love the bomb

Scooter my daisy head.

Listen, people. No one has bought anything off my Amazon list for me, yet. I’m hurt. Gifts! Money! Stock options! Fine jewels! I demand attention and courtship from my followers. Get crackin.

I Was Born in a Small Town.

Well, I really wasn’t. “I was Born in an Uninteresting and Highly Unproductive Small Suburb” is really more like it.

I’m back in Sterling a lot, my parents are still there. I only live a 25 minutes away now, on the other side of the airport. Which, could have been the other side of the planet for all I knew then.

Ahhh, then. Memories. Being raised in Sterling is kind of like being the Bubble Boy. Some people never leave. They go to community college, get jobs at the Ford Dealership, and eventually reproduce. and pass around the clap. Then they start marrying each other. Over and over and over. (Yes, AFTER they reproduce.) It’s just the way things are. Or should I say, were.

The houses are old, the paint is chipped, and families I went to school with have left for sparkly new townhomes in subdivisions closer to the river, named things like “Lowes Island’s Deer Glen Creek Forest Springs Wood Dale.”

There are more people, and with more people bring more… MORE. Just more. Does that make sense?

Some people actually shoot other people in Sterling now. And sell crack; probably. In high school, I honestly would have SOLD MY SOUL for action like that. Horrible, isn’t it? I think about it now, but the crap that was pulled back in my day (bah, insert grumbly old woman rant here) was completely harmless. Driving the “Safeway 500” and prank calls, shoulder-tapping older strangers for beer outside the High-Up, maybe seeing a movie. And if someone’s parents were gone, you probably knew there was going to be a party. And when I say “party,” I mean 20 bored 17 year olds starting fights in someone’s backyard after a Friday night football game.

I make it sound like I grew up in the town from “Footloose” or something, but it really wasn’t nearly like that. I hated it at the time. It was all so very—inbred. Now it’s bigger and strip-mall-ified to nearly unrecognizable. Who knew I’d get nostalgic… so I guess I’ll never be satisfied. Bah, humbug.

Sometimes I read my own posts and I am so bored with myself I consider kicking my own ass.

Stories:

Last night my brother found a bag full of money left at the ATM. Just sitting there. We’re talking thousands. Cash, checks, you name it. It was the night-deposit bag from a local retailer, who obviously employees the STUPIDEST PEOPLE ON EARTH. So he called the cops. If it was me, they would have got me on video and then arrested me for theft. With him, he’ll probably receive some kickass reward for being honest and returning it.

Other Stuff:

–Is there nothing more sad than websites dedicated to quotes from “Titanic?” It makes me want to cry.

–Status on car: Still wrecked. Bastards. Bastards everywhere!

–Sig Other and I are going to NYC in two weekends, just for the hell of it. We are so very very hip. It’s almost painful.

–Paul Reubens is set to become the new host of the television version of “You Don’t Know Jack.”

–Shaggy, Uncle Kracker, Eden’s Crush and Sisqo perform on Teen Choice Presents: Teenapalooza.

Apparently, Armageddon is near. Someone punch me in the teeth, I like it.

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