Friday, March 16, 2007

Friday natterings

I'm sorry, Internet. I put all of today's ration of creativity into this week's Mamarazzi post. Check it out if you want to see why Donald Trump probably won't bother to get a paternity test for his latest wife's baby.

I got my hair colored and styled today. It looks good. The rest of me kind of sucks, but tonight we're going to see Cosi Fan Tutti. We sit in a box, and before the opera we have dinner in this special dining room for the Truly Big Donors. I enjoy swanning around there and feeling like Really Hot Shit, so don't worry, Internet; I'll slap on some makeup and get into the Little Black Dress du jour (whom am I kidding?* I only have one Little Black Dress. And it's "du soir," anyway.)

Now for the bad news. I need to get off my ass and pack up the minivan for a weekend in the city. I also need to talk my children into putting their clothes on, because they didn't have school today, and naturally, stayed in their pajamas.

Tomorrow I have four hours of rehearsals for a piece I don't like very much. On Sunday I'll have to perform it. If asked, "Poppy, do you like the Durufle' Requiem?" My answer would be "Feh." But do people ask? No, they do not. And therein lies the problem.

Oh yeah. It got cold again. On Monday it was 75 degrees Fahrenheit. Today it's 36 degrees.

There's an asshole parked on my street. The rear of his or her car is lapping over my driveway by about a foot and a half. Do I have your permission to smack him?

*Note correct grammar. See how easy it is? Why does this elude so many people, most of who should know better?


  1. 1. Any grammatical errors in my blog are purely intentional, that I know of.

    2. I do so pity your weekend extravaganza burdens. This evening I had rollicking good dog walk and my Chicken Nuggets were especially succulent! ;o)

    3. March is the cruelest month. Spring, my arse!

  2. That "who" makes me feel the way you feel when you're walking down stairs and you expect there to be one more step, but there isn't and your foot just kind of smacks into the floor.

    Don't let it happen again.

  3. Grammar chicks are the bomb-diggety.


  4. Forget the smacking. Call parking enforcement. It's a 40 dollar ticket where I live and I gleefully turn in the driveway blockers.


Gentle Readers:

For the time being, I've turned off comment moderation. Please don't spam; it's not nice.

xxx, Poppy.