Where is thine press secretary*?
(This is why they don't let the president blog on his own / everyone needs an editor ….)
I feel like "Elaine," eating the stale Windsor cake … I had Italian (imported and tackily still partially frozen / I don't care / I expect it of the place where ex-cop/owner-man challenged me on the freezer-burned-ness of the breadcrumbs on my something-parmesan many years ago) cheesecake (at this tacky but still in-business place with outdoor seating where D. and I like to go).
Usually, I cringe and then force down mandatory post-dinner desserts.
But what is dinneresque about Romaine lettuce, a few Kalamatas, very good dressing (on the side of which I ate very little), some salami, proscuitto or whatever it is called that I have racistly decided not to learn at this time (like Republican desk-neighbor, who makes fun of Indian "sub-continent" accents by repeating them in cartoon voices), three slices of lame, pale "tomato," and some grated parmesean cheese (real, not dusty)?
My point is that I am still undernourished, my dear friend has emphysema, and I that can prove the former with photographs I took tonight (as a non-radiologist / they are of me … need $ to share : )
So, after a week of Zingers, brownies, commercial chocolate candy, chili, hot dogs (1.5), chips, a half-grapefruit, a few apples, 30 oz. or more of diet Dr. Pepper death-water, and things I have e-mailed to some of you … la chica at this hour is unable to translate.
Might I say that I avoided donuts, (extra and "Rotel") cheese, and high fructose corn syrup soda pop throughout the week-of-spirit.
I had sour cream, though.
*It's a budgie.
*It's a budgie.