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Thursday, November 30, 2006
Nephew # 2Little guy who doesn't know me yet. Strange kin. What will you remember of me one day? Will
I ever have been young and pretty to you? This afternoon I fell asleep during Charlie And The Chocolate Factory
and imagined I woke up fifty years later. It could happen. Humans only entered this
planet's existence at one second to midnight on the Grande Time Scheme, anyway. Blink of an eye on the olde spacetime
continuum. Nephew, when I meet you this summer you'll probably already be crawling,
maybe even cruising. Too bad we couldn't have been born within a couple years of each other - we'd raise some hell,
by Jesus! Fly our bikes on July midnights along the shore road, with the intermittent pockets of warmth
and chilliness sleepwalking past our sunburns. Secretly swill beer at wedding receptions while still only
teens. Dance and flap our arms to keep warm on Poppy's sleighrides. Nephew, time's
a-gonna fly, hang on for a sweet old ride.
Austin Ryan, 3.2 Weeks Old
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Christmas Tree When my bayberry candles arrive I'll
run naked down the street after  midnight, champagne flute in one hand and candle in the other. And sleep with bayberry by
my pillow so my dreams will know I'm happy again. Mom had a bayberry candle left over from the First Boer War.
When it was lit (and in later years when I was,) heavenscent flew me to the moon and let me see what snow
was like on Jupiter and Mars. Oh, bow-legged Postman, wherefore art thou with my Silver City sample pack? Don't you know the traffic's been bad and my thighs are not as slim as they were this time last year and
my new jazz song didn't even make it to finals at the recent local contest? Don't you know I'm ready to be
beamed to the evening of Dec. 24th with my parcels long-since bought, wrapped, mailed and laid with love
under the trees of my friends and family worldwide? Don't you know I have all those cards to write and address?
Photos to include? Cookies to bake? Lights to string in trees? Have you no compassion for
the bayberryless, you junk-mail
toting, crack-smoking freak?!
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
JazzOne among five billion but even more than usual the center of the universe today. Hair massacred but clean.
There may even be sense to this cafe jazz but it doesn't really matter, once in a while a chord will settle nicely where it's
supposed to somewhere between the hips and the head. The guitar has kicked in now, rolling fast down the tracks well
outside of town. The sax notes bombing the pine tops, crows flinching with each hit. High
organ chasing the clouds. Bass riff insistent like a child asking where God came from or how seeds know to grow
into apples. Whistle only a ticking clock can hear. I have no timepiece. No
limits. Only this pen and this jazz. Maybe this coffee.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Lucy In L.A.Oh, no, I totally didn't blog yesterday, what a shame, this being NaBloPoMo and all. (Thank goodness I didn't sign up for the blogger contest, I'd be out on my ass now.)
What will become of me? Is this the start of a downward spiral whereby these computer keys must keep moving or
else I'll spin down down down in a burning ring of mire? No way, Jose! I will brave this rickety
foot-bridge stretching from rock cliff to rock cliff over this canyon of personal slump. Ahhh, that's it then, is it?
A slump? (What could I expect - I was the one who lost the bunny.) But... the days will be getting
longer again soon, that's good news I guess if you don't mind UVAs. That and Lucy in L.A., who I have no doubt will go far with her acting because after
all, she's in the sky with diamonds - she's already a star.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Thoughts What if all the best thoughts have already been used up in rock songs, soup jingles and the poems of Billy Collins? What if an original idea bubbles up in the brain of some child in Upstate New York only to be sucked out by dead
linguistic theories, like an air purifier sucks allergens out of a room? Dr. London tried to stretch
our minds with such theories in 1985 while simul-
taneously dancing us through the pronunciation intricacies of Louis vs. lui and vous vs. vue. [Thank
you, yes, Mr Collins, "the name of the author is the first to go, followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heart-breaking conclusion, the entire novel which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,"]
but images like how it was snowing or what time of day a young girl washed her long dark hair in the
kitchen sink or whether she hungered for oranges all winter do tend to stick to the ribs.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Ambrosia
White Russians. Should've bought the stuff for them. Managed to force down a glass of pinot noir (the
only red wine I've drunk since seeing Sideways last year.) Sipping with grimaces at first, then gulping with my eyes closed and nose held shut, just to get it
down. The aftertaste though. The sinking feeling. Two hours of Disney Princess Monopoly. Gus
and Jaq for Parkplace. Prince Charming for Boardwalk. Going around and around, gaining, losing. Gaining,
losing. A hamster wheel without the benefit of cardio. Fun at first but settling into a chore, making all
those days at the Childrens' Museum and Radijazz seem like a Carnival Cruise. The things a good parent must do.
