Oh, me? I feel tired and in near-desperate need of a vacation. I’ve been dragging myself through the last two or three or seven days or so. I’ve been having very enlightening and necessary but also draining conversations with my friend in Harlem. I’ve been preparing for a trip to San Diego/Portland which may or [...]
...read more hereI ate my sandwich in front of the museum’s fountain. There were small children standing near the fountain. They’re not allowed to go in. It’s one of those fountains with many spouts that shoot off in sequence to make patterns. The children all screamed with delight when the fountain shot water high into the air, and then crouched in anticipation when the fountain waters were low. I poured a shot of alcohol into a Stewart’s root beer.
Ever go to a modern art museum tipsy?
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I came back with some cheap vodka. A one-dollar shot. Yes, in the middle of the day.
“It was this or cyanide,” I explained, pouring the contents into my coffee.
I want you to drink me up slowly like a margarita
I want to intoxicate you straight through to
the other side of your opaqueness.
The band leader from the Sunday night band was there, and I’m convinced that he was drunk when I got there. I was told he’d only had two beers, but he’s not a heavy eater so that might have been enough. He kept trying to dance with me. I’m not sure why nobody ever believes when I say I can’t dance.
...read more hereSo… today is my friend in Harlem’s birthday. This of course confirms the suspicions that I’ve heard you all whispering in the peanut gallery: My friend in Harlem is indeed the same person as XmasDolly’s husband. (Click here for sound effect) Actually, it’s been a pretty cool day. Last year was… um… disastrous. Oodles of [...]
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What annoys me is that I was planning anything. I don’t want to admit that I tried. I wish I could say that I didn’t. I wish I could say that I meant it that way. [...] I know that if she reads this, she will cringe, and I’d like to say that it was my intention to make her cringe. There would be honor in that at least…
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I celebrate my non-conformity and insubordination. (I heard those two words quite a bit in high school; the former from my peers and the latter from the dean.) I celebrate the fact that I’m not dead yet despite my best efforts. I celebrate the Rite of Spring, and the fact that it gets warmer every year after the winter is over.
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I’ve never done one of Mama’s writing prompts before, and frankly I don’t know why I haven’t. But today I’m going to… so let’s see what we’ve got for today…
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For some reason, the thought of the old man cold-sweating and pacing frantically in a jail cell, albeit only for one night, is just not that funny to me. In fact, it’s a thought that makes me want to stop thinking about it.
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