Going “Post”al
Yesterday I tried to share my tales of whoa and excitement involving my recent trip to Las Vegas, but I was unable to correctly copy and paste my blog. I spent a good hour recalling all of the insane people I met and detailing them down to their bug eyes and their stench. *sigh* I was so frustrated that I decided to make my lunch for the following day and crawl into bed with a my signifcant other; a fashion magazine.
Prior to retiring for bed I decided to check my phone messages. To my dismay there was a message left from a former boyfriend from nearly FIVE years ago. After listening to the message three times a myriad of questions began to fill my head. Why is he calling me? How did he get my home telephone number? Why is he calling me? Is he still a loser? Why is he calling me? How many kids does he have now? Am I dreaming? Is he dreaming if he thinks I want to talk to him? Why is he calling me? First the Pope dies, then I can’t post my fantastic blog, then this moron calls me! Really, what is the world coming to? I can now understand what makes a person go postal. Paired with lack of sleep, crazy on the brain and a 45 (gun not Colt) I too could be responsible for wreckless endangerment.
As I crawled into bed I realized that it was nothing that April’s "Vouge" and a good nights sleep could not cure.
