Next month, I will have had this blog for four years.  That might sound somewhat impressive, but no.  I haven’t posted much in a while.  I’ve been somewhat neglectful for a while now.  It’s not that I haven’t wanted to…it’s not that I haven’t had anything to say…

I’ve just not been saying it.

I’m not making any promises here.  I’m not going to claim that this post is the beginning of a new slew of posts.  I’ve absolutely no idea if I’ll even remember tomorrow that I posted tonight.  All I know is that Cat Stevens is coming out of my speakers and that’s sending me back in time a bit.

Not that I’m going to tell you about it.

What’s happening right now, at this very moment, is me, drinking some inexpensive yet very tasty wine, and being a bit sad still about my friend Frank Crist being dead for some eight months now.  Maybe it’s the wine.  Maybe it’s the dead thing.  Maybe it’s my birthday coming up.  I had no problem with thirty.  But I was a wreck at 29.  I’m hoping 40 won’t be a problem, but, well, DAMNIT.  I’m about to turn 39!

No.  Really.  39.

I don’t feel 39.  Though, what is 39 supposed to feel like?  I mean, my parents have a good quarter-century on me, and they’re having the time of their fucking lives, at least it certainly seems like they are.  So that’s something to look forward to, right?

This all sounds strange.  Because the thing is, I’m really loving my life right now.  I like everything I am doing.  I like all of my five-odd jobs, and I don’t even mind that together, they don’t create a living wage.  I feel free and clear and happy.  Yes, HAPPY.  Say the word ‘happy’ six or seven times really quick. It kinda loses meaning, doesn’t it?  Weird, huh?  I’m HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY!

It looks like I spelled it wrong, doesn’t it?

Here’s this thing:  I really miss Frank.  A fair bunch of people have died in my lifetime, people who meant something to me in one way or another, but none like Frank Crist.  There’s even a handful of people still in my life whose death, if it happened tomorrow, might likely devastate me more, I don’t know.  But right now, at this moment, it’s Frank’s death that’s got me all wrapped up in madness.

And it happened many, many months ago.  Damnit, I miss him.  I miss him because he would have been so happy for me right now.  He’d be cheering me on and encouraging me in my dark moments and dragging me, kicking and whining and moaning, out of my self-pitying moments, and he’d do it all without saying a goddamn word.

It is wrong for Frank to not be alive in this world.

It’s just wrong.  Excuse me while I go sit on the couch and drink cheap-but-tasty wine and smoke cigarettes and be mad and feel sorry for myself.

Here’s the continuation of the very long note I wrote my best friend when I was a sophomore in high school. The first part can be found below.

High Susan you are such a loser to come to school for a half a day of school even if you’re only here for one period because you have 7th free. I have no idea of what I am talking about. Do you? My hair looks like shit. So Susie what do I do? I am extremely tired and I have been having a nic fit for the past day. I gave Dawn a dollar yesterday and she hasn’t given me a pack yet [Cigarettes cost $.85/pack when I first started smoking, and we usually relied on Dawn to buy our cigarettes, though I don't recall why]. I’m gonna kill her because I have been needing a feeg [this was our word for cigarette, one of them anyway] for so long. Mr. Brandon is talking about the huge test we are going to take tomorrow. i am going to fail it and I am upset. I am such a loser right now. Everyone is a loser because I said so I am in a very shitty room mood. I can’t even write the right words down I dislike this pen. The ink doesn’t follow flow correctly. I haven’t done the reading so the test is gonna be very difficult. I’m gonna pitch this pen into my purse and withdraw another one. So I did. Aren’t you happy? My whole body aches from hunger and tiredness. I am going to make potatoes first thing when we get to your house, okay? My hair looks terrible. Last night I got so bored that I wrote a story but I didn’t finish it. I like it, and I’m gonna write it really good and next time we have to write a fiction paper, I’ll hand that in and get an A. I am such a loser. Mr. Brandon is telling us that we can’t just walk into a friend’s kitchen, open up the fridge and eat without getting punishments. I always do that at your house and I’ve never been punished. How gay I hate English teachers they are so queer.

