Posted by: fireweaver | September 14, 2008

making lemonade

i’d hazard a guess that whatever proverb-meister came up with the little gem about how life handing you lemons means it’s time to make lemonade never really went through anything more traumatic than an overabundant citrus tree.  i’m currently embroiled in one of the top-5 CFs of my adult experience, and not wanting to be dooce’d after the fact, i’ll keep my mouth closed about it for now.

i’ve called out the troops (on both a personal and professional level), and things are moving along, so while this is obnoxiously cryptic, just X your fingers for my speedy recovery.

oh, and fight the man¹, or something.

——————————————————————————————

¹i’ve now determined that true love is detected by feces.  yes, for some people, the signs may be hearts or chocolates or flowers and all that claptrap, but i’ll tell you it’s not.  you know that he loves you when he offers to promptly roll on over, drop trou, and poo on that guy’s car for you.

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Responses

  1. Love is Shit. I can concur with that statement

  2. Yes, the offer of defecation IS a true measure of love. My (not-yet at the time) hubby pretty much offered the same when I went through my CF three years ago. Here’s fingers crossed and all that for you! XXXXX


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