It's Monday night and I'm in front of my computer, waiting for MY EDITOR to write back and tell me what to write for Purple Clover. I gave him several suggestions and none of them were about sex, so he may write back and say, Yeah, none of these. Think of more.
Since I'm up here, waiting, I figured I might as well write m'blog. Take tomorrow morning off. I guarantee I will still be late for work.
My friend Paula and her one boob sent me several photos from her visit this past weekend, which I will put here before you. Because it's evening, I have time to upload pictures at the same speed Cleopatra's photos loaded on her blog, Asp Me If I Care.
Love for self suddenly dwarfs even Edsel's love for me, as seen above. I like how Talu's glowy devil eye is peering around Eds. Also, it was good of me to tidy up before I had visitors. Nice robe. And coffee cup. Oh, hell, Paula lived with me. She knows.
Apparently everyone had to get on up and pose in front of the Olan Mills Robe & Coffee Cup backdrop. My flowers are holding up, though. Which is more than we can say for my figure, because do I give new meaning to the word hipster or what? I'm hip to your game.
MY EDITOR still hasn't written. I wonder what's keeping him? I hope I'm not up here at 10 p.m., writing. I've done that before, and it's hard to be funny when you're tired. You can see how hard you're stitching up your sides right now, in the early evening. Imagine how painful this writing style will be at 10:00.
Paula and I had lunch, then I took her over to my friend Kit's vintage store. They also sell stuff made by local folk, including these deer-themed stretch pants that I would have SNATCHED RIGHT UP were I still a doe. They only cost a buck. BAH! Again. It's only early evening. And my funny's gone missing like Bambi's mother. The point is, I was being a deer in headlights up there, and I'd like to reiterate my point from a few days ago that holding your mouth open in a picture is annoying. When you do it with doe pants, the humor is spotty at best.
Nobody likes me, do they? Will go stag the rest of my life.
Anyway, that was, like, four of 239494092 photos from Paula, and I noted we took none of the two of us, so for all you know I made her up and I'm all, My good friend George Glass was in and man, did we have a time!
I also took pictures from our Oscar party, and by "Oscar party" I do not mean that we swam around at the bottom of a fish tank. We also did not climb into trash cans.
I better save this hilarity for my article. Don't want to give it all away, man.
I was gonna get all dressed up, but I was out of contacts, and the idea of putting on a dress and heels and then, hi, here's me in my spectacles, just seemed ridiculous. So I wore jeans and my cool heels. I did not wear a top. Went all Nat Geo on your ass. And the Oscar goes to: June Gardens in Divining Water! June Gardens in What Lies Beneath.
June Gardens in Mother, Depressing Jugs and Speed.
Okay, I'm done.
June Gardens in Gravity.
Oh my god, just tickled living shit out of self.
HE STILL HAS NOT WRITTEN. I wonder if he's out sick or something? Maybe I won't have to write my column till tomorrow. After a full day of work and two hours of tutoring my student. Fresh! June Gardens in Not Funny Girl.
It is a shame Marty Martin did not supply us with any food. When Scarlett Johansson appeared in that green dress, I noted my entire chestical region was covered in peanut shells, like an elephant had just given me a pearl necklace. "I feel like Scarlett Johansson never gets covered in peanut shells," I announced, and moved on to the sausage dip.
He also had hot dogs, Marty Martin did, and five different kinds of dessert. June Gardens in Eat, Pray, Eat.
Marty M., and I like how I'm calling him Marty M. now like he's in AA, and after yesterday he may want to sign up, has HD TV, which I say like that's all newfangled. Marty M. has the moving pictures on his television set. He also had one of those cellular phones. It was like the future!
The point is, we noted which celebrities had had the Botox and who had not, although we may be wrong about this, because what we NOTED were the horizontal lines on the foreheads of certain celebrities, and really, Botox fixes the vertical lines. Allegedly. Have you seen the Nile on my forehead? Cleopatra is going to be so pissed I mentioned it. She is forever accusing me of stealing from her blog, Pyramid Scheming. You should have seen the fit she had when I got that bob.
Then we went back to eating. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? June, and she ain't leaving till every scrap is gone. Old Sydney Toast Points? Yay! Over here. Sydney Porkier.
Anyway. The food was good. Is what I am saying to you. It was less an Oscar party and more an Oscar Meyer party.
It is now after 8:00 and MY EDITOR has not written back. I guess I will end this post and go bug Ned, who is downstairs trying to read a book, I think, but not once The Eyes of June and her Mars Bar start boring into him.
Like Water for More Chocolate,