First off, I do have a Fan Club. It's maybe two guys over at Tee Talk in Germany. And they do write me nice emails asking things like "Are you really a gay man, you can tell us." Truthfully I'm fairly certain I AM a gay man, but it's rather unfortunate that when I get to the Men's toilets I have absolutely nothing to share, I won't pass the physical. But that's my Fan Club, not too glamorous but a reason to go tea shopping nevertheless. I love you guys. And I've got a big surprise coming up for y'all on one of your current topics. No, it's not my patent leather school shoes. It's a TEA.
Next in the reality of blogosphere the emails arrive Re: Your Post. This week it's emails wondering if he or she might be the person who gave me the "fake" 1990s tuo I wrote about. And the people asking never sent me any 1990s tea. Still that doesn't stop a few from trying. I know I'm old and confused, but not about that. They are trying to trick me into thinking they sent me really old tea, and hope I'm forgetful enough to think I owe a return. I keep explaining that anyone who truly sent me 1990s tea actually owns more tea than they know what to do with, and I'm trying to get them to take my venison jerky instead. So far no takers, which merely leaves us with "thank you all for the tea."
I have other t-mail situations too, even well-meant from other bloggers. H. recently gave me a lecture on building an outdoor space for the Petr Novak/Mirka Randova outdoor charcoal burner set I bought and want to give away. Designing an outdoor tea space. What a lovely thought! But I'm a curb picker, not a designer. My "designs" are about vintage finds, making do and spraying them for roaches. And I'm not objecting because I need "Let's Do It" home renovation lessons. In fact, I watch HGTV all day long. So far the only thing I've learned is how to demo with a sledgehammer. For some reason that stuck.
Also, I get emails every month from people who want me to do online debate forums with other bloggers. This would be the most boring and silent event ever because I agree with every single tea blogger out there. It's a darn fine tea and I'm so tea drunk, full stop. No one writes "this tea is a dried out piece of manure and I sincerely recommend you spend $200 and try some for yourself." Good bloggers add to the Idea Well, which we may draw from and so readers will too. But basic consensus over agreeable tea just doesn't lend itself to super bowl debates. And with a limited stock of tea online we all can access and buy, we don't have much room for debate. In fact, with most teas I am looking for a hook, something in the tea that says "do me" because most teas are unremarkable, and one runs out of things to say about the average after awhile. This is the best explanation of where my own writing comes from. My family just thinks I'm demented.
If this isn't enough reality for you already, we have our dear tea vendor friends weighing in and I can talk about how blogging affects one's tea shopping. Currently, my Tea Pimp has cut me off. I'm almost out of the Fujian oolong I bought from white2tea last fall. But Twodog has banned me from white2tea shopping. Says if I try it he'll return my money. I'm not sure why this is. Where am I supposed to get my tea, the grocery store?? There seems to be a conspiracy going on and I highly suspect my son is in League with Twodog and probably the Postmaster too. For Dear Son thinks I keep sending money to some guy in Nigeria.
"No, it's China," I tell him.
"Same difference," he says.
This is coming from a child who gets boxes in the mail of dodgy photocopies of classical sheet music which he uploads to a free database for a Yale graduated lawyer to make money for himself. Son is a bassoon player which explains everything about him you need to know. To be fair I did email the lawyer's smarmy ass and told him to start paying my son and I haven't seen any more boxes since. So my flesh and blood going after my tea shopping habit is entirely off the hip right to the jugular, but damned inconvenient when I'm running on fannings.
|The last of my fine oolong stash.|
I've emailed all this to TeaDB.org to show proof of a conspiracy of family and vendor against my tea buying. TeaDB.org is a 501c which means they are the Government Tea Office. They get a tax write-off to assist helpless old ladies like myself living in under-served Rural Areas to resolve tea problems. In return for the help, I even offered to draw a cartoon for their newsletters as a volunteer so I can qualify for Food Stamps. I got a long form letter in reply which boiled down to me taking a number and waiting my turn. They are still expecting the plastic chairs to arrive for their complaint division, so I'm surprised to be asked to sit on the tweed. Fine, it's their tweed after all and not mine. Eventually I get the message that I might hear something back but not before 2019. By that time we Americans will be buying puerh in the grocery store with Food Stamps if the TeaDB office does what it is supposed to. TeaDB is getting super successful now with the Tea Party ever since Denny got guns. In the meantime, I'm stuck with my situation. And I'm fairly certain my name is on a list in their office of Restricted Persons based on some sort of Chapter 51/50 Part P Section 7542, leading to the conclusion that TeaDB is in on this conspiracy.
That leaves me with complaining to my church, so I head over to see the priest. I'm in luck here because our priest is from India. My diocese imports priests from overseas because all of ours are either in Prison or the nursing home. The best thing about the Catholic Church is they have nothing to do with governments, we have our own. So none of this take a number and watch your nails grow type of treatment. That's right. We have the Vatican and the best thing about the Vatican is they are Over There and I'm over here. This gives the priest the divine right to do whatever he darn well chooses. In my case, a priest from India is likely to have some good tea, but turns out he doesn't. The Father has, you guessed it, Darjeeling. In tea bags. From the grocery store. God.
Shared a cup anyway.