My fortune cookie...
... said I was all these wonderful things. "You are kind, smart, etc...." Then it said, "Prove it."
Why are the fortune cookies being so mean to me? The last one I got said, "Come back later... I am sleeping."
I knew cookies were bad for me. I proved THAT! HA!
Stupid cookies.
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If you're a dork...
... like me, you might be interested to know that New Kids on the Block
is coming to a city near you!!! Yes, folks, NKOTB will be in Dallas on
October 19 at the American Airlines Center. They're also going to be in
Houston and San Antonio around that time as well.
I'll be loving you foreeeeeeeeeeeevveeeeerrrrrrrrrrrr....
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Suckage...
The last two blogs on my MySpace blog subscription page are, "Who sucks?" followed
by "Wheat sucks". Ha! My blog subscriptions are talking to each other...
Yes, I know it takes little to amuse me. And I'm okay with that.
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The story of how we found out that Mr. Gimmme was not gay....
I rarely use email for anything other than communicating with friends and relatives. I'm not all about forwarding everything that finds its way to my inbox. However! Once in a while I find something that strikes my fancy and turns me into a giggling lunatic so I pass that along to others hoping they might experience the overwhelming joy I latched onto, if only for a moment. The following is something that I not only have mass emailed but feel the need to create a blog post for. If I sent you the email, you may skip this one. BUT ONLY THIS ONE!
The following is an excerpt from a blogger,
Miss Doxie.
The story of how we found out that Mr. Gimmme was not gay....I know I have referenced, but never actually told, the story of How We Found Out That Mister Gimmme Was Not Gay. Here is the conclusion part of that story: Mister Gimmme (a sweet dapple dachsund) is not gay. We learned this back when this painfully (painfully) beautiful man was living with me a few days a week. (Score!) This guy was a good friend of ours who was going to school in Athens; during his last summer there, he landed journalism internships at both Southern Voice and Creative Loafing. Each job only required him to work in Atlanta one day a week, which was good; what was bad, however, was that they didn't really pay, so he also had to keep working in Athens. He couldn't afford to rent a place in Atlanta in addition to his place in Athens, so he was going to have to drive back and forth. So, I declared that to be ridiculous and told him to shut the hell up and live in one of my guest rooms already. And that is how I ended up with a Gay House Boy. And how he ended up with that nickname is because that is how he answered the phone.
So, [Gorgeous] Gay House Boy spent the summer with me, during which he and I had more fun than is even reasonable. He was the one who came up with the Swan Drinking Game, you guys! Where we had to drink to "journey", "transformation", and "princess"! That pretty much started the movement, right there. He was a pioneer! A very gorgeous pioneer.
But, anyway. So, GHB loved the dogs, but he was particularly fond of Mister Gimmme. He carried Gimmme everywhere. Like, Gimmme does possess legs, but when GHB was there, Gimmme did not have to use them, ever, because GHB would walk in, pick Mister Gimmme up, and the two of them would cuddle together on the sofa all night long. Gimmme loved GHB, and would start hopping in little circles every time the door opened and GHB emerged. It was GHB and Mister Gimmme, all the time, and their love was pure and true.
On GHB's last night with me, we threw him a huge going-away thing. As I was gathering all the dogs to go upstairs to bed, he asked me, very shyly, if it would be okay if he slept with Gimmme that night. And of course, I was like, "Oh, please, PLEASE, FEEL FREE."
So GHB carried Gimmme upstairs, and Gimmme was wagging and filled with great happiness, just apoplectic with ecstasy. GHB and Gimmme disappeared into his guest room, I hopped into bed with my crew, and off we all went to sleep.
Less than six minutes later, I was startled to hear an enormous crash, as something smacked hard into my bedroom door. It flew open, and I jerked upright to see Mister Gimmme -- who had apparently headbutted his way into the room -- scramble across the floor, bounce off the back wall, and ricochet in the direction of the closet, all at maximum Gimmme speed.
While I was trying to make sense of this utterly ridiculous spectacle, GHB appeared in the doorway, soaking wet and looking frazzled.
"?" I said to GHB, as crashing sounds emenated from the closet, where Gimmme had apparently knocked over an entire hamper of coat hangers.
"Gimmme," GHB panted, "is NOT GAY."
Turns out, he was right. Oh, sure, Mister Gimmme was just fiiiiiine with the cuddling, kisses, and snuggly. But as soon as GHB climbed into bed with him, shirtless, and curled up next to Mister Gimmme, the two brain cells that live in Gimmme's head collided, and it occurred to him that maybe he had been giving off the wrong signals, because GIMMME DO NOT LIKE GHB THAT WAY. And so, in total heterosexual fashion, he COMPLETELY freaked out, peed all over GHB, and made a break for it, tearing blindly down the hallway before slamming headfirst into the safety of THE ROOM WHERE THE STRAIGHT PEOPLE ARE.
"I think he committed a hate crime on you!" I told GHB, as a still-reeling Gimmme knocked over the trash can in the bathroom. "I think he committed a hate crime on the sheets," GHB responded.
And, that is how we found out that Mister Gimmme was not gay. He was just experimenting! It was an experimental time! Everyone does that in college!
