betend

I've always been big on pretending (or betending, as most people under the age of four call it--a much more apt term, actually). Anyway, I'm coming out with it now:

I still betend.

When I clean lipstick out of the rug (don't ask) it's actually blood. Got to destroy the evidence, you know. At the mall I hunt around for posts to hide behind--good solid posts to deflect flying bullets. The guy in black over there is a hit man. He thinks I don't know who he is, but I can see him watching me. That waitress sliding that guy a bill is actually staging a drop--one I'm supposed to intercept. I actually do have an aversion to keeping my back to the room, and no, it's not because I'm self-conscious of my ass in these jeans. I have a compulsion to watch and wonder.

The line between crazy and creative is thin, indeed.

In other news, those fuckers cancelled the Black Donnellys. OK, so the last three episodes were similar--Tommy finding money to save his stupid brothers. But it was good. And the boys were cute, but not unbelievably cute--not stupid cute, you know?? Grrr.