Monday, July 07, 2003

I suck!


Let me begin by saying that I suck. Across the board and categorically, I suck! After all my whining about how nobody wants to play with me I completely forgot my very best friend in the whole world’s birthday (July 2 -- Happy Ups, Home-girl!) and for that I should be shot! (or at least smacked around a bit... ){Sigh} Sorry, my best-est of all buddies. I will endeavor to a) make it up to you and b) not be so completely lame in the future. Forgive?? Kisses?? Mwah! Mwah!



K. Now then. Can I just say, integral lameness notwithstanding, I am in the middle of the best holiday weekend ever!

[For those of you who p’raps might be led to think that I strolled in here early to write up my adventures, I am in fact, penning this missive on Sundee eve still awash in the afterglow of the best camping trip ever and waiting on a pot of noodles to finish with their cooking. I WAS going to post from home but as I am lame (who the hell gave me a computer and why do they think I should be allowed to operate this type of heavy machinery??) and cannot figure out how to make my dial-up work on this stupid Windows 98 system, I am instead typing and saving and posting in the morning when I get to my alternately protocoled cube.]

So. Camping. Amazing! Splendid! Much fun was had by all. Campground was fantastic, sun was out, gentle breeze was gently breezing. Boo and I found the world’s perfect-est places to 1) eat breakfast, 2) access the river, and 3) play a rollicking game of meadow tic tac toe using rocks and small yellow flowers. Kid lost another tooth for which the tooth fairy traded her two friendship bracelets. When I explained that there were two so she could keep one and give the other to a friend my perfect kid squinched up her nose and said, “Can a mom be a friend?” and handed one to me!! {Dying!} How much did I totally need to have a million years of time to hang out in the sun with the world’s perfect-est kid? Very much, thank you. I am happy and content and brown like a berry. I am also, freshly home and showered and newly slim from all the walking and splashing and floating. Can I just say, I’m like eight types of f*ckable right now. You know the laid back, surfer chick “let’s just do this” type? The sunburned, sauntery, “how great does every part of my slightly sore but still very tingly and looking for alternative kinds of exercise body feel” type? I want to marry me I am so relaxed. This is why the “booty call” was invented. Like Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not: “Here’s that bottle again.” Since I cannot find anybody, I will instead pray to the god of improvisation (you ever notice how the older you get the more willing you are to invest in a detachable shower head?) and find my blessed repose in that manner. Oh, and it’s not even over. The fat lady has not even begun her warm-up on the perfectness that is my life because tomorrow, Monday, I am going to see Mr. Lyle Lovett in concert with his large band at the Luther Burbank Memorial Center. Why is it that I am so blessed? Hard to say. My working theory is that I was a freaking saint in the last life. Whatever though, I’m just about the happiest camper to pitch a pup tent on this earth. At the count of three you may commence wishing you were me. One… Two…

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