A Wake-Up Shout, a Clone, and a Mad Hitman

I went to bed early in order to get a good eight hours of sleep and get up by 9, but was unfortunately awoken two hours earlier at 7:15 by the sounds of my extremely homophobic father shouting at Brother about what going to jail really means.


I am not hearing this, I thought, attempting to go back to sleep, but this, unfortunately, was not possible until about two hours later, so I ended up sleeping until about 11 anyway.

I had two dreams last night–well, this morning, really.  In the first, Cortney went home to Illinois to visit family for a bit, then came back and told me there was this guy there I just had to meet.  So I took her word for it, and she and Nicole and I went up to Illinois for about a week.

While there, we took a trip to Sam’s Club, or something similar to it, where there was this guy working whom Cortney had met and spoken to for a while.  He looked and talked exactly like The Mormon, and even had the same name.  That was why Cortney had wanted me to see him.

When she introduced me to him, he said, “This’ll sound really strange, but you look exactly like my girlfriend.”  How weird is that?  So we followed him around, and I kept trying to hold hands with him and stuff, and finally I just thought, Why don’t I?  This guy is The Mormon.

Then we were writing all the stuff we were going to purchase up on this chalkboard, because their cash registers were broken or something, and I woke up (to Dad’s yelling) trying to rub chalk off of my hands.

The next dream was after I went back to sleep; I dreamed that Michelle, Adrianna, Turtle, Peck, and I were all hitmen for…somebody.  I don’t know who.  And Turtle was also crazy–he deliberately killed the wrong guy, laughing all the while.  For some reason, that whole Christian group that we had over the summer was in the cafe again, and Turtle killed one of them.  So then whoever we worked for sent me after Turtle, but Turtle knew this and kept trying to shoot me.  (This took place in the parking garage at UNF.)  And he kept laughing maniacally–it was really freaky!

When I saw Turtle tonight, I said, “I had this dream you were trying to shoot me and kept laughing creepily.”

He said, “Is that why you looked at me funny at first?”

“That’s why,” I said.

Something else of interest, completely unrelated to dreams–remember how I was griping about the old van in the previous entry? So this guy came to the door just today offering to break it down so he could have the parts. He even had the wrecker right there. My dad wants to get pictures of us all in front of it first, since we’ve had it since the year I was born (he gets weirdly sentimentally attached to objects), but after that we’re going to call the guy and get rid of it. Cool how that works out, huh?

And that’s pretty much it on news/stories for today.


A Stressful Day with a Pleasant Ending

Brother went to court this morning, but they told him to come back at a later date.  Until then, he’s under house arrest.  They’re going to be calling here randomly every day to make sure he’s actually here, which means we have to be psychotic about answering the phone immediately when it rings.

Good old Psychobrat expressed her wish that he receive the harshest punishment they can contrive.

Everyone (except Psychobrat), obviously, is under a lot of stress.  Therefore, I didn’t get pissed off when my dad told me to move my car today.

See, we have only so much room in our driveway.  There’s the old blue van which we will never drive and never sell; it exists now solely to take up space in our driveway.  There’s my mom’s van, my dad’s car, Psychobrat’s car, and mine.  For certain reasons, namely:  1) I don’t want to get blocked in by Psychobrat’s car and not be able to go to work; 2) I’m the last one to leave every day and don’t want to block anyone else in, and 3) there simply isn’t room…I park on the street.  This is against the rules of the neighborhood Association.  My dad said today that he didn’t want to get a ticket or have a car towed, so I’d better move it into the driveway.

When I came back inside, completely calmly and rationally (it was, too, because I wasn’t pissed off at all–that was all him), I asked him if maybe he could tell Psychobrat to park her car on the road, since she’s the first one to leave every morning, and that just makes sense.

He snapped sarcastically back, “Yeah, you can’t talk to your sister, can you?”  What he meant by this, spoken in the nasty, evil tone that he used, was that all of the problems between her and me going back almost two decades are a result of my incompetence, and that she, the evil one, is completely blameless.  I know this is what he meant by it, because this is what he always means.  For some reason, my father favors my evil brat sister.

But today, I chose to play dumb, like I didn’t know he was giving me all credit for the rift.  I said, “No, I can’t.”

He said, “Yeah.  That’s part of the problem, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, it is.”

He’s just like Psychobrat.  He can never allow anyone the last word, so it gets ridiculous sometimes.

“Yeah.  That’s always been part of the problem, hasnt it.”

