If I believed in reincarnation

I would believe that I was a man in a past life. Here's why:

I can not bring myself to put TP on an empty roll. It doesn't even occur to me to do it. I have NOOOO desire to do it. The same goes for refilling ice cube trays. Two simple tasks that I hate to the core of my being.

Were it not for motherhood, I'd probably live off of ramen, hot wings, pizza and alcohol.

I find toilet humor INGENIOUS!

In my opinion, the Lifetime channel and the Lifetime Movie Network, aka Uber-Estrogen Entertainment, are abominations before the gods of television. Their creators should be stoned.

The mere thought of dishwashing brings tears to my eyes, so I kind of . . . well, I don't.

I forget shit. As in, EVERYTHING.

I shamelessly eyeball men - to the point that they feel cheap and used. AND I LOVE IT!

I think that my boobs are awesome! After I had my first kid, I used to go into the bathroom and look at my "gifts".

I think that going to sporting events and screaming to the point of elevating my blood pressure, at people who will have no impact on my life whatsoever is the sign of an awesome evening.

After sex, well, back when I actually used to have sex, I want a snack, maybe a drink and some silence. Hate to be rude, but I really don't want to know what you're thinking or share what I'm thinking. Especially if I found the act sub par.

Though I am an adult, I could play video games for HOURS.

I will pull a wedgie in public. Granted, it has to be an extreme wedgie, but be forewarned, it WILL be removed.

If I am pushed to fight, my logic will be overshadowed by my ego and I will plunge headfirst into an ass whipping, retaining the satisfaction that I defended my honor, and laugh about my swollen lip.

I like watching a good fight.

I believe that shooting and explosions enhance movies.

Taking things apart that I have no clue how to fix is my idea of a good time. I love the challenge it presents.

I will say "Ok, you're right" if it will get you to shut the fuck up.

Touching my remote is high treason.

Porn . . . PLEASE BELIEVE ME!

Touching the settings on my car stereo are grounds for being dismissed from my car.

If I ask a direct question, and the response consists of more than five words, I stop listening.

The greatest proof is the fact that I think that these qualities are not only normal, but admirable. So deal with it or bite me.