In which I have nine lives, cats' eyes
That was, in case you couldn't tell, a Heavy Metal High Note to signify my return from the land of the bronchial swamp. AAAAAAAAAAA! I'll add a high kick, just to seal the deal, and call it good. Woo! See how high I can kick?
Because it is good, my friends, it is all good (as the kids used to like to say). I credit the healing power of your cards and letters and baskets of fresh figs for my recuperation.
And moving on, I woke up this morning to a blanket of thick fog outside, signalling the onset of autumn, sweet autumn, and a break from all this damn sunshine. I'm not going for Morticia Addams, here, but I don't do well in full sunlight.
Which reminds me that once, a guy tried to pick me up in a bar by flirting and telling me that I was like a "Rubenesque Morticia Addams." I did not consider Rubenesque either accurate or a compliment, but what did he know--he was a crack addict who lived in his van. By way of punishment, I made out with him for half an hour, over the protests of my friends. Ah, what a night! He was also, natch, unemployed. To be fair, I didn't realize at the time that he was a crack addict. That information came later, by which time I was fixated on someone else, and my friends had made me promise not to date anyone able to access the drive-through ATM from their living room.
But really: it's true that I am not a stick figure, but anyone living in his van could cut a girl some slack, especially when she was looking as cute as I was that night. (I have photos as proof.)
Rubenesque, my ass.
I feel another Heavy Metal High Note coming on. Incidentally, I stole that phrase from the great Maven, so you should credit her if you hop on the bandwagon.
All together, now:
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa----AAAAAAAH!!!!
Hello, crappy little Southern California Beach Town! Rock and Roll!
P.S.
And a BIG happy birthday, sung in full heavy metal vibrato, to my dearest best friend Sue B!
Star of the day. . .Krasinski again? Let's say Johnette Napolitano