Last night, Ned and I discussed whether Wilona on Good Times was the first female promiscuous neighbor.
Eventually you had the grandma on Who's the Boss, which, please. There was something WRONG with that woman.
Ned has never seen Who's the Boss. Boy, is HE missing out. Remember the son? Who was 100% gay at age 5? It was so obvious.
When I was in elementary school, I was friends with a boy who joined cheerleading in fifth grade, and who insisted on wearing a pink ribbon in his hair. It was a Lutheran school, and you kind of have to hand it to his no doubt German conservative parents for being supportive. I was really good friends with that kid, because I was the original fag hag. I later ran into him in college and he was studying to be
--wait for it--
an interior designer.
He was da bomb. We had these pallet things that we inexplicably rode on at recess, and when I think about it, nice toy. Safe. They were very low to the ground and you could totally run over your HAND if you weren't careful. The point is, he'd pallet up to you and sing you a song--often a showtune--then pallet off to another girl.
And honest to god, he never got this ass kicked, even though I feel like Hulk wants to get in a time machine and do so posthumously. Everyone was kind of, Oh him. THAT Liberace. We didn't KNOW from gay, but we were generally tolerant of his different-ness. Well. Tolerant. I was embracing him wholeheartedly because he was WAY more interesting than the snowmobiling crew-cutted boys in the REST of my class. Plus, we were in cheerleading together.
I really honestly had no idea I was going to go off on this tangent about Bud Gay, over here.
So how are y'all? Have you adjusted to the idea of four more years yet? Boy, are people ever being mature on Facebook. I was kind of avoiding it PRE-election because I was sick and tired of people's rants, but now they're being sore losers. Jesus.
Oh. And if I ever get so poor that I have to move into a cinderblock-walled apartment, just shoot me. Don't even let me move the first box in. Do me a solid.
Edsel is licking his empty dish, in there, and it makes me feel bad. I GIVE him a big PILE of dog food. Makes me feel like I'm starving the poor thing.
I had better get ready for work. I am doing editing now at work--that's why I'm there full time. I am copy editing and editing. There's a difference. Anyway, so that keeps me busy all day, then I have to rush home and work on that 350-page statistics textbook. Have worked on it 20 hours so far and ask me what page I'm on. 65. SIXTY-FIVE!
Ned was all, "We still going to dinner Friday?" and I said, "Yes, but then I have to go home and work." Fun. Fun date. And don't forget I am still also editing Polish documents. I hate everything Till the cash money rolls in.
Oh, speaking of Ned, I have our first emails, from when I picked him up online 10 months ago. I sent them to him in a folder and asked if I could publish them on my blog, and he said yes, but first he wants to delete some things so y'all don't know his every detail. Anyway, they are charming, if you ask me, and I cannot wait to publish them to the world. Then I'll tell the Steve McQueen story that made me say, "Okay. In love with Ned. Doomed."
I must go work, so I can come home and work. If I can't drive with a broken back, at least I can polish the fenders.