Ya know, Stephen, when I met you in 1994, during FTLOSM, I asked if I could have my photo taken with you. And back THEN, you told me "No pictures please, I don't want the Enquirer to get hold of them with some crazy headlines." AS IF I WOULD READ SUCH FILTH. I was slightly offended by that remark, Sir. WHO READS THAT TRIPE?!! I mean, sure, hey, maybe it actually happened to you at some point, but it wouldn't happen with ME. For cripes' sake, man, I was an ENGLISH MAJOR in college, I have a respect for REAL journalism, (which is rare nowadays), and Walter Cronkite was a hero of mine, along with Edward R. Murrow. But okay, you couldn't have known that, so I'm gonna let it go THIS TIME bucko. Don't let it happen again. Next time our paths cross, (and they will), I'm gonna bite your face off if you don't let me snap a photo of you and I together. So nyahhh.
This poor kid's gonna have MAN BOOBS before he reaches puberty. Kinda sad.
Anyway, in other news...
I have decided that I'm going to melt down my stupid assed sewing machine and make a dildo out of it. I mean, why not, I should have SOME fun with that stupid thing. I can't seem to figure out the goddamned machine for the LIFE of me, and I spent all afternoon TRYING to get it re-threaded, I have a BOOKLET, I have INSTRUCTIONS, I have PICTURES of how to do it...and I also took TWO BEGINNERS SEWING CLASSES. However, apparently I am just NOT the Donna Reed type, and I can't make sense out of it AT ALL. I actually sat there CRYING I was so frustrated. I have TWENTY pillowcases to sew, and I can't thread a sewing machine. It's just totally pathetic, and it makes me mad.
Same thing with fishing. I like to go fishing, sitting in a boat for hours, enjoying the sunshine, the quiet, the peacefulness, and catching a few big fish too....but I cannot put a worm on the damned hook. I can't even take the damned fish OFF the hook either, I'm sickened by it, and I got teased all the time because of it. I just can't bring myself to harm that poor little worm. I could DIG for worms, I could put them in a coffee can, I could take them out in the boat, but then I would just SIT THERE, staring at it, feeling horrible that I would have to IMPALE the poor thing, hearing it's tiny scream in my imagination, and then DROWN the poor little guy in hopes of catching and KILLING another creature, just for sport. It just seemed morally wrong to me, and made me sick to my stomach. I'm a stupid girly-girl pain in the ass.
Ah well, I guess this is the degeneration of my brain happening, they TOLD me when I hit my 40's, I should expect it...until now, I thought maybe I was doing just fine avoiding it....but nooooooo, now I know that my brain has officially turned into oatmeal. I blame it on t.v. and all the stupid shit that I've watched on it over the years. South Park mostly, yeah, that show definitely warped my brain. DAMMIT KENNY!!
I have less than one week left of being 43 years old. Needless to say, I feel rather depressed. I don't WANT to be 44. I don't LIKE getting older, and I'm pissed that I can't do anything about it. This is like the time in one's life where you look at where you've been and what lies ahead, and you think to yourself, "Wow, this is an abyss of despair I'm sliding into with each year that passes." All my GOOD years are behind me, all of the COOL things that I've experienced are over and done, and GONE, and now I have really nothing much going for my future at all. I'm a friggin' housewife who hasn't worked at a JOB in over 3 years, because of my 90 year old mother-in-law-from-hell, and my husband is already 10 years older than me, so guess who's diapers I get to change NEXT after his mom croaks?? Yeah, the future's so bright, I gotta wear shades. Yippy fuggin' skippy all over the place.
Speaking of skippy, I think I need a few tablespoons of crunchy JIF peanut butter right now.
I've gained 4 pounds back.
I'm really quite a mess of a girl. But hey, I love ya, for what it's worth. Have a good night my friend. And the next time YOU feel an URGE to have your photo taken with some schlub, COME OVER TO MY HOUSE DAMMIT. I'll even bake a cake. Seriously. I can DO that, I just can't SEW worth a shit. So don't expect any fancy pillows or anything. You'll get a cake, and you'll like it. And then you'll smile for the camera, and all will be good in the world once again. Then I can die a happy housewife.
SMOOCH!! Bye for now.
Love, Rebecca
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