Back in Malibu. It's obvious. Eighteen "StarWagons" parked along PCH on Carbon Beach, and one crazy fool also parked along PCH in his Mercedes Benz, emergency flashers on while he lays out practically naked on the roof of his sedan catching some rays. Home sweet home.
I ate two Betty Crocker blueberry muffins for breakfast WITH coffee. Totally off the ayurvedic diet. Boy, I'm such a rebel.
Mr. B has a thing for older women. Tonite he really outdid himself trying to impress Maggie. He gave her his personal, favorite piece of alphabet artwork: the letter "B". Maggie politely accepted the gift. Just to make sure, he gave her a hug. Little does he know that he has some competition with regard to Maggie. C-note also takes a shine to this smart cookie. We'll see how it all shakes out.
Since the Observer was off doing other observing, I shall relate an event in his place: Mrs. P dials her friend on the television remote and puts it to her ear. Nothing doing. Then realizes that she picked up the wrong black rectangular electronic device.
Now Mr. B has rejected the Ore-Ida curly french fries. I guess the only acceptable fries are the curly fries from Jack in the Box. And he can eat a super-sized order in about 90 seconds flat. This seems to produce an immediate bubble belly, of which Mr. B seems quite proud.
Mr. B is wearing rabbit ears. Not the television receptor kind of course. The two-days-after-the-easter-bunny kind. He's adorable.
Here we are happily ensconsed at the family home in the Divide. Raining, really raining. Mr. B woke up quite happy despite going to bed despondent about . . . . . . ? Still angry about those I.V.s, and gadigadigadigadigaaaaah.
These days he's quite smitten with the color yellow. And, he's quite frightened of wild turkeys. Gobble you up I suppose.
