Birthday Musings of a Madwoman

Today we commemorate the event of my birth. And what a fucking day that was, my friends. Born during a typical NY snow, first thing in the morning, this kid came out with strawberry blonde hair and a ferocious set of lungs! Ready, willing, and able to join the ranks of Queens residents, I started my life in Maspeth, NY. Back in 1971, people actually gave a shit about birthdays. Now, I am not saying they don't today, but come on. A Facebook post is not an actual birthday card. It took you all of six seconds, maybe, to do. No thought, no effort. Yet, today, in 2015, it is deemed efficient, effective, and acceptable. I call BULLSHIT. What happened to going down to your local Hallmark store and perusing the cards, picking them up, reading, laughing to yourself, being unable to decide, and perhaps walking away with at least two? Then you'd race home to write them out, laughing again at your fine selection. The next step is one most people don't do anymore. You walked to the mailbox to slip those babies in to be delivered to the birthday person. What a feeling of satisfaction. Not so today. As of today, I've received one card. ONE! Really? I send them to everyone. WTF?! Am I the last of a dying breed? If you base your answer on my mailbox, then, yes I am.

Personally, I feel that birthdays are the best days of the year and should be celebrated as such. Marking the day we came into this crazy world, kicking and screaming, what better way to acknowledge it but to have a party, with cake and candles? Yet, people are letting the day slip by without so much as a hoot and a holler. Why? Someone loved you enough to endure hours of labor and the pain of childbirth, the least you can do is make a big deal out of it. Really, what you should be doing is saying thank you to the woman who went through all that so that you could be here today, acting like an asshole and ignoring the importance of the day. Maybe that's what birthdays should be. Recognition for those who raised you, those you turned you into the person you've become. They are the ones who deserve the card, the cake, the gifts...the fanfare. I'm sure you don't agree with me. Now, you want the cards, the celebratory nonsense. It's sounding very appealing now that I've attempted to take it away from you. What an asshat.

Let's continue along the lines of what your birthday means. Mine is a very special day for me. I have always looked forward to it with great anticipation, like a small child. May sound silly to you, but it's my day, and gawdeffindammit, I love it oh so much. Getting older is not always a bad thing, and to me it means I've survived another year. I'm still here...all you haters can suck it. Feels good! I look forward with joy to being one of the Golden Girls. I want to be that old lady, the one who wears the wild animal prints, has purple hair, and still throws up the rock sign when AC/DC comes on. And bitches, I will. So, with each year that passes, I feel like my birthday gets better and even more exciting. I want to be a snow bird. I want to go to Florida and sun worship, play shuffle board, and gossip with my friends. Racing to collect on those Early Bird specials just because I can. Am I the only one? My daughter fights against it, saying she never wants to get old. At 19, I can see feeling that way. The immortality of youth. I do remember that. But now, at 44, I want to see what comes next.

Let's be clear, I can still remember my Sweet 16 with fond memories. Being young was fantastic for me. I had a great life, for the most part, leaving out the stuff and nonsense that needs not be discussed on my special day. But, can we be real? You're young once. And with good reason. Growing up doesn't necessarily suck as much as most people would lead you to believe. Yes, there are bills, responsibilities, and loads and loads of laundry. However, there is an amazing amount of freedom. Endless freedom, to say and do whatever you want. Now, I'm sure you'll remind me that we do have rules and bosses and spouses to answer to...and you'd be right, for the most part. Tell, me...who is gonna stop me from coming home from work and having a glass of wine? Who will take my car keys and prevent me from going to Ulta and spending way more than is ever necessary in one shopping trip? Who among you has the balls to tell me not to eat that giant spoonful of peanut butter right out of the jar? Didn't think so. Beyond the basic adult list of "musts" like work, pay for shit, and clean up after yourself, there lies the entire world at your fingertips. How fucking great is that? Saturday comes along, I can hop in my car, throw the top down, and head wherever I'd like. Blasting the music I want to hear, singing at the top of my lungs, destination unknown. I don't have to ask for permission, keep a curfew, or call when I get there. Who has it better?

