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| I want 10,000 of THESE. But the page views are nice too. |
Okay. Blu hoo is closing in on 10,000 page views, so I’ve been toying with what in the HELL topic I want up when that happens. Yeah. I’ve got nothing.
I had been planning forever to post about Angelina’s boob-removal, but that is so five minutes ago. There seems never to be any time to write Blu hoo posts anymore. I have officially turned into a friggin’ dog. I eat, sleep, and work, and that’s about my day, every day. I substituted “work” for “poop” because dogs don’t work, and apparently someone has stuffed my ass with Sakrete ® again, for God’s sake. I realize that in order to have non-ashy skin, eyes that don’t feel like they are full of glass shards, and a working digestive system that I desperately need to drink more water.
But there just isn’t time.
I mean, it’s such a goddamned chore to get up and go to the kitchen and take down an ugly plastic cup and turn on the filtered water faucet and wait for-freaking-ever for the cup to fill up only to have to do it all again in, like, seven seconds. What I need is an IV. I’ve been saying this for years. If I had one of those nice permanent port thingies, my life would be so much easier. I could throw some saline in there and some nutrients from time to time and maybe some pain killers on days like today. Then I would never be dehydrated again and have to embarrass my husband by making him go down to the Marsh and buy industrial strength Fleet ® products in front of all the snobs. Those folks get their colons cleansed weekly in between the pedicures and root touch-ups and tennis lessons. I’ll bet their colonoscopy pictures look like one of those tunnels that people see when they have a near-death experience what with the smooth, clean walls and bright light and dude dressed in all-white at the end. MY colonoscopy picture is going to look like a fucking Baby Ruth ®.
Does that mean I should give up good eatin’ just so that I have a clean butt tube and unclogged arteries? I don’t know. My theory is that even if I eat tree bark and tofu for my whole life and never savor a bite of it, I will still die. I might as well enjoy my life experiences while I’m here. I guess that’s one of the reasons Angelina cut off her boobs. She is definitely enjoying the fuck out of her life experiences, so who can blame her for wanting to prolong life for as many moments as possible? I’ll bet that more women would elect to have preventative surgery if they knew the first and last thing they’d see before and after going under would be Brad Pitt.
Plus, Angelina and Brad have more money than God and can expect the best possible care. I’ve had two friends who bravely fought breast cancer and opted to have the additional reconstructive procedure after their mastectomies. The options have changed since these two darlings had their stomach muscles re-routed to form the appearance of new boobs. One chose to have her nipples tattooed on. I know this because she yanked up her shirt to see what I thought. She didn’t warn me either. Just ripped that shirt right on up in the middle of a conversation. The boobs looked pretty good, but the tattooed nipples were a poor substitute.
Angelina was lucky enough to have the time and funds to test her nipple tissue so that she could retain the real deals. Then, she had the “new” tear-drop-shaped implants for optimum boobage. I think what she did took a lot of guts because undergoing any surgery—elective or not—is scary. Plus, she removed almost all chances that she will die young of female cancer like her mother and grandmother, leaving her children devastated and unmoored. But she now has perfectly sculpted tits that will remain forever perky. Both of my friends died despite their efforts. The rebuilt boobs didn’t help.
So. I ended up talking about Angelina anyway. Figures. Here’s to the next 10,000 page views and to living life with grace and beauty and acceptance and juicy cusswords and incredible food and without fear and hatred. Except for hatred of bad grammar and constipation and Charlie Sheen and no vacation time ever and the pain and suffering of people I love. Those are still fair game.
