Today, out of absolutely nowhere, B turned around and asked me how to spell exsanguination. I have decided I like her. J stuck a finger-sized piece of her military retirement cake under my nose, and, it being Monday, I slowly consumed it over half an hour. I pointed out to B that this must mean I like her, as most of my current and former co-workers are pretty damn sure I photosynthesize. She thought that was funnier than I did.
The gold glitter nails always make people ask me if I did them myself. It's kind of weird when men ask; I never expect them to notice.
They have started to implode my bridge without notifying me. K asked if I'd been down to watch. I thought she meant they had taken it all down and was prepared to be EXTREMELY UPSET as had Googled the poot out of it earlier and couldn't find any demolition schedule. I made a reconnaissance mission this evening and determined that they had only done part of the western approach. I need to ask where she read about it so I can find out when they're doing the rest of it and document it with bad digital pictures. I will take off work for this, because it is Important.
Coke Zero is an abomination before all the gods. No. Really.
So I have finished all my library books and am reading something by Anne Rice. I don't think this one has a vampire. I am on page 180 of 1037, and so far, no vampire. I give it back unfinished if there are vampires.
Sometimes I wish I had a large, close extended family with second cousins and third cousins and numerous aunts and uncles and that we lived as a clan in a town small enough that a clan meant something. Where people know by your name who you are. I don't know why I want that. I must secretly want to belong somewhere. To some people. Permanently.
However, top 25 reasons I should not procreate:
Overpopulation is bad for the environment. The Duggars had mine. And yours and yours and yours and yours.
Dora the Explorer. See also: Elmo.
I forget what percentage of women need episiotomies, and what percentage of those subsequently have "permanent fecal incontinence," but I DIDN'T LIKE THE ODDS.
I'd rather put myself back through college and major in something that actually interests me.
They grow up, move away, and never call.
Alternatively, they grow up and live in your basement for the rest of their lives.
OR, they call you twice a day having panic attacks. If this is genetic, I'm a carrier.
My life revolves around ME kthx. Selfish? Don't mind if I do!
Doesn't the cost of raising a child to age eighteen hover around $250,000? That's my retirement!
I can't even afford my own therapy.
The Strawberry Shortcake reboot makes me cry.
I don't need to pass on the Catholic blood guilt.
Neither do I need to pass on the lack of depth perception and lousy bone density.
I'd name her something out of a hippie fairy tale, and she'd grow up to be a stripper.
I can't even discipline two cats.
I would rather have a colonoscopy than a Pap smear. Hands down. OB-GYN? Ha ha, surely you jest.
If I had to give up caffeine for nine months, my co-workers would lie in wait with a coat hanger around week five.
The little shits would swear like fucking sailors. With goddamn Tourette's.
It might be a boy, and I'd have to drown it at birth.
It might be a girl, and I'd hate her for being younger than me.
It might take after me, and God forbid.
It might take after its dad, and I have appalling taste in men.
If I ever get my figure back, I am NOT blowing it on producing a snot factory.
My house is already child-protection-services filthy, sans children.
If I had a baby, I wouldn't BE the baby anymore.
Anyway, Eugenia would disapprove.
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