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The Bang Bang Theories


I’m late with a recap of the nonsense that’s my life, and I know you’re sad about that. As am I, Reader, as am I.  I’ve been preoccupied, my nose has been buried in the book Gone Girl.  When I wasn’t reading it, I was thinking about it. So it did it’s job, kept me entertained and kept you from having to read about my vagina. Which is the perfect segue (wow, I had spelled that segway and then checked with Almighty Google on that, and I was way off, way way off!) into Thanksgiving. 

Thanksgiving brought an impromptu dinner plan my way. I had bowed out of the family affair this year, as My Mister had to work and I just didn’t feel like going to his side of the family’s and eating a hurried dinner. I just wanted to sit at home, unshowered,  in my pajamas, watching the parade, drinking coffee and eating pumpkin coffee cake while I enjoyed my “brief break” as Tiny Town encouraged us to do before we got back to business.  Which isn’t the worst Thanksgiving plan, Reader.  

But then my friend Murdoch said, “come on over, we’ll have plenty of food.” And I declined because really, how intrusive would that be, to accept a nicety, but then a text message in the morning reiterated the invite and I found myself saying, “Okay!” despite having absolutely nothing to bring with me.  I don’t think they wanted on-the-verge-of-spoiling milk. But maybe I should have brought it anyway, just to be polite. 

I was excited I said yes, and had something new to do, and it encouraged me to even take a shower and wash my hair, which I guess could be my Thanksgiving gift to them. You’re welcome, Murdoch’s. 

Dinner was delightful, with a fantastic meal cooked from scratch, and I especially liked Rob’s mom, who is a world traveller and really charming. His Dad and I talked about mining for diamonds (a life list item for me), as I have discovered he has read snippets of this nonsense, which is a little awkward if he’s read any of the vagina monologues parts, or about me dreaming of getting fingerbanged by a black basketball player, or even THIS POST, now that I’ve said all that. Sorry, Rob’s Dad, if you’re here. I’ll try to be more lady-like. But I can’t make any promises. Just go to the posts about cats, those are usually pretty tame. Unless I’m referring to “pussy” and not “pussy cats” or something, wow, just stop typing already, Me, stop! You’re not helping! 


I apologize? 

Anyway. I am super appreciative for the invite, glad I said yes, was grateful for the leftovers as they became part of my back-to-work-Friday lunch. And happy to have met the folks responsible for Rob, haha.  And their new dogue Sulley, who is very cute and not even slobbery yet. 

One bad thing happened while I was at their house for Thanksgiving dinner.  I discovered a $50+ bottle of wine that became my favorite. I don’t have $50+ wine income.  I liked it so much I went to my local winery to buy a bottle the next night, and while they don’t carry Twomey, he led me to a $20 bottle of Pinot Noir that was good, but not the same.  So thanks a lot, Rob and Beth, when I’m a poor drunk because I’ve drank my retirement in fancy wine, you have only yourselves to blame when I have to move into your basement  (or thank, as you may really enjoy more of me!). Which is really part of my dream plan, as they have a sauna in their basement. And a lot of delicious wine, so win-win for me. 

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