I crave to write. I think about it constantly.

I dream of a finished office space, white furniture with wall-to-wall white shelving filled with my books and my magazines. I dream of pristine walls with a slight hint of turquoise. I dream of a wide open window with lightweight sheers and a white orchid sitting on the sill. I see myself sitting at a glass top desk, lightly tapping out my mediocrity for all of the Internet.

In my head, that space will make it all better. That space will bring me back to the spot where I want to write again. In that space I will work, providing others with their lovely writing spaces while I will begin to remember what it was like when I would write something I was proud of. Something. Anything.

But that space won’t relieve my mental block. That space won’t be a reality for a long, long while – if ever. That space, this space, seems to have met it’s end. Or at least it feels that way.

It’s been months since I’ve been able to write something that others can connect with. The more I read, the more I realize that the need to be really good at what you do is ever more prevalent. As parent blogging changes and morphs rapidly into blogging for marketing and sponsorship, those whom used to write personally are converting and only the strong remain unwavering.

I am wavering. I have no desire to chase sponsorships no matter how much I’d love to be at the next *it* conference. Yet like others, I want to be noticed, adored and READ. (If you’re a blogger and say you don’t care about those things, you’re lying to us and worst of all – yourself. No one puts themselves out on a public stage just because.) But I have long since passed the stage of promoting this site. There is no more clicking around traffic building sites or adding my site to all the “communities”. I don’t work on improving my SEO (search engine optimization), nor do I care how you found my blog.

This blog is now dying. Actually, I believe it’s been dead for a while.

I am no longer – what I believe to have been – a member of the blogging community. There is very little community. It’s a shark tank full of people looking to make a quick buck and get stuff and if you happen to step on some toes to do it? So be it. There are some great people whom I’ve kept in contact with, but for the most part, my blog reader and twitter feed has transcended into white noise. There are fewer voices with a message; there are even less with ones I want to hear. That’s not to say that your writing is falling on deaf ears, rather that it’s just getting hard to discern the heartfelt writing. With FTC regulations, disclosure statements and disclaimers on satirical writing, it just seems so contrived and fake, even though the intention is quite the opposite.

Transparency is a fickle bitch.

As much as we’re transparent about what we’re writing and saying online, it’s behind the scenes where we are the most clouded,  contrary and unethical. Talking about people, their actions, their writing, their reviews, their “free gifts”, their sell-out attitudes. I see no disclaimers on the hateful statements spewed back and forth, no transparency in the relationships we are pretending to have.

I am no different.

I’ve sat back and watched for months as I fought my own internal battle of facing the truth. I’ve sat back and debated whether or not I owe you, readers and friends, a statement regarding things that have happened behind the scenes. You know, in the name of transparency. Am I being dishonest with you by not speaking out? Am I making myself appear guilty by allowing those who have spoken out – albeit inaccurately – on my behalf? Because every. single. fucking. time. I take to this keyboard, I stall. I am paralyzed by thoughts of people thinking that everything I write from here on out is a fucking lie because of something they’ve heard elsewhere. I think about the links and the emails flying back and forth saying, Did you see what she wrote now? I can’t believe she said that. What a fuckin’ liar. She is dead to me. After all this and she has the nerve.. Why does she even bother?

Dearest friends have said to let it go. My wonderful and loyal friends have said it nothing to worry about and that I acted out of good faith and love. My good friends, the people THAT KNOW ME are right.

But what about the others? The ones that I concern myself with when they really have shown they deserve little of my time. Why? Why do I give even an iota of shit for what they think?

Because I am human.

I am just like you: I want acceptance, I want love, I want people to care about me too. I want forgiveness, friendship and relationships. Because I am human.

Without transparency I feel I am stifling myself. I can write here over and over that I don’t care what you think and that it’s time to move on, but the truth is I do care, and I can’t move on – because EVERY. FUCKING. TIME. I open this computer I think about the people who have (may have) heard something and are taking it verbatim. I think about the fact that no one has even ASKED my side. People I thought were friends have taken what they’ve heard as gospel and haven’t even given me a chance. It angers me, it hurts me and it’s not fair.

