This is My 100th Post

This is my 100th post since birthing this blog into existence.  Well done Blogger, keeping track of my postings and such. Way to assign meaningless value to an otherwise meaningful post about nothing.
Oh well, here I sit; eavesdropping on the strangest of one sided conversations. It's rather wretched, really.
Regardless, I find the way this woman speaks to be intriguing. She's sitting at the table over, knitting and just rambling on about the shallowest of things to her handicapped companion. This is 100% accurate to what she is currently saying - all I am doing is listening in and typing like a God-bless-ed-maniac. I apologize in advance for anything horrific she may utter...

         ...and we're off...

"...skateboards; I don't know, I just like the shape of them. You can tie them on, take them off for laundry, wash the clothing out and reattach the thing - but Dan wouldn't hear of it. No, Dan has to be the man of the station. Dan has to shove his balls down and fight everything. Eventually I just gave up. We'd spent all day moving boxes around anyway. There were some that said Goodwill on them. I don't like spiders. They just sort of crawl out...you know that I don't like spiders, don't you? I find their crawling repulsive. Anyway, the doors and cabinets arrived. The man tried to tell me that he was doing me a favor by giving me some kind of b stock, recycled trash. I told him, you give me a discount and keep the hinges - they come in a pair anyway at Walmart. You just take those things and I'll do the monkey business. Does it matter? Here is an example...and this is a good example, so listen hard. Montana. Miss Montana is nothing more than a spitter; a spitter and a spinner. She doesn't write her things anymore. I doubt she does her own painting and Lord knows she doesn't crochet. She just spits and spins and twirl-biderls around like a night owl or something. The old days wouldn't hear of it. Remember when we let you in? You wouldn't even be here if not for us. Remember when we told you that you could start knitting and you said no? I'd like to see 20 minutes of knitting from you every night as a place of peace. But no, I have no opinion of you. You're loud and write loudly. You do your things on the computer loudly. If you knitted, you'd do it loudly; but I have no opinion. That is my opinion. Opinions don't have opinions. Shove off. Birds don't have debt trouble and little streams and bridges don't care anyway. Remember how we were talking about sweater weather and screening t-shirts like this? Rock and roll bands aren't going to go around wearing sweaters. Unless it were the 90's - which we all know it isn't. I don't even know these days. I feel like I've been hazy..."

at last the other woman speaks.  "Hazy?" she inquires.

"You know, blurry? Hazy, that sort of thing. I walked down to the basement and did some hand things to make Jerron happy, but sort of waltzed around in a daze. I ate some cinnamon toast - because cinnamon toast always makes people feel better - but even that little brood snack didn't do much but make me yawn-y. I just yawned awhile and watched Letterman. I feel like I've been here before. All of my things are in places, but I feel like I've been in this building, in this room before. My waist just kind of tells me so. Have you ever felt that; your waist telling you something? It runs from my breast, down under here and around my back to my spine. It a corset, but one of truth. I like it. My co-workers like it. If Sheri were here, she'd - oh, I'm sorry. I  really am sorry. I'm really sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I'm really sorry that I didn't say anything when she was rambling on like that. She just sits there at night, rambling on and complaining. More than a few times I've been blindsided - but I don't blindside others. You see, what does she expect? I said to her, there is no nastiness here. She's a stern father. She isn't a mother; and that doesn't bother me. A wool knife I wield! It's my temptress and my calm. Well, that, my fingers and alcohol. Stupid Dan and his alcohol. I almost feel like crumbling pastries around him. Do you know what I said? Do you? I was groaning like stomach pains and just laughed and said, 'straight away, we probably lost her anyway'. Can you believe that? He'll probably find a girlfriend in an actress or a magazine somewhere and go cry about it. I can email Janie and tell her about trying to get in town on time. She's a late bloomer. Last time we were knocking on the windows and shining our flashlights through the trees like it was just the right thing to do in that moment. Well, why not, really? There was no...there was no...no...well, we were nice about it at least. Dear GOD! This looks like a dead cat! Sweetie, I've just knitted a dead cat! God, this sweater. I've knitted a dead cat and it looks exactly like the thing. I'm going to take this thread, hold it up to the window - its beautiful - I'll let the sun shine through it and - I like the hat!

She noticed me. She's walking over here...

...five minutes passed. I just re-opened my computer and will attempt to explain what transpired.

"I like the hat" she yelled, and ran over to me. "oh, don't close your computer like a little fright, I can't see it anyway - I'm too old. Anyway, I hope we aren't being too loud. We discuss things, that's all. We like free spirits. We say what comes to mind and let the flow create itself. I didn't mean to bother - but I like the hat. Keep wearing it. A good had should be worn freely and often. I'm flying you know; well to the bathroom anyway. Then I'll be an eagle and get my dinner prey from the waiter in a moment. Nice meeting you...and keep wearing that hat."

Then she walked away.  Just like that she was gone and I was left to create my own ideas, write my own stories, and come up with my own crazy lines. What a woman. What a crazy, open minded, twisted dame.
I hope to God I meet her one day. I love a good eaves dropping...