You Should See Her Face When She Says No

Amanda wrote something today that was so remarkably beautiful, I just had to share it. It was in response to a mention of the 60ft Dolls on the SFA list:

Yes, but just remembering isn't enough. Part of it is keeping the spirit alive in the soul of every brit/brat/welsh pop fan out there. Ribbons, posters, perhaps going up to "dog hill" every year and placing a Stella can full of piss up there in commemoration.
Keep the spirit alive and let the spirit move you.
ta mate
Amanda
It brought tears to my eyes.

For years (okay, at least 1 1/2) the two of us have talked incessantly about 60ft Dolls, where they have gone, how important they were (ARE!), and how amazing they were. And every now and then, one of us will encounter another hidden fan. Someone who understands what we mean. We want to help the Dolls get back to the music world. So if you want to join us in our plight, let me know. Perhaps one day we'll have a large group of fans (at least more than 2) and we can talk Richard, Mike, and that adorable little Carl, into rejoining and playing together again. Maybe we'll even buy them a beer, as long as they don't defecate on anything important.

LONG LIVE 60ft DOLLS

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Onto other, but certainly not more important things, it's Friday which means I am happy that tomorrow I won't have to get up at the crack of dawn to rush through a shower, down a caffeinated beverage, drive through farmland, and still be late for work. No, I have two days off from that sort of behavior. I'm going to live it up by organizing my stuff tonight, waking up early in the morning to help Dad hang two new windows, help out with Carolyn's 4th birthday party where I will have to put up with my most unfavorite aunt who is like Kathie Lee Gifford and Barbra Streisand all in one. Except a really white trash version of both. I am going to try to get sick or something so I can avoid her.

Last night I had the night from Hell. I get off work normally and meet my dad, who works a block or two away from me. We carpool home together which is the intelligent thing to do, obviously, but sometimes he has other plans. Like yesterday. He and my mom met me outside, according to Dad he got sick at work so he went home and hung a window instead. They loafed around all day aside from that, and then came up here (getting here LATE even) to retrieve me. Why the hell do both of you want to take this ride? Okay, so anyways, we start down the street and Dad informs me that we have to stop off in Allen to load the truck up with more stuff to take to the house in Whitesboro. Now is it just me, or does it seem like a really stupid idea to include me in this fun because he had ALL DAY LONG to do this, but no. I was dragged through 40 minutes of traffic to get to Allen, cramped and sweating in the backseat of his truck with Carolyn leaning on me, loaded the truck up with whatever we could fit in, and then drove yet another hour back to Whitesboro. My pantyhose were sticking to my legs. I was tired. Hungry. I wanted to go home. But they wouldn't listen.

And wouldn't you know it? The car broke down on the way home. Figures. So we were stuck in BFE for 30 minutes while the engine cooled down, and then got to drive at 35 mph for the next hour to get home. Yay!

Needless to say, if my family even so much as SUGGESTS that I go to the house in Allen anytime soon, I'm going to race BMX bikes all over the hardwood floors at home and play "Australia" by the Kinks really loud because, as I found out this morning, that song has the potential to singlehandedly destroy my Father's sanity. Heh-heh. Okay, I'm sorry I'm being so childish. I am really tired. I really want to go home. I need something to eat. And I have over two hours left of work.

I thought it was much later than this. sigh.