Yesterday I got a new phone, because I was finally eligible for an upgrade, and my current, now former (iPhone, fmr.) phone had a big crack in it, which is what SHE said, and also the flash on it had not worked for years. The point is, here is the first picture I took with my new phone. Well. First-ish. I’m always glad to capture my penis nose on film.
I am NOT wearing a robe. I sent a photo from this sesh to Ned, who wrote, “Why are you wearing a robe at work?”
“I’m not. It’s a sweater that leaks all over everything. I have little white sweater balls on the rest of my outfit.” I am never one to not tell you every detail. Ned’s lucky I didn’t launch into my “My nose is a dick” diatribe.
“Looks like a robe,” Ned wrote back.
“YOU’RE a robe,” I wrote, which is another horrible thing I’ve learned from the 25-year-olds at work. If “That’s what SHE said” doesn’t work as a comeback, usually telling someone “YOU’RE a [whatever it was they said last]” will accomplish a ton.
“Is that story done? We have a deadline.” “YOU’RE a deadline.”
We’ve all been doing that in droves at work, and then the other day, our very dignified boss came back from “YOU’RE a deadline” with “Your MOM’S a deadline.”
Editor humor. It’s hilarious.
YOU’RE hilarious. YOU’RE an editor.
Anyway. Was super-excited about new phone, and photographed every single molecule of everything yesterday.
Here are the leftover jellybeans from the anyone-can-take-it table at work. No one ever wants the black ones. Because who invented black liquorice flavor and why weren’t they shot clean in the neck?
Here’s the beleaguered Guy Who Sits Next To Me. Imagine his life eight hours a day.
After work, Marty, Kayeee, Ned and I screamed on downtown for the SCRABBLE TOURNAMENT! YOU’RE a nerd. It was a fundraiser for the literacy place I volunteer for. I didn’t read the rules. BAHAHAHAHAHA.
Because I’m super organized, I didn’t sign us all up till this morning. Marty and Kayeeee were a team, then Ned and I were. Here are the hilarious names I came up with for our teams. How do I do it? It’s a gift of wit, is what it is.
Ned and I had, like, one word that was worth 42 points, but then we got tired and totally sucked in round two. This is just how I am when I bowl. I do well on the first game, but then I’m tired and not into it the second game. And by “do well” in bowling I mean I don’t get a zero the first time.
Those assholes Marty and Kaye, who I hate, beat us both rounds, and Ned and I suck. I was so incensed that I tried to tell Marty HE was a triple-score letter, and he told me that whole “YOU’RE a…” thing is big on Southpark, and did you ever notice boys are forever telling you about Southpark like it’s interesting? Southpark is Sex and the City for boys. Anyway, apparently there is a character who is a towel, and people tell him he’s a towel and his retort is, “YOU’RE a towel.” So.
My friend Jo showed up, too, because the Scrabble tournament is the hotspot in Greensboro. Here I am pretending to not care that I lost.
And here are my real feelings. YOU’RE a lost. Also, I do not know how Jo managed to take this picture, seeing as she’s lurking behind me like something from a Goya painting, but life’s a mystery.
Oh! Also, the best part of the evening was somehow we all got on the topic of our virginity, and Marty told how when he and his then girlfriend decided to try sex, they went to the library and read about it first before they did it, which by the way is nerdier than going to a Scrabble tournament.
Then I said to Ned, “You’ve never showed me where you lost your virginity. Why haven’t you showed me where you lost your virginity?”
“It was in the butt,” said Marty, who wins for best comment of the night. MARTY’S a butt.
Oh! And we won a raffle prize! Six months to a gym, and since we all know Ned is Norm on Cheers at HIS gym, I get to use the prize! My butt’s gonna get so cute it’ll lose its virginity.
So that sums up my big night of Scrabble. Ned kept trying to find a way to spell “vadge” but it never came up. That’s what she said.
Finally, yesterday I told you to ask me questions and I would answer them, so here are a few that you asked me. I will try to do a few a day until I forget because you know how I am.
Megsie said, I would love to hear about your *perfect* day.What would be a joy-filled day for you? How would you wake up? What would you do? Who would be there?
I’ve answered this before, so some of it is the same.
- Hash browns with onions in it, poached eggs with toast. Strong french roast.
- Some lake in Northern Michigan, on a warm day, with my whole family, even the annoying ones, and Tallulah. Okay, Edsel can come, too, but if it’s my day he’d be strangely calm.
- Lunch of salmon like how my mother makes it, with corn on the cob. Strawberries, and really good peaches.
- Getting to pet a puppy or kitten for a long time.
- Nap with sex. Not that sex and I would sleep.
- Mashed potatoes and steak. Lemonade.
- At the end of the day, my family and I would gather around a fire, and even though she’s been dead for 30 years, my grandmother would be there and I would sit on her lap even though I’m 50.
- Sleep with crickets chirping and a good thunderstorm later.
That’s pretty much all I require. If I got a call that day saying June, we’d love to publish your book, then okay.
