Bitch Ph.D. caught my attention again. This is quickly becoming one of my favorite blogs. I have my own thoughts about this story of stupid plagiarism, especially since I have two children in college -- both doing their own work I hope.

For some reason this story reminds me of something Mean Old Man might do for fun. I want to know what my some of my journalism pals think. Not just about the plagiarism.

Do you think bloggers act like journalist, without the journalistic integrity or standards? Are bloggers nothing more than Gonzo-journalist wannabes? Was Hunter S. Thompson an ahead-of-his-time blogger?

Talk to me!

I watched a lot of college basketball this weekend. This may lead you to believe that I am a basketball fan. In reality I'm really not. Normally, I only watch basketball two times a year. First when UofL plays Kentucky and then the Final Four championship game.

I'm a Louisville fan. Not the "travel across the county or wait in line for tickets" kind, but it's my alma mater so when needed I bleed red like other Cardinal fans.

This year my viewing habits have been different. Like the rest of my state, I have been caught up in March Madness. Why? For one, I have more free time on my hands. But the real reason is revenge. The cards and their fans have something to prove to the idiot NCAA committee members who ranked them a #4 seed. A number two seed – well we could accept that -- but a #4 seed? The committee must have been doing some good drugs.

My weekend viewing began with the UofL -- West Virginia match up. I'll admit that by half time I had counted the Cards out. They were playing sloppy and WV seemed to hit every 3-pointer it threw in the air. But the Cards came back from a 20-point deficit in one of the best comebacks of the season. Then I watched the Illinois – Arizona game. It was another nail biter with a last minute comeback by Illinois. By this time I was hooked.

Forget the Easter bunny; Sunday was all about the Road to the Final Four. I'm not a Kentucky fan but I did hope for a final four meeting with our biggest rival. By the end of the game everyone in the house was glued to the tube. Tammy and Tristian were there, Meghan delayed her drive back to college, my husband actually took a break from computer gaming and even six-year-old Evan joined us, intrigued by all the yelling. When Sparks made the last minute shot to tie the game, the house foundation must have shook from all the sound.

We even did the duck dance. You see my mother bought Evan this annoying dancing/singing duck for Easter. After he played it about 40 times, consecutively, the husband threatened to dismantle it. But it was the perfect sound to celebrate the last minute shot. So there we were, six lackadaisical fans, doing the duck dance in front of the TV. Now that's reality television.

I must be one the few people on earth that hates Cadbury Creme Eggs.

My husband, the diabetic, will risk going into a coma, he is so addicted. And I have many tales about my kids fighting over the last one in the house. To some that might seem like a normal sibling thing to do, until you find out that one is a 6-year-old and the other just turned 20. What kind of evil candy makes a 20-year-old fight a kindergartener for the last bite?

Realistically, I would estimate that we buy about 20 per week -- starting sometime in February. This year my husband found them at Kroger as early as the last week in January. You would have thought he won the lottery.

I have tried them numerous times. It's late at night and suddenly I get a strong chocolate urge. After looking through every cabinet, I realize that the only available chocolates are those nasty crème eggs. Once again, I try one. I never get beyond the first bite. The gooey over-sweet filling is not for me.

I decided to Google "I hate creme eggs" to see if anyone else shared my dislike for them. I found this one person who does, but the story is not for the squeamish. I also ran across this strange poem by Liverbirdlou. It proves my theory that the cream is made with some form of opiates.

Cream eggs round and fat
Some I share with my cat

The soft centre is so yummy
You can even eat them if you’re gummy

The outside chocolate is so tasty
I’ll eat it now I won’t be hasty

I wish I could eat my cream eggs all day
Then I will be happy, good and gay!

My intentions were good. I planned to spend this week catching up on unfinished projects, spending time with my daughter (she's home from college for spring break) and keeping my blog updated.

Instead I have spent the past few days praying to the porcelain god. First let me state that I am the biggest baby when I get sick. And this was a sick beyond any that I can remember. I won't gross you out with the details but I spent most of the last 48 hours hugging the toilet. My only relief was when my dear friend Tam gave me a phenergan shot.

