For the third and final time I tried to help My Mother find a video clip of Julia Child baking something.  We stumbled onto a different recipe and we both thought that meant that there are clips of her doing every single recipe on the Internet.  That isn't the case -- and I spent a good hour waiting between hiccups by my disgraceful modem to search everywhere for it and finally declare an end to this fruitless search.  That put me at too late an hour to check out the community center in Shoreview to exercise.

I want to do right for My Mother, for both my parents actually, but they keep asking me to do the impossible.  It's like ripping a CD to use as a ringtone for Mother -- yeah, I said yes because I thought you could do it, but once I tried doing it it's easier said than done.  I don't know, OK?  And Father, I thought you were the one who knew how to hook up a VCR to a TV in order to record a show.  Is a converter box going to fuck everything up?  Don't ask me, I don't know.  You're the electronics genius, I'm not.  You fucking told me I'm not, asshole, many fucking times.

And to top it all off My Fucking Father told me to clean the furniture and gave me an ultimatum on either keeping or dumping all my papers.  Don't fucking come down on me luck that, goddamn you!!!