So, why don't we give birthdays the recognition they deserve. Pick up your phone and call someone having a birthday. Even a text is more personal than posting it on Facebook for everyone to see. Not that I don't enjoy seeing my timeline fill up with birthday wishes, but boy would I love to see my phone light up or my mailbox have cards bursting out of it. I don't think I'm asking for much. No one's life is so busy that they can't take out a minute or two to wish someone they supposedly care about a happy birthday. I know you would like to think your life is jam packed to the gills and you don't have a minute to breathe much less time to text me today. But, remember this. I would and will at the very least text you. Hell, you may even get a card from me. Do you deserve it knowing how you act on my birthday? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Would You Rather I Lie???

At this point, I'm starting to believe the world has become a little too sensitive a place for me. Everyone is offended by something. People can't just be. They look for shit about which to get upset. It's beyond political correctness, which is utter bullshit and I do not subscribe to that nonsense. Policeman, waitress...what's the big fucking deal? But it has gone miles past that. If I post on Facebook that it isn't a wailing wall and that if you had a problem so serious that you needed support, perhaps you should contact a friend rather than seeking virtual hugs from virtual strangers...and you should see yourself and become irreparably hurt, take a moment to think about why you do. It's not me you're mad at, it's you. You saw what an ass you are. But, in true 'Murican form, you get offended. You get butt hurt. Filled with righteous indignation, you launch a smear campaign against me right on my wall. Hmm. Who's the asshole here?

That's just one true example from my life this week. But people are so quick to become agitated over the littlest thing. If I say that I believe all children should be vaccinated before being admitted into schools, and you are a staunch anti-vaxxer...we disagree. To become angry at me for not sharing your belief is moronic. Feeling like I've attacked you personally is fucktarded. However, this is the state of the union as it exists today, January 31, 2015. Everyone feels personally attacked by honesty. I don't have to believe what you believe for us to coexist peacefully. That's a fact. You think that anyone who isn't like you is wrong and therefore, flies in the face of what is supposedly right in your little world, upsetting you enough to require a little extra anti-anxiety meds today. Why? Why is it so important that we all agree, that we all feel the same way about everything? And if we don't, which is normal as hell, why does is bother you so damned much?

"OMG, I saw Bitchface O'Toole's post today and I was so offended by her obvious distaste for ethnic food." You were offended? Please tell me how her food choices affect you directly. Right. You can't because they don't. The same holds true for most things you hear and read. Most of what goes on in the world doesn't affect you even slightly. My opinions shouldn't either. They are mine, and mine alone. I have to live with them. I have to deal with how my life rolls as a result of them. Sometimes, my life is unchanged by them. Crazy, right? Like, if I say that people who use derogatory terms for gay people are giant assholes, my life is exactly the same. Why? Because I don't use those terms, and so, I continue along my merry little way, untouched by those who do. Your behavior may irk me. I may even write about it, never naming you directly because I'm not ten years old, but in the long haul, it doesn't matter one fucking bit what you do. Unless you take it to my face or my house. It should be the same for you. Sadly, it is not.

Speaking your mind, it's a constitutional right. As long as you aren't shouting "FIRE" in a crowded theatre or threatening the President, you have a right to say what you are thinking. People who sugar coat the truth out of fear of hurting someone's delicate little feelings are just as bad as the person who can't take hearing the truth. It is what it is. It's about time we stop worrying and start living. Why lie constantly to shield others from reality? Is the real world that bad? Can we possibly have become a tad too soft in our old age? We were tougher back in our youth. We could dish it out as well as take it. And remain friends with that person! What the fuck happened? Forget about the fact that we are raising a generation of veals. Veals who can't handle life. Who have zero coping skills for disappointment. Life is generally not that hard. I'm not saying there aren't challenges along the way. But for the most part, we all go about our day-to-day without serious incident. So why can't you handle the truth? What changed from the time we were kids till now?

I'll tell you. You had your own kids and decided that the world sucked, was unfair, dangerous, and out to get you and your family. You got soft. I can't even look at you. Especially you, the people with whom I grew up. The kids I played with and went to school with are turning into paranoid, hypersensitive, easily offended, and self righteous ass wads. What happened to you? Why does everything bother you so much? Opinions are like assholes, remember? We all have them. Suddenly it's a bad thing to express one? We should keep everything bottled up inside, put on a fake-ass smile, and pretend to agree with everyone we meet? Oh, hell no. I refuse. I will not be forced to become a character in the movie that is my life. If you ask me if I think your skirt makes you look fat and you look like a Freak Show character, I'm going to tell you. Maybe not in those words, but I'm not going to lie. Why should I? That wouldn't make me a very good friend if I let you wander the streets looking like Two-Ton Tessie. Nor do I want to have to block every asshole on my Facebook feed because they may get an emotional owie from something I've said.

