Monday, October 01, 2007
Flaunt your beautiful boobies for Boobiethon this year and/or make a donation. Ya like em'? You want keep em'? Save em'.
It's been a surreal few days. I think my family is fast becoming a poorly made, goyisha revision of The Thornbirds. I just need a gay priest to fall in love with. Know any?
I've also been fielding questions about the whereabouts of The Kid. I'm trying to handle it graciously. My responses are contingent upon my mood. It's just too overwhelming sometimes to engage in deathversations. There are two questions that bug the shit out of me. How did he die? I am guilty of asking that one, too. The second one I wouldn't dream of asking, How old was he? As if a certain age justifies the death. I know. I know. I know, everyone deals with death their own way. Sing that song and dance somewhere else, sister.
By Sunday, I was on dead dog overload, so when I was asked how The Kid was doing, I said, he's fine. The guy responded and said, I'm glad cause I really like him. My guilt has guilt. I'm gonna fly by the coffee shop sometime this week and tell him my son peeled.
I'm ovulating. Oh, that reminds me, I need to call my slumlord because strange, cummy looking water is dripping from my faucets. I have oyska bottles of Whole Foods water so I don't get knocked up or diseased. What can I tell you-- I'm so boring right now.