My last post mentioned my good deeds project. If you want to participate, two important things:
- Read the post before this to participate, and tell me you're in on the project there, not here.
- You can see only 100 comments at a time, so scroll to the end of comments, click See More Comments at bottom left, and keep scrolling and clicking till you read the last comment. You'll know you're at the end because it won't tell you to see more comments anymore.
Your partner is not Missus B. I promise you it's not Missus B unless you were comment number 101. She had the lovely opportunity to be commentor 100, and she now has so many partners I fear for her dance card.
So that's that, and if you have already done your good deed, you can start telling from this post on. I will allegedly compile them and list them all at Christmas. Oh, hey, I have an idea. Tell me your deed and at the end write "KEEK!" just like that, then I can do a search and find good deeds easily.
Keek is a Scottish term that means to peep surreptitiously. You know how that happens.
In the meantime, I have a cold and yesterday I had a delightful biopsy, so that was all a great time. I was supposed to go see a play with many of the Alexes, a play called The Snow Queen, which I keep calling The Drag Queen just to annoy everyone. When I'm not KEEK!ing I'm saying Drag Queen.
Oh, lord I just thought of something. Don't say KEEK! in your comments UNLESS it's a good deed report. See what I've done to myself?
The point is, I had my annual girl exam and the results came back wonky, so yesterday they did a biopsy, but while my doctor was down there--and imagine THAT gig. I'm June's vagina doctor!
While she was down there, she said, "Well, you have a boring cervix. I don't even see anything to biopsy. But what Ima do is take this putty knife and remove your entire insides just to be safe." Comfy.
I never. I have always thought I had one of the more engaging cervixes. Ned just emerged from the shower and said he doesn't find my cervix boring at all. He said he's a big fan of my cervix. What does that doctor know?
Anyway, I guess that's a good sign, that it's boring, and speaking of boring, instead of going to dinner and a play with my friends, I went home and had a BLT and watched a movie on Sundance. When did Sundance get commercials?
Speaking of which, the other night I tried to watch something on Oprah's channel, I forget what, and EVERY SIX MINUTES they broke for 700 commercials, which weren't even real commercials, they were ads for shows on Oprah's network, over and over and over again. Yes, I already KNOW, Oprah, that Nate is heading over to Iyanla's house to fix it. He should work on fixing her name, too, because IYANLA?
Yes, Oprah, I already know that sitcom with the bad acting is having a Very Special breast cancer episode this week.
Dear Oprah. You've already got money. Give it a rest with so many commercials. God.
Yes, God wrote that, because even though he and Oprah are like THIS, even HE is irked at all the damn commercials.
I guess God wouldn't say "damn." What if you met God and he swore like a sailor? That'd be unexpected. And way more interesting than my cervix.
Okay, I'm dragging my cold ass into work. Yesterday we switched seats, which makes it the sixth move I've had in three years there. I no longer sit next to cute Ryan, and ironically he now sits where I used to. Everyone was talking about the end of our work marriage, and when he came to my desk to get my old desk key, you couldn't have beaten the comments back with a stick. "Ohhh, they're not even trying the long-distance thing." "Oh, it's really the end." "Who you gonna marry now, Ryan?"
Everyone's a comedian. Except my cervix, which apparently is Easter Island.
Okay, go do your good deeds. Go do the right thing.