The "living in 3 places" situation is coming to an end, at last. Mom is doing well in Birmingham (even though the neighborhood is . . . iffy); the beach house in PCB is prepped for move-in; an instructor gig is lined up for summer. Voila.
Exhale.
I could detail the irritation of being back in St. Pete at the condo and clashing with the brain-disruptions these people give me (like the fact that I cannot get out of my contract early even though I have been a FABULOUS renter), but why? Bigger brain-disruptive (and more comedic) action exists outside this zip code:
Is that photo-shopped? Or did lightning really strike the Vatican the day the Pope pooped out? Apparently, according to the "news", the selection committee hasn't been given the definitive word from god yet as to who the next P will be. So the next dude to wear the red shoes is still a big mystery.
How exactly does god tell these guys who to vote for? Doesn't god have to chose from a preselected bunch of Cardinals? What if god wants someone who is NOT a priest to be Pope? What if god has a sense of humor and a love for pop culture trash?
Maybe this is his top ten list of Possible Papal People:
1. Pamela Anderson
2. Me
3. Kanye West
4. One of the Kardashians -- you choose; he said it doesn't matter
5. Pitbull with JLo -- a dual popedom
6. Geraldo Rivera
7. Me (I know I am on the list already, but you shouldn't question divine logic)
8. The guy who fixed my washing machine at the beach house in record time for a low price
9. Donald Trump
10. All of the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders (they work as a unit anyway)
More regular postings to come, now that I will be settling in 2 places rather than 3.
Loves and kisses,
Joyce Marie
