b1-66er: And THIS is how my '22 ends...
All happening as Scorpion Manor is warming from 66 to 70...
The Accomplice is watching
PIÑATA MASTERS
on Netflix.
There's a fair amount of high volume Spanish (much of it from children, whom I assume are captives, but may be nothing more than contestants) and LOTS of Accomplice emphasis...
{Example
phone: mmmerrmmerrmerr
A: You're allowed to pull on the rooster chain ONLY ONCE!
}
With these psychological underpinnings, I already know mom's obituary (due to my brother tomorrow) will be UNMATCHED.
WAIT ... BREAKING NEWS
"There's a girl whose family was too poor to have a piñata for her family so ¡SHE HAD TO RELY ON THE ONE FROM LAS POSADAS!"
So there's some deeper empathy in Piñata Masters
<pause pause pause>
"THE SPANISH FOR JELLYFISH IS *MEDUSA*!"
(And then she gestures with a thumb and two fingers pointed DIRECTLY AT ME ... which I can only assume is ASL for "a jellyfish is going to kick YOUR ass.")
Yes yes yes...
Sociologically we are just ONE STORY away from interpretive dance of this TV show experience.
Lots of chuckling.
Occasional WHOAs.
... One always hopes the New Year will be better than the last son of a bitch you just went through.
Perhaps this is the cue...
... Or maybe it is now impossible.
[As the most gigantic robin you have EVER seen perches on the newly painted bench outside.
It. Is. Huge.
Yesterday our yard sculptor said, "I have never even SEEN a robin in the Valley."
Me <oddly channeling my father, for some unknown reason>
"Maybe we should feed it."
A: <sneering> "I'm not THAT kind of a bird watcher. That fucker is fat enough already•"
Happy New Year
Special K: FANTASTIC. My fucking year is complete. I'm going back to bed.
{Accomplice: I did NOT say "fucker." (everything else is reasonably accurate)}
