CC is sitting in National Airport* getting hammered in preparation for
There's a guy eating an ice cream cone who looks like Dick Cheney, but
I'm sure it's not him.
Well, pretty sure.
I met a nice looking Baptist minister and he and I talked about serving the lord for a bit. He pointed out that since I was trying to go to law school it could be argued that I was going into the same profession he's in, just the better paid part of it. An interesting argument, though I won't flatter myself and the law by buying it totally.
I will say that when I became a notary public, the idea that I was now an alter girl in the church of law came to mind.
It's probably best if I don't philosophize when intoxicated, I know.
I'm flying to Linguist Friend's house and then he and I are taking a road trip, stopping at his ancestral home, which was once a commune in Indiana for Victorian hippies or some such. We will hit St. Louis tomorrow evening, in plenty of time for the blogger thingy.
Pour the gin, kids, we're on our way.
Anyway, I don't care what the opening ceremony says, I'm raising my
glass and declaring GA begun.
*No locals, even the Republicans, call it "Reagan National Airport."
Ah, I'll be at National this morning too, but to fly to Day Job Convention. Sorry to miss y'all
f it is Dick Cheney, put a big extra dollop of rich, yummy whipped cream on that ice cream cone with my compliments. Maybe offer him a white chocolate chip and macadamia cookie, too. I'll pay you back.
Then maybe have Stupid Dog grab his briefcase and tear off down the concourse so he has to run after it. (But only if he's not packing heat. Wouldn't want to put a sweet little doggie's life in jeopardy.)
It's probably not Dick Cheney, though.
Post a Comment