Archive for August, 2006


I was just offered and have just accepted a small role in the play I auditioned for! It would appear that my dominating height has more affect on my appearance than my age, as I have been cast as a character who is described as both extremely tall and rather old. Makeup can age a girl, though.




August 31st, 2006 • 9:55 am • dinane • Posted in Theatre5 Comments »

Circus Bus

Today was doomed from the start.

I was running late. This happens a lot. I know, I know, I have no one to blame but myself. But anyway, I was running late. And when one is taking the bus to and from Boston, one does not have the luxury of running late. The bus I take in the morning is the only real option for me, the next nearest route is almost a mile away (which isn’t really a problem) and doesn’t start running until after 8:30 AM (that’s a problem). The bus I do take has stops just a couple blocks away from my apartment. However, it only comes three times in the morning towards Boston, and three times in the evening towards the suburbs.

Anyway, I was running late. And as I get when I’m running late, I start to panic. First sign of panic – I consciously chose the red shirt, then grabbed the blue one. Second sign of panic – For the life of me, I could not attach the right strap to my bra (I have this “convertible” thing from Victoria’s Secret that is very comfortable, but all detaches from itself when it’s not on for no good reason). The signs continued from there.

Much to Mike’s dismay, I haven’t put away all of my laundry yet, so my jeans were downstairs. So here I was, grabbing at a couple hair ties and running downstairs wearing a half-detached bra, red t-shirt, and underwear, but no pants. Good thing we got those drapes! I pulled on my jeans, and realized that I didn’t have my jersey. Right! I forgot to tell you – Mike and I have tickets to tonight’s Red Sox game.

I ran up the stairs, and on the way decided I’d probably be cold if I only wore short sleeves tonight. So as I entered the bedroom, where Mike was still peacefully sleeping, I pulled off the red t-shirt. I threw it on top of the blue one on the shelf in the closet, whose light was still on, and then pulled my long-sleeved red Red Sox shirt over my head. Turn off the light, run down the stairs, snag purse, run down the stairs.

Some part of my deranged panicked mind decided that I had no time to put on real shoes, or even Birkenstocks. As I slipped my feet into the ready flip flops (my podiatrist would so kill me if she knew!), I looked down and saw that my shirt was on inside out. “No time!” I thought. Then I came to my senses and redressed myself. Out the door, lock the door, run.

I looked at my cell phone as I ran down the hill to the main road. It was one minute past the start of the bus route. I really have no idea where the bus actually starts. I originally thought it started at the school at the foot of the hill I live on, but it turns out that that school is not the only thing in the area that shares a name with the bus route. But with the bus having left it’s starting point only one minute ago, I thought I’d probably make it. I slowed to a trot and when I reached the bus stop, I bent over to roll up my jeans (which were dragging on the ground – they weren’t meant for flip flops).

It was at this point that I realized that I had forgotten my baseball cap (it is such a good thing I put my game ticket in my bag last night, or I’d be seriously pissed off right now). But it was far too late now. I was fairly certain I hadn’t missed the bus. I can see the street from the hill once I pass around the leasing office. I would have seen it go by if I had missed it. But I knew I was already pressing my luck. The bus arrived just as I pulled a dollar coin out of my purse.

As I dropped the coin into the device that collects coins at the front of the bus, the driver pointed out the new schedules. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’d be done riding her bus by the end of this week (and hopefully this was the last time – Maaco better not have lied to me), so I picked up a schedule and sat down. I scanned the schedule and found nothing had changed. I turned it over and spotted the fare chart. Oops! Apparently I’d been underpaying for my bus ride every time. I didn’t mean to! No one corrected me! I’m sorry!

Normally, I have a bit of breakfast as I leave the house in the morning. If I’m driving, it’s a granola bar and a string cheese stick. And on the bus, I’ve been bringing some wheat crackers and cheese. My panicked brain didn’t let me stop for ten seconds to pick up so much as a fruit leather. So instead of eating breakfast, I occupied myself with attempting to tame my conditioner-free hair (that’s right, panicked Diane didn’t condition her hair today either).

I settled into my seat, and selected some Holy Cole on my iPod. She has a soothing effect on me, and I figured I probably needed that. I leaned against the window, and watched the regulars come on board. There’s this group of ladies that sits up in the front of the bus every day. They appear to be bus buddies. They aren’t the only people I see every day, but they are the hardest to miss. They chat with the driver and each other, talking about who knows what (I have some seriously nice headphones), but they’re always happy and usually laughing.

