This is my friend Nance. I’ve known Nance for years – three? four? something like that? maybe even longer – and I consider her a good friend. And in the entire time I’ve known her, she’s been the biggest advocate for peoples’ privacy you’ll ever know. There have been times where she’s realized she can figure out where someone works, and she WARNS them, because she’s worried about them. She doesn’t want someone to invade their privacy, worries that some psycho might track them down and cause them harm. She’ll stir shit if she thinks the shit needs stirring, but she will do it straightforwardly and not in some clandestine cloak-and-dagger way that involves cutting and pasting and anonymous email accounts. She’s honest. Honest to a fault, maybe. She and Fred are the two people I would never pose the question “Do these pants make my ass look fat?”, because I’d get the truth. She might try to sugar-coat it a little, but she’d tell it to me straight. NO ONE EVER WANTS A STRAIGHT ANSWER TO THAT QUESTION, NANCE. If I ask Nance a question, I know I’ll get a truthful answer. I know I can count on that. But I didn’t ask her “Nance, did you do this?”, because I already knew in my heart she didn’t. She couldn’t. Anyone who truly knows her, knows that. Because underneath it all, she’s got a heart the size of Texas and it shines through whether she wants it to or not. I’ve been accused in the past of things I didn’t do, and when I said that I hadn’t done what I was accused of, the accusers didn’t believe me. And that’s incredibly frustrating. I can only imagine Nance’s frustration right now. So go give her some love; I think she could use some extra love right about now. And tell her that her brand-spankin’-new design kicks ass. I’m no longer a WordGoddess; I asked to be removed from the group because the way this was handled left a bad taste in my mouth. But I know how much y’all love the “Day in the Life” entries, so I’ll see if I can’t whip one out occasionally, mm’kay? YOU’RE WELCOME.
You don’t impress him much.
A soupcon of The War of the Roses + Prizzi’s Honor + a dash of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid = Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Not a bad movie, though it seemed to bother Brian that Brad Pitt would hit a girl, which is funny, because I read that verysame sentiment online somewhere on someone’s blog – I can’t remember where – and I thought it was funny that with all the violence in that movie, that particular piece of it would bother people (men, I should say) so much.
I guess that whole “You don’t hit girls” is strongly ingrained in some boys and men. Too bad it’s not so strongly ingrained in all of them. Though to be fair, I don’t think it’s right that a woman can hit a man to her heart’s content and people are only horrified when the man lashes back.
Besides, she was trying to KILL HIM; I think the usual moral values kind of go out the window in that case.
Damn, they are a pretty, pretty pair.
So, here’s the story. We got up this morning with the idea that the spud and my mother would make whoopie pies. My mother has a recipe for whoopie pies – or, actually, the cookbook calls them whoopsie pies and she’s been saying all week that she and the spud were going to make a batch, because they were so much better than the store-bought whoopie pies. They finally got around to starting them a little before 11:00.
Why yes, I DO have chubby little sausage fingers.
I picked a lovely pink color for my polish, and managed to smudge one of my nails in less than half an hour, because I haven�t worn nail polish in fifteen years, and I had forgotten that even though it feels dry, you need to give it a few hours before it can withstand digging through your purse to find your phone.
So we came home and hung around the house, and ate lobster for dinner, then left a little before 7 to drive through a monsoon to the movie theater. Debbie and Brian were meeting us there, but Debbie got soaked when she went to go in the theater and got pissed off and went home because she couldn’t stand the thought of sitting in a theater in wet clothes for two hours (EXCEPT THAT I THINK WE ALL KNEW YOU WERE JUST MAKING AN EXCUSE TO GO HOME AND PLAY ON YOUR NEWLY DSL’D COMPUTER, MISSY). When we got in the theater, the line was extremely long and I was worried that the movie was going to be sold out, so as I stood in line I scanned the list of movies, trying to figure out what movie we could see instead if we had to, because I was DAMNED if we were going to go home after driving from Lisbon Falls to Brunswick twice in one day to see the damn movie.
But the movie wasn’t sold out at all, in fact the theater was only about half full, so all was good. I had my twizzlers and m&ms to keep my mouth occupied, and the pretty, pretty stars of the movie to keep my mind occupied, so it was a pretty damn good evening.
I don’t think I mentioned yesterday, did I? Yesterday we went to Kittery, and I shopped my ASS off. I’d been doing pretty well with the shopping this trip, but all that went by the wayside when we hit Kittery. I basically stampeded through Kittery, grabbing things left and right and throwing money all over the place.
My favorite acquisitions? A stone gray cat that is actually cat-sized, which I’m going to either put on the front porch or in the front flower bed (or, hm� maybe in front of the fireplace!), and a set of yellow melamine mixing bowls.
Yellow sure does make me happy.
We left the house at 10:00 yesterday, and didn’t get home until after 9:00. And the day just FLEW by; I have no idea how the time passed so quickly. I think we may have entered a black hole or something. All I know is that we got there at 11:00, did some shopping, and the next thing I knew, it was 2:00 and we were eating lunch at Bo�sun�s Landing (excellent food), and then I blinked and it was 6:00 and we were in the Kittery Trading Post discussing whether my mother should get a shirt for Fred, and then I blinked again and it was after 8:00, and we’d stopped in South Portland on the way home so Debbie and I could run into Macy’s to buy a set of melamine mixing bowls (yes, in addition to the yellow ones I’d bought earlier in the day, shaddup), and then time stretched and my mother went into Macy’s to look for some pants and then into Filene’s, and Debbie was dragging me into the mall to go to Victoria’s Secret (and, hi. If there’s anything less comfortable than being a fat chick in Victoria’s Secret, where the saleschicks give you perfectly sweet smiles that mask the horrified ‘She is NOT OUR PEOPLE. She is FAT. How can we get her OUT of here?’ thoughts that are whirling in their heads, I don’t know what is.) so she could buy some shampoo, and then we were all sitting in the car waiting for Debbie to come out of Macy’s (where she’d gone on a bathroom run, and even though I had to pee I had not the energy to pull down my sweaty pants and deal with