Bounty
Thursday, November 23, 2006
SeguewaySo I left our pet rabbit in the backyard unattended which I thought was okay
because the yard is fenced in and Bunny'd been out before like that, sunning in one of her favorite
grassy spots. But this time Bunny went missing. So I write to ease my guilt but suspect maybe it's time
to move on to new blog-
fodder. "Science" would be a nice safe segueway before I ease back
to my usual wanderings about puking pumpkins and recalcitrant barmaids gone
wild. Science - still the agony of 11th grade chemistry, all those formulas I could never get right.
But I love the thought of molecules dancing in the mountains. Love that matter is neither created
nor destroyed, just changes form. The fire-place log we burned last night could still be giving off heat that's
diffusing across the Texas sky towards Pluto via Nova Scotia, by now perhaps stripped
down naked to atoms coupling and re-coupling on their orgiastic trajectories.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
HibernationI can see now how the mother in Four Letters Of Love could just collapse inside herself to spend a whole winter in bed. I wish I could hide out under the covers
myself. I was able to do this sometimes in college when I lived on George Street, just hibernate for days with
no one to answer to. It was lonely but it was peaceful. My hair would always be so shiny when I
finally emerged and washed it. I wish I could go back to that time and start all over, knowing myself
as I do now and knowing I would one day meet Jim and be blessed with Kelly. But no, I must to the tub and get dressed,
put on some make-up. Wear pink. Look all shiny and new to meet my friend and her daughter in the park so
our little girls can play for a few hours. I'm sure I'll smile a lot and try to find things to say to T.
She already knows I lost the bunny. Maybe I'll feel better there. It's almost Thanksgiving.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
SorryBun-Bun's gone and it's my fault. I left her in the backyard yesterday and an hour later she was
gone. Bunny, I'm so sorry I was careless with your innocence. I'm so so sorry. Your hutch is outside now,
full of fresh hay, water and food. I left the door open. Please find your way back, Bunny, my forgiveness
depends upon it.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Sunlight #2Furthermore, if a flake of sunlight refracting through my crystal doorknob settles upon a speck of dust
on my hair and my hair is shiny and smells of oranges, will the shadow of my thoughts refract
back from my hair to the sun via the crystal? Not that I have a crystal doorknob or any thoughts. I have
only these fingers on these keys stringing letters into words and images of things that will one day be lost forever
when the sun devours every reminder of this little green and blue ball God keeps suspended and spin-
ning. Luckily, neither the sun's implosion nor these husks
of thought will one day matter because the brilliance of our smiles and good deeds will have long since
rippled past the outer planets, far past Hubble's reaches to sail into spirals within spirals towards God's heart. Every grace, no matter how small,
will have already escaped the inevitable fire of forgetting - every pie baked, boo-boo kissed, scrap of trash picked
up from the sidewalk, every book read to a child. Every kind word reverberates
forever.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
FailureNow it's public knowledge I'm a bad mother because Kelly knows how to sing
"Yo-ho-ho and a Bottle of Rum," but not "Jesus Loves Me." Thus I sunk into the floor in
front of all those people and resurfaced in the Umlauf Gardens where the only pointing fingers were those on bronze angels looking skyward.
SymposiumAgain almost midnight. The witching hour runs nigh. Nigh, 'twas ere an olde-fashioned turn of phrase.
We too shall someday have been antiques because the more things changed, the more we stayed the same. Oh my God,
do you know Allen Shamblin? (The guy who wrote "I Can't Make You Love Me?") Broke my heart in a beautifulest way playing those
songs of his tonight. Songs about leaves in gutters and flies in butter. Great-Grandfathers who walked on water
and such. I want to write songs that touch people like that. Hopefully I'm not too touched to touch.
Hey, I know I'm a lot touched, that's why I'm so glad to belong to such a great group of friends that are just
as nuts as me and like to write songs. Jae, Mardi, Jaquelyn, Kit, Adrian, Robert, Margaret, Michael J. and that wonderfully crazy guy I just met with the non-standard tunings and his song about the trash heap. (Plus all the others I
forgot to mention here.) Got a pocketful of business cards. Going to buy me one of
those business card organizer books, the time is nigh.
