I guess so.

You're Brigitte Bardot!


What Classic Pin-Up Are You?
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I love Brigitte Bardot, but I was hoping for Betty Grable. Oh well.

SO Everything this weekend ended up not happening. My friends had issues come up so no hanging out. Kachou, I hope your aunt gets better. Seaweasel, feel better! Les, hope the land party went well. Talk to you Thursday.

Now it's back to cross stitching the wedding gift and hoping I can find a dress.

May be I'll fill out a survey and post it here. We'll see.
BTW- That's me in faire garb in the new icon.

(no subject)

And if, my friend, you'd have it end,
There's naught to hear or tell.
But need you try to black my eye
In wishing me farewell.

Though I admit an edged wit
In woe is warranted,
May I be frank? . . . Such words as "-"
Are better left unsaid.

There's rosemary for you and me;
But is it usual, dear,
To hire a man, and fill a van
By way of souvenir?

They Part-Dorothy Parker

Dottie on the brain

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet-
One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
"My fragile leaves," it said, "his heart enclose."
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.

Last one- Men by Dorothy Parker

They hail you as their morning star
Because you are the way you are.
If you return the sentiment,
They'll try to make you different;
And once they have you, safe and sound,
They want to change you all around.
Your moods and ways they put a curse on;
They'd make of you another person.
They cannot let you go your gait;
They influence and educate.
They'd alter all that they admired.
They make me sick, they make me tired.

Okay I lied, this is the last poem of the day...

Edna St. Vincent Millay - I Think I Should Have Loved You

II

I THINK I should have loved you presently,
And given in earnest words I flung in jest;
And lifted honest eyes for you to see,
And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;
And all my pretty follies flung aside
That won you to me, and beneath your gaze,
Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,
Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.
I, that had been to you, had you remained,
But one more waking from a recurrent dream,
Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,
And walk your memory's halls, austere, supreme,
A ghost in marble of a girl you knew
Who would have loved you in a day or two.