Goodbye, Cincinatti, I shall visit you in my dreams. Literally. Due to unforseen viciousness on the part of my not-so-newly-divorced-yet-quite-vengeful ex-husband, I will NOT in fact be making my ever-so-longed-for trek to Cinci. I shall instead be forced to stay here and continue to overwhelm you with the conundrums that issue forth of my often-quizzical little head. Hm. I like the strung-together adjective descriptors. Just learned how to do that in my journalism class. One day you shall read these things in the New Yorker. Or not. Perhaps they will not appreciate my strung-together descriptors as much as my fans here in the good part of the world.
I have WONDERFUL news! I have determined the weeners in my goofy word contest! Unfortunately, I do not have the information quite at hand. You see, a funny thing happened to the secret envelope containing the names of the winning entries. It all began when…
A tsunami erupted on my voicemail after a pleasant two hours thinking ‘I absolutely ADORE her!’ Fifteen rapid-fire verbal exchanges revealed a most horribly disturbing error on the part of a gifted sensualist. Discovering the egregious mishap brought dissonance and confusion where once harmony was reported to have reigned. Eight rapid-fire verbal exchanges then revealed a lack of character, a preemptory rush to judgement, and continued waffling. And I quietly pumped a tank full of gas before packing a box of kitchen gadgetry. And that, you see, is why I do not have the weener’s names at hand. However…you can look here tomorrow to see if You have been crowned the Weener of them All.
Much love,
-L.
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One for you, two for me!
A Question to Remember
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore -
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over -
Like a syrupy sweet?
-Langston Hughes
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore -
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over -
Like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
Like a heavy load.Or does it explode?
-Langston Hughes
4 comments:
The mudder is vexxed over this latest post. "You know no one is going to understand what you wrote!" she said, sincerely concerned. But, dear readers, when has that ever stopped me? True to my narcisstic heart, this blog is here to gratify moi, none else. So if I write sloppily-encrypted nonsense, just roll the eyes. C'est moi.
pshaw, it all made sense to me. You made toast and it burned, a herd of goats are stranded atop a flagpole, and Goerge Bush is your favorite president. You see, bunny? Your brother still understands you.
How well you read my innermost being. Clairvoyant, you are.
I know the s--- hit the fan. I do not know how much, or whose, or why. Do tell! I am mystified to the point of nosiness. Okay, how about since I didn't win the word thing you tell me about this entry and we will call it even.
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