I check the stats on my blog everyday to see if anyone read my posts. I marvel at the fact that people do read them and I love that people all over the world check in on me. One of my biggest thrills was and continues to be that there are a few people in Russia that are reading. Yeah, people in RUSSIA are reading
my blog!
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| Mother Russia, you make Lady Liberty look like a shy, young school girl. |
Hello Mother Russia?!? It's me, Miss Pierce. I've always loved you.
I like to imagine that one of my readers is Vladimir Putin. Not because I'm drawn to power or money or that dark look in his eyes....no, it's because I have a habit of hitting the snooze on the alarm clock.
One morning a few years ago, I woke up, turned on the news and hit the snooze button. Dearest Vladimir was at the front and center of the world stage that morning. As I drifted in and out of "I-don't-want-to-get-in-the-shower-yet" consciousness, the days' current events mixed together with the contents of my dream.
That's when it happened. We fell in love. (I'm really predictable on that front, aren't I?)
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| My main man. |
I know it's wrong. I know we have nothing in common and that politically, we couldn't be more different. The only time I ever roasted beets, I over salted them. He would never stand for that. I am middle-aged and thick and he has the look of a man that can walk into a brothel and order with the same confidence that I do when I pull into a fast food drive-thru. I feel certain that after a "meal" of that nature he would probably dispose of the wrappers in much the same way I do. Quickly and without much thought.
We really
don't have anything in common. How could I explain to him that when I hear the high-pitched cry of a possum in trouble, I must leap to my feet and run to it's rescue? I'm sure that type of behavior would be frowned upon at state dinners and post-KGB mixers.
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| Don't worry little guy! I hear you! I'm on my way! Just hold on! |
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| Crisis averted. Whew! |
It's really too bad.
Sigh. I always pretend that my Vladdy is a Scorpio (or some other intense water sign) and that after a couple of vodka's he really opens up and tells a great story. I pretend he's warm and generous. During imaginary dinners I joke with him about work saying, "Oh, Vladster! You really
do know where all the bodies are hidden, don't you? That place would fall apart without you!" and that he would laugh, but not nervously with shifting, guilty eyes.
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| Really? Why can't we just have a nice dinner like normal people? |
We would snuggle by the fireplace on those cold Russian nights and I would read Dostoyevsky while he chuckled at my horrible pronunciation and he would read Langston Hughes to me and I would explain concepts like "dream dust" to him in return.
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| Sorry. No dream dust for sale here, folks. |
Yeah, Vladimir Putin and Miss Pierce. It would be perfection, wouldn't it? Well it would until........
This man came to dinner.
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| Why, yes sir, I do know where the nearest Waffle House is! |
You know mama loves her some MacDonalds from the back seat of a tricked out Camaro!
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| I always want fries with that! |
Sorry Vlad! I will always, always love you but we just broke up.
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| I hate everything you say, but not enough to kill you for it. |
What woman in the world can say, "No" to Wild Bill?
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| My Camaro has an 8 track. Do you like Foghat? |
Well, it sure as heck isn't this one! Turn up that Foghat, baby. Do you want another Miller Light?
Dos vedanya, ya'll!
Miss Pierce
