Super Sabado: those damn gypsies

I was chatting idly during swim practice, confident in the knowledge that 8 happy weeks separate me from that food concession I have to run for the swim team… when some awful news crashed down on me from out of a foggy, gray sky:

JANE (SWIM MEET COORDINATOR/RECRUITER):

Bonnie, word around the pool is you think you’re planning the XYZ Meet. You’re not. I signed you up for the PDQ Meet.

Aaack! The PDQ Meet is only THREE FOUR* WEEKS AWAY.

At that moment, my heart tried to claw its way out of my chest so it could scratch my eyes out. As I struggled to save my vision, I thought desperately of someone—something—I could blame and still retain a little credibility.

Hubby? George Bush? Global warming? The gypsies?

(Actually, gypsies were the last things in my mind at that moment. I’m just hoping mentioning them in this post will qualify me for the contest at Balls and Walnuts.)

What I ended up saying to Jane was brilliant, though, if I do say so myself.

BONNIE: I knew that.

Now I’ve got to put together a food concession in an impossibly short time. So, um… would any of you be willing to work a snack bar for me? Nothing overwhelming—just a three-hour shift here and there… whadaya say, hunh?

No need to decide now. Think it over (and think about gypsies while you’re at it, too, okay?)

Today’s Super Sabado contains lots of thought-inspiring comments gleaned from the joy that is the blogosphere.

No chips for me today. I’ve got a a bad case of heartburn. I’ll take a quadruple Margarita, though. Hell. I’ll just drink from the pitcher.

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My love of Gogol Bordello knows no bounds. Like a recent religious convert, I want to share my new obsession with all warm bodies in my vicinity and anyone I can reach through the e-ther.

Doug Hoffman (again) from Balls and Walnuts. Just making sure…. HEY, DOUG! WE’RE GOOD ON THAT CONTEST ENTRY, AREN’T WE?

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The brown shaggy-haired mongrel dog was snarling something at Dad-Who-Would-Be-Outlaw…something that sounded sort of like: “gggrrrrrSAT grrrrSSCOORRES.”

Elizabeth of Plein Air Sketches. And you thought Mojo was amazing. Elizabeth’s family has a house pet with sketchy SAT scores!

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I went into “A”s bedroom to pick up the usual pile of dirty school uniforms, as I turned to head out the door……………..to my right, was a snakes head…..poking out of “A”s bookcase!!! OMG OMG!!

Michelle of Justitia, who thinks brown shaggy-haired mongrel dogs with shaky SAT scores make much better pets.

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it might have been okay if he knew all the words, but ALL he sang was Mary had a little lamb … just those five words and nothing else … for over an hour…

Dennie of Dennie’s Thoughts, who has put in a competing offer to Elizabeth: one kid with super-strong vocal cords for one brown shaggy-haired mongrel dog, no strings attached.

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“Hey, sugar, got change for a twenty?” The patron tucked it into her blouse, caught her about the waist and pulled her close.

“Nothing so small as what you’re toting.” Darlene kicked him in the balls, retrieved the handset and continued dialing.

From M.G. Tarquini’s short story “Domino.” It’s featured at Spinetingler magazine and received a shout-out from Miss Snark! Way to go, M.G.!

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“They have this good cop/bad cop act.” M.G. says as she deftly signs an autograph for a fan, spits out an olive pit and edits her manuscript simultaneously. If ADD ever proves to be contagious, I’m gonna lick her face.

E. Ann Bardawill of Something Fell, reminding us to remember to lock up Squirt for the evening.

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His ability to reduce complex ideas – love, death and so on – to their most basic elements, namely noodles, means he is able to speak to the people, without artifice, without pretense. I truly believe that his example will see many more young people taking interest in the world around them. This brave young man has in only a few words done more than Foucault ever could: he has made people care,

Sponge Girl, one of the first—but hopefuly not the last—to recognize Tiger‘s genius. And she’s passing out chocolate biscuits, too!

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It was a funtastic night with truly awesome and generous people only sporadically punctuated by the occasional drunken jag of, “Will I ever get staffed? *hic* Ever??” (Note: This person was not always me.)

Ras of Procrastinatey, spookily accurate in describing our experience after downing a pitcher of Margaritas with that damn food concession hanging over our head.

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Odd events ranging from giant blocks of ice, to strange tents being erected near the new crater. And now? Now there are Space Mafia Penguins, or that’s what they have been unofficially dubbed. We even have a new ‘mini’ moon, the hamburgler.

The NoodleBandit of Social Loathing, whose cul-de-sac sounds lots more interesting than ours.

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Since I haven’t posted for more than a week, several readers have written in to make sure I hadn’t gotten trapped in an air vent, or shanked by a pencil-wielding grammar prescriptivist.

John August, making us wish we’d thought of such great excuses back there at the pool.

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Blogger interupted a wonderful discussion yesterday.
Thank you all very, very much for your contributions.
Comments raised all sorts of questions about sex scenes.

Bernita Harris of An Innocent A-Blog, whose blog is much spicier than one might think.

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I trust you all had a fabulous weekend! Hey…at my age, fabulous is just waking up in the morning…thank you Jesus…can I get an AMEN!

Bonnie of Bonnie Writes, who isn’t as old as she makes herself out to be.

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We were to be her helpers…her minions, her hawkers. In other words, we were to work the crowd by manipulating the children.

Teri Gray Franta, who, despite all appearances, did not sell her soul for the chance to graze at 3-Thirty-3 Waterfront or Bayside on a Sunday afternoon.

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Queen B gets that look on her face and she’s off.
Under the deck.
Into the water, splashing as if she had two brain cells in her noodle, rubbing together, making a thought.

The Queen Burrito of Kait’s Chaos, who apparently has one more brain cell than Bonnie, the Swim Team Food Concession Planner.

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It’s axiomatic that every generation of moviegoers complains about the kids these days and bemoans the decline in comedy. Your grandad thinks no one’s topped Chaplin and Keaton. Your mom says Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks are fun, but nothing next to Tracy and Hepburn. Maybe you thought Ben Stiller’s last pic was hilarious, but you just didn’t get Napolean Dynamite. This is “same as it ever was.”

Billy Mernit of Living the Romantic Comedy, who gives us the impression he wouldn’t appreciate the pristine perfection of the “Take on Me” music video like we do.

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Apartment Two Closed For Remodeling: Grand Reopening June 28th, 2012

If I owe you money or stole your girlfriend you can reach me at: mike@apartmenttwo.com aim: truemstarr www.apartmenttwo.com

Mike of Apartment Two, who certainly knows how to go out with a bang.

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You see, there are two kinds of pain, what the Buddha called the two darts. The first dart is physical pain, and the second is mental. You can’t get rid of that first dart once it hits you, but you can the second. How? By letting go, and accepting. You let go your aversion to physical pain. You accept pain as a part of your present experience.

Robert Waugh of The Panoramic Imprint, generously trying to help us get through this food concession ordeal. So, Robert… what we really want to know is if can we throw that first dart at the woman who signed us up for this dang job?

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And for those of you who stayed until the very end, here’s more of my favorite Star Trek crew, hanging out at the pool:

Who is it jumping into the pool? Scotty?

Have a great weekend, everybody!

*Apparently, I need some calendar-reading lessons.