When I was at my mother's house a few weeks ago, I found this picture of my Aunt Kathy (left) and mom in polka dots, back in 1975. It was my Uncle Jim's wedding. Look how hot they are! I remember they'd show this to people and ask, "Which of us is prettier?" which made no one have an uncomfortable look or anything.
Now that Ned and I have signed the lease (eeeeek!!), I've been throwing things away (like my USELESS PRINTER, and no one buy an HP, ever. EVER! If your printer breaks, they have an 800 number, and try to charge you $100 to help you), and taking things to Goodwill (there are dresses I've moved from Los Angeles to TinyTown to here, and not worn once) and going through papers, and I found this photo:
This is my ex-best friend and me, back in the '90s when I lived in LA. It was between Christmas and New Year's, I remember that. Also, note how I am creeping around to feel her up. She was too tall to feel up.
And really? Really? There's anyone left who DOESN'T know how we broke up. Okay, here.
I wish I still had those dreadful jeans. And at this point, I must not have been living in LA for long, because Marvin hated black, so my all-black wardrobe became my all-pink wardrobe. Since Marvin has left I've purchased approximately 900 million new black shirts. Or seven. Somewhere between 900 million and seven.
Okay, I gotta go. I guess it's okay to tell you why I have to look nice tonight: I am being interviewed by a magazine, about this blog. It's a local hoity-toity magazine, one of those thick shiny ones that's at hotels or fancy doctor's offices where you may or may not get your Botox, if one did that and didn't embrace natural aging the way I do, with a good diet and clean living.
Hey, that lightning bolt almost hit me right in the head.
Anyway, it's exciting. I have no idea if they're taking my photo, but I got my red boob shirt on just in case. Naturally, today I ran out of hair gel. Yes, I did. So my hair will be 50 feet wide, but why fool anyone into thinking it doesn't usually get wide?
So that's the story. Am famous. Ish. Am almost famous. Am Stillwater.
Why doesn't Billy Cruddup ever call me?