But it’s not only about me and my perceived conflicts. There are people who I KNOW have been talking shit about some people I care deeply for and then they are playing nice to their faces and telling them they have their backs when they definitely do not. I know they say they are friends and “would do anything for them”  and then have been calling them hurtful and hateful things behind their backs. You forget, my friends, the internet is very much like high school. Things are said and they DO get back to the people you’re talking about; even if you’re calling someone a “crazy bitch” in jest, it may not be perceived that way in some conversations.

I think we owe it to ourselves – as compassionate, responsible and caring adults to just cut the shit. If you don’t like someone or something they’ve said, so be it. Deal with it. Move on. But the name calling? The hurtful and evil comments about people you *think* you know are really getting us nowhere. Because at the end of the day, has it made your life *that* much better by saying such evil things about someone else? No. Does letting someone know “for their benefit” that a friend of theirs has wronged someone else? No. Because no matter what you say, they will continue to make their own decisions in life and your hurtful words of “concern” and “support” are only going to make you look like that fickle bitch, Transparency.

• 2011: Suck Less
• A New York Minute
• Pants Optional

I watched Jon & Kate Plus 8 last night. It was not what I expected.

From the buzz around the internet, the tabloid mess of (un)truths, I expected to see Kate turn green, rippled with muscles and out break people in two.

Instead I saw a deeply confused and hurt woman crying out for someone who appears to no longer be available to her. I saw her needing emotional support, love and companionship.

I saw myself.

The chatter I’ve heard and the stories I’ve read callously call Kate an attention hungry, angry bitch that expects the world to revolve around her. She’s a neglectful parent and evil wife, a cold-hearted employer and a fame whore.

I see a confused, overwhelmed woman who is watching her marriage slip away while being filmed for the world to see. I see a scared, angry and very worried lady who is unsure of everything around her.

People have been talking about how Kate played up the fact that she has to do everything and she has to take all the kids by herself to get the party decorations while Jon “decided he needed a weekend off”- but tell me this: WHO DOESN’T DO THAT?! You can’t sit there and tell me that you have never played up the fact that you’ve had to do ALL the grocery shopping, the cleaning, the laundry, the parenting while your significant other goes out golfing / shopping / girl’s weekend / boy’s weekend – whatever. So Kate’s little “woe is me” moment was caught on tape? That gives us the right to call her a bitch; needy; demanding; etc.?

I do it. ALL THE TIME. I complain that I have to get the kids ready in the morning, I have to do pick up and drop off at daycare, I have to remember to take something out for dinner, I have to make sure the bills are paid, I have to do the laundry…WE ALL DO.

Marriage is tough. I’ve said that before. Things begin to unravel and by the time you realize it, they can be so far gone that it’s hard to work on even in a regular situation – like with TWO children – nevermind EIGHT.

There’s talk about the fact that Kate’s never home because she’s out “whoring” her new book instead of being home with the children. A neglectful mom who is more concerned with her fame and fortune than her children? I doubt it. Maybe a mom that has a chance to realize her dream of writing a book while HER HUSBAND stays home with the kids after he quit his job to be home. Had she been home and NOT working while Jon busted his ass everyday the tables would surely have been turned to call her a mooch – or lazy – because she didn’t have a job of her own.

I can tell you, if I had the option to write a book, have a television show and a new house for my eight children – children who likely eat about a grand worth of food a week, grow like weeds and will eventually be heading off to a post-secondary school requiring THOUSANDS MILLIONS of dollars in tuition – I’d do it in a heartbeat. Compared to working a dead-end job with limited chance for advancement or a salary to afford those eight kids even the bare minimum, it’s a pretty cushy job that one would be pretty silly to turn down.

