If I were to post the exact words that are in my stupid brain right now, it would look something like this:
#*($#)Q@ *#)W_)#*$ !!!!!! %T$*(W)R% $ **#*#!!!! %*(#** !!!! *%#()W# !@!!!!
And then I would have to go wash my mouth out with soap and sit in a corner to think about how un-ladylike those words are and how I should know better and was raised better, blah blah blah blah blah.
OK. Confession time, folks.
I didn't mean to. I really didn't. But once Aunt Chrissy started talking about it, I just couldn't help myself.
I spent the better part of the last month and a half getting up in the wee hours of the morning to watch every single freakin' second of the Casey Anthony murder trial.
This, of course, is completely unusual for me, since I don't get involved, obsessed with, or pre-occupied by anything at all usually. (Stop that snickering right this very minute, thank you very much.)
When the whole OJ thing happened, I could have been a juror. I didn't read or listen to or hear or discuss anything at all about it, and for years and years I felt like the one person on the planet who always had to say "Who?" whenever somebody said the name "OJ".
So for me to get sucked into this damn thing was surprising, really, especially when you consider all of the OTHER things I could have gotten sucked into, like housekeeping or dog training or dietCoke drinking or general navel gazing. But a trial? Me? No way.
But way I did, and I am very unhappy to report that today has left me completely bereft and lost and somewhat hungover with all of the emotional investment and hard thinking about stuff that my tiny little cranium has been filled with for so long now. In short....my hair hurts and I'm wondering how fast I could get into law school.
BUT! There has been stitching! And Stewey-ing! And Aunt Chrissy has dutifully called and stopped by each day to make sure that I'm fed and watered and not off on some crazy ass tangent that would involve road tripping to Orlando and/or an attempt to make it onto HLN as an expert panelist. So despite my very best attempts, life did go on. And on and on and on.
I'd be so happy to show you a progress picture of Stars, but I can't seem to find the camera at the moment. I'm pretty sure that it's in the car somewhere, since that's where it was when Madame Muriel was bandied about town last week in preparations for her trip to New Zealand. I promise that I'll head out to Ye Olde Garage later to see if I can wedge myself under the dash to have a look for it, so stay tuned for photographic evidence that I have not, in fact, gone COMPLETELY round the bend. (Just about half way mind you, but the view is lovely.)
Stewey sends his very best regards. He's feeling much better now and is back to snoozing happily on his little perch until the sun warms his patio window spot. I'm sure he'll have some form of commentary on what's gone on (or not gone on) around here, so stay tuned for that as well.
What's new with you?