Do you ever look at people who comment on your wall posts and think, “Who the f-ck are you?” I do this far too often. Half the people I don’t even remember ever deciding to befriend and have no idea who they are at all. Sometimes I sit down and try to clean out my Facebook friends, but get too discouraged by the time I reach the C’s and give up.
Life is rough.
I don’t like Elijah Woods’ face. He’s a tiny, pointy little man. He’s like a glossy gnome. I want to put a pointy hat on his head and tinkly bells on the tips of his toes and watch him work nimbly with tiny tools on tiny toys.
He’s a nymph, is what I’m trying to say.
I think I might start having a weekly bit starring people who shouldn’t be parents. Here is example 1 for this week—This person comes to us from a comment thread on someone’s status update about their own offspring:
nice.. i have a 6 and 8 yr old i have custody of there the best! he
my oldest is my wild one my youngest is quiet and sissy.. there out in cali right now until aug 15th then they come back they go see her for the summer.. witch becomes my time to party..lol so how many kids do you have?
The spelling? I’m surprised this person was able to read the results of their pregnancy test.
It is SOOOOO HOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I wanted to type out “hot” with a million O’s to elaborate, but then the word would be “hoot” instead of “hot” dragged out. “Becca, why didn’t you just write HOTTTTTT then?” BECAUSE, you guys. Then it would phonetically be “HOT-TUH-TUH-TUH-TUH.” And I’m smarter than that.
Anyway, back to how hot it is. It’s SO hot. This is hell on earth. I called it quits today at 2 pm. Unfortunately, what is usually a 12 minute drive home became a long, sticky, smothering 55 minutes because of construction on the highway. I sat in one spot for 45 minutes, absolutely baking in my Blazer. My car may as well have actually been on fire. I wouldn’t have known the difference. I have no air conditioning in my car. That means I sat there with the windows open on a 97 degree day in the blazing sun, sweating my beaver off with no relief. No wind breezing through, no movement of any kind. Just stagnant, unmoving, deathly heat. I smell like a slobbery dog. I also look like a slobbery dog. I’m not even sure I can wash my shirt from today. I may just have to dispose of it.
I’m tired of television shows that are about pawn shops trying to have clever titles. “Pawn Stars.” “Hardcore Pawn.” We get it. Pawn sounds like “porn.” So racy.
Has anyone seen the latest York Peppermint Pattie commercial? According to York candies, sex toy companies are about to go out of business. Who needs a vibrator when your Peppermint Pattie can give you endless sexual pleasure? My, god. The commercials have me convinced that just one bite of a crisp, minty York Peppermint Pattie will have my eyes rolling and my toes curling in a lip biting orgasm. Really amping up the sex appeal, York.
Different, but, whatever works.
WELL, I’m off to chug my body weight in water since I lost 80% of it in my car today.
I bid you adieu.
“And that, my friends, is why you don’t get your money’s worth when you wear jeans to a strip club.”