As we pulled up to the entrance of an apartment complex near the end of the stop-and-go part of the route, they noticed something flitting about. There was a moth on the bus. I pulled off my ear phones to take in the scene in its entirety. One lady freaked out, squealed, and tried to bat at it with the pile of schedules she had initially sat on when she got on board the bus. The others teased her for being afraid of a silly little moth, while she insisted it was huge. One cool and collected lady picked up a schedule, opened it up, and unceremoniously trapped the moth against the window. *SQUISH!*

“We got your bus dirty!”
“Poor little moth.”
“Eww! It’s under your shoe!”
“It’s dead already, I don’t care.”

I couldn’t see the driver’s face, but I could imagine the look as she shook her head and said, “This sure is the circus bus!”

Obviously things like this have happened before.

Things calmed for a little while, and we were just finishing up the route. This is one of them North Shore routes. They all go about their business, zig-zagging back and forth across various towns, and finally hop on the Tobin Bridge to finish the trip into Haymarket. The Tobin, however, has been going under some road construction. Some seriously annoying road construction. The kind that really puts a damper on your commute. I hit that traffic the day they started the construction – it was the day I brought my car in for an estimate. It was ridiculous! Usually, there’s like 4 or 5 cars waiting to pay the toll in each lane. It doesn’t really slow anyone down at all. But with the “paving project” going on, a 20 jaunt to the city is more likely to take 45.

Anyway, the bus usually comes around at the route 60 rotary – that’s where it gets on route 1. I was, and still am, pretty sure that from 60 west, 1 south is the first exit off the rotary. (Tom Tom would say, “cross the roundabout, first exit, us [not U. S.] one sa-ooth-bound.”) I thought maybe I had gotten confused and we were still back a couple rotaries (we probably hit more than 4 on the route), because here we were, taking the second exit.

I was puzzled, but continued to drift in and out of day dream state. I finally realized that, indeed, we were off the route! I pulled off my headphones just in time to hear the driver say something about ignoring the people waiting at the stop because we were “out of her jurisdiction.” The signs told us we were headed for the airport!

The friendly gentleman behind me noticed that I had emerged from my musical cocoon. He told me that the driver said she was trying a different way into the city, in order to avoid the Tobin. We’d be taking “the tunnel.” I immediately thought of the poor lady who died in one of the tunnels not too long ago. My brain slipped back into panic mode, and I wondered if Mike would even know that I was on the bus that got destroyed by another ceiling collapse – my bus wasn’t supposed to go through the tunnels!

Luckily, there wasn’t so much traffic out by the airport, and we were soon in and through the Sumner. I was relieved that we were taking one of the old tunnels. That seems wrong. But seriously, the big dig frightens me.

We followed the signs to Government Center, and were soon out on surface streets. Of course, this is Boston, and it’s not a blizzard, so there was road construction. And directing traffic around the construction was a cop, complete with reflector suspenders. The special ed ladies at the front of the bus started imitating the motions of the traffic cop, and it caught his attention. As we were stopped, our special ed driver opened the door, and the cop came aboard to take a bow. I’m pretty sure the entire bus was laughing now. No one was upset, we were actually arriving in Boston early!

As we got off, I heard someone say, “That was the best bus ride ever.” There were no children on the bus this morning.

August 31st, 2006 • 8:40 am • dinane • Posted in Life, Sports2 Comments »

A Fate Worse than Relish

This whole bus thing is really cramping my style.

Okay, not my style, but my sleep, at least.

I want Haley back!

It was about 7:15 last night that Mike started to get nervous on my behalf. I hadn’t yet printed my resume, and the new printer’s drivers were not being quite so magical as we had hoped. But I was not concerned. I knew the place was less than five minutes away by car. And by 7:25 I was in the drivers seat of the box on wheels, with two resumes, as well as a script of The Skin of Our Teeth, just in case. The auditions were to be cold readings, but I wasn’t sure if they’d expect a prepared piece as well. My script never came out of my bag.

I tried two doors before I found the right one. There were a couple happy looking people hanging around outside the door killing their lungs. I confirmed that this was in fact the place, and went inside. Audition sheet, quick Polaroid (how quaint), and a brief introduction from the producer, and we were on our way.

