Monday Bear

So my New Years resolution is to keep track of mine and Matthew’s money (ours?), because I don’t right now. And if someone were to steal my identity, I wouldn’t even realize it.

Because I’m that loaded.

So I’ve decided to make a lizt of things I will say type now, and will never say type again:

• There are people who write as well as I do. And more frequently.
• I’m not really that interesting.
• I do care.
• College is hard.
• I have no idea what people are talking about, even though I pretend to. But so do you. You’re human.
• I am hot. And its okay to think so.
• Matthew shat himself again.

Okay, I will talk about the Matthew Poop Fiasco more. My more devoted readers will remember when he shat himself in the car on the way to the Sufjan Stevens concert (our first concert together) about 6 months into our relationship, when he had to change into his grandfather’s old man pleated khaki shorts.

Well, he did it again. Except in the comfort of our own home. And not as much.

That’s about it.

“I think we should embrace what we have– unless it’s cellulite.”

People who haven’t spoken to me in ages, and I’m not exactly sure why, in chronological order:

• Holly
• Mary

Holly and I were biffs for quite some time. I even spent over $200 to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. ($200 that I didn’t have.) I even sent her a picture message with sound of me singing her favourite showtune when she was stressed out about staying with her in-laws. (That cost me $1.50.) I even took her last name out of every blog entry on mondaybear.com so that when prospective employers scramble to google her name, it doesn’t show up under my horrible devil blog. (Do you have any idea how long that took?) I even recited a made-up poem to a bunch of hipster english majors at UTM just to amuse her. (They laughed heartily at me.)

Yet she hasn’t spoken to me since September, even after repeated neutral phone messages (”Hey, it’s Liz. Call me back.”)

Mama, I’m going public. I’m not that angry with her. There’s got to be a rational reason why she hasn’t contacted me, right?

Possible reasons why we haven’t spoken in the past 4 months (but who’s counting?)

• I’m poor and live in the ghetto(esque), while she and her husband both come from rich (or at least half-rich) families and live in an expensive apartment with a fireplace and up-to-date carpeting. This could embarrass her?
• I could easily be mistaken for a lesbian, and she found herself becoming more and more achingly attracted to me as our friendship grew, and she decided that the only way to stop this and save her marriage was to completely cut off communication with me.
• The last time I went to her apartment, I wore shorts that hardly cover my ass, and this may have offended her?
• I told her the truth. About everything.
• I can’t dress myself, and this may have embarrassed her?
• I’m too funny, and she has a weak bladder, and she was embarrassed that her husband would find out, because every time I tell one of my classic jokes, she pisses herself, and the only way to stop this and save her marriage was to completely cut off communication with me.
• I poop, and she doesn’t even have an anus.
• She’s pissed because I wouldn’t leave her alone for killing that old lady’s bird.
• She got into a horrible accident and has been in a coma for the past 4 months. And hers and her husband’s cell phones were destroyed in the accident, and she lost the ability to use a phone book or to ask someone to use a phone book, and there was no way to find the contact information of anyone related to me, or any mutual acquaintances, so no one could tell me about the accident, because the internet also exploded.

I think it’s the coma.

So I was at Alley Jo’s wedding rehearsal, and we were waiting on everyone to get to the church, when she decides to don her shades.
Liz: Alley, take your sunglasses off. We aren’t in the club!
Alley:We’re in God’s club.

This is only funny if my impression that people sometimes wear their sunglasses inside dance clubs is true. I know that Alley Jo does.

I suddenly remember a repressed childhood memory:

So I’m like, eight years old, and I just got these really groovy sunglasses from the dollar store. You know, the ones that were popular in the 90s, with the thin rims and the purple lenses? Well its well after dark, and mum and I are walking through the Wal-Mart parking lot. I’m wearing my killer shades.
Mom: Lizzie, take those sunglasses off. Its nighttime, and you look stupid.
Liz: Mom, its not for sun protection, it’s for fashion.
Mom: Do you see anyone else wearing sunglasses out tonight?
Liz: No, but that’s because they aren’t “in.”

I swear to God I said it.

Oh yeah, I forgot. It’s just past Xmas, and here’s a short list of some of the main points of what I scored:

• I Love Lucy and Golden Girls DVDs from my mother.
• A wok from my dad.
• Dance clothes from my mother.
• Hello Kitty paraphernalia from Mama and Colleen, next door neighbor Laura.
• Various jackets from Favee and Nana.
• An engagement ring from Matthew.
• ooowhAAAAAh?

You bet your sweet, tender ass.

Here’s the short version of how it happened:

He plans this “surprise” for me for months. He makes me stay locked in our bedroom, because he needs the entire living room. Well, the day after xmas, we leave his mom’s house, and he sits me down on our couch to play this video game he made me.

Yes, bitch, he made me a video game for Super Nintendo. It’s much like Super Mario, except Liz and Matthew are going on a cruise (which we really are; that’s part of the surprise), but first Matt has to find Liz. I’m missing, of course.
So I’m playing, going through all these levels, when I jump on an information block and a black box pops up and says, “Liz, I love you. Will you marry me?”

So he pulls this beautiful antique ring out of his pocket, I scream and cry, I say yes. I dance around, I call my mom, she cries, I call his mom, his sister, I call Nana (I would have told Favee, but he was in the bathroom. Old people poop so little, I didn’t want to disturb him). I call Alley Jo, she repeats the story to Gabby, I call my dad, he gives me a 15 minute long speech about why he’s proud of me, but also how I should work on my delivery, because I almost killed him with the news.

So now I’ve gone into full-on planning mode. We’re looking at August 7th, 2009. Three months after he graduates, and conveniently, 2 days after my 21st birthday. Fabulous.

I wonder if you can register at ebay?

So in conclusion, I have a contest for you: Whoever can write me the funniest wedding toast wins a free invitation to our wedding, and you don’t even have to buy me that $400 yellow Cuisinart stand mixer. Go.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 1st, 2008 at 11:42 PM and is filed under Awkward Scenarios, Dating, Family, Game, Party over here, Pooping. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.