Talk is cheap
Just so – I will be taking it easy this week, given my general busy schedule of late, dour demeanor, and a dull need for easy pickings and easier outcomes. Note: It is never wise to sit jabbering on the phone with a family member, all gulp and aglug the whole way through a big bottle of cheap red wine until midnight, when one is expected to perform satisfactory work the next day. So that's just what I did.
I feel...shrunken. Somewhat.
So I was reading these DP letters and I thought “oh, look. There's some dizzy dipshit who literally needs to ask a perfect stranger whether or not to get the Pamela Anderson treatment because her boyfriend (a sexual athlete, evidently) likes big titties. Oh, and look – she has a daughter. Isn't that sweet?”
And I thought “who the bloody fucking hell wrote this shit?”
So I said to myself “I will not fall for it this week. Not me. This is the new me. This bullshit has to stop.”
And then I wrote this blog anyway. Red wine hazes the brain, makes a guy feel like he's a cheap camera, out of focus, bleary and weak, and in this case, submissive to the whims of whatever is on the other side of the lens.
Bonus for you this week: The longest response I made was, like, 50 words or so. 50. Out of character - you know me. I usually don't get warmed up until page 6 and I have used the term “Imbecility” or “Cheese Dick” at least once. This time, short stuff, and I do not use either term at all.
Maybe it's puberty.
And we commence.
1.) I am in my 30s. My boyfriend recently told me that he would like it if I got breast implants. I'm beginning to wonder whether I should go ahead with enhancement just to please him.
My B's Are Getting an F – No.
I will elaborate: NO!
2.) My husband and I are empty-nesters in our 50s. My mother-in-law feels that it is our responsibility to take them on vacation with us. Are we selfish to want to be alone on our vacations?
Escape Plans – No. You're as stupid as letter writer 1.
3.) I have bipolar disorder. I have been having issues with one of our interns. Anytime she and I disagree about something she rolls her eyes, waves her hand, and declares that I am "just bipolar." I want some peace and a little less condescension when I go to work.
Tired of Her – Thank you for the lovely anecdote, but you didn't ask a question, such as “should I kill her, cut her body into pieces, and scatter them in a field, THEN take my medication?”
If that was your question, psycho, the answer is no. Go take your fucking pills.
4.) My stepbrother died last week. My sister asked me to take care of ordering a floral arrangement. I used to work as a florist. I made a beautiful arrangement from my garden My sister came unglued. She said it was tacky and cheap to not send something from a "real florist." I've been receiving daily calls from one or the other of them, telling me how cheap I am. What should I do?
An Alleged Cheapskate – Hang up the fucking phone. You really needed me to tell you that?
Allah willing and the creek don't rise, I will be writing this bit from the little town of Morrisburg, a wee trek south of the city of Ottawa, in two weeks. Family beckons, and we try to make this trip at least once every two years.
A lovely little town. My wife lived there in her high school years. They say it only takes an hour and a half to walk from one end of town to the other, because you'll bump into 6-7 people along the way and chat. Do it at 3:00 AM when everyone's abed and it takes about seven minutes.
The wrench in the works? I may not be able to take the time off. Nice, huh? At least I have a job to hate.
Besides, no use worrying about it now – I have to go to the store.
We're out of wine.