I just procured myself a new set of coveralls/overall, Carhartts to be exact. After two trips to Sears, and the dreaded mall with no luck, I finally succumb to ordering on the internet. I hope they fit. Point being I wanted the ones that look like the ones my man wears. I find a man in work clothes; you know heavy work, sexy. I guess he does too, I mean, like the work clothes thing, he likes me best in my Carhartts/overalls/coveralls whatever, I have worn out three pair in our relationship tenure.

“Mom, you fell asleep at a Black Sabbath concert,” my dear progeny stated with exasperation is his voice. “How could you?” asked many of my students when I admitted to them the faux pas in the rock-n-roll venue. Oh, I fell asleep during Pink Floyd too, and come to think of it, Spring Awakening, and every event I go to that commences at what should be my “tucky by” time. I am old, well not as old as Ozzy, but why can’t he have started the concert at an early bird, not one full hour after the slated start time? Not that Ozzy wasn’t brilliant as he is as an entertainer.

I finally finished Patricia Walker’s Dance of the Electric Hummingbird, an ordinary woman’s accidental journey to enlightenment, the supernatural and rock star Sammy Hagar. Finally. I knew the book existed sometime in the whirlwind that was 2012, I entered a contest to win one, I glanced at a copy through the Cabo Wabo gift store window, I eventually purchased a copy in November over the internet, and every time I have read the book, it scared me so much I couldn’t finish it.

“For in the whirlwind of passion you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.” - Shakespeare Hamlet. Comedy would not exist without tragedy. I was not put on this earth to be a drama teacher without having to earn the woes of “outrageous fortunes”.