I have finally decided what keeps me from writing most....

"Smoking."

Smoking is my newfound hobby. Sure, I had taken it up as a 14 year old pre-pubescent teen, but then I put it down when Snookms would pretend to be the baby that he injected into my tum, retorting, "Mommy, the smoke is making my lungs black."

So I put it down for a year or 10, and picked it back up about 2 years ago. I had replaced smoking with drinking soda, chewing my lips into an incessant frenzy of blood and TMJ, and volunteering my ass off at my kiddos school (when I wasn't homeschooling them of course.) But when Snookms and I elected to put the spawn in public school, it freed up much of my time. Time that could be dedicated to picking back up old hobbies, such as smoking. Much of it had to do more with the stress factor of Mike Jr. being newly diagnosed as autistic, my parents losing everything they had after the big airline layoffs, my brothers being in the hospital after a horrible car accident right before Christmas, and Snookms telling me that his OCD made him feel guilty everytime he whacked off to an image that wasn't of me.

But what's this habit most useful through those trite times was that I had more free time. So first I typed, then I smoked. Then I smoked and typed. And now? I just smoke. I sit, and read everyone else's blogs and smoke. I have taken a whole year off from volunteering at spawn academy just to do that:

-Write and smoke.

And now, just smoke.

I don't have the ability to smoke whilst I write, otherwise I'm sure I'd be pumping words out like they were semen coming from the penis of a porn star. But I just can't do it. Whenever I try putting a cancer stick in my mouth and let it hang for my hands to do other things, the second hand smoke goes up my nose and just makes me wanna vomit all over my Spiderman shirt. So instead of put the smoke down and taking up writing, I've done the latter. And when everyone asks what I've done with my well earned year of non-volunteering, I can happily spew forth, "I smoked!"

Don't get me wrong here fellas. Smoking has been a saviour of sorts for me. It's saved me from getting hooked on crack, and from watching daytime television shows such as "Tyra Banks", "Montel Williams" and "Jerry Springer".

It hasn't saved me from Ellen yet though, but that's okay, because Ellen is a saviour of sorts in her own God-given right. Her obsession for Guitar Hero gives me joy, a joy so far beyond any "optimal" functioning human being's mentality should possess.

I had read somewhere that one of the symptoms of bi-polar is that the sufferer is clouded with the delusion that they know celebrities, that they have formed an actual relationship with these celebraties just because they watch them on t.v.

Does this make me a candidate?

Cause if it does, I demand royalties damnit. She wouldn't be the success she is without me "ESP-ing" her to be funny without being dirty. That was gonna be MY gig, and she stole it from my esp flow. So now I have to be funny AND dirty. All at the same time. It's not as easy as it looks folks.

I was watching an episode of Showtime's "Californication" with my mom and dad at their house 2 days ago, and I envied David Duchovny's character, for he could pull the "smoke and write" gig off with ease. My bulbuous nose sneered in jealousy. Fucker. I no longer desire to possess a bulbuous nose. I want a pointy slender one. Like Snookms's.

I've been sauntering my reading efforts between "The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat", "Where is God When It Hurts?", "The Five Love Languages", and Neil Gaiman's Sandman series. I have since completed volume 4 in the Sandman Series, and must wait till next week to indulge frenzied madness into another volume, so I've been filling in the gaps with the aforementioned books. "The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat" is a re-read for me, as well as "Where is God When It Hurts?", but "The Five Love Languages" is all new to me. It's kinda funny too, how I happened upon this gem, because I had no idea it was in possession all these years. It was my intention to look for the "Where is God When It Hurts" book last week, buried in the makeshift bookshelves on my bedroom wall, and low and behold, what do I find sammiched in between my copy of "When Rabbit Howls" and "The Fart Book pt. 2"?? The languid book of Love and it's five primary languages (dialects included). I was delighted beyond belief, as I had been wanting this book ever since I first heard Joyce Meyer speak so fondly of it on one of her panels, even having the author of said book, Gary Chapman as her guest speaker.

I had even took the liberty of jotting down what he felt were the five primary love languages:

1)Quality Time

2)Words of Affirmation

3)Gifts

4)Acts of Service

and then finally....

5)Physical Touch

Had I known that it was in my library all this time, maybe I could've been knee deep in mind shattering orgasmick sex alot sooner.

This book has thrown me for yet another loop, as did "Getting Through the Day: Strategies for adults that were hurt as children", written by Nancy J. Napier.

It's pretty much self explanatory in the title.

This Chapman fellow muses that there is the 5 love languages, and that each of us speaks a primary one. When couples aren't communicating to one another in their primary love language, then their "love tanks" run on empty, eventually leaving the relationship empty as well. It gives a lot of prime examples, and kind've a "matter of fact" approach to it all, but it really has been helpful to me in understanding that blow jobs was Snookms primary love language.

That, and doing laundry.

Those two would fall under the "physical touch" category and the "acts of service" category. Snookms also puts a dent on "Quality Time" as do I, which is rather exhilerating to know when the both of you are slashing "Final Blows" to the asshattery that is the "Uruk Hai" on Playstation 2's version of Return of the King. The only problem that arises is when we argue over who gets to be Faramir, (a MAAAAAAAAAD skilled archery warrior) and Gandalf Stormcrow (pretty self explanetory why this motherfucker is arguably one of THEEEE best characters to play in ANY Lord of the Rings game when Balrogs aren't present as an option.) We usually solve this arguement by pushing each other out of the way after we get the spawn to bed for the night, and whoever falls hardest and furthest gets to be the character they want to be.

I have yet to decipher which is my primary love language. First I ventured back and forth from "Quality Time" to "Physical Touch", but upon further soul-searching, I've come to the conclusion that ALL love languages are good for me. I really do like "Gifts" though. Both giving and receiving. So I dunno.

Also, can't blow jobs fit under both the category of "Gifts" AND "Physcial Touch"? Come to think of it....it could fit under any four of the primary love languages, could it not? The only base it's not touching is "Words of Affirmation". And that's a doozy there, cause the husband could be yelling those out whilst performing this "Act of Service", right?

I dunno. All's I know is that I'm trying to use bigger words on muh blog. I found this generator thingy on some other mighty blogger's page, one that tells you what edu-ma-cation level your blog readers would need to have in order to read your blog. This blogger's was a college level of some sort, so I figure, based on my field o' expertise in fancy werds and what not, that I'd paste my URL into that baby and get back "ROCKET SCIENTIST".

You know what it hurls back at me?????

~A Jr. High reading level.~

Big surprise. (please sense my sarcasm here, SOMEONE!!!)

It's just as bad as being called a Math Tudor, a Prison Barber, or a Near Sighted Gynecologist by Robin Williams on the movie Hook.

Maybe the previously mentioned occupations will generate a higher level of educational requirements for my blog fans. I'll be right back!!

BANG-A-RAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!!!!!