One of the ways I stay so Wise.
It's a bag o' Pristiq.
I totally love my drug dealer doctor.
Wow. It's even tougher to be wise than I thought! I may have to start a "Too Dumb to Own Anything Starting With a Lowercase 'i' Thursday," just to keep balance in the universe.
That will be a place where folks like me go to heal and receive validation, despite the fact that we text like we have olives on our fingers.
We'll have discussions on things like "Why the [insert preferred place of eternal burnings here; I'm going with Las Vegas] do they put the [insert preferred route to preferred place of eternal burnings here; it's I-15 for me] 'SEND' button so close to the [insert secondary route to preferred place of eternal burnings here; I choose I-95 because it's closer to my house] 'P'? Every time I go to write "Pumpernickel Pound Cake" it takes me four messages to get it all in!"
P - send. Crap.
Ump - send. Drat.
Ernickel P - send. I hate Steve Jobs' everlovin' guts.
Ound Cake - send. Send. Send. Oh, really? NOW you've decided to be fussy? Won't 'send' unless I touch you just so? Buy you dinner? A nice ring, maybe? Send, already! Sendsendsendsend
We'll also have online chats about how much Gorilla Glue it takes to reassemble your iPhone when you accidentally and not on purpose screech, "I'll teach you to send! You want a send? Here's a send for you! See that wall? SEND!!"
They say 90% of all accidents happen in the home to your iPhone. They do. They totally say that.
Anyway, back to being wise.
I had two readers reach out to me, the Wise One, looking for some relief from their pain and suffering, which is code for 'children.'
People, how many times do I have to tell you: Sex leads to relatives. And I don't think anyone wants that.
However, since it's too late for these women, I'm going to post their questions here, and I'll answer them on Wednesday.
The first comes from Beka, who gets bonus points for referencing another post of mine, because, as we already know, "Ridiculously Stuck Up Friday" has been a popular feature of this blog from the very beginning:
"Remember the "Dream Killer" post?! Could you now help me explain to my 15 year old son why he cannot climb Mt. Everest for his senior project? Never mind the obvious facts: funding, experience, mission (see funding), college (see funding), death, blah, blah, blah. None of that works. I've tried.
"Hope you can help!! Thanks."
She's talking, of course, about my post "The Dream Squasher," but we'll forgive her for missing a word or two because she's clearly under duress, what with her kid interviewing Sherpas and all. I find it interesting that this mountain climbing son of hers is the same age as my son, whose primary goal in life is to master every form of martial art so he can go all American Ninja on the guys in his gym class.
(I tried to say "David Carradine" in place of "American Ninja," but there was just no good way to spin that one.)
The second plea for help and, if necessary, hallucinogens, comes from Rebecca. (memo to me: be nice to anyone whose name rhymes with 'Shmenecca' because they think you're wise.)
"I am so happy that spring break is over. Can you address how to break out of the mommy guilt cycle, O wise one?"
I assume Rebecca feels guilty that she's happy about the end of spring break. So, yes. I do believe I can help her with this one. I just need to scrounge up a thesaurus and a prescription pad.
By the way, if you go to Rebecca's blog, you'll see that she has EIGHT children, no doubt leading you to holler "What the Las Vegas was she thinking??" at your computer monitor.
Well, let me tell you, missy / mister. Rebecca can have as many I-15 kids as she I-95 well wants. We do not judge here on this blog. That's what Kristina's blog is for.
So, there you go! Some things to ponder for this week's installment of O-WOW.
I'd answer their questions now, but I tried to send a text to all my Powers cousins, so I'm off to buy glue.