In this episode, someone gets skirtless

Thesis statement? we don't need no stinking thesis statement. In fact, we don't need no. Period. I will go so far as to say that.... oh wait, Survivor is back on. Watch your back, Courtney. Doo doo doo (Jaws music)...

I used to love rude t-shirts. Now I just find them rude. I would wear most anything and dared you to read it. Now I don't even like... well actually I really don't like... Hilfiger or Polo or anything else written on my clothes. In fact, the last thing I bought with words on it was a t-shirt that says Museum of Science and Industry, Tampa Florida. But it seemed appropriate enough. At the time.

Calming. There was something about the spaghetti colored walls. Those would have to go. As soon as she could scrape together enough loose change for a few pints of paint- maybe sherbert orange and lime green or maybe just flamingo pink if she could only swing one shade- it would be like magic for her little shack. Just what it needed really. Of course as a blind Peruvian conch peddler (her cheerful lesbianism played no part in her difficulty, really), and a crippled one at that, Key West and it's winding back roads could be a tough place for scraping together loose change. Tight change. That's more like it.

The options narrowed a little because of that. She had 2 main choices. Learn to live with spaghetti colored walls or somehow learn to live with spaghetti colored walls. I mean, what is life on an oyster shell road if not a series of choices and none of them good? If the deep south were easy, everybody would live there.

She needed to go to town. She grabbed her skirt off of the palmetto scrub where it looked a little better than when she wore it, although she didn't look worse in it precisely, just not better. "Sorry, Miss Thang," she spoke, "But I have been warned."

She was going to get drastic on the locals. Getting drastic on the spastic, she called it, though it didn't make perfect sense. But you know... deep south... oyster shell road... everybody'd do it. She had wanted to go to stand near the street and yell, "Paint. Paint. My kingdom for some paint!" But, being as how they knew her as the off kilter lesbian conch peddler who just happened to be Peruvian and who lived, often skirtless, in the palmetto scrub, well, the whole part about "my kingdom" was not exactly generating the buttload of buzz she had hoped for.

OK, off my tangent now. It just seemed like the time for a little story. Now it seems the time for a cookie (we made white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies last night) and a nap. Gosh, to have the only responsibilities I shouldered in kindergarden. Sit straight, play nice, don't eat crayons. Except for the sitting straight part, all of that is easy now. Dang! It finally gets easy and now so much more is expected of me.

Got my interview with the Sheriff now. My six months of wandering in the employment desert is ending. 0900 in Ybor City. Be there or be square. Dress for success. Pity the fool. (Insert your favorite jingo here ______. )

Like the lamb lies down on Broadway, out
Ramblin' Ed