I'm back....
Of course, I'm back. I had a Jerry Lee Lewis moment. Or two. That man's got NUTTIN on me when it comes to sending a chair flying backwards with your legs, let me tell ya. I'm just glad I haven't (YET) put my fist right through the gdf moniter. I can picture it.....
I had to come back here and it's not because of those fucktard comments. Screw that, FOR NOW.
The reason(s) I had to come back are: Rob- -he's having his surgery today and I want to be around for his first post....Jett, whose weblog address I've seen so many times, but I'm not sure of (I'll add the link as soon as I get done here and go look at it again-I know that it has 'decablog' and her name in it, tho...)-I
want to know that she's okay with the school stuff and Aunt stuff that's been going on. I like her. I find myself wondering how she's doing different times during the day...I love going to read Social Reject-another address I need to see again-link will be added.) Then, there's John at (HA! Another address I actually remember!) , who usually makes drinking coffee while reading him a dangerous thing to do and a few other places in my blogroll I like to stop by.
Then, I've got this "totally-new-to-me" type parenting shit to figure out AS IT HAPPENS, no less. Talk about on-the-job-training. Then, there's my unique horseshit about feeling replaced by the soon-to-be-ex. He and Eric spend more time together watching WRESTLING while I sit here and go slowly insane tying to install fuckin' COMMENTS, than Eric and I have in ages. I'm starting to think that the fact that I can not get comments to work, is God's way of telling me to go reclaim my fiance AND the fuckin' remote. Then, there's "my little friend" as I refer to my monthly possession by Satan. If ya know what I mean....you know...first there's the PMS part (by the way, PMS stands for Putting up with Moronic Shit), then there's that next phase. Well, I hate it these days. It used to be three days. Coming, here and gone. I used to laugh at those T-shirts men wear that say "Don't trust anything that bleeds for more than five days and doesn't die." I always said "Mine's only three days. Further proof that, unlike a lotta women, you CAN trust me." But, the INSTANT I turn forty, it seems, everything changes. Even the PMS part has changed. Eric says he knows it's here when I start wanting to punch Bill every few hours. Then IT comes and as it's leaving, I get all affectionate and nice again. Well, this time, instead of wanting to kill Bill, I want to beat the ever-livin' DOG SNOT out of this computer and I've been crying over the STUPID-est shit for the last week. And, the "next phase"? Well, that's been doing this "I'm here. No, I ain't. I'm back. No, not yet. Okay, NOW I'm here..." shit for the last coupla months SINCE I TURNED FORTY. What the hell is UP with this shit? Eric thinks it MENOPAUSE, fer Pete's sake. If it is, I want to do it the patented Archie Bunker way: "If you're gonna change, CHANGE!!! And, I'm gonna give ya just thirty seconds to get it done!" I agree completely with that approach. I mean, my Gawd. All I wanna do, is get comments installed. You'd think it would take pity on me and just WORK, ya know? Seeing how no teenager on the planet isn't going to drive at least 87 people insane in the process of growing up and nobody is gonna voluntarily give back my chair, boyfriend and remote, this damn computer isn't gonna heal itself, my period won't just dry the fuck up already...I wish something would give...or stop. Besides my mind.
So, yeah. I'm back.
And, one way or the fuckin' other, I WILL HAVE COMMENTS.
Comments
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