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Oh, sweet tap-dancing fucking jebus. I’m watching American Idol, and I’m watching that little fruitcake Sanjaya sing “Bathwater” by No Doubt. It’s painful and hilarious and sad all at once. At least he’s pretty.

I can’t believe I’m watching this show.

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I’ve spent the last two days blowing about ten gallons of snot out of my nose. I felt fine all weekend, then it was like I ran into a congestion wall. All of a sudden my nose was stuffy and my voice was going. In about a half hour I was completely sick, which I hate, because I never get sick, and I had no warning signs that a cold was coming on. I was fine one minute, and the next minute my eyes and nose were fighting over which one was going to expel the most fluid. Luckily, as fast as it came, it’s pretty much gone now.I hope I didn’t get anyone sick this weekend. That would be a great first impression on the knitting group I met.

Wen invited me to hang out with her and a bunch of other knitters last Saturday.

When that wrapped up, I decided that since I was about a third of the way there, I’d drive out and visit my [real] dad’s side of the family. My grandpa was in the hospital again a couple of weeks ago, because in spite of repeated doctors’ warnings, he just can’t seem to say no to his Cheetos and sausage McMuffins (at least I come by it honestly).

Don’t you like how I go hang out with a bunch of strangers THEN go visit my ailing grandfather? I’m a good person.

My grandpa lives with my two spinster aunts and my dad.(My family is very close. I’m pretty much the only one who’s ever lived alone.)

My grandpa is 81 (though, like I’ve said before, if you ask, he’ll always say he’s 69 because he’s an old perv), and my aunts are constantly screaming at him about what he eats (yeah, they yell at him about food and they each weigh [I’m not kidding] about 500 pounds), but I have to believe that at 81, you should pretty much be able to eat whatever you want.

My aunt was babysitting her grandson, my cousin T’s bratty kid Zack, who’s 2. It’s not his fault he’s a brat; every grandchild in my family (starting with yours truly) was spoiled rotten, and pretty much acted like a complete asshole most of the time. We were not born spoiled brats, we were created. But, being a grown adult now, that sort of petulance is not something I find charming. So when Zack tried to crawl all over me and kick me like he did to his grandmother, I told him no, and that he could crawl all over her, but I wouldn’t allow it. And then he looked at me with that little shithead look bratty kids get when they’re about to say something really rotten, and I said, “Do you think you’re the first? Sorry, kid, but I invented that act in this family.”

Then he looked at me like he was going to cry and said, “You’re not very nice.”

And I said, “DUH.”