Fifty Years From Now...
I kinda want to change my AIM name to Crazy Cat Lady. Just because it seems so fitting. I am so going to be one of those crazy old broads who lives to a ripe old age and collects cats like other people collect stamps, and goes quietly insane while holing up in my study drinking sherry and writing the fucked-up memoirs of my youth. One day, my neighbors will start to complain about the horrible stench arising from my house. The police will break open my door, like in that episode of Six Feet Under, or maybe it was CSI, and discover my body, long since deceased, somewhat gnawed on by my cats. Maybe the soundtrack to Encino Man will be playing in the background, just because that would amuse me.