Yes, I know that imagine-communicating with my mother through this blog is an exercise in perfect futility. I would never give her the address of this blog (oh, my.. just imagine that), wouldn't dream of it even if it were my vanilla childcare, crochet and cupcakes blog.. but I was so angry that day.
Am still so angry, actually, and since I am not willing to engage in her bizarre Jerry Springer stylee behaviour to let her know (she must know - she did something so very bad (on my motherfucking birthday by the way), even someone with her shallow ability of feeling and narrow capacity for thought would know), it kind of leaks out everywhere. I've tried therapy, folks. I can assure, blogging is cheaper. But this isn't really the place to deal with my Hammer Horror parent stories, so...
Otherwise, not much to tell around here. A happy grownup weekend away with some friends and some almost-sex but ultimately a little bit too much birthday booze and weed to get past '..oh that feels good, hey, I might just have a little snooze now' . Just goes to show that it catches up with you when you turn into an old lady like me. Gonn' need to make up for it somewhere soon.
You need a Jerry Springer style blog then, I wanna hear this story!
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