I Q-U-I-T...again.

I Quit. Mark my words:

I Q-U-I-T thinking that my 6 year old has hit a new stage where positive reinforcement actually works and getting ready for school can include normal voice-tones and workable ponytails on the first try instead of my typical verbally abusive threats of "IF YOU DO NOT GET YOUR SNEAKERS AND SOCKS ON RIGHT NOW...................................!!!!!" followed by tears. Hers and mine.

I Q-U-I-T making my once proud of spiderweb cupcakes [too lazy to attempt a link but they're somewhere on this god damn blog] especially after baking 4 dozen batches just last night alone for school parties today where I don't even know if they will be welcomed and having black decorating gel embossed under my fingernails SOOOOOO bad that my ex-husband's girlfriend who is so kindly attending my girls' school parties with us today will think I am typical ex-wife trash.

I Q-U-I-T playing nice in the sandbox at work with a colleague who for some reason thinks the two of us are in competition versus on the same team working together towards the exact same goals and bonus potential. WTF? Can you say insecure, un-confident, no self-esteem little old man???

So Happy Halloween my blogger friends. I'm off to enjoy sitting in 2 classrooms of stinky, germy elementary school kids accompanied by my ex-husband and his girlfriend, along with lovely room parents who don't want me there. Then I will be thrilled to stand outside for 45 minutes to watch my girls parade around their school track in costume, or should I say half-costume as last night they decided that parts of their ensemble of course "bugged" them, who will ignore me as I try to yell their names to get at least one picture to record the fact that I was there and tried to be a decent, supportive mother for when they grow old and complain about me in therapy.

You bug me girls.
And I love you.
And I wouldn't miss this shit for the world.

Trick or Treat,

Who Is This Person, and where is my daughter???

Something very strange happened this morning. And I mean, holy shit, knock me over the head, voo-doo magical trick and shit strange. And I am so scared to write about it because I believe I might jinx myself and cause this eerie happening to never ever "happen" again.

My 6 year old had a really good morning.

And when I say "good", I mean we were laughing and shit.
All the way to the school door.

I mean, she got dressed while telling jokes, she didn't scream at me to get the "bubbles" out of her hair that she brushes straight through every morning 6,846 times, even though every stroke causes her hair style to look EXACTLY the same as the previous attempt. She ate her cereal and didn't scream at her sister to "Hurry up because you're such a dork and your shirt is so ugly". Her sock seams were absolutely perfect today - even though these are the same Hello Kitty socks I wash every f_#*ing night of my life to lay out wrinkle-free for her on her pile of already picked out clothes and can never figure out what it is that sometimes causes them to fit so perfectly while on other sporadic mornings she insists I secretly inserted sandpaper or granola crumbs inside the toe section.

So what else would a shocked mother do in this situation other than???

Analyze every little thing we did last night and this morning that might have caused this glorious morning to occur...

because I'll be damned if that's not what we're doing tonight!

Exactly.

And I mean to the minute.

And I might even cook the same dinner.

And believe it or not, I think we recorded last night's iCarly on Nickelodeon, so I could even replay it on the sly without her knowing.

SSSHHHH......It will be perfect.

And I might actually not hide under my covers in the morning, dreading to get out of bed and face the time frame between my girls' alarm clocks going off and 7:59am which is one minute before 2nd bell and usually puts us running full speed to the school doors so that my precious little Type A+++ personality (inherited by my ass of an ex-husband of course) daughters do not have to get a late pass. Because god only knows, if that happens, I am doomed forever.

THE SOLUTION:

For anyone facing the same morning issues, I am going to share the secret ingredient I believe I owe this glorious morning to. It's a You-tube video. It is both kid and adult oriented (can you say High School Musical 3, John McCain and Sarah Palin) and I swear to god we watched it 6 or 7 times last night, and twice this morning. Only because my 6 old was so intrigued with it. And the deal was, if you want to watch it this morning, you need to get dressed. And I hope you get dressed, because Mommy loves this video as much as you do.

Check out the link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vWQox1OXks

I'm not kidding. If McCain and Palin can miraculously turn this 6 year old daughter around for another few consecutive mornings, I may have to switch presidential signs and forgo any loyalty or personal beliefs and ultimately give this pair my vote next week.

