disjointed, lambjoints, joints, jukes, ungotten jokes and pudenda

Emma is suffering from a bad case of gnat brain. Gnat brain, perhaps an unorthodox diagnosis, but it goes something like this... You know when your thoughts are scattered like gnats buzzing about your head, like a bad day in the country. You know when you need one of those really fine netted butterfly nets to capture them and sort them out.

Like cheese cloth.

gnats are small things, fragile, in constant peril and fantastically annoying. So you have your mini-butterfly net and you are chasing after the gnats, not nearly as flamboyant as your average butterfly, or for that matter a run of the mill moth, but they are elusive, easily diffused by the slightest breeze in the brainicle, scattered, and so easily smooshed under a careless thumb.

What one winds up catching in one's mini-butterfly net are a few blood sucking mosquitos whining about various unpaid bills and that spot on the kitchen floor and the stack of dishes and they bite and lordy do they itch, and also the slow and stupid horsefly, buzz, buzz, buzzing the fat song, the fat song...

And the gnats swarm about the eyes, wearing you out, wearing you down, ceaseless, humming, evasive.

And somewhere in that long drawn out metaphor there was a point to be had, but the gnats carried it away before I could flesh it out, as it were.

Speaking of flesh, Emma would like to gloat, jus fo a sec, that she had sex (with a man!) on Saturday night. Yes, that's right, solid (solid! thanks undercoverbrother) manflesh, and yes, that's right, she had several orgasms and was most pleased. She recycled her most delicious French Toast, our favorite youngster, not quite twenty-eight and still remembers his lessons. Tu merite un dix sur dix mon cher ami.

hmmm, I think more recycling, or as they say recyclage is in order, rather promptly.

In other random news: We are being stalked by our third grade crush.
some dozen soldiers died, but our Feckless leader in unfazed.
Bananas are heading for obsolescence.
We invented the perfect meal tonight- for nights when opening cans is the extent of culinary invention: here's what you do, one can of good Italian tuna packed in water, one can of - praise jeebus - San Marzano tomatoes, lemon juice, Sciabiaca's olive oil, and rosemary salt.
Dilute the salt in the lemon juice, add generous amount of olive oil, add tuna, add loads of tomatoe, toss! Dinner!

for those of you who do not have access to the joys of the Ferry building, I pity you. No, really I do.

OK, Emma is becoming pedantic, and the gnats are still swarming, perhaps it is high time we retired our bedevilled thoughts.