Ugh. Where the hell has the friggin time gone?
I swear, it seems like just yesterday, I was whining over turning forty and grumbling about my sisters posting my picture on the obituary page of the local paper (bitches).
|Crooked bangs courtesy of my sister, Natty, and her madshitty hairdressing skills.|
|Gift #1---Redneck Book Bag (I mean, really?)|
|Gift #2---Doobage Cookies (for real)|
To you I say, thisgirl's not interested in pot cookies because (A) I'm already high on life and (B) Coconut is effin disgusting (One of the only foods that I will not eat). Blech....
BUT NO WORRIES, OFFICER. Rest assured that I have properly disposed of said assumingly illegal cookies in an appropriate manner. ALSO, as the president of the company that I co-own with Hubby, I've made an executive decision to temporarily SUSPEND all random drug testing. *ahem*
|Gift #3---Every gal wants a pretty journal, no?|
Frieda Kahlo's been shanked, y'all...by a shit ton of nails.
I understand that in her paintings, she often depicted herself in these kinds of morbid situations (being stabbed, having her heart ripped out, etc...).
I'm no expert in art interpretation, but if I had to guess, I'd say that Frieda probably could have benefited from some Coconut Ganja Cookies (and extensive laser hair removal). Geesh....
To conclude this post, I'd like to point out that because I feel like I've grown so much--emotionally--since turning forty-four, I've decided that I'm not going to out the
As a matter of fact, I think the best course of action is to not be wasteful, utilize what I can, and give away the rest.
On that note, THIS is the first entry in my Frieda Kahlo journal:
Feel free to form your own hypothesis.