I am still pretty upset over the hijacking of my blog and my gmail, but mostly I am overwhelmingly thankful for Jim and Tris and Shylah. Their brains and know-how and persistance and unwillingness to let Google off the hook worked, and here I am once again with my rants and opinions and memories and extremely important descriptions of poop and funny people.

I am still waiting for Google to give me back my gmail account. I know my heroes are hard at work on it, but Google isn’t very cooperative. In the meantime, I sincerely hope that the hijacker isn’t sending all the people in my address book porn and spam and viagara ads and webcam invitations and other unwanted messages, supposedly from me. I mean, first of all, I don’t own a webcam and secondly, you really don’t want to see. Besides, I don’t think they make them with a wide angle lens.

Hub and I drove up to the city last night and had dinner with my Tumorless Sister and a dear friend. We ate at Mark Pi’s and it was delicious. Sis and Friend and Hub were all classily stifling the giggles and finally Sis said to me, “When you get a chance, turn around.” A few minutes later, I needed something from my purse (“good one, sis,” she said) and got a glimpse of what the three of them had been looking at all along.

It looked like a sixties bowling team, sponsored by Bouffant ‘Do’s for the Big Beautiful Woman.

Except for the ‘beautiful’ part.

They were loud and uninhibited, and were probably very nice women having a friendly dinner. LOTS of dinner. Lots and lots of dinner. On their tabletop was enough dinner to save a small third world nation from starvation. And when they were finally finished, nothing was left but very shiny dishes.

Hair so tall and wide and poofy and artificially black. Cheeks so pink. Other cheeks so tremendously large. One of them looked like Snow White gone to seed. The other three looked like. . . Mimi, from the Drew Carey Show.

I seriously hope the waiters retired those four chairs and replaced them with chairs less stressed. Talk about the New Madrid fault. . . . . *

See, I’m back. Mean and observant as before.

I’m a humongously big woman, myself. But at least I don’t go out to dinner dressed as Disney’s Snow White, size 5XL.

I’d tell you what my fortune cookie said, plus “in bed,” but then it might not come true.

*I live on the New Madrid Fault.