Grow the fuck up. It's not always about you. Not everything everyone says is a direct reflection of you and your life choices. As a matter of fact, most people, when expressing themselves on a variety of topics, aren't even thinking about you. You aren't that important. I'm sorry but it had to be said. However, I'm not sorry if your feelings are hurt. Reactions to life are a choice. We can't inflict emotion on anyone. You own those. Getting pissed off is something you choose to do, not something I make you. That's some serious food for thought. Don't go choking on it. Take small bites and really digest it. It may be your most important meal of the day. Stop being so goddamn sensitive. Stop thinking everything you hear and read is about you. Stop jumping to conclusions. Stop taking life so personally. You may want to edit yourself all day long and asphyxiate on your own bullshit, but I don't. And I won't. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Well, she IS an Only Child

How often I have heard that phrase and how often I've wanted to shank someone in the liver after hearing it. What exactly does that mean? Are only children some form of freakish abomination that can only be explained by uttering those words? Before you jump in and say, "Hey, you have a brother, you've mentioned him!" That is true. But we only became aware of each other a couple of years ago. Long story and not applicable to my point here. I was raised an only child, that is the life I knew and to which I am referring. I loved my only child-ness and wouldn't have changed it for all the money in the world, I don't deny that one bit. Did I get all of my parents' attention without having to compete with a sibling? You bet your sweet ass I did. Does that make me a special brand of evil? Um, no. It makes me honest. Which is something I am finding seems to offend a great many people. Interesting. You'd rather I sugar coat the truth and flat out lie to you? Crap, I'm veering off on a tangent which will be discussed at a later date. Back to the issue at hand. Having fond memories of being the top priority in my parents' lives, of being the one and only little person in the house to whom they paid attention, and the only recipient of the majority of the gifts under the Christmas tree doesn't make me a bad person. That was my reality, my life.

But does being an only child make you all the things that people are saying? Let's look at the rumors. We are selfish. And what evidence do you have to substantiate this? Do you think we never learned to share? I've got news for you, since we had to play with other children to whom we were not related and couldn't get away with being greedy pricks with, we learned early on how NOT to be selfish. We didn't come with built in playmates. We had to venture outside the house for companions. We had to behave appropriately if we wanted to be invited back. We wanted so badly to be liked, we'd have shared our kidneys if it meant having a friend with whom to play on a regular basis like our counterparts with siblings. No kidding. When all you have is yourself and adults on the daily, you crave other children like you crave oxygen.

Only children are bossy and aggressive. Based on what? I don't recall ever getting a note sent home or a phone call being made to my mother telling her I've been a bitch to other children or started fights in the school yard. Not that I didn't get into my share, but that's another story...and certainly not started by ME. Being smart can make you bossy because you have a fountain of knowledge not available to most other humans. It's not the fact that you don't have a brother or sister at home that causes you to be assertive with others. It's intelligence and confidence. But aggressive? Seriously. That's learned when you have to fight for every toy in your room and for your mommy's attention. Not because you DON'T have to do that. Aggression can also be something chemical, which is not the issue we are discussing. The nature of the beast of the only child is to be someone who will bend to the situation, who will adapt and enjoy the adaptation because it means we've been accepted.

We are spoiled. I love that one in particular. If only you could have been a fly on the wall in my house to see how absolutely untrue that statement is. They never hear the word NO. That is so funny to me. In fact, I think I have tears streaming down my leg at the very thought. If anyone heard that word so much that they've learned to expect it, even now, it's me. There was no way in hell I was getting everything I asked for and no way I'd even ask for that much knowing the reaction I could get. When I see how many toys and electronics kids today have, kids with siblings, I have to laugh. That was not my house growing up. A play room, what the fuck is that? I had my bedroom. It housed my bed, my dresser, my desk, my bookcase, two night tables...where would all those supposed toys go? I grew up in a two bedroom apartment over a store, not in a giant house with a play room, backyard, and an IPad. Not that they existed, but I wouldn't have had one. I had a manual typewriter.

