Bullets vs Twitter - the same lack of thought, but bullets have a punctuation mark just for them.
Google Analytics -- my Oracle, my Wicked Witch crystal ball, my global spy/stalker network -- once told me someone linked here via Twitter. You might just as well creep behind me, cover my eyes from behind and say "Guess who." So I made a Twitter account to investigate. (If I recall it was Suebob. And maybe Anderson Cooper. Thanks Suebob!) Now one of you is trying to follow my updates on Twitter, and I twitter not. I am the Dead Parrot of Twitteropolis.
Here's another reason to love TeddyJ: this may be an urban legend, but if a current or former president dies, we get a personal day. I don't know how true this is. Does the stock market close when a president dies?
Hey, does anyone out there like Sarah McLaughlin? She's going to be on the BNL cruise I'm going on in February. She's the one who does that "Eyes of an Angel" song they do on the dying puppy commercial, right? I haven't done a literary analysis on the lyrics, but it sounds on the surface like Karo Syrup. Is there some ironic undertone I'm missing?
I have seriously considered applying deodorant to my underboobs before bed at night. My boobs sweat, my collarbones sweat, my clavicle sweats. Today I ordered these sexxxy pajamas:
Yes. They are specifically for sweaty women nearing menopause. They are "Hot Flashes / Sweats" wicking pajamas. They will go well with my blonde wig and sunglasses.