Random neuron firing, lame philosophy, literary pontificating, movies, sex, clothes & other femme stuff

Saturday, August 23, 2003

O Florida, Venereal Soil . . . .
Today my son, Max, 6, and daughter, Anneliese, 11, returned bearing gifts from their trip with my ex to the exotic tropical island paradise of Fort Myers Beach. Max brought me some pretty sea shells he found on Sanibel and a stein-shaped refrigerator magnet sporting the admonition "WARNING! Sober to horny in FOUR beers." Anneliese with justifiable pride bestowed on me a whole fabulous outfit consisting of a pair of pinky-ring-sized liquid-rubber-dipped hoop earrings resembling miniature, postmodern crowns of thorns or sea-anemones (RAV-4 blue set off by hot pink); a beautiful seaweed-green fringed sarong, faux-batique-patterned with an adorable motif of dolphin pairs competing in synchronized-swim trials; and a classic bikini top, two coconut halves shellacked and strung on baling twine.

I have the best kids.
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