Not Watching The Speech

Report from the Cult

Time for Unconscious Mutterings:

I say, and you think:

   1. Long distance::Love
   2. Meant to be::Alive and free
   3. Here::There
   4. Endless::Love
   5. Resentment::Futile
   6. Insipid::Icky
   7. Bunny::Slippers
   8. Slogan::Saying
   9. Naked::Truth
  10. Sarcasm::Cutting

Odd. Or not. You decide.

It's a grey, rainy day; payment for the glorious gift of yesterday. The weather here cannot seem to decide what season it is, alternating between the bitter cold wind of winter and balmy springtime. Yesterday it was clear, bright, and almost warm -- 60 degrees! Today it's still mild, but blah -- the kind of day best spent dozing in front of a low fire with a good book, a cup of coffee, and a plate of shortbread cookies.

Speaking of coffee, Starbucks has come out with a new version of crack in a cup, the Cinnamon Dolce Latte. Evidently they weren't content with addicting me to the seasonal Gingerbread Latte. Oh my no. They had to go and invent this delightful, creamy treat. I sure do hope it's seasonal as well, otherwise all is lost. My God, the deliciousness!

So last weekend was the Big Scrapbook Cult Marathon Weekend. I had a very good time; got through most of the Las Vegas/Anniversary pictures. I get so immersed in these things that I tend to forget things outside of the cultish goings on. Things like... oh, MyJoe's birthday.

Yes. I confess. Even when he said to me, as we ate breakfast, "Not bad for 53, eh?" I did not get it. I just nodded and forked another spoonful of scrambled eggs into my yap. And I even had a witty, romantic birthday card all ready for him!! Needless to say, when he called my attention to this heinous lapse -- and very nicely and kindly he did, too -- I felt terrible. Really embarrassed. I helped him lug the massage chair and accoutrements down from the hotel room and set them up in the cloak room. Then, when he came to collect his first client, I noticed that the Queen of the Cult was making some announcements.

I ran up to the podium and asked if she would announce that the Massage Guy was here and ready to go, and that it was his birthday, and maybe the group could sing "Happy Birthday" to him?

And thus it came to pass that MyJoe was serenaded by 200 women on his birthday, in voice and American Sign Language, and he got to put his hands on about 35 of them, and I didn't mind a bit.