...when you have a job. The last time I wrote I think some of my country cousins had just left. Since then another batch came and went, but these were city cousins. Well, 1 cousin. My sister housed the other city cousin and we spent the weekend shopping and eating and listening to great music. We saw the band "The Clumsy Lovers" (yes, yes, I know they finally named a band after moi...)
There occurred during the weekend shopping foray a particularly OFW split down the middle of the party...my sister had called me and my cousin and my sister-in-law (we were all 3 already in downtown Seattle fully engaged in the Nordstrom Mothership Experience) from the bus where she and her entourage (daughter, cousin, friend from Spokane) where fast approaching our exact coordinates. She asked where we were and I told her. I then said we were getting peckish and would be requiring sustenance in short order & suggested the cafe on the top floor of The Mothership, since it was right handy. Their party arrived forthwith and the darling 22 year old offspring of my charming sister piped up with a, "We're not really down with your choice for a place to eat lunch, aunt Katois." "Well, I'm not married to the choice, pick a better one and I'll gladly follow." She then informed me her comestible milieu of choice was a Vietnamese place 6 blocks away that sold pastries filled with meats of dubious origin for $2.00 at the Pike Place Market. I informed her that 1.) It's raining and 2.) My hair looks cute (it did) and the moisture will destroy it, and 3. I have no desire to stand outside in the rain eating a greasy pastry filled with god-knows-what when I still had shopping to do at or near The Mothership. So the party split up as we had met up, my gals agreeing that Nordstrom Cafe was a more pleasant alternative and the intrepid four scampering about the city-scape gobbling down hum-bow.
To keep you abreast of the goings on in my pretty little head: I am still very nervous about the state of Godzilla country and the effect her radiation poisoning will have on yours truly and those she loves. I wonder why Muammar Gaddafi's female bodyguards don't try to dissuade him from the hair and moustache dye-it's not fooling anyone. I place bets with myself on when Charlie Sheen will come to in Tijuana with no front teeth and no recollection of how he got there. Just some of my musings...
Well, I'm going to get ready for work tomorrow-I have to be at SeaTac at the barbaric hour of 5:30a.m. in order to catch a plane and be at my meeting in San Francisco by 10:00a.m. Wish me luck and pray the jackals don't flay me alive. I am the new kid on the block and apparently rendering the flesh of the newbies is one of the favorite pastimes of the group I'm to meet with. Oh well, it's nothing an Old French Whore hasn't faced before. And usually those attempting to assault me end up in the I.C.U. with their bodily fluids and gasses entering and leaving their carcasses via tubes and bags with round-the-clock teams of highly skilled medical personnel hovering nearby. Figuratively speaking, of course. Good thing the meeting is at the new hospital trauma center, though. I'm just sayin'...
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