Hey LL you planning on releasing a book of your works anytime soon...
I Had a Mid-life Crisis and Brought the Kids!
by irishrose1969 on 19 Mar 2009 16:53
Whaaat. That is sooo freaking cool. I love these installments.
Hey LL you planning on releasing a book of your works anytime soon...
Hey LL you planning on releasing a book of your works anytime soon...
Proud Flagbearer Vegas 08
It is fun to be on Stewart Copeland's Wall.
It is fun to be on Stewart Copeland's Wall.
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irishrose1969 - Posts: 1900
- Joined: 01 Feb 2007 00:23
- Location: Copelandia... My Happy Place!!
by luddite lady on 20 Mar 2009 04:48
[quote="Divemistress of the Dark"]Yeah. I think that moment pretty well made my year, personally...[/quote]
I'm not surprised. I've watched your video of the event and your glee is extremely apparent in the background sounds and camera shakes. I showed the clip to my son back in August and it quickly became his favourite. For a long time he'd make a request to see it when I'd be on the computer. He'd ask me, "Can I see the video where that Dive lady screams her head off?" No matter how often he saw it he'd be in tears everytime as much from your reaction as from what was happening on stage. Thanks for the laughs, my dear!
And here's hoping that your uninvited guests, Sam and Ella, will pack up and move along really soon.
I'm not surprised. I've watched your video of the event and your glee is extremely apparent in the background sounds and camera shakes. I showed the clip to my son back in August and it quickly became his favourite. For a long time he'd make a request to see it when I'd be on the computer. He'd ask me, "Can I see the video where that Dive lady screams her head off?" No matter how often he saw it he'd be in tears everytime as much from your reaction as from what was happening on stage. Thanks for the laughs, my dear!
And here's hoping that your uninvited guests, Sam and Ella, will pack up and move along really soon.
In Dallas, the only game that really mattered was in the word gamelan.
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luddite lady - Posts: 2224
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by luddite lady on 29 Mar 2009 05:25
Part 28
Elvis and the Impostors (his band, not Andy, Stewart and Sting in disguise) left the stage and I decompressed a bit.
“That was pretty funny,” Sporterella said smiling.
“Uh huh.” I was momentarily lost in thought. “You know…I asked Stewart to go on stage during that song…It’s nice to see him honour my request.”
My daughter is well aware of my truth stretching abilities. Thus, she was unimpressed.
“Yeah?” she yawned, “On that little forum of yours? You probably make all sorts of requests. I’m going to the washroom and get some food, okay?”
She went off to stand in the epic washroom line. (By the way, what’s with this Nikon Theatre having only one ladies’ room? It’s cruel and unusual. When you look at the stage, you see the ocean in your peripheral vision. It’s a beautiful view but one bastard of a subliminal message for a place with one restroom. At this venue, all our talk of Depends turns from fan hyperbole to sound advice.) While Sporterella was gone I relished my coincidental conquest. I did suggest on sc.net that Stewart join Elvis for “Peace, Love and Understanding” at least once during the tour. I remember that Dive even seconded the idea. For a little while this request became my nag du jour. Sure, I was hoping he’d play drums along with Pete in a double drummer domination of one of my favourite songs. But Stewart did perform on stage…with Elvis…during “Peace, Love and Understanding”. That’s close enough for me. Thanks Stewart.
My daughter was still gone when I saw Tamadude walking up one of the aisles in the orchestra towards the exit just below me. I tried to get his attention so we could finally say hello in person.
I waved my arms and shouted, “Hey, Tamadude! Yo, Tama! T’dude over here!”
He was just a few metres away from me, but all my yelling went unnoticed. By him. The other people nearby stared at me as I continued to speak in tongues. When I decided to try Tamadude’s real name, I drew a blank beyond remembering that it began with the letter D. My babbling was reduced to “Da…Do…Duh…Damn!”
Tamadude was now out of sight, but not before I had caught a glimpse of a suspiciously familiar signature scrawled on his back. As I fell silent, my adjacent audience members were left to ponder if this odd woman had been filled with the Holy Spirit, had been warming up to sing along with “Da Do Do Do” or had suffered a mild stroke. The true answer was written in capital letters on my back: NUTTER. I’ve come to realize that this particular T shirt serves as both a piece of clothing and a warning label.
Elvis and the Impostors (his band, not Andy, Stewart and Sting in disguise) left the stage and I decompressed a bit.
“That was pretty funny,” Sporterella said smiling.
