Yes, I'm okay! I know that, like each of you, the sanity and clarity of your world has totes been ruined today. I mean, I'm usually really good at seeing things that are heading my (or in this case, our) way, but the news this morning has really fucked me sideways (shout out to "United States of Tara" and/or Toni Collette - she's a bad bitch for sure) -- what about y'all? Please, don't do anything drastic -- like get a horrible and very obvious nose job or slum yourselves out to the first drummer of a "Top 40" (or, let's be honest "Adult Rock") you encounter with a jacked dye job. For the love of God, I'd hate to see you in the same position.
No, not the same position as me, duh, as Ashlee Simpz. (That, is obvi a horrible combination of the two horrible last names of Simpson and Wentz. Anyway, as I'm sure you've deduced by now, the punk-rock princess (or was that Avril? Either way this is her story ("herstory"), too) and her sk8er boi (shut the fuck up, you love it) have parted ways in the very permanent way of filing for divorce, fingers crossed. Like me, you've probs got a million worries crossing your mind, so let's address them until I get tired of doing so.
First, the children! Or . . . wait, its just one, right? The child! Isn't his name Brooklyn or some shit? That's what you get when you hate your children - a double "f-you" - you end up with a child named after the main character in "The Jungle Book" and you lose your soul mate. Damnit to hell! If I've said it once, I've said it a million times - stick with traditional, boring names. Make it easier on us all for a change.
Out-of-wedlock child aside (bastard? does that term work here?) I'm worried about Jess. We all are well aware homegirl is an emotional eater (I guess, given the choice between a high-glycemic plate or whiny, horrible, music - I'd choose sake, too) and I hate to think what's going to happen to those daisy dukes! I mean, yes, I actually hate visualizing that anyway, but Jess with a frown and short shorts? Sickening! You know Jessica has already saddled up next to Ash and Balloo with Olive Garden to-go. And don't get me wrong, I'm abso not judging! I like unlimited pasta refills as much as the next person miserably eating for three - but not right before my nupes!
It all comes down to this: A.S-W. is a selfish bitch. Jessica couldn't get married right after Nick without making some kind of ruckus. Thank god my sister would never do that -- marry someone that (at best) looks like a sexually-confused douchebag. And at worst . . well, this is a family blog. Damn you Ashlee Simpson-Wentz! I would natch try to see if I could get a table at the Olive Garden so A.S-W., Simba and I could commiserate together, but JC, getting a table at that joint on a Wednesday is next to impossible, plus I have other plans. (Although, it would bring the three of us closer, after all, when you're there, you'repoor family, right?)
Ill keep you all posted after I get the lowdown from Cacee (is that bitch even still around? That was her name right?) and we can reconvene. Like I always say (is that a theme of this post/my life? perhaps) don't "slum date." The advice was good enough (although un-heeded) for Rose in 1914 and it still stands today - the best thing you can do for a Jack Dawson, or Pete Wentz is ask them for a refill of diet coke and/or penne.
No, not the same position as me, duh, as Ashlee Simpz. (That, is obvi a horrible combination of the two horrible last names of Simpson and Wentz. Anyway, as I'm sure you've deduced by now, the punk-rock princess (or was that Avril? Either way this is her story ("herstory"), too) and her sk8er boi (shut the fuck up, you love it) have parted ways in the very permanent way of filing for divorce, fingers crossed. Like me, you've probs got a million worries crossing your mind, so let's address them until I get tired of doing so.
First, the children! Or . . . wait, its just one, right? The child! Isn't his name Brooklyn or some shit? That's what you get when you hate your children - a double "f-you" - you end up with a child named after the main character in "The Jungle Book" and you lose your soul mate. Damnit to hell! If I've said it once, I've said it a million times - stick with traditional, boring names. Make it easier on us all for a change.
Out-of-wedlock child aside (bastard? does that term work here?) I'm worried about Jess. We all are well aware homegirl is an emotional eater (I guess, given the choice between a high-glycemic plate or whiny, horrible, music - I'd choose sake, too) and I hate to think what's going to happen to those daisy dukes! I mean, yes, I actually hate visualizing that anyway, but Jess with a frown and short shorts? Sickening! You know Jessica has already saddled up next to Ash and Balloo with Olive Garden to-go. And don't get me wrong, I'm abso not judging! I like unlimited pasta refills as much as the next person miserably eating for three - but not right before my nupes!
It all comes down to this: A.S-W. is a selfish bitch. Jessica couldn't get married right after Nick without making some kind of ruckus. Thank god my sister would never do that -- marry someone that (at best) looks like a sexually-confused douchebag. And at worst . . well, this is a family blog. Damn you Ashlee Simpson-Wentz! I would natch try to see if I could get a table at the Olive Garden so A.S-W., Simba and I could commiserate together, but JC, getting a table at that joint on a Wednesday is next to impossible, plus I have other plans. (Although, it would bring the three of us closer, after all, when you're there, you're
Ill keep you all posted after I get the lowdown from Cacee (is that bitch even still around? That was her name right?) and we can reconvene. Like I always say (is that a theme of this post/my life? perhaps) don't "slum date." The advice was good enough (although un-heeded) for Rose in 1914 and it still stands today - the best thing you can do for a Jack Dawson, or Pete Wentz is ask them for a refill of diet coke and/or penne.
Duh.
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