I brought my own microwave, thank you very much.
tweet thisFiled under: Deep South, Everyday, family, food, health, life, writing
Let me explain how I came to own the microwaveable egg poacher, first. Then, you can make your judgements. I am, as someone once said, a "marketer's wet dream." I'm not sure if or how that could be considered a compliment, but when in doubt, I make everything a compliment, anyway, so... I like to think everyone in the whole world, actually, is talking about me, at any given moment. It makes me feel better. I can't deny that I probably have a problem, like a genuine problem, this time; I'm a walking bank account when it comes to clever advertising and bright...
Mistakes make you feel bad. Like Peter Scolari or Mario van Peebles.
Filed under: faith, food, language, life, theatre, writing
I've made a mistake. I know I've made, like, at least two mistakes, previously, in my whole life and this would make three, and that's like, a holy number, so maybe I've come full circle, now. God, I hope. And though I don't make many mistakes, I know quite well what it feels like; the three I've made already have hurt like the Dickens. You know what the Dickens feels like, don't you? It feels like a headache plus a backache plus a neckache plus a stomachache, and your stomach is connected to your knee bone and your knee bone's connected to your jaw bone, something...
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