I’m so sorry.
Just one this week, and all depressing. Skip it if you like; I won’t judge.
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Any Given Sunday
In case you’ve been wondering—and you have, don’t even try to deny it, it’s basically all you think about—Offspring and I are still playing Ark.
Every Sunday, actually; we have a weekly gaming date to catch up (we usually talk and text the rest of the week but he doesn’t always have time for his mom) and just have fun together.
Plus it gets me out of some really boring weekend chores and errands, which is just all kinds of bonus.
You won’t find us out in any of your worlds, of course, because while two only children can share a game with each other, (just barely) asking us to share with strangers is madness. No, we’ve got our own server for our little tribe, and even invited Husband to join… he mostly plays on his own, of course.
I think we scare him.
My Liar
Though we haven’t met, we’ve been together long enough now that you’ve formed certain impressions of me.
You are, for example, aware of my flair for the dramatic.
You might have correctly assumed, from my passionate departure from the world each autumn, that dressing up and doing creepy shit is literally what keeps my heart beating.
Thus you are forgiven your surprise at the following factoid: I have never attended a murder mystery.
Correction: I hadn’t. Until Audrey hosted one.*
MiB International: My Favorite DELETED SCENES
If you’re a fan of conspiracy theories, or sexually motivated aliens, or monochromatic swagger, then you’ve probably already seen Men in Black: International.
But you haven’t seen the deleted scenes… yet.
My darlings, I went to bat for every single one of these gems. I begged, pleaded, and—I’m not proud—offered myself to Chris Hemsworth to get these scenes into the theatrical release. But I was overruled… and escorted out of the building, because apparently forging a security pass is a “serious offense” or whatever.
They can’t erase my memories!* Or my notes, which I scribbled furiously for your benefit. So here, in no particular order, are my favorite deleted scenes from Men in Black: International
All Clear! (sort of)
Two weeks ago I warned you I was starting something you might not enjoy reading, and promised to give an “all clear” when it was over.
This is it. If you read along with me, you’re all caught up; if you skipped, it’s safe to come out now.
For those who made the journey, I’m sorry it didn’t have a more satisfactory ending. Believe me, I wish it all could have ended with my father here in my city with all the lovely oxygen and humidity, growing stronger every day and building a new relationship with the daughter he spent decades discarding and disregarding.
But, as I warned you in the beginning, this was not a work of fiction; Real Writers write lovely novels with satisfying endings—I can recommend a few, if you’re feeling emotionally battered.
For those who skipped this bit, I can’t promise you won’t see anything about it in the weeks to come: it’s all still very raw around here, and Husband and I are dealing with shit the way we do: by talking, constantly, and by making jokes about it when we can. So if you run across an unfamiliar reference or character, there will be a link and you will have a choice to make. Fortunately, all of the dire stuff is titled by Chapter, so if the link reads, Chapter #### when you hover over it, you know what you’re getting in to.
We will now enjoy a brief recess while I come up with something fun and silly to get us back on track.
And possibly reconsider my stance on day drinking alone.
Chapter Fifteen: The End
Deserve is the most useless word in our language, and should be removed from the common lexicon.
I’ve been reading and hearing it a lot lately;
- You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.
- You deserved better parents.
- I don’t deserve to be spoken to like that.
- I deserve to know.
- I deserve to choose.
But here’s the thing: that word doesn’t matter. Deserving something, believing you deserve it, having hoards of people say you deserve it, doesn’t change shit.
You get what you get.
As my father used to point out to me on a near-daily basis: life isn’t fair.
Chapter Fourteen: Redux
Jan stayed with a friend my last night in Colorado, so I had the house—and her cat—to myself.
I nursed my hurt with sweet tea and tater tots, waiting to get good and tired.
I fiddled with their remote, possibly breaking it, and finally got one channel in.[1]
I taught the cat new tricks.
I was waiting without knowing it.
The call came just before 1am.
