–We had chili for dinner and I had the brilliant idea of putting the left over brisket in it and… wow! Yum.
–Then the Butcher dug me a hole and I filled it with the lilac and watered it and am hoping that it does well. That would be awesome to have a lilac in the yard.
–Then I played with the dog and wandered around the yard thinking about what I’m going to do this weekend.
–And the dog looked up at me and smiled and I just felt like the luckiest person in the world.
I just got word that my lilac has arrived.
You know, really, I can only hope to be half as generous with my plants and whatever knowledge I earn and my time as y’ll have been with me.
I really do love you guys. I’m sorry I’m such a weirdo, as I imagine normal girls would know whether to send you all gifts or thank-you notes or what and instead I’m just sitting here all awkward and humbled.
Dear State Legislators,
I don’t need a show of hands, but I want to ask: how many of you have never fucked someone you’re not married to? Because I, as an outsider, hear all kinds of tales about what so-and-so did with this lobbyist or why so-and-so had to marry that intern or how so-and-so’s wife knows all about what he does when he comes to Nashville, but she puts up with it because he’s a good dad. And it’s not like I go around hoping to hear gossip about state legislators. It’s just that you morons are so indiscreet and this town isn’t nearly as large as you pretend it is.
And yet, it seems that you guys are given free reign to behave like your annual Nashville jaunt is an episode of “Tennessee Lawmakers Gone Wild.” At least until some other scandal catches up with you.
I mention all this because I’m very, very uneasy, as a feminist, with the Official Panty Sniff you’re doing to Donna Rowland. It reeks of hypocrisy, like it’s fine for you to behave in all kinds of lurid ways, but god forbid some female state legislator has a sex life.
It’s not your business that Donna Rowland has a boyfriend at whose house she spends the night sometimes. If her neighbors see her at her house and if there’s furniture there and if she’s in there turning the lights on and off regularly and if she’s paying her mortgage or rent, it starts to feel a little purient that y’all are now going to sit down and try to pass judgement about where Rowland “lives,” since that will, in part, be based on how many nights she spends at her boyfriend’s house.
I just cannot believe that y’all want to set a precident that there should be investigations into who’s sleeping where, with whom, and for how long.
But, hey, if that is the direction you’re going in, can we have those hearings in public, because the word on the street is that some of you are up to some really interesting stuff, and I am, at heart, too nosey for my own good.
Aunt B.
–If you get your Comcast bill electronically and your Comcast is out, it is impossible to find their number to call and tell them. I can’t decide if that’s annoying or brilliant on their part or both.
–I have bugs in my compost pile! I was wondering how that stuff was going to transform from “pile of dead shit” to “wonderful stuff for your garden” and the arrival of bugs has shown me the way.
–In order of frequency of appearance in the Joelton Flyer, God is concerned about you, real estate, rich people who do right, and the Cherokee, who we ran off this land, but to whom we still look for wisdom. Or attribute wisdom to. You know, we can say they say whatever we want them to say because who’s left to complain? I don’t know.
–I’m getting a lilac! One of my friends is bringing me by a little bit of hers and I’m going to see if it won’t grow in my yard. I hope so. God, I love lilacs.
Tiny Cat Pants 