« Poem of the Week | Main | Oh Yeah »

December 09, 2006



Glad to hear Jon's back on his feet and doing well.


Wait--Mrs. Friend Two? Is that new? I'm confused (although I agree with you--I can't text an exclamation point on a good day myself and if he could then more power to him, he'll be just fine).

Tragically Hip Single Mother

My name's actually Tragically Hip Single Mother, but if you read a ThanksEarly entry, you'll learn how I got my moniker.

Incidentally, tm's like a freaking drug pusher--when she was first telling me about her blog, she explained that everyone had pseudonyms, and said, sweetly, "I'd make one up for you, like Super Hip Single Mother." Shucks, thought I. It's like the first one was free, or something. Once she gets you addicted to this blog, she can make merry with the monikers!


Off to the Opry. I'm planning to lapse into a diabetic coma later this evening on account of all the FRICKIN' CANDY YOU LEFT OVER HERE!!

Terrible Mother

Oh, Things Two and Three are four kinds of insane right now, and I'm about to crash as we speak (or as I type, natch) because of the combination of high-carb party food/candy from this afternoon. My stomach is all shrimp and hershey's kisses. Blech. I blame you and Bling Melon.

Liza, the names can be confusing, but once I have the Acme Super Improved Cast of Characters List up and running, it should be easier to follow.

Hi M.

Friend R

"Glad to hear Jon's back on his feet and doing well."

Well, on his foot, anyway...

Have a great Christmas!


speaking of that legend, i see i am still persona non grata here, not even ranking as an uncredited extra.

i was so distraught by this that i went ahead and ate the birthday cake i made for you.

Terrible Mother

Well, fuck me.

You people and your demands!

Sorry, I've only had 8 cups of coffee today instead of my regular 13.


I don't have any secrets. My face is an open book. Or, my face is a face that you can read like an open book, assuming the book is written in a language you're fluent in reading.

So you see, what Thing One is describing is an issue of decoding. The formula works as follows:

Friend Two's half-smile=
open book=
benign compassion=

And that's the last word on that. You can tell Thing One I said so, though she'd probably hold up both hands, make quotations in the air, and say sarcastically:

"oh, yeah, riiight--
'Stunningly handsome'?"

Terrible Mother

A little metro? A little? A LITTLE?

It's like metro globs off of you in thick, gooey strands, affixing themselves to anything that will hold still long enough to put on black square glasses or nonchalantly wear a turquoise sweater with the tightest jeans ever made, ever.


Never worn a turquoise sweater.

A turquiose ring, perhaps.

And turquoise necklace.

And sometimes a turquiose belt with matching wing-tip shoes. And earrings. And BMW.

And if that were true, beyond never having had a sweater and having a ring, I'd go get in my BMW and drive, drive, drive away into the sunset blowing cute little metro kisses.

As it is, I suppose me and my size 29 levis will remain unpretentiously seated on '96 Subaru seat-fabric.

Also: for the record, it's not my fault I look like I do. I'm vaguely ethnic and unfortunately elfish. I'm muscular because I have a dark, sordid past as a collegiate athlete. I'm manneristic because I just can't help it-- "there's a way in which," I talk and move, and it's how I am, without artifice or affectation. You could put me in hammer-pants and 80's GAP and I would still look more pretty than anything else. To quote Tim-Tim: "The reason you seem metro is you're well-dressed and well-spoken. And those are the two gayest things ever."

The comments to this entry are closed.