so. breaking bad news in California. arnold schwartzenegger fathered a child with the household help ten years back. a long kept secret now revealed. i hope that lovely maria shriver leaves him, i really do. men who have done that don't deserve to be stood beside.
not only did he mess around, he lied for ten years. but the worst part is the abuse of power. the mistress was in his employ. did she wan't to say no?
some wise man once said, when you cheat, you're not just cheating on your wife - you're cheating on your children's mother. that is sobering. how mean can you get? be honest at least, and get the divorce first. because that will eventually happen.
by the way, SNAFU stands for, "situation normal, all f---ed up." and no, i probably wouldn't write this had i not just heard, had i not been still angry, and had i not just consumed a bracing Irish Whisky. be that as it may...
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Squirrel Therapy
easy. you go to the park and watch the baby squirrels. you feel better.
but today the baby squirrels are not out because the lawn was mowed and watered and a big machine dug out those little plugs of earth that look like goose poop. lots of ruckus on your rooftop makes you stay inside and hide. and reminds me that the reason i went to the park for squirrel therapy was to escape the dread fact that my home will soon be having evil-landlord-inspired pounding and drilling deconstruction/reconstruction of wooden staircase just outside my kitchen window where i attempt to write my next novel and though it will most likely be ignored and rejected i still treasure the hope of otherwise.
so no baby squirrels and no feeling better.
except then i saw a blind man tapping along. and how would i describe the honeysuckle flowers if he were to ask me. and i would ask him if he ever had sight. and i would say the flowers are small, one inch long, and they are white but then turn yellow and yellow is the color of warmth, of the sun, and lemons.
but today the baby squirrels are not out because the lawn was mowed and watered and a big machine dug out those little plugs of earth that look like goose poop. lots of ruckus on your rooftop makes you stay inside and hide. and reminds me that the reason i went to the park for squirrel therapy was to escape the dread fact that my home will soon be having evil-landlord-inspired pounding and drilling deconstruction/reconstruction of wooden staircase just outside my kitchen window where i attempt to write my next novel and though it will most likely be ignored and rejected i still treasure the hope of otherwise.
so no baby squirrels and no feeling better.
except then i saw a blind man tapping along. and how would i describe the honeysuckle flowers if he were to ask me. and i would ask him if he ever had sight. and i would say the flowers are small, one inch long, and they are white but then turn yellow and yellow is the color of warmth, of the sun, and lemons.
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