Ever get annoyed? Ever feel like someone needs to be told where the dog died? Or handed a crowbar and a tub of Elbow Grease to help them pry their head out of their arse? Congratulations--you've come to the right place.

And when I'm not commenting on the latest thing to piss me off, I'm trying to figure out my own twisted life. Because, hey, I'm like that.

On a gentler note: for anyone dealing with depression, anxiety, and other assorted bullshit: You are NOT alone.

And if you're looking for a laugh, search on the key word "fuckery." It's just my little thing (as the bishop said to the actress).

Monday, November 8, 2010

Why Do They Call It THAT? The LOL


Came across this today whilst forwarding some LOLs to a friend... I KNEW there was a LOL for this...

And that's all I've got for the moment. My weekend was a mixed bag of wonderful and major suckage.

My final assessment for year #44: I need to get laid, frequently, preferably by an intelligent, sexy, talented and fabulous man (and the same one--the whole serial dating/multiple partner gig was never my thing). I need to exit Hell's Vestibule, post haste. Idiot needs a lobotomy and to throw himself in front of the Acela, preferably somewhere it won't be noticed. I need to finish the rewrite of Broom Closet, launch the website, and sell the fucking book. I also need to edit my one-woman show and stage the bitch. And this time next year, I need to either be in the Dalhousie MFA theatre program or MLS program with the archival track.

Let's see how much of this I can accomplish.
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