So, my friend Marianne has already come and gone. She has a kid now, and she had to rush back and, I don't know, raise him.
It kind of looks like Marianne is eating an internal organ, there, on her plate. I wonder if that woman reflected in the window is somehow gonna find this blog and sue me?
Anyway, the way I know Marianne is, she and I met in Seattle right when I first moved there. We had both been dragged to a rugby game by a mutual acquaintance, and right there should tell you how desperate I was to make friends in my new town, because you all know what I huge interest I have in rugby.
Not to mention it was JANUARY, so it was cold and rainy, which it always is in Seattle, but being January it was parTICularly cold and rainy. So this mutual acquaintance, it turns out, was really. really. attracted to rugby players, and I don't know if you have ever been to a rugby game, but about 14 times in a rugby game someone's head splits open and their medulla oblongata flies onto the field. The mutual acquaintance, who was clad in basically pasties and a g-string in January in Seattle, would make out with the pieces of bones and medulla oblongata as they gathered on the field, so enamored was she of rugby and rugby players.
Marianne and I, who did not know each other, stood there for about, oh, seven minutes before she turned to me and said, "Want to go to the car and drink all the beer?"
"Yes," I said. "Yes. I absolutely do."
And that was it. We were the best of friends the rest of the time I lived in Seattle. It turns out that Marianne was from North Carolina and she eventually moved back here, and she lives outside of Charlotte, so we see each other from time to time.
She hadn't yet been to my house yet, or met my new pets. She was happy to see Mr. Horkheimer again. Okay, I know I am a terrible person to bring her Mr. Horkheimer's ashes and make her pose with them. I never promised you a rose garden.
Oh! I bought a new necklace today and all I did was take 17 pictures of Marianne and it never occurred to me to ask her to photograph my necklace, so then I tried to photograph my own self
which didn't really work. Then, finally, it occurred to me that I could TAKE THE NECKLACE OFF and take a picture of it that way, and did I ever mention my father was a professional photographer?
Isn't it pretty? I don't even know what it is. A pomegranate? I dunno.
Okay, anyway, I know I have a lot to get to and I have gone on forever and you probably have had to pee for the last 20 minutes and I haven't done Ask June or Special of the Week yet.
Go pee, already. I'll wait.
Bonnie asks, If you couldn't be a proofreader, what would you do instead?
If I am not mistaken, Bonnie is a journalist, which is obvious because she asks interesting questions, I think. And I will tell you what, Bonnie Blue Butler. (Seriously, I have issues. Can I go TWO SECONDS without Gone with the Wind? TWO SECONDS. That's all I ask.) I'd be a housewife. I'm seriously not kidding. You know that whole feminist movement, when women started saying they felt unfulfilled "just" being at home? Oh! That sounds HEAVENLY to me! I would LOVE to make everything pretty, and learn to cook fabulous things, and make myself all hot when Marvin got home. I am not even kidding. And my mother is hanging herself right now. But seriously, that would be my dream occupation. That or trophy wife.
Mom has now cut off all communication with me.
Cristy says, I have a friend who was an English major in college. We were debating the correct way to write the phrase "The 'nos' have it." (Referring to people voting 'no' and thus winning whatever they were voting on.) He INSISTED that 'nos' should have been 'no's'. I was about ready to throttle him. Seriously.
Who is right?
Well, Cristy, I certainly understand the part where you wanted to throttle him. Or shove his little apostrophe somewhere quite uncomfy. And for years I would have said you were absolutely, 100% correct. But this is reminiscent of last week's (was it last week? I don't know. The recent) query from Pal from MA re 1920's/1920s, where I said there are certain reputable style guides that actually condone the use of apostrophes with things like no's, simply for clarity's sake. I know it's dreadful. I know that "no" does not own anything. I know it's not short for "no is." I know you want to join my mother in a large glass of whiskey right now. What can I tell you?
Let's shake that Helsinki, Nine Inch Nails, Pink Floyd Ask June off and go stampeding straight to Special of the Week, where as I told you I had many, many funny comments to consider.
The day we all wrote in and said what the number one song was the day we were born was chock full of funny things, and I would like to give a special mention to Beth, whose song was Good Lovin'. She likes it when they call the doctor "Mr. MD." For some reason that just tickled me.
I'd also like to give a special mention to Catherine, because she had the coolest birth song. Tequila, folks. Now, come on. If Pee-Wee has danced on a bar to your song?
Also, (I TOLD YOU there were a lot), when I asked for suggestions for my Valentine's Day song CD, Lenette said, "Surely Marv has some Carpenter's love songs you can lift. That always gets the party started."
But the big award, the award everyone hopes and dreams of getting, the one you stand in front of your mirror doing fake acceptance speeches for, goes to Faithful Reader Jan this week, for her beautiful rundown of things you see on bad made-for-TV movies. Well done, Jan. Stand proud in your beige pantsuit.
And of course J said something funny this week.
Okay, this is the longest post EVER. After I said I wouldn't do long posts. I hope you didn't have anywhere to go this weekend. And I'd just like to say I love myself for calling this "Ask June's Thai Chicken," then never mentioning my Thai Chicken. That's some tidy writing, right there.