Hairspray Lowers Your IQ

Hairspray Kills

A recent scientific study showed that using massive amounts of hair spray temporarily lowers a person’s IQ.  Since Dallas is the home of big hair, scientists enrolled 100 Dallas-area women for the study.  The first day was calm, but the second day, the women went into withdrawal.  There were cat fights, crying, begging, and women curled up in the fetal position on the floor.

Of the 100, only one made it through the full 7 days of the study.  Sally Jean Johnson tested below average on day one.  Though the researchers declined to post the actual number, citing doctor-patient confidentially, they described her IQ on Day 7 as, “Well above average.”

When asked how she felt, Ms. Johnson replied, “My mind feels clear for the first time in—as long as I can remember.  My God, I started using in high school.  I started with the cheap stuff—White Rain, I think—then moved up to the more expensive hair spray.  The more I used, the more I wanted.  My hair just got bigger and bigger.  I can’t believe how long I’ve been…” she broke down in tears.

Researchers noted that Ms. Johnson declined to wear makeup after the study was over.  She referred to eye shadow as a “gateway beauty product.”  She has expressed other extreme views, such as, “Next, I’m going to quit dying my hair.  I may even stop shaving my legs.”  Future studies linking makeup, hair dye, and hairspray are likely.

Ms. Johnson is currently enrolled in Dallas County Community College.  Her major is listed as, “NOT cosmetology.”

Another participant, Mrs. Patty Sue Waters, stated during her exit interview, “It was, like, HORRIBLE!  I mean, I couldn’t stand to look in the mirror.  My hair was just so, FLAT!  I’m going to have nightmares.  Really.  I’m so glad that my husband didn’t see me like that!”  She was part of the study for 23 hours before she begged to be released.

In a follow up interview, Mrs. Waters was asked what she thought about Ms. Johnson’s new appearance.  She answered, “She [Ms. Johnson] looks like one of those hippies from Austin!  No way is she from Big D.  I mean, no self-respecting Dallas girl would be seen in public like that!  I mean, seriously, she should be wearing one of those tie-dyed ‘Keep Austin Weird’ t-shirts.”

The researchers were unable to convince Mrs. Waters that Ms. Johnson was, and is, her twin sister.

Cheers!

Happy April Fool’s Day!  (Early, so that maybe I’ll get you this year.)

Match Part 8 – Rajiv Proposed!

He proposed to me!  Sort of.  Kind of.  Not really.

Screenshot_2015-03-30-18-44-13

Ok, so he called me “babe.”  Kinda presumptuous, since some guys reserve that term for their girlfriends.  I don’t like terms of endearment too quickly; and the first time that we text is pretty quick.  However, I’m gonna give this guy a chance.

Screenshot_2015-03-30-18-44-22

Why would I be free during the day?  Hmmm.  Maybe he meant to meet for lunch.  It’s a reasonable question.

Screenshot_2015-03-30-18-44-33

Ok, back to the day time thing?  Well, some people take long lunches on Friday, I guess.  “Ok cool I let u know,” what’s that?  It’s grammatically incorrect, but also, I’m a planner.  I need a date, time, and place.  Otherwise, we don’t really have a date set up.  This rubs me the wrong way, but whatever, I’ll roll with it.

But asking for a picture?  That’s kinda creepy.  We met on Match, so he’s seen pictures of me.  Is he trying to get me to sext?  Ew. Let’s side-step that one and see how he reacts.  Maybe he’s just flirting.  I’m gonna give him the benefit of the doubt.  (Although my Creep Radar is going off, big time.)

Screenshot_2015-03-30-18-44-43

Screenshot_2015-03-30-18-44-51

He’s making fun of his own race.  I guess it’s ok to be racist against yourself?  He’s being funny?  Ok, laugh it off.

Ok, I really need to get back to my thesis.  Which is the reason that we’re not meeting tonight.

Screenshot_2015-03-30-18-45-09

Sigh.  My Creep Radar went off at least 5 times.  That’s the same as saying that I saw red flags.  Looks like I’ll be home with a bottle of Cabernet on Friday.

Am I over reacting?

Nah.  Any guy who won’t take the time to spell out, “you,” isn’t worth my time.

Maybe I should ask out one of the Indian students.  I’m sure that he would be more mature than this guy.

Cheers!

Married Men

(Saturday, March 21) “You’re still living with your wife?” I asked.  I tried to keep the shock from showing on my face.  Be cool, I told myself, Just smile and have a good time.  Easier said than done, when I just found out that my date was living with his WIFE!