34 more minutes of english. It is so damn boring. I will be very glad to get rid of it [little did I know that by senior year, I would have taken all my required classes but didn't want to graduate early, so I took two semesters full of English classes and gym]. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Mr. Brandon is saying things and I thinks he’s full of shit. My brain aches do you like this note? Are you enjoying it? Do you like how my handwriting changes every few sentences? I don’t know why this is happening. He keeps making parallels with the Bible. 8 pages of this note is pretty long. I wonder how much I can write in exactly thirty more minutes left. Guess what? I am going to take over your job of writing what happened to Herman:

Herman, who was in the delivery room, gazed in horror as the black baby’s head popped out of Elvira’s body. He thought to himself, “There must be some black genes back somewhere aways in mine and Elvira’s ancestors somewhere,” but he knew it wasn’t true. He knew Elvira had cheated on him, even with their child inside her. He felt terrible and betrayed, and he ran out of the room. Elvira’s love for him gave her the strength to get up and run after him, with the black baby’s head hanging out of her body. The doctors yelled after her but she pulled a gun out of her bra and said, “Get back, you ugly shitheads! Don’t touch me! I’ll shoot ya!” and she ran after Herman, although it was quite difficult to do so because of the baby hanging out. She grabs Herman and yells at him, saying “I know what you’re thinking but it’s not true. I was raped, RAPED by Mona’s quote unquote loyal slave! Raped Herman, raped. I didn’t say anything because he threatened to kill me if I did! Now do you understand?”

Herman said yes , and they kissed passionately when suddenly Elvira screamed and the baby popped out but ohmigod! The baby was black and white striped! Genetic discoveries! Elvira had made history again! 15 more minutes of this class! You must figure out the reaction of Herman and Elvira–what do they do with their piece of shit baby and their zebra baby? Discuss and return to me by tomorrow.

OH MY GOD

I am so queer! Nice story but I like it, don’t you? We really have to get together some kind of time line for the adventures of Herman and Wyatt Earp, okay?

13 MORE MINUTES OF THIS CLASS

then I get to have a nice relaxing cigarette. I can’t wait. Odysseus is a real show off. he is gay. This whole book just makes me so sick. It’s all about how great Odysseus is because he can get through all these ordeals. Mr. B assumes we have read the book but we haven’t so he’s having problems. My nose itches and I have to pick it very badly just kidding dearie! I hate all the people in this class who know things. Well dear, I think I must go now. I’ll give you this and you must write me back in it, okay?

Love,

Drug [was this my nickname? seriously? I don't remember that.]

PS–twelve long pages

———————————————————————–

Oh, for the love of Pete! Was I really this person once? I suppose I was. There’s written evidence of it. I vividly remember Mr. B. His lower lip would collect a ball of spit, and we’d make bets on who it would hit when it finally launched. His voice droned.

So, I got inspired by this news article to dig out an envelope I have filled with letters that are twenty years old or more. I thought I’d share some of it with you all.

A little trip down memory lane…

The first little thing to fall in my lap when I pulled everything out was a bunch of chinese fortune cookie fortunes and a Bazooka Joe comic, paper-clipped together. I STILL refer to these things because I believe I was blessed by them.

Bazooka Joe foretold: You will never run out of money.

Fortune cookies:

You will inherit some money or a small piece of land.
Look! Good fortune is around you.
You will be showered with good luck.
You will inherit money and jewelry (I did, about three weeks after I got this fortune).
In God we trust; all others must pay cash (what the hell kind of fortune is that? I think I only kept it because it referred to money).

I’m glad I had faith in all those weird things, because I have NEVER run out of money. I’ve been close, but I’ve always managed to find some when it’s needed.