“Uh huh.” I was momentarily lost in thought. “You know…I asked Stewart to go on stage during that song…It’s nice to see him honour my request.”
My daughter is well aware of my truth stretching abilities. Thus, she was unimpressed.
“Yeah?” she yawned, “On that little forum of yours? You probably make all sorts of requests. I’m going to the washroom and get some food, okay?”
She went off to stand in the epic washroom line. (By the way, what’s with this Nikon Theatre having only one ladies’ room? It’s cruel and unusual. When you look at the stage, you see the ocean in your peripheral vision. It’s a beautiful view but one bastard of a subliminal message for a place with one restroom. At this venue, all our talk of Depends turns from fan hyperbole to sound advice.) While Sporterella was gone I relished my coincidental conquest. I did suggest on sc.net that Stewart join Elvis for “Peace, Love and Understanding” at least once during the tour. I remember that Dive even seconded the idea. For a little while this request became my nag du jour. Sure, I was hoping he’d play drums along with Pete in a double drummer domination of one of my favourite songs. But Stewart did perform on stage…with Elvis…during “Peace, Love and Understanding”. That’s close enough for me. Thanks Stewart.
My daughter was still gone when I saw Tamadude walking up one of the aisles in the orchestra towards the exit just below me. I tried to get his attention so we could finally say hello in person.
I waved my arms and shouted, “Hey, Tamadude! Yo, Tama! T’dude over here!”
He was just a few metres away from me, but all my yelling went unnoticed. By him. The other people nearby stared at me as I continued to speak in tongues. When I decided to try Tamadude’s real name, I drew a blank beyond remembering that it began with the letter D. My babbling was reduced to “Da…Do…Duh…Damn!”
Tamadude was now out of sight, but not before I had caught a glimpse of a suspiciously familiar signature scrawled on his back. As I fell silent, my adjacent audience members were left to ponder if this odd woman had been filled with the Holy Spirit, had been warming up to sing along with “Da Do Do Do” or had suffered a mild stroke. The true answer was written in capital letters on my back: NUTTER. I’ve come to realize that this particular T shirt serves as both a piece of clothing and a warning label.
In Dallas, the only game that really mattered was in the word gamelan.
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luddite lady - Posts: 2224
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- Location: Searching the world for symphonic gamelan
by luddite lady on 12 Apr 2009 05:45
Part 29
Before the intermission finished, a young married couple arrived to occupy the seats to my immediate left. The wife looked a little under the weather and remained silent as her husband struck up a conversation with me. He started by inquiring about the yellow wrist bands the Sporterella and I were wearing. These were the CHA bracelets that Pluto had given out to Nutters in the parking lot prior to the show. After I had explained the intricate mysteries of the CHA, the man was still curious, “You and your CHA friends sound like you’re really into The Police. But how do you feel about Sting in particular? Are you big fans?”
“That’s not a simple question to answer. It’ll take a while,” I warned.
The man looked over at his wife who gave him a nod and an understanding smile.
He grinned at me, “That’s okay. I’m all ears.”
I began, “Well, if you look down to the first few rows by the stage, you might notice a fair number of people wearing green…”
By the time “Get Up! Stand Up!” was playing this guy had been educated about The Police, sc,net, the Flag, Stewart and the incredible MSG give away. He also had the head ups regarding where Stewart would be pointing that night. The guy seemed genuinely impressed by Stewart’s interaction with his fans and his generosity. In fact, I may have kreated a konvert. Several times during the concert, he remarked very favourably on Stewart’s playing and nudged me when he noticed a point directed to Tamadude.
What can I say about the gig itself? I can only reiterate what others have said more eloquently before me. Many feel that it was the best show of the reunion tour. Objectively, I agree, but subjectively, my favourite show is a tie between Buffalo and the MSG finale. That said, there is no denying all the amazing stuff that happened on stage that night. The boys were all so loose and fun. Sting was downright playful. He chewed on Stewart’s green ball, nattered on about the CHA “footballs” (Have you never seen a basketball before, Mr. Sumner?), and even released the CHA, if ever so briefly. In fact, I missed that CHA altogether. Most of the time, I was trying to explain to my daughter how this concert was like no other thus far in the reunion. Despite my numerous concert experiences, my excitement that night made me unable to comprehend that no amount of yelling would make me intelligibly audible to my seat mate.
Jones Beach 2 delivered well beyond my hopes. By the gig’s halfway point I would have gladly laid down money for Jones Beach 3 through 12 if such an opportunity had presented itself.
