I found 20 dollars in a hidden fold of my wallety-thing yesterday, just before payday and just when I needed it most.
This isn’t so very strange, because my wallety-thing is an old MAC pouch that used to contain lipgloss, and now contains: my cash, my bank card, my credit card, my healthcare card, 47 tattered bank receipts, various notes to myself and a mysterious piece of white lint.
Still, it doesn’t take much to make me happy. When I found the twenty, I held it up to the people I was sitting with at the sidewalk cafe and said, “Twenty dollars! I feel like I won the lottery!”
Everyone just sort of shook their heads.
I would like to give you all an update, but I have very little to say. Or rather, I have a great deal to say, but none of it hangs together in any sort of a narrative way. This is why we have bullets. Say! Let’s have some bullets:
- I am not the only one who is in love with House.
- I spent much of this evening either working or watching a show about the mythology of Star Wars. This means that I am officially a nerd.
- I require a haircut. I have required a haircut for so long now that I am beyond Crazy Homeless Lady Hair and well into Crazy Substitute Art Teacher Hair. Basically, I can either get a haircut or I can buy a lot of fimo jewelry.
Also, it was nice out today. I’m still sweating, though. This weekend, I had this conversation twelve times:
Me: Don’t hug me. I’m super sweaty.
Person Who Isn’t Me: Oh come here, you!
Me: I’m dead fuckin’ serious, dude…
Person Who Isn’t Me, and Me: (In unison.) Gaaaah!
Me: I told you!
I was at a party on Sunday night, when a particularly evil friend of mine told me about Save Toby, which I now believe to be the Best Website of All Time.
It’s offline for various reasons, but you can still view it at the Internet Wayback Machine, and OMG, I need this person to be my friend.
A random quote, to help you understand the mission and thus, the awesomeness of this site:
“Toby is the cutest little bunny on the planet … Unfortunately, on June 30th, 2005, Toby will die. I am going to eat him. I am going to take Toby to a butcher to have him slaughter this cute bunny. I will then prepare a midsummer feast … I don’t want to eat Toby, he is my friend, and he has always been the most loving, adorable pet. However, God as my witness, I will devour this little guy unless I receive 50,000$ USD into my account from donations or purchase of merchandise.”
Really: You have to read the rest.
I got an email this evening from my friend Tom. I’ll share, because it’s possible that you haven’t had a good Rushmore reference recently:
I am sorry to say that I have secretly found out that Mr. Blume is having an affair with Miss Cross. My first suspicions came when I saw them Frenching in front of our house. And then I knew for sure when they went skinny dipping in Mr. Blume’s swimming pool, giving each other handjobs while you were taking a nap on the front porch.
PS: This is extra fun if you know about Tom’s tendency to ask people who barely know each other if they’ve given each other handjobs.
Happy long weekend, everybody!
My friend the Reverend and I hunkered down over beers this evening, as you do, and discussed true love. It is the Rev’s feeling that one is not in love until one is loved back.
“Mutual trust,” said the Rev. “Otherwise, is it even real?”
Now before you get all crazy, let me tell you: One of the two of us believes in Miracle Zombie Jesus, and it ain’t the Rev. Of the two of us, I am way more Cosmica Rama Ding-dong. However:
“It seems to me that a person shouldn’t lose credit, just because their feelings aren’t reciprocated.”
The Rev took a good swig of his beer. “Well, who said there was credit?”
I think we can agree that I need stupider and less spiritual friends.
So, here’s a thing about me: If you’re my friend, at some point, you will receive a text from me that says, “You like big balls.” This is regardless of gender or sexual preference. It’s to keep me entertained, and I think we can all agree that that’s safer.
Anyway: This weekend, my pal Cedric got his MBA, and the Mouse and I journeyed north to Lincoln Center for the ceremony. We stayed sober throughout and were rather quiet, but it was a long ceremony, and well, one gets bored.
About an hour in, I started texting the Mouse.
Me: You like big balls.
Mouse: Your mama likes big balls.
Me: Your balls like big mamas.
Mouse: You are a bad person.