Up to nips in work.

There's nothing really underrated or hidden about Etta James, but still--when I listen to her I want to give her keys to the city and offerings by her feet...cause it seems like she should get them all the time. At least she probably gets residuals like no one on earth for At Last, if all those marrying folks indeed give her her cut of the take (maybe not).

I went to a jeweler's to talk ring design yesterday and ended up, against my better feelings and judgment, feeling hemmed in by all the engaged couples, shiny togetherness and piles of income, disposable or carefully-hoarded. Just a *bit* much. I saw no less than maybe seven in the 1/2 hour I was there ("When's the date!" over and over). And me, in my sleep shirt and hair in ratty bun, asleep in the cab on the way there, ill-prepared for this sudden visit.

This where I say fuck em if they can't take a joke (never quite sure who 'they' is) and goddamn I love shiny things.

Backtowork.