Today is that time.
If one more damn thing happens in this household, I'm going to have a facking nervous breakdown, no qualms about it. Michael is aware of this, and has unearthed the straight jacket from its deepest hiding place (yet another poorly packed box left from the move to the house). If the cat runs out the door in another fit of schizophrenic mania, I will honestly shoot her (with what weapon I cannot say). If one more car is bought, sold, borrowed, or broken, I will slash every tire of every vehicle within twenty feet of me in a Beatrix Kiddo rage.
If I am warned about Michigan's winters being horribly cold on one more occasion, I shall rip every single decent hair from my head and drag myself (starving hysterical naked) through the Atlanta streets at dawn, looking for an angry wig.And if, IF, one more old bald guy tells me I know nothing of the American auto industry, and don't understand the importance of supporting the bloated, fattened automakers of overpriced steel, and am too naive and young to grasp the importance of a global economy, and that I cannot put the price of the environment over the price of American economic success, I shall PLACE MY THUMBS UPON HIS EYES AND SQUEEZE SO HARD HIS BRAINS POP OUT.
I'm so glad a woman is now Speaker of the House. I am so happy that one day, all these old, bloated, red-nosed, rosacea-ridden, old money, baby-boomer, christian whackjob fundamentalists will one day cease their relentless babble and allow those of us (young, naive, hopeful and idealistic) women to start taking care and taking charge of all that is wrong in this world. Maybe we'll even make some babies.
I nominate Tits McGee for president. Spinning Girl for vice. And myself? Defense secretary. Old guys? You're on Notice.
