Hello, again!

He said “I miss your writing” and I thought no one had ever said “I love you” better.

Oh Lordy, it’s good to say hello again to you, Dear Reader. You would not believe what we’ve been through since the last time we touched base. It’s been crazier than a cat lady in a thunderstorm here and the shame of it all is–I can’t go into any great detail about any of it! However, there are some highlights I CAN share:

First, if you find yourself down in Southern Nevada and run across a space ship in the desert like The B-Man and I did, and start taking pictures, do not be surprised if some scary Army guys come up and take your camera away. Also, they will not find your impression of Dr. Smith from Lost in Space the least bit funny. Anyway, for secret government reasons, I can’t share much about that particular incident, but, I for one, welcome our new insect overlords.

I also can’t tell you much of what Mr. Brenda’s been doing during the interim, either…for legal reasons! He won’t even tell us! All we know is he says he’s under house arrest and has to wear one of those ankle bracelet things. He’s been gluing rhinestones all over it trying to make it look more like Paris Hilton’s cell phone. It looks pretty good except for where he burned his leg which is why you shouldn’t use a hot glue-gun if you’ve been drinking.

As for Briter, he’s been traveling around the country with the Dennis Kucinich campaign. Briter loved the guy and rushed to help his candidacy, but it turn’s out the Kucinich people had very little use for someone whose main talent was flinging monkey poo. He’s kind of depressed about the whole experience and doesn’t want to talk about it. Poor little guy. (I mean Briter; I don’t have any idea how Mr. Kucinich feels since they blocked our phone number shortly after Briter came home.)

And there you are, Dear Reader–all caught up with the events here! I want to wish you all a Happy Valentine’s day, too. You don’t need to go out and buy expensive gifts for your honey; there are many ways to show how much you love him, like saying you want him to start writing again.

Hey, Mr. B-Man, I love you! Will you be my valentine?

 

Is gingerism as bad as racism?

So asks the BBC News and reports on the state of redheads in England which sounds like a total bummer. I grew up hearing only a few taunts about my hair (which used to be really orange) but they had no sting.You should know “carrot-top” is the lamest thing ever to call a redhead since the tops of carrots are green and have leaves. Why not just call me a “carrot?” You’re not insulting me, you’re just embarrassing yourself.

Anyway, according to the article, the Brits have it all over us when it comes to name calling:

Carrot-top, copper-top, ginger-nut, ginger minger, bluey (among Australians), Duracell, Ronald McDonald, Simply Red, Queen Elizabeth. And so on for hours and hours of the typical redhead’s life.

The Australians are predictably cryptic and I’d consider Duracell a compliment. And oh, what wouldn’t I give to be called a ginger minger on the way to Reno on a crowded Greyhound bus! The mind boggles at the thought.

The article makes it sound like our British cousins have it much worse over there. They envy redheaded women in the USA who are seen as “alluring, beautiful,” and “glamorous” which, funny enough, are the same words used to describe my sister, “Nevada Girl,” so it must be true.

The whole article is a fascinating read and full of interesting theories and opinions about redheads such as we bleed more but also have a higher tolerance for pain. And it’s all caused by a mutated MC1R gene! “Ginger minger mutant!” THAT’s the dream insult I’d like thrown my way!

 

 

Disco Elevator!

I’m thinking Nevada Girl would love this to happen to her!

 

Nothing like a dame

I know, I know…it’s been ages since I wrote, but honestly, it’s been a madhouse here ever since Paris Hilton was sentenced to jail. As you can imagine, Mr. Brenda is a wreck. We told him to stop drunk-calling us at 2:30 in the morning just to cry about how much he loves Paris, so instead, he comes and sits in his car out front blasting that godawful CD she made. (That CD is reason enough to lock her up.) Bottom line: the neighbors are starting to complain. We all agreed it was weird to hear them not complaining about Briter, but understandable since he ran away the week before to join some commune up North. See? It’s all crazy here.

Anyway, have a wonderful weekend, and here’s a lovely video of women in Art through the ages.

 

One perfect flower

For no reason other than Love, The B-Man brought home a peony for me.