Saturday, November 12, 2011

Meanwhile, back at at the farm...

I'm writing over 1500 words a day for NaNoWriMo, and this blog has sadly fallen behind on account of that.  I'll try to get better at it.  For now, though, in lieu of actual content, enjoy this conversation between my best friend & I on iMessage:

I said it seemed that X had named her daughter the WASPyest name she could find.

Ah, and that would be spot on.
L___ and S____...Golden Retrievers, or Irish Setters?

I know, right?
 Well-bred doggies, anyway.
My aunt, Mamie, who is 94 (and who I thought was dead) is ill.

It probably is a bad thing when you tell everyone your baby's name and they start talking about the family pooch they had with that name.

Oh?  I've had a few relatives like that.

I am endlessly amazed how long people in my family hang on.  Given the decades of smoking, drinking and high say nothing of a diet composed almost entirely of bacon, it's a miracle she's even moving.

Yes, exactly--it's like naming your child Max, Scout, or Get out of my azaleas.
Which, incidentally, would be the name of Demi's next child, if she were not currently 67 years old.
Oh, have you noticed what S____ E____ named her chilluns?

Uh-oh.  No.  What?
Hold on.  Gotta look it up again to ensure I get the spelling/punctuation correct.
E'M___-A___, E'L___-J___, & E____.

Uh, huh?
I have a sudden headache, and I am never sending them birthday cards--well, maybe to J___.

I can't help but wonder if E___ will feel cheated out of an apostrophe when she grows up.
E'L___-J___, you mean.

I think she'll just be glad people don't mistake her for an app.

LOL.  I need to figure out if snails will go well with sautèed portabello on a salad.  It'll be like they're playing in a garden.  As they did before the dirty Frenchman took them away.
Her name should totes be like E'M___-Shanique or something.

OMG, that needs to be your Facebook status.

The Shanique would need a hyphen, apostrophe, or umlaut.

No, not as the second name.
True, true.

We have two watermelons.  
I have a vague desire to do my Pandora Peaks impersonation.

You need fried chicken.  Some racist stereotypes are yummy.

I wholeheartedly agree, but we only get fried chicken on Tuesdays, when a two-piece is 99 cents at Chatman's.

They have some damn good yardbird.

They do indeed.

This watermelon is like sex on the beach.

Fermented and headache-inducing?

Really sweet and totally regrettable.

(We'll be here all week.  Try the veal.  Or the chicken, if it's Tuesday.)

1 comment:

Suz said...

Flashback to the dinner table when I was growing up!

You both understood the entire conversation, didn't you?