“Yeah, it has.”

“Yeah.  That’s always been a big part of the problem, hasn’t it.”

It was time to clarify that I was playing dumb, that I thought he was putting the blame on her.  “Yeah–nobody can talk to her,” I said casually, stalking out of the room as he chuckled, “That isn’t true,” in the same nasty voice, as though I am the only one who can’t talk to Psychobrat.

I went into my room and cried silent tears for several minutes.  I’m under stress, too, and the last thing I needed was to be reminded that he likes her better than me and always has and probably always will.

When he finally went back to work, I emerged from my room, saw Brother sitting in the living room, and started bitching at him about how it just wasn’t fair, why should he favor Psychobrat, yada yada yada, and Brother, the one who should be under more stress than anyone, calmly told me that that isn’t true (it is; even Mom has confirmed that when I flat-out asked her; but how sweet of him to try and tell me otherwise) and that it wasn’t all that bad.  I love my brother to pieces, even when he’s been totally stupid.

Then I got the story out of him.  He wore the same jeans two days in a row, and the second day (yesterday) forgot that his pocket knife was still in them from the previous afternoon.  Not wanting to be caught at school with it, he took it out and hid it under the bus seat to be retrieved after school.  Unfortunately, a few kids saw this and snitched, which led to a search of his locker.  Another knife was found in his locker, because it was part of his Boy Scouts stuff, and all of that was together in a backpack in the locker.  The marijuana pipe does not belong to him, but because he was stupid enough to allow dozens of untrustworthy people access to his locker combination, he has no idea whose it is.

Then he told me that Psychobrat has decided to leave MarioKart at Spidermonkey’s until I apologize for calling her Psychobrat.  That’s a lot of bullshit, first of all, because she was planning to leave it there anyway.  And second, why would she tell him this, not me?

But it doesn’t matter, because I’ve decided to just buy my own.  Then she can’t get it.

We had steak night at work today.  Normally this doesn’t really bother me, but as I was already in a pissy mood today, it kind of stressed me out more.  Steak night always draws larger crowds.

While I was at work, however, The Mormon left roses, black licorice, and a card for me at my front door.  Then he came over for like two hours to be with me and just make sure I was feeling better.  He’s so completely fantastic.

Jail and Jealousy

Bad news today, I’m afraid.

My totally awesome little brother whom I love was arrested after a knife and a marijuana pipe were retrieved from his locker.  He’s going to court tomorrow at 10:00.  Fun stuff, eh?  I don’t like this phase that he’s in.

Here’s something else noteworthy:  Milo is jealous of The Mormon.  How freaking great is that?  I told Michelle, Adrianna, and Dennis today, and while the girls laughed, Dennis high-fived me and said, “Way to go, Ginny, finally; it’s only been, what, two years now?”

“Five,” I corrected him.

“Even better!”

I fully intend to confront him about it.  I’ve been waiting to do it since I found out, but he has been conveniently unavailable.

Psychobrat, the $250 Hoop Skirt, and the Video Game

I’ve got some Psychobrat stories for you this morning.

First of all, Psychobrat, who demanded a car out of my parents, finally did get her way, of course.  And of course, she cannot afford to make the payments on it, so my parents are doing that for her.

But Psychobrat, who cannot afford her $150 car payments, also demanded a $250 prom dress from my parents, and got that, as well.  $250 she doesn’t have on a dress she will wear once.  It isn’t even attractive; it greatly resembles a hoop skirt.  (Just to show that I’m not being hypocritical here, my parents did buy me a car, but I have always made all of my own payments on it, and I used my own money to buy myself an $80 prom dress.)

So she’s been swishing around the house in her $250 hoop skirt, and I’ve been snickering behind my hand.

So there’s that.

Then there’s the matter of MarioKart.

When I got back from Cortney’s, I had this serious hankering to play MarioKart, so I went digging out our Nintendo and the few games Brother hadn’t sold and sat down to play it.  Two days later, I was about halfway to beating the game, when Psychobrat informed me that she was taking it to Spidermonkey’s house because they had nothing else to do but play this game.

I informed her that she wasn’t taking it, because I had dug it out of the spot it had been sitting in, unthought of, for the past three years, for me to play it, not her.

As everyone reading this probably knows by now, it doesn’t matter what you say to Psychobrat, because she will always have what she wants.  She walked straight into my room, took it (with plenty of assurances that it would be back that night) and left.

