Two Days Later

Still no response from Condi about the slumber party. I think she has that sour expression because they keep her so busy in Washington. I’ll probably hear from her the next time she has a day off. I’m upping the ante and adding Cheetos™ to the mix.

It was suggested that we could crank call Janet Reno at the slumber party. I say, why not just invite Janet, too? Now there’s a gal who had a tough time in Washington. AND was part of losing two elections to Condi’s husband boss and his brother. A little Cheetos™ dust and maybe doing a slam book together could fix some hurt feelings.

Contemplating Condi

Now I can’t stop thinking about Condi. You know what I think she needs? A good slumber party. So I’m officially inviting Condi to my house for an old-fashioned slumber party. (Note to Condi: You don’t have to bring the Secret Service. There are ALWAYS “phone trucks” on my street, and I know what that’s all about.)

Me, Condi, and a few friends. (Note to Readers: Feel free to invite yourselves.) Queso and chips, plenty of Keebler cookies, popcorn, pink sponge rollers, those little thingies you fit between your toes when you give each other pedicures, a Ouija board to commune with Bob Dole and Newt Gingrich… What; they’re not dead? Whatever.

I believe a slumber party could make Condi smile. It’s just a shame that *69 and Caller I.D. have ruined the world of crank calling. I’ll bet Condi knows a LOT of good numbers.

Something That Bugs Me

I was reading a movie review when the reviewer sounded what for me is a familiar and dissonant chord. Why is it that regarding movies or books, people are quick to point out “coincidences” as if they are not credible?

Sure, unless a movie or book is completely about coincidences, they should be used sparingly, but they happen in abundance in real life. In fact, we don’t even KNOW how often they happen, how connected we all are, and how seemingly random moments often have a cause and effect we’re not aware of.

The thrill of watching a movie or reading a book is that it gives us, for a moment, a god’s eye, when we get to witness it all and know how it fits together. Why is fiction supposed to be less amazing than real life?