Okay, so I’m no Blanche DuBois, forced to “depend on the kindness of strangers“, but am really lucky and most grateful to have generous and kind dear friends who like to hit the road a lot and ask me to ride shotgun. They are kind; I am a travel ho. Facts are facts.
I think I’m having a traveling year. Poor me, right? No boo hoo anywhere near me – I love to travel. Am a horrid photographer, but the picture above features the home of a 14-foot alligator named Buster. He lives on an island off South Carolina. I didn’t meet him but when I was little, my dad picked me up and pretended he was throwing me into an alligator pit at some tourist trap. I was that kind of kid, the kind you want to throw to the alligators. Maybe that’s where all my self-confidence comes from.
So I’m dropping in and out-of-town, at least through June. God willing and the creek don’t rise. I do miss Cooper the dog, but he’s so pissed I’m not around, he’ll probably bite me when we see each other again. Speaking of bites, I used that phrase, “bite me” quite a bit but I had to stop. Why would I want someone who was giving me shit to bite me? Wouldn’t, shouldn’t I want to bite them instead? Someone, anyone, please explain. Ok, back on track.
Last night was a full moon. Was in the beautiful country with girlfriends. Center photo was taken during post-dinner/cocktails. Outside, lying on a huge pad with four girlfriends, singing summer camp songs we learned many a moon ago. Friends for more than 40 years (pre-school). Nothing had changed, everything has changed. And we left out a bunch of words to the songs because – whoops – we couldn’t remember them. El Jefe, our hostess, brought up the fact that, with the moon and all, we could be eaten by werewolves. That happens all the time, you know. I left them out there debating when and where said werewolves would appear and went to bed. They were all alive the next morning. Win-win.
So, I’m home for today, packing to leave for McPaddie‘s graduation from college. My bank account, which has 7 cents in it, is doing its own happy dance. Have been honest before about my aversion to the sun resulting in skin the color of packaged chicken. Fine for winter, dreadful for spring/summer. Have tried self-tanners with disastrous results. Once I had orange candy cane striped legs and the People of Walmart actually pointed to and laughed at them. Oh, the shame. My friend, Malibu, has provided me with an alternative.
The phrase, “Vanity, thy name is woman” would apply – if it were correct. But Shakespeare wrote, “Frailty, thy name is woman“. Whatever – I went to the magic place, Throwing Copper, today and am now airbrushed a golden copper shade. I would say “I’m so vain” but truly, it is a gift for anyone who has to look at me. It is organic stuff, doesn’t smell horrid and lasts about a week. Apparently I’m the last one to this party as this practice is a weekly ritual for many. And it could be weird, standing there with your privacy hanging out while the shaman airbrushes your bod. But it does look quite fetching if I don’t say so myself. Here’s the scoop, in case you, too, have sun issues:
Now I’m off to Land of the Weird, complete with savage tan. Promise to look for the man who wears only a red marble bag and walks the entire city that way. He would so fit into my travel photos.
Ok, no one has any reason to feel sorry for moi. But if you are a stranger and need to get rid of some jack, let me know and I’ll give you my Kindness of Strangers P.O. Money Box. Promise to buy you a souvenir somewhere and write a very sweet thank you note. If you expect more for your money, keep it. Just sayin’.
Back in a flash. Or two.