So yesterday, knowing perfectly well that MarioKart would stay at Spidermonkey’s for all eternity, because it now belongs to her and I can’t get to it there, I said, “So where’s MarioKart?”

This was when Psychobrat informed me that, as punishment for my being a bitch, it was still at Spidermonkey’s.

I, trying not to explode, walked into my room to call Katie, because I knew that would calm me down before I blew a fuse.  Katie wasn’t available, so I left her the following voice mail:

“Hello, how are you?  I’m just calling you to bitch, because according to PSYCHOBRAT!!!!!!, that is what I am.”  I paused here, because I was listening to Psychobrat call calmly from the other room, “Are you talking about yourself?”

“So…have a nice day,” I said, and hung up.

I love my sister.

What else has been happening lately?  I’ve spent a lot of time with The Mormon, which has been awesome, of course.  The other day he bought me a little stuffed kangaroo (that’s one of my favorite animals) just because.  How cute is that?  So I named them Stacia and Oswald (the mother and baby respectively) because those were the first two names that popped into my head.

Oh, speaking of The Mormon, I remembered another dream.  It’s kind of stupid, actually.  I dreamed I made him watch this horrible movie from the ’50s (it wasn’t real) that I realized about halfway through I had actually seen before, but we still kept watching it.  I had read this review that made it sound phenomenal, but later realized that the review was actually mine–it was here on my blog.  I had written up this whole phenomenal review of a completely detestable movie, just to see how good I could make it sound using double-talk or something.  It was so well-written, but the only thing I remember about it now is that at one point I used the phrase, “lovably loathsome” to describe a character.

All I really remember about the dream-movie is that it seemed to be about some stupid cop and a bunch of teenagers who kept getting the best of him as he chased them around town.

And I remembered, oddly, the tagline of the film, and wrote it down in the middle of the night so I wouldn’t forget:  “There’s nothing funnier than Lt. Don Chodiedrel.  Except the loads-funnier Sam don’t-remember-his-last-name.”  (The cop’s last name, despite the odd spelling, was pronounced ‘ka-DEE-drul’.)

The things my subconscious gets up to.

In other news…I feel like it’s been forever since I updated here, but that is because I am hard at work on an original novel–the first in a trilogy, in fact.  And yes, my main character is unabashedly based on myself and thus technically a Mary-Sue, but above the level of Bella.  Far…far above.

Anyway, I’ve been making some aesthetics to inspire myself, so here’s your very first hint of what I’m getting up to:Dean Aesthetic 2

I love when work is actually entertaining. It should always be so.

This is my first entry from the new laptop, which is fantastic, by the way.

They’re doing some kind of special dinner thing at work, and even though today would already be long enough as it was just because of the special dinner thing, they want us in there an hour early.  Blah.

It’s been a while since I posted a real update—one that wasn’t all dreams—but there hasn’t been much happening of late that is postable.  My boyfriend is completely fabulous, as always.  He made me dinner on Friday, and it was very good, although he claims he can’t cook.  (He cooks better than I do, anyway.)  We went to the Highland Games yesterday, which was much fun, and then out to eat with Cort and crew.

All right, I’ll finish updating after work.


Work ended up being a lot of fun tonight, surprisingly.  When we arrived, an hour early, we had about ten bags of confetti to randomly throw around, and at each other.  We were also each given one of those party popper things, and once we finally figured out the correct way to open and then point them, we were shooting those off, too.

When dinner was over, we decided to help sweep, since we’d made most of the mess, and I went to fetch three spare brooms, two of the semi-okay black ones, and the one rather good brown one, and I approached Michelle and said, “Suit up; I play Seeker.”

Michelle snatched the brown one and said, “That’s fine, but I get the Firebolt.”

So we swept for about half an hour, and then chased each other around the floor on the brooms while people batted balloons around for us to beat and seek.

Here’s an amusing tale about the Highland Games.  At one point, I was standing by a tent kissing The Mormon, when I felt something against my hair.  I ignored it—what I thought it was was just one of those oversized, rather stupid bumblebees that is always flying into you by accident because it doesn’t know where it’s going.  So I sort of brushed my hand under my hair to ensure it was gone, and went on kissing The Mormon.

Then I heard Milo’s voice say, “What was that?” and realized, of course, that it had been Milo flicking my hair.  He and his sister had planned to meet us there at some point, but neither of them had their cell phones on them, so we had no idea when or where that was going to be.

