On another note

Hugh Hefner's not with Holly anymore. Because she wanted to get married and have kids. I actually liked Holly, but srsly? Kids with Hef? My thoughts "Well, she got with him when he was like 65+, what did she expect? Can he even have kids anymore? Viagra or not, that schlong has seen better days..."

Hell Shit Damn

It has come to my attention that expletives are so ingrained in my lexicon, that I have begun to subconsciously include them in my thoughts. For example: I've decided to keep in touch with everybody by resurrecting the long lost art of letter (or postcard) writing. So as I walked out of school today and passed Kate's Paperie, there was a sign that said 50% off personalized holiday greeting cards. My first thought: "I'm getting some fucking Christmas cards made!" As I continue to walk down the street, a ridiculous image of myself in an ugly 1980's era holiday sweater, reminiscent of Jeanne Bice and her Quackers (quack quack*) arose in my brain.

A bit of an aside- *If you've ever secretly wanted to kill the people in charge of those atrocious holiday sweaters- ever so popular with grandmothers, grade school teachers, and motherly office workers- look no further than the Quacker Factory. A few years ago, I stumbled upon their treacheries one day whilst channel surfing; there was an old white woman (Jeanne Bice) wearing a Sylvester Stallone circa Rambo headband and pimping these monstrosities on QVC. I can explain away, but pictures are worth a thousand words. They've also formed a "ganga" called the Quackers, and their code for recognizing compatriots on the streets is "quack quack".
So anyways, I'm walking and thinking about taking a picture in one of those sweaters with my hair all feathered and wearing Christmas light earrings. Being as detail oriented as I am, lighting crossed my mind and this is the thought rant on which this whole blog post is based: "Ooh, and it's got to have like fucking ridiculously soft lighting, I mean, put an Olan Mills first communion lighting filter over that bitch. Like, 1960's intimate portrait picture in picture fucking soft lighting. Melted butter soft lighting." But yeah, you'll all be getting Christmas cards.