Reach for the Stars. No, not those ones. These ones down here.

They say if you work really hard at something, and want it badly enough, you can achieve anything you put your mind to. Do I ever have a fucking bone to pick with that asshole. Seriously, if I wasn't wrapped up so tight and cozy in my Snuggie right now, he'd have a flaming bag of dog shit on his door step. I'm pretty sure Wikipedia has his address. I'd probably put a flaming bag of shit on the door step of the guy who invented Snuggies too, just for good measure. What a stupid invention that was. Now, a remote boat on the other hand, that's a different story. That guy; now that guy would get a bag of kittens on his door step. Kittens playing with yarn, all soft and fluffy, bright blue eyed, and on fire.

Do “they” think if I worked really hard, I could be an astronaut? No, “they”, I could not. There are multiple cons to being an astronaut. First, I get car sick. And I have a small hunch that it might be a little more intense when going into space. Second, the space suit would definitely not flatter my figure. And white just really isn't my colour. It makes me look washed out, ya know? And third, most importantly, I would complain about the food in tubes and to be honest, I'm just really not a big fan of Tang. So “they”; for your information, I could NOT be an astronaut.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot become the following things:

- a successful black man (I am not black, nor am I a man)

- a pro basketball player (I am not black, nor am I a man)

- Oprah's best friend (I am not black, nor am I a lesbian)

- French (I'm not actually trying to become French. Let's face it, even the French don't want to be French.)

- less offensive (for obvious reasons)

- the 4^th member of Wilson Phillips (when I heard they were back together, I sent in my audition tape. No word yet. It doesn't feel promising.)

- smart (Wait... What were we talking about? You're making fun of me, aren't you?)

- addicted to heroin (I haven't actually tried that before, but I think I could give it the old college try.)

When I was a kid, instead of all of this 'reach for the stars' bull log, I wish someone was straight up with me and said "Listen Chels. You are off the wall strange, you make people uncomfortable with the offbeat things you say, you're 10 years old and you can't figure out how to multiply and for the love of God, you wear a fucking turtleneck every day of your life." Maybe not Prime Minister material.
 

I was thinking of something more along the lines of a Walmart greeter, or scooping ice cream at Dairy Delite. Oh, nope, bees. I can't deal with bees. I guess we can cross that off the list too. Goddammit, “they”. If I ever get a hold of this “they” character, not only will he have poop on his door step, but I will also drink the rest of his milk.