Telepathic blog posts and chicken recipes

I have become a mommy.

‘Tis true, I adopted 5 tiny little kittens…I guess it’s official now, since I got spurned by my hot Mailman (long story, the important thing here is that he’s still delivering my mail, so all is not lost), I HAVE turned into the crazy catlady of my neighborhood. Not that I had a choice in the matter. I found them. In a box. By the side of the road. In the middle of nowhere. On my morning run (Hah! I admit, I DO occasionally exercise. I have to, bikini-time is nigh).

I love the little buggers to death already, but the regular feedings are getting to me, I’m dying of sleep deprivation again and I’ve still not fully recovered from last time I died.

Honestly, right now, the only thing that makes sense other than going on a killing spree is jumping in the sewer to get super powers to deal with nighttime bottle feedings (isn't that how the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles did it, I'd be like The Twenty-Something Mutant Ninja Me, Saturday morning cartoons would rise again, and I would kick August’s ass into next year. And in the morning I would fight evil!) And no, I've not totally lost all touch with my old friend REALITY, in case you were wondering. Because guess what?! I'm Superhero material! I have a Superhero cape (so what if it's a sheet, B. tells me it's ok as long as it doesn't have pee on it), I have Superhero boots (They are purple and glittery and look like a drag queen might have died wearing them), I have a unique Superhero ability to sense Kylie Minogue songs before they even come on the radio (this is helpful in Saving The World From Unnecessary Pain) AND I retain an unbelieveably high tolerance for really bad television ( this is helpful so that I’m not weakened when face to face with an enemy such as Tori Spelling)

Ah, Being a Superhero would be so much better than being a Lifetime Movie of The Week. Unless it's that new one about syphilis.