one a.m. and i'm cold again
If ever a bit of reading made me want to laugh myself into an uproar, give a bear hug, and make a batch of cookies for the writer, it's this. Honey, I can't believe you're not already happily raising nine children with a canonized, PhD-bearing supermodel.
Guess what? I went out to one of the best sushi restaurants in town...and had not one bite of albacore. Leaving the restaurant, I felt like a stoner right after a chaste sprint through a vast field of budding ganja. It suffices to say: that fish, it may not own me.
But oh, do I want it.
The second box of goodies arrived for the Cowboys & Indians party: some extra straw cowboy hats, gingham tablecloths ("I don't even know what gingham is, but she goes through about 10 rolls a week of that stuff."), enough clip-on sheriff badges to start a goodly row, and a couple dozen cowboy-attired rubber ducks. My outfit - I think I'll call my character 'Little Runs With Scissors' - came yesterday. It's a hoot and a half, I tell you. One and one half's worth of hoot, give or take a quarter-giggle.
In my dreams, I've seen it all. But y'know what? I still haven't seen Fucking Fiji - and I'd love to see you standing in a crowd like a tree in moving water. Could be fun.