And Now THAT Song Is In My Head. Great.

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Less than 24 hours after returning from a quick romantic weekend, my dearest darling, Ryan, was felled by an intestinal flu, so he’s been concerned that he might have given it to me.

Ryan: How are you feeling? Still okay?

Me: Are you texting to check on the state of my bowels?

Ryan: Yeah, I guess I am.

Me: In the immortal words of Ashford and Simpson…still Solid As a Rock.

Ryan: I’m thinking more fiber for you.

Colonoscopies: 100% Less Awful Than Baby Showers

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Tracy: “Are you going to Kim’s baby shower tomorrow?”

Me: “Ugh…you know how much I hate those things.  I’ll just send her a gift.”

Tracy: “What possible excuse are you going to have to skip this?”

Me: “I just had a colonoscopy.  I’m pulling the colonoscopy card.”

Tracy: “I don’t think that’s a card.”

Me: “I had a camera shoved up my ass…how does that NOT earn me a card?”

Tracy: “Fine, but you have to tell her, because I’m not walking into a baby shower with tales about your asshole.”

Me: “A real friend would.”

Tracy: “A real friend doesn’t text pictures of their large intestine to a group chat.”

Me: “Touche.”

Probably Not The First Time Someone Sat On Han’s Face

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Yes, yes, I know…two posts in a row about fucking novelty bedding. It also should be noted that my sweet, brilliant, rational boyfriend goes completely ape-shit nerd when discussing some sort of controversy regarding whether Han Solo or Greedo shot first in the original movies. It has come up roughly three million times.

Me: Liam is spending his first night in his new Star Wars sheets.

Ryan: Do they make those for a queen-sized bed?  I’m asking for a friend.

Me: Yes, but would you really be comfortable getting off in front of Han?

Ryan: It’ll be the first time he didn’t shoot first.

Me: Fine, but if you start making ‘pew pew’ noises during climax, I’m going to be super put off.

Ryan: ..

Me: You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?

Ryan: Maaaaaaybe?

The Man Does Know His Fusion

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YOU ARE NOT THE FATHER!!!

Caolinn: “I love Neil deGrasse Tyson. If I could choose anyone to be my father…it would totally be Neil deGrasse Tyson.”

Me: (murmuring) “If I could choose anyone to be your father, I’d pick Neil deGrasse Tyson, too.”

Caolinn: “Ummm, you COULD HAVE chosen anyone…and we know how THAT turned out.”

When Real Estate Porn Turns Dark

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(After I sent him a real estate listing for a huge historic estate…)

Ryan: Great property, and I like the tree-lined drive.

Me: It would be perfect for a dog herd.

Ryan: Dogs? We could just set the children loose among the trees!

Me: I don’t even care if the damn thing is haunted.

Ryan: That might even make it better.  Just as long as the walls don’t bleed.

Me: Agreed, I draw the line at supernatural bodily fluids.

Ryan: Wise boundary, you have no idea where those ghosts have been.

Me: Well, yeah, something killed them.

And This Is Why Women Resort To Cat-Ownership

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Linney: Dude.  Are you ready for me to be online dating?  This gem arrived this morning.

Linney Date

Me: W. T. Actual. Fuck.

Linney: Hefty.  It’s got…heft.

Me: Better than ‘girthy’?

Linney: Yes. Or ‘pencil thin’.

Me: ‘Slim-dicked wrestler seeks soul mate.’

Politics…Bringing People Together Since…Never

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(Don’t even ask what started this conversation…our texts have a narrative thread that falls somewhere between mescaline overdose and fever-dream.)

Ryan: How would you like a Trump-Cruz ticket.?

Me: I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of me dying.

Ryan: That’s something you could put on Pay-Per-View.

(A second later…)

Ryan: To be clear…Trump-Cruz, not your dying.

Me: Thanks for clarifying, sweetie.  Wait, are you saying my death isn’t good enough for Pay-Per-View?

Ryan: Yeah…I don’t think I can win here, so I’m just going to tell you you’re pretty and hope for the best.

 

Your Body And You…A Tale Of Treachery.

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(If you haven’t watched Romancing the Stone, this entire conversation will make no sense, and I demand you rent it immediately.  Whoever gets the royalties for that…I don’t expect payment, but a high-five would be nice.)

Ryan: You’re coming over tomorrow night?

Me: As long as you understand that I MIGHT be a germ risk, and that I sound like Kathleen Turner right now.

Ryan: Joan Wilder!  THE Joan Wilder!  I read all your books!

Me: This is going to be a thing, isn’t it?

Ryan: Yes, yes, it is.