At last, honesty.
Last night was me and Mr. Zombie’s anniversary of our first date. Neither of us can remember the actual day, but it’s somewhere around now. Mr. Zombie thinks we should celebrate just our wedding date, none of this first date stuff, and the night was sort of a disaster, so I’m going to agree with that. First I spilled a bunch of beef with broccoli and then he spilled the lettuce wrap sauce. Now the whole bed smells like P.F. Changs. We ate in bed in case you hadn’t gathered that already. We had reservations for this fancy place in downtown Palo Alto. Then I got tired and lazy and took a bath and came downstairs in my robe and told him I didn’t want to go out. So he went out and got Chinese food which I spilled everywhere and he said, “Yum, now you smell like an Asian,” which sounds racist, but I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way. Then because he’s part Zombie he fell asleep and started snoring.
I had two fortune cookies, neither of which told me anything useful. One said something about opportunity knocking and the other was a dig about how I’m wasting my life. Those weren’t the exact words, but you know that’s the message. Right after that I spilled the beef with broccoli, which the fortune cookie should have predicted.
So then I started thinking about how fortune cookies could be so much better and that very clearly there is room in the marketplace for something more direct. I thought, hey I could make my own line of fortune cookies with helpful advice and predictions! Like, “Your boyfriend is cheating on you.” Or: “Pretty soon, you’ll get robbed.” Or: “There’s someone crouched down in the back seat of your car.” Wow, maybe opportunity is knocking I thought! But then I googled misfortune cookies and found this, which is exactly my idea. The fortune it gave me was “Armageddon is coming and you caused it,” which on the downside sounds pretty bad and on the upside seems to acknowledge I’m some kind of God. A wash, really.
Then I started thinking well maybe my fortune cookie was right about me wasting my life. So I googled How to Make Barbie Clothes from Socks and WTF, someone already thought of that too!
Fifth? Come on, I'm so clearly the best clothes-for-Barbie-out-of-socks designer.
But then I started clicking through the links and one of them further down the chain was this wiki how article, which features the helpful hint: “Cut straight,” and the dire warning: ”Get the right sock size! Knee high socks won’t fit a barbie doll.” Oh really? I should cut straight? Knee high socks won’t work on an 11.5 inch doll? I mean not to pull rank as the expert in the field or anything, but clearly I’m not wasting my life if this is my competition.
In any case, there are more ideas where those came from, trust me. Fake trips to space for rich people, for example. I have a few kinks to work out, but in the meantime, don’t anybody copy me.
{ 3 comments }
On the upside, now people will find your blog when they search how to dress their Barbie out of mismatched socks. Soon, you’ll have so many posts that people won’t mistakenly stumble upon your blog when their bed is riddled with bugs instead of Chinese sauces.
My husband won’t let us celebrate dating or engagement anniversaries since we got married. The only exception was this past July, when it was our 20-year dating anniversary. I got him a new iPod. He took me to dinner. Fair exchange?
Yes, the Armageddon one is strangely cheering. (And I just googled Armageddon to see if it should be capitalised. And that sort of thing is where all my time goes. But I knew ‘googled’ is lower-case.)
“There’s someone crouched down in the back seat of your car.” That one would pay for itself straight away.
My misfortune was: “He’s not your real father”.
Which (you’d know if you knew me ) is surprisingly apt.
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