A lift of the puny

In case you were worried sick and barfing on your dining room rug, everyone here seems to be on the mend.

Tallulah was still feeling puny yesterday. And it doesn't bug me when they throw that pillow on the floor or anything.

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.

Andersonnot shur anderson agree with assessmint, mom.

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 am Christian you are not. doo-dah. doo-dah. I am Christian you are not, all the livelong day. I am Christian, yay! You are Christian, nay.

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.


105 thoughts on “A lift of the puny

  1. Oh. Sorry, everyone. Dad of Dawn left a comment on yesterdays post about Dawn riding a motorcycle as a kid. It was not on TODAYS post. Who is out of it? Who has no personality after a migraine? Who could write the Bazooka Joe comics, with her lack of funny today?


  2. I love me some motorcycles. Unfortunately, OR Mom doesn’t, and has threatened me with divorce should I ever get on one.
    Fortunately, pre-OR Mom, I had one and I would put little Dawn now in DC on the tank in front of me – in a helmet, of course. Feet on the turn signals, hands on the handlebars, it was great – until she tried to steer using her feet and hands. Ah the good old days…


  3. Sure you guys all burned your thighs and calves but try healing after ruining a brand new pair of Prada wedges. Anyway, be careful but have fun. And glad to hear the doggies are over their yackfest. One of ours pukes a few times a month at precisely 2:30 AM. Sometimes socks, sometimes deer poop, this week it was an entire roll of paper towels. He’s lucky to have a cute face. Chatting has a book? What did I miss?


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