Is it a bad omen if your first birthing class is canceled by a bomb threat? Just asking. Just wondering. Don’t think I’m one of those paranoid nut jobs who believes every little thing is a sign — “So when the pigeon with the white feather flew north, that’s how I figured the tornado would wreck the mobile home park.”
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Two idiots bobbing in the ocean. The other idiot might take exception to that, but I’m the one writing the column, and the truth is the truth.
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And just when you thought it was safe to head back into the swamp. Out of the Everglades comes the most fascinating, horrifying, terror-inducing, and just plain “Holy refried hoppenjohns” story I’ve heard in a long while. From the Associated Press: “Python bursts after trying to eat gator.”
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I’m a list addict, a list junkie, a list maniac. My office, my desk and my house often look like a ticker tape parade thanks to notes I leave everywhere. So terrified I will forget something (if there was a fire in the kitchen, I would probably make a list), I scribble endlessly, trying in vain to keep myself in line.
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