I am a slobbering, blubbering, snotty, puffy-faced, overly empathic, silly goose of a titty baby…

But I’m okay with that.

I’m okay with the fact that the new Kleenex commercials make me tear-up,
and I’m okay with being the only adult blubbering in the theater when they
run down poor Mufasa. I’m okay about crying so hard that I throw-up when
Maverick is holding Goose in the water… And I’m okay with giving up on
television shows about hospitals when the bastards gave [Goose] cancer
and killed him off while Somewhere Over the Rainbow cheerfully played in the background and even being the only person who thinks that the part where Wilson floats away is one of the saddest moments of all times.

Yep, I’m okay with all of that.

I’m even okay with letting my sister convince me that I’d really really enjoy watching Grey’s Anatomy. (She was right , of course, no doubt due to the fact that I’m a slobbering, blubbering, snotty, puffy-faced, overly empathic, silly goose of a titty baby and GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT among other things.) 

And I’ve been balling my eyes out basically non-stop since I put in the first dvd.

Since she finally deigned to bring over the third season a couple of days ago, I’ve been wrapped up in the McLives of McFake McDoctors who are bunch of McFarkin indecisive albeit MCHOT titty babies themselves (I’m definitely okay with that).

Of course, in order to truly enjoy anything that isn’t animated or sport-like here in the Shakespearean house of toddlerdom (and cry with minimal interruptions),  one must utilize those hours between ten and five when the rest of the  bunch are drooling away on their pillows.

And I’m okay with that.

I’m even okay with this McPain-in-the-Ass perpetual sinus headache brought on by lack of sleep, overuse of tear ducts, and the ins and outs of everyday life.  I’m tired, grumpy, and have about six loads of laundry and a week load of blog-world to catch-up on…

And I’m okay with that too.

After all, I’ve got a good twelve episodes to go.