“Yes, like I said, we’ve been separated for more than a year.  I moved out for a while, but then…” Charlie Coconut looked off into space, thinking about what to say next.  “Well, like I said, it’s complicated.  We have two kids.  It was easier for me to live with them, in another room.”

Huh.  Can you be separated if you’re living in the same house?  I mean, would a judge accept that as legally separated?  I don’t know the law, but I do know that I avoid drama.  And this situation sounds like drama waiting to happen.

We were at the Holy Grail (searched for and found!) Pub for Lilly’s going away party.    Charlie excused himself to take a call, and Lilly’s mom said, “Wow, he is cute!!!  6 foot tall, brown hair, muscles—mmhmm!  How long have you been seeing him?”

I smiled and said, “This is our first date.  I don’t know if we’ll go out again; he’s complicated.”  I briefly explained to her and another friend what Charlie had just told me.  “So, I’m going to tell him that I won’t go out with him again, until after he gets his own place.”

My friends agreed.  “Though it’s a shame.  He’s awfully cute.”

Couldn’t argue with that.

Charlie returned.  He finished his 2nd beer and said, “I’d better not have another, or I’ll be sleeping here tonight.  I’m such a light weight.  I’ve been avoiding alcohol because I’m working out, getting in shape.  I got fat.”

I couldn’t agree with that.  “I wouldn’t say ‘fat.’  Soft, maybe.”  I said, truthfully.  That’s what I call myself; I’m in good shape, but I don’t have a six-pack.

“I’m getting in shape for bikini season,” he said, smiling.  Then he realized how that might be taken, and he added, “I don’t wear bikinis.  I don’t want you to think that I’m some kind of freak.  Oh God, I’m becoming bloggable, aren’t I?!”

I laughed!  I knew what he meant!  He was sweet and adorable and he read my blog!  Control yourself, Jules.  He’s not available.  I scowled at myself and said, He accepted my invitation to come out tonight.  Obviously, he’s interested.  And obviously, I was conflicted, because I was arguing with myself.

The rest of the night went well.  We laughed and joked with Lilly’s friends.  Lilly herself went from smiling to tearful goodbyes.  I looked away; I wasn’t ready for that yet.

As fun as the night was, I had to tell Charlie that I can’t date him until after he gets his own place.  He said, “I understand.  And I’m saving your FWB blog to read later.”

HA!

Hike_March28

Married Man II

Rick Raspberries isn’t exactly married, though he may be common law married.  He’s been living with his girlfriend for a year and a half, but has been with her for 7 years total.  We met at Company H and have become good friends.  Yesterday we hiked together on one of my favorite trails.  But I have to remember that we’re friends, like me and Reggie or me and Lilly: no matter how much I enjoy their company, we will never be anything more.

Unless, of course, Lilly becomes Lilly the Lesbian and flies back to Texas to sweep me off my feet.

I’m not holding my breath.

Match Update

In the meanwhile, my profile is still posted on Match.com.  How’s that going?  Here’s a small part of a recent conversation.

“If you could travel to any era, when would you go?” I ask in my profile.  It’s one of the conversation starter questions that Reggie and I wrote.  The goal is to see if a guy can make me laugh with his answer.

“I would travel back to the late 80’s and invest everything I had in Microsoft & Apple! LOL.  What about you?” Tony wrote.

“I’d go to the future, and see how small or large phones are.  My smart phone amazes me.  I wonder if we’ll have phones embedded in our hands (ala Blade Runner) or use small communicators (Star Trek),” I said.  I change my answer almost every time I’m asked, to keep it fresh.

“Yeah I would also like to travel to the future point in time when they’ve cured all sexually transmitted diseases – just to see how freaky people become? LOL,” Tony replied.

Wow, did he just go from talking about futuristic phones to sex?  Just, wow.

Maybe he’s a fan of Robert Heinlein, who combines science fiction and orgies.  If so, he should have mentioned the author, and even then, this is the 2nd email that the man has ever sent me.  Number two.  Kinda soon to be bringing up sex, IMHO.  I think even Heinlein waited until chapter 2.

Summary

So, instead of hanging out on Match waiting for Mr. Right, I’ve been hanging out with friends.  I just wish that just ONE of them was available!

Got to go, Reggie is on his way over, on his trip from Chicago to Austin.  He may not emotionally available, but at least he’s not married!

Cheers!

Break up Math

After exhaustive (and exhausting!) research, I have found the secret formula to answer the question: How Long Does It Take To Get Over a Breakup?  Like a true engineer, I wrote an equation to combine the variables.  See below for a detailed explanation of what each letter represents.  Don’t be intimidated by the math, ladies, I’ll walk you through it with a couple of examples.

