Third Day in a Row

I wonder what Chris will say when he comes home and asks if I forgot to buy milk (again), and I tell him, yes, I went to the store but only bought tootsie rolls (again).

I kind of hope he'll sigh and say, "I'll just do it!", because, man, I am getting really sick of the grocery store.

I Have a Giant Black Hole in my Heart Where Romance Should Be

I am not a fan of the new(est) “Pride and Prejudice” movie, mostly because I thought it was lame.

And I thought it was lame mostly because the dialogue was stupid.

And I thought the dialogue was stupid mostly because of scenes like this:

Mr. Darcy: You have bewitched me, body and soul. I love … I love … (wait for it) … I love you.

Elizabeth (walks to him, picks up his hand and kisses it tenderly): Your hands are cold.

(They kiss in the sunrise.)

Actually, looking at it written down makes me realize that without the stage directions, this scene wouldn’t be half bad. It would be more like a real scene, one I could see christofer and myself in. Of course, with us it probably would have gone more like this:

Him: You have bewitched me, body and soul. I love … I love … I love you.

Me: Your hands are cold.

Him: wha?

Me: You hands are cold. Very cold. Seriously. Like ice.

Him: My hands are … cold.

Me: Yes. Freezing. You really should have worn some gloves.

Him: I tell you that I am bewitched body and soul and you say … my hands are cold?

Me: Yes! They are cold! Didn’t you even look out the window? It’s all misty and foggy, and that means cold. Look, it would probably help if you buttoned your shirt up.

Him: Wait. Just wait. I told you that I am bewitched body and soul, and you said … said …

Me (helpfully): Your hands are cold.

Him: Right. My hands are cold. Don’t you think you should have said … something else?

Me: Something else?

Him: Right. Something else.

Me: Like what?

Him: Like … you’ve bewitched me too, and I need you?

Me: Are you serious?

Him: Yes.

Me: You want me to say that you ‘bewitched’ me?

Him: Well, it wouldn’t hurt.

Me: um, Yes. Yes, it would. It would cause me physical pain.

Him: Well, you could at least say you loved me.

Me: And I might have, if I hadn’t gotten distracted by the fact that you’re strolling around in the freezing morning half-undressed and shivering like an idiot! Your hands are so cold, I can’t even think about anything else.

Him: Look! Can we forget how cold I am for just a second and focus on the important stuff?

Me: Okay. Fine. No need to get huffy.

Him (slowly, as if to a child): I love you. Do you love me?

Me: Yes.

Him: Okay. Great. Why didn’t you just say so?

Me: Because I love you a little less when you talk like an idiot – and your hands are SO COLD.

Him: gah! Never mind.

Clearly I am Rubbing Off On Him

SCENE: In the car, stopped at a red light, waiting to turn left. Two bicyclists in full bicycling gear glide up, look both ways, and turn left.

Me: Hey! That's illegal!

Chris: I know. People should get jail time for wearing tights like that.

A Shout Out

Kat has been my best friend since, like, before we met, and not just because we somehow lived the same childhood full of "Slipper and the Rose" and "Teen Witch," but also because she'll come over to my house with a paper face of herself to play with, and at the end of the night when I'm all,
"You know what we should do next? Set your hair on fire and take pictures while it burns! it'll be your Michael Jackson face"
she'll be all,
"brilliant. Let's do it before Chris comes back."



kat ... you get me.

Roleplaying

So, let's say that you're me. (Hi, me! you look great.)

And you come from a talented family. A very talented family.

With siblings. Lots of siblings.

Who all do stuff. Cool Stuff.

But you don't. Not because you had no talent - you were mildly talented at stuff - but because while they were practicing their cool stuff, you were ... busy.

Yes, you were busy! Very busy! BUSY BUSY BUSY, with, you know, ... sloughing. Or eating. Or both.

and such.

Anyway, say that today you ran into an old family friend. And say that old family friend was not a close friend, really - more the kind of friend who can't tell you apart from your siblings. And then say that friend was all,

"Oh, the flutist!"

And you thought, nope. not the flutist.

"Right! Of course! The dancer."

try again, lady.

"Oh. Um. The ... er... basketball player?"

...

"I'm sorry. You must be ... uh ... ahem ... SO! What do you do?"



OKAY! GREAT! HERE'S THE QUESTION. DO YOU SAY:

a) "I eat. and slough. sometimes simultaneously."

b) "I ... well ... I, uh, ... I made a pretty baby! Look at him!"

c) "Your mom called. She hates you."

d) "Nothing."

Whoever guesses what I chose wins TEN MILLION DOLLARS (or a picture of Michael. Whichever I have on hand).

IN OTHER NEWS:

I don't know how it happened, but Michael learned a fake laugh.

Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds

My friend H always used to say that I'd have to marry Christofer because he was the only boy in the world capable of putting up with me. Not very flattering, but probably true. Today when I came home with frigid, purple-colored, ice-cube-like hands, I walked right up to him and thrust them into his shirt, against his chest. He gasped, flailed, and screamed like a little girl. Then he said: "I love you!"

"You love me?"

"I love you!"

"Oh. Well, that's good."

"I must love you. Otherwise I'd have killed you by now."