|
Dear Diary,
How come every time the President has a skin tag removed, they feel the need to cover it in depth on the evening news? Okay, some of it is skin cancer, and I've had it removed myself, so I know its no laughing matter, but for heavens sake, a ten minute piece on the surgery, pictures of the hospital, footage of the guy waving from his room, and a lengthy prognosis report? Gimme a break...
I had to go to the doctor on Monday. Next to me at check in was a woman with a chin full of hair. I tried real hard not to stare, but I couldn't. She wasn't old, maybe late forties, early fifties. Now, I can see that the estrogen river had dried up on her. But how she could leave the house sporting that beard was beyond me. I'd rather die. Actually, I'm seeing more and more of that. Along with the ubiquitous stretch pants and oversized tees on really big women. I have publicly stated to friends and family that if I get this dumb, they are to wrap me in bedsheets and hide me in the attic. Why are some women so bad to themselves?
Don't you hate those times when you're starving and you can't find anything to eat? Go to the fridge, open the door, stare at the food, shut the door and repeat, ad nauseum. Try the cupboards, stare at the snacks, close door, repeat. What is that?? Then you settle for something, declare you wish you hadn't, and try to forget the whole thing.
Note to self: stop eating at the pc. I found mold today on the Tab key...
I bought a can of air yesterday. Yep, air. Y'know, for your keyboard and stuff. Got that little teeny straw for sticking in crevices. Now, if this isn't a manufacturer's dream come true, I don't know what is. And its not bad enough that I have to buy air, I have to choose between the damned qualities of the air. There's air for $5...(must be the top of the line) air for $3 (medium grade air, no doubt).. and then there's the $1 air (I'm not sure I'd want to know where this comes from) Well, I didn't go to school for twelve years for nothing. I got the medium grade air. Better safe than sorry...
My son moved out to get married five years ago. I'd love to make his room my den, but until I get funding, its storage. I at least moved the pc in here for privacy. Only trouble is, its still his room. Oh, I scraped up most of the food, bleached the floor, and burned the curtains. But the walls, aye yi yi... One entire wall is a mural of multi-colored winged dragons. Along with assorted stains of questionable origin, chunks taken out of the plaster and the remains of dead bugs he squashed. And then there are the girl's names. Testimonials to his raging hormones, every one. There's a big HELL and an exploding bomb and various mini creatures. When the time comes, I'm not scrubbing, I'm covering. Perhaps another generation may discover these rare art forms. Perhaps they'll throw up...
There's this tv commercial that features people with ugly feet. You've seen it. They're on the beach, notice their toes and stick them in the sand. Its that icky thick toenail stuff. All yellow and disgusting looking. Commercial says see the doc, get a pill and have normal feet again. Yeah, right. Found one on my foot. Had my physical last month. Pointed to the toenail. Doc says the meds are bad for your innards and I can't have any. Just file it regularly, he says. I need a rasp...
I was a city kid and whenever I see one of those film clips about looting and burning, I always think back to the night of the Charles Antell fire. The company made hair pomade in the 50's and had one of the biggest buildings around. One night, I think it was 1958, it went up in smoke. I was about nine years old and the fire engines woke me up. I hang out the third story window and the neighbors are all out there in their jammies. Including my big brother and his buds. Then suddenly everyone's dressed and running. I can see the fire and it's mesmerizing me, but pretty soon I'm sleepy and I lie down. Now I hear noises. Coming from big brother's room, which is actually the third floor landing (Mom had nine kids). He's hiding something under the bed. Uh huh. Next morning, the word is out. Everybody high tailed it over to the fire and grabbed some pomade. Cases and cases all over the neighborhood. They were happy for awhile. Then somebody opened a jar. Seems the fire had well, sorta changed the composition. Now it kinda looked like well, nose discharge, if you know what I mean. Gee, everybody sure was happy for awhile though. I mean, you just never know what will bring neighbors together, do you?
