Write to me!

Blogs/Links

Conorama

Expounding on Nothing

Impartial Observer

 
Which is so ironic, because Mr. B and I actually did steal something today. Inadvertantly I assure you. Nonetheless, we did steal something from Target. Got to the check out and emptied the cart of everything except Mr. B and his collected cardboard. Got to the car and as Mr. B exited the cart, found another article under his BIG behind which did not go through check-out nor did it signal security upon our exit. Hmmm, Mr. B can easily lift desired items under his large behind. Point taken and will evaluate.

 
Best bumper sticker today: "Drive like you you stole it."

 
Another day of being chronically fatigued. It's so ridiculous and maddening. Somehow I begin to feel better, then I have a relapse. For no apparent reason, nothing hugely out of the ordinary. Just the usual stuff. Then I crash and it takes a few days to feel semi-normal again.

Maybe once I can clear out the mercury it'll get better. Maybe the mercury makes me mercurial, quick and changeable. Message to the universe: quick and changeable is only acceptable if it for the betterment of my health, wealth, and well-being. Enough said.

 
So, C-note is going snowboarding this weekend to Mammoth with Q. Booked a room at a bed and breakfast next to the board shop. Good job Q.

 
Mr. B is wearing a red t-shirt. That's it. Nothing else anywhere. And he's running around the house with a big art caddy filled with bingo beads. Laughing. Laughing LOUDLY. Oh, now he's spinning around and around making himself dizzy and crashing into the sofa. The same sofa that used to have six pillows on it, but now has zero because Mr. B threw them all off a little while ago. Oh no, now he's pretending he's going to throw up! Asking for a towel. He's serious! Oh, never mind, he's laughing again saying HMMMMUMMMMUMMMM, and asking for tickles. Whew.

 
Mr. B tried his hand at being a jewelry thief over the weekend. Unfortunately, he only came up with the jewelry pouches, no jewelry at all. Someone is probably finding their jewelry strewn all over the closet floor, and the pouches mysteriously absent.

 
My rash is worse than ever. And terribly itchy. Yes, this is some payback all right. Guess I'll have to go get that prescription filled. I hate Sav-On. I really wish we had Rite-Aid instead. Sheesh.

 
By the way, I happen to like Chris Webber, even though he lied to protect his money (isn't that the american way?). The question I have is why he came to Staples Center in L. A. wearing basketball shoes that have glitters and sparkles on them. In a princess sort of way. Chris, my friend, straighten the record here. Look to your esteemed teammate Vlade, who is loved and revered here in L.A., because he is an honest, straight from the hip, coming at ya' type of guy. Go on, give us some swish, some dish, some Webber straight from the hip explanation for those shoes. An then tell us the real story. About you.

 
Dr. Mishra is turning over in his hotel bed right now thinking of that smoked turkey and brie sandwich. Thank God he wasn't privy to my earlier fantasy of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. You know I would have used ORGANIC MILK AND BUTTER to mix that shit up. But, I held on to my ayervedic diet by the very tips of my fingers and the cramps in my toes. I could rationalize eating it by knowing that the STRESS that it brings on to my physiology by not fulfilling my craving is more stressful than not eating it, but then, I thought about the long term effects: namely, me being completely rational and normal for once in my life. Yeah, just can't go there. Just . . . . can't . . . . . . .

it's the fence, dammit, it made me trip over my own feet today. And other various reasons, most of which revolve around my dolphin card for the day which reads: WISH FULLFILLING. That should explain the smoked turkey and brie sandwich, thank you very much.

 
I surmised that the only solution for the rash would be to eat a smoked turkey and brie sandwich from Cafe Marguerite on a Sunday at 11:00 a.m. Unfortunately, our "waitress", otherwise known as "imbecile human in wait-person fantasy" completely altered my well planned invasion into the earth time brunch/feeding schedule. I actually ate my sandwich at 11:45 at the earliest. Meantime, grouchy and hungry, grooowwwwwlllll. I only soothed myself by looking at THE HAIR.

And they served Mrs. McC an almost unrecognizable breakfast from which she managed to salvage a few nutrients and tummy fillers. Thank God for coffee. and cream. And Mr. McC and his three super-sized croissants helped sooth the psyche, until . . . the giant poodle walked past just before the chow. Chows are unfriendly. And the severe yuppy woman at the table next to us kept staring and locking eyes with me. It was the blue sunglasses, I know it.

 
Speaking of the rash, by the way, it is getting no better, but slightly worse. I do believe that the good doctor is an imbicile. Are you in any way surprised?

 
What to do, by the way, happens to relate directly to C-note, and the education that he will receive this coming year. Much to the relief of some worry-worts who incorrectly thought that I was despondent about . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . .my rash.