To the P.O.S. at Target on Saturday (non-G rated blog)

You are a fucking perverted son of a scum ass whore bitch. Oh what? Don't remember what you did? Let me remind you. I was the woman standing behind you at the checkout stand. The one you kept looking up and down. The one you told your TEENAGE DAUGHTER you "could do" while your wife ran off to grab something she forgot to get. The one you continued to whisper to your TEENAGE DAUGHTER about anytime your wife was distracted once she came back to the line. You are a disgusting piece of child molesting white trash. I'm sure you're a child molester. Otherwise it would never occur to you to tell your TEENAGE DAUGHTER the disgusting drivel that comes from your waste of a demented rotting brain. Normal people would never do that. Only perverted scum like you. I hope you're attacked by a mob of angry mothers and hung by your testicles from a tree in the middle of a forest until they rip off and your limbs are torn from your body by a pack of rabid wolves and you slowly bleed out. Then you'll go to hell where you belong you fucking piece of shit.

Sometimes I feel like an old lady

I hate winter. I like hot, sunny days with a slow, cool breeze. Days where if you have a hankerin to go swimming, you can because it's just so beautiful out. Or a nice fall day, with a cool (but not cold) morning, a nice warm day, and a cool (again, not cold) evening where you can snuggle up in your Snuggie (just got one this weekend, super duper nifty I must say. They even came with these awesome slipper socks that I will now wear whenever home.) and watch a movie or grill a little outside. I do not like to be cold. Ever ever ever! I have all these little aches and pains that pop up/get worse when it's cold. Screw that whole "I like the cold better because I can always put on more layers, but there's only so much clothing I can take off before I get arrested" crap. Speak for your crazy self there. Layers do jack (that means nothing for those that aren't sure) for the wrist I broke at 8. Nor do layers do anything for my cartilage deficient knee. Or my tweaked back. Or the nifty bit of arthritis I've started developing in my finger. Yes, at all of 30 years old, I'm all kinds of banged up. Pack me off to a rest home in Florida. We'll all be happier. When my ouchies start ouching, I get cranky. I'm writing this as fair warning to all of you that must endure the next 6 months of me. I promise it's nothing personal. Just bring me a heating pad as a peace offering and I'll try to leave you out of my cold induced fits of rage.