 
Friday, November 17, 2006
EarringIf my earring falls into the bucket while I'm milking my cow and the cow has never heard a tree fall in
the forest, will it still be my earring when the rest of the cows come home? Or does the earring then belong to the
yogourt maker who will find it tomorrow as she stirs the flavors in? Yes, the same little yogourt maker who lives
down the lane with Jodie Foster. And should the yogourt maker and Jodie Foster be sipping almond tea and hear
a knock on the door, is the visitor more likely to be a man who sells spoons or a recalcitrant
barmaid gone wild? And if poison should enter the almond tea and kill a postal employee with wet leaves
for eyes, will it be okay for everyone to wear pink at his funeral because his death was obviously the
inevitable by-product of the verb "to be?" Bob Dylan probably knows the answer to these and
all questions but I don't so I'm going to bed.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
LibraryThe O is still missing from the alphabet puzzle so the blue-haired ladies either don't
know or don't care that it's unhealthy for kids to work on puzzles with missing
pieces, been proven to stunt their developing sense of order and send them straight to a life of crime.
When, if ever, will the O come back? Where did it go - home in the pocket of some grubby-fingered little Oscar
or Odette? So many things go missing. Things found too. Flakes of other peoples' lives. Like that page of a letter blown across the motel lawn
in Durango so long ago. A grand-mother's shaky hand on pink Crane's telling Johnny to be a good boy,
to go back to school and quit smoking pot. Her last words trailed off crookedly at the bottom of the page... "See
you at Thanksgiving when..." When what, Granny? When the cows came home? When your new hip
had healed? When Johnny got out of jail? Could Johnny have been one of the street toughs
Chance saved us from later that night by slippping out of his collar and running for us to catch him, a planned
escape to surprise and distract our would-be assailants? Did Johnny ever shape up? Bet he
turned out just fine and dandy, probably got his PhD in psych and now counsels juveniles
who suffer from PTMPPD (post-traumatic-missing-puzzle-piece disorder.)
Doomed To A Future In Prison?
Wounded Alphabet
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
ChairI am sitting in this chair with a wildness to my hair because I let the Great Clips gal run rough-shod over
me earlier. My own fault. Should've not backed down on the art of my hair. Oh well, it'll grow
back. Chair, hmnn, chair... Chair in a boardroom. Chair in a bedroom. Palace chair
of rococo gilt. Guilt chair. Have I ever felt guilty over a chair? Maybe cheated at musical chairs or stole somebody's
seat at the dance but feigned innocence when they returned with two brimming beers? Have I ever jumped the
red cordon to cop a feel of velvet in the Hearst Castle's great hall? Nope, none
of those ring a bell. The rocking chair Jim's dad made for him in 1944 is still in Mahone Bay, like so much of our stuff. Mostly I block out thoughts of that big old house that's sometimes rented and always
falling apart - out of sight, 3500 miles out of mind. One fine day I'll have just one nice house, not two semi-finished
ones. Don't need a mansion, just a pretty little place with a real pantry and a laundry room. Land-scaped.
Floorboards and doorknobs that stay put. Favorite chair for tea and laptop. And best of all... a corner just for
me, books all in their places. Nobody using and losing my stapler, glue, tape, calculator, pens and markers. Yes,
someday. Someday when my hair is long and flowing again.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Nephew I'll talk more about Austin Ryan soon but for now here are 3000 words.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Truck DriverPorkchop-On-A-Stick, that's a menu item you don't see every day. Good ol' Texas for ya. At
another new eatery, new to me anyway. The plastic table's wobbling under
the mighty force of my pen. Wish they would shut off the fans, it was 80
today but the sun's down now. Should've brought my new coat afterall. My new $25 poorly-made but highly
fashionable navy cinched-waist coat from Target, one the zipper will probably go out on before spring. (Vanity purchase.)
"Learn to work the saxophone," that's what's filtering from the speakers. Sounds like
Steely Dan's up in the branches somewhere. Waiting again for Mardi
but I'm early. Much better margarita than that nameless place last week. Hot dang, this queso
is hot. Sound too hauntingly familiar? I should hit you with a twist this
week. Of lemon or lime. Wouldn't want you to get scurvy while reading this post. Someone's leashed a dog
to the far end of the fence. Shaggy Benji haircut like a homeless old man's or the truck driver who used to live next
door, dude who appeared to live on Twizzlers and beer. Occasional hey-listen-to-me barks italicized by head tosses to show he ain't digging this.