The first piece they had me do was for a role I’m not technically capable of playing. That is, I’m not 50. But I don’t think they had a side prepared for the role I actually was hoping for – a small role marked as being very similar to this larger role they had me read for. I read the side several times before I was called on stage, and was therefore quite prepared. I was nervous, but I didn’t say so. No need to advertise. But soon, my reading partner and I were totally acting! After the first read, he gave us some background and a little bit of guidance.

After that, he had both of us do a line for a bit part that caught my attention when I read the role descriptions. Like I say, I’m not 50. So I marked my first two choices as the 20-something roles, first choice being a smaller role, second being the lead. My third choice, however, was this bit part. She was marked as a “towering presence who is felt before she enters a room, which is unfortunate for her, because she lives to eavesdrop.” At 6 feet tall, I am so a towering presence. So he let me do the line for that character as well.

A few other people did their scenes next. I took care to note the notes he gave to the people reading for the lead. I wanted to be prepared when my turn came for that. And when it did, I got to read against the non-sketchy guy who was there for auditions that day, which made me pretty darn happy. I did my best, and he had little to correct me on. That made me feel pretty damn good.

I also feel like when I was on stage, I had some rapt attention. That was neat. When I got back to my seat after my first reading, I grinned and said to the girl next to me, “That was fun!”

I’ll learn by the end of the week the results. I’m truly going to be okay if I don’t get cast at all, because I’m really just trying to get my foot in the door with this show. Whether I can get a small role or I end up working set construction, I’m certain I will be happy. And either way, I’ll get to meet some neat people and be involved in performance arts again.

That’s not to say I’m not a little titch disappointed that I didn’t get called back for one of the leads…

But it is nice to be relatively certain that callbacks are only for the leads.

So I think I still have a chance at one of the smaller roles.

Oh man… now I’m nervous!

In completely unrelated news, I’ve been reading some webcomics on occasion again. Not to my full addiction, but picking up a few here and there. I decided to look around some of the Questionable Content strips I’ve missed. I came across something that made me laugh so hard my diaphragm ached. The strip is here, but it’s really the last panel that I think you will enjoy:

Some Random Dude: “I hate to interrupt, but I ordered a latte.”
Faye (coffee shop employee): “And you got a carrot-pickle-espresso monstrosity. Have a nice day.”
Raven (another coffee shop employee): “Poor little pickle. That’s a fate worse than relish.”
Questionable Content, by J. Jacques, August 23, 2006

August 30th, 2006 • 9:38 am • dinane • Posted in Theatre, Uncategorizable2 Comments »

Variety is the Spice of Life

Lots of little things have been going on around me recently. I think I’ll start with A-1-primo-annoyance, though. This morning, I brought Haley (my car) in to Maaco to have her butt fixed. Yes… yes, it’s been a long time coming. In fact, she’s been less than perfect for almost the entire time I’ve had her:

  1. The molding on the rear passenger door first wrinkled, then popped, and then got unceremoniously torn off by my boyfriend when it started causing paint damage to other doors.
  2. The bumper and its accompanying molding got cracked (the only injury that is really my fault – I backed into a truck’s tow rig… oops), the molding popped part way off, and I sawed it all the way off with a leatherman.
  3. And there’s this little dent in the trunk that came from who-knows-where, and it’s not super noticeable, but why not just fix everything.

So, now she’s at the Maaco in Somerville (a.k.a. “Slumerville,” but it’s really not that bad). And now here I am taking buses to get around. I do not like buses. They make me seasick. They stop every fifteen feet, thus making a 2 mile journey take twenty minutes. And worst of all, they smell bad. But I did get to work, and I’m pretty sure I can get home, so that’s all good.

In other annoying news, my “land line” (which is not technically a land line) has been down all weekend. Friday, when we tried to call for some happy Greek delivery food, the dial tone was gone. We spent… okay, Mike spent much time trying to make the network and Vonage box work happily together, but to no avail. I called on Saturday (from my cell phone) and waited for approximately forever to get someone to tell me that the server that my box uses to connect to has been down since Friday afternoon and will be replaced in 24-48 hours. That’s so not cool. They should have (a) put this information on their website so I wouldn’t waste my time on hold and (b) made their system more redundant. Screw you, Vonage!

I cannot express in words how glad I am I didn’t fall for the IPO.

In other news, it turns out Mike’s wrist is not in fact broken, but torn. That is, the muscles are torn. Muscles! My reaction to him telling me this was, “OW! …Well, duh…”. So, no fancy hard cast for him. In fact, he now has to move it around to try to stretch it back out. Ow, indeed.