These children have imaginary friends. Who didn't? I know plenty of people who had siblings who also had some serious made up house inhabitants. If your sister was a bitch, I would think you'd make up a better one to play with on some occasions. If your brother bullied you, wouldn't you make up a great, fun, and kind brother to play with? Not that I would know for sure, I'm just considering the likelihood. Imaginary friends are not created solely out of being lonely. Some are created to take the heat for being a brat. Some are there to listen to the yelling when you can't anymore. Some take beatings for you. Being an only child is NOT the sole reason for having an imaginary friend or two. And it certainly isn't limited to only children.

We are dependent, needy. What the fuck? Who tells you this? That kind of behavior comes from having everything done for you. From having someone speak for you, help you do what you clearly can do for yourself, who fends for you long after you no longer need it. Hmm, sounds like someone with an older sibling. Only children don't have that luxury. We grow up in houses filled with adults. We have to keep up or shut up. We have to learn early on to do it ourselves since there is no other child to learn from or do it for us. Everything we learn and do is because we've watched an adult and done our own version on the theme. No one did it for us. I see siblings speaking for younger brothers and sisters, not allowing them to voice their opinions in their own way. Putting on jackets for a sister who can clearly do it herself but won't complain because why not have a servant? Or on the other end, who will get fiercely pissed off because she can and wants to, dammit!

Another doozy is that we mature too quickly. This is a bad thing? Please explain because I am trying my hardest to see that point of view but I can't shove my head that far up my ass. Being around adults more than children as an only child helps kids develop adult speech patterns, adult behaviors, and superior reasoning skills that benefit a child now and later on in school and in life. So many children do not develop the maturity and coping skills needed to become functional adults these days, and being an only child is actually a distinct advantage over the children with  siblings. We grew up hanging around with the grown ups and being engaged in far more interesting conversations than, "He took my car, Mooooommmm, he took my caaarrrr!" There were expectations regarding proper behavior, manners, speaking in turn, and keeping up your end of the conversation. Bad traits? I think not.

We are anti-social and couldn't care less about the feelings of others. Do you really believe that? Far from being anti-social, we do love the company of others, but we don't NEED it. We've been self-reliant our whole lives. We deal with shit on our own. It's not a reflection on you. We are just really prepared for dealing with life and don't like whining on someone else's shoulders about every little thing. We like you just fine, but as adults, we also have a great relationship with ourselves and can function without someone else attached to our hip all day long. Related to this is the thought that because of that, we also don't care about you. Even further from the truth, we do care enough about you to not argue with you. We know you can't handle the confrontation and will be butt hurt for an unreal length of time over a simple disagreement. Our early maturity and advanced coping skills have taught us that people are people and we aren't always going to agree, so just cut bait and move on. We know you can't. It's called being sensitive to your feelings.

Now that I've debunked all the bullshit you've been brainwashed to believe about only children, it's time to stop perpetuating these fucking stereotypes. Stop attributing every negative thought you have about our current behavior, decisions, way of speaking, manner of dress, career choices, marital status, or parenting style to our having being raised as an only child. That is only a small part of who we are and certainly not a bad character trait. We are sick and tired of hearing that everything we do is because we didn't have a sibling growing up. Do we attribute your neediness, hypersensitivity, inability to make decisions on your own, passive/aggressive behavior on having had siblings in your house? No, we call a spade, a spade. If you are an asshole, it's because you are an asshole, not because you are an older brother. No more snap judgments based on our birth order. Let's agree to judge each other on more important things, like the car you drive or the purse you carry. Think I'm not serious? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

When Did the Oldies Station Start Playing MY Music?

On a recent trip back home to NY, I made a startling discovery. Yes, I said back home. California may be where I live, but NY will always be home to me. But I digress. Something horrifying happened in the car and I still can barely think about it, much less talk about it. Flipping through all the stations of my youth, searching for some good car music, I happened upon some fine tunes from the 80s. Perfect for cruising through Queens on a freezing winter's day, I left it on and began singing along as I am known for doing. In that moment, I was transported back to my youth. I was a teenager, driving around with friends, singing and laughing, not a care in the world. A drama nerd enjoying life, not minding the numbing cold, and wondering where to go next. There I was seat-dancing and having a grand old time. Little did I know the emphasis would be on the word OLD. Partying like a rock star as each song came on, I was rudely interrupted by the voice of a DJ. The voice of pure evil. Telling me that the station I landed on...the station I was grooving out to...was CBS 101. For those of you who aren't from NY, let me explain further. CBS 101 isn't the cool kids station. It isn't even the soft rock station. It's the fucking OLDIES station. The station we all listened to on car rides with our dads back in the day.