PJ asks, If I run into you and Lalula some day, will I be able to love on her and kiss her beautiful head or will she do me harm if I go all “love the doggy, kiss the sweet doggy” on her?
SEER ee is lee?
Lu is pretty aloof, really, but she’d let you dote on her. I would never recommend putting your face in that pitty dog’s face, but so far she’s not been remotely aggressive with any human. Edsel, of all people, showed his teeth to someone once, and I was stunned.
Jeanie asked about allergies, but I was like The Riddler on that one. I had question marks all around me. Fortunately, other readers addressed her issues.
Hmmm. I would still like to be a go-go dancer in a cage. And dress in drag, like, all the way. I want to lie on a beach with pink sand. And kiss a leopard. That’s about it. Oh, I guess publish a book.
That is all I’ll answer for now, because we’re at 1,200 words and you’ve developed kwashiorkor from sitting here this long.
There’s something you read every day.
It snowed here, really a lot. You know. For here.
Do you enjoy my art shot, by the way? Am I like your annoying friend who just got into photography, and you have to stand behind her at the computer while she shows you 79 of her shots of the same dead dandelion?
What I like is I've given the world a glimpse into the windows of the people next door who hate us cause we have dogs. Have I told you about them? I love their house. Love. Love love love. And often I can see in their windows, and they decorated it all cute, too. But when we had a party, I went over there the day of and introduced myself, told them we were having a party and even invited them to stop by. The man, who was not in the bloom of youth, looked at me for a minute. "You the people who have the dogs?"
I mean, look. Edsel goes out there and almost immediately starts this high-pitched, let's-play bark that makes you want to kill yourself. As soon as he does it, I STAMPEDE to the door and call him in, but I guess these aren't what you'd call dog people.
I should totally have Peeping Tom Tuesday, where I show you a picture from times I see in their windows. What lawsuit?
So, basically Edsel cockblocks me from having friendly relations with the neighbors. Does anyone know how to shut a dog up? Oh, good. I just sought advice. How about my relationship? Do you have any advice on my relationship? I'd love some of that, too. Can you send it to me with a GIF where a dog is barking endlessly? Thanks. Actually, do GIFs even have sound? I'm like Faithful Reader suburban correspondent's husband telling everyone to MapQuest everything, so hep am I right now.
Marvin's parents used to refer to everything as a tape, a thing that tickled Marvin to no end. "We set our DVR and now we have a tape of the Sopranos." "I got my iPod and heard that tape of the new song you wrote." "Oh, did you send me a voicemail? After we hang up, I'll listen to the tape."
I meant to tell you that Marvin's mother and I texted back and forth during the Academy Awards. We sent tapes back and forth, which self-destructed in five seconds. She said Khloe Kardashian looked like a tomato, which is entirely true, but her hair was pretty, and that Juliana Rancid or whomever needs to up her caloric intake. Dang.
Oh my god anyway. It snowed. St. Francis has on a whole hat/scarf/muff combo that's pretty fetching. Have I told you Edsel pees on St. Francis quite regularly? He's less the patron saint of animals and more the peetron saint over at this here house.
If you could possibly not take note of the tossed salad action with m'dogs, and instead see the branch that fell. I know at my real house that I own, there's a branch touching a wire, which I have to have cut down and was waiting till it warmed up. The point is, I hope it didn't fall and fry my tenants. Landlord of the Year.
This is the view from our bedroom window, which incidentally took 17 minutes to upload. SEVENFUCKINGTEEN minutes. I've written to Typepad and they will write back and make it my problem as they always do. "Have you tried another browser?" Yes. "Have you started using bigger pictures?" No. Then they'll stop addressing the issue altogether.
My point is, Ned came to bed very late last night. "It's snowing already!" he announced. "I was outside throwing snowballs at the street sign!"
What is it with men? Had I been awake, I may have pulled on my boots and walked around happily, looking at the snow-covered everything and enjoying nature's quiet beauty. Men have to immediately hit something.
Men are weird. Ned also mentioned to me recently that his favorite part of the Peanuts specials was when Snoopy fought the Red Baron. I thought it was a universal emotion that that was the boring part you had to sit though to get back to Linus pontificating. I never imagined anyone liked the Red Baron part. "Oh, I loved it!" said Ned Nickerson, street sign murderer.
He went to work today anyway, and I've just emailed him to make sure he got there okay and didn't have to eat the Christmas candy, a thing that's only funny if you're obsessed with Laura Ingalls Wilder, which Ned is not and my pithy literary humor is lost on him.
I have already copyedited two articles for work, a thing I did in the first hour of my workday, which technically I'm not even having because my office is closed, but I have a lot to do, including watch more Game of Effing Thrones. No one at work feels bad for me, but seriously, having to watch 40 hours of a show you're not that into is no picnic. Having to watch 40 hours of a show where dogs and horses and ravens get killed right and left is no walk in the park, either.
