Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Mama, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Writers

Ever have a great memory of sitting around doing a lot of unproductive laughing? In March, Rizzo and I got together in the bustling metropolis of BROOMALL PA for a little less talk and a lot more ....writing.

MORE laughter. MORE drinking of adult beverages of the fruity persuasion, although very responsibly. (Rizzo's husband Joe was in charge of 'closing time'.) Of course, there were some 3 am gems:

  • An unshaven Joe in rainy weather and grey hoodie looked remarkably like a monk. Henceforth, he shall be known as "Gregory the Fuzz".
  • On an inspiration of the moment, born of sleepless giggling and stories of globalization, I shouted out unthinkingly "Go Brazilian!" Rizzo informed me that this is akin to asking the world to grow MORE unsightly hair for future removal.
  • Buffeted by gusts of wind and splashed by oncoming traffic, Rizzo's pitiable moans could be heard as she skooshed her way along the sidewalk - but when her umbrella betrayed her by flipping inside-out, pterodactyl-like screeches informed the world that life is not fair.
  • After deep potations and much film criticism, we have re-nicknamed "Ponyo" to be "The Narco Chick-Fishy", for her amazing transforming abilities between Sea Tadpole with Chicken Feet to Cute Snoozy Girl.

Speaking of snoozing, it's siesta time.

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