But then again, I know the truth. And this morning was surely equal to simply putting lipstick on a pig. You just can't cover up reality. And I can not expect miracles. So darling Sydney, while I enjoyed this morning so much that I have dedicated an entire blog to it and your behavior, I am not expecting miracles baby. I love you still, and loyalties remain. And if you wake up tomorrow and can't find mommy downstairs, just check my bed. I'll most likely still be hiding under the covers.

WTF?

WTF? This is what I woke up to today.

It's just too f_#*ing early for snow, people.

Can you make out the bloody fake body sticking out from our 6 foot coffin?

No?

Oh that's right, because it's covered in f_#*ing SNOW, and it's only OCTOBER!

And how about my presidential sign,

the first I've ever felt strongly enough about to display?

That basically says it all.

About everything.

Peace out.

Don't You Hate It When... you're molested at a 5 Star Spa by a 350 LB porn-addict?

OK, Here's my attempt at winning an IPOD shuffle people with a past post (find link to original post below) that I thought was perfect for the theme:

"DON'T YOU HATE IT WHEN..."


Don't you Hate it When:... you sign up for a full body massage at an exclusive spa only to watch your husband be whisked away by some beautiful foreign love goddess while 7 minutes later you are welcomed by your manly masseuse "Michael" who appears to be 5 feet 3 inches tall, 350+ pounds, with facial hair and glasses who seems way too enthusiastic about this one opportunity to be with a naked woman for 60 minutes alone in a dark room so much that he immediately exposes your entirely naked body for the entire 60 minute session while focusing on your ass cheeks 90% of the time while breathing in COPD excruciating rhythm while repeatedly rubbing his groin area past your weak muscled fingers that you can't move because of the trauma and shock and visions in your head of currently being mishandled by an overgrown computer-porn addict who most likely lives with his mom and 17 cats among cartons of weeks old chinese food cartons? I wish I was joking.



PS...not sure how "PG-13" the original post is...



http://lifeistooshortnottoshare.blogspot.com/2008/09/massage-to-rememberor-report-to-police.html

Check out this Contest! And Scary Mommy!

OK, I have made a conscious decision today [horrid weather keeping me inside with nothing else to do other than blog...blog...blog] to venture out and find new blogs to follow. I am jealous of my 8-10 readers who have lists and lists of blogs they monitor and comment on regularly, and I have known from the start that if I expect anyone to venture upon my page of "F" bombs and trivial bitch sessions I must first venture upon theirs.

So today I am on a mission to expand my horizons. I think I can do this even though I work full time, have 4 kids in addition to a needy [sensitive] yet so-deserving-of attention-kind-of-husband who would rather me fondle his package when he's home vs. waste time typing on this damn computer keyboard while ignoring the entire family as if zoned out on some hallucinogenic. Yes, I can do this in the spare 48 seconds I might be able to find each day while pretending I'm heading to take a shit since that's the only time no one will follow me, attached to my pant leg. Maybe if I put my computer in the bathroom, I could escape for longer periods of time? I could even stash my little one's "farting putty" in there, to give my faux escape some full proof sound effects in order to strengthen the believability meter... possibilities are endless when you put your mind to something.

I hope you will keep note of the new blogs I add to my "Favorites" list over the next few weeks. And in the meantime, here's a new favorite whom I absolutely fell in love with as I read her own "Proudest Parenting Moment" along her sidebar..."F" Bombs Galore. She could possibly become my new best unknown friend. And I am NOT sucking up to win her contest.

You must check her out - it's a guaranteed link to many cool reads... And for a chance at winning a tub of awsome pink goodies, all you need to do is comment! (I'm going for as many points as I can my friends)... CHECK HER OUT!

Scary Mommy: http://www.scarymommy.com/

Good luck!

