A certain Gatsby’s Ghost was kind enough to assist me with my word replacement situation. As my ass mentioned earlier, this bitch was called out sharply regarding my use of the word ‘heathen’. Since a bitch didn’t intend to say what my ass was saying when using 'heathen'…well, a new word needed to be found!
As luck would have it, Gatsby’s Ghost was on hand…and he just happens to be a master of language.
ABB to Gatsby’s Chost…"Shit. My ass was called out regarding 'heathen'!"
Gatsby’s Ghost to ABB…"Yes, I read that."
ABB in a full snit…"Give me a word that doesn’t have a religious superiority/anti-Pagan slant that describes bad assed chil’ren who haven’t been raised…PLEASE!"
After a brief pause, the magnificent Gatsby of Gatsby’s Ghost produced…
The man is a genius.
Moving forward with drama solved …
It’s raining in St. Louis. Raining, cool and sullen….makes a bitch long for my couch and my flannel.
Last night a bitch spent a lovely 2 hours reading through the current issue of Harvard Magazine. No, a bitch is not a Harvard grad…but my ass spent enough time grazing through the plentiful bounty of those dining halls to get an honorable mention at least (wink).
Anyhoo, Harvard Magazine can be a pretentious bore of a read, but a bitch enjoyed the hell out of this issue. Particularly the personals, which were a joy. Page after glossy page was filled with well crafted descriptions of…well, mostly women who were almost always ‘slim’, love to travel (Lawd, the Berkshires must be overflowing with Boomer aged slender women), adore New Yorker cartoons and are shy. The shy bit puzzled me, but C-Money explained that ‘shy’ was most likely a code word for ‘not heinous looking, but not exactly a socially aggressive person and thus the personal ad’.
Fascinating reading! Anyway, a bitch wishes them all well and sincerely hopes that Midge from Darien finds that very special someone…with that certain annual income…and that certain social resume complete with those multiple degrees draped in Ivy…and well worn passport…oh, and subscription to The New Yorker…to explore Italy with.
Dream that dream, sister.
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