I’m back. I didn’t mean to be gone so long…I went to the beach time forgot and in the whole town, apparently there is one internet connection and all the damn kids were on it. 

Notes.

I owned the sun, bitches. And then I got a cold and now the Universe owns me and I’m its bitch.

I am seriously sad about Farrah Fawcett’s passing. Her struggle reminds me of my aunt. I especially resent the tabloids for saying she wanted to die when she was undergoing painful treatment that only had a small chance of working.  I resent the family member (another aunt) who said she would never put the family through what my deceased aunt put them through…meaning it’s not worth putting the family through a difficult time if you have only the smallest possibility to live. Fuck that. As I recall, my family didn’t allow themselves to be put out by her fight. They were no where to be found. Oh, anger, be gone.

I fell on a hard slab of concrete. My mother thought I had broken my arm and was traumatized. She made me bend it to show her it was not broken for THREE days. She’s a good mommy. She also has poofy hair.

Friends. I am from the American South. “I” is pronouced “ah,” God is pronounce “Gawd,” but I have to draw the line at “far” being pronounced “for” or “fore.” In this case, my daddy has become red-necked-ified (“it cain’t be too for”) and it drove me nuts.

I was minding my own business, wiping my nose with my hand, coughing into large groups of people, when a lady leaned over to my mother and said I probably had the swine flu.  

I can’t be around smoke, okay? I have allergies. (bindo, for you, I will allow mourners to smoke at your eulogy slam as an act of good faith.)

You do not have “a piece” of a soda left over. You may have a swig, a swallow (“swaller”), or a little bit left but never “a piece.” My parents didn’t get the memo, and I figured I might have been being * a little* prissy/pissy, so I kept this tidbit to myself…until now. You need to know this.

My parents baby me when I’m sick and I appreciate them for it.

As soon as we left the airport parking garage, the sky opened up and spat out a m-f of a storm on top of me.

I give Bryan props for saving my ass again. I had to ask him to Fed-Ex my cell. I cannot live without it. He did read some inappropriate texts between me and an unnamed suitor.

The freckles. My God, the freckles.

OMG, I met a new man on one of my flights to the beach. He was very friendly and I think he’s my new boyfriend! It’s so exciting. He was going to Afghanistan for the next 9 months. I have decided in lieu of adopting a dog or an Asian baby, I am going to adopt a military man. Fuck Airmen. I’m into Army guys now. (Also, my mother and father were staring at my bf and me the whole time. Later my mother said she couldn’t help but notice he had extremely white teeth.)

I thought Michael Jackson was really strange and not in a flattering way, but I do feel for his family, friends, and fans.  My mother says there is really no comparision to Elvis and she wishes they’d stop saying that there is. Rumors are just rumors. If narcotics were involved, I can understand the draw. Highly addictive and unfortunately satisfying.

And that poor Billy Mays.

Iraq is fucked up no matter who writes about it. Trying to gain perspective about the War on Terror.  I read a memoir about a soldier’s experience in Iraq. He definitely does not agree with the war or why we went or how we’ve conducted ourselves. Or how the government has treated soldiers. Just so you know, the author isn’t necessarily right wing, but this is definitely not a love letter to George W. Bush or Donald Rumsfeld. Gives another perspective (and I do appreciate the message that NOT questioning the government is unpatriotic). Try Chasing Ghosts by Paul Rieckhoff. He has a website for veterans, if you’re interested (http://iava.org/index.php). 

I missed you.

Your forever Medicated Lady