Those of us with personal blogs, sharing stories of our family and have ads on our site are no different – though the scale is much less, it’s the same. So as we sit at the other end of our computers writing about Jon and Kate being fame whores for sharing every little detail about their family and their marriage – WHAT DOES THAT MAKE US?

Overall, I was deeply saddened by the show; because not only is this family falling apart before our very eyes while we critique their every move, I saw myself and my marriage play out on that television screen.

The way Jon and Kate worked around each other, ignoring each other as they passed? That’s my life.

As they conversed for the sake of the children – emotionless, heartless conversation solely for the purpose of the kids – THAT IS MY LIFE.

The blaming each other because of the unevenly distributed workload – MY LIFE.

It was truly an eye opener to see. Sad, heartbreaking and scary, but an eye opener nonetheless.

• Marriage is a Funny Thing
• My Husband is Not My Keeper
• Hey Momversation: Let’s Talk About REAL Working Moms For a Second

Updated: Apparently I should read my feeds before creating a post because when I think I have a great!, funny! idea, it would so happen that I post it on the same day as Jenny, The Bloggess – my  blog crush – *waves* Hi Jenny! What up? Can’t wait for your BlogHer vagina party! *fist bump*

Now this posts just makes me look like a total copy cat loser and I totally fuckin’ destroyed her awesome (Destroying her awesome is pretty well impossible, but get the jist – and if you don’t? Well could could get a fist). I just mulched a funny into a clusterfuck of crap. Do yourself a favour and just go read over there. She cuts and pastes and shit. Totally better.

In keeping up with this week’s theme, I thought I’d share this little tidbit with you.

Just picture it: Barack, Michelle and the children sitting down to dinner in their new White House dining room. Maybe a television on near by to hear the latest news and stories about Barack’s first couple days in office only to hear mention of Barack and fisting in the same sentence ON NATIONAL TELEVISION.

What? Don’t look at my like that, it’s entirely plausible.

Actually it’s a true story.

I shit you not!

An honest mistake: Fisting vs.  Fist BUMPING.

What do you wanna wager that she lost her job??

Now, remember to get your butts over HERE and leave a comment to win a sleek new pocket rocket.

And I’ve decided to jump in and get one, so I’m reading up on your recommendations. *blushes*

See? PRUDE.

And…

Because I know you love it so much…

Grace in Small Things: Part 2 of 365

1. Banana Nut Bread scented candles
2. Pureed prunes
3. Grande Non-fat Chai Tea Latte
4. Body Shop Body Butter – Satsuma
5. Stupid reporters that say fisting on air when they really mean fist bumping

• Sexual Revelation
• {Winners Announced!} Have Your Coffee And Drink It Too {Review & Giveaway}
• Life Lesson: Make-Up Will Make You A Whore

Yup. You’ve read that correctly. I am in love with a couple of gay men.

I believe I’ve always had a soft spot for homosexual men. I’m not quite sure why, but Colin McAllister and Justin Ryan are my two most favourite gays. Ask Karen Sugarpants, I talk about these two constantly.

I can’t tell you why or how this affinity for gay men came about, but as far as I can remember, I’ve had a feeling of comfort with them – which is even more strange because I don’t have any openly gay men close to me (Well, accept if you count my neighbours – but they are only close in proximity.).

It gets weirder.

I even have a sexual attraction to these two. I KNOW! Them and all their flamboyant gay-ness make me hot. I can’t even explain it, nor do I really care for an explanation, I just revel in the fact that they are gorgeous, funny and passionate. So neither of them have an interest in women. Small detail.

About six years ago I asked Mike to go with me to the gay pride parade to which he begrudgingly obliged.  Mike is not a homophobic person, but he is not comfortable like I am; he was not looking forward to this ‘adventure’. Even though he’d never admit it, I believe he was just a little curious about how the whole thing would go down; the whole time, he stood quietly at my side, even holding my hand tightly – I assume to ward off those prowling gays because they’re like vampires, yanno *rolleyes* – and even kept his usual derogatory comments to himself.

