*cough, cough*

Um, hi.

Hi there.

Remember me?

Probably not.  I mean, it’s been over a year and a half.

Maybe I can jar your memory. 

Think about Mike Rowe.

Or Nutella.

Or Mike Rowe wearing nothing but Nutella.


Ok, stop thinking about Mike Rowe wearing nothing but Nutella!


Do.  You.  Remember.

Still nothing, huh?



That’s what I get for falling off the face of the interwebz for so long, but there was just no getting around it.

After my last pitiful post (I really need to take that down) I wallowed in heartache for a long time.  Longer than the entire duration of the relationship.  And just when I was starting to climb out of the black hole I dug for myself, I had to put my 14 year-old, toothless, one-eyed dog Lulu to sleep.

Then we found out my sister Beena and her Sponge “husband” were doing meth.


I know.  I was shocked too.

And then it got worse. 

Like Sponge-arrested-for-holding-a-knife-to-some-guy’s-throat-Beena-bailed-him-out-Sponge-beat-her-and-burned-her-with-cigarettes-then–arrested-for-violating-pre-trial-probation-Beena-brainwashed-Nieces-traumatized-DA-investigation-possible-kidnapping-plot-potential-biker-gang-and-racist-hate-group-involvement-oh-my-Morgan-Freeman-he-is-going-to-kill-us-all-if-he-gets-out WORSE.

And as if that wasn’t enough, in the middle of all the meth-addled chaos, Noel had a seizure, Biscuit developed an autoimmune disease that required two blood transfusions and I had to put Hobbes, my 18 year-old, ass hat of a cat, to sleep.


That happened. 

ALL of it.

And I glossed over a LOT.

The black hole reappeared and swallowed me up like a lone ice cream sprinkle free-falling into a heavy, soul crushing, bottomless pit of despair.  My coping skills (crying and face-planting into a sheet cake), being grossly inadequate, caused a 40 pound weight gain and very little stress relief, but it got me through in the beginning.

I thought.

Most days I managed to make it to work, but then I’d split time between sobbing quietly, violent panic attacks and staring at the painting across from my desk like a catatonic manatee. 

Occasionally, when chaos would take a break from kicking me in the metaphorical nards, I’d think about blogging.  Then I’d think about how long it had been and what had been going on in my life and I just…I knew all that was going to come from it was one long, miserable post and then I’d disappear into the abyss. 


So, I repeatedly put blogging out of my head, because it had been too long, chaos was only on a smoke break and it is impossible to type when your hands are wrapped around your own throat.

Therapy helps.

I’ve been going to “Peggy Appointments,” as I like to call them, since December and they are the best thing I could have done for myself.  Without them and MadamBob (who should absolutely be sainted at this point) I would be sitting in the middle of a padded room trying desperately to bite my own ears off right now.  Or I’d be hiding Dora the Explorer Easter eggs around the neighborhood with my crazy ass neighbor across the street while wearing matching clown wigs and homemade, beer label pasties.

It honestly could have gone either way.

Instead, I go to my Peggy Appointments once a week (sometimes twice) and talk and cry and occasionally hyperventilate.  There’s a lot of work to do, but I’ve come a long way.  The chaos will kick up in a couple of months when I testify at the Sponge’s trial, and Beena still isn’t talking to me because of it, but I’m holding together.  Mostly with duct tape and safety pins and grape Hubba Bubba, but I’m holding together.

I’m still here. 

And I’m going to try to get this blog back together.

I mean, how can I not when I have a new coworker who eats whole boxes of baking soda and I think I’m being groomed for a three-way?

Not with the new coworker and the baking soda.


No, there’s no way he’d share.

What was I saying?

Oh right.

I’m still here.

And you might not remember.

But I do.

And I still boob cone you long time.



Posted in blog, Blogging, Family, Fear, SisterMerryHellish Explains It All, SisterMerryHellish Sums It Up | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

I Might Have To Marry This Guy

Let me finish summing up.

Actually, first let me preface this post with a couple things:

  1. You’re right, it’s not really summing up if it takes two posts to write.  Humor me.
  2. That sound you’re hearing, the one that’s like gagging and teeth gnashing, it’s MadamBob, who is exceedingly tired of this subject.


“I’m here,” I texted after walking into Chuy’s to find nobody there – not even a hostess to ask me “How many?”  I sat down to wait.

*BUZZ*  “So am I.”

