Who the Hell Cares? (6127-6134)

Buzzy J is perhaps the only reason I would want be on Facebook. When she opened her account she accidentally invited everyone in her address book. Students, colleagues, people she doesn’t remember anymore …



I guess that means she’s not going to post anything personal.

I met her in a “prenatal swim class” when I was pregnant with my first child. It’s really just a mixer for pregnant ladies. In a pool. So while I don’t get to enjoy pictures of her growing son and keep up with her personal life, I do love the links she posts, which tend to make up the majority of her activity on FB. Perfect.


This one here struck a chord with me, The Top Ten Writers Whose Success You’ll Resent This Year.

I’m bucking for number seven. I want that to be me.

7. The Unfunny Bro With The Unfunny Gimmick Book About Punching Mustaches Or Doing Something Stupid For A Year Whose Author Picture Is Smirking At The Reader As If To Say “Can You Believe It?” Which Is Really A Level Of Self-Awareness You Have Not Earned, Pal

Although I’m not sure what “punching a mustache” means. Does that mean he walks around and mustachioed men and then blogs ironically about it? I dunno. This youth culture is leaving me in the dust. I definitely am doing something stupid for a year. WHERE’S MY FUCKING BOOK DEAL????


I feel like I should get a pass on getting rid of stuff today because I dreamt about it last night.

The majority of my dreams take place in bathrooms, and something is always going wrong. It’s filthy, the toilet won’t flush, to door won’t latch, etc. What does it mean?


Last night I dreamt I was in the bathroom and the problem this time was that the skirt I wore wouldn’t pull up high enough so I kept sitting on it and I was like, that’s not gonna work. I locked the door (whew) but it was studded with  little windows.

As I sat on the can I rummaged through the cabinet across from me, it had kid flashlights, dinosaur toys and things like that in it; stuff the kids hadn’t played with for ages. I pulled out the things that I wanted to donate but the boys were on the other side of the door spying on me and were like, “NO! You can’t get rid of that toy I haven’t played with for three years! I LOVE IT!”

Then I realized my skirt had fallen into the toilet bowl.

I woke up all sweaty and confused and couldn’t tell what time it was because the power was out.

Do you see what I’ve been through? I really think I ought to congratulate myself for some mental purging and take a class today instead. Really.

Okay, well maybe just a few.

2 thoughts on “Who the Hell Cares? (6127-6134)

  1. Liquid bluing is terrible stuff. I had some in the laundry room and the bottle tipped over, staining everything around it bright blue. And you might think, being that it is for laundry, the stuff would eventually wash out. Alas, no. I still have bras that look like a pen exploded in my cleavage.

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