We got back to Long Beach last night and did not bother unloading the Honda. We left it all Joaded out in the driveway.
On our porch, instead of dead baby birds, TJ found two packages. She brought those inside and opened them. She pulled a banjo from one and from the other, Taschen’s The Big Penis Book. She crawled into our unmade bed with it, got out her 3-D glasses, and set to work decompressing.
This was scribbled onto a napkin on our coffee table.
It’s supposed to be a note from my rabbits, but I’ve encountered notes like this before, at Christmastime, notes signed by Santa Claus but written in a suspiciously similar hand as Big Mama Lesbrain’s.
Our Lebanese rabbit sitter wrote this.
During our Midwestern absence, Sid took Scratch prisoner.
Carter exercised tremendous finesse during the Iran hostage crisis. He also has experience repelling rabbit attacks.
I liberated Scratch and calmed him down. Sid just keeps getting weirder.
I slipped into something less constricting.
I did some chores.
The Mayan welcoming committee greeted me from their grotto over the pillow-filled fireplace.
I flashed two peace signs at the ashes of my dear friend, Erin Markey.
Then, I decided to grab something to read and relax.