Gun Show

Before I start my rant, I got the funniest piece of spam the other day, and I am going to post the man's picture for all to see. Supposedly he has throat cancer, and if I give all my particulars, I will get one million euro's. Wooohhoooo!!!! I will be rich and buy some cashmere long underwear. Check out the chest hair, I am suprised the dopplers stick. Those spammers are getting very creative. Thanks Hakim Marsha for the generous offer, but I think I will have to pass. I knew it was going to be one of those days when I woke up and my nose ring had dissappeared into the great beyond. I got up, looked at my face and something was missing. My dot was gone. It was the perfect nose dot. Over the past few years, I have kept the nose ring makers in business, I refuse to wear a hoop, or anything other than a small inconspicuous dot. I checked the bathtub, the pillows, EVERYWHERE. My nose repells the dots like deet. Wookie was yelling at me like a howler monkey, Tully was whining "mama mama", and Stella was just snorting. The kids were fighting over the remote. It is raining like crazy outside, and I poked myself in the eye. My bum is sore from one hell of a workout. I love aerobics, but, methinks I worked my gluteus maximus just a little too hard and now I am walking funny. I do have muscles though, holy doodle. I checked out the "guns", and there is actually definition. If someone had asked me if I would ever join an aerobics class or start power walking three years ago, I would have laughed in their face. Not that I am good. I have lost my coordination, and during the class I try very hard not to laugh, because the mirrors that are reflecting back at me show a tall blonde twitching to techno Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock, in an Elaine off Sienfeld kind of way. I used to be coordinated. I used to be sporty. . .until highschool happened, and then I made fun of people like me.