Nothing really significant happened that year and I was able to convince him to go with my the following year.

This time? This time was a little different.

As the parade passed us by, we stood on the sidelines, close to the route.

I kinda peaked out of the corner of my eye and noticed that he was smiling and seemed to actually be enjoying himself. Who knew this macho man’s man would enjoy a highly flamboyant event such as the Pride Parade? But! That all came to a crashing halt when a man, dressed as a fairy – covered in glitter, in a speedo and wearing wings – approached Mike with a watering can labeled ‘fairy dust’.

I think you can guess what happened next….

The guy sprinkled his dust atop Mike’s head.

As Mike’s face changed rapidly from enjoying his time to utterly pissed off and I began worrying what the outcome was going to be. The headlines flashed through my mind: A gay basher beating up a homosexual in the midst of the Pride Parade.

Not good.

I held my breath as the fairy passed.

I watched Mike’s expression soften a little as I smiled at him.

I think he likes you! Maybe he thought you were hot and could change you so that you could be boyfriends. I teased.

Mike glared at me, which only made me laugh more.

Fuck. you. He spat out. We’re NEVER coming here AGAIN.

I was almost in tears I was laughing so hard.

Needless to say that was our last Pride Parade.

He doesn’t speak of The Incident, but I believe it still haunts him because every time he sees Colin and Justin come on the television his eyes glaze over and he leaves the room.

{ images from HGTV.ca }

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There’s a bit of a lull for the time being and I’m trying to catch my breath: internet-work-wise, no lull on the home front that’s for sure!

I’ve been a busy bee behind the scenes as of late with new projects starting (Look for a weekly feature  with Rookie Moms to be starting up here soon – with GIVEAWAYS! *squeeee!*), designing and potential conferences in the works but everything seems to be at a standstill at the moment and I’m just waiting for it all to come crashing down around me.

I am very poorly organized. I’ve noticed the demise of my organizational skills over the years. It’s not been pretty. Along side my undying ability to procrastinate to the very last second, I have managed to work myself into a many unnecessary frenzies because I’ve waited to the very last second and OMG, where the hell did I put it!?

But don’t you worry, design clients and collaborators, I always come through!

[Seriously? Could I be anymore of an idiot? Want work, not scare it away. Fuck.]

I’ve tried calendars, time management courses with management booklet/calendar, google alerting me, notebooks, sticky notes – you name it: yes, even tried the Smart Phone (the Palm version of an iPhone) and it was probably the most effective tool… but expensive and I had to return it to work when I left.

I just don’t know how or where to combine all the stuff I need to manage even just my ONLINE life, nevermind the children, doctors appointments, grocery lists, car servicing, on and on and on. There’s so much information, important! information! that needs to be kept track of and accessible at the blink of an eye.

Scheduling has never been my forte and I would so love it to be. I so admire those ladies that pull out their ‘little black (or pink or sequined) book’ and know everything and anything that has to be done, when and where.

OMG what am I going to do when there’s afterschool activites and sports!? So. Much. MORE! Stuff!

Since I’ve committed to a few online gigs (like Binky, designing and at least two others to be revealed at a later date) I want to better schedule my time online so that I am effective when I have the chance to sit down and get work done.

Tell me, oh wise Internetz, what do you do? White board, iPhone, Palm, pad and pen??

Share your infinite wisdom.

Organize me!

Schedule me!

Because otherwise I will remain a bumbling moron and I will forget that there are giveaways! and wonderful! gossip! and designs! and I will break down in tears. You don’t wanna make me cry Internetz, do you?

*  i should never come up with a title before the post because now it’s turned into something totally different then it was intended to be and I can’t think of anything catchy to call this bumbling piece of shit post. So it stays. Now hold hands; we can all be confused together.

:::

Oh hai! Did you see that I’m giving away an HP photo printer? Want it? Find out how to get it here!

