Tell You [a] Little Story

I'm writing from the grand state of Utah, where someone forgot to alert the authorities about it being Spring. Just today, I traversed the grander state of Idaho, learned from Elliot about manitees and mermaids and how people sometimes get them confused; discussed with Aaron if bad people really know they're bad or if, as he thinks, they think they're good and the good people are bad; cleaned up two poopy messes and one vomity mess, or rather, lent support to my husband while he cleaned it up. And more, much more. Now I'm going bowling.

Dear Mark, And you think blogging is pointless! I just won a(nother) bag! Dear Sarah, Isn't that funny that we were just talking about this tonight? Do you think I can pull off red patent leather? I don't know. We had fun at the hockey game. Thanks for taking us.

We've been hearing--from lots of people, actually--that this man we know has been at it again: calling, showing up at people's houses at all hours of the night in a state of paranoia. We've seen him like this before, a couple years ago, but we had effectively removed ourselves from his inner circle of go-to contacts, and he adopted other, more loving and compassionate people, to turn to when times got tough. They get tough a lot. Last night it was our turn again. One o'clock in the morning. Phone rang. It took me a groggy minute to realize who was on the phone. "Emily, They are trying to steal my truck again." "Who is trying to steal your truck?" "THEY are. I know exactly who it is. They're watching it. They want my truck." "Call the police." (Probably this is what a lot of people tell him to do. He sounded exasperated.) "The police won't do anything until they actually steal it! They are trying to steal my truck!...

Hello, 88 degrees. Hello, swimsuits. Good morning, going swimming. Goodbye, friend who asked me this weekend if I wanted to go on Weight Watchers with her. Hello, I'm quite happy with my body just the way it is. Goodbye, white, pale skin. Hello, goodbuy, good ad campaign by Target. Hi, that reminds me I need to go to Target. Goodbye, I'm late for my appointment with the sunshine.

I'm just busting out some Kenny Rogers on my dual tape deck. Makes me want to play Tetris. (I'm so living in the 80s.)

I'm too tired to do justice to this post. But if you were here, or if I was talking to you on the phone, I would tell you to look on page 81 of this week's Newsweek and tell me who that skinny girl with the glasses was. You wouldn't have the faintest idea (unless you have been reading People or watching Access Hollywood or something, which I haven't been doing). And I would say, "That's Star Jones." And you would say, "What!? Really? You are kidding me." And I would say, "Nope." Blogger is acting funny: I can't post pictures of her. But do an image search. It's crazy. Now I'm going to bed.

That's what Steve said once when, in college, I listed the singer as The Man of My Dreams in a spotlight questionnaire. R.E.M. is probably my favorite band of all time. Congratulations to them on a much-deserved induction!