Before the intermission finished, a young married couple arrived to occupy the seats to my immediate left. The wife looked a little under the weather and remained silent as her husband struck up a conversation with me. He started by inquiring about the yellow wrist bands the Sporterella and I were wearing. These were the CHA bracelets that Pluto had given out to Nutters in the parking lot prior to the show. After I had explained the intricate mysteries of the CHA, the man was still curious, “You and your CHA friends sound like you’re really into The Police. But how do you feel about Sting in particular? Are you big fans?”
“That’s not a simple question to answer. It’ll take a while,” I warned.
The man looked over at his wife who gave him a nod and an understanding smile.
He grinned at me, “That’s okay. I’m all ears.”
I began, “Well, if you look down to the first few rows by the stage, you might notice a fair number of people wearing green…”
By the time “Get Up! Stand Up!” was playing this guy had been educated about The Police, sc,net, the Flag, Stewart and the incredible MSG give away. He also had the head ups regarding where Stewart would be pointing that night. The guy seemed genuinely impressed by Stewart’s interaction with his fans and his generosity. In fact, I may have kreated a konvert. Several times during the concert, he remarked very favourably on Stewart’s playing and nudged me when he noticed a point directed to Tamadude.
What can I say about the gig itself? I can only reiterate what others have said more eloquently before me. Many feel that it was the best show of the reunion tour. Objectively, I agree, but subjectively, my favourite show is a tie between Buffalo and the MSG finale. That said, there is no denying all the amazing stuff that happened on stage that night. The boys were all so loose and fun. Sting was downright playful. He chewed on Stewart’s green ball, nattered on about the CHA “footballs” (Have you never seen a basketball before, Mr. Sumner?), and even released the CHA, if ever so briefly. In fact, I missed that CHA altogether. Most of the time, I was trying to explain to my daughter how this concert was like no other thus far in the reunion. Despite my numerous concert experiences, my excitement that night made me unable to comprehend that no amount of yelling would make me intelligibly audible to my seat mate.
Jones Beach 2 delivered well beyond my hopes. By the gig’s halfway point I would have gladly laid down money for Jones Beach 3 through 12 if such an opportunity had presented itself.
In Dallas, the only game that really mattered was in the word gamelan.
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luddite lady - Posts: 2224
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by smudge on 17 Apr 2009 20:12
LL I keep re-reading your fantastic description of inducting random gig-neighbors into the cult. Too, too strange, because I was having the exact same conversation about 20 meters above your head at the same time. Thanks to the lovely Laurie, I was front row centre on the balcony thingy (and therefore comfortably close to the other ladies' loo in the venue. So I had a great view of the ocean, AND somewhere to pee. Perfect. )
The couple behind me bravely enquired, as Elvis left the stage, as to why I was laughing so hard that I had hiccups. There really isn't a short answer to that, is there?
Oh wait - yes, there is: "What’s so funny about “Peace, Love and Understanding”? I’ll tell you what’s so funny. Stewart Copeland freakin’ singing “What’s so funny about peace, love and understanding”; that’s what!"
You're a bloomin' genius LL.
The couple behind me bravely enquired, as Elvis left the stage, as to why I was laughing so hard that I had hiccups. There really isn't a short answer to that, is there?
Oh wait - yes, there is: "What’s so funny about “Peace, Love and Understanding”? I’ll tell you what’s so funny. Stewart Copeland freakin’ singing “What’s so funny about peace, love and understanding”; that’s what!"
You're a bloomin' genius LL.
"You can't always do right, but you can always do what's left."
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smudge - Posts: 3044
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by luddite lady on 18 Apr 2009 07:05
Shucks, thanks for your kind words. And there was a second washroom in the venue, smudge? This knowledge is no longer timely, but thanks just the same.
Part 30
Once the concert ended, Sporterella and I managed to join up with a great green current of Nutters in the process of exiting the venue. We were all exuberantly exchanging thoughts about the gig in fluent Kopelandic.
I can imagine others in the crowd wondering what obscure little country this large tour group hailed from:
“I think they’re speaking some sort of Germanic language, honey. At times, it almost sounds like English.”
“Maybe it’s Celtic. After all, look at all the green they’ve got on.”
As soon as we passed through the venue gates, Sporterella informed me that she needed a restroom. However, the security guards refused to let us re-enter and we found the park washrooms closed. As a result, we hightailed it to The Sunrise Diner, where the post-gig meet up was to take place again. The Jones Beach parking lot was a quagmire of cars and I’m normally a timid and generously yielding driver in such circumstances. But this was about getting two fully loaded female bladders to the nearest known ladies’ room. The way I manoeuvred through that parking lot and tore up the expressway would have made Mad Max proud. We were, unsurprisingly, the first to arrive at the restaurant.