• 2011: Suck Less
• A New York Minute
• Pants Optional

My Dearest Matthew;

I’m not really sure how to start this, so I’ll just come out and say it.

Things between us have changed, our lives are moving in different directions. It’s been happening for some time now, I just wasn’t willing or ready to face it. I wanted to believe that you were still very much the man for me as you’ve been for so many years. I thought I was able to accept your relationship with her.

I didn’t think she would change things. I thought it was a relationship similar to those of the past but I’d be naive to believe that was still a possibility. I can’t be the other woman.

Not anymore.

Especially not when there’s a child involved.

I’ve moved on Matthew and it’s time you did too.

I know this may come as a shock, but over time you will see that this is truly what’s right. I want nothing but the best for you and I know in my heart that I can’t give you that.

It’s not you, it’s me. I just want more. I want what we used to have, and I’ve been kidding myself into believing that was still a possibility.

I will always have a special place for you in my heart.

I’m sorry Matthew, but this is goodbye.

Always and Forever,

Samantha

SO YUM! But I’m so over it (I think.)

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Dogfighting is a sadistic “contest” in which two dogs—specifically bred, conditioned, and trained to fight—are placed in an enclosed “ring” to fight each other for human entertainment as well as gambling. Fights can range anywhere from an hour in length to often lasting more than two hours and usually end when one of the dogs will not or cannot continue – or die.

The “losing” dog who survives the match will usually suffer severe consequences at the hand of the owner. Consequences for losing can include: being beaten with bats, chains, have battery acid thrown on their flesh and open wounds as well as being shot, hanged and drowned.

Pit bulls are the dog of choice when it comes to dogfights due to their tenacious loyalty to humans; they will fight to the death and suffer gravely in order to satisfy their human.

Thanks to Michael Vick’s notoriety, the underground world of dogfighting has enlightened many that would otherwise have had no idea what fate these animals have been suffering at the hands of these unconscionable people.

Thank you Michael Vick.

God, that pains me to write. Thank you to such a vile and inexcusable monster.

But without his celebrity, this story would have been brushed under the rug as so many others have and it’s time for people to know. To be educated about the pit bull breed and to stop living in fear of their portrayal in the media.

Saving Michael Vick’s Dogs is a fantastic article written by Brigid Schulte for the Washington Post. A definite must read that provides insight into the world of dogfighting and the pit bull breed.

Typically when a dogfighting ring is busted, the dogs are executed without question, but these 50 pit bulls resuced from Vick’s property have been given a fighting chance – at life. Many of the dogs have undergone extensive rehabilitation and training due to mostly to fear, anxiety and lack of socialization. A number of the dogs were terrified to move let alone be touched by a human hand, where few showed aggressive tendencies towards humans.

A widespread misconception about pit bulls is that they are aggressive to humans because they are aggressive to dogs. Just like any other breed of dog, a pill bull responsibly owned, raised, as well as socialized, is no more likely to be human aggressive then any other dog.

Classic fighting pit bulls, part bulldog and part terrier, were bred to be friendly to people and aggressive with other dogs. Their ability to withstand great pain and keep fighting is a quality prized as “gameness.”

But with an explosion in urban street fighting, some pit bulls are being trained to go after animals and people.

Myths of pit bulls being unpredictable, vicious and dangerous have long fueled the fear of this breed. Because of their rough appearance, pit bulls – as well as rottweilers, dobermans, etc. – have been targeted by such groups as gangs, dogfighters, and thugs to be used as an accessory to their menacing appearance which in turn has sensationalized their “bad dog” image. These breeds are no more likely to be harmful then a shitzu, golder retriever, or cocker spaniel provided they are raised in a loving environment, by a responsible person. Many instances of dog attacks or bites are traced back to improper care, lack of socialization and supervision.

