My dad was right.
I do live in an adult version of Never Never Land.
Of course, he was talking about San Francisco. But if he could see me out here, he’d REALLY roll his eyes.
I have barely handled money in a month. Maybe twice. I have no idea what’s in my purse, or where my purse is. Or what day it is. I haven’t shopped for anything other than gas and food, and even then, not much.
I’ve heard little news of the outside world. I haven’t spoken to anyone at home more than once. I haven’t seen my dog (which is the only bad and painful part). As for computering, I only do blog entries and check my messages and then get offline as soon as I can — to hang out again with the same hundred-or-so people.
I’ve taken excellent mini-“vacations” from this already awesome place.
Yes, the accommodations are slim.
But the view is nice.
We get room and board to look for buried treasure.
I miss some of my old Neverland friends — some of them really badly. The ones whose names are carved in the bar with mine so deep they’ve already been partially worn away.
Even the dogs have fun, especially on the night of the DPW Talent Show, when brave souls compete in the “Chubby Weenie” contest, in which the winner shoves the greatest number of Vienna sausages into his or her mouth at once. Some contestants don’t make it without retching. (This year a Gate worker won. Woo! GATE PRIDE)
We even have our own clubhouse.
And we’re miles away from everything, bonding like a wild dogpack in cowboy desert paradise.
All we’re missing is Dr. Hook. Though I think there are a few people here who could substitute in a pinch.
(sigh, this is the last day of MOOPing and then we go home soon … tomorrow’s the inspection, cross yr fingers)
The Ladies' Guide to the Apocalypse 