I looked up and found a tall, handsome, blonde man smiling wide at me from the entrance to the bar.  He quickly closed the gap between us and we made the usual thanks-for-meeting-me-it’s-so-nice-to-finally-meet-you-in-person small talk until a hostess noticed us.  Just before she asked “How many?” I caught a glimpse of something he was holding.  A gift bag.

Uh oh.

It is extremely rare men show up to a first date with anything, not even flowers, and this guy brought me a present?  On the way to table the freak-out commenced in my head. “Oh, I don’t like this.  It’s going to be awkward and weird and it’s too much! And I didn’t get him anything!  Why’d he have to go and do something…NICE?!”

The waiter sat us in a booth, took our drink orders and disappeared.  Before I could pick up the menu he was sliding the gift bag at me.

Me:  Oh my God, what is this?

Him:  Please don’t freak out!  I was out shopping today, saw this and had to buy it for you.  Open it!

Me:  You shouldn’t have done that!

Him:  Of course I should, besides, there was no way I could NOT get it.  Open it!

Me:  Ok…  (awkwardly reaching into the bag)…but you really shouldn’t have OH MY GOD IT’S A CHEWBACCA BOBBLE HEAD!

Him (smiling wide again):  Do you like it?

Me:  Are you kidding?!  He’s my favorite!

Him (very proud of himself):  I know.

Me:  I’m taking him to work tomorrow and putting him on my desk.  Wow.  You paid attention.

Him:  I did.

Me:  I like that.  And I love the gift!  Thank you so much!

Him (eyes twinkling):  Don’t mention it.

Me:  Oh please, the busy-bodies at work notice everything, so I’ll be mentioning it to EVERYONE.

The date I was only mildly excited about turned out to be one of the best I’d ever had, even without the very thoughtful gift.  We closed the place down talking about work (he just moved back from Colorado where he spent a year managing an Indian casino), past relationships (he’s divorced with two kids and the last person he dated passed away a year ago), family (he’s the youngest and staying with his brother until he finds a place of his own), dating and eHarmony (I was the first person he talked to or met from the site), with Simpson’s quotes and conversations on Star Wars thrown in.  We laughed and laughed and time just flew by.  Another hour disappeared as we stood in the parking lot talking, neither one of us seeming to want to say good night, but it was a Wednesday so I finally said I’d better get home, we hugged and went our separate ways.

The next morning I was debriefed by MadamBob.  I told her his living temporarily with his brother while he looked for a restaurant manager position and someplace to live bothered me.  No way I’m dating a sponge, but I honestly wasn’t worried about it.  When I told her about the gift she said “Wow!”  I said “I know.  I might have to marry this guy!”

At work I unpacked Chewbacca and was almost immediately answering questions.  Where did he come from?  Who gave him to me?  Was I going to see him again? And on and on and on.  Finally, I decided to do something I’ve never done before…break the three-day rule…and sent him this:

photo (1)

Him:  Yes they are!  When can I see you again?

Our next date was Italian food and then sitting on what would become “our bench” on the Woodlands Waterway for 5 1/2 hours.  Just talking and laughing and talking some more.

Date three was the movies (The Family, meh), a late dinner at Chili’s then off to Lake Conroe for our first kiss on the water, underneath a starry sky (and above some guy swimming and smoking in pitch darkness under the pier).  We made our way back to the Woodlands where we talked and made-out like teenagers on our bench.  When he mentioned his nose being crooked from breaking it twice I told him if he didn’t have that nose I’d be out looking for it on somebody else.  He kissed me hard (sweet baby Morgan Freeman he’s a good kisser), until I was lightheaded and my skin burned and then he confessed he had turned off his eHarmony account.  He didn’t want to see anybody but me.

I don’t remember the drive home but by the time I got there it was almost 4 in the morning, and I had to go to work in a couple of hours but there was no sleeping.  The sound of my head splitting in two from smiling so wide kept me up.  That and thanking Morgan Freeman for this miracle after so many years thinking it would never happen to me.  At the same time I was asking him to give me the strength to stop freaking out about how fast everything was moving.  It’s the opposite of normal for me to get caught up so fast.  I’m very cautious and take things slow, but everyone kept insisting I was feeling how I should feel and to just let it happen.  If it felt right I needed to get out of my own way and just let it happen.

And it felt right.  It felt like nothing I’d ever experienced before.  It felt like magic.  It felt like being five years old on Christmas morning.  It felt like the beginning of love.