Vick’s dogs have been a few of the lucky ones rescued from fighting. These dogs have been given a second lease on life, a chance to love and be loved. About half the dogs have been introduced into loving, caring and experienced foster homes while those whom shown little tolerance to other dogs are living out their days at Best Friends Animal Society‘s 3,700-acre sanctuary in Kanab, Utah called Dogtown. One special dog – Leo – now visits cancer patients as a therapy dog!

Tim Racer, one of the founders of Bay Area Doglovers Responsible About Pit bulls (BAD RAP), has said:

Yes, there are pit bulls who have fought, attacked and mauled other animals and people. But so have other breeds. And incidents almost always have been traced to negligent or abusive owners…

… it is not surprising that many of the dogs get along so well with other dogs. Just as the urge to fight is in their blood, so, too, is the need to get along. “You have 150 years of man trying to produce an aggressive dog. But you have tens of thousands of years of Mother Nature preceding that,” he said. “Dogs are pack animals. They survived because of their pack. . . . It’s hard-wired into their genes that they do no harm to each other.”

Briggs & Carter

The only way we can save these animals from the prejudice and hate is to get educated. Given the proper treatment, these dogs are unique and wonderful with tons of love to give.

Great sites to debunk myths and learn more about pit bulls:

BAD RAP (Bay Area Doglovers Responsible About Pitbulls)

Working Pitbull

Advocates for the Underdog

Just google Michael Vick and pitbulls and you’ll see the amazing stories of the dogs’ survival.

A couple of those stories:

Vick’s Pitbulls Up For Adoption

Beaten-down dog from Vick Case Has It’s Day

Leo at work:

Sweet Pea:

• Extremists in the Spotlight: Good Idea?
• Love, Elsewhere
• Stepping up my game

Sick again. Still, actually. Wednesday I came down with something, unable to even keep water down, I’ve slept through 28 of the past 48 hours. Thank God for daycare and Mike otherwise I think Carter would have been been locked in a closet. I’ve been stricken with the sick bug practically this entire pregnancy. I don’t know if it’s just that my immune system is compromised or I’m just a gluten for punishment. I’m really over it though. I don’t wanna be sick anymore. *pout*

Since Tuesday evening I’ve also been in a little more of a funk after hearing of the passing of Heath Ledger. I can’t even explain why I’ve been so profoundly impacted by this loss. Sure, I was a fan of his movies, I thought he was cute, but there was nothing really beyond that. Yet, I find myself sobbing at every photo I see. Deliriously upset by the fact that Matilda has been left without a father and the entertainment world has lost a shining star.

I have no connection or affiliation, yet I seem to be overwhelmingly depressed by this loss. It’s difficult to describe without sounding like a complete psychopathic stalker, so I’ll just blame it on the hormones.

I think death in Young Hollywood affects me so greatly since I’m completely and utterly hormonal in the same age category as many of these stars. Britney and her meltdown, Lindsay Lohan and rehab, Brad Renfro’s overdose, and Heath. They have a different lifestyle, financial freedom and new found independence to accompany that wealth, unlike many of us their age, yet, for some reason it’s difficult not to find oneself comparing one to them. Once you take away the wealth and fame; they are the same. People trying to make a living and provide for themselves and loved ones.

The thought of Carter losing his father so tragically, so young, takes my breath away. I can’t even fathom the idea of him not have a memory of his father, or having to explain where daddy went and why he’s not coming back. In that sense, Heath’s passing has made it so much more emotional. There is a child involved. A child so dearly loved and cherished by a man that she, more then likely, will not remember; aside from what people tell her of him. My heart breaks for that young girl and her mother. Not to mention the rest of his family who never had the chance to say goodbye.

I just hope he went peacefully.

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Ever have one of those days where nothing seems to go your way? You just can’t please anyone and feel as though everyone is on the defensive? Ever just feel like hiding under your blankets in hopes that everyone would just disappear? Feel like whenever you open your mouth someone gets upset because your tone is misunderstood for mad rather then sad, lonely or moody.

