Clareified

The only good thing about that episode was that for the first time in a month and a half, I knew exactly why I felt like vomiting.
Fisch summed it up best when he said “our conversations are better than that.”
And trust me, our conversations aren’t that good.
I send you over to Gib’s site for good questions and season 2 spoilers.

But. Blech.

Fisch and I don’t play Scrabble as much as we used to…um play Scrabble. DAMN YOUUU dangling modifier rules, DAAAMMNNN YOOUUU.
We probably play once a week now, and inevitably, after a week’s absence, Fisch completely forgets that I sort of know what I’m doing now.
He’ll watch basketball on TV, talk on the phone, and then waste his Ks and Qs for a ridiculously low 12 or 15 points. Yesterday was no different. In the first game I amassed an insane 150 point lead after three or four turns…and then, inevitably, I figure, wow…I am AMAZING.
Unstoppable even.
And then Fisch will bingo with the word monarches through two letters hitting the triple.
But I will challenge! And I will be right!
And I will laugh and point and get lazy. I’ll score 8 points playing off an o for oi and on on doubles.
“Ok, Dawn…I’m down by a lot…I should probably concede…but…I dunno…let me see if I can get back in this.”
And then he’ll bingo on a double for chasers and suddenly it’s a sixty point game.
And then I’ll make the miraculous find of ‘earthier’ to bingo back and pull ahead again.
Until he plays endless for back to back bingos.
And of course, I’ve drawn a boatload of consonants. And I don’t mean the cuddly consonants like s or t or l or Jesus, even R. No, I mean, V B M C.
I’ll play Bam on the triple and he’ll correctly challenge my hook word.
HE THEN BINGOS AGAIN. (In that particularly annoying Fisch way, where he’ll just form “EDIT” and then go…”hmm…wait…and then add on the IONS for editions and make me cry.
He came back to win that game by 50.
But then.
We played again.
I was off to a slow start, so much so, that Fisch played a fake bingo on me early on: Dungies.
But the s was hanging on the triple line and I knew I could make him suffer, so I didn’t challenge. Instead, I played instates for the first triple triple since Fisch and I started playing. (I played bridgers once for a triple triple, but it wasn’t valid.)
I took the lead in the game.
I held it for a few turns before idiotically hanging an o over a triple line when Fisch had the z to make zone on the triple and go up by 50.
He challenged my “yoe” off the board and bingoed with freaking PIANIST to pull even further ahead, by the time there were three tiles left in the bag he was up by a hundred and in his full-on “Dawn, here’s what you did wrong in this game” mode. (Not challenging mudpit, for one thing). As he was talking, I was still staring at the dreaded q on my rack.
Ugh, he is so going to add “having the q on your rack at the end of the game” to the list.
And then I drew an i and an r on my last turn and took my shot.
I bingoed out playing requirer and PRAYED.
Fisch challenged it.
It was valid.
Now, my beating Fisch is not in and of itself blogworthy these days….it happens a good 40-60% of the time, if my math is correct.

But on this occasion, I won by bingoing out with tiles that formed two words: Requirer, which turned out to be good and Wer, which any third grader can tell ya, is no good.
But he didn’t see it and went for the wrong challenge.
And really the look on his face when I said “I can’t believe you didn’t challenge wer,” well, for everything else there’s Visa.
As he counted the points for ‘wer,’ he said “I feel so dirty.”
And then he told me that instead of losing the 100+ point blowout, I won by 19.
Ah, these have been good times.
Yes, yes they wer.

You are now moving into a more reclusive phase, perhaps using this time to rejuvenate your spirit and feed your imagination what it has been craving. Even if you aren’t able to escape from your real world responsibilities, make a plan to give yourself the quiet time that you need.

Fisch: You’re either a good friend or an evil bastard.
Me: A little from column A, A little from column B

“You’re even a drama queen in your sleep.” - Fisch

“I’m mad at everybody and everybody’s mad at me” - Nora

“I have a photographic memory, it’s just blurry.” - Alceste

“It’s like you just don’t expect anything from anyone anymore.” - Karol

Looks like Annika is really, really, really quitting blogging. Now I’m totally relying on Gib for my Fantasy Football picks now.

We’re sad.

I invented an awesome drink this weekend (The Jameson’s Irish Whiskey Strawberry Daquiri aka Dawn Summers’ Cure for what ails ya). It apparently allows you to be awake, but not even notice.

Dancing the macarena in barefeet and pajamas is wildly uplifting.

Alceste: I accidentally opened the power door in the back.
Me: What door?
A: The power door at the back.
Me: You mean the trunk?
A: It’s not a trunk in a SUV
Me: It’s in the back, our luggage is there, feels like a trunk, looks like a trunk, it’s a trunk.
F-train: You look like a trunk.

Much is made of Celie’s unattractiveness. She is essentially sold off by her father to a brutish husband as if she were a workhorse with a lame leg. LaChanze, though a skilled singer and actress, couldn’t disguise her natural beauty and poise. Fantasia possesses her own beauty, but it is more idiosyncratic, and as Celie she moves with the uneven amble of a woman trained at a young age to debilitating drudgery and a carelessness about her looks.

Reviewer calls Fantasia Fugly. That’s. Just. Not. Right.

But about the musical, I highly recommend everyone to see. I went with my mom right before the transit strike in NYC — wow, was that almost two years ago? D–yaaaamm. And it was amazing. I think I cried the whole second half and not the kind of tears I cried during the whole horrid second half of Tarazan.

Yes, yes we know Dawn is gay cause she cries at musicals.

She’d still cut you soon as look at you.

I am not a good planner. I am a good show upper.