It's finally nice enough that we can eat outside, and here you can behold Ned's depleted salad. Note he did not really eat the dressing.
Good god. Did I go out LOOKING for someone who could make me feel bad about my fine eating habits? Not that I'll change them. I'll just feel bad about them. At that particular meal, I had a Cuban sandwich and fries. Had there been salad dressing, I've have had it. I guess I could have borrowed Ned's.
Last night was also nice enough to eat outside, but we didn't. We went to the Thai place, where I like to get the healthy wraps, that are "a fantastic and more fun in the great taste."
I know. Their English is better than my Thai. Is Thai a language? It always bugs me that people speak Mandarin, like that's a place. Yes, I'm Chinese and I speak Mandarin. I live in a really good section of Mandarin. Orange you glad you live there, too?
Okay, I'm done. It's a seedy section of Mandarin.
Oh! But by the way, in case you missed it, yesterday afternoon I got on here, all asking if anyone would help me read my damn blog and pick out funny posts I wrote for inclusion into a book I want to make. Would it be "want to make" or "want to write"? I've already written it, really. Maybe compile. A book I want to compile. I should just give up now.
Anyway, go to that post if you're interested in reading a month of this blog and emailing me with posts that were funny from that period, not that I'm guaranteeing any of them were. Oh, or touching. If any of them touch you inappropriately, email me that, too. People are leaving comments ON THAT POST NOT THIS ONE NOT THIS ONNNNNE signing up for a month or more, chronologically. Last time I looked, we were on the middle of 2012. So go SIGN UP THERE NOT HERE if you wish to help me. I will mention your name at the beginning of the book, so, famous!!
-ish.
I guess that sums up my life, except oh! I was up here doing my Oprah meditation, because I'm currently doing an Oprah and Chopra meditation, and the first person to act like Google hasn't been invented and say, "What Oprah and Deepak Chopra meditation, Joooon?" gets a special Liver-Slapping page dedicated to them in above-mentioned book. Oh, I should totally do that. Have a Liver-Slapping page.
ANYWAY, I was up here and Ned wandered into my room to touch me inappropriately or maybe just make fun of Oprah. He sat here at my computer, which he rarely does, and he noted my large, lighted magnifying mirror. "I'm upside-down in this mirror," said Ned, who apparently flunked science.
"Pull it closer." Which is what SHE said. I work with several men in their 20s and they are forever saying, "That's what SHE said" to things that sound vaguely dirty, and I am suddenly finding all references to "that's what she said" incredibly hilarious, which just goes to show you I am a 22-year-old boy, hence the Cuban sandwiches and fries. Someone ought to tell my metabolism so it will speed up.
O! Metabby not realize she a young boy! Metabby speed up!
June's blog. Come to do free work for her. Stay for the metabolism-speak.
Oh my god, anyway. So Ned pulled the mirror closer. "Turn on the light and flip it to the magnifying part," I instructed him. I cannot get enough of staring at my every flaw in my lighted magnifying mirror. It's riveting and terrible at the same time.
"Oh my God," said Ned, peering into the mirror like Narcissus. "Oh my GOD!"
That's what SHE said.
I leave you with (a) my genuine encouragement that you, too, should get a magnifying mirror that lights up your flaws and report them back to me and (7) the following question.
What would your villain name be? Ned and I discussed this at the outdoor dinner we had, above, and I decided mine would be The Kvetcher. I can't remember what Ned's would be. Ned is in the other bedroom right now, putting things in his new gym bag, because the one he's had since 1992 just broke and you'd think his best friend from the war just died. He finally, FINALLY, after trying to resuscitate it for days, went out and got a new bag last night and now he's in there extolling said bag's lack of virtues ("It doesn't have a small pocket dedicated to holding your keys," he's kvetching. Maybe that's his villain name, too. Maybe we can be a duo: The Middlge-Aged Kvetchers).
"What did I say your villain name was the other night?" I shouted to him.
"I don't know. The Fucking Asshole?"
That's a terrible villain name. How'm I gonna write a book if that's the kind of crap I come up with? The Fucking Asshole and Metabby? That's all I can whip out?
That's what SHE said.
P.S. Oh, goddammit. I keep forgetting to plug Purple Clover. That's what HE said.