I live in Houston. It is the rapidly growing megalopolis in which I seek employment and play and pay exorbitant taxes.
Interesting city…Houston. It’s the nation’s fourth largest but rapidly giving Chicago, which for years has held steady at number three, a good run for it’s money.
I may live in Houston, but I exist; I thrive in LaurieLand. It is my world…and I am the Mayor and benign despot to a populace of one.
I refer to it frequently in many posts.
What? You don’t believe in LaurieLand?
E-MAIL INQUIRY: Is this place you speak of, the verdant and quaint village that magically appears on the Scottish horizon every 100 years and then was made into a Broadway musical, which was followed by a circa 1954 film extravaganza starring master hoofer, Gene Kelly?
Adolph Oliver Nipples
No, that’s LaurieDoon.
LaurieLand is something entirely different.
See Oliver? It’s real!!
Actually, It’s the capital of “the film” industry. That’s right…the population of LaurieLand produces more dental plaque (per capita) than any other American city.
In fact, a young periodontist, who was down on her luck, committed suicide by hurling herself from the “U” back in 1948.
I also often speak of the corporation I own.
It too, is real.
You might have seen my corporation-ette marked accordingly at the top of my blog.
Well, here it is again in all it’s glory: the mental HQ and where I do my best thinking. Actually, that transpires in a tiny, windowless room in the back, lit by an oil lamp. I squat down by the fire where Pa smokes his corncob pipe and Ma warshes our buckskin as I practice my letters and do my cypherin’ with a chunk of coal on the back of a shovel, but that’s only after I’ve chopped down trees to split rails out of them or some Abe Lincoln-esque horsehit.
Actually, I spend most of my time out and about in LaurieLand, doing relevant PR as the brown eyed/blond haired face of Laurie Industries. That is, when I’m not out front of the store selling phone cards, car deodorizer, designer knock-off watches, lottery tickets, Yoohoos and fake Social Security numbers (side gig, ONLY) to anxious, but enthusiastic non-English speaking consumers.
And yeah, I have regular customers. The ones who speak some English are friends of mine, I suppose. We laugh, joke and kid each other…especially as they leave my store.
They say, “Goodbye, Godless infidel woman whore”.
I forgive them for the tautological mistake and respond with things like, “Don’t let the door salaam you in the ass, shithead!”