Another fun thing in the envelope was a spiral notebook–some crappy free thing given out at the beginning of the school year. In it is a note I wrote to my friend Susan:

Susie–where are you? You haven’t been in school for 2 days! We got this gay notebook in homeroom today. Guess who was in here (in my homeroom) helping the teacher? Ms. Markun. She left a while ago but now she’s back! She’s wearing this velour green dress with little elastic decoration on the sleeves (which are short) and the neck. Her bra is working a little better today but not good enough! I have a scummy homeroom, except for [name redacted, haven't seen this girl in 20 years, don't want to see her again via her attorney]. Melina has the best one. Carol, Steve, Matt, and lots of others are in it. Marie [don't even remember ever knowing a Marie, but it may have been Melina's sister] has a suspension tomorrow for ditching isn’t that funny. Dawn, Christy, and Joyce got drunk before school today in a little field by El Marquis. There is five more long minutes left of this boring homeroom. How do you like this note. We are all going to your house after school today whether you like it or not. My parents are being gay about my grades now (esp. my dad, of course). He wants to take me and my mom out to lunch next week to discuss my grades. My dad is such a damn homosexual [I'm guessing we thought of that as an insult, but of course, I no longer do, now that I know a lot of really awesome homosexuals]. I can’t stand him at all. Must go for now.

High! I’m back and I’m in etymology, which is extremely boring because we are supposed to be studying for tomorrow’s test but I’m not. Too bad, eh? Can you babysit at my house tonight for a couple hours? I certainly hope so! I have to babysit at 6, and my mom is leaving at 5:30 and Dad and John won’t be home until about 7:00 so can you please? Mamajul lulee [this is one of the pet names we had for my mother. I have no idea what the fuck it means] would really appreciate it. I have to babysit at Bell’s tonight please spare me. The woman makes me want to throw up if you know what I mean. She’s so damn annoying. Jane won’t stop bugging me about Steve [Jane, I remember, but Steve? No idea]. I wish they would both go crawl in a hole and leave me alone. I feel like a fool writing in this gay little notebook. Take a look at the front cover. Ain’t it nice? 19 more long boring minutes left what do I have to say nothing but oh my god!

NEWS BULLETIN

ON HERMAN & WYATT [don't ask]

Herman is living in sin with his sister Elvira, who just had their son Edgar. Now Edgar is a mighty disgusting looking little fellow. he is very short, about 5 inches long from head to toe and his skin is dark and lumpy, but not black. All his body parts are fat and lumpy, strangely resembling large pieces of shit! He is disgusting! His face is a large round lump of shit and he is completely bald. What an ugly deformity. The doctor informed Herman and Elvira that he discovered a terrible thing during an examination of the baby’s body. His brain was a large turd. The baby would probably not live for more than a few months. If he did, then he’d live for a long time. One very bad thing about him was that he always smelled like dogshit. GROSS! So Herman and Elvira accepted this disgusting baby, and started to live a life of happiness. Elvira’s stomach had swelled again, however, and upon examination it was found she was pregnant again, but it was due in a few weeks! She had fucked around a few weeks after having become pg with Edgar, and now she was the highlight of the science world, first having a piece of shit for a baby, and then having another baby 3 weeks after the first one! Strange! She soon had the baby, and it was BLACK! Tell what Herman’s reactions were…

That’s your job. I’m sick of writing but I have nothing else to do so I will! How are we all gonna get to your house, I wonder? Take the bus, would be logical. How are we gonna organize this I am so confused! Jeeze louise I have to find everybody and figure it out! Why didn’t you come to school today? You are such an ugly wimp. I dislike your babiness. How gay, not coming to school. Guess what I wore today. A skirt. Yes, I AM a dumbshit. I wore a skirt on a half day! Exactly five more minutes of this gay class! Bogus boringness! Poopak [that's really someone's name, but I have to use it because it was really her name and I can't believe I knew someone who's name was Poopak. Come to think of it, that bitch stabbed me in the back the year after this note was written] would’ve given me a ride to school, but I forgot to call her and ask her I am so silly. Maybe she’ll give me a ride home but she has 7th free so maybe she went home. Do you like this note? This note is about 6 pages long maybe 5 but I have problems. Yesterday my dad said I could learn how to drive the Triumph [a TR6, I forget the year] but you have to know how to count to drive a stick. Must go now.