I turned to look at him and said, “Oh, I thought you were a bug.”

I don’t know if he heard me or not, but…how great is that?

I feel sort of bad—I don’t want to give the impression that I have anything against Milo, because I don’t, at least not so far as him being my friend goes.  He’s a very good friend.  But I mean…well, what I mean is, even if he wanted me now, I would seriously make him wait, and if I never came around, that’d be his problem.  He’s lost.  I don’t even care if he gets jealous or not.  (Although you can’t possibly blame me for enjoying it if he does.)  I realize that almost every mention of him these days sounds like I really resent him; but he’s still my friend, so anything I say against him is merely against that side of him, not the friend side.  If that makes any sense.

The Mormon, who, by the way, brought me Gryffindor-colored flowers the other night for absolutely no reason, told me he talked to L’Owen, from whom I hadn’t heard anything for a while.  I miss having stories about L’Owen.  Coincidentally, I was actually just wondering this morning if The Mormon had talked to him recently.  He said he mentioned me to L’Owen, who commented that he’d noticed us getting pretty close last semester, that we were spending a lot of time together.  So when The Mormon told him he’s sort of seeing me, L’Owen got all excited and his voice rose like it does when he’s excited, and he and Know-It-All, who was also in the room at the time, started teasing him.  That’s just such a hilarious mental image.  He mentioned going to the Highland Games with me, and L’Owen was all, “You’re going on a real date with your girlfriend!”

I can picture it all so easily.  I just think it’s funny that even L’Owen, apparently, saw it all coming before I did.

Oh, I forgot to tell about my birthday!  It was very lovely.  I went to The Olive Garden with the family and Nicole and The Mormon and Spidermonkey.  When we asked for a table for eight, and they asked what our name was, I told them Seinfeld.  (I figured out of all the names I could have given them, that one would be the most embarrassing to Psychobrat and Spidermonkey should they show up late enough to have to ask.  They didn’t.)

Then the next night at work, there were these three guys in my line, all three of whom I recognize, but only one whom I know by name.  He was asking me how my weekend went, and I told him my birthday happened, and when he asked how old I’d turned and I told him, he said, “No way!  You’re 21?  I had no idea!”

The guy behind him overheard this and said, “You’re 21?  You are not.  There’s no way!  I can’t believe that!  Are you really?  21?  Damn!”  And then he turned to the guy behind him and said, “Did you know she’s 21?  Can you believe that?”

The guy behind him said, “You really don’t look it.”

I thanked them all.  That’s a compliment, in my opinion.

I just found it funny that my entire line was aghast that I’m older than they thought.  It’s because they’re all freshmen, so they don’t know I was there last year.

Okay, that’s about all, so I’m ending this here, with a solitary lament that the roof of my mouth is burnt presently and very uncomfortable.

Catch-Up Stories: Part Two

Continuing with the catch-up from the last few weeks….

The Mormon called me one day before Doomsday to say, “I was just wondering if I could take you out for dinner next Tuesday.”

“You mean…Doomsday?” I said.

“Oh, it is Doomsday, isn’t it?  Well, that doesn’t even factor into it.  I was just thinking since it was, you know, Tuesday and all, we should celebrate that…not Doomsday or anything.  Completely unrelated.”

“Well…okay,” I finally relented.

So he made 9:30 reservations at this place where they apparently serve ostrich tenderloins.  I’m really intrigued by this.  I will let you know what ostrich tastes like once I have tried it.

And speaking of The Mormon…that story I wrote about before that took place in the car, that was so cute and all…last night he told me he plans to include that scene in a story he’s going to write soon, and he said, “So, you know, if you’re reading it and you suddenly realize that it sounds familiar…that’s why.  Because I’m stealing it from real life.”


I had this dream that I was…I guess on another planet or something, because the sky was a deep plum color, and I was watching a sunset.  It was really gorgeous, like a painting or something—it didn’t look real.  (Maybe because the sky was purple.)  And there was this gold streak against the horizon that grew more and more defined…it was very realistic, and yet not at the same time.  There was no plot to this dream; I just wanted to remember it.


We were all gathered around watching Freaks and Geeks (all meaning Mom, Dad, Brother, and me) and every now and then I’d make a comment about what somebody was really feeling at a particular moment…and at one point, Coach Fredericks is sitting on Bill’s couch watching football, and Bill comes in and changes it to Dallas, and he’s explaining to Fredericks what’s going on.  Mom said, “Does he really care?”

