Something About Fudge

 

Audrey’s famous Friendsmas party and cookie exchange is this weekend, which means we’ve got a sitter for the pets (a new one—you know her, actually… she’s the cultist from this story and sometimes I think they like her more than me) and we’re making the drive up to Wisconsin.  Which seems like a lot for a one day event, but you’ve never had those amazing truffles my new mom makes.

 

(HIMYM) Ted and Marshall singing "I Would Walk 500 Miles" in the car

 

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His Fluffer

 

As I mentioned last week, my friend’s epic birthday party gave us an excuse for a mini road trip. 

 

I know some people avoid long drives, but our relationship more or less began in the car—that sounded dirty, but I swear only everything else I say is—and so for us a long drive is like a repeat of that first date.

 

Which is why I’m not going to tell you about Audrey’s party—you’ll get nothing from me on the beautiful food (tapas, because she’s adulting on a whole ‘nother level) or how drunk I got or the demonstrations from an even drunker ER nurse that had us all laughing until someone spilled red wine (which was weird, because we were all drinking vodka.)

 

Instead, I want to share yet another of our car convos, because I feel we are at our most us when we’re trapped in a car all day. 

 

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The GPS Strategem

 

Some marriages rot from within – I’ve seen it happen, due to lack of communication or fundamental conflict of values, deep underlying resentments – some are sabotaged by “friends” or family members who honestly believe they’re working in the best interests of one or both parties.

 

I have come to the conclusion that there is a GPS conspiracy, hard at work against my marriage.

 

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On His Best Behavior

 

I’m working from the library again today.  I like writing in libraries and bookstores, surrounded by literally all the words; genius and mediocrity, all of it poured out on the page and bound up in that sacred form… so many hopes and dreams realized, and some truly great writers who – at least, this is what I tell myself so that I can sleep at night – never lived up to their own standards.

 

Libraries are a bit nicer, though, because I don’t feel pressured to buy anything.[1]

 

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Not Pony Tails or Cotton Tails

 

Well, dear devoted followers, it is done.

 

Not Dishonored 2, I spent twenty goddamned hours trying to ghost my way through one mission (you’ll know it if you’ve been there) and then tried to peel my own face off when I saw my Final Stats screen reporting that two bodies had been found.  I am still debating whether to lodge a formal complaint about that, because it’s bullshit.  There’s no way any of those bodies were found.  No.  Fucking.  Way.  Someone would have had to have been moving furniture, and that’s just not a thing that underpaid guards who have muttered arguments with themselves over whether they know the whole alphabet do on their nightly rounds of a creepy-ass mansion.   Basically, if any of you happen to know someone at Bethesda, let them know that I’m looking for them, that I want answers, and that I know a good hiding spot with room for another twenty or thirty bodies, easy.

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