Love,
Viki

Okay, so I continued this note for another 6 pages or so, but this post is already ridiculous, so I’ll continue it tomorrow.

First off, I love that last line, don’t you? I cannot WAIT to remind my father that he once said something like that to me. Although, I think I was failing Geometry at the time, so I probably deserved it.

Secondly, this note isn’t really all that amusing, but it’s a funny little peek inside the brain of a 15 year old girl in 1984-85.

Thirdly, I have a weird vague memory of this Ms. Markun person. She was some kind of roving helper lady, occasional substitute, and Susan and I hated her with some serious venom.

Okay, I posted. Happy now?

Tomorrow, the continuation of the note.

It’s not like I’m writing anything else. I saw this on Synaptic Blue.

20 years ago (1987)

Age? I turned 18 that year!

Were you in school? If so, where and for what? Graduated from high school, spent the summer in Seattle with my friend Susan (her mother was ill, and died from brain cancer that summer).

Where did you work? I had a bunch of wacky jobs. I was probably working at The French Baker in Oak Brook Mall during the school year. In Seattle, Susan and I got a bunch of random jobs. We did telemarketing for about an hour. We took a smoke break and forgot to return. We also applied at Wendy’s, but then we found out that the uniforms are polyester and that we would be required to wear them. Then we got jobs in the food court at a mall; Susan worked in the bbq stand and I worked in the frozen yogurt shop. They were both owned by the same people, a Chinese couple who we couldn’t understand, although I did figure out how to roll waffle cones. I ate waaaay too many gummy bears. We were just talking about this the other day, in fact. We quit by sending Susan’s niece into the food court with a letter for our bosses, claiming somebody had died and we’d had to leave town. We had avoidance of responsibility issues.

Where did you live? I lived in my parent’s house until early summer, and then moved out to live with Susan and her family in Seattle for a couple of months. That was fun.

What were your regular haunts? Pretty much wherever Susan was, I was. I don’t know that we had “regular haunts.” The place we spent the most time was the inside of her car, driving around.

Did you wear glasses? Contacts.

Who was your best friend? Um, Susan? And Jill too, although I haven’t seen her or heard from her in years.

How many tattoos did you have? None. Yet.

How many piercings did you have? None. I didn’t get my ears pierced until I was in my twenties.

What did you drive? An Isuzu I-Mark. Susan had a VW Scirroco, and she taught me how to drive stick in that thing. We drove it all the way from Seattle to LA.

Had you been to a real party yet? I guess that depends on the definition of a “real party.” If you’re talking about a bunch of guys walking around with twelve packs of beer, and girls with six-packs of wine coolers, and then everybody running in different directions when the cops showed up, then yes. I’d been to quite a few.

Heart broken yet? Oh, hell yes. Bastards.

Status on the market? Hmmm. It kinda varied during that year. Mostly single, though, I guess.

Ten years ago (1997)

Age? I turned 28 that year.

Were you in school? I was in grad school at Columbia College in Chicago, in Creative Writing, but I was only taking one class per semester. I was pregnant with my son that year (born in March–he’s got the big 1-0 coming up next week), and it’s not easy sitting in an uncomfortable chair for four hours with a huge baby in one’s belly.

Where did you work? I was a housewife and mother, and did various little jobs here and there creating newsletters for organizations.

Where did you live? Right where I live now, suburbs of Chicago.

What were your regular haunts? After my son was born, I started meeting some old high school friends at Belloumoni’s, a seedy little bar.

Did you wear glasses? I was in a glasses-wearing stage then, but switched between my glasses and my contacts.

Who was your best friend? Susan and I are still friends, and were at that point, but she lived in Seattle, so we obviously didn’t hang out much.

