Come Not Watch The State Of The Union With Your Wonkette!
You. can. not. make me.
It has been a fucking week, it is only Tuesday, my eyeballs are about to fall out of my head and roll under the refrigerator, and I am WHINING ALL OVER THE TWITTER about POOR ME and I'M TIRED and THIS IS NEVER GOING TO END and I HAVEN'T STOPPED WORKING BEFORE 11: 30 PM IN WEEKS and OH MY GOD THERE'S A DEBATE TO LIVEBLOG FRIDAY NIGHT TOO.
If you think I'm about to watch that choad and his State of the Choad, I have a secret and it is FUCK YOU.
Instead, I am going across the lake to Finley Point, to what I am sure is someone's lovely home, to meet a Democrat for Montana secretary of state. We will bring a dish! And the whole family! Maybe I will wash my hair first! MAYBE I WON'T!
And you my darlings, gather around your monitor, we have art for you this evening: Todd Haynes's SUPERSTAR: The Karen Carpenter Story, with Barbies.
We've only just begun. TO LOVE YOU.
I only got a bit of it as I drove to one of my jobs, rolled my eyes so hard and yelled at my radio in my basic (manual windows, radio has a cassette player) 2002 Corolla. Numi (named after where she was built) gets me where I need to go, missing hubcap from the tire blow out on the 40 mile commute home from my "program manager" job, leaking or burning oil for unknown reasons, now power steering fluid, and only being able to get the "check engine" light off long enough to pass smog. The open thread is way harder to find in this new format.
i would rather not listen to that.