My husband -- who under normal circumstances is very attentive -- is terrible when it comes to taking care of someone who is sick. In the two days that I laid in bed he only checked on me once. The only reason he came back then was that I called him on his cell phone and asked him to bring me something to drink.

As Twinkie said, (when I sharing my sad state of affairs with her) I could have chocked on my own vomit and he would not have known. Anyway, when you are that sick and you can't get up, but you also can't sleep, your mind runs wild with insane thoughts.

Of course there were all the thoughts of who would raise my young son -- since I was convinced that I was close to death. Surely no one would let that ogre of an uncaring husband raise him, especially since he had let me die without ever checking on me.

Then I remembered that Terri Schiavo had stopped breathing due to a potassium deficiency brought on by her bulimia. I was positive that my potassium level must be washed-out from two days of frequent regurgitation.

The good news is (no thanks to the spouse) I have survived my ordeal. Ironically my mother called today to check on me and asked me if I had heard any news about Terri Schiavo. This is a subject we have never talked about. Against my better judgment, I asked her what she thought. I say against my better judgment not because I don't think my mom has valid thoughts, it’s just that I have tried to steer clear of the sanctity of life debates. My mom feels that Terri's husband should just let the parents take care of her.

Since I was still feeling somewhat vulnerable to unexpected illness I let my mother know that under no circumstances do I ever want to be kept alive if I am a vegetable. I don't think this is something she wanted to discuss because she said she had another call coming in and needed to go.

So here it is in print, if something terrible ever happens to me I want it to be known that I would never ever want to be kept alive on machines or be a vegetable with no hope of recovery like poor Terri Shiavo. And even if there is some slight hope that I would recover, please consider what type of life I would have. As much as I love you all and know that you love me, sometimes the most humane thing is to let go.

Enough said.

Once again I find out that I am just average – see results below. I am one of those people that can do thousands of things but I do not excel at anything. I can sing, but I am not great; I can draw but my work would never sell; I can sew, but it's not designer quality; I can write, but I make lots of typos. I can do almost anything good enough to get by.

Sometimes I think my problem is that I am a perfectionist who feels that whatever I do it is never good enough. The paint line is never straight enough, the cake is never moist enough, the seam on the fabric is never smooth enough. When I played sports I was good, but not the best.

One of my biggest obstacles is the need to do things perfect. It usually keeps me from even trying. Since I am afraid that it will not be good enough, I look for excuses to not start the project.

Then there are the projects I do start -- the ones that do not go as well as I think they should. So what do I do? I stop in the middle and then beat myself up for once again not finishing a project.

I have always wondered what it must be like to have one passion, to be the best at one thing, to have one talent that you really excel at.

You Are 50% Normal (Somewhat Normal)

While some of your behavior is quite normal... Other things you do are downright strange You've got a little of your freak going on But you mostly keep your weirdness to yourself

The recent lack of posts is because I didn't feel I had anything important or interesting to say.

However, I have been reading a lot of other blogs. In fact, I'm surprised how much I look forward to reading blogs. Some of the blogs belong to friends and acquaintances, while other blogs are ones that I have stumbled across and continue to follow.

My new addiction to reading blogs may be a result of my extreme lack of contact with the outside world. In the past, I satisfied my need for adult interaction by socializing with co-workers. When I worked for CNET I was fortunate to work with some of the most interesting and talented people I have ever known.

That's one of the reasons being unemployed seems so isolating. I miss the team projects and group lunches. I miss going out after work with the gang. I miss being around intelligent people. So for now (until my employment situation changes) I read blogs.

When you routinely follow a person's blog you feel that you know them, like you are part of their life. What's my biggest disappointment about blogs? When I find an interesting blog then the person stops updating it. It feels like the loss of an old friend. That's why I am going to try to post more often, even if it's just random thoughts or blathering hyperbole.

So like it, love it, hate it or ignore it; here are 100 things about me.

In spite of what others may think, I am not a waste of space. In fact, my test results tell me that I am nearly indispensable.

My score:
67% social worth
62% activity
88% critical reasoning
64% awareness!

Now if I could convince others of my value.

Find out if you are A Waste of Space --
http://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?testid=9144722297944261931