Green Winged Leech of Madness Bringing Active!

I got utterly trashed on illicit weapons-grade vicodin and beer the other day and it did me a world of good. I had a great time all afternoon long, and then went to have a fantastic nights' sleep. I woke without a hangover and I feel like a million bucks. Yes, kids, drugs are fun! Do some today!
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This may come as good news to some of you...it sure came as a complete suprise to me.
Middle age has given me back the exact same libido I had during puberty.
Oh yeah.
Yes, as my former fecundity sinks slowly into the west and I bid farewell to the HMS Menopause, I turn to face my husband of twenty years, and find him VERY GOOD INDEED.
Frequently.
As in 'call first; don't just drop by'.

Being ecumenical, I also find I have a renewed appreciation for such things as the truly spectacular rack on the little meadow blossom who works at the Pay-N-Run.
Just sayin'.

This, then, is middle age, ladies and gentlemen. It's like thirteen, only with more money, a somewhat greater understanding of how society operates* and a drivers' license.

It ain't bad.
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The following is probably karma back at me for not buying locally, and so I humbly apologize to the universe and promise forevermore to let not my home improvement dollars wander any further than the Lynden Do-It Center (and not just because the name makes me snicker like a tard).

So we go in to town and hit Home Depot to buy some paint. Now Home Depot is kind of the B-list chain hardware outlet, so they dont' get the pick of the litter employee-wise. The hippobottomous behind the paint counter was a new low...flumping, sighing, rolling her eyes heavenward, sweating grapefruit and flicking attitude like a twelve year old girl. 'What? Huh? Duh?" she sneered at a customer who was insulting her by attempting to buy paint. She emphasized this by waving her hands about vaguely in midair to signify her complete inability to understand what poor Paint Customer was driving at as he meekly repeated 'I want a gallon of white paint, please...?" (or possibly she was shooing flies attracted by her shitty customer service skills.) Meanwhile her manager wrung his hands and paced and pretended to consult catalogues, wandered around like a lost puppy, followed a customer halfway down the aisle, and then turned away to follow another customer halfway down another aisle...fuck, it was painful.
We walked.
And the lame wad followed me! Shouting "Miss? Miss? Miss? Miss?"
I turned and looked at him, whereupon he turned to my HUSBAND (oh, he was racking up the points, I tell ya) and asked "Miss, is something wrong?"

Miss.

Well, yes, quite a bit was wrong by that point.
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A few days ago my Yummy Biker arrived home from work and announced 'I have a present for you!'
"OO! Whadja get me? Whadja get me?" I was bouncing around the kitchen like a small exciteable dog. "What is it? What is it?"
He pulled a huge, heavy rusted bolt from his lunchbox...a bolt that had been some time immersed in seawater, bizarre and corroded, complete with hexnut still attached to one end. He held it out proudly.
"Look!" he said. "It's a severed robot penis!"
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*In my case this also includes the same utter disregard for the rules of society as I had when I was 13, but a greater knowlege of flammable materials.