Here I am again on my own

So, I have been fannying around the house since 9.30 am with it in my head that I will sit and waffle on this for an hour at least - Just so, you know my fingers don't stop working, which would actually leave more time for the tongue to keep on wagging, thatwould make someone happy I am sure. Yeah, so the time is now 4.20 (hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm) and I am just about to embark on a writing exercise from a book called 'The Writer's Block' by Jason Rekulak. It is one of my Mother's garage sale finds and has been collecting dust in front of my web cam for about 2 years now. You know, just sitting there taunting me, making me feel even more miserable than I already highlighting the fact I do absolutely nothing anymore except laundry (which includes some canny double folding of boxer shorts), dish washing, cat sitting (feeding, brushing, getting rid of eye boogies and running round the flat playing silly games of "Where's Wally" for most of the day) and don't forget the paying of parking tickets, which is actually a full time job for someone with two cars living in a 2 hour limit parking area with no resident tags.

Wow. I have just realised that wearing my glasses while typing actually makes a big difference when it comes to, well, seeing. Wow, wish I would have wore them slightly more often then the four times I have since purchasing them in 1998. Actually I have probably wore these twice, since the first pair I purchased were accidentally left on a flight from Heathrow to San Francisco about three millisecond after I paid about 300 quid for them.

Why don't we have resident tags on our cars? They cost $70 and I have had an application on my desk since Hubby put it there, it is now after some rummage action under 3 months of Macy's statements. Why? Why do I let small things irritate me to the point of mini breakdown, and do absolutely nothing about it? It must be all that boxer short folding I partake in.

So, back to the book. It is a little 4x3"cardboard book. It can be opened at any page, and will give you a topic from which to work with - So, I will open a page randomly and 'Write about your worse habit' jumps out at me. I only gave my self an hour...How am I possibly gonna write about my worse habit in such a short space of time? OK, answer: Laziness. For example, not getting up to the parking office and paying my resident parking permit which would result in possibly only one ticket for each vehicle per week, which would be on street cleaning day.

Next page; 'Write about a childhood experience that made you cry', have you got a spare couple of months?

Final attempt; 'Describe your first encounter with a celebrity'. Ha ha - I have a quick tipple about such a meeting, so since I have twenty mins left; which is the time I am allocating to utilize my talents, not just something to do so it looks like I am not wasting mt talents, I will divulge.

This was probably the first time I had ever met anyone famous, apart from standing in front of the Laughing Clown, encased in his glass dome at the Pleasure Beach in Blackpool. I was 19 years old, and it was my gap year and I spent it here in the United States. I was actually spending lots of time on the coast, as you do, hanging with the locals, moon bathing and the likes. This is the year I learned to smoke. This year I dated some hot surfers, and smoking obviously made one more attractive, not that the accent did not get me into many a party. This was the year I met Joe DiMaggio. You know Marilyn Monroe's Husband (well, one of them) and he even gets a mention in a Simon and Garfunkel song. He is however most famous here for playing baseball for the New York Yankees in the fifties. Know him yet? Well I do!

We met across a crowded room full of other bored pensioners playing bingo at the Half Moon Bay Golf Club, before it was taken over by the Ritz chain thus rendering it utterly out of any one's price range. The bingo is probably $40 a game in there now. I recognised his chiseled looks immediately and wanted to know what it was like to dance with Grace Kelly - That was until my mate informed me it was not Clark Gable! It was then I discovered this wrinkled old eighty something was once married to my childhood crush Marilyn Monroe. I had no idea about anything baseball related, so ran up to him, with a Mars Bar, of all things in my hand ready to ask him to describe the luscious blond in one word. "They used to cost 7 cents when I was your age" were his exact words.

I still kick myself for not getting his picture or autograph, God Bless. May he rest in peace, hope he got to make a final hook up with Maz.

Oh and by the way, I was not playing bingo.