Like to hear it? Here it go.

Impossibly superstitious, she stoops to be conquered. And if you saw her you couldn't blame her: fast walk, loud talk and smilin' just a little too wide. She orders up her next plate and the deity groans behind the counter. But she's the customer, dammit! Nary a word will the greasemonkey God say as he puts oil in her car, coffee in her cup.

Velvety air blankets the door and the street and the train station. Someone's smiling down. I SAID "someone's smiling down"! That's your cue, muther! Why do you keep forgetting it? Get it right this time. God can't be trusted. I've got sugar plum fairies and a stack of books that tell me so. Amen to that.

Bull market queers gather around the gas pump. Get used to it. If you're buying your presents in this place it's not going to be a very happy birthday. Wish I had boots like that. And hair like that. Pixie. Dust her.

Shit. Nothing ever works out, does it. I'm starting a betting pool- loser takes all. It's best really. What about the boy? What about the boy? Farm country is the best place to hide a baby superman. Bury that suit. I've got kryptonite eyes.

Why don't I?

I have friends- male friends- who speak ill of women generally upon every occasion they possibly can. Supposedly, I am to understand that I am an exception. A veritable good woman, as it were. Hear ye, hear ye. Anyhoo, this complaining of theirs causes me to feel sorry for the mooks who've encountered the bad b-word time and again and also to wonder at their judgment.

But then I think- haven't I encountered just as much selfish idiocy in the males I've chosen to involve myself with? Why don't I lump all that is masculine into one sweaty pile and complain about them? And also, shouldn't someone feel sorry for my experiences? And wonder at my lack of judgment? I wonder at my lack of judgment. Hell, I don't think I'm really fit to judge anymore. I shall throw darts at names if choosing ever becomes a necessity again. Could I do worse? Yeppers. Could I do better? I no longer believe I'm capable. Is that growing up or giving up?

Just asking.

Can't have braces AND glasses

Or so I've decided. Mustn't let the nerd factor overwhelm the gorgeousness that is moi. ('Scuze me while I laugh at that... but not because it isn't true, mind you. I am stunning. It says so right here in my daily affirmation. And my daily affirmation never lies. Or at least it won't be lying after I use it thirty times. Or something. I should re-check the directions.) I have put off buying more frames/ lenses because I am bound and determined not to up my weak prescription. Driving at night, you say? I laugh at danger. I need a Looziana license, too, and as God is my witness I will never have a class B restriction again.

Amen. And goodnight. Before I'm off to my "banding appointment" tomorrow. Because there is no justice. I am not an invisalign candidate. Kill me now. Really. I mean a year ago I had several people tell me I looked nineteen. (Of course that was before I changed my eyebrows. Maybe now I look like Morgan le Fay. It is to be devoutly hoped. Betrayal, anyone?) If they are anything close to right, I am going to look like a stupid adolescent. Again. I know I keep complaining about this. And it's already boring, but I'll probably keep it up. Maybe I'll walk around with gunk in my braces trying to see how many people helpfully point it out. It'll be an experiment in human decency. The kindness of strangers and all that.

That's what I'll say anyway, when people point out the gunk in my braces.