The beginning of self-realization, your own mortality, the truth about one's age...it should not happen this way. Not in the car, not on vacation, not at Christmas. But really, when IS a good time? In the shower while shaving and noticing a varicose vein or two have snaked their way across the back of your knee, the spot you always miss while shaving but not this freaking time? While brushing your teeth and glancing in the mirror at the once taut neck you loved and seeing the start of actual chicken neck? Perhaps looking down at your hands and seeing your mother's? No, there is no good time for this to happen. It's a fucking nightmare. I know I am not speaking only for myself when I say that on any normal day, I still feel like I am in my 20s. I can actually trick myself into believing it. I don't act old, I don't dress old, I have energy (most of the time), and if I'm not wearing my progressives, I look fairly young in the mirror from an appropriate distance. So, when did this transformation occur? When did I become middle aged? Who moved my fucking cheese? I mean it. I'm lacking the full understanding of the time lapse and the turning into my mother thing. There's no warning, no preparation, no guide book to give you the actual time frame. What the fuck?

Oldies. Seriously. When you hear the word, does Duran Duran come to mind or do the Platters? Come on, age yourself. Tell the truth. Never in my life did I think the stuff I listened to in high school would become the genre for the "dad" station. However, being a total nerd and doing the mental math only serves to prove that the same amount of years exist between my high school music and now that do between my parents high school music and the time it was on CBS 101. That's right. Somewhere between 25-28 years. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday that I was a carefree teenager. The memories are still fresh in my mind. The friends, the homework, the laughter, the songs that punctuated every moment. Wearing leggings, three shirts layered perfectly, black rubber bracelets, and singing Madonna songs with friends till the wee hours. Wasn't that just last week? Did I miss the memo? The one that says I must grow up and grow old? Yet, I am fully aware that my own daughter is now 19...19 1/2 if we are being specific, and in the throes of the youth I am now missing. She is that girl I used to be.

The question I ask myself now is would I want to be a teenager now? In 2015? Hell, no. I am grateful to have been a teen in the 80s. The era of excess and Boy George. The days of The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Wham!, Band Aid, Hands Across America, fingerless lace gloves, Garfield, and drinking the most disgusting drink of the time, Tab. Yes, I am a product of the Eighties, the best generation to come across the US. Proud of it. Wouldn't change a thing. Well, maybe one thing. I'd have them come back along with my thick hair, perfect vision, tight skin, and true youth. Not this thing I have falsely imagined still existed. Bring it back along with the feeling of being able to conquer anything, change the world, and do it all with "Bizarre Love Triangle" playing in the background. Am I as young as I think? No. Do I still feel as young as I think I am? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Deck My Balls

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Silver Balls

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Fantastic Kwaanza! It's been way too long since I've shared my musical stylings with you and I know you've been craving some holiday tunes. Let's start with a Christmas classic:

Silver Balls

Geriatric older fellows
Dressed in baggy plaid pants
In their drawers
There's something that's

dangling.
Children laughing
People pointing
Testes swing to and fro
And from every street corner you'll see

Silver balls, silver balls
Geriatric sex in the city
dangling, see them swing
soon they will be on the ground.

Sexy old broads,
Even young chicks
check out his stretchy junk.
As his nuts do a dance in his trousers

See them bobbing,
See them bouncing
Like great big gray balloons
He's the stud of his rest home,
my dear.
Silver balls, silver balls
Please show him your saggy titties.
Jiggle them, wiggle them
Soon he will be in his grave!

Holiday Letters: What I'd Really Love to See in My Mailbox!

Since I've had the opportunity to share with you my version of the shit that I find in my mailbox every holiday season, I wanted the chance to give you an idea of what I'd prefer to see. I've thought long and hard about this, I've had years to contemplate it. Really, it's quite simple. Tell the truth. I hate the sugar-coated, ultra-padded, decorated with glitter version of anything. The real deal is always more entertaining...at least to me. I'd hope it would be for you, as well. Not that I care. Without further fumpfering around, here's my Christmas wish. A holiday letter I actually want to read!

