A Desperate Cry For Help...

Or maybe I'm just a natural born loon....

Do you think this lack of ability to control the urge to snivel is a part of old age? I read stuff that makes me want to burst into tears. I'm not naming names--you know who you are.

Gosh. When I were a wee Roxy, I was a cast-iron bitch. You know, the one that would listen to someone tell a sad story and then blow smoke in their eye and tell them to get the fuck out the way--they were spoiling the view.
Could it be the not smoking thing anymore? Or am I really that much of a sopping wet shmoodle now?

Ah well. If I could examine myself and understand what was going on in my mind--I'd do it for other people and demand money.

In other news, my painful crush on an underage co-worker continues unabated. I love being an old woman sometime. Crushes also makes the day go quicker. And gossip, my goodness.Though I'm always the last to know anything. It's fascinating to find out who's gay on the job--all girls so far, really cute little things too. And affairs! My lord, affairs! For some reason, in my mind, any guy that cheats on his SO becomes a pussy automatically. And pussies are fair game for embarrassing. Loudly. With extra added snorfling. Sometimes though, I wish I had that internal censor, y'know? Unless my Rachel is standing next to me (she' my roxy-shutter-upper) I tend to say...things...that shouldn't be said. LOUD. *shakes head* And the 70's weren't even that good to me.

And I'm babbling instead of writing that Clark & Lex scene. Tsk.