If you ever have me make invitations for you, it is imperative that you proof the invitation about a bazillion time to make sure I don’t do something stupid like put the date as July 13th, 2006 instead of August 13th, 2006. The only thing going for me is that I took forever to make the invitations so they went out well AFTER July 13th, 2006. And mostly everyone already knew about the party and the invitations were a formality.

But that is just a classic move of mine.

My PSU roomie sent me a link to this article today. Sometimes I forget that my family has their own way of talking. It is funny because half the time they don’t even realize that they are doing it, but Winemonkey is quick to point it out AND pick it up.

But this little bumper sticker? Cutest thing ever. So mom - if you are ever in Squirrelly Hill, could you pick up two? I have a southern friend who for some reason uses that saying regularly.

Dear Mr. Mosquito,

I realize that my blood sustains you. I would even be moderately okay with this parasitic relationship if I didn’t run the risk of getting diseases from you. But you have gone one, two, three steps too far! I am frantically applying cortizone cream and ice packs to the three LARGE blood withdrawl sites on my forehead where you sucked the ever-living daylights out of me. THREE. BITES. ON. MY. FOREHEAD.

In addition to the three nasty bumps I have in plain sight, the two on my forearm are ~4 inches in red puffy diameter and I am going to have to go to the doctors for it. It would almost seem like your attack was to any region with the prefix of “fore”, however, as to not give me the piece of mind that comes with only having two body parts with the prefix “fore”, you took a nibble on my upper and lower shoulder.

In retaliation, Mr. Mosquito, I hope you suffered uncontrollably when I applied Deet to the following things: the screen in the bedroom window, the curtain, my side of the bed, my pillow, my pjs, and inadvertantly, my water glass. So now when I die of the Deet mutations instead of West Nile, I will still go on blaming you, you heartless bastard.

I hope you die.

Love,
Michie.

1. Professional cheerleader. I don’t wear enough lip gloss, nor do I have a female sixpack.
2. Car salesman. I do not have the intestinal fortitude.
3. Really any job that requires me to wear a bikini. EVER.