Roseanne Barr woke me up this morning. She'd invaded my dreams with both her fat and frumpy, and skinnier,surgically altered versions. For whatever reason, I was in her sitcom playing with finger puppets.
I blame it on the spicy meatballs we had for dinner last night.
I'm about this close to kicking the finely formed ass of my 20-something neighbor across the street. We live on a narrow alley way, and he keeps insisting on parking illegally on the curb, making it almost impossible for me to get out of my garage each morning. I will either key the side of his truck or call the police.
Why does my husband keep up his relentless complaining about the most lame ass issues?
"WHY???Why do we have so many boxes of lemon jello mix?" He bitched and moaned the other night. "Wwhhhyyyy...?"
"I don't know." I said. "Why is the downstairs toilet still refusing to flush properly after I've asked to have it fixed for six months? Why do I still not have a door on my bathroom after fourteen years? Why do you refuse to join the rest of the twenty-first century and get a cell phone so I can reach you during an emergency?"
I don't think I'll be hearing about my surplus lemon jello supply anytime soon...
When my teenage daughter started high school, I bought her a cell phone for safety issues. She wanted to upgrade to a Blackberry for status issues and I refused. One day she presented me with a huge wad of cash, babysitting and birthday money she'd saved. It covered the cost of the phone and the year of service to go along with it. It's a good thing she sprang for the unlimited texting. More than 21,000 texts on the latest bill. The child is developing over-sized thumbs and I fear arthritis is in her future.
But still, it's nice to get a text message every now and then stating, Hey Mom, I Luv U.
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