…after reaching over and using my car’s horn from the passenger seat, my boyfriend said, “A car’s horn is its way of saying ‘fuck you’ to all these idiots on the road. I mean, if you yelled it, they probably won’t hear you. That’s what the horn is for.”

Thank goodness he doesn’t have a driver’s license.

Happy Easter to all you Christians out there. I’m not a big Easter person. It’s a religious holiday and I’m not religious. I hate eggs, I think Peeps are gross and ham is probably my least favorite meat to come from a pig. And to be honest, once the Easter Bunny stopped coming, I stopped caring. Sorry.

I’m not really a holiday person anyway. Sometimes, those festive freaks make me want to hurl. To me, holidays equal aggravation – everything is closed… too many places to go, ‘cuz you know, everyone wants a little piece of Angela on their holiday. Trying to decide between my boyfriend’s family, my mom’s family, my dad’s family… ugh.

And it’s SO MUCH MORE ANNOYING when your parents are divorced like mine. Instead of seeing mom and dad, you have to see mom THEN dad. Don’t even get me started on the first Thanksgiving my parents were divorced and 14-year-old Angela thought she had to eat full Thanksgiving dinners with each parent. If I had gotten too close to a sharp object, I would’ve popped like a balloon.

It was so much easier when I waited tables and holidays meant a busy day at the restaurant. I didn’t have to pick and choose where to go and risk hurting someone’s feelings. Nope, I just had to work.

I don’t hate all holidays, though. I LOVE the Fourth of July. Few things in life are better than a fireworks display set to the 1812 Overture. And I love Halloween too because, as I get older, I have fewer opportunities to just act like a kid. Halloween remains as one of those few moments in my stressed-out adult life. Thanksgiving rules because of football.

Now that I have offended just about everyone… my plans for today include staying in my jammies until 3 o’clock, head over to my mom’s for ravioli, and then back home and in my PJs by 5. Now, THAT’S a holiday.

My boyfriend’s probation officer let him off the hook (this time) and good thing, too, because he was plotting the most unpleasant method of sneaking some tobacco into the jail. (And he will kill me for sharing that… good thing he’ll never know ) BUT, compared to the alternative (known as a “Chewport”), his plan really wasn’t so unpleasant after all.

A Chewport is made from fishing some of the C.O.’s discarded chew out of the trash, drying it, rolling it in tp, and then smoking it. See all the wonderful things my boyfriend teaches me!? The process of lighting the Chewport (or any smuggled tobacco) sounds like some fifth grade science fair project – you take two batteries, a razor blade, and then – well, I stopped paying attention as my boyfriend talked, but I know if you do something with those things, it creates a spark. And you thought inmates did nothing with their time other than make shanks.

I’ve learned so much more about the Criminal Justice system from my boyfriend than in the entire eight years (Van Wilder much?) I spent as a CJ major in college. Other things I have learned: state prison actually has better amenities than county jails and, as I mentioned the other day, probation officers can be far more scary than judges.

Maybe, if I ever finish college (yeah right), I might try and get a job in the system. Who knows. Then I could be my boyfriend’s probation officer and violate him for not taking out the trash.

I wish I could celebrate the 25% of Irish I have in my blood but today, I have other issues on my plate – most importantly, my boyfriend’s probation violation. I won’t bore you with the details now, but it’s not good and for no reason either. I’m Lil Miss Goody-Two Shoes and I’d fail this probation officer’s probation.

My boyfriend’s prepared for the worst case scenario – he’s wearing three pairs of boxers, two t-shirts and a wife beater and he’s already “tied up loose ends” (called all his friends).

So, in about an hour, we’ll head up to Salem for court and in roughly two hours, I’ll either be elated or suffering pure misery. This will also mark the first time I would rather be in work.

It’s so weird how a person’s fate is entirely in the hands of one person, not even a judge, and in our case, a guy who probably got a four-year degree at UMass and not a day older than 26.

Expect the worst, hope for the best.

Yesterday must have been my lucky day. After letting the NFL’s top defensive free agent slip away, the Pats prevented the NFL’s top offensive free agent from being signed by Philly as well. As Mike Florio reported, the Eagles offered Randy Moss more but Randy was uneasy about leaving a place where he’s happy. And as a fan of the Patriots, I’m happy that he’s happy. I’m sure Tom Brady is happy, and I know my boyfriend’s 9-year-old son is happy since he just got a brand-spankin-new Randy Moss jersey for the Super Bowl. We’re all happy, happy, happy! And really, after the miserable month of February, it’s nice to have SOMETHING that doesn’t suck to read about.

Also, my dad does this REALLY FUNNY Randy Moss Touchdown celebration (which I was subjected to 23 times this year) and it would be a downright shame if I could only witness it for one season. In a shoddy attempt at videography, I was able to capture it once during the Indianapolis game and although it was too dark in my living room, you can still get the gist of it.

I think my dad has such a strong affinity for the receiver since he did accurately predict his arrival in September of 2006. You know he can’t ever let anyone forget about that.

So, as I sit here and raise my coffee mug, I’d like to toast Randy’s extended contract. To Randy!