Eventually, a fair sized contigent of Nutters filtered in, while another bunch had chosen to go to a nearby bar instead. Among our ranks were DM, Nancyrose, smudge, empty and Pluto, Dietmar, and Dive Mistress. Sporterella fit in with our gang rather seamlessly. It makes sense, really. The mood among us was something akin to that of a group of teenagers converging for an after party following the senior prom. We were happy, tired, a little overwhelmed by the evening’s events and a tad melancholic. The end of this marvellous ride was just around the corner and we were trying to enjoy every moment, but the finality of it all added a slight tinge of sadness.
I was concerned for Dirty Martini, hoping that the ever increasing pressures of the flag logistics were not becoming unbearable as we approached the big finale. With her usual grace and aplomb, she assured me that she was fine. I had extra reason for concern because I had a bit of insider knowledge about some of the machinations taking place behind the scenes. In the parking lot before that night’s show, DM and Charlie Arnold had taken me aside and let me in on the MSG flag for every Nutter scheme.
I reacted to the news, “Sting is going to have a fit!”
DM smiled slyly, “Oh, it gets better.”
I guess I looked a little worried because she hastened to add, “It’s OK. We’ve been given the green light from on high.”
I could tell from the grin on her face that she wasn’t going to elaborate further. And I knew better than to ask. While in Belfast it seems that Gio taught DM how to raise her teasing abilities to a whole new level.
Honestly though, I felt privileged just to be in on the small flag caper. It was all still very hush-hush at this point. They were enlisting CG5 and me to help distribute the flags to Nutters in section 119. It all seemed so covert, especially as we had no idea how serious MSG management was going to be about the policy forbidding signs and banners. A few of us from both sections 111 and 119 were to pick up the flags from Charlie and DM at Fat Annie’s before Thursday’s concert and were to smuggle them into the venue. Charlie, DM and some other hand picked agents were responsible for supplying the Nutters in the pit. I was feeling a bit like a character from Get Smart. All that was missing was Conroy’s Copeland beacon flashing across the New York skyline.
Part 30
Once the concert ended, Sporterella and I managed to join up with a great green current of Nutters in the process of exiting the venue. We were all exuberantly exchanging thoughts about the gig in fluent Kopelandic.
I can imagine others in the crowd wondering what obscure little country this large tour group hailed from:
“I think they’re speaking some sort of Germanic language, honey. At times, it almost sounds like English.”
“Maybe it’s Celtic. After all, look at all the green they’ve got on.”
As soon as we passed through the venue gates, Sporterella informed me that she needed a restroom. However, the security guards refused to let us re-enter and we found the park washrooms closed. As a result, we hightailed it to The Sunrise Diner, where the post-gig meet up was to take place again. The Jones Beach parking lot was a quagmire of cars and I’m normally a timid and generously yielding driver in such circumstances. But this was about getting two fully loaded female bladders to the nearest known ladies’ room. The way I manoeuvred through that parking lot and tore up the expressway would have made Mad Max proud. We were, unsurprisingly, the first to arrive at the restaurant.
Eventually, a fair sized contigent of Nutters filtered in, while another bunch had chosen to go to a nearby bar instead. Among our ranks were DM, Nancyrose, smudge, empty and Pluto, Dietmar, and Dive Mistress. Sporterella fit in with our gang rather seamlessly. It makes sense, really. The mood among us was something akin to that of a group of teenagers converging for an after party following the senior prom. We were happy, tired, a little overwhelmed by the evening’s events and a tad melancholic. The end of this marvellous ride was just around the corner and we were trying to enjoy every moment, but the finality of it all added a slight tinge of sadness.
I was concerned for Dirty Martini, hoping that the ever increasing pressures of the flag logistics were not becoming unbearable as we approached the big finale. With her usual grace and aplomb, she assured me that she was fine. I had extra reason for concern because I had a bit of insider knowledge about some of the machinations taking place behind the scenes. In the parking lot before that night’s show, DM and Charlie Arnold had taken me aside and let me in on the MSG flag for every Nutter scheme.
I reacted to the news, “Sting is going to have a fit!”
DM smiled slyly, “Oh, it gets better.”
I guess I looked a little worried because she hastened to add, “It’s OK. We’ve been given the green light from on high.”
