A lot of stuff runs through my mind throughout the week that I think - damn, I should write about that - only to forget as time passes. But there are a few things...
It's called an improved shoulder, folks. See, in Texas they realize that some of you want to haul ass down that country road so they give us a WIDE shoulder. Those who have been here awhile know you can just slide on over there for a moment and let the speed demon pass - then slide right back. And no, it does not impact the size of your penis if you do! Of course, if you are the ass hauling mo-fo, courtesy demands at least a lift of a hand in gratitude. The more taxing brief press of the flashers is kinder still.
I make a call about whether to let you merge or get over in my lane based on your bumper stickers. That "9-11 Was An Inside Job" sticker is gonna cost ya. Now, speaking of which...what is it about people that they cannot comprehend just how hard it is to pull off something like that? Have they no idea the number of people involved? I personally think it is possible that they had to shoot that jet down into the field before it hit the capitol. Do I consider that an "inside job"? No. I consider that the defense of the nation whilst under attack. Do I think it likely? Not much, no. You have to count the pilot and likely co-pilot, the guys who tanked up the craft, the guys on radar, and anyone on the ground. All witnesses. Any one of which can decide the secret too much to bear and let loose a torrent of information. No, espionage is NOT that simple or easy. But it sure is easy to believe anything you read that meets what you want to believe.
Why do you have children if you don't intend to stay home and raise them? Because NO, you cannot be a Super Woman and have it all. Someone is going to get the shaft - your employer, your kids, your husband (you DID have one, right? for the kids?) or yourself. Someone is going to be getting a lot less than they should. And I HATE it when you say "Oh, I could never stay home all day with them! I like to work..." My God, you selfish bitch...they aren't like a damned PURSE - an accessory to don when the timing suits. It's a child - a small person.
I have to admit I get a glint of mad glee when I see the punks on the crotch rockets hauling ass and cutting through traffic. Because I KNOW that Darwin is at work. Go get `em.
Why do I adore Beatrix Potter's work when I am a dark, glowering sort of gal? I love dark humor. But those little bunnies and ducks and frogs give me great pleasure. And allow me to seque into this: if your "art" looks like a dropcloth, it ain't art. It's crap. And just because someone tells you it's challenging the norm or some other line of shit it doesn't make it any better than a dropcloth. This article says it far better than I could. Compare that snot Pollock to Sir Lawrence Alma Tadema (my favorite, admittedly) and tell me which is art.
If I could, I would move back in time just to wear these clothes every day.
October Project should never have given up. What fantastic music, lyrics and voices...
Well, I guess that's about it. I am supposed to be making a gigantic shopping list having taken the dog to the park. I just cannot face getting out in that heat...not to mention driving all the way back the way I came...unfortunately, you cannot leave a dog in a car in this weather so the trip had to be run twice. Sigh...motivation...I need a damned lot of it.