Feeding, feeding my rage.

I don't mean to sound all philosphical or Angela Chase-esque or anything, but I think an insignificant piece of fruit has changed everything I have known completely. You're furiously working at your desk to get things done on a particularly busy day and suddenly, a paw appears in front of you with nothing in it besides one rather gigantic green grape. You look up from your paperwork and take the aforementioned grape without a single degree of hesitation and that's it...unless you count the few seconds where you ate the grape, in which case, you eat it and THEN that's it. The whole episode took exactly 4.34 seconds and yet it had the power to totally...fuck things up royally. And you consider that you're blowing the whole ridiculous thing out of proportion but when you discover that other people have an opinion about the exchange of said grape...you know that something has happened.

Make zero sense? I agree. I'm scared.

Today is the 30th anniversary of the day Phoebe Marie Nelson, the future and ex Mrs. Bean and the future and ex Mrs. Grammerstorf, was born! So drink lots of bourbon, dye your hair red, chow down on your Mac-n-Cheese, and forget your belt so the whole office can eyeball your ass cleavage! You've earned it by getting this far in life without your head completely falling off and proceeding to roll out into the street. I could sit here and thank you for a million things but that would be a waste of time as my words of sincerity always come out sounding sarcastic. And I could make a bazillion birthday wishes for you but I think your main one came true last night (I knew you could do it). So just have a great day...even if you spend it in bed, watching 'Sex and the City' and eating the entire cake I made you. It's your birthday...you can do that you want! And I love you...so put that in your frosting and eat it!

I am confused about boys. I'm not sure if it's all boys or particular boys or boys that don't live in Ohio. All I know is that I am millimeters away from becoming a nun with a secret nightlife or a non-practicing lesbian. Take your pick. Something dramatic better happen pretty soon to keep me from crossing my legs for the rest of eternity and becoming a dried berry. Is that so much to ask!?