¡¡¡ʇıɥs ʎuunɟ sı sıɥʇ

˙spuǝıɹɟ ɹɐǝp ʎɯ ʎɐpsǝnʇ ʎddɐɥ ˙pǝddoɹp ı sqɯoq „ɟ„ ǝɥʇ ןןɐ puɐ ʎɐpɹǝʇsǝʎ ƃuıʇsod „ɥɔʇıq„ ɐ ɟo ɥʇƃuǝן ʎɯ ɹoɟ sɹǝpɐǝɹ ʎɯ oʇ ǝzıƃoןodɐ oʇ ǝʞıן pןnoʍ ı 'ƃuıʇdɯǝʇʇɐ ןןıʇs ǝsoɥʇ ɹoɟ ¿¿¿uʍop ǝpısdn ƃuıɥʇ ǝɹıʇuǝ sıɥʇ pɐǝɹ oʇ ʎɹʇ ʇɥƃıɯ oɥʍ ƃuıɹǝpuoʍ ¡ʞuıן sıɥʇ ƃuıɹɐɥs ʎq ʎɐpuoɯ ssǝןɥʇnɹ ɐ ɹǝʇɟɐ ɥƃnɐן ǝɯ ƃuıʞɐɯ ɹoɟ „uoʇsǝɹd ɟo ǝɟıן„ ʞuɐɥʇ oʇ ǝʞıן pןnoʍ ı



Life of Preston: http://lifeofpreston.blogspot.com/

Type upside down: http://www.sevenwires.com/play/UpsideDownLetters.html

Enough with the candid pictures already!

I haven't been feeling too good these past couple of days. Call it PMS, exhaustion, tortured-body syndrome from too much cardio, step, circuit and kettle-bell training this week [have you ever walked up or down a few stairs feeling like your calves have honest-to-god RIPS in them - that would not mean "RIPS" as in 'muscles', but more like 'tears', 'slices by a knife', 'stab wound' rips?]. And maybe if I felt like I had lost even an ounce of weight this week it might be just a hair easier to tolerate, but instead I am bloated, hungry, out of wine and miserable.


So, as I relaxed on the couch earlier today, feeling guilty for just sitting there, I decided I should conquer one of my clutter-piles. Take a look at my clutter - I can't bare to even look at it:


Aside from the bills, take-out menus, IBM stock papers, Friendly's coupon and tanning lotion (I mean, talk about a solid mix of fucking clutter, right???), I would like to point out the empty Ziploc bag. As my husband realized it was just about time for him to jump in the shower and head to work, he glanced at me, and started laughing.

Here's how much he loves me:

That would be a big ass crumb sitting just atop my right breast. Pumpkin chocolate-chip. But in defense, I would like to say in my world pumpkin = high fiber, right? Which means I can actually rationalize eating three of them before I slowly drifted off to sleep.

So darling husband, my one and only partner...payback will be a bitch my sweetheart. I do love you though. And while this blog has created a monster out of you lately, our hardly-ever-used digital camera has begun a new life of its own. Peace out. And I will warn you only once - be careful what you do when you think no-one is watching.

Welcome Home, Mom!

Check out this welcome I got from my girls and their best friend Emilie, my so-called adopted "5th child" as she likes to say, yesterday as I got home from work. I will very briefly set the stage.

I walk in from work, babysitter on couch watching soap opera channel as usual while girls are playing school upstairs. As I yell "HELLO??" and begin my journey up to their room, I am suddenly stopped by all three children. Emilie [5th child] is front and center blocking me as if she were a driver violently slamming her car breaks on while trying to prevent me from flying through the windshield:

Emilie: "Mrs. Northrup - DO NOT go in there!"

Me: "Where?"

Emilie: [pointing to the girl's bathroom door, closed tightly] "THERE!!!!"

This is what I saw:

That would read: "Don't come in - there's something big."

I will spare you a picture of the biggest dump I've ever seen in the history of my life. How did that come out of one of these little bodies? I have no idea. And from the looks on their faces, they didn't know how either.

Which one could it be???

It will remain a mystery. Our little secret, girls.

Hand Mom the plunger so I can get to work.

Pumpkin Farm Family Trip.. or might I call it "family rape"?

OK [big, big deep breath, and sigh...]. Today, after my glorious relaxing [ie, bullshit, chaotic, over-the-top, filled with crazy children and one of the world's worst temper tantrums ever documented] morning, we had plans to go to the pumpkin farm. Quite amazing to organize with the following attendees:

Mark and I

Our 4 Kids

My Mom

My Youngest Brother visiting from Florida

My Sister, Her Hubby

Above Sisters' 2 kids: MJ [attention needing 2 year old from last post] & 1 year old Sophia

My Sister's mother-in-law

My Middle Brother & His Wife

Above's 2 month old daughter Alexandra

My Daring Oldest Brother who doesn't want kids

And I'm still recovering to even think about writing words.