And so it began.

We dated.  A lot.  And if we weren’t together we were emailing or texting.  Two weeks later he started training for a general manager position at a restaurant close to me.  Since his brother lived an hour away he spent nights when he closed the restaurant at my house, not getting much sleep.  I was as close to in-love as you can get without saying the words.

He had a toothbrush in my bathroom and there was talk of the future, lots of talk, about meeting MadamBob and my family and about living together and marriage and going to Ireland in 2015 for his 50th birthday.

One day he handed me pictures of his kids, one of each of them in their soccer uniforms.  I told him how cute and lucky they were to have such a good-looking father, thanked him for letting me see them and handed them back.  “Oh no,” he said, “those are for you, if you want them.”  Really?  “Yeah,” he continued, “I figured if you’re going to be their step-mother you should probably get used to seeing them.”


I put the kids’ pictures up on the wall with my family and friends, cleared out space in the closet and made him a key to the house.  We weren’t quite two months in yet, but this was it.  This was the guy.  This was the rest of my life unfolding in front of me.

And then…

Slowly, over the course of a week or two, things started to change.

His “good morning” text was only every once in a while instead of every day.  Figuring out when we would see each other next wasn’t urgent anymore and I had to ask for his schedule instead of him sending it to me the minute it came out.  He was insistent everything was fine, that he was just exhausted from working 60-70 hours a week and in person he was great, but out of my sight he was distant.  Something was seriously wrong and I couldn’t figure out what.  Had I said or done something wrong?  Had he, after pushing so hard for the relationship and being so sure of our future, changed his mind now that he’d convinced me?  I can’t tell you the number of times he said “I’m just trying to make you fall in love with me” and now that the chase was over, now that he succeeded, was he bored with me?

What the hell was going on?!

Finally, after a short but particularly moody text exchange on Friday morning he fell off the face of the earth.  I knew he had the kids that weekend and we typically kept communication to a minimum so he could focus on them, which I was all for.  The kids came first.  Always.  But this time he was completely silent.  I spent the weekend in a panic and texted him Sunday afternoon “What’s going on?  This silence is breaking my heart.”


By 8:30pm I was a wreck and couldn’t take it anymore.  I got in the car and stated driving North.  An hour later I was standing on the porch of his brother’s house and the second after I rang the doorbell I realized his car wasn’t there.  Oh God, was he out with someone else?  The door swung open and his brother stood there, wondering who the hell the girl quickly tearing up on his doorstep was.  Stammering I apologized, introduced myself and then apologized some more.  My guy’s dog, who I’d only seen in pictures, came bounding out of the house at me.  A big, lovable golden retriever who acted like he knew who I was.  Fortunately, his brother knew exactly who I was, invited me in and asked if I wanted to stay or text and find out exactly where my guy was since he’d left over an hour ago to take the kids home to their mother, who lives very close to me.  I asked him just to let his brother know I was there and was worried about him.  After apologizing some more I got in the car and headed South, knowing I was likely going to pass him on the road as he made his way back home.  What I was hoping is he’d see the text from his brother, which I’m sure he sent after I left, and I’d find him in my driveway when I got home, waiting to tell me how silly I was to be so worried.


The driveway was empty.  But, I thought, surely he’ll call or text soon.


By 12:30am I hadn’t heard a peep out of him, so I went to bed.  There was nothing else I could do.  At 5am I got up to let the dogs out and checked my email.  This, titled “Reason,” was waiting for me:


Recent personal events have affected my life. Sadly you have been caught in the middle of a tragic event. I am still emotionally compromised from the loss  of a loved one. I ask that you continue to seek other relationships as I am as of yet able to release this memory.

And that was that. 

No “I care about you, but…” no “I’m sorry.”  Hell, he didn’t even sign his name!  Just go date other people.  I was crushed.

At first I couldn’t figure out who he was talking about, but he meant the last person he’d dated before me who passed away a year ago.  Some digging by MadamBob on his Facebook page, which I’d never looked at because I’m never on Facebook, revealed what I suspected – it was the anniversary of her death.

My first instinct was to email back, telling him how sorry I was he was going through this but being with me didn’t mean he had to stop loving her.  That I’d give him time if he needed it but I had no intention of seeing anyone else.

But I didn’t.