After much lamenting the loss of my favorite performing group ever, and chatting with several people about the lack of performance in my life, I have decided to make good on my promise to get involved in community theatre in my new home town. So, I’ve looked and, low and behold, there are auditions this week for the fall show! In fact, some of the roles even seem like things I could do, and have fun doing. So, I’ll be borrowing Mike’s box on wheels (I mean, lovely awesome vehicle, thank you!) tomorrow to go try out.

Auditioning for a group who completely doesn’t know me is something I haven’t done in a long time. I want to put my best foot forward, so I’ll be bringing a resume. My camera does not have enough mega pixels to print a full glossy, but I can get a nice picture in the corner of a page, and wrap the resume around that. Unfortunately, I cannot remember the names of the roles, or worse, the names of the playwrights, for every New Voices show I was in. Tonight I’ll be searching for those scripts. They must be somewhere…

It’s amazing what comes back to you when you read a script from a show you were in once. The auditions are cold readings, but I thought I’d better be prepared with something else just in case. So I pulled out The Skin of Our Teeth and did a quick skim, mostly looking for Mrs. Antrobus speeches. I also got some vivid memories of the show as I read it.

There is absolutely nothing in the world like hearing the audience move from polite applause to roaring applause when you run on stage with your costars for curtain call. It is such a rush. Mrs. Antrobus was my first truly major role in a full length play.

Maybe they were only applauding for Eliot and Hilary.

Don’t tell me if that’s the case.

Let me live my lie!

August 28th, 2006 • 11:39 am • dinane • Posted in Uncategorizable3 Comments »

All the Colors of the Rainbow

My little vacation last week is still lingering on my skin. I know some of you out there in the blogosphere probably, you know, tan or something. I can assure you that right now, I am as tan as I have ever been in my entire life.

I am normally as pale as a slice of Wonderbread. With the crusts cut off. I think it’s time for visual cues.

Here, we see my normal skin tone. This is the color that my skin is most of the time, and the color that my hidden parts are all of the time. You can blame my Polish father for supplying me with this skin tone (my Sicilian mother could have given me a nice olive complexion, but no… she had to give me the inate ability to associate food and love instead).


This here is what happens if I go out in the sun without sunscreen. The first one is after about a half hour, and the second one is after an hour or more.



You can see why I am occasionally referred to as a lobster.

Now, this summer, I have managed to spend quite a bit of time out in the sun. And I’ve also gotten a different kind of sunscreen. It’s supposed to be better, longer lasting, better for your skin, all that jazz. First of all – it doesn’t last as long as you might think. So, even though I was wearing 45, and later 55, I got burned. Mostly the first kind of burned, but I got some serious red going on my right shoulder and my eyebrows.

The shoulder I blame on the sun. The eyebrows… I only have myself to blame for not putting sunscreen there. By the way – when that burn pealed… let’s just say ew and ow and move on.

But after all the sun, and the apparently better sunscreen, I came out with color. And not the standard pink to red kind either. My skin, on my arms and face at least, is now a beautiful shade of slightly-darker-than-Wonderbread.


There you go, friends. Color!

August 25th, 2006 • 9:13 am • dinane • Posted in Life, VacationComments Off on All the Colors of the Rainbow


I have gone through several emotional stages this morning. And I haven’t even finished my breakfast yet.

Stage 1 – Sick to my stomach

My stomach and I were not getting along particularly well this morning. It slowed me down. A lot. I left the house a half hour later than normal, and decided to drive in rather than make a desperate search for parking in Malden where there would be none.

Stage 2 – Hungry

My stomach finally settled by the time I got into the city, so I knew I should get some breakfast.

Stage 3 – Annoyed

The sign on the door to Au Bon Pain said “Sorry – Cash Only Today Please.” I realized that I had no cash, or at least very little, so I went across the street to the ATM. It misbehaved a bunch, and then crashed. “Temporarily out of service.” Great.

I looked in my wallet and found three dollars. Enough for a danish and a banana, and thankfully, my office supplies beverages.

Stage 4 – Chipper

I talked briefly with our security man. He’s a nice guy. I whistled as I rode up the elevator.

Stage 5 – Devastated

I received a personal email that I took as an affront on my being. It’s very hard to explain, especially to someone who doesn’t understand what it means to be a part of something. Those that would understand already do. Because they feel it too. The email was an affront to the souls of me and my girls. But the sender couldn’t possibly understand what she’d done.