Or maybe it's the 2 Mich Ultra's that followed at lunch, I'm just not sure.

What ever happened to the days when a trip to the pumpkin farm was actually ABOUT PUMPKINS??? Today, this trip is now a scam. And even in the economic crisis our nation is facing, our local farmer over at "Jackson's Farm" is raping all of us who feel we MUST get at least ONE PICTURE of our children on the pumpkin piles.

In the meantime, we get nagged for ticket rides, petting zoo admissions, face painting, candy apples, rock wall climbing, bounce house charges and hay ride fees that actually risk lives while crossing live railroad tracks - I mean, come on!!! You couldn't grow the god damn corn on the other side of the highway??? And I survived [barely] with 3 lousy tickets still remaining in my left pocket. That's a $3 donation to the Jackson family.

May apple crops suffer a historical drought next year.

What I do know is that we did manage to buy [and break, smash, step on, kick] a few pumpkins, and get several pictures. That's all the energy I have left to post. Here are some pics of the family since I don't normally get this personal. These are for you Carla and Libby.

Samantha & Uncle Sami

Spencer & Mark

MJ pouting (Sister's 2 year old attention-needing son)

Beautiful Alexandra, my middle brother's 2 month old

Our littlest, Cooper. (Yes, he would be the pumpkin kicker.)

Mark and I, before 2 beers.

Sophia...my sister's youngest who just turned one. That's MY hairdo though.

Sophia & Sydney, Buddies at Last...

Spencer, our Athlete...and may I brag he was the only one to reach the top!

Peaceful Saturday Morning, NOT!

Well, this morning was supposed to give me some peace and quiet, and a little alone time with my youngest daughter Sydney (aka "Corkey" to my regular readers). However, things always change in this house, literally in seconds time.

My husband left for a few hours to take his oldest son to a football game 30 minutes away. His little one Cooper was supposed to go as well. But then, it started. The phone rang at 8:31am from my so called "5th child" who lives down the street and knows my rule that you can't call our home on weekends until AT LEAST 8:30am.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.

Sydney: "MOM, Can Emily come to play even though Samantha is at Grandma's?"
Me : "Sure."

Literally 48 seconds later, the doorbell goes:

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.

No way Cooper is going to football with Dad and Spencer now. Emily is "dreamy" to him. And considered an "older woman". She's 9.

10 minutes later, phone goes:

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.

This time, it's my oldest daughter Samantha calling from Grandmas: "MOM, is Emily there yet? I want to come HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOME!!!"

Me: "OK, let me talk to Grandma to see if she can run you down."

Grandma: "Sure, but can you take MJ [my sister's two year old son who at this very moment is in the most attention-needing stage of a child's life] too, since he will have a fit if Samantha leaves?"

Me: "Sure." [Are you kidding me?]

Shit. So, here is my peaceful Saturday morning. Tis' the weekend spirit. Enjoy.

Please dismiss popsicle in 2 year olds mouth at 9:32am. I was desperate.

Can you Guess?

My husband and I were entering his Toyota Sienna today to run an errand. He slowly opened the back side door as I sat in the front passenger seat, stuck his head inside and asked me ever so sweetly:

"Hey Baby, can you guess where Cooper sat this morning on our way to school?"

Damn, those poptarts.

Watch OUT Martha Stewart!

Anyone who knows me well will appreciate this post even more so. I must admit, I am the Queen of "Buy versus Make", I totally believe one of the best inventions ever is Steam Fresh Veggies (if you haven't tried these, you MUST), and I simply don't believe in sewing or fixing things - just throw 'em out, and buy brand new. This has NOTHING against those who choose to do otherwise... it is simply a personal deficiency in talent and time on my end.

With that being said, all four little ones are expected at our doorstep this afternoon, and I am desperately missing them. .. And with Halloween being my favorite time of year, I wanted to do something special for their return home. So I broke out the 'ol attempt to do something "Martha Stewarty".

Here's a quick look at this morning's creation. Not that this is exciting "blog" material - just a way I can remind myself I actually DO attempt things that stay-at-home-moms do to alleviate that guilt that creeps over me every so often. I was like a little kid in a candy shop experimenting with all the new icing sprays, decorating gels and candy decorations.

Plus, I would like to show off my new cupcake holder!!
(See, it's the simple things in life that totally make my day.)

