Clareified

Why oh why can’t I just pull the plug on Eli and go with Vick full time…sigh.

So who will have a bigger game Manning vs. Dallas or Vick vs. the PaleFaces?

We may soon have a new answer for the age-old, how many trips to Las Vegas can Dawn take in a year.

A new and painfully tragic answer.

These days my brain is just a swirl of thoughts and plans and regrets and hopes and vengeances and stories and worries and vengeances, hmm…did I say that one already?
I have so much to say, yet have no idea where to start?
Wow, did my Thanksgiving suck…apologies to those of you who commented, but I just can’t so much as look at it again. I wouldn’t have even written it, but for the fact that I know someday I will wonder why I gave up Thanksgiving and I’ll need a nice black and white reminder.
Fortunately, just as I got a good wallowing in my own self pity and wine coolers momentum going, there was a knock on the door. Or a doorbell.
Now, seeing as I had cleared my schedule for a weekend of moping and solitude, I wasn’t expecting anyone.
So I got real quiet. Unfortunately, my plasma was blaring the X-men Part 3 DVD that I had to rent again cause I wasn’t paying attention during the last scene and didn’t stay till after the credits for the extra extra last scene.
The bell rang again.
I got up to peek through the hole, hoping it was some sort of “we found this envelope downstairs and think it belongs to you” kind of emergency.
It was Karol.
I thought about my options after “go away” failed. I finally opened the door.
I made that demonic hissing sound as I shielded my eyes from the flourescent lighting in the hallway.
“Come on, we’ll play cards! Drink! It’ll be fun!”
Awesome.
I shuffled around, while she incessantly prodded me to get out of my pajamas. And possibly shower.
I glared.
And went back to my movie and the cutting of hair.
“Seriously, Guy. Clothes. Clothes would be good here.”
I shuffled off to my bedroom and showered and changed. Double checked my day planner to verify that I hadn’t forgotten any crazy Karol plans.
Nope. I was totally free to mope.
I drank a quart of deliciously delicious raspberry beer which some magical houseguest of mine must have left for me and Karol opened a bottle of wine.
She offered me some, but I declined because well, that girl loves her wine.
I needed a bit of cooking wine for something and I asked her to drink some of the wine and leave me enough to cook with…well, after three hours the bottle was done and I needed to open a second bottle to cook with!
Lush!
But after a few hours of drinking and losing at cards, we played one last game, the winner of which would decide what we did for the rest of the night.
“Sleep and watch Beaches” lost to driving out to Besonhurst to go to a club.
But that plan lost out to driving away from the squad car parked in front of the club.
We ended up at her mom’s house to hang out with her brother and his friends, where she proceeded to beat me at cards again.
That’s it, we are going to find people that I can beat at cards tonight, if it kills me!
Sure enough, by the night’s end –circa 4 in the morning, after a lucrative night out and about playing cards and hanging out, I couldn’t believe I had almost wasted a perfectly cromulent three day weekend moping around in my pajamas.
And I was grateful that Karol was there to get me out and gambling again. I’m not really the warm, affectionate sort, but I did want to say that after all these years, I really do love…poker.
I mean, honestly.

but I don’t see me doing another 49,811 words in three days, so I present to you, my novel. All 189 words of it.

“Where is she Ms. Perez? We know that you called her from your cellphone 4 days ago.”
I had “volunteered” to speak to the detectives when they raided the Dungeon… five… no six hours ago. I haven’t eaten in two days and I am still wearing the same embroidered jeans and Harvard Crew T-shirt that I’ve had on since Saturday night.
I slowly sip the glass of water in front of me.
“I don’t know. I called and left her a message asking her to call me. She didn’t. And I don’t know where she is now.”
“Ms. Perez…Louisa…may I call you that?”
I sit still. My eyes are trained on the glass. He accepts my silence as permission.
“Louisa…things will go much better for Thelma, for everyone, if you tell us where she is.”
I wince. God. Thelma? I barely remember that’s her real name. For as long as I’ve known her she’s been Chris – short for her middle name Christine – and a good thing too, our friendship would never have survived these past twenty years if we had to be known as Thelma and Louisa.
The horror.

So, what were you guys doing six months ago?

“That’s a rookie mistake” - Karol , when I had to call and ask her what my fake email address name was because I didn’t write it down.

But, regardless of age, the great minds who married virtually kissed goodbye to making any further glorious additions to their CV. Within five years of making their nuptial vows, nearly a quarter of married scientists had made their last significant contribution to knowledge.

“Scientists rather quickly desist [from their careers] after their marriage, while unmarried scientists continue to make great scientific contributions later in their lives,” said Kanazawa.

Cause after marriage all the creative energy goes into “how do I get out of this” plans.

via Karol

This is sooooooo me and Karol after the next klabbr game that she beats me in with the fake rules.

Didn’t see that coming, gotta say.

How good is Desperate Housewives. Best Show on Television.

Karol’s not the worst.