I have nothing to blog about. Really.

It's actually kind of depressing.

But I'm officially holding out for the Twilight opening. And I really really really want to see that movie. So I'm trying my best to keep an eye on my karma and not offend whoever it is that hands out the luck around here. [Insert flashbacks of The Boleyn Incident] So instead of giving some thought-provoking post on how to remove lipstick stains from leather boots and how such an act would fix the economy and give you shiny hair in the process, I'm including a copy of a recent text conversation that I had with my sister while sitting outside [in my car] of the urgent care clinic that she simply had to go to in the middle of the night because she was on death's door or something.

I'm leaving out the part about the midgets, though. Karma, remember?

Judith: You still alive????

Sick Sister: No, I'm dead.

Judith: LOL. I text dead people.

Sick Sister: Ur stupid. Stuupid.

Judith: yeah. Movie quotes will get you no where. (Plus I only have a limited amount of texts.)

Sick Sister: Saw the nurse. Waiting on the dr.

Judith: Okay. I'm still here.

Sick Sister: U should come in here. i have my own tv.

Judith: I have my own book. I win.

Sick Sister: U suck.

Judith: :)

Sick Sister: Did you just waste a text sending me a smiley face?

Judith: Well it was better than wasting it on sending you this: !@W%E^&%&T*&T*&T*&%&^%^%$^%#$@#$@

Sick Sister: Stupid I say.

Judith: This is me ignoring you now. [Crickets]

Sick Sister: Stuck a big q-tip up my nose. Think they poked my brain.

Judith: Not possible. And ewwwwwwwwww.

Sick Sister: Gross, right?

Judith: Yup. And would you hurry up the fudge up already? I've got vats of Mexican penicillin at the house. The directions are all in Spanish, but I'll fix you for free.

Sick Sister: Saw the dr. They have to take the leg…

And then we talked about midgets.

Yeah…. I'm not going to get to see that movie, am I?

Demmit.

However, for those of you actually dedicated enough to read an entire blog post about an inane text conversation, the first person to identify the movie reference gets a nifty magnet. Oh. And the dead people one totally doesn't count. I'm easy in an entirely different manner, I assure you.

The Scene:

Fade in.

Judith stands in front of a purse display in a large department store. She clutches a fabulous little leather bag in her hands as she debates the importance of eating this month versus the importance of having this purse on her arm. Food is quickly losing.

Judith is momentarily distracted by the arrival of a small posse of giggling girls. She takes in the perky breasts, ugly shoes, and happy chit-chat about a "hawt guy" and how girl 1 (or maybe it was girl 2?) "doesn't usually do that kind of thing but made an exception this one time" and guesses their ages to be in the vicinity of 19 - 22 years old.

Posse of girls passes Judith by and stops near the table of the Loop's Andy Warhol-inspired totes. Since the act will allow her a few more precious moments of groping the purse that she CANNOT afford, Judith shamelessly eavesdrops on the conversation nearby:

girl 1: Oooooh… Look at these!!

girl 2: Those are cute. Look at the soup can one…

girl 3: Those really are cute!!! I wonder if I need one…

girl 1: [reading the label and tag] Andy Warhol? Who's Andy Warhol?

girl 3: Oh you know… He's that author. He wrote those books… [pauses as she searches *unsuccessfully* through her head for a title] You know! You'd recognize them if you saw them. They're really popular.

girl 1: Oh yeah! That Andy Warhol. Okay! I think that I've read a couple of his books.

girl 2: [nodding her head enthusiastically] Me too, they're really good.

girl 1 and 3 add their equally enthusiastically nodding heads to the mix.

girl 1: Ummmm, you guys?  Is that woman over there laughing at us?

Posse turns to look at Judith.

Judith: [pausing to catch her breath] Ummmm… Yeah. Yes, she is.

Fade out.

Judith's Uplifting Reminders for Feeling Better About the Fact That You're Flat Broke and Can't Afford That Purse That Would Look Absolutely Smashing on Your Arm #1:

At least you're not stupid.