How many tattoos did you have? Two. One is a purple rose on my shoulder with a weird tribal design around it, and the other is a sun on my left thigh, above my knee, sorta towards the inside of my thigh. A girl I knew in college at University of Kansas drew it for me. Her name was Heather.

What did you drive? I believe I traded in my cute little two-door Honda Civic for that piece of shit Saturn wagon that year, right before my son was born.

Had you been to a real party yet? Oh, hell yes.

Heart broken yet? You bet!

Status on the market? Married with Children.

Five years ago (2002)

Age? I turned 33 that year. I loved my early thirties.

Were you in school? If so, where and for what? I hadn’t gone back to finish my Master’s yet, so no, I wasn’t in school. But I was itching to.

Where did you work? Housewife/mother. Various odd jobs.

Where did you live? Exactly where I am right now, suburb of Chicago!

What were your regular haunts? Hmmm. Five years ago? Probably Belloumoni’s still, another bar called Kenney’s, other people’s houses. Mostly I just hung out on my back porch.

Did you wear glasses? Glasses and contacts.

Who was your best friend? I kinda grew out of that whole “best friend” concept by the time I hit thirty, but still very close with Susan, and I’ve got a lot of great girlfriends.

How many tattoos did you have? Still just the two.

How many piercings did you have? I had my ears pierced by this time, and actually that may have been the year my daughter got her ears pierced, so I went with doubles just to show her it didn’t hurt that bad. Plus, I was hoping to get some more diamonds. Totally worked. (Thanks, honey!)

What did you drive? That piece of shit Saturn.

Had you been to a real party yet? I was a walking party.

Heart broken yet? Stop asking me this! Jesus! Let’s just say I hadn’t had one in many, many years.

Status on the market? Still married. Still with children.

As of today (2007)

Damn, this is a long one.

Age? Can you not add? For god’s sake! I’ll turn 38 in June.

Were you in school? If so, where and for what? Yep, still in grad school, persuing a combo Masters of Creative Writing/Master’s of Teaching Writing. I’m just about done with classes.

Where did you work? I tutor college students, and teach writing workshops to kids through adults.

Where did you live? Still here in the ‘burbs!

What are your regular haunts? Whatever bar hasn’t turned me out. lol. I like George’s on Wabash, the South Loop Club, Kasey’s, Sheffield’s (all in the city). Around here, I don’t mind Kenney’s. I spend more time than necessary at Starbuck’s. I love our public library and go there a lot to work on homework. Once in a while you’ll find me in a booth in the bar section at the Beef & Brandy, eating a patty melt with fries and drinking vodka tonics and writing. They think I’m weird.

Do you wear glasses? Will you shut the fuck up with this? My god. Is there something wrong with your attention span?

Who are your best friends? A whole bunch of people.

Do you talk to your old friends? Some of them, Susan especially. I still talk to my old friends Paul and Joe occasionally.

Do you have a crush? I’m totally not telling you THAT. But that Justin Timberlake, he’s sexy.

How many tattoos do you have? Still the two, but I want more. I just haven’t settled on a design yet.

How many piercings do you have? four, all in the ears.

What do you drive? 2006 Honda CR-V. Funny. I love Hondas.

Have you been to a real party yet? Yes, and I found a lot of people who are likewise walking parties, so we just walk around partying all the time. Actually, that’s not totally true, but I’ve found that a party can be formed just about anywhere.

Status on the market? Still married, still have those kids.

Besides ones of the pet variety, any dependents? Two beautiful, smart, well-behaved children. Except for when they’re ill-behaved.

Good God. That was a pain in the ass. Who the hell wants to know that much about some random person from the internet? If you read it all the way to the end, you must really want to know something about me, or be monumentally bored, or the rest of the internet is broken.

Feel free to torture your own damn self by answering these questions on your own blog, and leave me a comment here or a trackback from your blog so I can come read what you’ve written. I mean, it’s only fair.

