In accordance to section 10.b of the contract

I write this post.

Hey, there. How's it going? That's great. Wow. Have you lost weight? You look fabulous! Is that a new shirt, I mean, blouse, I mean, garment? It's wonderful and makes you very shapely in the most appealing sort of way.

Denver is hot today. And I still mean hot at 10pm. I have fans whirring about like crazy, and the temperature-o-mometer tells me it is 76 in here. What, 76 degrees, you say?! It's true. I've become a delicate flower that requires a misting of water, fans powered by the thin arms of servants, and grapes peeled and poisoned by those wishing to be in power. I hear tell of people who start to shiver and shake at the thought of 76 degrees *cough* elderly and/or residents of Texas*cough* but we people of the Mile High City have become accustomed to cool air and good times. It is not acceptable for me to be warm at 10pm.

Hmm. What else, what else, what else...

There are other things I could tell you, but I won't. Ha! I'm so cruel.

I'm trying to drown out the sounds of "Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!" Amos is bonkers for this show. If it isn't "Little Bill," "Jack's Big Music Show" or this show, forget about it. The kid has standards. Unfortunately, I am not able to revert my standards to toddler age, so I groan and moan and hope for time to pass so that I don't have to listen to Wuzzleberg talk anymore.

AND YES MY SON IS UP AT 10PM AND IF YOU GIVE ME ANY LIP ABOUT IT I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE TIT.

Hey, did you do something to your hair? That's it, isn't it? Wow. It really suits you. I fancy it.

All of your neuroses, available today on Facebook

Facebook, I love you, but I kind of hate you. No, I don't hate you in the way that other whiny computer geeks hate you. I'm not in love with Myspace and having pissing contests over the two of you. I'm not all caught up in your format and yelling, "Wah wah wah! I don't like how you are trying to be Twitter!" I'm not even a member of "Bring the Old Facebook Back!"

Why? Because I'm not a whiny jerk.

What I am, however, is a wine-y jerk. Sometimes a vodka jerk.

And that's where we have a problem, you and I.

You're freaking me out, man. And not in a good way.

Just because I've been drinking a bit of vodka just about, oh, maybe every night or so for the last week, it doesn't mean that you should display ads for Americana vodka because I've tried EVERY other vodka brand and import, or so you say in the ad.

How do you know what brands and how much I've been drinking? I'll have you know that I'm enjoying a giant bottle of Costco vodka, and Costco vodka don't need no justification. You buy it because it's big and will break your leg off if you drop it.

Look. Just because I talked about drinking vodka with juice box from Costco (which, by the way, is the smartest parenting cocktail I've seen in a long time) and then pairing it with a Ralph Fiennes movie, it does NOT mean that you should taunt me with Facebook ads for additional vodka. You do not need to remind me that, on occasion, I am overdoing it with the nightly vodka/juice box. You do not need to remind that even more vodka is available to drown my sorrows, and guess what?! It's American made vodka! Wave your patriotic flag, eat your Freedom Fries, and drown them in a vat of Americana vodka! Add some juice box squeezed by American hands!

Facebook, I've been going through some hard times. Hard times that I don't talk about to NOBODY. And no, I don't care that I had a fit of bad grammar back there. I'm a backwoods East Texas girl, and I'm lucky I can spell my own name, much less understand that Ralph Fiennes will punch me in the tit if I call him RALF instead of RAIF. So, stop taunting me, Facebook. I don't need to know that America makes enough vodka to drown my secret sorrows. Costco already provides this information in bulk.

You can also stop taunting my 30-something lady friends with your wrinkle ads. Honestly, I don't need to know that Mary Whatsherface from Sheboygan found a great home cure for hemorrhoids, wrinkles, and teeth whitening, and you can cure them all with one vat of Mary-made cream! The ladies at my playgroup were not pleased with having to face your wrinkle ads on top of unwanted invitations from old high school acquaintances. We have enough things that remind us how old and infirm we are.

Also, you're like a really bad friend who wants me crash and burn. Honestly, why are you posting "Hybrids by the hour" and green grocer ads right next to the vodka ad? Really?! You want me to drink your American vodka and THEN rent a car to go to the store, just because the booze was made by some schlump in Walla Walla and the car is environmentally friendly? Wow, Facebook. You've really found me out. You know how to reach your target market of moms who are home alone at night but need to get crunk, only to find they are out of wheat grass juice and couldn't POSSIBLY drive to the health food store unless it's in a hybrid.

Well done, Facebook.

Oh, and this ends my nonsense rampage that has everything to do with avoidance and shaking of fists and a great deal of boredom.

You're welcome.