It’s one of those days for me.

I feel sad because I unintentionally hurt a friend with my moody attitude, not knowing that she, herself, was having a crap day. Now I feel guilty because I hurt a friend.

I want my bed.

I’m headed down Shit Creek and I can’t seem to find my paddle.

I finally announced to my coworkers that I am expecting. It feels like a weight has been lifted, even though I still don’t understand why sharing that news with fellow employees is so hard.

I had a prenatal appointment yesterday, everything’s great. Except my iron is low (like always) which is probably what’s increasing my fatigue, so now I have MORE pills to take. I’m like a friggin’ walking pharmacy these days. I’m going to need a weekly pill reminder soon. Like my grandparents, who spend their Sunday evening preparing their pill reminders for the week ahead.

Good times.

And now Mike just called to say that he has to stay out of town this evening because the weather is so bad where he is.

Craptacular crap just keeps getting better.

I’m such a downer, I applaud you for making it this far.

For those that made it this far, this is for you:

I wanted to share the link with you, but I can’t because it’s made to watch only once and then it self destructs. Seriously. If you’re a Criss Angel fan (like me and her) then you’ll probably enjoy this – even if it’s just another opportunity to stare at him.

Go to Freak Your Mind and enter the information requested… just make it about you instead of a friend (its more fun that way). Then, pick the copy the link and put it into your browser.

I’ve done it about 5 times so I can hear him say my name.

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My latest confessed crush has turned into an obsession.

Yes, Criss Angel ladies and gentlemen.

And, with my past confession post, comments from the older crowd (please, you know I don’t mean it!) seemed a little offended when I was SHOCKED! that Criss was in fact, turning 40 this year.

People, I said he was doable. That’s a GOOD thing. 40 is the new 30, it’s great to be 40, especially when you’re HAWT like Criss. But! when he is 14 years my senior it *could* turn heads, bring a lot of cradle robber comments to the forefront.

Tis all I meant my dear over the hill friends. Perhaps it is YOU that has issues with being 40, not me. *tee hee*

I’m just sayin’.

[Please direct your hate comments and emails to: getagripATgmailDOTcom. P.S. That's not a real address that I own, so you'll be sending your hate to someone unfortunate soul.]

So yeah, Criss…

*sigh* YUM!
Where was I? Oh, yes.

As I may have mentioned before, we are taking a vacation over the Christmas holidays – sans child that is not in my tummy – to Las Vegas where we will be over New Years Eve. I am so stinkin’ excited! I’ve officially begun to strategically plan my stalking of said illusionist at the Luxor hotel.

I have an idea of where he’s most likely to be found, where he lives (which is in the penthouse of the Luxor) and how I could cop a feel dry hump is leg get a hug shake his hand.

[If he ever ventures upon this while on the internet in the next 18 to 20 days, I may have to rethink my plan as there may be increased security around him, let's hope not.]

Mike’s been on this kick lately (since our sex life has dried up to about once every 2 months since I’ve been sick) where he jokes about getting a Mistress. I said I was alright with it as long as I could have a boyfriend or even a one night stand.

I mentioned that he was one of the most jealous guys I’ve ever met and it would drive him bat shit crazy if I happened to sit down and chat with a very hot man while we were in Vegas.

Mike looked at me and said: Sam, Criss is not going to sit and shoot the shit with you. You’re probably not even going to see him there. Get over it.

He knows me so well.

I played it up like I wasn’t talking about Criss at all.

But I so was.

A girl can dream, can’t she?

Did I mention I haven’t bought One. Single. Christmas gift yet?

Yeah, starting to freak out a little.

But! I have lights on my house and I have a tree and the Christmas music station tuned in the car. I’m getting there.

By the time I’m actually there, Christmas may be well over and I’ll be on a plane heading to see my Angel.

You think I could get him drunk enough to marry me in a drive thru wedding chapel?

Hmmm…. off to do more planning…..

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