Some strange wriggly fish in my stream of consciousness this morning:
Rachel Ray's food really isn't that good.
Sitcoms suck. How did all these fat bald fools who can't manage to tie their shoes marry these hot women with 0% body fat even after three semi-adorable children? I want some older, wiser women who aren't stupid and desperate. I lust for the rant Julia Sugarbaker from Designing Women would have had after the Great Starlet Ladybits Flash-a-palooza last summer. And the only movie made from an old tv show I want to see is Picture This: Sicily, 1939.
My daughter and I want to become chocolate pushers in Hidden Valley.
Just once, I want a gorgeous, haunted, seductive, alpha male vampire to hear this from his chosen mate. "Hell, no, you can't bite me! Ew, gross!"
We should be able to move in September to an actual house with a fenced backyard and a garage and a driveway but why do all these freaking 3 bedroom houses only have 1.5 baths?!? Is another tub, or at least a shower, really too much to ask? Geez.