VH-1, Here I Come

I came home to the wrath of Year-End Accountant, which I was actually expecting but I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I had some small little glimmer of hope that I would get paroled. So during the few hours that I got sleep last night I think the serial killer team that had been chasing me the night before morphed from my husband and Scott Baio to my husband and the IRS. Which really isn't that far of a cry from Scott Baio. I'm pretty sure there was a whole league of women that spent a better part of the 90's trying to avoid both of them.

And here's the thing about getting to sleep-in two days in a row last weekend, I paid the price. After Bret Michaels and Bill Kurtis ruined an entire night of sleep for me, Crazyman made it a point to carry on the good fight last night and ruin another one. I finally relented and turned on the television sometime around four AM, and boy was that kid all sorts of pissed when the only thing that I would let him watch was Forensic Files. I figured it lulls me to sleep, it should have the same effect on the short guy wearing footed monkey pajamas, right? Wrong. The good news is that my son will never leave his cigarette butts floating in the toilet of the person he just strangled. I mean, he knows that will surely get him busted now. He may not sleep but he will be a stellar criminal with that kind of schooling. He even roughly resembled Nick Nolte's mug-shot this morning.

Finally, what I'm about to say should become law. After a holiday break all companies should give their employees what I refer to as "Methodone Week" Look, you don't rip heroin addicts off the stuff cold turkey. I'm saying we should have abbreviated days for the first 10 days back. We can slowly increase each work day by an hour until we are back up to speed. I have a monkey on back, man. I'm chasing the vacation time dragon. I tried to mug an old lady on my way into the office. Wild-eyed, I grabbed her pocketbook and yelled, "Give up the vacation days, you old bag."

Pretty soon, you're going to see me on TV calling Dr. Drew Pinsky from the roof of the rehab and suddenly I'll be going by the name "Shifty" and Gary Busey will be spouting weird acronyms in my face and telling me that he knows where I'm coming from, but I won't know where he's coming from because I won't know which one of his eyes I'm supposed to look at while he talking and it will all be ugly, real ugly but I will successfully have launched my VH-1 reality TV career because shame has no place on that damn network. And apparently you don't even have to have been a real celebrity to be on Celebrity Rehab. I figure if I can get one good video of me getting arrested by the cops while I'm naked and screaming for more vacation days shown on the national news, I'm probably set.

And if you'd like to sign the petition to have my television taken away from me, just let me know.