It's true; don't question.
What a glorious fucking day it was, though.
It was nearly 60 degrees outside,
and I had a late lunch with my best(est) friend,
Wine included.
The food was exquisite, too.
And did I mention the dry, marvelous taste/smell of the wine?
Mm....well, I should have, if I didn't.
Did I?
Yeah.
I did.
Better yet, my kids played nicely (read: far away on some distant floor, in some distant room) while I baked all the cookie dough I had made earlier.
One batch Chocolate chip Coconut, one batch "The Best Sugar Cookies"(ever).
They are giant and fluffy and make my loins burn with desire to be more skilled at cookie decoration.
For they do deserve it, oh yes.
They are sort of like the Me of cookies...
Yeah, they're that good.
heh.
It's ok: I'm only pretending to have an ego.
Because it cracks me up.
In fact, I've gotten so lardish in my old age that I can't even fit in one seat of an airplane.
well...not if I'm trying to lie down, comfortably....
My trainer offered me a spanking for missing a couple of workouts, speaking of my battle against lard, and I was struck mostly by the incongruity of my reaction.
A sweet and simple, "I know, I had sick kids; I'm sorry."
What the fuck??
I just realized that I do still know how to behave myself.
It's rather humbling.
(and frightening...)
I also called my tits "protrusions".
Oh yes.
I DID.
As I pulled a cable from my right side across my body with my left arm,
he told me it would be ok if I bent my arm a little, because:
"You have..uh..."
"Protrusions?"
"(chuckle) Yeah...protrusions."
He and I?
We don't quite know what to make of each other, I think.
I mumble a lot.
And giggle when I suck.
Er...
not that kind of sucking.
That is entirely out of the question.
Vows, etc.
Not that I'm saying I would want to.
But.
Butt.
Butte.
I fucking heard from Whitey himself last night, by the way!
Blew my fucking mind.
That kid (he's ten days younger than me, so I'm entitled.) writes like a steamroller.
I mean, shit.
His words don't so much flow, as rush--
like the Mississississippppppi (fuck, I love that word!)
or the Rio Grande.
in the spring.
And my brain is the river bed, the rocks, the sand, the little fishies.
Yeah, he's that good.
(and I have split personalities, apparently.)
Cold, hard reality in technicolor.
If that little fucker (he's tall...what the hell is the matter with me??) doesn't publish hisself a book, I swear I'm gonna do it for him.
Go.
Read.
Right or wrong, he's a solid wordsmith.
Solid.
My nose ring smells funny.
Which strikes my elbow with a dull ringing ache...
Dude on the radio today: happy new year, helen.
Helen, the DJ: Are you an atheist?
Dude: naw, I'm a pisces.
(he was as serious as that heart attack I'll probably have from all the lard...in my ass....oh, wait...my heart's not in my ass. And neither is the lard. I keep it in a jar by my bed. Yes, for kinky purposes, nosy neighbor.)
Anyway, it made my day.
Hey, it was early...
The wine and the conversation and the cookie decorating with one of my very cutest nieces were the things that really made my day.
I got so gyped by not getting a daughter.
I'm still more than a little pissed about that.
Ok, I think I'll go finish watching Arrested Development and see if I can talk my husband into an ammendment to my list of celebrities I get to shag silly if I meet them.
Always one step behind, goddammit.
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