Because you're mine

Last week, one of my friends sent me a message asking why I was not posting to my blog. I've been too busy at work and too tired at home to think about anything for months now. I've been relaxing with rock star biographies and pop culture podcasts that allow me to believe that watching hours of TV on Netflix is actually an intellectual exercise. My weekends have been filled with multiple seasons of In Treatment, Lie to Me, 30 Rock, and a couple British mystery/cop shows I can't even remember the names of.

Last night, after a weekend spent in fuzzy sweatpants with at least 7 hours of TV, I decided I had to wash my hair, put some makeup on and leave the house in search of human contact. Or at least in search of beer and pizza at my favorite local beer and pizza spot -- Piece. On the way home, filled to the brim with Camel Toe (a beer that has apparently never won an award but I know for a fact has caused at least 3 people who are not lightweights to leave the bar feeling mildly crazy)I decided to stop at the used book store around the corner. I was hoping they also stocked new books because the last time I went into Borders I could not find a copy of Keith Richard's Life: I think I got there a day or two too early. No luck on my Rolling Stones fix but I did go through a pile and came across this gem.



On its own, this is nothing special, although I have been wanting to read it. What really sold me was the inscription. I love used books with inscriptions and love to think about what happened between the gift giving and the recipient giving it away. My favorite up until last night was in my Collected Works of John Cheever:
Dear Mom, Happy Birthday, Love Ace.

My new favorite:



The inscription is date 10/27/2004 but it looks like Connie required more than just walking the line or maybe Rich? (Ron?) started to swerve. Or maybe they are still going strong and Connie just didn't like the book.