“Well,” I said, “he wants to be on good terms with Bill so he can…no, he doesn’t really care.”

The entire family laughed at that.  That was amazing.  I love when we have actual genuine bonding moments—they don’t happen that often.


The Mormon and I went to Corey’s house the other night, and his wife, Khris, served us these Brazilian drinks—I can’t pronounce it, but it was horrible!  The alcohol flavor was really, really evident.  Like, after one sip, I was breathing fire.

I told them I don’t drink but that I’d taste it.  They gave me an entire glass.  The Mormon told them he doesn’t drink and he’d already tried it and he didn’t want any.  They gave him his own glass.  We were able to pawn one of them off on somebody else and just share one, but even that we couldn’t finish; I think Corey eventually finished it up for us.  Then Know-It-All came in and drank like two of them.  I think I killed some brain cells on one sip.  Nearly vomited on another.  That was not pleasant.


We only have one episode of Freaks and Geeks left to get through, and I am heartbroken.  I’m now completely in love with this show. (I kind of have been since episode one.)  Brother and Dad really like it, too.  I knew they would; it’s their type of humor.  But it isn’t even just that it’s funny—it’s so perfectly realistic, and even though it’s set in 1980-81, I feel like it’s my high school and my friends and my little brother.


I would have thought ostrich would be a lot like chicken; surprisingly, it was way more like steak.  And so was buffalo.  These observations, coupled with the idea that we would never have imagined eating ostrich or buffalo, led to an in-depth discussion on Oregon Trail and the little lessons it taught us:  Never, ever ford a river.  Always make sure your oxen are healthy.  Among other things.  I did say that I’d pondered eating buffalo before.  Like, I’d go to the zoo and see ostrich and never once think, Wonder what that tastes like….  But I’d look at a buffalo and say, “Dude…I used to hunt you in Oregon Trail…I know you’ve got to taste good.”

So The Mormon got me black licorice for Doomsday after we joked about how he hated kissing me after I’d eaten it.  How cute is that?  And he also got me this kick-arse Phantom picture frame that plays Music of the Night, with the first picture of us ever taken.  I’d pointed it out that time we were in St. Augustine and said I thought it was cool.  It is.  It’s even cooler that he remembered that, though.


The secret to not losing track whilst licking the way to the center of any given lollipop is to pause after every ten counts.  That way you always know where you are; it’s the same principle as saving your work in specific places when using a word processor.  The other day I discovered that it takes 507 licks to get to the center of a Garfield Doomsday pop.

Later, when I was finished with the lollipop, just sitting there, minding my own business (well, I guess I was probably about to say something), a ladybug flew straight into my mouth.  I immediately spat it out, but it left a horrible aftertaste like Brussels sprouts, or perhaps grass—I don’t know, something salad-y.  Maybe that’s good luck.  I don’t know.  But it reminded me of Raiders, when the fly crawled into Paul Freeman’s mouth…and never reemerged.


This week I went to the doctor’s office to demand they sign my form.  Then I took all my paperwork to UNF, and Adrianna showed me around campus, like the library and the English department and such.  Just places I need to know the locations of that I don’t.

Catch-Up Stories: Part One

I have so much to catch you guys up on.  Our home computer is dead.  Again.  So I’m sitting here in an Internet café, spending money to bring you this update (which is mostly just a dream, anyhow, but I had to get it written down before too much of it escaped me).  My mom has said she might help me buy a laptop (meaning, she’ll put it on her credit card, and I’ll just pay her for it), so if that happens, I will never have to depend on the home computer again (plus, I’ll never have to share it with Psychobrat).  So that would be rad in an extreme way.  I’m going to just catch you up on a bunch of stories all at once.

Because I don’t believe Cort ever has a chance to look at this anymore, I don’t really feel guilty posting about this here before the next time I speak to her.  I just need to rant.

Nicole informed me that Cort still doesn’t approve of The Mormon, and really, her reasoning does seem to be that she thinks he’s psychotic just because he likes me.  This bothers me.  Yes, maybe just about every other guy who’s ever actually been interested in me has been psychotic to a degree, and I understand the concern, but am I just supposed to never date anyone ever?  Does my judgment mean nothing?  I’ve always been a superb judge of character.  Plus, I’ve never actually fallen for any of the psychos who liked me.  I kept my distance.  I think that should count for something.  I don’t see what the big deal is.  It just annoys me—and it sort of hurts, too—that I finally have somebody who really is very good to me and makes me happy, and now there’s this.  One of my two best friends doesn’t have enough faith in me to choose a decent guy.  That’s what I’m getting out of all this.  And she expressed approval before; I don’t see why it should have changed.

