I hate myself for loving you.

I can't quite believe that I do this time and time again.  It's easy for me to wallow and preach at the same time.  I'm a shitty parent, what can I say?  I don't want children.  But, you know, that's something I admire in myself.  What is it with selfish people having babies?  You aren't magically going to care for other people, nope, you're just going to fuck up your child's life.  You might as well send your terminally ill child to sleepovers at Michael Jackson's house.  (Still haven't gotten over that.)  Or shoot yourself up with fertility drugs and then finance your greed through a reality show.  At least then your children will have enough money to become heroin addicts like every maladjusted child should.

Anyway, I digress.  I'm tired.  (Unfortunately, unlike my girl Maddie Kahn, it's not from being desired.)  Moping is so lame.  It makes me wanna kick myself in the face.  I cannot actually do that.  I tried getting my Rockette girlfriends to show me how, but apparently I need to loosen up my quads.  Furthermore, Nastia isn't returning my phone calls after realizing how excited I truly was for Shawn's DWTS win.  *sigh*  Gymnastics olympians are DIVAS.  I try not to be, but it's difficult now and then.  I blame boredom.  If I had more work and things to do, I wouldn't have time to think and to get so freakin' moody.  Truth.  Which is my new plan.  Busy bee, y'all.  Not to be confused with Busy B who needs to get me a backstage pass to her concert @ the IZOD center.