Where is his owner? If no one's claimed him by the the time the restaurant closes I'll have to take him home with
me.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Donut ShopHow many roads must a man walk down before he reaches the donut shop of his dreams? This I pondered last
night 'til the cows of Capistrano came home. Then drank my fill of beer. Got no satisfaction there so
climbed a tequila
stairway to heaven but lost my footing (and my wallet,) on the second-to-top rung. Fell at 9.8 metres
squared per second into the warm smell of colitas rising up from the air. Lost my breath. Lay there with
blood on my saddle where the streets have no name as the fat lady sang "Vera, Vera, what has become of you?" Passed
out. Dreamed of weird scenes inside the gold mine. Awoke much later to sirens and search lights, my poverty revealed.
Laid low in the ditch under the dark side of the moon. Watched cars and rainyday women pass by, saw a
Deadhead sticker on a cadillac. Saw rows and floes of angel hair and ice-cream castles in the air. And the
wind cried Mary. Imagine.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Ouija BoardSometimes I sit quietly here just to feel the comfort of these keys beneath
my fingertips, soft satisfying taps and releases as the letters string them-
selves into words and sentences. Sated fingers like a piano player's.
Or mine as they sink into the meaty strings of my guitar. Teeth into an apple.
Ballerina into satin toe shoes. Sometimes I half-close my eyes at this computer and bow my head into the winds
of Ouija Board consciousness to let the planchette take over and pile these letters into
drifts of thought. Like now, here I go..... In my former life as a
king's youngest daughter I secretly carried water and soup to the handsome wounded soldier I hid
in the stables. One night when the moon was full and a band of gypsies camped a mile
outside the castle walls, my father slipped out a secret passageway to go riding
drunk by himself and never came back. (Long before the days of Secret Service, motorcades and
Airforce One.)
Singing "You Got A Friend In Me"
Friday, November 10, 2006
Bathtub
My husband said this photo-of-the-day (directly below) made the child look drowned. Hmn,
never thought of it that way, thus the new open-eyed and
very-much-not-dead-in-the-bathtub photo of the day replacement above.
8:38 pm
Anonymous AmyAmy, oh Amy, who can you be? Sweet mystery lady who signed my guestbook today. Are you in DeMoines
or Dallas or Tennessee? We drove through beautiful Tennessee on our way to Canada in 1994. Chance
was with us then - amazing dog, scrunched on the floor at our feet in a Ryder truck for 5 straight 12-hour days (in July when
the A/C went out just past Little Rock,) but never so much as a peep of displeasure out of him. He was the greatest
dog. I miss him so much. Anyway... Anonymous Amy, are you happy today? Did you do something nice for
yourself? Did you look in the mirror and tell yourself what a wonderful person you are? Did you go for a
stroll and inhale the molecules that I breathed at one time, previously breathed by saints and sweet old ladies
sipping sasparilly tea? A book-writer? Me?! I appreciate the
compliment but at this point I feel blessed just to conjure up the odd 10-minute Object Writing that doesn't totally suck. (Hopefully as time goes on I'll feel more confident in this. ) Songs,
I know I can do. Amy, I don't care if your eyes are brown, black or pink. Your hair could be green
or falling out and you could have dirty dishes piled high in your sink, not have dusted your picture frames in a
year or vacuumed your car in 9 months. I feel like I know and like you too. Thank you for making my
day. And Rock On, yourself !!
Thursday, November 9, 2006
NovelIf we lost touch now you'd always be a half-finished novel to me. Like the book that disappeared
in the move. Could I scout every shelf in every library, scan through chapter upon chapter to find it again? Would
I recognize it from the title alone? Forgotten cover too, ice-blue smoke I think. About Hannah in braids.
Tall blonde Hannah always walking too close to the cliff on winter evenings, away from her husband and children.
Walking to breathe. Last I read she was snowed-in with the handsome doctor (carpenter?
banker?) in a cabin. Did they or didn't they? Could only have turned out badly for
all, best not to know. If you dropped me now, just when we're getting to the good part, hints and plot
lines developed, I'd search for you in Vienna, search for you in Greece. Or be here waiting
with my teacup and my trellis, your face fading with each passing year like a photo on Grandmother's
wall. Yellowing. The remaining outline of your eyes the only reminder we'd met.