Happy Halloween Season!

Payback's a BITCH my little darling...

OK, I'm going to make this short and "Oh, SOOOOOO Sweeeeeeeeeeeeet."

My little 6 year old has been testing my nerves to the point of no return this week. She's also been testing her older sister's nerves, and actually broke my mother's nerves last week to the point of her having to confess to me that she could no longer watch both girls at the same time anymore, as she "...will not put myself in the position to literally get so upset to the point of possibly having a heart attack. I refuse to do it anymore." Quick Flashback - this had much to do with my little one stabbing a waffle violently during breakfast one morning while I was out of town. And no, I have not yet taken her to my therapist.

Well, well, well my little Sydney... I may regret this later on when you are wanting me to cuddle with you in one of your rare yet loving moments. But you are not here right now. And I just happened to be scrolling through some summer pictures... And you REALLY pissed me off this morning, not to mention this entire f--king week.

So for the few people that actually read this every so often, you might remember an older post of mine entitled, "Nicknames" from September 20th (sorry I am so computer illiterate that I can't yet figure out how to easily provide my readers with the quick link to this post just yet...I'm still trying). Within that confessional posting, I included several of the horrid nicknames my husband and I have for some people in our lives, and I introduced everyone to "Corky", the summer name my 6 year old daughter has inherited.

If you can't figure it out and didn't read the post, you'll have to go back. Otherwise, for all of you regular readers, maybe now you will understand how "Corky" was born:

And for the sake of my own self preservation and respect, I would like to at least show you the precious face under the mask...so you aren't so fearful of my own flesh and blood:

I really do love you Sydney... but just remember what Mommy can do when you don't listen.

No Male Multi-Tasker Here, But I'll Keep Him!

Sundays in our house this fall equate to SOCCER games for our son Spencer. Games are 30 minutes away, and this particular Sunday also came with a joyous birthday "indoor pool" party invitation for our little soccer player, 2 hours before practice. Because of this, the "girls" in the house decided to actually stay at home and relax...RELAX??? Whooo Hoooo!! Now we're talking.

Knowing I had no where to be, I actually took the [rare, usually never happens] opportunity to sit on the leather couch with my coffee and newspaper. Starting about an hour before the boys needed to leave, I started reminding my husband of the time, and continued to do so every 10 minutes or so, very non-chalantly, with only the intention to help motivate him in his quest to get out of the house on time.

Note to Story Readers:
[Latest required departure time for boys to arrive at 11am party = 10:30am.]

Here's how that hour went:
9:30am : Me putting present for birthday party I wrapped last night near the front door reminding the entire "male gang" that they needed to get ready to leave in 45 minutes. Then, personal decision made to sit on couch, put feet up, sip coffee and read newspaper which NEVER EVER in a million years happens.

9:40am : Chaos in house, while I ask my husband if Spencer's soccer stuff is packed and ready. He replies "Yeah, I think so, I'll take care of everything, don't worry, just relax."

9:50am : Chaos in house, while I try to gently let my husband know he should probably start moving to get ready by simply asking, "Honey, do you still need to take a shower? Just so you know, it's almost 10:00." Yep, he knows, they'll be fine, don't worry.

10:00am: Boys still running around in pjs, husband still on couch with me, but now verbally listing off things needing to be done in order for them to leave on time.

10:10am: Boys still running around in pjs, husband now telling me he should really get in the shower while still sitting on the couch.

10:20am: Me [about ready to have a coronary from the anxiety building up that absolutely no one is ready and nothing has been done] watching my husband finally realize the need to run up and down the stairs 17 times to get cleats, then oops forgot sweatshirt, then boys clothes since, "shit, they're not even dressed yet??!!"... to the point of witnessing for the first time ever my husband having an adult temper tantrum, yelling frantically that "This is all bullshit and I'm ready just to say F_#* this party and soccer all together, god damn it!!!!!!"

10:22am: Me laughing, realizing it was time to remedy the situation, standing up, looking at my husband with a feeling of calm, and directing like the most experienced movie producer ever known to Hollywood:

"Mark - go take a shower. I have everything else taken care of."

"Spencer and Cooper. If you want to go to this party, you have 2 minutes to get dressed, which includes socks, shoes, and a sweatshirt. It is not your father's job to get your underwear. And I mean NOW."