Stage 6 – Dying

Once I processed everything that email meant, I realized that the feeling going on in my stomach was not the return of my earlier upset stomach. It was my heart and soul dying. I was dying inside. And sobbing at my desk, which is never a good thing to do.

Stage 7 – Motivated

I have a bad habit of writing angry emails. I’ve learned that I should remove the “To:” field before writing such emails. So, I started my reply, not to be immediately sent.

Stage 8 – Devastated revisited

As I wrote, the emotion poured forth. I was sobbing and heaving. But I was at work, so I had to keep it down so as not to be noticed. I wrote and rewrote. I might even say I wrought.

Stage 9 – Validation

I distributed the email to several interested parties and found that they were all in agreement. We were all sobbing and angry. Lucky for me, I hadn’t read it last night, because many of my girls did not sleep after reading the email. I felt ready to send the email. But then it hit me…

Stage 10 – Rational

I realized I should let someone try to talk me out of it. So I sent it to one completely dissociated party and to two of my girls who had always helped me reign in my outbursts before. They helped me realize that the best thing to do would not be to advertise my email to the masses, but just send it to the instigators of the situation. But they did agree that staying quiet was not an option.

Stage 11 – Fury

After some rational thought, and even a laugh evoked by a joke involving giggling school girls, I tried to settle down. But I couldn’t. It was still flowing through me. My muscles, already tired from last nights awesome workout, tensed. My eyes shot lasers at girls I couldn’t see. And then, I read the words of others fury.

Stage 12 – Worry

Suddenly it occurred to me that too much would fall on deaf ears. If so many others sent their responses, my well though and carefully worded emotional response would get lost in the shuffle. I had to send it. I couldn’t send it. I had to send it. I couldn’t send it.

Stage 13 – Resolute

I sent it.

Stage 14 – Seething

The anger and sadness and confusion and bitterness and depression all filled me. It pushed through every fiber. I could feel the dying tendencies coming back to me. I couldn’t concentrate on work.

So I wrote this.

Stage 15 – Sad

And I’m starting to feel better.

But by no means do I feel good.

August 22nd, 2006 • 11:03 am • dinane • Posted in Uncategorizable12 Comments »

What You’ve All Been Waiting For

I don’t think I’m going to do a huge multi-part blog-tastic description of my mini-vacation in Maine. I just don’t think you need to hear five days worth of posts that mostly go like this:

Woke up at the crack of whenever I felt like it. Tried not to wake up Kate. Failed. Watched the Regis and Kelly show. Bathing suit, sunscreen, towel, magazine, beach. Shower. “Lovely beverage.”

So instead, I’ll just give you some highlights. Starting with the most tragic.

The week of beach-ness always coincides with Mike’s birthday. This year, for his birthday, his parents decided to get him one of those skim board things. I don’t know how prevalent these things are, so I’ll give you a quick description. It’s like a miniature surf board, only thinner and with no fin or anything. Actually, it’s more like a slice of luan or similarly thick piece of fiberglass in a more-or-less egg shape. To use it, one goes to the very edge of the water and throws it along the top of the tail-end of a wave. It skims over the top, and you run and jump onto it to go for a ride.

Every year, we see kids of all ages flailing around on these things. Some get pretty good at it, and almost “look cool.” I think that coolness is what got Mike interested in the first place.

So, the night before his birthday, we were down in Old Orchard center, mostly to eat pizza and play arcade games. But before any of that could start, we had some shopping to do. Kate, who has become acclimated to weather like this (note “feels-like” temperatures over 100 – or at least they were when I looked) than this (note overnight low in the fifties – or at least it was when I looked) failed to bring a sweatshirt with her. I, who is more likely to forget any given thing than remember it, left my sweatshirt back at the cottage. So we stopped at one of the ghetto-looking buy-crap-here stores and picked up a two-for-one sweatshirt deal, a skim board painted with angry looking sea critters, and some wax. The board went back to the car, the sweatshirts went over our tanks, and the night went on providing stories for another entry.

The next day, as we were sitting on the beach doing a blessed nothing, the tide finally started to recede. Mike had determined that the best skim board times were when the tide was heading out rather than in. So he pulled the board out of the sand behind us (Kate had already waxed it), and begged me to come down to the water with him. Try one: The board stops dead in the sand. Try two: Mike runs too fast and oversteps. Try three: Success is written all over this one… except… nope.

