A woman I work with loaned me a book called "Random Family" and I've been compulsively reading it for 2 days. It follows a Puerto Rican family through their life in the Bronx, starting in the mid 80's. Drugs, violence, prison and every woman with 6 kids by the middle of the story. Everyone dropping their babies off with strangers so they can go party. Everyone sleeping with everyone else, then lying about it. Kids being neglected and abused, because the parents are just too self involved to care. The writing is mediocre at best, but the story itself is addicting. If I had regrets about my mistakes in life, this book makes me feel like a fucking saint.
"Lamb - The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal" is still making me laugh. I'm purposely slowing myself down with that one because it's a short book, and I don't want it to end yet. Ever do that? Jodi Picoult's books are the same way, except the only way to slow down is to wait in between novels. Once I open one of her books, my OCD takes over and I have to read it all the way through because I get sucked into the story and NEED to know how it ends.
Some inconsiderate person re-heated fish for lunch here at work. The stench is killing me.
For some sick reason, the theme song to Laverne & Shirley is stuck in my head.
My ipod is playing "Pass the Dutchie" right now.
This is my new favorite site - http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5235881
My birthday's coming up... hint, hint