Wednesday, November 8, 2006
StorybookBun-Bun went in the litter box! Twice this morning already. Carried him out of his
little hutch at 7:30 straight to the litterbox and behold - glory. (Oh, his official name has been changed to
Montessori Halloween Curious.) But I call him - oh sorry - her Bun-Bun. Big day for
Bun-Bun yesterday. Two hours out in the backyard in the sunshine morning, carrot and
celery with lunch, car-car ride to Tomlinson's for the litterbox, leash and harness (hareness, ha-ha,) to acting class to meet Kelly's friends and to two
parks. Rabbits are rodents, aren't they? Some cute tho. I love her aleady. See, we were driving Jim
to work Saturday morning (yes, Jim slaves half of Saturday too,) and he was reading this book (see below) to Kelly and
asks her would she like to have her own bunny someday. Yeah!!! Like today, Daddy? Couple hours
later we sailed home with Bun-Bun, her cage, water jug, food bowl, timothy hay, bedding and bag of bunny kibble. Cost
of "The Little Rabbit" storybook at yardsale - 25 cents. Cost of asking five-year-old if she'd like a
rabbit, (which includes but is not necessarily limited to,) ... Bun-Bun and her accoutrements, bigger hutch Jim
will have to build, additional care and feeding, potential destruction of house and garden, vet's visits,
airline tickets for bunny vacations, etc., etc., etc. for the next 7-10 years - $ 2000 ($4000? $7000?)
Cost of seeing poops and pee in litterbox - Priceless!
  Bun-Bun: Learnin' To Love The Lush Leash Life (Say that 10 times
fast!)
Tuesday, November 7, 2006
MinutiaeI started off fine with taking the clothes out of the dryer in my usual order today - big
stuff like towels, sweatshirts and pants first, then to the medium things like hand towels, dish-drying
towels, t-shirts and Kelly's outfits. Finally the smaller bits. Why did it piss me off so much today
to sort and fold the socks, washcloths and underwear? Emptying the clean forks and spoons from the dishwasher
basket irritated me too.  Man, I'm in a sour mood. Should be feeling a lot more grateful than this, considering. Wishing for peace
and quiet tonight. T.V. news blaring. Kelly whining. Dogs barking.
Broken juice glass. Rabbit pee on the carpet. Would love to freeze-frame everyone in this house Right Now, even
if for just a half-hour while I take a bath with a glass of wine then lay me down upon cool
clean cotton with visions of sugarplums (whatever the hell those are,) dancing in my calmed little head.
Lake Austin Girls
Monday, November 6, 2006
BotulismNo wonder I was sick - I had all that puke in my stomach. It wasn't funny
tho. Hurling my guts out five times between midnight and 5:00 a.m. Realizing I was dying.
Longing to say good-bye to Mom and Dad and my brothers, hold my sister one last time. Knowing I'd never get
to Italy, Spain or Australia but hoping those places would be in heaven. Leaving Kelly and her dad to
carry on by themselves but glad they'd have all the journals that showed how much I'd always wanted and loved
them both. The hamburger, that's what did it.  Poor Kelly, she was only five months old at the time, had never been away from me for more than an hour but
Jim had to drop her at daycare that day, there was no way I could function - had no friends to help on such
short notice and he couldn't miss work. Still don't know how I mustered the strength that morning to
gather diapers and clothes and find a bag, pack some formula. Me, dying
at last after all the stupid tricks I'd pulled over the years - dodging traffic, driving drunk, braving dark alleys
alone. It's a wonder I'd made it that far. Too young they'd say, far too young to go. Poor Jannie,
she was such a good person. Wrote all those letters. Made us laugh. Baked one hell of a cheesecake.
 
Favorite Kindergardener
Sunday, November 5, 2006
Gratitude
So I shuffle out of bed to the computer in the sweatsuit I wore all yesterday and slept in last
night (but will launder today along with at least 4 other loads that have been piling up,) and an email says a comment has
been added to my guestbook which I click on with trepidation because there's always
the possibliity that someone will have written "You suck, get off the web." And the comment is just
two words from a stranger... "Beautiful writing." And tears come to my eyes because someone
somewhere out there dug into her heart, which was probably not much of a dig at all because some peoples' hearts are always
right there on the surface ready to see the good in life and impart a kind word, no matter how much shit may have befallen
them. People with beauty of spirit, (like Mardi and Jae.) And I'm reminded again that I'd rather have one true friend than 100 superficial
ones. And I'm grateful it's early and my husband and child are still sleeping so I can make coffee and
enjoy reading my new friend's posts to get to know her better. And I tell her that I'm
not in Paris either but Paris is notoriously good at waiting.
