Saturday, November 09, 2019

Oklahoma! key dramatis personæ, from the left:

Cord Elam. The moral and emotional core of the Oklahoma! narrative. Basically the lead. Brags that he could eat a gatepost. No homo.

Will Parker. The clumsy—but alarmingly bendy—one who does his press junket splayed out on the floor like a common hussy. Couldn’t count to $50 if his potential marriage depended on it. Minor character at best.

Curly McLain. Sings about corn. Lies about fringe. Someone runs into his knife. Someone runs into his knife one time.

Wednesday, November 06, 2019

You can see by our outfits that we are both cowboys

#Oklahoma! #CowboyHats #TheStreetsOfLaredo

You guys!

Three out of four Musketeers tell me I’m awesome and rockin’! The fourth says I’ll die alone, sobbing under a seat in coach. Which is impressive to get all crammed on one so-called “fun” size wrapper.
Anyway, the clear takeaway here is that chocolate loves you back. EAT YOUR FEELINGS! Before you die alone, sobbing under a seat in coach.

Monday, November 04, 2019

Aorta stop eatin' junk food

Dad’s surgery was “smooth and easy” according to the surgeon—who may or may not have been referring to the fact that the hospital shaved my dad from the neck down before they poked him in the aorta—and he’s now recovering/waking up in the recovering/waking up room as we continue to stuff our faces in the waiting room.

You might say he’s on the mendo from his endo. But please don’t. Never say that.

Aorta lern my lines

When you got up at 4:30 and had to pack for a day of sitting in the waiting room at the hospital surgery center and you remembered to bring all the important stuff. So that’s good.
Dad is having what’s literally called a “re-do” on a five-year-old abdominal aortic aneurism surgery that had recently started leaking. Two weeks ago he had an exploratory aortogram—which it turns out does not, unfortunately, involve someone showing up at your door in tap shoes and an aorta outfit to sing Happy Birthday or a Valentine’s Day song—and he’s having the surgery today as the final gala event in his five-day 80th birthday celebration.

To complete the circle, I’m sitting in the waiting room memorizing my lines to Aortahoma!

Sunday, November 03, 2019

SOME dumbass we all know

... has accidentally taken his night psych meds in the morning enough times lately that his mom finally had to make a bunch of big white paste-on labels for his pill containers so he hopefully won’t get so confused again in the future.

We don’t need no stinkin’ musical about dancin’ farmers and cowmen to be basic bitches in boots

But it sure makes a super-cute excuse.


I’m man enough to admit that I’m not LIFTING the 95s—the only unoccupied incline bench just happens to be parked in front of them today.

But I AM proud enough to broadcast that I’m back up to incline-dumbbelling 75s after a summer of injury-induced absence from the gym and from the 90s that I’d been incline-dumbbelling last spring.

And yes, incline-dumbbelling is now a valid gerund. I’m a licensed copywriter and I am hereby verbing it so.

Saturday, November 02, 2019

Among my many noteworthy accomplishments today:

I finally got rid of that hideous Monster MalachiteTM square plate and replaced it with a delicately fluted saucer that matches Bitch Kitty’s elegant Velvety VerdigrisTM food bowl.
Now her basement café is just downright fucking classy.


Three of Walmart’s finest ran into my cart in one trip and Iowa-timidated ME into saying Ope and I’m sorry but that’s just an egregious abuse of first-caucus-in-the-nation power.

Also: furnace filters + lightbulbs + non-slip rug pads + cat food-to-poop supplies = a sad, sad afternoon of quiet-desperation adulting

Stabby the Cat doesn’t put up with your excuses on back and shoulders day

He does, however, have a benevolent tolerance for your unruly hair.

Friday, November 01, 2019

My stupid new tie won’t hold an expertly tucked dimple

So my fancy-pants event tonight is all but guaranteed to be a catastrophic sartorial failure.

But I voted early so the republic is saved.