/in-vērĭsĭmĭlis/

Oh, hell no.  What I wear is what I wear.  Pretty much all the time, too.

You know, I would think the sole purpose of Lent (all forty days of it) is to become thoroughly tired of it.  If not for the fact that fifty days of celebrating Easter becomes even MORE tiresome, that is.  Too bad  you can't break up these blocks of time into something a little less unwieldy.

Might make fasting go faster, too.  :D  Why do they call them fasts when they're so stinkin' SLOW?

Remember what I said about orchids?  (points down)

Well, a long time ago, I developed a minor fixation on "blue" cattleyas.  (see picture)

Okay, calling it "minor" is akin to calling Hurricane Katrina a minor squall.  Coerulea madness is like orchid addiction with a side of crack.  Right now, it's chewing holes in my social life, but it's amazingly fun, so I'm not complaining.

Are these things great or what?

 Does anyone else here grow orchids?  

And I mean by growing devoting unconscionable amounts of time on what amounts to a foreign weed.  Growing orchids is less a hobby and more a socially-acceptable obsession.  There really IS no reasonable interest in orchids: you either think "Pretty flowers" or you eat, drink, breathe, sleep them.  Not much of a middle ground here.

Were it not for the fact that all orchids are adult the moment they bloom, fiddling with their reproductive bits, even discreetly done in the privacy in one's home or greenhouse, might seem indecent.  Ah, the pitfalls of being a hybridizer.  I get funny looks all the time when I go into what orchids really do to reproduce.

I have the opinion that you don't have orchids--orchids have YOU, and somehow you live with THEIR foibles.  But they make good houseguests, and they're worth having around.  The flowers make it all worthwhile.  No jewelry on earth can possibly compare.

 I can't for the life of me think of anything on earth more pointless than telling total strangers about myself, when I quite frankly can't think of anything interesting to say about it--and it's MY LIFE.  

Why would anyone want to know?

I'm about a month away from the doctor giving the green light to start injecting testosterone.  Get my blood pressure under control, he says, and I can start any time.

Fifty years old.  I think I'm finally old enough to be what I want. 

 E 

Amended entry: 
No, this entry wasn't brought to you by this letter.  However, it  was brought to you by the number 69.

 Yes, it is once again violet (or blue) season, depending on your church.  I have made it a point to studiously avoid getting anywhere near the absurd levels of consumption on an occasion which has nothing to do with such a thing.  If anything, Christmas, to me, is far more akin to Easter in its solemnity.  This is the season of anticipation of something that happened two thousand years ago, yet happens again, year after year.  In certain respects, it is a daily event.  Renewal happens to us all every new season and day.

 Doing this at the end of a workday has got to be one of the dumbest things on earth.  There's usually nothing left to give.  A naked man can NOT give you his shirt.

 This isn't an entry.  This is where the first entry will be.