The [rest of the] latest in the 365 project:

"Dude, that gun shop has tasers. Like pink tasers. I so want a pink taser. Are you gonna buy me one?"

"Hmmmm."

"I mean, really, don't you think I need a taser? It'll, like, keep me safe and stuff…"

"Well, if you start working at night or something then, yeah, it would probably be a good idea. But there's no way in hell that I'm buying you a taser right now."

"Wha?!@?#? How come?"

"Judith, I'm not stupid. Who do you think will be the first person to get tased whenever you get pissed off? And keep in mind that you get pissed off a lot."

"I promise I won't tase you. CROSS MY HEART."

"Yeah, whatever."

"No realllllly. I promissssse not to tase you. Ever."

"Uh-huh… And when I'm writhing on the floor in pain after being tased with a pink pocket-sized taser by my lovely wife, and I'm looking up at you saying, "You promised not to ever tase me!" You know what you'll say?"

"What?"

"I lied. Then you'll probably tase me again. Whore."

"… yeah. I probably would."

We have obviously been married too long.

To see my 365 on a daily basis, be sure to add me to your contacts at Flickr or subscribe to my photo feed.

I should probably preface this by saying that I turned 29 a few weeks ago. This, of course, makes me a Libra. Now here's the part where I can pretend to be all that is knowledge and coolness and tell you a bit about how Libras are special in one form or another and how the following blog post is reflective of the personality traits bestowed upon me by the stars under which I was born…

Or I could just admit that the closest I've ever come  to being all that is knowledge and coolness in terms of astrology is that day when I almost got a set of scales tattooed on my shoulder out of boredom, and the only reason I mentioned "Libras" is so that I mention a hot tattoo guy.

And he was hot.

Trust me.

And now that we've established my age as well as my affinity for hot tattoo guys, let's move on to the question of the day:

How many times did you watch Johnny and Baby do the dirty dance before you realized that that money from Daddy was for an illegal abortion?

No, really, it's an important question that I've pondered for some time. It's not quite as pressing as whether or not I can see Russia from my house, of course, but still…

Taking into account that the movie was released in 1987, my age, and the overall quality of parental supervision during that time where my mother absolutely loathed exercising but looked so damn good in a leotard that she taught six aerobics classes a week; I'm going to hazard a guess of at least a hundred, maybe two.

And I'm going to throw in well over 300 viewings of Grease before I had enough knowledge *ahem* under my belt to fully understand that "chicks'll cream" line.

Yes, we can lay it all at the feet of "you were too young to be watching movies like that anyhow". But the fact remains that I did— And, looking back at all of the hours spent in front of the television dialoguing along with the characters while perfecting the John Travolta in the bleachers hand point, somehow it just doesn't seem… fair. Like I was deprived of something. (Surely not the joys of an intricate plot or anything, but something, you know?)

Which is why I'd like to officially give thanks to Dolly Parton and the Chicken Ranch— who were kind enough to take pity on unsupervised children like myself and brave enough to skip the implied and innuendos altogether. After all, it may have taken me ten years to understand why Penny's doctor with the fold-out table stabbed her in the stomach…

But even I got that Texas had a whorehouse in it.

And that Aggie boys were made by dancing in their underwear in the backyard.

I'm still still alive.

And while things are still really hectic and topsy-turvy around these here parts, I thought I'd sneak in for a minute to say…

Neener. Neener.

Remember when I announced to the [bloggity] world at large that I'd do the deed for a nice pair of shoes??? Turns out I don't have to… Because somewhere out there, there's some awesome someone who will just give them to me.

No fucking required.

(Just some random good luck. And if my luck is anything, it sure as hell is random.)

So here's the part where I say "Neener, Neener" again and post some pictures of my new fabulously awesome shoes that I didn't even have to compromise myself for…

Although I totally would have.

So… yeah…. Neener. Neener.

That is all.

{I'm hoping to have a few great guest posts in the coming couple of weeks to fill in for me while I'm drowning in the insanity that is my life right now, so if you're interested, please let me know!}