Breakup_Math_eqn_with_slug

B=Breakup Method

Gentle.  “It’s not you, it’s me.” (0.5)

Typical.  “We just don’t click.”  Or “We’re just growing in different directions.”  There’s some implication that you might be the cause, but he doesn’t come right out and say it.  The coward!  Man up and tell it like it is!  (1)

Mean.  “You’re a slut.”  Ya, that hurts.  It’s gonna take longer to get over this one.  (2)

Best way possible.  He explained why you’re better off as friends.  After a long heart-to-heart, you agreed.  Deep down, you felt the same way, but didn’t want to come out and say it.  (NA – This scenario does not exist!  Keep dreaming!)

R = Length of the Relationship

Too long.  If you’ve been bitchin’ about your man for a while, don’t sweat it.  It was time for him to go! (-1)

One night stand.  Um, this isn’t a breakup because it was never a relationship.  Put your party dress back on, and move on.  (0)

One month to one year.  Breaking up is never easy, but with each month I get more hopeful that it will last, so I’m more devastated when it doesn’t.  (Round up to the number of months: 1 to 12)

Over 12 months but less than 2 years.  It’s hard no matter where you are in this time range.   You’re expecting a ring, planning a wedding, secure in your couple-ness.  Then BAM!  You breakup.  This is going to take some time to get over.  Well, maybe; depends on the rest of the variables.  (15)

7 years.  You’ve got the 7-year-itch!  Laugh it off, cupcake, you’re a cliché!  (5)

8 years or more.  Use the number of years.  Yes, 8 years I equal to 8 months; we’re very vulnerable when we’ve been in a relationship less than a year.  Past the 7-year-itch, we’re not as emotional.  We’re also usually older and less emotional. (8+)

E=Dumper or Dumpee.  Yes, it matters.  Anyone who tells you that it doesn’t, is an idiot.

Dumper.  You just halved your time in Dumpsville, congratulations!  (0.5)

Dumpee.  What can I say?  This isn’t going to be easy.  Hang in there.  (2)

A=Asshole Factor (aka Anger Factor).  Which one describes how you feel?

Crying like a baby.  Aw, hell, this is gonna take a while.  (2)

In shock.  You may want to come back later and recalculate.  Right now, use (1)

He’s an f*g bastard.  Good, you’ll get over this quicker.  (1)

He’s Satan’s spawn and I want him to die.  Well, that may be taking it a bit far.  Don’t do anything to get yourself put in jail.  I repeat, put down the gun/knife/sharp object.  (.5)

K = Quality of the relationship

Roommates.  You were friends, but not sleeping together, or hadn’t had sex in a while.  (1)

Soulmates.  How could he do this to you?!  You were meant to be together!  Matching tattoos, shared past life, and everything considered, how could it be over?!  (10)

Somewhere in between.  Regular sex, friends, but not crazy into each other.  (5)

He pissed you off daily.  There may have been some screaming, and someone may have punched a hole in the wall.  That vase didn’t break itself, ya know.  (.5)  (In case no one else said it, you’re better off without him.  You needed outta that toxic environment.  Just ask Rihanna.)

U=Clairvoyance

You just knew something was up.  The bastard was acting shifty.  (0.5)

Didn’t see it coming, but looking back, makes sense.  There were clues.  Doesn’t make it easy, but it helps a little.  (2)

Completely blind-sided.  Thought everything was great.  Aw, I just want to hug you!  Poor, clueless, completely out-of-it girl! (10)

P=Sex

Multiple orgasms every time and/or sex multiple times a day and/or long, sensual love sessions (2 and give him my number)

Usually orgasmed.  Sex was good, not great.  (1)

Never orgasmed.  Girl, why were you with this guy?!  (0)

You’d rather go to karaoke on amateur night and listen to an Elvis impersonator sing “Suspicious Minds” then have sex with that man.  Seriously.  You once called your mother, knowing that she’d talk for hours, praying that he’d be asleep when you finally got off the phone.  (-1)

N= Number of times y’all broke up, including this one.  Be truthful!  Seriously, it gets easier each time.  Rascal Flatts even wrote a song about it, “I feel bad, that I don’t feel bad.”  Y’all, if you broke up that many times, keep going and don’t look back.  (1+)

H=Number of drunken happy hours (aka Wine Therapy) sessions attended.

1-49: Oh, sorry to hear that he dumped you.  Here, have a glass of wine and tell me all about it.  (Use the number of sessions)

50: Woot!  You sound like a fun girlfriend.  Call me, we’ll do happy hour!  (0.  Who cares about whats-his-name anyway?!)

51+: See professional help.  You may be an alcoholic. (NA – you’ve got bigger problems, sister!)

