Our house will be a very, very, very fine house

I have lots and lots and lots of women friends and cousins and we love to sit around and eat and drink and gossip and say gross, disgusting, vulgar things all while trying to save the world. Occasionally, we talk about what will happen when, inevitably, our children or husbands or doctors look at us and say, "Dammit woman! That's it!! You've microwaved your last cat. To the home with you!"

Most of us agree that we're actually looking forward to the time when we’re all in the same “home” together. I was telling somebody that the other day. I said that all of my girlfriends and I plan to live in the same home when we get too old to take care of ourselves.

They said, “I hope it’s a big house.”

I said, “Not same HOUSE, same HOME. Big difference.”

A few notes to anyone who plans and builds future "homes" for women like us:

• We'll play bingo, if you insist, but we also want slot machines and blackjack.
• We want current music playing on the surround sound system along with the classic rock.
• High speed internet connections are a must.
• We'll drink our prune juice but we want a nice Chianti on pasta night and margaritas every Friday.
• If we want to make a bong out of our of our empty insulin syringes and Fosamax bottles during arts and crafts time, don't give us any shit.