I’m taking a small break from talking about story and craft to tell you a scary thing that happened to me one night on the J train.
I can be an acquired taste. People can really, really like me right away. We haven’t said more than two words to each other but they are sure I need to be their child’s godmother. On the other hand, I say “Hi” and they think “Who does this bitch think she is?” I almost have nothing to do with it at all.
How much would you pay to go to a kids birthday party? If the answer is anything other than “Fuck you,” don’t read this.
Hubs and I were driving somewhere and chatting about our current dog and the many dogs we’ve had or know in our life. Eventually got back to good ole Scrappy.
I recently decided to join a gym. But not for the reason most people do. I’m not really looking to lose weight or tone up. I am looking to eat more cupcakes. And Oprah is off the air so she’s not airlifting morbidly obese people out of their beds anymore. So I needed to be proactive here.
I have a firm rule about Jehovah’s Witnesses. Whomever lets them in the house has to talk to them. This rule applies to all ages. If you are five years old and you let a Jehovah’s Witness into the house, you should spend the next three hours discussing the Watchtower with them. And I betcha that would be the last time you did that shit, too.