Truckin', yes indeed, I'm truckin'.
I never cared much for the Grateful Dead. I went to see them with friends (post Jerry's death) almost ten years ago. We ate a brownie and put on the music to get inspired. And then I realized -- I'm going to be off tripping on large doses of ingested weed to crappy music. We still had a great time, but that has mostly to do with my friends, not the band.
I've been working hard lately, but taking a few breaks here and there. Last night Ollie and I paused in our furious typing to swing by the Kava Lounge and spend a few minutes with friends. Only a handful of people had shown up before we headed out, but the music was great, and the smiles were plenty.
I got home and M.s. made me the stiff drink I'd been asking for all day -- Italian limoncello and a whole lotta vodka. I slept like a drunken baby, hard on through until 8:00 a.m., at which time my sister Jane called to sing me a rap song.
I'll try to get some words in today, but at some point I need to head out to the grocery stores, because we're making a pasta-dish-salad-thingy to bring to a dinner party later today. I'm not sure who's going, but the house is a block away from my mother's, so I'm going to pop over there to see my niece and nephews (who are always there on Saturdays) so I can get some family time in before friend and new-friend time. I hope they weren't planning for an outdoor dinner because it is RAINING. Wet.
I have no shame, I may drive down to Chula Juana with my boa trailing out the window. I'm getting great feedback on my CHP story, and that makes me VERY happy. Rock onward and upward.