In case you were worried sick and barfing on your dining room rug, everyone here seems to be on the mend.
But today she and Edsel seem to be back to their ludicrous selves. Eating the kittens, getting in my way with EVERY STEP I TAKE like they're members of the Police, fighting each other over toys and food and, you know, kitten necks.
It's good to have them back.
Because everyone looked like they would live, I was able to join my most excellent friend Chatting at the Sky for frozen custard.
No. I have no idea why I can't shed the weight. And by the way, anyone asks you for frozen custard, you go. You go, girl. Because apparently it's 1996. Talk to the hand.
Frozen custard is way better than frozen yogurt. Puleeze. It is Coco Chanel to Old Navy. It is Anais Nin to Erica Jong. It is — okay, I can't think of any more but you feel me. I ordered Vanilla Wafer topping and Chatting said, "Okay, healthy."
Healthy. Because that entire meal (and yes, it was dinner for me) was balanced and uplifting. "Well, MY topping's gonna be Heath Bar, so compared to me it's healthy."
And that is why friends are good. Their decadence makes you seem saintly.
Speaking of saintly, Chatting has a new book out. I know! How cool is she? It's all about how she grew up being good and all Christian and so forth and how it made her different.
Do you know what I like about Chatting? I mean other than the fact that she puts up with me calling her Chatting? Is that we talk like madwomen and she's all Christian and faithful and I'm such a heathen. And never once does she judge me and I never judge her and we never try to change each other because I think there's nothing we would change. I think she's the bomb.
I think oftentimes, those of us not in an organized religion get this attitude that everyone who's IN an organized religion is gonna convert us. Kind of like how some people get the mistaken attitude that gay people will try to convert them. But in my experience, neither group has tried to lure me in.
Maybe I am completely undesirable to everyone.
I don't know. I'm just saying. Chatting's faith is a huge part of her life, and my higher power is mascara, and yet there we sat for an hour and a half, never running out of stuff to say and never running out of stuff we agree on.
Oh, and speaking of which, that Diorshow was a total disappointment to me. It wears off by the end of the day. Am questioning my faith in Dior cosmetics.
Oh, oh! And for those of you who are praying people, I am getting on a motorcycle this weekend and your good thoughts thrown my way are appreciated. Yes, I am. Yes, it is The Fireman's doing. Yes, I am pretending to be daring and whimsical so I can reel him in and go back to my fearful bitchy self. I mean, if I live through this.
Actually, I have always wanted to ride on a motorcycle, for some reason. So now's my chance. My mother said, "Are you wearing a helmet?"
"Yes, of course. He is bringing one for me."
"Is he bringing one that'll fit your hair?"
Now, won't she feel bad when I am smashed to smithereens and that's the last thing she ever said to me?
At least my last meal was frozen custard.