I suspect, because he didn’t sign his name or say goodbye, he expected me to respond.  He expected me to talk him out of it.  To try and convince him he was going to be ok and I’d be there for him through it all.

But I couldn’t.

That same morning I went to work, put Chewbacca back in his box, then back in the gift bag I was so freaked out about and took him home.  I couldn’t look at him anymore.  It took a week but eventually I couldn’t look at any of the other things he left around the house.  His stack of DVD’s on the kitchen table.  His non-girly body wash in the shower.  His toothbrush behind the faucet on the bathroom sink.  All of it, including Chewbacca, had to go, so I packed everything into a box, which sat on the kitchen table for a month.  Eventually, I couldn’t stand to look at THAT anymore either, so I stuffed it in the back of a closet and tried to move on.

But he LEFT me.

And I am BROKEN.

And I can’t seem to snap out of it.

I’m too busy doing all those stupid things people do when something like this happens – looking for signs he’s coming back.

He hasn’t asked for his stuff back.  He must be coming back.

He hasn’t returned any of my stuff.  He must be coming back.

He hasn’t reactivated his eHarmony account.  He must be coming…wait a minute.

The very day of our breakup, while I was at work trying to get it together and not turn into a puddle every five minutes, most people were insistent he would come back.  “He absolutely did care about you.  Give him time and he’ll come back.”  But one person made the suggestion the best way to get over one man is to find another and I should turn my eHarmony account back on.

Yeah.  YEAH!  That’s what I’d do!

So I did.  And the very first thing I did was look for him.  The picture was gone so his account was still inactive.  Well good!  At least I know he didn’t leave me so he could date someone else!

And so I left my account on and responded to a couple of guys, but I really wasn’t interested.  I was too busy being happy his account wasn’t back on.

Until it was.

I logged in and there was his picture, clear as day.  The first thought that ran through my head was “He signed in to see if I reactivated MY account.” But then days went by and he didn’t close it down.  He also, to this day, still hasn’t blocked me, which I also like to see as proof he might be coming back.

Eventually, I did go out on a date with someone, but it was a disaster of epic proportions.  I spent the whole night with my guy popping into my brain and comparing the two.  The poor shmuck across the table from me didn’t stand a chance.  It was horrible, I regret it and I haven’t been out with anyone since.

I can’t.

It’s too soon, and none of them are HIM.

Where in Morgan Freeman’s name IS he?!  If we would have had another couple of months going the way we were, and he asked me to elope with him to Vegas, I’d have come home with a new last name.  How do you go from planning a vacation in Ireland two years from now to this?!  I don’t understand!  And now I have to start ALL over again with someone else…IF I can find someone even remotely close to this.  And what are the odds of that?!

How long until I drive down my street not hoping to see his car in my driveway?  How long until I can not be haunted by a box of inanimate objects in my closet?  How in Morgan Freeman’s name am I ever supposed to trust anyone again?  How much time am I going to waste on someone who clearly doesn’t want me?

What the hell is the matter with me and how the hell do I fix it?!

I’m up for suggestions.  You know, if there’s anyone who actually made it to the bottom of this post.

And to think, I was *this close* to telling him about this blog.  Specifically, I wanted to him to read this post, proving psychics are real and he was the proof.

So pathetic.

Help me.

Posted in dating, love, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

There Is Too Much. Let Me Sum Up…

Last year…  Last year was a doozy.

2013 was both awesomely awful and awfully awesome at the SAME TIME. 

It was an emotional rollercoaster, and I still don’t have my head screwed on quite right.

Highlights include:

  • Searing back pain that helped me drop 40 pounds
  • Surgery that took away the pain and orders to walk that kept the weight off after my appetite came back
  • A small, 13-ish year-old, muppet-ish looking dog with one good eye and 6-10 teeth left in her head (2 of which have fallen out so make that 4-8) who adopted me off the street
  • Sculpture class where I made a leaf boat that looks nothing like a leaf and only vaguely like a boat
  • Welding class where I was a natural at MIG welding but almost took the instructor’s face off with the plasma torch
  • My niece not wanting to eat her lunch because “wheat bread has an aftertaste”
  • MadamBob emailing “You suck!  I love you, but you SUCK!” at hearing I’d lucked into a free bacon kolache
  • The air conditioner finally crapping out and, while it was being replaced, my crazy ass neighbor from across the street stopped by to ask if she could have all the scrap pieces for an art project she was working on, then looked very sad when she was informed that no, she could not have the old, busted, rusted, 30 year-old air conditioner to make into a children’s puppet theater

Now I know what you’re thinking, that’s mostly awesome and only slightly awful, right?

