Greetings from somewhere in the woods. I was home for about 36 hours before jetting off again...this time to a corporate retreat that is, shall we say, a bit more "rustic" than usual. Mission accomplished if you want your team to be sequestered and sans many options for distraction. The keynote opener this morning will take place in a converted barn. No, I'm not kidding and yes, I'm pleased as hell to be busier this coming month than I've been since we started our business in 1998.
Which brings me to my current state of blognesia. Not sure where it came from based on the three main causes of blognesia. I haven't suffered any physical trauma. I've not reduced my alcohol intake and I haven't had ECT. But I'm out of time and to some degree, out of inspiration for stories so who knows what the next chapter of this fun endeavor might look like. There are many out there...Hollister Hovey and Admiral Cod who I'm sure, spend only five to ten minutes posting a little quip in between longer, more substantive posits. I'm not sure where I land on that continuum and who knows, maybe I'll get a flurry ideas and inspiration from somewhere. Stay damn tuned. Shut up.
But for now let me say this about my buddy's dog. He greets me every time I walk in the toy soldier shop and LFG loves him to death. French Bulldogs are great little small apartment, townhouse or simply "city" dogs. But a male Frenchie need not be subjected to this level of abuse. Just look at him. He's saying to my buddy's wife ... "Mama, I don't care if this was my actual birth mama's sweater and you've put it on me out of respect for her. I loved and respected her but this is just damned absurd. Please mama, don't make me go outside in this girl sweater. I was kidding when I said I had to pee and I can wait till Wednesday to do the "other" thing.
Alas, it was not to be. The Capitol Hill walk of shame began shortly thereafter. And to boot, Frenchies can't lick themselves.
Onward. Thinly. ADG II