Imagine an old-timey comedy act. You know, the kind with the poking out of eyes and the flying pies? Now imagine the time has come for the banana peal. Now imagine the banana peal is the skim board, and Mike is the “unsuspecting” victim. He was on the ground before you could blink.

“My arm is broken.”

I grabbed the board and brought him back to our seats, where his family was kind of giggling until they saw the looks on our faces. We made haste back to the cottage, took quick showers, and shortly Mike, his mom, and I were off to the emergency room. After a brief moment of complete confusion in the parking lot, we walked into the ER just in time to hear the triage nurse telling the person she was seeing that they were kind of swamped today and it might be a long while.


Triage. Registration. Wait.

In no way am I a patient person. In between various bouts of shifting in my seat, I called Kate, read a magazine, read another magazine out loud to try to amuse Mike (who couldn’t be less amused), and did what everyone in an ER does. I tried to see if I could mentally triage everyone in the room to see where we were in line. I soon grew so impatient that I went in to ask the triage nurse when Mike was going to be called in. She said she was just filling out paperwork for the X-ray, and he was next to head there. Sweet!

I spare you even more boring tales of waiting in the X-ray waiting room, the hallway of “urgent care,” and the room (once they finally found one). Along the way, though, we met up with a lady who had the exact same swelling in her left arm as Mike had in his right arm. They were on the same track, following each other around the building. So, when we overheard the doctors talking about “the other fractured wrist,” we knew Mike’s was broken.

They weren’t actually that convinced. Turns out they couldn’t find it on the X-ray. But I guess that’s normal for this kind of break. But ultimately, they suspected that he had a hairline fracture in one of the more important bones that makes it possible for you to move your hand and thumb every which way. They gave him a nifty leather and metal splint (it looks a lot like a gauntlet) and told him to call his regular doctor in a week to set up new X-rays. (I guess it’s easier to see once the swelling’s gone down… but I’m not a doctor and I hardly understand them.)

So, my friends, that’s the story about how my boyfriend broke his wrist on his birthday. Due to the lateness of the hour, we didn’t really get to have a birthday dinner, like we normally do. We picked up KFC on the way back to the cottage. We did make it to the Japanese place the following day, though.

August 21st, 2006 • 8:35 am • dinane • Posted in Life, Vacation1 Comment »


I didn’t want to leave you with nothing at all to read here today, so I’ll tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, there was a little red cottage. The little red cottage couldn’t hold many people. In the summer time, she occasionally held a couple people and their things, but she wasn’t anyone’s favorite place. And in the winter time, she was lonely, and left to shiver in the snow.

Then, one year, a crazy old man came by. She had a sign in front of her, but she couldn’t read. The crazy old man must have been able to read, though, because he called a number on a phone. He came back with some other lady that the little red cottage vaguely remembered, and they were shaking hands. After the lady left, the crazy old man spun around slowly, thinking of ideas. “Yes, this will work nicely.”

Through the next year, the crazy old man spent hours with the little red cottage. He would hurt her, but then make her stronger. At first she wasn’t sure if she liked him very much, but as her front porch grew, and her sides pulled out, she began to realize that he was making her a better cottage. Maybe she could have more friends over to visit!

That next summer, the little red cottage was standing proud just four houses away from the sand dunes and the beach. Before that was her only positive attribute, but now… now she was beautiful herself. She had a porch where her new friends could sit and enjoy cocktails. She had a new big-screen TV. She had a giant kitchen – maybe people would even stay with her for dinner (most of the time, people avoided her except to sleep).

And so it was that many people started to visit with her. They paid the crazy old man (who likes to mow her yard wearing plastic baggies over his shoes) and spent the week going through her doors. They stayed in the new pretty little beds and watched Red Sox games on her big-screen TV at night. They trudged sand into her, but she didn’t mind, because they were friendly. And sometimes, they might spill a little bit of their pina coladas on the ground so that she could taste.

The crazy old man keeps coming back to make the little red cottage bigger and stronger. He gave her a back porch, completely enclosed with screens. Her visitors like that, because they can sit outside without actually being outside. And now, he is filling in her basement with things other than crap. There is even a fancy bed that moves up and down.

The little red cottage just knows that she has found a good friend in the crazy old man. And she likes her visitors too. They come back year after year to see how she’s grown, and to keep her company. She still gets a little lonely in the winter, but at least she has the big-screen TV to keep her company!

August 18th, 2006 • 8:27 am • dinane • Posted in Life, VacationComments Off on Teaser
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