I’m Dreaming Of A May White Sale

      Alasklown Memorial Flake

Don’t forget that as of this weekend, it’s perfectly comme il faut to wear white shoes—or in these people’s case, white snow shoes.

Everybody out to make snow-wingnuts! We at Chez Polly are welcoming Mama-San, her baggies of discouraged tomatoes and bananas, and her relentless pursuit of bad grammar, for the holiday, by making almost hourly wine runs. Our boy Strange is resting up from his first week going to Adaptive Living School at last, at last, about which more later, depending on how he feels, but suffice it to say it has been the first really good week for him in a very long time.

How is every little thing, Roasters?

Posted by Mrs. Polly on 05/26/13 at 03:30 PM • Permalink

Categories: BoozeImagesMessylaneousPoliticsNuttersRumproast RelatedStrangeAppar8us

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Viva le Etrange!  I love it when Mama-san shows up! please file daily reports.  Will she be in white?

Thanks, Bette! le Etrange is actually still catching up on Zzzs, so a formal update from him will appear tomorrow…perhaps. He’s, as we say, really schwonked.  Mama-san has been sporting periwinkle polka-dot PJs, while the others of us are resplendent in particolor flannel, suitable to the Frozen North from which we seem now to hail.

Our activities schedule:

Thursday night: Spectacular thunderstorm, Pinot Grigio, complaints from certain quarters that although the thunder was nice, there wasn’t any visible bolt lightning. Why the hell can’t she ever see some good bolt lightning?

Friday night: Sancerre and people who say “eck cetera” should meet a violent end.

Saturday night: Malbec and people who pronounce it “Newn” instead of “Noon” are cretins who should be put in stocks.

Sunday: brunch sharply at noon, lunch or tea or whatever it is commencing now at 7PM, supper no later than 11:30, antique bottle of White Horse still good after all!

Monday: Early morning emergency wine run for 2 bottles of red with which to salute the country properly.

What? Do people have some other way of observing solemn holidays?

I observed my Saturday by taking the longest mountain bike ride I’ve done in years (because my recent prolotherapy made my knees much, much better).  An extra 45 minutes got added to my big loop trip when the local motorcycle sacrifice area turned out to be hosting a national-level race, so my bike path underpass was closed, necessitating either 45 minutes on busy roads (I hate that) or another 3 hours retracing my journey (I was too tired for that).  Still, a lovely day, the trails were filled with wildflowers, and the weather was perfect so it was a wonderful day even if I was a bit pissed about a commercial event being allowed to close a major bike underpass that took me miles out of my planned route.

I can’t complain about the forced extra part of my ride, especially after visiting a friend in the hospital today who has had an entire vertibra removed (cancer) and a metal cage installed via his abdomen to bridge that gap in his lower back.  He would simply love to be able to get out and ride his bike again; it has been a tough road up until now and hopefully this is the last he will see of the Big C.  He may be good enough to try riding again by this fall.  We sure hope so.

I worked the graveyard shift, slept for four hours, and returned to work a half shift in the afternoon.  After I got home from work, I showered and hit the bar to have a few beers with some old friends.

One of my upstairs neighbors waits tables at the bar.  She’s a very charming young woman, and for the life of me, I could never remember her name.  I asked one of the old bartenders, “Pat, what’s the name of the Monaghan girl with the red hair and glasses?  She lives upstairs from me, and I can never remember her name.”  Maureen.  Say it three times so you’ll remember it: Maureen Maureen Maureen.  Maureen.

Also on the bar staff front, one of the barbacks grew a “young guy beard” and is now tending bar- I introduced myself and congratulated him on his promotion.  Kevin, who is studying at John Jay School of Criminal Justice, is the son of Jimmy, one of the other bartenders, who I met about twenty years ago when he was tending bar at Glocca Morra on 3rd Ave and 23rd St.  Do I spend too much time in bars?  Maybe…

The bar band was great- they were a cover band, but with a twist… they played mashups.  Hilarious concept, great execution.  I actually cleared the dance floor dancing with a very attractive woman about twenty years younger than me.  Good moves, good comic timing- I like to “bust” goofy dance moves, like pantomiming casting with a fishing rod and “reeling” my partner in, and she was able to match me trope for trope.  We kept the crowd well entertained.

I don’t know how I made it to 2AM, and my knees are feeling a bit creaky (I can still go like the Energizer bunny, but the recovery takes a lot longer). 

Got up around noon and drank a half gallon of water to mitigate the aftereffects of Too Much Fun.  I’m now plotting my next move, which may be limited to taking a stroll in the park to take advantage of the pristine weather.

Maureen.

Waiting to hear back from an agent on the full for novel 2. Waiting for a publisher on novel 1 (likely a rejection). Writing writing writing books 3 and 4, plotting books 5 and 6. In between all that, keeping watch on the kiddo, cleaning house, and otherwise being domestic.

This is my life. Every day. Plus editing for a crap small press who wouldn’t know quality writing if it slapped them in the face. For serious. lol Doesn’t change much for holidays. :P

The Mister and I are marking 16 years of matrimony by taking our first vacation in about…16 years? Even though we live mere blocks from one of the crappiest beaches in Florida, the Mister believes that a proper holiday must be spent at the beach. So we’re off to the beach!

I spent the back part of the weekend recovering from a week spent drawing up a lengthy list of brain-meltingly tedious reference queries for a mammoth tome on the worldwide state of the anti-capital punishment movement (a penalty that I’ve concluded should be reserved and wholeheartedly endorsed for those who put together books and presumptiously submit them for publishing without apparently ever casting an eye over the words after having tapped them out on their keyboards, along with those who pass them for publication without having drawn said tome’s shortcomings to the attention of anybody, let alone the authors, leaving oppressed underpaid scriveners like me to pick up the pieces and try to assemble them into something passable), then got outside for a touch of gardening, which mainly consisted of shoveling up endless bagsful of leaves from our neighbors’ trees which border our land and somehow never seem to shed them on the other side of the fence. In between times, I marveled at the slow march of Spring, still emerging here due to the diverted jet stream, thanks Al Gore, and drank beer till it came out my ears. Then I slept all of this off.

Sorry, you did ask.

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