nunya beeswax

Not feeling quite so icky today. The closer the Good Soldier Svejk gets to the front, the nastier the book gets, and the more brazenly communist in tone. I thought yesterday that the translation bit mops, so I went on line and found out that it DOES bite mops, so I should have been warned when Parrott (the translator) whined about how it was ‘impossible’ to translate the colloquial Czech.

Somebody else has done a more recent translation and it’s only available on line. I’m very tempted to get it, but only the first book is available, and it’s ten bucks US. I’ll have to think about it.

Paul did NOT have to go to Calgary, and Katie’s friend Ashley had dinner with us last night. Katie didn’t – she was working out with Lexi. My life is too freaking complicated.

Ashley asked Paul how much John was paying for rent (this was while we were driving her home) and Paul said, in a tone of voice I wish I could reproduce, but let’s just say bemused and frustrated, “None of your f*cking business!” and I laughed so hard I hurt myself. Sometimes you just have to tell it like it is. I assured Ashley, through my gales of laughter, that we still liked her, but there are some questions you’re just not supposed to ask. Ashley has very severe ADHD, and although she is a sunny natured creature, she has the impulse control of a housefly.

It’s okay, I’d say it to her face, too.

Had the pleasure of meeting Katie’s new boyfriend Matt yesterday. If he can be civil to both of my children, he will always be welcome in my house.

MOTHER OF GOD! You should see what Katie’s wearing for picture day at school. Maybe you shouldn’t. It’s pretty, um, well, uh. Okay, let’s just say that most of the boys at the school will greet her appearance with attention and enthusiasm. There, how’s that for a nice way of putting it?

Last night I dreamed a Russian couple tried to kidnap me to be their sex slave. We had been sitting in a restaurant, out on the patio, eating dinner, and all of a sudden they do this stick their hands in their pockets and pretend they have guns thing. I started laughing and said, “Oh, right, you’re going to shoot me in public. Get lost, I’m not going anywhere.” As I was waking up I realized they had stuck me with the cheque. Damn! So the gypsy put a curse on me, but only half of it stuck. I am now remembering dreams at about ten times the frequency of six months ago, but interpretation of the damned things is completely beyond me. The curse was, you will remember your dreams and you will be able to interpret them, but like I said, only half of it took. If somebody can help me with the second half of the curse, I’d be obliged. On the other hand, do I really WANT to be able to interpret dreams like that? Who are you, and what have you done with my brain????

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Allegra

Born 1958. Not dead yet.

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