Well, you can stop worrying. You wouldn't believe what I've been doing for the past six hours. I've been wading through the "design" blogs by wealthy housewives. O.M.G. They've all been scouring flea markets and junktique shops and reading the Crate&Barrel catalog on the john. Utterly pathetic. I don't know how many thousands I have paged through and couldn't even find one good enough to link.
Fussy. NO composition. Every last one of them makes sickening blather whenever hubby must go out of town, like they think he's going to check from the road, while they're fucking the gardener and snapping half-wilted flowers draped over the edges of their beds with their free hand. Like I said: O.M.G. I need my head examined.
Nobody's dying at our hands.
Nobody's been facing-down stormtroopers.
Nobody's sick on the Redneck Riviera.
Nobody's being tortured by our puppets.
Did I mention that each of them is so disgustingly sweet I have barfed any number of times? O.M.G. They are all one no-talent airhead. I'm not kidding. Horrific. Horrific. Horrific. People who are unfailingly darling over crap, total, soulless crap, are the most evil of all.