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More than a nun, less than a paid professional.

Issue Date: Tuesday, Feb. 06, 2007

It is so gorgeous outside today. I actually left the building during my scheduled lunch hour. I went to the bank and picked up take out from Taco Bell (mmm healthy), but that isn’t important. What is, is this. It is currently 3 degrees in Green Bay. And according to Jim (what I have cleverly named the little weather channel at the bottom of the 3tacon page. See? Here, say “Hi” to Jim. Scroll down a bit.) it feels like -9 degrees. NEGATIVE NINE.

According to the weather channel doohickey on it is 69 degrees in Dallas. And it feels like… 69 degrees. If you know what I mean, and I think you do; you little cheeky monkey.

So. Negative nine huh?

When the weather gets like this (this = San Diego-ish) in Dallas people want to be outside. Everyone is walking to lunch. There are motorcyclists tooling around en masse. When the weather gets nice, and believe you me… it is a very short window. Texas goes from nice/chilly to wishing-you-could-take-off-your-skin hot in about four hours. That will probably happen the weekend I am in Green Bay for the 3tacon, I will leave wearing a sweater and the lime green wool pimp hat* so my head will not freeze clean off and come home to people wearing flip flops with red sweaty faces.

*I totally got a lime green pimp hat. My mother picked it out and I love it. I will be shunned… or commended; it could go either way really.

Y’all have read (orrrr… maybe not) about my history with motorcycles in the past… and my proclivity for being sorta** slutty.

**We’re speaking in relative terms here. Don’t judge me.

Seriously. This ties in together somehow.

Bear with me.

So I was riding around today during my lunch hour and I went to this branch of my bank that I have not visited before to make a deposit. There were motorcycles in front of me, motorcycles in back of me, several motorcycles passing other cars on the broken white line (STUPID) and about twelve parked at this shop (::cough::pawn shop::cough::) that I passed. I blinked and looked up at the shop’s sign while at a red light. And then I remembered. I dated*** a guy that worked there.

***We met at a dance club, used to email, talk on the phone, go dancing and have a lot of sex. If that is what you want to call dating. And for this example, I think it works just fine thankyouverymuch****.

****Shut up.

And in my head I was all, “Oh… no… did I include him on the list? Shit.”

So there I was, driving around North Dallas counting with my fingers the people on the list. I was thinking about what my parents would say if they knew. Hell, I wonder what I would say if they ever asked me, “So, before you married Mister and you were previously married to X, and that guy we caught sending you love letters in highschool…” My mother interjecting, “[Dad’s name], those were total porn letters.” “Okay, so they were porn letters and you probably slept with him… how many men have you been with?”

First off. I would run screaming. Because, ew. And secondly, I don’t think I would be quick enough to say, “More than a nun, less than a paid professional.” I would totally want to use the word “hoor” (who-er) instead of paid professional, but again… um. Ew.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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