 While You
Were Sleeping
Saturday, November 4, 2006
Bunny"You're normal, then you have kids." Maybe, but I wouldn't trade this abnor-
malcy for anything. She's named her new rabbit "Montessori Austin Ariel."
Guess Who Got A Bunny Today?
Oh Mi God, What Have I Done !?!?
He
(Or She's) A Vegan? No shit.
Spot The Bunny In This Picture
Shhh,
we're watching "101 Dalmations."
Friday, November 3, 2006
Margarita(As transcribed from my journal-writing at a non-Chuy's restaurant last night.)
Dang, this salsa is H.O.T. Even dipping just the edges of the chips is still too spicy for me.
Can't blame it on a Canadian palate, I have friends there who swallow jalapenos whole. Margarita influx, that'll do
it. Weird-tasting margarita. Not anywhere as good Chuy's I'm used to. Chuy's, [pronounced chewies,] that's
where Jenna Bush got busted, wasn't it? (Remember to buy belated b-day card for Diane.) Good waitress. Shit,
I think some hot sauce made it into my sinus cavities, like swimming pool water. Chlorine or hot peppers up the nose
- not pleasant. The busboy just flounced by whistling "La Cucaracha." Wow, I found a chip shaped like
Italy. I'm only three degrees removed from Bob Dylan. Charlie Sexton plays with him and Charlie's brother, Will,
played with me at a song doctor session on "Hurricane Jane," he said I'm a bad-ass song-writer. My phone's not ringing, my incredibly ugly phone, o.k. as
a N.Y. taxi cab but not as a phone. (The former office manager for The Ghost got a great deal on them, tho.)
Waiting for Mardi's call. Found a chip shaped like a heart! How long can woman live on chips and
margaritas alone? Now I'm down to melting ice cubes.
  Chuy's Barton Springs
My Butt-Ugly Cell Phone
Thursday, November 2, 2006
Post GhostThere's a ghost in these posts I haven't spoken of much directly. Do I constantly think about
the oxygen I inhale or the sunlight that filters through chloroplasts to
give my body sustenance? Do I spend much time focused on the fact that this little
planet probably won't go careening off its orbit today? Nope. Yet these miracles are always working for me
like my ghost who's alive, well and still lighting every step of my way as he has for over sixteen years. Always
in the background (which is actually very much the foreground,) of my existence. We're not one of those couples
who will shock everyone by suddenly divorcing someday, the ones
you thought for sure would be the last to go. Sweetie Ghost is 22 years older than I and chances
are he will die first which will choke my heart every time I breathe or hear jazz or
smell the ocean or look into our daughter's eyes, let alone stumble through these rooms he remodeled. His
6-step crown molding, coffered ceiling,
hand-hewn dining rooom corner cabinet, every stained glass window he ever swore like a bastard over trying
to install. Do we fight? Sometimes. (Usually my fault.) But these are the
best years. This is the best day. I will seize it with love.
THE GHOST
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
TurkeySomeone's watching South Park and laughing as the giant saw blade decapitates a jumble of turkeys engrossed
in a pleasant nature film. Let's talk turkey, little filly. Mosey on up to the Web and put your
money where your mouse is. Get your genuine imitation turkey legs on eBay. Yer gizzards and
spleens on Ama-
zon.com. Turkey's good I suppose but I much prefer the more intricate and meaningful taste of chicken.
My sister was a vegetarian for a while even though she couldn't spell vegetarian. I tried it for a week but succumbed
to shrimp and sausages. Meat... must have meat. And chocolate, bread 'n butter and pumpkin pie with whipped cream.
(Pie with my whipped cream is more to the point.) I did fast once for almost 2 days in high school and pretty-much
every other week for a day. Crazy diet schemes. Nothing but iceberg lettuce and lemons. Or coffee
and carrots. Should've been better supervised as a teen. Should've been better sup-
ervised in my early twenties too but they had to let me flee the nest sometime. Putting
on 5 lbs used to depress me. Now 7 or 8 lbs slip on and I don't really give a rat's ass.
Of course, I no longer smoke weed but that's a whole other post. The
marijuana diet of very many moons ago.
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