I'm going to try to make this a quickie, only because I didn't get to sleep much last night and I'm exhausted. Like really exhausted. Like heavy eyelids exhausted. I probably look like that guy who played Goat boy on SNL. What was his name? Wasn't it Jim Brewer? I'm too exhausted to even go look it up. I don't know why I ask you though - bc you won't respond. You'll think to yourself 'Hey, she's right - it's *is* Jim Brewer. I should comment so she feels all loved and special' and then you'll close this tab bc your porn video on youtube is finally done downloading and you'll completely forgot about anyone else in life that isn't you. You're so incredibly selfish.

I mean that in the nicest way, though.

There was a girl I worked with at Springfield - well, ok, a lady. Anyway, she would say the meanest things to people (mostly co-workers, but occasionally a patient or two) and then she'd follow it up with "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't nice of me at all" or something equivalent. And usually (this is the bizarre part) people instantly forgave her. It was like she had some secret super-hero power of making people forget the nasty thing she just said to them. I'm not kidding.

SuperHero Lady: You know, you're probably one of the ugliest people I've ever seen in my life.
Unsuspecting Co-worker: Uhm, I'm not sure I even know how to respond to that.
SL: I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't nice of me at all.
UC: Oh, that's ok. I forgive you. I *am* ugly.

I'm not even joking. This same lady told me I was gaining weight one day at work. I mean, really? When is it acceptable to tell someone they are gaining weight? It's like pointing out someone is retarded or has cancer.

"Hey, you look bald and sickly. What type of cancer you dying from?"

Yeah, it's on the same level. It is. It's wrong and insulting. I knew I was gaining weight - of course I did. I'm a woman under 60 living in a country obsessed with being skinny. But, you know, thanks for pointing it out to me in front of a table full of the people I have to be around for 1/3 of my life. No, really thanks. Let me shlub my size 16 ass into the bathroom and cry it out in front of the mirror. If I'm lucky, maybe I have some leftover corn chips hiding in one of my 4 chins I can eat in disdain.

And, for the record, when she said "I shouldn't have said that", I replied "No, it's ok. Later in life when I get an eating disorder, turn psychotic and get down to 80lbs, then consequently die from heart failure, I can blame you directly".

I didn't say that. I wish I had thought of it though. I probably just said 'Oh, no - it's ok. I know I am gaining weight'. I'm so weak.... moving on.

I seriously do not understand how we've come up with so much modern technology, but yet I still see those green tennis balls stuck on the ends of walkers. I just saw this today. I guess they make it easier to move the walker around? All cut open and jammed on there, all ghetto rigged and whatnot. Really? No one has invented anything that can work as well as a mutilated tennis ball? I wonder how they even came up with that in the first place. Some sort of accident involving an elderly lady and a game of tennis? Someone handicapped was playing, tripped and fell and landed on a ball? I don't get it... I mean, a tennis court is really no place for someone who utilizes a walker to get around. That would be the most annoying and slow tennis match ever. Especially given that you have to use two hands for a walker so you couldn't even hold the racket up in the air as you shuffled around the court trying to lob the ball back. Perhaps if you utilize a walker, you should engage in some more mundane activities. You know, like Murder She Wrote TV marathons. Or dying.

That was mean. I'm sorry if I offended any of my senior readers. I will make the remainder of this blog in extra large font to make it up to you.

I don't even know if that worked. Besides, you shouldn't be reading my blog with such little time left in your life. You should be doing crazy stuff like cliff diving and making out with other old folks in the neighborhood. Get out there and get funky, Nana! Time is of the essence. And if you catch Gonorrhea, chances are - you'll die from natural causes before you succumb to the horrors of that STD. Silver lining!

I'll end with this:

Happy Birthday to my brother Steve. If I were in CA, bro, we could celebrate by running naked together into the cold Pacific ocean. Only that might be weird, since brothers and sisters shouldn't do that, I'm not 8 anymore and the thought of you without clothes on makes me a little nauseous. But nonetheless, I hope your day was filled with copious amounts of fun. And cake. Or hookers and booze. Whichever. I love you.

Night, blog friend. See you tomorrow.