I think I'm having a midlife crisis. No, wait....make that a midlife crisis DAY, because those come and go. People, it is less than six months until I turn FORTY. Yes, I know, who gives a shit. Also I know that some of you have been there and done that, and you're still fabulous, so why the hell am I complaining?
BECAUSE ANTICIPATION IS HORRID. I think this is worse than anticipating THIRTY. Actually, when I hit the 30's, I liked it. I was glad to no longer be in my 20's. I thought that was a stupid decade of life. Everyone is still far too concerned with being HAWT. I have to buy clothes that make me look HAWT. I have to go out to clubs and try to look HAWT. Does this lacy bra make me look HAWT? Ooo, I'm fat. I hate my stomach. My stomach looks soooo embarrassing in this bikini. I'm just going to keep my arms folded over it whenever I sit down.
Retardation, I tells ya.
Still, because I'm me, since I'll be turning 40 soon, it's all OHMYGOD I'M THAT MUCH CLOSER TO DEATH! I feel like a big test is coming up soon, and I've barely studied. You know--cruising along? So now I've cracked the whip over myself and am GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS.
1) multivitamin with dinner.
2) almost no fun food
3) power walks EVERY FREAKING DAY, EVEN IN THE RAIN
4) some bullshit weight-lifting session after power-walks
5) more disgusting vegetables
6) Vitamin D and Omega 3 RELIGIOUSLY (oo, that rhymed nicely)
and this is all because I really don't want to look like this:
and would much prefer to turn 40 and look like this:
|you can't even imagine how many hours I've wasted cropping and pasting my head lately|
Also, I think I'm bummed. Some stupid teenagers have been roaming the neighbourhood smashing pumpkins the past week.
|F*cking teenagers. Like you didn't already suck enough (not my pumpkins by the way).|
So, last night The Man returned home from karate and informed me that our pumpkins had been taken and smashed, and the evidence was left to mock us in the middle of the road. That means that the little bastard(s) slipped up to my front porch some time between 7 and 9.
when I went for my power walk this morning, there were smashed pumpkins all through the neighbourhood. I feel a futile, phony letter filled with impotent rage coming on:
Dear Teenaged A$$hole,
Thanks so much for smashing our pumpkins you little piece of shit. I don't really give too much of a crap about the good-sized grocery store pumpkin, because that one can easily be replaced. I do, however, feel some KING KONG rage over you grabbing the little pie pumpkin my girlie got on her class trip to the pumpkin farm, and the little teeny tiny eeny weenie 50 cent pumpkin we'd gotten on a nice Sunday family outing.
I can't wait till my daughter realises what's happened and that all the pumpkins are gone, and I can't wait to try to explain the unexplainable, yet unavoidable fact of life which is that sometimes people are complete vacant jerks, and there is no explaining WHY.
So listen up, f*cktard: tonight THE MAN is going to set a trap for you, and when the 6'3" guy leaps out of the car when you try to get your grubby mitts on the BAIT PUMPKIN, I can't wait till you get paraded up the road to various neighbours houses to explain why you're such a dick.
- ANGRY karen
Ah, what a fantasy.