I just have to talk to her, I guess.  *Sigh.*

I thought I would share this quote (my own quote, if you wondered) explaining pretty clearly exactly why I don’t like Doomsday:

“Before I thought I just disliked it because I was single and had no reason to celebrate it.  Now I know I detest it because it’s every bit as manufactured and cheesy and pink and red and vomit-inducing as it was when I was single.  And how can anything that can honestly be described with a combination of words like ‘manufactured, cheesy, pink, red, vomit’ be appealing?”

Well, I was going to post the above like two weeks ago, but whatever.  I believe Katie’s issues with Doomsday are the same as mine:  When you’re actually with someone, being told that you have to go out and celebrate love on this one particular day along with the rest of the world is a major turn-off.  It adds that much more awkwardness to something that is already awkward enough as it is.  And cheap chocolates and tacky hearts just make it worse.


I made The Mormon watch Nanny McPhee with me, and there’s this one part when Colin Firth says something like, “Aren’t my children just delicious?” with a sort of crazed smile, and it was really creepy, creepy enough so that The Mormon and I glanced at each other like, “What the hell?” and The Mormon said, “I can’t envision ever using the word ‘delicious’ to describe another human being in any scenario” and I whispered back, “I don’t know…Colin Firth is kind of delicious.”  The expression on his face in response to that was delicious.

We were sitting in his car later (we spend a lot of time sitting in cars, so if you notice multiple stories starting off this way, just go with it) and I had my head resting on his shoulder, and he was just kind of running his hand up and down my arm, and I looked up at him and he was smiling, like he was just glad to be there with me.  Well…it was cute.  He didn’t know I was looking at him.  So then I sat up and smiled at him, and he said, “What are you thinking?” and I said, “I’m just thinking that I’m really happy to be with you.”


Brother and I were watching Freaks and Geeks yesterday, and it was the first episode when the boys are getting ready to fight Alan, and Brother said, “What is this, the nerds against the nerds?”  It was very funny the way he said it; then later, Alan leaned into one of their faces (I forget which) and said, “I’m sorry; I don’t speak Geek!” and Brother said, “Are you sure about that?”

A couple weeks ago, Brother, Mom, and I were watching Superman, and Superman tells Lois how he’s fighting for truth, justice, and the American Way, and Mom said, “So, what—Superman is only here for Americans?”

“No, Mom,” I said, “it just means that he believes in the American Way.  He’ll still help people from other countries.”

Brother said, “Dude, whatever.  Japan can get their own superhero!”

It was just so completely out of nowhere that I laughed very hard.


What else can I tell you about?  Oh!  On a recent work night, Michelle and I made a voodoo doll of Turtle, and then a bit later we decided to make one of Dennis so he would have company, and we set them both aside in a frying pan we were no longer using, and Turtle came out and said, “Well who’s the second one now?” and we told him, to which he responded, “Great—even when I’m a fucking voodoo doll in a frying pan, I’m still stuck with Dennis!”

In case you’re confused, “voodoo dolls” are things we make in our spare time on slow nights when not many people are coming through our line.  Usually we only do this on breakfast-for-dinner nights, because breakfast foods make the most fun fillings for the dolls (rubber gloves that we tie off once they are stuffed).  Scrambled eggs, grits…that sort of thing.

Later we had them all guess which ones they were (we made one of Maryann, too) and Dennis looked through them, pointed to his, and said, “Well, I can’t be that one, because I don’t have shit for brains.”  (Dennis had hash browns in his, with peppers and tomatoes and stuff.)

Also, Turtle did not know that he was called Turtle until tonight.  (And I’ve been calling him this since I met him like a year ago.)

I was about to tell him about our upcoming Friday Movie Night, and I said, “Hey, Turtle!”

There was this horrible pause as Michelle laughed out loud at me, and Turtle whirled around and finally said, “What did you just call me?”

An even longer pause as I tried to think how to answer that.  Finally I said, “Oh, you knew we called you Turtle!”

I might mention that Turtle received this nickname because he looks remarkably like the turtle in Master of Disguise.


I’m actually going to make another entry to share more catch-up stories from the last few weeks because this one is getting so long.  See you soon!