Wait for it…

Remember how I mentioned in my last, very distant post that I signed up for eHarmony a week after surgery because I felt so much better and thinner and awesomer? 

Dating highlights include:

  • The accountant who interviewed me for the position of step-mother to his 6 children (check please)
  • The arson investigator who was a religious fanatic (I’m sure he’s still praying for me)
  • The cop who tried to convince me to go on the caveman diet (before we actually went out!)
  • The British gent who could not decide on where we should meet (he never did figure it out)
  • The bookstore manager recently transplanted from New Jersey who literally had nothing to talk about but baseball (which I detest)
  • The 6’7″ IT guy in Austin who makes cookies and cream fudge (he’s basically a pen pal)
  • The programmer who, after one of the best dates I’ve been on, was supposed to call me when he returned from working in Arkansas (apparently he MOVED to Arkansas)

Those were all first dates that were also last dates and only the ones I haven’t blocked out of my mind

I dated an accountant (no kids but three alcoholic ex-wives) for about three months.  MadamBob asked me one morning why I was still dating him when I obvsiouly wasn’t feeling over-the-moon like I should.  He clearly wasn’t right for me and he wouldn’t touch me.  And I don’t even mean “touch” me.  I mean we went on a lot of dates, had a lot of dinners and saw a lot of movies but the couple of times we kissed I initiated and he never made any physical contact, which is REALLY important to me.  I just kept telling myself he needed more time and maybe moving at a snail’s pace was a good thing and maybe he was a lesson in patience for me.  Then one night at the movies I moved in my seat and when my leg brushed his, he recoiled…like I was covered in pedophilic fire ants!

Game over.

So I pressed on and, even after six months of it, I wasn’t discouraged.  Not even a little!  I kept at eHarmony and had a date I was only mildly excited about lined up for the next week when a coworker walked over to me one afternoon and said “Glamizon died.”

“Glamizon who?” I asked.

“GLAMIZON” she answered “her mother just called her old line and I caught her.  She’s gone.  Glamizon is gone.”

I couldn’t believe it.  After everything stopped spinning I went into a conference room and called her mom while the news made its way around the office.  Her mother very calmly explained how they’d just gotten home from the hospital after Glamizon gave birth to her second child when things started to go wrong and then they got worse.  An ambulance came, took her to the hospital and they worked on her for hours but ultimately they were no match for the blood clot, which Glamizon has had problems with before.  This had happened two days ago.

The world had changed and for two days I had no idea.  I had just emailed her saying I’d seen the pictures of the baby on Facebook and I couldn’t wait to see everyone in person.  And she was already gone. 

Glamizon was gone.

Glamizon, my partner in crime for years at work.  My sounding board, my shoulder to cry on, my happy, tall, gorgeous, giggle-box of a friend.  Glamizon  who kept my secrets and lamented with me when things went wrong, like dates and money and Red Baron no longer making my favorite pizza.  Glamizon who wrote for this blog and then started her own, The Chronicles of Dutch, which I still can’t bring myself to read.

Glamizon was gone.  And I couldn’t stop crying, so they sent me home early.  In the car I wailed and begged ( like I do when people I love pass away) for a sign so I knew she was ok.  Something, anything to let me know she’s alright and, like she assured me so many times before, I’d be alright too.  I drove and cried and begged and then somehow remembered I needed dog food, so I stopped by the grocery store and quickly started loading my basket with comfort food I hadn’t eaten in a year.  Chips, ice cream, cupcakes, candy…  Anything I could get my hands on! 

Then I walked down the frozen pizza aisle.

And after at least three years of bitching, there it was.

Red Baron’s “New and Improved” MEXICAN PIZZA. 

The cookie I was eating hit the floor and I turned into a blubbering mess.  It was the sign I asked for, right there, waiting for me

I took a picture with my phone and sent it to the only other person on the planet who’s heard more about my missing Mexican pizza than Glamizon…MadamBob.

She wrote back “Wow!  Glad to see they put her in charge of pizza up there!”

And just like that, I could breath again and everything was going to be alright.  She was going to be alright and even though it was going to hurt for the rest of my life to be without her, I was going to be alright too. 

