Whenever I'm feeling a bit lacklustre, I just look at my favourite item from the SkyMall catalogue. That's right, friends.. it's the Litter Kwitter 3-Step Cat Toilet Training System  (not just a product, but a system)...!

I just can't stop laughing about the look on the cat's face!  Is it concern? Is it relief? Is it that look that you and I get when we're concentrating on not falling through the toilet seat?

What? You've never had to try and not fall through the hole in the toilet seat? Umm.. you need to drink more.

But I digress. Look at all the kit it comes with? Four seat inserts, some kind of pee/poop target, a DVD and a leaflet.. Simple, right?

I don't think so. No wonder the poor cat looks like that.  It's the cat version of, 'You're fucking joking, right?'

Rock on, mighty cat, rock on.

ps - Don't even get me started on the 'Kitty Kat Loo with Solution' ... with Solution? Is it a freaking puzzle?

pps - I just totally typed the words pee/poop target with a straight face. I've grown as a person today, I'm sure of it.

Unicorns are real. They're just fat and grey and we call them rhinos.

"One-sixteenth of the time people are happy. The rest of the time they’re not. So if you start to avoid all the things that cause unhappiness then maybe there’s a small chance you can improve the ratio in your favor."

"Always look back and ask yourself: “Am I smoking crack?” Every day check the ashtray. Is there crack in there? Delusions will keep you from making progress. Then suddenly, no money, no friends, no  PR. It’s just you on your bed smoking your last piece of crack, hanging onto the lonely panties of the last hooker who left you alone. This is your mind on crack."

Nine Ways to Guarantee Success (and Failure)

You may thank me later for opening your mind and helping you succeed. I'm nice like that.

Hey, stay sexy friends and enjoy your weekend in Bejebus's glorious sunshine, okay?

"I would love to change the world, but they won't give me the source code"- Unknown

Monkey update - we're back to normal, Captain.. all systems working normally. Stupid fucking monkey. It's funny, I got so many amazing comments on my last post. All from women.

Go figure.

Anything interesting going down in your particular emotional hood? No? Yeah, me neither.

I'm just keeping it real. Working for the Man. Keepin' on Keepin' on.

Yep, that's me. Living the dream.

Let's have a talk, friends...

Today I want to talk about PMS/PMT. That sounds like fun, right? Bear with me.. this is just as good for me to type as it is for you to read. Especially if you have a penis. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about.

I suffer from PMT. It's what I'd put on my on Glee t-shirt if I had one. By the way, Glee totally stole that idea from America's Next Top Model. Fo'shiz.

PMT sucks. I know it's not a life-threatening illness. I know it's not a disease. I know there are people in the world who really suffer from said illnesses and diseases. Duh.

For those of you that don't know .. PMT feels like there's a wild monkey riding on your back 24/7 for anywhere from a day to a week. That monkey starts to hit you, constantly, with a plank of wood. Hard. And it's annoying. And it makes you angry. And then because you're angry and annoyed and sad,  it clicks and you realise.. Duh, it's PMT, it's not insanity.

There are studies and books that have suggested that PMT affects the bits of your brain that control anger, hate and fear. The monkey makes sure that every single fear and uncertainty you could possibly think of comes to the surface and are so grossly magnified that it's unreal.

Then you feel humiliated and silly for thinking and worrying and overthinking and overworrying and acting like a bitch.. so you try to desperately function as normal in a world that has no clue that every nerve in your body is on high alert and that things that wouldn't even phase you are suddenly the worst things in the world. The world sees you as you normally are and you look perfectly usual and fine but your brain is .. uh, not handling things so well.

Stupid monkey.

You feel ugly. You feel like you have no friends. Your self esteem sinks lower and lower and lower. You know it'll be better in a few days so you press on and try desperately not to cry, lose your temper or piss off those around you, especially the people around you who love you. These are probably the people in your life who own a penis.

I've said penis twice. I rock.

So you feel like an idiot for letting the stupid fucking monkey control you and everything you think you know or knew or can handle seems really, really foreign and really, really far away. You're alone and there seems to be a screeching monkey doing some uh, really loud screeching in your head.

You feel like a failure.

Then things start to slide back to normal. The monkey disappears and it's like your little Insanity Episode never happened. The good hormones are obviously starting to do their job and your cycle carries on. And you feel better.

You try not to look at the potential path of devastation you've left in your wake. You try really hard not to beat yourself up about it. You try to explain it to those that you might have bowled over with some rather impressive emotional rambling.

You write blog posts about monkeys and penises. And you feel better.

Radio silence from the 2nd of April until today, the 9th of May. I know.. I know.. I rule.

So - what's shakin'?

The boyfriendliest partner and I recently returned from a trip to the Homeland (that's homeland with a capital H as seen on the badge worn on the shoulder of every immgration erm, Homeland Security Officer encountered during our trip. Trust me, I respect their authority. Honest.).

We spent time with my family and took ourselves on a five day road trip through Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Tennessee and Georgia. 1,070 miles later - we'd stayed in five different motels (most good, one not - it's a bad sign when you check in and then drive directly to the local WalMart to buy your own pillows, surely), had five different motel breakfasts (some good, some great - hello, waffles!) and made it to many, many interesting stops along the way.

The most noteable and honestly, the main goal of our road trip... GRACELAND!  You should note that Graceland totally gets more capital letters in my opinion then Homeland Security people. Just sayin'.

I have been to the birthplace and deathplace of Elvis, friends.

I've seen jumpsuits and graves, gold records and Lisa Marie's swingset. I've touched the statue of Elvis at the Memphis Visitor's Centre (who knew that fucker would be alarmed? Learn from my mistakes, those visitor people will know if you touch it. The entire city of Memphis will hear the alarm as you touch it. You'll have to call out an apology to the world if you touch it. Lesson learned: Don't touch it, okay?)

I introduced partnerman to the joys of dining at the Cracker Barrel.. and Chick-fil-A and Steak and Shake and... and... and... Hmm, let's just say there was a lot of eating (or eatin' as my people would say). Mm.. eatin'.

Sorry, where was I?

Oh yes, so we had a fantastic two and a half weeks with little responsibility, lots of laughs and highjinks that you don't really need to read about here.

Uh, if you're my mother reading this, No, I didn't wreck your bright green gaymobile, steal any road signs, driveway reflectors or any small helpless animals. Okay? Okay.

Now the glamour of our holiday is over and we're back in the Monday to Friday hum-drum. Thankfully, the inevitable return to the five day working week was delayed thanks to the royal people getting their marriage on and various other bank holidays.

I guess you could say I'm rested and ready to grind the daily for a while..

Summer ahoy!