no. (roses_rejoice) wrote,
no.
roses_rejoice

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I am 39 years old and there is a tuba on my couch.

Dear NASA: How did you manage to get your engineers to put a man on the moon when the one at my house is unable to see a way to put a sideboard from the front hall into the kitchen? I guess you had a few visionary process managers like me around, huh? I'm naming the sideboard Neil Armstrong and it didn't even have to break the couch barrier.

Dear Stevie Nicks: Even though I preferred to remember you flitting around being a cute bony California cokehead and banging your band members, I don't mind that you got old and gained weight and waft around like some kinda bombastic Lady of the Camellias, but I'd appreciate it if you could shaddap about how your menopause is a real bitch when you're on tour. If Goddess meant for you to yak about such things in People Magazine, She wouldn't have invented blogs.

Dear Erma Bombeck: You died too soon too.
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