So, I have this assignment to eavesdrop on a conversation between two people and write down what they say, as accurately as possible.  I’ve been trying to do this in various places, but there’s always an issue.  The people talk too softly, or the music is too loud, so I can’t hear them, or I’m sitting too far away to catch everything, or I can only hear what one of the people is saying.  It’s been a pain.  So today, I decided to take myself out for sushi for lunch.  The sushi place I go to is usually pretty quiet, and it’s small, so I was thinking I’d get seated next to a couple of other people, and I’d listen in on the conversation, and I’d get to eat sushi for lunch to boot!

Of course, when I arrived, there were only four other people in the place.  I was able to grab part of the conversation of the couple closest to me, but they left soon after.  Eavesdropping isn’t actually what this post is supposed to be about, however.  This post is supposed to be about shrimp heads.

I’m not a very experienced sushi eater.  When I go by myself, I try to stick with things I know.  But today, I was feeling adventurous, so in addition to my Crunchy Shrimp Roll (which, I believe, doesn’t really qualify as sushi, but it’s DAMN tasty), I ordered some sashimi–ama ebi (sweet shrimp) and yellow fin (don’t remember the Japanese name).  Sweet shrimp!  I thought.  That sounds delicious!

Um, yeah.  No.  Not delicious.  It was a piece of raw shrimp, for god’s sake.  I felt brave (plus I paid $3.50 for the damn thing.  $3.50 for a piece of raw shrimp!  What the hell is wrong with me?) so I popped the thing into my mouth, after thoroughly soaking it in soy sauce.  And while it certainly tasted, um, FRESH, it also tasted raw.  And weird.  And I chewed and chewed and for some reason my throat absolutely refused to swallow it, and I held my napkin over my mouth because I thought there might be a possibility that I was going to throw up, right there, onto the remaining pieces of my Crunchy Shrimp Roll.  But, I swallowed it down, with the help of some water and shoveling a piece of Crunchy Shrimp Roll in there too, to mask the sliminess.

And about three seconds after I got that down, the server saunters up with a little porcelain bowl and sets it down.  “Here is your shrimp head,” she said.  Shrimps have heads?  I thought.

The stuff in the bowl looked delicious.  It was like a giant piece of shrimp with lots more legs than I’m used to seeing, and some feeler type things sticking out, and it was fried, and there were some greens and some green onions and some kind of sauce and some red blobs that may have been tomatoes, but I’m not sure, along with several slices of lemon.  It smelled delicious.  But I had absolutely no idea how to eat it.

I finished the rest of my food, and the server came and took my plate and she pushed the little porcelain bowl towards me.  “You no want the shrimps head?” she asked.

I smiled.  “Of course!  Just saving the best for last!”

Yes, I know.  I could have just asked her how to eat it.  But I didn’t, okay?  I pulled the thing over towards me and lifted the big chunk of shrimp up with my fingers, and poked around inside it with my chopstick.  There was some stuff in there.  I put the thing in my mouth, and because I wasn’t really interested in eating shrimp shell, I just sort of sucked stuff out.  It was tasty.  I poked around inside it a little more, and ate a few more bits of unidentifiable stuff (probably a bunch of shrimp shit, who knows?), and then gave up.

That was my adventure for the day.  Eating a shrimp head.  Now, even if I find out how I’m really supposed to eat a shrimp head, it’s likely I’ll never get one again, because there is NO WAY IN HELL I’m ever going to order that ama ebi again.  Ever.  Just thinking about it gives me the willies.

Any of my long-time readers will roll their eyes at this post, because they’ve read a version of it many times before.  I have a template-changing addiction.  I am fully able to admit that, and for a while, I thought it was a bad thing, because people won’t recognize my blog when they see it.  But that’s stupid.  Because they only see it if they’ve come here on purpose, and it says Viki Babbles at the top.  Plus, as I’ve said before, during those times when I am posting less frequently, the template changes serve to freshen things up a bit.  That is also stupid.  There’s no substitute for good content, I’m aware of that.  I just don’t care.

