Tina Rowley

writer + (performer) + [space left blank for surprises]

Welcome to the internet home of Tina Rowley. Here you'll find my blog, links to my other published writing, and whatever ends up climbing into the space I left blank for surprises.

 

my fingers are heavy but tea is delicious

A year of blogging makes my fingers turn to lead in advance exhaustion. What me thinkin? It's January 4th. I should be all pa-pow! Smack it! Bam! Read it!

Finger to f on keyboard...ungh. Finger to i. Aargh. N. Oof. G. I'm dyin'. E. Fuck me. R. Fuck you. Aaaaaa.

These are inspiring, these posts. You're going to start a blog now, if you don't have one. Like anyone reads this that doesn't have one. People who don't have blogs think that people who do are assholes. Don't think I don't know about this. I'm hep to this. People have let this leak.

So we had tea at the Queen Mary today, me and my mom and my mother-in-law. It was great! My fingers should be whizzing around like fancy little fairies telling you about this. Flutter it up, leadpaw. It was a really good time, I mean it.

As we arrived at the Queen Mary, we got bowled over by a parade of Red Hat Society ladies filing out on to the sidewalk in their purple pantsuits. My mom whispered to me, "I had thought about joining a Red Hat group. Now I think I don't want to." The jazziness, I confirm, seemed only to run outfit-deep. The faces were not the faces of people taking a bite out of life. They were grim for a bunch of ladies who'd just stuffed themselves with scones and cupcakes and Lapsang Souchang. In hats covered with feathers. But they were grim in an excellent way. The contrast was enjoyable.



Whatever hat society Finn is a member of, that's the one I'm joining. These guys know how to roll.

We were seated next to the window display, which featured a couple of real live doves having sex. Nothing left to say there. Except that it was romantic.

The food was DELICIOUS. Pear and gorgonzola tea sandwich, go make one. You'll be saying "pear and gorgonzola" around your house about five hundred and fifty more times than you ever expected to in your future. Scones with whipped cream, chocolate peppermint cupcake ganache things, teeny tiny sorbet trio, fucking warm right-out-of-the-oven Linzer cookies. Aagh. Perfect. Crumpets. Shut up.

Then a birthday party of 25 or so little girls in party dresses filed in, to crank up the awesomeness to haywire levels. I'd say they were all around six years old. Overheard around the birthday table:

Girl 1: You have to soak it for a while. You have to soak it. You have to soak it for a while.
Girl 2: I'm glad you mentioned it.

Witnessed at the birthday table:

Waitress taking orders, making a comment about someone's shoes. Suddenly many feet are lifted above table level, nobody willing to be outdone.

Then another little birthday party came in, with a girl in a red ballet dress and a tiara, and a couple of little boys wearing paper crowns. But not very little. They were probably seven years old, those boys. Old enough that it was good to see them out in public in crowns at a tea shop. Not yet too cool for school. I nearly had those little bastards boxed up with our remaining scones. Young awesomeheads.

And above all, it was a gorgeous time with Mom and Mum. Queen Mary!

Look how many words I typed. I must go soak my hands.