Sure, it’s crass to quote oneself

…but I put this in someone’s comments earlier and it really, really makes me laugh; I hope it tickles you, too, because I hit publish on it before I realized how really and truly and very embarrassing a disclosure it actually is:

“Recently I had a dream that I was having a mad-passionate affair with Robin Williams.

“There was spirited housecleaning involved. Don’t ask.

“Both of those scenarios are so far out there that I question the sanity of the dreaming me.”

Today I found this in one of my referrals, and YOU PEOPLE BETTER NEVER QUESTION MY STREET CRED AGAIN, because apparently I keep it real enough for one of Women of Woodworking’s finest. Salut!

This evening I eschewed a night of drunken bowling followed by drunken Rook (living in Hellabama is the damned sexiest, All You Folk) to drink bongwater couch a little with Maxim. I saw my boyfriend Christian in The Machinist and he was so thin that I couldn’t stop thinking, “He looks like a Holocaust victim.”

Dedication to craft, or lunacy?

I think he’d make a fabulous James Bond in the future. I’m not a Bond movie fan, however. I’ve never watched one on purpose.

Furthermore, I saw my bitchass former mother-in-law while out shopping last night. She eyeballed me, drew up short, jaw dropped and eyes a-poppin’; she looked as if she felt the need to either spontaneously combust or wither up and die right there. I didn’t miss a lick: I lobbed an extreeeeemely bright (fluorescent, even) “HI!” at her. It was coupled with a megawatt grin the likes of which could have powered the mall for weeks. I kept on my merry way; I managed to do all this while not hiccuping a beat nor forking the sign of the evil eye at her.

I know! Surprised me too, dear Muffinasses! Next time I’ll carry my necklace o’ garlic with me. For just-in-casers. Sometimes I think that my former MIL is one of those people that could benefit from the kind of love that only a Zakk Wylde hug could produce.

:: “C’mon over here, Gossipy Lying Old Bag, and lemme put some Zakk on ya!” ::

I love how the acronym for that is GLOB. How sweet! Biff’s mother now has her own [Abuantg.] nick. Bless her heart.

And mine too, for ever having to share a holiday meal with that chubby little ball of two-faced ridiculousness and baseless pretension. What don’t kill us’ll make us stronger, y’all.