While I'm away, Comrade is playing the role of me in Harvard Square.
Insomnia Cookie Employee 1, eating a cookie his coworker just made: "This is underbaked, m'dude."
Insomnia Cookie Employee 2: "They're the best that way. Insomnia cookies is the top of the underbaked cookie game."
Comrade: "Insomnia Cookies , where the cookies are less baked than the staff."
Last week, someone left a benign but positive comment on one of my Goodreads review (on a post several years old). They started following my reviews, so I decided to check out their profile.
Y'all. I've said something like this before about a couple of different writers. If you are in your thirties, it's time to let go of the Creative Writing Award you won in elementary school. Maybe you don't need to mention that your summer camp newsletter published one of your stories. But if you are going to list a series of twenty year old accomplishments that rank up their with "Mom used a magnet to stick this to the fridge", please Please please pay attention to your Point Of View. I cringe everytime I read "Ploppalina Dunt's first poem 'The Bright Light Makes The Sky Cry' was posted on her third grade classroom bulletin board for three days in 1992. Her short story about my time learning how to swim at summer camp made it into the camp newsletter. That same story was voted third runner up in her elementary school lit journal, which I edited."
She is Relentlessly positive. I mentioned to Comrade that on a scale of zero to five, the average score she gave to books was Five.
He later texted me, "I just went down the Ploppalina rabbit hole and found The Most Positive Review I've ever seen. She gave a guide to birds Five stars, with the following review: 'I never actually received my copy of Guide To Birds, but I bet if I had, it would have been wonderful.' I didn't know how to process that, and had to turn my computer off and go for a walk."
I am being sincere when I say that I can't wait to read more of her reviews.
It is with a heavy heart, and an even heavier fist that I must announce that Comrade and I are breaking up.*
No, there was no theft of organs, no pretending one of his parents was dead when they were really alive, no hot positive loads of cheating. Nay.
I think you will all agree that, in The Year Of The Shitlord 2021, nobody should be subjected to repeated performances of "Winter Wonderland" in the style of Fred Schneider from The B-52s. I had to draw the line somewhere.
* - We're not breaking up.
Two-thirty AM is a terrible time for your partner to discover they can do a pitch perfect Miss Piggy impersonation.
The "Gay Cake" we ordered had a RYOBGV center instead of a ROYGBV center, so we almost didn't eat it.
Luckily, there is a homemade apple pie, and a homemade pumpkin pie which are, hopefully, delicious.
I can't remember what the phrase on the menu was that had Comrade and I discussing Worst Possible Drag/Porn Star Names, but my contribution was "Squelchy Donuts".
Not only is that NOT a Googlewhack, it's both a description that an actual bakery uses to entice people to buy their actual donuts, and also, unsurprisingly, part of adjective noun spam for adult sites that will absolutely steal your personal info.
But also, a porn star whose work one should never have to encounter. Or, a drag performer who is probably utterly delightful.
We've been waiting for an email from Comrade's Aunt Wendy about a couple of night stands she might want to give to us. A few minutes ago, Comrade said "Oh, her email got caught in my spam folder. Oh. This is Not From Aunt Wendy."
From: Wendy <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Date: November 1, 2020 at 7:45:57 PM EST
To: "Comrade" <Comrade@hotmail.com>
Subject: You're not leaving here until I suck your dick.
I am Ksenia. Everything I really need вЂ“ it is to bring an end to this dull solitude, I need unique feelings: I can't be alone further. At the moment, I went through a range of a problem days, and I need a assist. I can give you anything you want: my delightful new tits, my impressive body figure, and many other things! Discover this inside my profile. I am willing to lick you!
My reply: So I guess we're only getting a One Night Stand?
Comrade: What would it take for you to get rid of Selina, so we can get a dog?
Me: Selina loves dogs, and dogs ... some dogs tolerate Selina.
Comrade: But she's The Worst cat.
Me: She's not the worst.
Selina runs into the kitchen, jumps on the table, knocking a full tub of duck sauce on my lap and the floor, then runs back out.
Me: I fucken hate that cat.
Comrade: Just think how much better ANY dog woud be.
Me: Well, not Any Dog. But ... yea, most dogs.
Selina runs into the overturned duck sauce, and runs out again.
I grab some paper towels and start cleaning up the duck sauce. "Can you ... put her in the other room while I clean this."
Comrade tries to corner Selina, she runs into the bedroom. Comrade goes into bedroom, Selina runs into the living room. Comrade goes into the living room, Selina runs back to the bedroom. Comrade begins squawking like a chicken and running at her, full speed. Selina runs into the office (aka The Cat Room), and Comrade shuts the door behind her.
Me: Thank you.
Comrade: Do I get some sort of reward?
Me: I'm going to slather you in duck sauce and--
Comrade: No. That is not something I'm going to do for you.
Me, invading his personal space: Quack for me.
Comrade: I've been meaning to ask you ... what do you think about having a more open relationship?
On our way home from our first night out since the pandemic hit (Rosebud Diner for delicious night time breakfast foods), an SUV rolled by us, and the driver stuck their head out the window and just screamed like they were on fire.
Dude: "ME, TOO!"
The driver gave us the thumbs up, and kept driving.
Me, to MF Goose: What's up, jerk?
Comrade: Why is she a jerk? She's the good one!
She jumps up and knocks over all of my Scrabble tiles.