So my awesome friend Poppy, after reading the last entry, hooked me up with the Sox tickets that she gets from work, and I am talking FOUR FREE BOX SEATS PLUS FREE PARKING.

Am I the luckiest girl in the world with the most generous, kick-ass friends? I think so.

July twenty-fifth I will be directly behind the Sox dugout cheering on the Sox to beat Detroit and, as Poppy so eloquently put it, convincing Konerko to leave his ho-bag wife.

I do love me some Paulie.

In other news, Mother’s Day was fun. We had my sister and her brood over, and I have to say that I fall more in love with the two-year-old every time I see her. That kid smiles one of her squinty little smiles, and I grow weak. Would you like some candy? A cookie? A pony? Whatever you want, I’m game. She is so cute that it’s absolutely sick, and I am generally not a sucker for other people’s kids, as you may well know.

My sister’s kids are, on the whole, a terrific bunch. The seven-year-old is as smart as a whip and a truly beautiful girl. The four-year-old, A., is probably one of the most hilarious children I’ve ever come across. Once the kids were playing in the TranceCave II, when he ran up to me and told on the J-Man for picking on him.

“You said you wouldn’t tell!” yelled the J-Man indignantly.

“I lied! HA HA!!” yelled A., full of glee.

He’s a trip.

In the wake of my sister’s homelessness, crazy relationships, and various trials and tribulations, those kids have come out brilliantly, and it’s got to be a testament to how my sister raises them. No matter what she’s been through, she takes good care of those kids.

For Mother’s Day I received some pajamas, some little baby roses, a new top, and… chocolates. The family persists in buying me chocolates, year after year, holiday after holiday, despite my efforts to stop them.

I cannot have chocolates because I will invariably eat them. This causes two adverse effects: A fat ass and a face full of pimples.

I already have a big ass. I do not wish for it to become bigger. I have relatively good skin. I do not wish for it to be dotted with the demon acne.

You would think I would just exercise some willpower and just not eat the chocolates, or maybe give the chocolates away.

You would be wrong. These are Russell Stover’s chocolates. While they are admittedly not the finest or fanciest chocolates, I love them, and they have the added plus of having a little chocoholic’s guide in the box, telling the eater which chocolate contains what filling.

This makes me so happy I could poop nougat.

The only chocolates I refuse to eat are the maple creams, which I give to my mother because they are inferior and should only be ingested by a person who will eat damn near any type of chocolate.

I have standards. Maple is for syrup, not chocolates.

Anyway, yesterday I ate at least five chocolates, and today I woke up with a large pimple on the side of my face. My ass is probably fatter, too, but I didn’t measure it or dare to try on any jeans.

I am doing my chocolate penance.

Isn’t it a fucking shame that a person can’t do anything fun without consequences? You can’t eat chocolates without getting pimples and a fat ass. You can’t drink too much without getting hung over. You can’t smoke without getting emphysema or lung cancer. You can’t have sex nowadays without getting some horrendous disease. You can’t even make out with a damn guy without getting a Big Herpes-Ass Cold Sore Right On Your Face.

You can’t do shit.

This is why I have a hard time believing in God. I think that if there was a God, He or She would make fun things fun and consequence-free. We’d be able to screw without fear! We’d be able to eat, drink, and be merry without the worry of cirrhosis and obesity! We could do ecstasy every night without having to worry about our spinal cords melting away!

Did I say that last one out loud? Forgive me, I used to be a club kid.

Anyway, I think God would love us and want us to have fun.

God would want us to eat chocolates.

Happy Monday.

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