[I then proceed to get tote bag, put bathing suits and towels in bag, collect soccer stuff that is of course scattered among boys room, laundry room and front hall closet into soccer bag and place all needed items by already wrapped present near front door."]

10: 27am: Mark comes downstairs, boys are ready, and I'm back on the couch sipping coffee and reading the paper once again. I looked at him and just smiled. I'd do anything for him, and I hope he knows it. But this kind of stuff I think is just a natural "mom" thing. I can't take any special credit.

Mark didn't have to say a word from the look of pure appreciation on his face. I just smiled. But Mark, will never "not say anything" or ever let me think he might take for granted even the smallest, most natural things I might do without any thought.

Here was the text message I soon received as they started their drive to the birthday party, actual departure time, 10:29am, one minute ahead of schedule:

"Women are beautiful and amazing creatures. I always like to think that I have it together but when it comes to getting kids dressed, gear organized and every one out the door last minute, a man can not compare to a woman. Thanks for your help this morning. You proved once again why women are superior when compared to men... You are beautiful Susan. I love you."

I love you too, baby.

I'm Almost Not Kidding About This

Dear 38 Year Old Daughter Named Susan,

Welcome home from your exhausting 3 day work meeting where you have either been lost in remote airports or locked in hotel meeting rooms for the past 72 hours breathing in stale dry air while being forced to listen to too many corporate men trying to convince you they have the answers to all your problems even though all they do is drink beer, talk about how great they are and admit that they would never survive in their job if it wasn't for their stay-at-home wives.

I just wanted to let you know that while you have said I've earned my angel wings one too many times for all the help and support I have given you, I do not think I can help you any longer in watching both of your beautiful [nasty, rude, disrespectful, having a bad day, missing their mommy] daughters where as at least one of them at any one given time might face some type of challenging issue and resort to habits of fighting with one another which at very infrequent times may cause your little 6 year old to violently stab her breakfast waffles with her fork to the point of utmost concern.

I think she might need to see your therapist. Have you discussed this yet?

PS...I had a rather large delivery of concord grapes from a friend and thought you, Mark and the girls would enjoy a few crates. I have left them on your front porch, along with the girls, their suitcases and their bag of snacks. I hope they are still there when you arrive home.

Love,
Mom

DAMN, Finally A Holiday For Me, And I Miss It!

I would like to first give credit for the following announcement to a fellow blogger I keep up with quite frequently: Dorsey at http://www.searchingformyinnerskinny.blogspot.com/.


Look at what holiday she celebrated a couple of days ago on her obviously more up to date blog than mine, and I MISSED IT!!!!!

While I realize it is October 3rd and I am two days late, I can not let this beautifully created holiday slip by without contributing. Here's what I'd like to officially "Bitch" about today:

• Why are women so disgustingly dirty in restrooms? I mean COME ON!! I am tired of traveling through airports, frequenting restaurants, gyms, stores, you name it while always having to clean up after the nastiest of women. Do you piss on your own toilet seat and rip shreds of toilet paper all over the place in your home bathroom without thinking twice? Do you NEVER flush after yourself and simply wait for your kids, spouse or weekly cleaning lady to do it for you? MY GOD, what is wrong with our society???

• Why do "gang-member looking" people on the street, at the mall, in the middle of a Macy's petite women's section look at us , taunt us, approach us and let us know they'd do "anything, baby to have someone as pretty as you mama..."? I mean, do they really thing this is a pick up line that would cause me to finally one day confess my love and passionate fantasies to them and go "romp their world and pleasure them with d'at ass I was so lucky to get from my mama?" Especially on my lunch break while I'm sneaking a 4 minute shopping spree in the local Macy's petite department???

• Why is my husband's ex-wife such a selfish, manipulating, over the top ____ ... Yikes... I'm going to pass on finishing this question to avoid any legal ramifications what so ever...
  

On a much more serious note, (which basically means I would like to try and justify all my unnecessary bitching above), I just read "The Last Lecture" yesterday, by Randy Pausch...

If you've never heard his story or seen his "last lecture" online, you should check it out someday. Especially on one of those days you're wanting to bitch about everything and everybody plus more in your life.

http://www.thelastlecture.com/

But don't wait 'til next October 1st. I promise, it's worth it.