Dear Person I Don't Talk to All Year Long But Feel the Need to Share Shit with Now That It's Christmas,

The Batshitcrazi Family has had a rollercoaster of a fucking year! Where to begin? Well, I suppose I'll tell you about my darling hubby. Joey lost his job, again. Been out of work for over 8 months and he's slowly driving me out of my fucking head. Thank God I have two jobs so I don't have to be home to watch him sitting on the couch, scratching his balls, and watching cartoons. He has perfected the art of farting to music, so I guess he can add that to his resume. Should get him a good-paying job real quick! He still doesn't take out the garbage or flush the toilet after he pisses all over the seat. I told him he should use this time to practice clean bathroom habits...like actually peeing into the toilet. I even bought him the little targets you get for boys who are potty training. He's having way too much fun! I think celebrating by peeing on the wall is taking it a step too far, but he says I'm being a tight ass. Why bother talking?

Joey, Jr. has had a fantastic year so far in school. Only 9 detentions and 6 notes home. I've only visited the principal TWICE! Such a good boy. He's learning so much. Like how to cheat on tests without getting caught; how to "borrow" someone else's homework; bullying kids who won't tattle; and my personal favorite, stealing really cool stuff from the backpacks of unsuspecting young schmucks. My boy! At least there wasn't the threat of Juvie this year. No cops at the door. No phone calls from irate parents. I'd say Joey is growing up to be a fine man, just like dear old dad.

Rosemarie is my pride and joy. Not the sharpest tack in the box, but so freaking beautiful. I told her to marry well, it's just as easy to love a rich man as it is to love a poor one. It's also smarter. I guess I'm a fucking moron. Anyway, Ro is blossoming into a fine young lady. The boys are falling all over themselves trying to date her. Joey, Sr. sits there in his wife-beater and sweats when they come over attempting to look tough to scare them. He's just a breathing "Stay in School" advertisement. Meh, who listens? Rosemarie is considering beauty school after she graduates high school. We think it would suit her perfectly, and think of the free haircuts! A little selfish, but these little brats owe us. The sacrifices I make for her to have her nails done and hair straightened...I could look like a model, but who'd notice in this house?

Thank God Nonna likes the new home she's in. The last two were a nightmare...for us. These places should be like maximum security prisons, the old people are expert escape artists. Especially Nonna Fortunata. This woman could have walked out the front door of San Quentin and waved goodbye to the guards. What a pain in my ass this woman is. Do you have any idea what it's like to get a call at 2:30 in the morning telling you that your grandma got out again, but don't worry, we found her at her favorite watering hole??? It's a good thing she likes to booze it up, makes her so much easier to find. This new place really makes her happy. She says the food isn't poison and the male nurses are so nice to her. Translated, that means they give good sponge baths. What a dirty old lady! So embarrassing, but she says at her age, you have to take the action wherever you can get it. OY! Do you know how hard it is to visit her there? I have to wear dark sunglasses so nobody recognizes me. A curse on me that I look just like that woman.

My days are filled to rim with work. Mornings at Walmart and afternoons at Dollar Tree. By the time I get home, all I want to do is grab that bottle of Two Buck Chuck and a straw. But, I don't. Everyone needs something from me. I'd swear they were all mentally challenged and helpless. Change the goddamn channel yourself! You'd think I taught them nothing. Joey, Sr. is a product of his own mother's fuck ups. Don't tell her I told you this, but she spoiled the shit out of all her kids. Is it any wonder they are like this now? I tell you, she is the cause of all my problems. I could be a stay-a-home mom if she taught him that actually keeping a job is a good thing! That woman makes me want to pull my hair out. God forbid I say anything negative about her to Joey. You'd think I pulled his heart out with a dull spoon through his mouth. Big baby, that's what he is.

Here's to a great holiday season and wishing you and yours a fantastic New Year! Good luck to all of us in 2015, I know we'll need it.

Love ya!
Antonella Marie and the Batshitcrazi Tribe

Take this as a guide for writing the perfect holiday letter. One that everyone on your list will anxiously await and read over and over again. I'll be checking my mailbox...maybe I'll even share it here, if you're lucky. That's a fucking joke. I'll just read it on the phone to my friends. Share it? Are you friggin kidding me right now???