cold as ice

Yesterday we were leaving a matinee of Slither, and I stopped to put on my sunglasses. I was just rezipping my purse when G suddenly hissed, "Shannen Doherty is coming up the stairs!"

"What? Are you sure?" I asked, and sure enough, Ms. Brenda Walsh herself was stalking towards us. There was no mistake about it, because I looked her right in the eye---both the normal one and the squinky one---and I'm telling you, I have never gotten a look like that from a total stranger. If I'd been a man, my balls would have shriveled up and crawled into my bodily cavity for protection. I swear, that bitch's gaze could freeze water.

Man, I had no idea she hung around these wealthy but sedate parts. I still have an anti-Shannen 'zine called "I Hate Brenda" from way back when, and I'm thinking I might have to carry it around in case of future sightings. If I got up the courage, I could ask her to sign it and sell it on eBay for a tidy profit.

...hmmm, then again, maybe not. I have the feeling she'd reach into my chest cavity with her French manicured claws and rip my still-beating heart out. I mean, we ARE talking about someone who told her first husband (Ashley Hamilton, George's kid) she was going to have him raped.

Oh, Shannen. Cheer up, emo kid!