This happened weeks ago and I meant to post it. The Womb Bear told me who Barack's running mate will be. I want it on record that my WB is psychic, in case it comes true. Wait for it ...
Colin Powell.
I swear I'm not nuts. Sleep deprived, yes, but not nuts. It's just that this contraption talks to me. Hell, my breast pump talked to my sister Tara while she was here. It said to her: "Etiquette. Etiquette."
All messages from inanimate objects must be taken seriously. So I'm sure Tara is perusing Miss Manners columns as we speak. I personally prefer Dear Prudence, but that's just me.
New pictures TK before the week is up. And guess what? Jerry and I have a baby sitter Saturday night and have a wedding to go to, at which I'm almost certain there will be an open bar. Cha-ching! I see a shower, tooth brushing, heels, make-up and stumbling in my future!
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