I'm not what you would call a beautiful woman...like the kind that men turn flips to get attention from. Part of that is from not being willing to play the games that are required to capture the male ego and hold it hostage. Makeup is minimal because it gets in my eyes and makes them run. Ain't nothing sexy about that. The Poops budget doesn't allow for clothes aside from jammies and scrubs and a coupla pairs of jeans. New socks and underwear when the holes get too big to bear. My biggest investment is for good shoes to stand on the concrete with at the day job. Don't own a pair of f**k me pumps. If I did, Sam would have chewed one of 'em up by now..so there you go. My fashion statement in a nutshell. Some of it is about laziness when it comes to fixin' up. Most of it is about desiring to be seen as beautiful on the inside. When that happens, well I might care more about keeping up appearances. I reckon it's the Poopster variation of kissin' the frog.

A bunch of us landed at the kudzu bar late yesterday afternoon, unaware that Elvis was about to enter the building on ladies night. And enter he did, in all his sequined glory! My first thought was "ugh". Then double ugh. Changed my tune though when he got around to Rock Around the Clock and such. shhhhhhhhhh..don't tell anybody but I saw him talking to some folks while he was singing so I think it's all kinda rigged. Maybe he really is dead :) Took a few pics with a borrowed camera because mine was DOA. Just for the record, I'd ALMOST do the street corner hustle to own one like that. Almost.
Ya'll have a loverly weekend. I'll be at the sawmill, so think of me fondly.