Ned just told me he'd poach us some eggs, and yes we ARE just getting up at 1:00 in the afternoon, and we are decadent and have I ever mentioned I've never regretted being childless? I did, however, have to get up and feed everybody, and sometimes in the morning I feel like a farmer. Also, sometimes when we touch, the honesty's too much. Which might be the annoyingest song in the history of time.
Apparently, flaring one's nostrils makes it more sincere.
I'm just another writer still trapped within my truth.
Anyway, I thought I'd write you about my weekend till Ned says the eggs are ready, because starving, and I think it'll be hilarious if I write and then just break off dramatically. I wanna blog ya till the fear in me subsides.
On Friday, I left work and screamed on home, where Ned had the day off, and carried him over to this new brewery, and that's what they say here when they mean "drove." I carried Vonnie over to the bingo. I am not kidding you.
Ned has always wanted to try that brewery, I mean, not always, seeing as this place opened like two months ago, but he's wanted to go for awhile, so I was glad when my work's happy hour was there. We have happy hour every Friday. It's not a bad workplace.
It's a big, open room, as opposed to a big closed room, and the handles of the door are big pieces of pipe, and right there's a phrase I like. Big pieces of pipe. I have no idea when I turned into Blanche on Golden Girls.
Not only do they have beer made right there, because brewery, they also have games, so we all set up the Jenga, which was fun unless you're the asshole knocking over the thing. I can't play Jenga without thinking of Marcia and her charm bracelet and the house of cards, but just try making a Brady Bunch reference to the Alexes. They'd be all, "?"
There was also a food truck there, and Ned and I got ginger chicken burritos that were the size of your head, unless you're a Macy's float. I get a lot of Macy's float readers. My numbers go down dramatically on Thanksgiving.
We came home and rented Carnal Knowledge, which we'd said we were gonna do before we left the brewery, resulting in a giant "Who's hotter, Ann-Margaret or Candace Bergen back then?" First of all, someone whose whole name is a hyphenated first name is irritating to me. Second, while I see and understand that Hyphen Margaret is hot, she always struck me as just a teensy bit cheap.
Candace Bergen, on the other hand, was classically beautiful and sophisticated looking. A thinking man's hottie, which apparently does not exist, because every man at that table was all up in Ann-Margaret, who if you ask me seems like she'd smell of Victoria's Secret perfume. Candace Bergen would be Chanel No. 5 or Shalimar or something.
The point is, the whole room woulda had Ann-Margaret on the pinball machine and I'd get Candace Bergen all to myself.
Oh my god anyway. So that was Friday and I hear Ned taking plates down. By the way, he came up here as I was enjoying that beautiful video above and was entirely unfazed. "Want more coffee?" Ned is completely used to the bullshit I look at online.
On Saturday morning, one of the Alexes insisted I meet her at yoga, and you know how I get right up with gusto, but get up I did, and it was rainy and awful, but me and my yoga pants headed out anyway and can you believe that bitch stood me up? I am just about sure.
But I did the free yoga and I've been to that studio with that teacher before, and I loved it, so I signed up for eight classes and talked Ned into doing it, too, because he lifts weights and rides a bike and hurts constantly, but he never wanted to be the creepy guy at yoga. Now he can be the creepy guy at yoga with a girlfriend.
I told him about the melon-halves butt girl ahead of me in class and that is what sold him, I think.
Well, see, the eggs are ready. So okay bye. I wish I could stay and hold you till the fear in you subsiiiiiiiides.
