I Can Believe it's Not Butter
A very insightful advice columnist once said, "People would rather be right than happy." A lot of decisions and choices people make are because it is the "right" thing to do, or a fight with a friend takes a turn for the worse because they so want to be right. Can the two co-exist? Is it too early in the day to get introspective and if so, since when did 1:00 PM become too early in the day?
My friend Annabelle from San Francisco recently walked from an unsteady relationship with someone she cared a lot about, and asked me today if it was fair to the guy. I asked her if she was happier. She said yes. I said, then don't waste my minutes bitch, and don't ever call before noon. Click. That's me hanging up the phone. And I felt bad, because talking her through it would be the right thing to do, but I'm happier I got that extra hour of sleep.
Okay, so maybe there is something to be said about doing the right thing. I've sort of been seeing this guy, Andrew. I never made a move when he had a girlfriend- right thing to do. I really like him a lot though, and it frightens me. First of all, we can't have sex, because I'm taking this contract my friends made me sign seriously. He says he understands, but we almost slipped the other night. I wonder if there is a loophole for lovemaking. I'll have to ask Jean. I also don't want to screw this up. I'm kind of falling for him. Shut up, Bloggie, I know how I sound.
So Bonnie still doesn't know who the baby's father is. I'll tell you, this is borderline ridiculous. Greg called me the other day to ask my advice on something. He wanted to know if Bonnie would think naming the baby after his grandmother was stupid. Something about Jewish tradition. I said, "Sure... depends on who the grandmother is." It just slipped. Luckily he said, "Oh, my father's side". Whew. Unfortunately her name is Ethel. I wonder what Richard's grandmother's name is? Probably something beautiful, like Rose. That's a good name.
Jean is tripping on the fact that Nathan might be the one. Like, the real one. Some psychic said something to her about it. I told her, look, it's like butter versus processed dairy spread. You know the real from the fake. If you take two hot pieces of toast and put butter on one and processed dairy spread on the other, the butter melts. Jean's been melting for weeks. I often accept toast with the other stuff and pretend it's butter. F@#k that, I want some real butter, goddamnit. And not even that Hotel Bar Butter bullshit, I'm talking real, old school, comes straight from an udder and skimmed off the top from some hot farm hand in overalls, churned by a Quaker, straight to the bowl with a little spoon of sea salt, Euro style. And I also want some fresh bread. Okay, it occurred to me I forgot to eat breakfast.
Later, Bloggie.
My friend Annabelle from San Francisco recently walked from an unsteady relationship with someone she cared a lot about, and asked me today if it was fair to the guy. I asked her if she was happier. She said yes. I said, then don't waste my minutes bitch, and don't ever call before noon. Click. That's me hanging up the phone. And I felt bad, because talking her through it would be the right thing to do, but I'm happier I got that extra hour of sleep.
Okay, so maybe there is something to be said about doing the right thing. I've sort of been seeing this guy, Andrew. I never made a move when he had a girlfriend- right thing to do. I really like him a lot though, and it frightens me. First of all, we can't have sex, because I'm taking this contract my friends made me sign seriously. He says he understands, but we almost slipped the other night. I wonder if there is a loophole for lovemaking. I'll have to ask Jean. I also don't want to screw this up. I'm kind of falling for him. Shut up, Bloggie, I know how I sound.
So Bonnie still doesn't know who the baby's father is. I'll tell you, this is borderline ridiculous. Greg called me the other day to ask my advice on something. He wanted to know if Bonnie would think naming the baby after his grandmother was stupid. Something about Jewish tradition. I said, "Sure... depends on who the grandmother is." It just slipped. Luckily he said, "Oh, my father's side". Whew. Unfortunately her name is Ethel. I wonder what Richard's grandmother's name is? Probably something beautiful, like Rose. That's a good name.
Jean is tripping on the fact that Nathan might be the one. Like, the real one. Some psychic said something to her about it. I told her, look, it's like butter versus processed dairy spread. You know the real from the fake. If you take two hot pieces of toast and put butter on one and processed dairy spread on the other, the butter melts. Jean's been melting for weeks. I often accept toast with the other stuff and pretend it's butter. F@#k that, I want some real butter, goddamnit. And not even that Hotel Bar Butter bullshit, I'm talking real, old school, comes straight from an udder and skimmed off the top from some hot farm hand in overalls, churned by a Quaker, straight to the bowl with a little spoon of sea salt, Euro style. And I also want some fresh bread. Okay, it occurred to me I forgot to eat breakfast.
Later, Bloggie.
posted by Tempy at 1:07 PM
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