O.K.: .time for another "à propos de Cat Roberts". Like, this author, like, asked me to be his friend. Wow. Maybe some people r enjoying my revolving bios. "YAY"(my myspace friend)hasn't communicated(n'a dit rien à ce moment çi)about my bios. I really should check in with her.
I had to DO SOMETHING when I was little. My parents must have convened in discussion and decided to SIT ME DOWN @ some thing. Maybe my parents had no time to properly discuss anything and, hence, let decisions fly with the wind. I ended up @ the inherited instrument -- the LESAGE. The "lesage" piano was wooden, as opposed to CARBON/SILICON like they're making them today. My brother, Chazzie, and I went to group lessons conducted by a blond. She looked like a spy. She was cutely mysterious, zooming up in her sporty car to run a group of ne'er do wells for a half of an hour -- I think, if I remember correctly, that the lessons were @ just-before-suppertime -- maybe after(who cares?).
Chazzie brought the sponge toffee and I payed attention to the teacher -- the blond(I do not recall whether[and it does not matter to me{ça ne fait rien à moi(je m'en fish?)si}]if she was a "natural" blond or a "fake" blond)-- the spy. What she would have been bothered to have been spying about, I cannot imagine. All that mattered to me was that she had nothing UP HER SLEEVE, sts. Chazzie always had the sponge toffee or other necessary distractions UP HIS SLEEVE[u.p h.is s.leeve(uhs)]. Moments of unendurable boredom were bound to descend upon us. I was safe. Chazzie was there, always prepared for the rescue.
Jimmy, my little brother, was spared piano lessons because Mother and Father had a sure bet in stick-to-itiveness with, as was being evidenced, me.
I must eat my Easter egg-on-tart now. I dropped the tart whilst removing it from the microwave. It is an onion and garlic tart, which I homeade myself this a.m. I use microwaves because they r evil and quick. The tart, btw, has carda(mon/mom/mum)in it. BRB.
The tart was great. I had no ketchop, I mean ketchup(registered trademark[be careful here, Cat -- u must credit "KETCHUP" in some fashion if u r using it's name in an official biography -- is "KETCHUP"{like - "KLEENEX"}not in PUBLIC DOMAIN now 'cause the guy who owns the rights over the deadguy who invented it is not dead yet?]to be used only with future money owing, o.k.) I ate my eastertart plain 'cause tomatoes r no substitute for proper KETCHUP. I NEEDED A VEGETABLE so I had some Buy Low sweet peas(imported from china or B.C. or somewhere, it).Back to the piano lessons scenario -- we all were having fun, I'd thought. Anyways(anyway?), Chazzie dropped out, as he was wont to do. The todo was beginning. Neither Chazzie nor I were good @ boredom. Chazzie could stop attending piano lessons because I was willing to find a way to make it interesting enough for myself to stay. Mother only needed one to stick @ it and I WAS IT. Yay.
That's the story -- like, why I play music. Ask Glenna Bell -- "That's our story and we're sticking to it." I have no idea why I sing. Steve made me, o.k.? You can blame steve. Steve knows that people blaming him r just stupid.
Thankyouforyourattentiontothis"àpropos". We r grateful for your time and regard. Regardez. Nous faison des dessins. Love, Cat.
P.S.: the tart was so good that now I am going down to the machine to get a chocolate bar for dessert -- nothing like spoiling a perfectly lovely celebratory dinner. Bye.
P.S.: TODAY'S "MY OPINION" -- everybody has a right to his/her own opinion. Everybody has a right to find out where he/she is going. If you beg or do not beg to differ, I defer to u -- ur righter.wtvr.idnrka, btmo.
