The pottery of Peggy Albers decorates every table. I am ecstatic to learn that on the bottom of each stunning piece is a name of a person who gets to take the pot home. After searching the list of names over and over and over again, and then a few more times, I finally have to accept that I am not taking a pot home. This is hard news as many of my alleged friends win pots, but, as has been already mentioned, I do not. This takes a way long time to accept and I talk about my feelings throughout the evening.
Comments
i can imagine how the people at your table must have ended that dinner wishing more than anything that you'd have won a pot.
you should have told them that you didn't care because you had something much nicer tattooed on your head. or something. just work the tattooed head thing into your spiel and sit back and watch the conversation spin from there.
later, people will remember you as the woman who didn't win the pot but started a fascinating conversation.
talked to a guy sunday who had tattoos on his head, all his arms, his neck, and i'm sure most of the rest of him. he was from the Inland Empire, which is what they call the San Bernardino/Riverside/Ontario area these days. It's essentially a promotional moniker devised by developers and the chamber of commerce, and which sounded better than "Smog-Covered Semi-Desert Valley Not Even Close to the Beach."
Anyway, this guy had tattooed down the inside of his left arm, "Inland," and down the inside of his right "Empire" -- so that when he was handcuffed from behind the cop would see the words "Inland Empire" together running down his arms.
Isn't that nifty?
Sam
I have tried to get people talking about the head tattoos, but to no avail. The subject is changed quickly. I'm not sure why. I wonder what I'm doing wrong?