Heads up, blogoons! Wherever you are, I hope it's dryer than where I am.
Perhaps it is the weather, or because I am laboring under the
lingering effects of some sort of precursor to the bird flu, but
somehow I neglected to tell you all something terribly important.
The news: 2006 is the year of the spatula.
How do I know this?
Because I recieved no less than 8 of them for Christmas.
Apparently I sent a newsletter out to everyone I ever met
mentioning my spatu-lack...and now I am swimming in them.
While we're on the subject of rubber, I have been reading
bits of a book about Michael Jackson, and apparently he
was in the habit of calling every one of his little boy
pals the same nickname...Rubba. Creeeeeepy, or what?
I still think he ought to be in jail - although, when you
consider what his life is like, perhaps he's already there.
The ways in which our lives can hold us prisoner have been
heavy on my mind the past few days - thoughts most likely
stirred up by a Frontline series I just watched.
'Country Boys' follows 2 Arkansas boys as they struggle
to make it through an alternative high school, and their
stories are both heart-rending and remarkably uplifting.
It is out on DVD, and I can't recommend it highly enough.
For those of you who helped celebrate my victory over
AssHat from BastardTown, there is an epilogue.
I called him back, but he was on vacation and I left a message.
About a week later, I was on the phone with my younger sister
having a very emotional discussion about our older sister and
her continuing slide into end-stage alcoholism. My phone has an
annoying habit of suddenly clicking off, and it does so at random.
If I click it back on right away, I can continue my coversation
pretty much without interruption - which is usually what happens.
So, on this day, when my phone clicked off just as I was
in the middle of saying something like, "she desperately needs
in-patient care and she needs to..." I just clicked it back on
and continued: "...drinking a half-gallon of vodka a day
and weighing under 100 pounds can only end one way and..."
But, there was a strange breathing sound coming from
my sister's end of the line...and then this: "Uh, hello?
Ummm, this is David from WhereHouse Music...."
And that, my friends, is how victory is whittled down to size.
bs
5 comments:
I am so glad your Spatu-lack has been solved! And they are lovely, too! And yes, doesn't life whittle you down to size in some way or other EVERY TIME!!!?? Dang! But keep up the good fight anyway.
No less than eight? But you only show us seven? You are holding one back because it's (a) an identical twin, (b) you broke the handle trying to pry one of your windows open, or (c) it was X-rated....
Your VICTORY is undiminished by what he may have heard over the phone ... it showed that you were alert, judgemental, and poised for the attack. A good persona to hold out there towards the business world.
ssshhh
every shoe has at least one secret.
Re AssHat - I just think that now he really, REALLY never wants to see me again.
and his not wanting to see you gives you the uppermost upper hand.
I had no idea spatulas are so CHIC! How posh! If ever you go again to Bastardtown, go armed with five or six spatulas. Wave them at Mr. CD Hole, pronounce a curse on the place. Oh, there is LOTS of stuff you could do with those spats.
Happy Day,
me
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