First spiders in our ears, now prozac in our water. I’d like to add that there are also ants in the guest house, and I’m not talking about my mother’s sisters. Obviously the world is ending.
(Still, the Times published my letter. But M. was there first.)
I thought they were supposed to tell me when they used my letter. (A., click on the link. Scroll down.) I had to Google myself! Good God, who knows where else I’ve been published, is nothing sacred anymore?
Mine is fourth one down, best for last. Though they cut my first line, “Has ‘green’ jumped the shark?” Changes everything.
So it’s Monday and on Mondays A&E replays its Wednesday night Sopranos. They’re in season one, I think, maybe two, and I’ve seen all these shows already, but with the curse words. Doesn’t matter. I stay up on Monday to re-watch Wednesday, which I’ve already seen, and then I can’t go to sleep. Ralphie killed his girlfriend tonight and then Tony beat him up. They express themselves, these boys, I like that.
Don’t mess with me. Right now.
I’m drinking a coffee called “Wild Blueberry”. Damn you, A. Ha, ha, just kidding. I told him, I insisted, “No go ahead, really. You take the last Extra Bold Sumatran Reserve.” Then I watched, incredulous, as he took it and cursed him. It’s 6:15.
This is creeping me out. I have the kids in earmuffs. I may get them surgically attached.
Saturday I had a dinner. It was fun and outside under the grape vines, with wine and cigarettes at the end, so devil-may-care. There were good one-liners, political jokes, and everyone had a road rage story and/or bad episode of religion. Top that off with Marcie’s rhubarb pie and you’ve got a night.
Leanne had pictures from Venezia, Gregg had an art idea for the front room, Steve declared us nuts and Betty brought a pile of stories (it’s all I asked.) I wish they’d stayed forever. Larry left his sugar-free candy bars, I’m holding them hostage.
Next up: Red Tuesday on Tuesday. It’s open, you’re all invited. First Tuesday of the month (though this month, second) Jean-Jacques grills great big huge burgers and we eat them with great big huge red wines plus an all-star cast.
Life is good. Lose your marbles.
(We will miss you dearly, Bill. 1928-2007)
Tomorrow is Kelly Van Blokland’s birthday. Send money and birthday poems here.
In other news, folks are fed up with the mayor. Scroll down past the poor small-town liberal railing against bigotry. (You can hear the Friday night Bud Jackson’s crowd guffawing in the background.)
Also, in 2001 the City of Connell contracted for the installation of two wastewater lift stations.
This is the sort of information that gets sent to me. If you think you have better, pony up.
Planning my Cinco of May menu. Come out and drink margaritas. This means you, Gerry Stairet! Cha cha cha.
Happy weekend, etc.
So Lisa Austin made lunch and I totally spaced out and came home to Mac after Gianna got out of school. It’s because I was thinking about a harp, how to make a harp and a beanstalk, and plus I had just had my roots colored and I’m not eating my goji berries.
More to come.
As soon as Eric sends me muffins and M. makes martinis.
