Marrying George Clooney

I am not shocked that her name is amy … not one bit that a woman named amy (bishop) shot and killed three people in alabama.

and i am aware. fully, that she had already shot and killed her brother way back when and AND there is some talk about pipe bombs and college, and being somewhat on the defensive a great deal of the time. i get it. i am not at all condoning any or all…

i’m just sayin’

i for one believe she was menopausal (either peri or full on meno), and i for one can relate to waking up one morning, looking out at the gorgeous sun and the beautiful sky and the stunning landscape and walking into my sun drenched kitchen and pouring myself a cup of fabulous coffee (with just a hint of sweet n’ low) and walking into my large, uncluttered closet and picking out a pair of perfectly pressed black slacks and a crisp white shirt with just enough collar to hide the first signs of turkey neck, and putting on a pair of louboutin flats, and getting into my car, and smiling at the crosswalk guard, and waving to all the sweet and kind neighbors, and listening to laura nyro, and singing along …. emily and her love to be her love to be carved in the heart of a berry tree, and parking my car in the university parking lot (BUT not for tenure professors, that’s a special parking lot… because… well, i wasn’t given tenure.) and going into the university and smiling at the lovely young “they have their whole life ahead of them” students and then
whipping out MY SEMI-AUTOMATIC THAT i KEPT IN MY PRADA SHOULDER BAG RIGHT NEXT TO MY CHANEL NUMBER “11” LIPSTICK, WHICH, BY THE WAY THE SHADE IS CALLED “SURPRISE”

and…

I WOULD START SHOOTING AWAY. and when i finally had enough cramps in my arm and shoulder blade, I would put the weapon down, and wish i had taken more yoga classes.

there are days i feel exactly the same way.

i am not shocked her name is amy.