On Turning 50 OR I'll Kill the Next Person Who Says 50 Isn't So Bad
Well, there it was, a perfectly good Wednesday morning when I got woken up to "It's the End of the World as We Know It" by REM. I can thank HIM, the man to whom I'm married and the man whose shallow grave is located in the woods out back, for that. I got presents wrapped in black. (A travel mug, two meat thermometers, and a subscription to The Week. My sister sent me a pendant. She doesn't get buried in the back yard. The cat decided to ignore the whole thing, which was a wise decision on his part, or simply because he's a moron and didn't know any better.)
So what could I do? I hid in the closet for the next two hours fondling my meat thermometers. (One is digital and wireless. I should go buy a turkey. HIM isn't known for buying the best gifts. I got him 50 black balloons on his birthday. I sent them to work. HIM has a cubicle. I thought that was funny as hell. My MIL mentioned this to me when I said I was less than happy about turning 50. I said that it was funny when HIM was turning 50, not me. The moron cat would have freaked at having 50 black balloons in the house anyway.)
I went looking for pissed off LOLs and found a lot with cats. Apparently cats are pissed a lot. Or they're perceived as being pissed off a lot. I know if someone put an itty bitty hat on my head and took a picture I'd be pissed off, too.
I remember when I turned 30 and I was upset. I don't remember 40, probably because I was 7 months pregnant and peeing every...five...minutes. Seriously, a note to women who haven't yet had a child, you will pee every five minutes and you won't sleep more than an hour at a time and that's before you have the baby. Just be prepared.
But 50. Sheesh. I depressed. Sofa king depressed. I will now endeavor to amuse myself.
This looks like hairy hairless cat. I like the message.
Look the tree is ticked. I wouldn't cut that tree down, I'll tell you.
I suppose I should just accept it. It's done.
And then the heat pump broke. It wasn't 50. I'm sure. I hate 50. 50 sucks. I want to be 49 for another year.
So what could I do? I hid in the closet for the next two hours fondling my meat thermometers. (One is digital and wireless. I should go buy a turkey. HIM isn't known for buying the best gifts. I got him 50 black balloons on his birthday. I sent them to work. HIM has a cubicle. I thought that was funny as hell. My MIL mentioned this to me when I said I was less than happy about turning 50. I said that it was funny when HIM was turning 50, not me. The moron cat would have freaked at having 50 black balloons in the house anyway.)
I went looking for pissed off LOLs and found a lot with cats. Apparently cats are pissed a lot. Or they're perceived as being pissed off a lot. I know if someone put an itty bitty hat on my head and took a picture I'd be pissed off, too.I remember when I turned 30 and I was upset. I don't remember 40, probably because I was 7 months pregnant and peeing every...five...minutes. Seriously, a note to women who haven't yet had a child, you will pee every five minutes and you won't sleep more than an hour at a time and that's before you have the baby. Just be prepared.
But 50. Sheesh. I depressed. Sofa king depressed. I will now endeavor to amuse myself.
This looks like hairy hairless cat. I like the message.
Look the tree is ticked. I wouldn't cut that tree down, I'll tell you.
I suppose I should just accept it. It's done.And then the heat pump broke. It wasn't 50. I'm sure. I hate 50. 50 sucks. I want to be 49 for another year.
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