611. Oopsies, poopsies!

Thank you, Sleep Goblin, for pointing out in the comment section of the last post that I skipped poor little 611. I spent a good part of the day in search of it. When I found 611, it was shriveled up in the corner, crying its eyes out.

I picked it up, dusted it off, only to be bombarded with fitty neurotic vocal spasms of "You don't LOVE me. You SKIPPED me! I thought I was your favorite!"

Oi vë!

I tried my best to tell the poor thing that I'd simply erred, that I'd forgotten to hit the "publish" button after I gave birth to it. But no. She was sure I had an ulterior motive. A secret hate for her.

Obviously, 611 is related to me--must be a distant cousin.

So, yes, Jeremy, in fact 611 was something a bit juicy.

Here you go, and thank you for reading my silly blog!:

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[Originally written and meant to publish on 1/4/07 @ 12:48pm. What can I say? I'm a poo-flinging monkey.]

Enjoying my cappuccino this morning, an older man came up to me and said that I looked like Angela Lansbury "back in the day." He continued with "I'm 75" and intimate details of his Ceres-originated stamp collection. (Don't ask me. I only work here.)

Angela Lansbury? What a compliment! Although I do wonder: had I not been wearing my finest ostridge feather hat, fuchsia boa, scarlet camisole set, drop chandelier earrings, rhinestone choker necklace, and fish net stockings, would he have made the connection?

Probably Not.