To all the coffee tables I've loved and lost...

Dear E-Bay:

Fuck you. Reserves not met... sniped at the last minute...

Here are a sampling of the tables I have loved and lost in the last month...

If I could just get a coffee table... I could get a couch.

And I could furnish my fucking house.




I'm most upset about the brown, orange and yellow one.

That table was my b'sheret. And now it's gone.

Newman.

Dear Amy Winehouse:

Dear Amy Winehouse:

You are a scary, scary looking witch.


I am now going to scream and run away from you.

::FEET RUNNING::

AAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAH!

Dear Miami Herald:

Dear Miami Herald:

I'm already in sort of a fragile emotional state these days. I'm holding on to sanity by a hair, and I'm really trying to bag my crazy.

The constant exercising at night is helping, but... I remain... trying not to lose my shit. Outwardly I'm fine (sort of.) but I'm sort of a roiling ball of nuts inside. Season changes do that to me.

So, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from running pictures like this:


With captions like this:

"Samantha Lopez kisses her sister Sabrina shortly after Sabrina's birth at Kendall Regional Hospital. Both died following an apartment fire Thursday."

I mean, seriously. I don't want to think about sad things, and if I DO have to think about sad things, how 'bout just some names and ages, huh? Why do you have to put in pictures of the 2-year old and 2-month old that died. What does that do, except cost people work hours because they're depressed thinking about dead babies?!

So, you know... more with the Britney, less with the killed pups.

Thanks.

Me.