I ate dinner at 5:00 and now it’s 10:00, a whole seven hours till breakfast. And there is macaroni and cheese in the house that I want nothing to do with but it has somehow learned my name. So scared. If I don’t make it, I just want everyone to know the de Kooning behind the bedroom door I found at a yard sale in Chiapas.
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Sonoyta is a very old word meaning speed trap.
Now reconciling my adult misophonia with a childhood anxiety brought on by the Dixieland jazz at Farrell's Ice Cream Parlor birthday parties.
All but sleepwalking through our morning constitutional, the origin of an unseen bird's song eludes me. I wonder aloud if it might be the call of the common Mud Whistler, to which Hiram offers it was probably just the chili.
We’re glue-gunning the most colorful remnants of last year’s crushed egg shells to the sequins of tomorrow’s brunch bonnets which we’ve up cycled from Roman soldier skirt leather from yesterday’s crucifixion procession in the barrio. Christ may be the reason-for-the-season when it comes to winter holiday decorations, just remember to pace yourself because come spring you'll understand that Easter truly is to die for.
Just a note that we have officially entered a post-coulrophobic age. It is no longer necessary to preface links, memes, movie trailers, and other comic actor subject matter with disclaimers about one's own coulrophobia. It is now a given that anyone interested in being frighted by clowns also claims to suffer from the malady.