Recently, I became enamored of a blog called 101 Reasons to Stop Writing.   First off, it’s funny and witty and all that good stuff.  It’s also very well written.  And, at first, I thought silly things like “Fuck you, telling me I should stop writing, who the hell are you?”  And then, I read more of it, and I thought, “Yeah, all those people who suck should really stop writing, but not me, of course.”  And then, I read still more, and I thought, “Sometimes I do suck.  I should stop writing.”  And then, I berated some of my students for using the phrase “and then” more than once in a piece of writing, because it is just about the laziest and most unimaginative transition EVAH.  What I should stop doing is being lazy about writing; not just blog posts (although I highly doubt I’ll ever stop being lazy about writing them, because I kind of think there’s a beauty to the dashed-off babble, plus that’s the whole POINT to this blog anyway), but about my writing in general.  Because I am lazy about it.  Not as lazy as I could be, but lazier than I should be.

The point is, the internet is chock-full of crappy writing.  It’s everywhere.  It’s annoying.  My brain is too small to even comprehend the vastness of the crappiness of the internet.  I cannot comprehend unlimited, unending space.  Full of crap.  It gives me a headache.  And I don’t want to be a contributor to the crap.

That said, you are probably expecting to read some kind of promise, or maybe a New Year’s Resolution, or a commitment that I hereby swear to post something well-written, well-thought-out and wonderful every day of the next year.  That would be stupid.  How long have you been reading this blog anyway?  Five minutes?  You know me better than that.  I will, however, promise to think about it.

Oh, and, what do you think of the template?  I had one similar to it a long time ago, but this one is jazzed up a little.  I have a preference for clean, white space.  After all, it is the content that is important here, right?  And navigation should be easy as well, because I know how often people spend hours on my site, clicking around, reading the archives, etc.  It’s almost never, actually, but if someone were to want to do that, I would want it to be easy for them.

I’ll be back, maybe this evening, with a review of a FANTASTIC book I got for Christmas.  I spent much of Christmas Eve reading passages of it aloud and laughing hysterically while my in-laws laughed at me for finding it so amusing.

Reservoir

Check it out! I will not make any public admissions about how well I know the woman who wrote this, or about the fact that I also write for Reservoir. There is no nepotism or anything unseemly involved here. I swear.

But I am most DEFINITELY going to buy Miss Molly several cocktails next time I see her.

that Britney Spears has, for reals, y’all, dumped that loser Kevin Federline, and is about to make the world’s most awesome comeback ever.

I am fully aware that there are lots more important things to worry about in the world.

I also hope that people, and by people I mean girls and women who are compelled to purchase and then wear clothing that keeps coming back every twenty years, cease and desist in the wearing of LEGGINGS. And by leggings, I mean, “pants” that are tight enough to make cellulite obvious, which end at the biggest part of one’s calf. Those things are just WRONG. WRONG I SAY. If you all stop buying them, they’ll end up on the sale rack for $3.99. And if you still, regardless of the seeming value of them, resist buying them? They’ll go away. And while it might be nice if the big retailers of the world gave away the clothes that don’t sell, even for 99 fucking cents on the sale rack, to the homeless? They don’t. Which means, with my little scenario here, we won’t be forced to give our pocket change to people dressed in pants that are too tight and too short. This little rehash of the eighties will disappear.

I don’t actually know what I’m talking about. I’m in a bad hotel in a town that is too far away to be considered a suburb of Chicago, typing away as my kids watch Kim Possible (love this show, Kim Possible is THE BEST multi-tasker EVER) at 11:48 p.m., while my husband is in the bad bar across the street with a gaggle of his high school friends. (Oh my! Kim is moving at hyper-speed! I need to watch. She’s moving so fast, time is standing still. I need to watch and learn. Bye.)

UPDATE: FYI: It appears that the hyper speed is due to some fantastic pair of shoes. I MUST GET A PAIR RIGHT NOW!