It's Sunday. Obviously. We all know what I do on Sundays - I confess. No, I'm not catholic. I just like confessing ridiculous things each and every Sunday to you, my bloggy friends. Do you have something to confess? Grab a button and link up!
I'm addicted to Coke Zero.
I've eaten a ton of Mexican in the last few days (the food, not the people).
I'm tempted to play connect the dots with my forehead pimples.
My ankles look like they've been attacked by monsters.
I cannot sing like Adele.
Since it's Father's Day:
First, I just wanted to remind you of how much I love you (as if the fact that I call you 20 times a week and made you tuck me into bed until I was 21 didn't give you enough of a hint). You're one of my heroes and role models, and I will always look up to you. You're the best dad ever, and I know you'll be the best grandpa ever, too. I'm sitting here at 2 a.m. trying to put into words all of these thoughts that are running through my head, and it's really not working. This is me right now:
See? Not exactly running at 100%, but then, you would probably look at me and say something along the lines of, "Do you ever function at 100%?" And I would roll my eyes and chuckle. And your ridiculous dad humor is just another reason for me to love you.
Dad, I guess what I'm trying to say is this:
YOU ARE THE BOMB. Happy Father's Day!