Life Among the Never-Winged

Once upon a time I was writing a book called, "Just Another Love Letter", about angels behaving badly. Now I just quietly ask myself each day, "What the hell am I doing?"

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Location: The Rocky Mountain Empire, United States

My friends always knew I was going to hell. My only hope is that God likes good jokes and bad redheads.

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  • Sunday, July 15, 2007

    Technical Difficulties, Or Mona's Friday Word -- Rant

    My laptop is officially kaput. I have no reliable computer during the day. No email. No Blogging.
    I guess this is a hiatus.

    Sigh.

    So tell me a story. Tell me about the time something happened that no one, not even you, can believe. Tell me about the one day you'd live over again. Or tell me about the one day you wouldn't.

    Keep me company.

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    9 people left me a love letter:

    Blogger meno wrote in a love letter...

    Oh you poor thing! Having to go cold turkey.

    Here's a story: One time when i was a manager, i had to mediate a fight between two employees, grown women(?), about who touched whose earplugs. It took 2 fucking hours. I give myself great credit for not locking them in a conference room and seeing who came out alive.

    11:41 PM, July 15, 2007  
    Blogger patches wrote in a love letter...

    But Nancy, I haven't recovered from missing you yet! And we all know this is all about me.

    One afternoon, I was watching our neighbor cut grass, when he accidentally ran over the corner of a pool float. Mad, he stops the mower and starts beating the now flat pool float against the deck and house, behaving like a complete ass. A few hours later, the Missus saw him and asked, who won the fight? He looked a little sheepish about it.

    7:06 AM, July 16, 2007  
    Blogger Bud wrote in a love letter...

    I'd love to chat with you about these things forever, my friend. But I'm on my way to NY for a month. I'm not ignoring you. Just out of commission for a spell. Thinking of you. I'll be in touch..

    7:45 AM, July 16, 2007  
    Blogger Irrelephant wrote in a love letter...

    Heh. I read the stories of mis-spent youth by Stucco and Scott and I get such a vicarious thrill. When I was a kid, we lived so far out in the sticks that there WAS no place to get in trouble, so by the time high school came around I was still very naive about being sneaky and a ruffian. Went with a couple of friends to roll a guy's house my sophomore year, and of course the idjit parks out front of the only police officer's house on the block. While they're out rolling a few houses down I'm sitting the bed of the truck trying to answer the nice officer's questions and making a complete hash-up of lying. The others FINALLY get back, leap in the truck and we all go tearing off, not knowing that the guy 'interviewing' me was a city cop. And people wonder why I have such a resistance to doing things that might be, er, extra-legal.

    6:29 PM, July 16, 2007  
    Blogger Schmoopie wrote in a love letter...

    I wrote this great story about 2 gals who are friends but they live far apart now. But my computer froze on me and I lost it. That'll teach me to write a long comment! :(

    Miss you Pants!

    9:19 PM, July 16, 2007  
    Anonymous clowncar wrote in a love letter...

    Right after moving to Pueblo, living in a motel room, and still deep in grief, we set the alarm to 1 a.m. and went out to see the Leonid meteors. It was like that john Denver line about it raining fire in the sky. Some were so bright they cast shadows. Very moving, very healing, though to this day I coldn't exactly tell you why. But it felt like I'd turned a corner.

    Of course, there was also that time I battled giant robot zombie leeches from space, made of pure energy (and aren't they alway?). That was pretty cool too.

    9:10 AM, July 17, 2007  
    Blogger Scott from Oregon wrote in a love letter...

    I rode a bicycle into a crowd of Aboriginals- all drunk- fighting over the very last gallon of wine they possessed. I actually had to get off the bike and walk it through them, as they were parked on a hill I couldn't climb while pedaling.

    The fight was won (I suppose) by the one guy who grabbed the gallon jug full of cheap plog and beat himself over the head with it. He was yelling something about nobody getting it if he didn't get it, and he successfully broke the jug atop his head and the burgandy juices flowed over him while I tried to make myself invisible...

    "Doo dee doo..." I think I hummed to myself...

    9:42 AM, July 18, 2007  
    Blogger Stucco wrote in a love letter...

    You aren't old enough to hear MY stories. That's not true of course, but it sounds dramatic and I'm sticking with it. Wherefore art thou lappy? No warranty expressed or implied?

    2:19 PM, July 18, 2007  
    Blogger Nancy Dancehall wrote in a love letter...

    Aw, you should have gone all Thunderdome, Meno. you'd look good in chain mail. :-)

    I miss you too, patches. LOL! I wonder how he treats his blow-up doll...

    Woo-Hoo! Go, bring forth more music into the world, Bud. And let me know when I can buy a copy. :-)

    Ooooooo, don't get me STARTED about cops, Ir. Good thing he was catching some REAL criminals. Tough guy. *spit*

    Aw, that's a sad story, Schmoop.

    I understand, Clowncar. *small smile* And you missed one. A colony of pure energy space leaches is eating my flowers.

    Australia? Um, that was me, Scott. ;-)

    heh. I KNOW your stories, Stucco. Yes a warranty, but not a good enough one. My baby's off somewhere getting a new kybard. ;-)

    12:41 AM, July 20, 2007  

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