The day after her funeral, with an acute awareness of just how short life is, I went on the date I was only mildly excited about…and nothing was ever the same again.

“Summing up” to be continued….


Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

Where the hell I’ve been…

After months of dragging around with a bulged disk in my back, my left leg went numb. Per the chiropractor, it was time to go see a neurosurgeon because there was no exercise he could give me and no pill anyone could prescribe to fix what was going on. My disk had ruptured and was pinching off my spinal cord.


My mother, who kept asking if I was sure I needed to have surgery, was stricken mute when the neurosurgeon informed us that people with a rupture as large as mine usually don’t have bladder or bowel control.


The next day I was face down on an operating table while they removed the disk and made bets on how many dimples there were on my ass. A few hours later I was standing straighter and walking faster than I had in a year! I went home the same night, was off pain meds in 5 days and back to work in two weeks! All without them replacing the disk or installing any hardware! It was glorious!

And it still is! Of course I’m still healing and I have a few restrictions but I feel SO much better. It’s one of those situations where you don’t know how much pain you were in until you’re not in it anymore. I felt so much better so fast I signed up with eHarmony a week after surgery. Seriously! I’ll fill you in there in another post.

One not a year away!

Boob cone,


PS: Nobody won the bet. They stopped counting 100 dimples after the largest number anyone guessed. ;)

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Normal Conversation

Me:  So, 100 duck-size horses or one horse-size duck?

MadamBob:  100 duck-size horses, but I refuse to fight them.

Me:  You’d lay down and let them kill you or you’d rehabilitate them like pit bulls?

MadamBob:  The pit bull option.  I want to saddle break them so I can open a Barbie riding school.

Me:  You know, I used to have a cowgirl Barbie with white boots.  She’d look fantastic on a dick-size horse!

MadamBob:  Freudian-slip much?

Me:  Hahaha!  Lucky Barbie!  Oh, I need to get laid.  It’s creeping into normal conversation.

MadamBob:  I’ve been out of the madam business for quite some time.

Me:  All you people I’ve asked to set me up are being WAAAAY too picky!  Or you don’t think I can hide the weird long enough to make it through dinner with someone you’d have to face afterward.

MadamBob:  So even if I wouldn’t date them, you might?  Except Duff.  He’s great except all the ways he’s like my grandmother.

Me:  Uh YES!  And how’s he like your grandmother?

MadamBob:  Church, church and church.  And somehow I’m guessing he’s a turn off the lights, missionary kind of guy.

Me:  Actually, sometimes the churchy ones end up being the wildest behind closed doors.  And if not I’d just bring him over to the dark side or tell him to go in and get us seats while I park the car and then never come back.  Don’t judge me!  I’d leave him at church!

MadamBob:  I’m just not sensing that a spark would be there.  And he’d expect you to cook.

Me:  Either I’d learn to cook because I love him or he’d learn to cook because he loves me and refuses to eat rum cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Why don’t think there’d be a spark?  Maybe he needs a little wildness and maybe I need to not cuss so fucking much.  It’s never going to be perfect.

MadamBob:  Just years of observation of you both.  And you’re right, it’s never perfect.

Me:  He and I locked eyes a few times at happy hour.  I wouldn’t have brought him up if I didn’t think there could possibly be something there.  You do realize when I’m on a date I don’t act like I do on Friday afternoons in the car, right?  I don’t swear and tell people to kiss my ass (not on the first date, probably), I don’t sing Highway to the Boner Zone and I don’t make up words for people who masturbate with squid that we also use as an expletive (mother squelcher!).

MadamBob:  Isn’t the first date the prime time to be yourself?

Me:  I’m not changing who I am for anyone, but I’m not letting it all hang out either.  Not on the first date, but if he can’t handle my weird silliness he’ll be on the curb so fast it’ll make his churcy head spin!

MadamBob:  Morgan Freeman help him.

Me:  I think he and I need to be put in a room together and see if there’s anything there.  And by “put in a room together” I mean meet casually at happy hour again or some other get-together where it’s just by chance.  Except it’s not.  Can you at least give me that much?

MadamBob:  I can definitely arrange a happy hour.

Me:  That’s all I ask.

MadamBob:  So, 100 duck-size horses or one horse-size duck?

Me:  Let’s get through happy hour and then we’ll decide how to raise the children.

MadamBob:  Hey, I’m just making “normal” conversation.

Aside | Posted on by | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment