The vhs copy of Passion of the Christ on the shelf of kids videos in the waiting room in the psychiatrists office.
My cousin telling me, “Hey, my kids have seen that!”
The CPS worker totally ignoring my subsequent report.
The fact that I feel like I am trying to get the swine flu, but somewhere along my body is refusing to commit to it, and I’m just left with this annoying chest rasp/cough/headache combo that doesn’t even get me any sympathy and doesn’t even give me a workable excuse to take a nap.
Tom DeLay on Dancing with the Stars. The horror, the horror.
The “I want to sex you up,” dance number on Glee.
The fact that I have two dance-related traumas on this list now.
Festival Season in Northern California (actually, it’s ALWAYS festival Season in Northern California).
Tiberius trying to catch up with Caligula in the girth department.
The Predicate Adjective/Predicate Noun worksheet in my daughter’s Language Arts packet. It’s fifth grade, people! I don’t even need to know that crap. And I had to teach it to myself to teach it to 7th graders lo those many years ago.
Having to teach myself, once again, the difference between a predicate adjective/predicate noun.
Having already forgotten the difference between a predicate adjective/predicate noun.
Kanye West making me feel sorry for the Taylor-Swift-Bot.
That is all for now, but we’re headed to another festival, which is always a source of new material.