A bored housewife jousts at windmills, pokes fun at everything from leg wax to Miss Manners.
I have a laundry basket that is one third of the way full – or two thirds of the way empty, depending on how you look at the problem – of socks that do not match. I cannot bring myself to simply throw them all away, because as soon as I do I will find …
Here’s a Slate post that lists Donald Rumsfield’s “poems.” I gotta admit Rumsfield’s stuff is much funnier than my Ultraman haikus.
It must already be too cold outside for our dog, Max. He has taken to howling mournfully to be let back into the house as soon as he finishes doing whatever business he has in the back yard. He sounds like a coyote or a fire-truck siren, depending on the urgency of his desire to …
Someone commented that I am sick, because my site is frequented by cannibals, perverts and people with hairy legs. Whoever reads my site is more than welcome, and yet people who use twisted logic like that in an attempt to insult me will be laughed at, privately or openly, depending on how stupid I think …
I don’t have too many memories of my childhood. My sister will mention things that supposedly happened when we were kids, and I’ll usually pretend to remember after she throws out enough details that I begin to feel humiliated at having absolutely no recollection of anything she is talking about. In fact, I can never …
I don’t know when the change happened. But, it seems I’ve given up on having any standards whatsoever. When Michael suggested we were going to watch Blue Crush tonight, I didn’t even protest – much. Now I can’t turn back. Heed my warning, folks. Draw a line somewhere.