I could tell from the grin on her face that she wasn’t going to elaborate further. And I knew better than to ask. While in Belfast it seems that Gio taught DM how to raise her teasing abilities to a whole new level.
Honestly though, I felt privileged just to be in on the small flag caper. It was all still very hush-hush at this point. They were enlisting CG5 and me to help distribute the flags to Nutters in section 119. It all seemed so covert, especially as we had no idea how serious MSG management was going to be about the policy forbidding signs and banners. A few of us from both sections 111 and 119 were to pick up the flags from Charlie and DM at Fat Annie’s before Thursday’s concert and were to smuggle them into the venue. Charlie, DM and some other hand picked agents were responsible for supplying the Nutters in the pit. I was feeling a bit like a character from Get Smart. All that was missing was Conroy’s Copeland beacon flashing across the New York skyline.
In Dallas, the only game that really mattered was in the word gamelan.
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luddite lady - Posts: 2224
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by DirtyMartini on 18 Apr 2009 16:57
Haha. For my part, that sly was 50% would-be-nice-as-a-surprise and 50% don't-want-anyone-to-be-disappointed-if-we-can't-make-it-happen. Thanks again for point-personing, llady.
Dramatic highlights & a unique musical cosmos. Guaranteed.
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DirtyMartini - Posts: 9622
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by Tamadude on 19 Apr 2009 16:51
[quote="luddite lady"]I waved my arms and shouted, “Hey, Tamadude! Yo, Tama! T’dude over here!”
He was just a few metres away from me, but all my yelling went unnoticed. By him. [/quote]
So sorry about that, LL! My ears were ringing! And my head was spinning from all the post-STEWART-meet, post Flag bearing euphoria!
I am honored to be a part of your epic tale!
You g'waan gyirl!
He was just a few metres away from me, but all my yelling went unnoticed. By him. [/quote]
So sorry about that, LL! My ears were ringing! And my head was spinning from all the post-STEWART-meet, post Flag bearing euphoria!
I am honored to be a part of your epic tale!
You g'waan gyirl!
I don't wanna work, I just wanna bang on the drums all day.
- Tamadude
- Posts: 1547
- Joined: 05 Jun 2007 03:55
by luddite lady on 30 Apr 2009 15:20
Heh, heh. Don't worry about it, Tamadude. When I was flag bearer my own brother could have been sitting two seats over from me and I would have never noticed. Here's another installment for y'all.
Part 31
I felt a little at a loss the next morning. With no concert slated for that evening, the day ahead lacked structure and urgency. It was like I was just relaxing on vacation or something. I knew many Nutters would be heading up to Harlem that morning for the Spectacle taping. I envied them somewhat, but I was also glad to have some time to take it easy and digest all that had happened in the past few days. This was to be a family focused day in Manhattan, and I was allowing my kids to set the agenda. Of course, this was going to entail a large amount of bickering. Fortunately, my gang was still sound asleep when I woke up, allowing me some blessed quiet before the storm. Taking full advantage of this, I left a note for the kiddies and walked down the street to a nearby Starbuck’s for some leisurely caffeination. And yes, I admit that, as I stepped in, I gave the joint a quick scan for Stewart. I’m hopeless.
The annoyingly perky, young barista greeted me, “Hey! Are you a ballroom dancer?”
I am many things, but ballroom dancer is certainly not one of them. I could feel my eye brows arching as my thoughts raced. Was this National Ballroom Dancer Day? If I say yes, would I get a free coffee? Would I have to prove myself by doing a tango over by the cream and sugar counter?
After a time, I managed a one word reply, “Why?”
“I noticed your wristband has cha cha written on it. Were you in some sort of dance contest?”
I looked down at the bright yellow CHA bracelet still on my wrist from the previous night.
“No. That’s from last night’s Police concert down at Jones Beach.”
“Oh!” she squeaked and flashed me a look that demonstrated she hadn’t a clue what I was talking about. Before she could ask me how I liked working in law enforcement, I quickly ordered my cappuccino and scuttled off to the farthest corner of the shop. Although I had unwittingly undertaken a Police/Stewart public education campaign all week, I wasn’t going to take on this particular case. Not before my coffee.