C=Cohabitation

Yes, you lived with him.  You didn’t just have a drawer at his place, but seriously, his address is listed on your driver’s license (or vice versa).  (6 months)

No, you had your own place.  (0)

D=Death, incarceration, flight to Mars or other traumatic event caused the breakup.  (6 months)

Example 1. Costa Rica Guy.

B = 1.  I told him that I didn’t have fun in Costa Rica, but I wasn’t mean about it.  I kept it short and sweet.

R = 9.  We were together about 9 months.

E = 0.5.  I dumped him.

A = 1.  Face it, he was mean to me, and I was pissed.  Makes it easier for me to move on.

K = 5.  We were somewhere in between roommates and more.

U = 0.5.  I broke up with him, so of course I knew that it was coming.

P = 1.

N = 2.  Honestly, I tried to break up with him once before.  But I went back to him, thinking that he’d be nicer in Costa Rica, far away from his family.  HA!

H = hmmmm.  By *now*, I’ve had plenty of wine.  But let’s use 2 here, and estimate from the week of the break up.

C = 0.  I hadn’t moved into my house yet, Thank God!  He was supposed to move in with me, 3 months later.

D = 0.  Nope, not any of those crazy things.

So, the equation becomes T = (1*9*0.5*1*5*1*5*0.5*1)(1 week)/(2*2) +0 +0 = 14 weeks

That’s about 3 months, and is about the amount of time it took me to stop thinking about him daily.

So if you’re wondering how long it might take you to get over your breakup, do the math.

Cheers!

Copyright 2015.  All rights reserved.  Do not copy.  Links to this blog are welcome.

Prickly Strawberry

Jules 1988

Jules 1988

“I’m so mad at Lilly!” I told Jack.  I listed a couple of things that she’d done to annoy me.  They seemed small even to my ears.  Why was I so upset?

I thought back to 1983, when I first remember feeling this way.  “I hate this school.  I hate the bullies.  I hate the stuck-up preps.  I hate…”  I continued my list as I ran.  At 9 years old, I was practicing Hate Therapy.  That is, I was concentrating on all the things that I hated about my current location, so that it wouldn’t be so hard to move.

So I wouldn’t think about my best friend Milam Saxon: a small, red-headed mouse of a girl with large glasses.  Or the open corn field that would become a mud pit where my siblings and I would sink over our knees in mud after a good rain.  Or the open roads where I loved to run, which was a different form of therapy.

We moved every 3 to 5 years due to Dad’s job.  I tried to concentrate on the positives, like new experiences.  But leaving was always easier with a little hate thrown in.

Breakups tend to be the same for me.  I yo-yoed with Mike because I didn’t get angry during the break up.  No anger = no closure.

Realizing that anger was my coping mechanism, I let it go.  And the tears rose up as my throat tightened.  I’m happy that my friend found happiness.  At least, I want to be happy for her.  Right now, I’m sad for my loss.  Time to go for a run to clear my head.

Lilly, I miss you already!

Cheers!

Jules & Lilly

Jules & Lilly

Pudding!

Age 18 Months

CRASH!  I ran to the kitchen with my heart pounding.  I had left my 18-month-old baby alone for just a minute and now there was a loud noise in the kitchen.  Dear Lord, let her be ok! I prayed as I sprinted the short distance from the living room to the refrigerator.

The mess in front of the open door took a minute to sink in.  A broken bottle of soy sauce leaked brownish-black fluid into the cream-colored grout and across the faux marble tile.  Ketchup, mustard, and other condiments that were usually on the door of the fridge littered the floor.  The door shelves were there, too.  Sally sat in the middle of it, holding a chocolate pudding cup.

My little baby girl had opened the fridge, climbed the shelves, and grabbed a pudding from the top shelf.

I didn’t know whether to yell at her for doing something so dangerous, or… I started laughing.  That’s my girl!  If you see something that you want, go for it!

em_jewe1

Age 13

When she became a teenager, we started taking mother-daughter road trips.  I shared with her the story of a play that I saw in high school.  The basics of the plot are that there is a boy sitting at home by the fire reading a book.  He says, “Gee, I wish that I were on an adventure right now.”

On cue, his friend shows up and invites him to go to the Big City, to Have An Adventure.  “But how will we know that we’re having an adventure?” the boy asked.

“We’ll have a code word.  Something we’ll yell out when we’re having an Adventure, so that the other person knows that we’re having one.  Let’s see…let’s use Pudding.

The boys go to the Big City.  One thing happens, then another, and then they’re being chased by the cops while running down the street yelling, “PUDDING!  PUDDING!”

