The Shattered Prayer

Okay, so I’m going to try to pry myself away from Harry Potter long enough to make a post. Here goes.

No I’m not talking about: Thou shalt have no other gods before me.

I break that one all the time anyway. I prefer just about any god to Jehovah. Sorry there, Jehovah.

My baby Bea is 8 years old today. Thank you bea for eight wonderful years of cuddly, furry, sometimes pointy and bitey love.

I used to get so excited by the meteor showers. I still get excited, but there’s nowhere in this neighborhood thats unlit, unless I want to go to crack-alley, which could be exciting, but not the kind of exciting I’m looking for.

All day yesterday I was worried about R the P. Not the trip, not the driving, not for his safety. I knew he’d be fine. No, I was truly and deeply concerned that he’d miss Dr Who.

Once again a vacation involving Family.  That’s no vacation.  To quote French and Saunders, “I can’t wait to get away from the crap that is our lives!”  But we’ll see Che!  Then we’ll be just like the Dawn & French parody of Thelma and Louise.  “What are you doing, Thelma?  You’re crazy!”  “I am drinking, Louise.  I am DRINKING!”

We’ll be back on SP by the middle of next week!  Until then, “I am smoking, Louise!  I am SMOKING!”

So I’m reading the first Harry Potter book now. I’m a little disappointed actually. The way the christians go on about it, I was expecting maybe a hybrid between 120 Days of Sodom and The Satanic Bible. Which might actually be interesting reading come to think of it.

Mojo and I were watching Thelma & Louise tonight (in case you didn’t know it before, we are gay).  And while watching it, something very touching happened.  Who knew that Thelma & Louise could cause such deep personal introspection in Mojo?  I know you’ll want to have insight into the emotional center of Mojo, so read on.