WWF-Slammed

There I was, for a moment, floating... floating... floating... higher and higher... until the stupid bubble burst.

This time, the bubble's a little soapier and almost that close to heaven. So the bump on the ass feels a bit more painful. Like I had been WWF-slammed.

Most of the rescue work revolves around smacking myself on the head every now and then.

Wake up. You already knew deep inside you something was bound to happen. You're never that happy little kid who gets to enjoy free happy meals, complete with the toys of the week.


It is precisely at this point, I would like to stand in front of the blue sea and scream out at the top of my lungs that I hate erm... stuff.

But then, the lousy weather doesn't quite permit that. Which is just as well, since I know my friends would all smack me on the head one by one too if they knew what I had been up to.

I don't need any more of that now. I think my head is already not functioning as well as it should.


I think what I really badly need now, other than writing tons of awwsome letters, is some self-administered dosages of laughter. HUGE dosages.

No need. I don't need nobody to make me laugh. I am a big girl, and I already have a good reputation around this area of being able to laugh at a computer.

I have my email jokes, my stupid videos, my list of silly blogs, and my favorite you-tube.

Or, some wise quips from my witty friends. Like this:

"No decent director would dump you over the phone."

I like witty people. Really.