My list of things that are fine:
Seamus: Despite his new-found love of eating my hair, Seamus seems healthy. I mean, he’s as fat as a bear but since he goes nuts every time I drop a ponytail holder on the floor, all jumping around and leaping off of walls and tossing it into the air, I can’t see how his fatness is hurting him in any way. Is hairspray toxic to cats? Is it delicious to cats? I have no idea but I wake up every morning to him purring like a freight train in my ear and chewing on his selected wad of my hair.
Pat: Pat, of my senior citizen dining companion group, got out of the van to enter our chosen restaurant last month and promptly fell off the curb. She’s not a good listener, to her own inner safety voice or the outer loud voice of her driver telling her to wait before stepping onto the curb, but bless her heart, she put one foot on the curb and went down like a sack of potatoes. I gasped and ran over to her side of the van to help her. The whole group of us gasped and stood over her offering help. A very handsome, very single man galloped out of the restaurant to offer his assistance. He grasped her under the arms with his manly, very manly hands and tried to lever his wide shoulders into a lifting position but Pat said, “No, I’m fine.”
“Pat!” I hissed. “This man is marvelous, stunningly handsome and rugged, let him pick you up!”
“I’m okay,” she insisted from her position near the tire and around his bulbous, well-defined biceps. “I can do this myself.”
Jan, me in thirty years, said, “Pat, come on, he’s here already. He’s already got you. Let him help.”
Pat said, “I’m fine, really.” So the man released his tender yet firm grip and went back inside the restaurant. A few moments later Pat allowed a young hipster wearing skinny jeans and a fluffy beard to pick her up and put her back on her feet, both of them on the curb this time. I guess everyone has a type. Also, Pat is just fine. No scratches or bruises of any kind. No date from a rugged manly hottie with wide shoulders for either one of us, but fine.
This is not Pat, but this is Joe. I’ve talked about him before.
The love lives of all those around me: ♥ Dammit Todd and Ashley broke up a while ago and we no longer love Ashley. But Dammit Todd has found himself a new girlfriend, one who is lovely and one who we like a lot. ♥ Luke also has himself a new girlfriend, also one who is lovely. He explained to her our situation of trading food for internet service yet I still wondered if she harbored any unease over our close relationship. However, the day he introduced the two of us, he didn’t warn me he was bringing her over and thus I answered the door in my favorite pajamas: a college t-shirt that I purchased when I graduated (1994) and have washed approximately once a week since then so to say it is thin and full of holes would be accurate, and some floppy shorts that are at minimum one size too big and not even remotely in the color palette of the t-shirt. Plus I had my hair up in a wad that had been Seamus-chewed. I do believe any uneasiness she might have had vanished the moment she clapped her eyes on the vision that is me in my loungewear. ♥ Pee-tah and his loved-up boyfriend broke up recently and I am sad for them. I was so hopeful for them. But I get my gay husband back so I guess this is a win for me. ♥ Also, Daniel has found himself a new boyfriend and even though they don’t speak the same language, not a single word of the other’s dialect, they get along really well. ♥ Martie and Coach celebrated 17 years of marriage the other day so I’d say they are fine, too. Love is in the air!
Tom Hardy: This needs no explanation.
Stole this from the innernet. That mouth, tho . . .
Me: I had my follow-up visit with my new cookie doctor and despite the bad words and spectacles I hurled at the wall during my last visit (this is not written to be funny, but to be true – I really did those things), she was very friendly towards me. She withdrew from a drawer a large number of photos of cervixes, etc. and explained that I have some bad cells that are not resolving on their own, that have been there for ten years or so. She explained all of this whilst showing me pictures of what I’ve got going on and what could possibly happen if I don’t treat this. So treat this I will. One more visit wherein I don the fetching paper towel called a gown and then I get to be knocked out cold for the display of my lady parts on a paper-covered table in order to remove/burn off any offending cells. I’m not sure if the induction to mild coma is more for my benefit or theirs but either way, I won’t care a whit who has what kind of headlamp and metal rake if I’m dreaming of hot ruggedly handsome men with wide shoulders picking me up off the sidewalk next to a van. And then I will be completely fine. Thousands of women have this done all the time, so really, no need to worry.
Me in an ice bar. Story coming soon . . .
Are you guys fine? Since I’ve gotten off Facebook I’m very out of touch. I don’t regret the decision at all but I do want to note that in the first three months of my departure, I have forgotten three birthdays. If I forget you, I’m truly sorry. I’ll make up for it with a cupcake if you forgive me. Deal? Deal.
Love, Jimmie 