Relaxed in the rays of a glorious morning sun slanting through the window, I pondered my future role as a secret agent in the MSG Flag Force. I was operating with the misconception that these small flags were made of cloth, just like the original. Such material would have been quite a bit thicker than the laminated paper that they were actually printed on. I was afraid that my allotment of flags would be rather bulky and prove to be a challenge to smuggle into MSG. I recalled Charlie Arnold’s suggestion from the evening before. He said nobody would hassle me if I rolled up the flags and carried them under my shirt in the form of a baby bump. Holy Mother of Flag! I was actually thinking seriously about doing this. I’ve never before had an occasion to feign pregnancy. And as a woman creeping into her mid-forties, I was not likely to ever have an opportunity to convincingly pull off such a ruse again.
The results of my three former authentic baby bumps were sleeping in a hotel room down the road. I should have been occupying myself with thoughts of the family fun we’d encounter that day in Manhattan. Or in a whirl of motherly efficiency, I should have been scouring train schedules, maps and tourist guides to manufacture the perfect family day trip in New York. Instead, I was sitting in a Starbuck’s, wearing a stupid grin while I contemplated posing as the expectant mother of multiple green flags.
Edited 'cuz a comma was bugging me. And 'cuz my spelling stinks.
Part 31
I felt a little at a loss the next morning. With no concert slated for that evening, the day ahead lacked structure and urgency. It was like I was just relaxing on vacation or something. I knew many Nutters would be heading up to Harlem that morning for the Spectacle taping. I envied them somewhat, but I was also glad to have some time to take it easy and digest all that had happened in the past few days. This was to be a family focused day in Manhattan, and I was allowing my kids to set the agenda. Of course, this was going to entail a large amount of bickering. Fortunately, my gang was still sound asleep when I woke up, allowing me some blessed quiet before the storm. Taking full advantage of this, I left a note for the kiddies and walked down the street to a nearby Starbuck’s for some leisurely caffeination. And yes, I admit that, as I stepped in, I gave the joint a quick scan for Stewart. I’m hopeless.
The annoyingly perky, young barista greeted me, “Hey! Are you a ballroom dancer?”
I am many things, but ballroom dancer is certainly not one of them. I could feel my eye brows arching as my thoughts raced. Was this National Ballroom Dancer Day? If I say yes, would I get a free coffee? Would I have to prove myself by doing a tango over by the cream and sugar counter?
After a time, I managed a one word reply, “Why?”
“I noticed your wristband has cha cha written on it. Were you in some sort of dance contest?”
I looked down at the bright yellow CHA bracelet still on my wrist from the previous night.
“No. That’s from last night’s Police concert down at Jones Beach.”
“Oh!” she squeaked and flashed me a look that demonstrated she hadn’t a clue what I was talking about. Before she could ask me how I liked working in law enforcement, I quickly ordered my cappuccino and scuttled off to the farthest corner of the shop. Although I had unwittingly undertaken a Police/Stewart public education campaign all week, I wasn’t going to take on this particular case. Not before my coffee.
Relaxed in the rays of a glorious morning sun slanting through the window, I pondered my future role as a secret agent in the MSG Flag Force. I was operating with the misconception that these small flags were made of cloth, just like the original. Such material would have been quite a bit thicker than the laminated paper that they were actually printed on. I was afraid that my allotment of flags would be rather bulky and prove to be a challenge to smuggle into MSG. I recalled Charlie Arnold’s suggestion from the evening before. He said nobody would hassle me if I rolled up the flags and carried them under my shirt in the form of a baby bump. Holy Mother of Flag! I was actually thinking seriously about doing this. I’ve never before had an occasion to feign pregnancy. And as a woman creeping into her mid-forties, I was not likely to ever have an opportunity to convincingly pull off such a ruse again.
The results of my three former authentic baby bumps were sleeping in a hotel room down the road. I should have been occupying myself with thoughts of the family fun we’d encounter that day in Manhattan. Or in a whirl of motherly efficiency, I should have been scouring train schedules, maps and tourist guides to manufacture the perfect family day trip in New York. Instead, I was sitting in a Starbuck’s, wearing a stupid grin while I contemplated posing as the expectant mother of multiple green flags.
Edited 'cuz a comma was bugging me. And 'cuz my spelling stinks.
Last edited by luddite lady on 01 May 2009 07:24, edited 2 times in total.
In Dallas, the only game that really mattered was in the word gamelan.
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luddite lady - Posts: 2224
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by English-lion on 30 Apr 2009 16:22
fun read
is the last installment going to be the anniversary of the last concert
*cough* you know there are women that have had babies in their 40's just saying
is the last installment going to be the anniversary of the last concert
*cough* you know there are women that have had babies in their 40's just saying
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English-lion - Posts: 2782
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