Que Sera Sera

The Opt Out Options

Me: Am I allowed to do Jason Bateman?
Him: That depends. Who do I get to do?
Me: I don’t know, who do you want?
Him: Maybe Maggie Gyllenhaal. Or Margaret Thatcher.
Me: What, no Dame Maggie Smith?
Him: Already did her. It was like boning a mummy.
Me: Really? I would’ve guessed her feisty.
Him: You’d think. If she were conscious or alive, that is.
Me: Now Judi Dench: there’s a hellcat.
Him: When she takes out her teeth, man.
Me: BARELY LEGAL GRANNIES!
Him: EXTREMELY LEGAL GRANNIES!
Me: You and the oldies! It’s worse than you and the C.H.U.D.S.!
Him: What can I say? I love me some ancient flesh.
Me: It’s a wonder you can bear my smooth young skin.
Him: You’re okay I guess.
Me: Thanks, baby.
Him: So who’s your opt out?
Me: I’m still deciding. Maybe my opt out will be someone who’ll appreciate my youthful assets.
Him: Walter Matthau?
Me: Nope.
Him: Don Rickles?
Me: Cold.
Him: Bill Cosby?
Me: Hmm, warmer!
Him: Wesley Snipes?
Me: Dude, what is it with you and Wesley Snipes? That’s like the second time you’ve brought him up in the past week.
Him: I dunno; I feel like I could trust him.

One hopes he's arranging for a stretch limousine to pick her up from surgery or something pleasant like that

Overheard: Phone conversation of man standing by my desk.

[cell phone rings]
Man (in heavy Russian accent): Hello.
Man (in heavy Russian accent): Mother-in-law.
Man (in heavy Russian accent): Kneecap.
Man (in heavy Russian accent): Cash.
Man (in heavy Russian accent): Five o’clock.
[hangs up]

Dogs and cats, living together, mass hysteria

Yeah, so, I didn’t mean to just abandon this site, but suddenly everything else in my life became 100 times more important, so, you know, internet continues not to count. Things have been really good and really busy: I’ve got this new dude, and I’m writing a book, and also it’s been summer, so I’ve been alternating between going out and getting all drunk and sweaty and then coming home and not leaving my air conditioned bedroom except to sit on the couch and watch HBO. Also, we got HBO.

Some highlights of the past month or so: Jay and Patti got engaged, and asked me to perform their wedding ceremony next spring. This means I get to make an honest woman out of myself because I registered as Rev. Sarah Brown back in 2000 on classmates.com. This also means I get to drink with Sturge. Life goal achieved: check, check.

We had Cringe again, and it was awesome. The last time in particular was kind of racy, with a lot of teenage sex references, including Marc’s high school porn novel with its list of characters’ genitalia size and whether or not they had “good values.” Also, Danielle won the award for Person Who Came Farthest, all the way from Alaska, so Josh from Queens, I am no longer going to feel like you really went out of your way to attend these things.

Last weekend I flew home to Tulsa and surprised my dad for his 60th birthday party. While I was there I got to meet the new love of my life, Henry Guy Byrne, who took a nap on my lap while his dad and I watched the TU-OU game on TV, and then I watched his mom wash his butt in the sink. I really couldn’t ask for more from a visit.

I told my dad and brother I was seeing someone new.

Then I had to be like, whoa, whoa, whoa, guys, it’s cool, he’s our religion: Whiskey.

If you want to see more pictures from this, they’re on my Flickr. I have to go now, because my Thai food is here, but I’ll try to be a little better about updating from now on. No promises though, so try not to get all weird and chatroomy in the comments again, gaylords.

Copyright © 2001–2012 by sb
Powered by Movable Type