overwhelming sense of relief for finally admitting that you like to see your name underlined and hyperlinked somewhere other than your own blog).

Which is definitely worth a few minutes of finger-pointing and staring and having that “kick me. I’m an asshole” sign slapped to your back.

Oh…and here’s a picture of Maddie and Lexi…greeting the Trick-or-Treaters from behind the baby gate. Lexi’s “waving” her massive godzilla paw.maddielexihalloween

It had to be this way…or else they’d pummel the tiny pumpkins and ripped apart zombies.  I mean, what parent allows their 3 year old wear an outfit that shows more blood, bones and open wounds than clothing? And then further adds to said costume with spatters of red food coloring covering the ripped, white shirt?

A+ parents.

It was FUCKING  AWESOME.