How come people always use those as examples? A walk in the park or a picnic? I mean, a picnic, you gotta prepare a bunch of food and schlep it with you and worry you're killing everyone because the potato salad's been in the sun for 30 minutes and will our good friends Sam and Ella be visiting in a few hours? It it gonna be potato salad, revisited, back at my house this evening?
And a walk in the park, man, you gotta find parking and put on bug spray and worry about those hippie assholes hitting you in the face with their goddamn hackysack. It's not easy, either. A walk in the park is no picnic.
Or maybe that's just how I enjoy life. Maybe I should try to hit more things with snowballs or my dick.
All right, I'm off to watch people get gutted and baby dragons go "aaaack!" and so on. I'll let you know if I get all snowbound and crazy, and what would be hilarious is if my next post is just 800 lines of All Work and No Play Make Jack a Dull Boy.
Come play with me.
Yesterday's comments, about the first concert you attended, killed me. I am dead. I am writing from under the grass right now.
I am finally sitting down for what feels like the first time in a week, which is stupid, because if you stood up for a week you'd be dead.
Is that really true? Would you die if you didn't sit down for a week? Would it be like how the Elephant Man had to not lie down, only opposite?
I have no idea what's wrong with me.
Anyway, yesterday at work they brought in doughnuts to celebrate National Doughnut Day or something, and that is what's wrong with our country. That we have a day dedicated to doughnuts. Is there a National Kale Day? I sound so smug, and I have never eaten kale in my life. You know what I have eaten? Doughnuts.
The point is, Alex 4209645 and I immediately put on the Krispy Kreme hats and wore them all day. I like how hers is perched on her head adorably and mine looks like it's part of my fright wig.
After work, The Other Copy Editor had some of us over to play a game, and she invited me specifically because she knows I abhor games. Abhor. She kept insisting I'd like this one, called Cards Against Humanity, and I figured it'd be like when people tell me I'll think this ONE PARTICULAR Monty Python thing is funny. "Really? You don't like Monty Python? Not even [insert someone saying a line that's allegedly hilarious in a horrible English accent here]?"
The Other Copy Editor and her husband (above, with their Puggy Pug, who I may or may not have loved very much and married and I am now June Puggy Pug) are 14 years old and they have this huge, beautiful old house that they've fixed up, and if you ever want to feel like a loser re what you've accomplished thus far, go over there.
They have a full bar in the basement with kegs of pretentious beer. They have a white picket fence. I think I have an old bottle of Rose's Lime in the cupboard.
This Alex has the pleasure of sitting across from me all day at work, and then I sat across from him all evening. We'll call him Buzzfeed Alex. At the card game yesterday, he asked if I took guest posters on this blog, as he is considering a scathing review of what it's like to sit across from me 40 hours a week. I cannot wait.
Obsessed with the Pugs? Me?
Here is my boss, who could probably also write a delightful guest post. And oh,
obsessed with The Other Copy Editor's ancient creaky kitty? Noooo. Especially when he (she?) creakily sat on my lap and purred and left 4949305002 pieces of fur on me. Oh my god loved that cat.
The Krispy Kreme hat was finally laid to rest.
My point is, eventually we played the goddamn game, and I was all, eh, till we started and it was really fun and I won.
After that, I screamed downtown to get up with Ned and the Naughty Professor, which sounds like a TV show but isn't.
Both Ned and Naughty Pro had to wear my reading glasses with the sparkles on them, so we could see the menu, and you know what we are? Youthful. A youthful crew. Jesus.
Naughty Pro said if he were gonna sleep with a woman, it'd be Angelina Jolie, and then we discussed if Ned were going to sleep with a man, who'd he sleep with, and if I were gonna sleep with a woman, who'd I sleep with (Louis C.K. and Megan Fox, respectively. I don't think Ned answered seriously. I think Ned would so bone Midcentury Modern Furniture Guy).
After a light healthy dinner of pub food, what else you gonna do but go get ice cream?
Ned got peach. He seems to always get peach if it exists. His had real chunks of peaches in it, and he godammited it several times.
I do not even know what he's saying, but am certain it was pithy.
Then we went to my friend Kit's store, and why did it never occur to me that Naughty Pro would be fun to shop with? Fortunately for everyone involved, Kit's store sells vintage Playboys, so Ned was kept amused.
Will not make Daniel Boone joke. Will NOT MAKE Daniel Boone joke.
I tried on several pairs of practical athletic shoes.
They go with everything!
Here's the part where you officially fall in love with Naughty Pro.
Annnd, boom. What kills me is they totally work with his outfit.
I love us, mostly because we keep our pimp hand strong.
So what I'm saying is, fun evening. Plus, did I mention I won?
This morning, Ned and I got coffee right across from Kit's shop, and we watched her sweep her stoop and set out her wares, and her bright dress and pretty doo-dads on the street were wonderful to watch. If I had a remotely decent camera I could have gotten you some great shots, and I know this is first world, but still.
The important thing to remember is I have my health, and that I won that card game.
Your favorite old maid,