The guy in the Cadillac Escalade whose license plate included “ASAP” driving at least 10 mph under the speed limit.
I have strep throat. The doc said “I worked in the ER and nothing phases me but THAT’S impressive.” God knows how long I’ve had it.
I’ve been sick as a dog for days but tonight I feel like I may have regained my humanity. Happy new year everyone.
No fever this morning for the first time since Friday. I think I may survive.
May you all enjoy a happy and fever free 2013.
Having watched all the Rose Parade I can stand (10 minutes), I will turn my attention elsewhere.
People are the foulest species. I don’t usually watch Animal Cops because I can’t stand the cruelty, stupidity and culpability of some people, but it happened to be on when I turned the TV on and I became transfixed by a story of three horses. Happy endings for two of them, no word on what kind of ending the third experienced. I want to believe the number of good people balances out the bad, but there are days I have my doubts.
In other news, I still feel like crud.
Watching a Dr. Oz diet show while eating KFC: another fine irony.
Profound: doing an oracle reading re: Mom and having her interrupt it with a phone call. If I was a writer I might make something of that.
I felt mostly human today but still tire way too easily.
Who likes mimes except other mimes?
I think “don’t describe eye color” is one of the more bogus writing rules. Someone with a personality disorder must have made that one up. I always notice eye color in Real Life. It’s pertinent in description; eyes are the windows to the soul, etc. Having said all this, I do believe amateurs way the hell overuse eye color as a descriptor, as if it’s the only thing important about a face. It’s one more piece of the puzzle, that’s all, and perhaps that rule was generated by someone’s frustration over too many “he had brown hair and blue eyes”
flat and lifeless descriptions. More important perhaps to note the pitted quality of his nose, how light never touches those blue eyes.
They’re talking about springing Ma soon from the Big House. She’s been walking real good.
Boycotting Olive Garden, Red Lobster and now Wendy’s: http://bit.ly/ZyYiY5
Hope seems to be my Rasputin emotion. No matter how many times and ways it is assassinated, it refuses to die.
Mom got cocky, thinking she was going home, and decided to go to the bathroom without help. She lost her balance and “fell.” Although she insists she just “slid down the wall.” No breaks/fractures, thank God. But they want to monitor her another week or so before releasing her. She’s doing well. They took her outside and walked her up and down the block yesterday (assisted). They’re just being cautious.
I’m so old that when I hear the word “butter” I have to fight the urge to say, “Parkay.”
Dear Man on the Cycle: your clownish bicycle clothes just got stupider with the addition of the unitard.
The water in the birdbath froze overnight, a very rare occurrence here near the beach.
It doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t
Don’t read anything into it, don’t read anything into it, don’t read anything into it, don’t read anything into it, don’t read anything into it.
Remember: hope is the thing without feathers.
Funny the things that stick in your mind: I can’t read/hear “papier maché” without hearing Rowan Atkinson’s voice (from Blackadder Goes Forth) saying, “Pap-ee-yay MASH-ay willie.” (He was mocking the artistic strivings of Hugh Laurie’s upperclass twit character.) That phrase has been rattling around in my brain for years. Sad, really.
Wow. I just forgot my boss’s last name. I had to get up and look at his name plate. That’s rather terrifying.
Stop being a writer and just write.
Conspiracy theory and gun nuts—a terrifying, sick combination: http://yhoo.it/106HIPr