damn! How the fuck are we supposed to ever make any fucking kind of fucking money when they turn around and take that much, for god’s fucking sake? That’s what I sound like when I’m peeved, by the way. Total potty mouth at the drop of a hat. I guess I live in my own little world, because until now (this is the first investing of any kind – aside from my retirement account – I’ve had anything to do with. Just thinking about it makes me feel old.) it hadn’t occurred to me the many ways in which the government sticks their collective hand out to take as much of my money as humanly possible. Know what pisses me off the most? I can work my whole life, scrimping and saving, hoping to have a nice little nest egg to leave my children/grandchildren/whomever, and when I die the fucking government takes half. It’s not enough that they took their percentage off the top before I ever got the money in the first place. I know there are ways to circumvent it – we take our investing advice from Suze Orman – but isn’t it a pisser that you have to do that? Does it say in the Constitution "We the Government have the right to fuck you at every turn"? (No, really, does it? I haven’t got a clue what’s in there) So after my two days of yammering about it, wondering aloud incessantly where on earth I got the 1000 Mona Lisas cd, Fred finally told me last night that it’s his. You’d think he’d’ve mentioned it a tad sooner. I am rapidly becoming obsessed with the Beth Nielsen Chapman song "Sand and Water." I was briefly enamored of it early this year, but the cd became lost in the shuffle and I forgot I had it. Her husband died and left her alone with a small child, and that’s what "Sand and Water" is about. I adore sad songs, which is ironic considering the positive, life-affirming force that is Robyn. The sadder a song is, the more I like it. I’ve been known to drive down the road sobbing hysterically while listening to "Feed Jake" (as sung by Pirates of the Mississippi) or "Beloved Wife" (Natalie Merchant). I get teary-eyed just thinking about it. Yes, I’m aware that I’m a dork, why do you ask? Restless Souls Collaboration Walk a mile in another man’s moccasins. How do you think someone would feel if they could get inside you, be you for a day?" This is an excellent question, but I’m not sure how to answer it. First of all, do I get to choose who gets to be me for a day? I’m going to assume yes. And I’m going to extend the day to several months. So who gets the pleasure of walking a mile in my ass? I had to think long and hard about this. I needed to choose someone who was hard into the whole working-out thing, because while they were walking around in my skin, they might as well whip it into shape. So Roseanne and Rosie were out. I thought of Oprah, but you know, she goes back and forth with the exercise thing, and I didn’t want her to come up with some harebrained diet while she was in residence. At the same time, I needed someone who has two brain cells to rub together because I didn’t want my brain to lay unused (as it is so oftencurrently? you’re saying). Therefore, Denise Richards, any supermodel, and Farrah Fawcett were out (mrowr!). I racked my brain for a good choice. I considered and discarded Sable and all of her ilk. They’re just a little too in-shape, if you know what I mean. And then I realized I didn’t particularly have to choose a woman, did I? Nothing in the rules said my choice had to be the same sex as I. Which opened up a world of choices. Van Damme? Stallone? Jackie Chan? Well, no. Van Damme and Stallone were questionable on the intelligence front* and Jackie Chan might have a problem with the whole speaking-english thing. Schwarzenegger (spelled it right the first time! go, me!) was an automatic no, because I can’t stand the fact that he’s married to Maria "Skeletor" Shriver. The smartasses I really like – Dennis Miller, Jon Stewart, Trey Parker – aren’t in tip-top shape. Billy Blanks just really scares me. Who, oh who, would be the perfect person to whip my ass in shape and not destroy my brain cells doing so? Then, an ephiphany. Ben Affleck! Did you see his stomach in Armageddon? And while he’s no Einstein – or even Ben Stein – he surely wouldn’t allow my brain cells to atrophy (more than they already have, you’re saying). Though there are of course strikes against him – the very fact that he dated Gwyneth for one – he’s near my age, he knows how to have a good time, and he’s dorky in a cute way. Perfect choice. What a day in my body would be like for Ben: 6:30: wake up and realize a small cat is drooling on his (my) arm 7:00: roll out of bed and trip over no less than three cats on the three-foot journey to the bathroom 7:01: look in mirror and realize he’s become some fat chick overnight 7:01.5 – 10:00: nervous breakdown in the closet 10:01 – 10:10: bitch about how I’m the only one who ever does the laundry, and it just isn’t fair 10:11: put first load of laundry in the washer 10:12 – 5:00: check email, chat online, read the journals of others, eat junk food 5:00: bitch about how I’m the only one who ever makes dinner, and it just isn’t fair 5:01 – 5:30: make dinner 5:31: watch drew carey. laugh. 6:01 – 8:00: check email, chat online, write journal entry, eat junk food, argue with husband 8:00 – 9:00: watch husband flip channels. bitch about how he’s the only one who’s ever allowed to hold the remote and it just isn’t fair 9:01 – 9:30: get ready for bed. brush teeth, comb hair, put moisturizer on face, check for zits, pop zits 9:30 – 10:00: lay in bed and discuss various things with husband
10:01: husband looks at clock and exclaims "holy shit! it’s after 10!" 10:02 – 10:03: hug and kiss husband goodnight. switch sides of the bed as husband toddles off to his own room.
10:15: snore loudly Well, that probably isn’t quite what Ben’s day would be like in my body. I’m sure there would be a lot of self-exploration, if you know what I mean. Plus hours and hours of working out and downloading porn. If my journal entries suddenly become all about blonde self-absorbed chickies named Gwyneth and how cool it is to hang out with Bruce Willis, you’ll know that the great Ben Affleck Invasion has begun. And if the world ends tonight, it’s been nice knowing y’all, and I’ll see you on the other side! (*yes, i’m aware that supposedly sylvester stallone is all kinds of intelligent and can discuss quantum physics at the drop of a hat and blahblahblah, but i just don’t buy it.)
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