At the end of the play, the boy is back where he began, at home in his chair by the fire reading a book.  He said, “When you’re at home reading a book, you want to be out having an adventure.  When you’re out having an adventure, you want to be home reading a book.”

Colorado, 7 Sisters Falls

Colorado, 7 Sisters Falls

Age 14

I drove across west Texas toward New Mexico.  Sally said, “Can I take a turn driving?”

I had told her that she could.  After all, there’s nothing to run into, on the barren stretch between Amarillo and the Texas state line.  So I pulled over and let her drive for an hour.  It was a nice break for me, and she had fun behind the wheel.

We switched back and I drove for a couple of hours.  “Can I have another turn?” she asked.  We were still a ways from Albuquerque, so I agreed.

Well, I thought that we were a ways from the big city.  Turns out, we weren’t.  Sally drove up to a stop light and I said, “Brake gently.  Gently.  Ok, put your foot down or we’re going into the intersection!  STOP!”  Suddenly, there were cars all around us.  Had I fallen asleep?!  Where did this—this—CIVILIZATION come from?!

Sally stopped the car exactly where it should be, though a little abruptly.

“Ok, the light is green, proceed with caution into the intersection.  Oh, God, there’s a cop.  Act natural.  Don’t look at him.  I’m a terrible mother.  We don’t need to get arrested for driving without a license.  Be cool,” I babbled.

“Where’s the hotel?” she asked.

“It’s over there—Oh God, you’re going to have to make a U-turn,” I said.

At the next light, she did as instructed, driving into the far right lane then back into the left one.  “Turn right!  There it is!” I said.  So she did.  She turned from the left lane across two other lanes into the hotel.

I saw the look of horror on the face of a driver sitting in the hotel driveway, waiting to turn right, staring straight at us coming toward him.  He didn’t know whether to honk the horn or dive for cover.  Wait, maybe that’s what I wanted to.

Sally turned the wheel and we avoided that other car by a whisper’s width.  I let out my breath.  “Ok, now park.  Anywhere.  Just—park.  Now.”  I told her.

She pulled into a parking spot and kept rolling.  Toward a light pole.  Still rolling.

“STOP!” I said.

“Oh, ya, you gotta use the brake.  You know, with video games, you WANT to crash the car,” Sally said nonchalantly.

I took deep, cleansing yoga breaths.  We just sat there for a minute.  Then I pulled the keys out of the car and said, “That’s enough driving for today.”

“PUDDING!” Sally exclaimed, laughing.  She was as shaken up as I was, just handling it better.

“Pudding,” I agreed.

Sally_Me

18 Years Old

My little girl is 18 years old today.  Sally, may you always reach for what you want.  May you ever be fearless and ready to make that U-turn.  And may you always avoid the cops, and avoid crashing.

I love you, Baby Girl!  PUDDING!

Cheers <sniff, sniff – my baby is an adult!>

PUDDING!

Ed is Moving In!

Ed Sheeran.  Sadly, he is NOT the one moving in.

Ed Sheeran. Sadly, he is NOT the one moving in.

“Hi Ed,” I said to the handsome young man in my dining room.  Then I turned to the black man with dreadlocks and said, “You must be Derrick.  Welcome, nice to meet you.  And John, good to see you again.”  Jack’s friends from Austin were visiting for a few days during Spring Break.

Jack was shocked.  “How did you know which one was Ed?!”

I rolled my eyes.  Really?  He had described Ed as a redhead.  I had met John before.  Derrick clearly wasn’t a ginger, so the names seemed obvious.  I answered, “Cause I’ve got skillz!”

The guys laughed and Derrick said, “Yup, that’s Jack’s mom, all right!”

That was on Wednesday.  On Thursday, Jack said, “Ed has a job interview.”

I was surprised.  “Is he thinking about moving up here?  I know that we discussed it last year, but I thought he changed his mind.”

“Ya, he wants to get out of his parents’ house and try something new.  He’ll be going to school and working,” Jack said, clearly excited at the thought of having his friend live with us.

I was a little in shock.  Last year, I was excited about the thought of having someone to help with the rent, and the thought of having Jack around for a little while longer.  (He won’t move into an apartment with his friend, if his friend moves in with us).  However, I had given up on the idea.  Sally’s room had become a guest bedroom/toy room: Barbies, Brat dolls, legos, dollhouses, stuffed animals, etc. lived in there.  I mean, really, I could give away the Barbies and the Brat dolls, but not the rest.  I promise, I only play with them when my nieces and nephews come over.  (As far as you know.)

The next day, Jack was bouncing on his toes when he announced, “Ed got the job!  He’s moving in on Monday!”

Shock hit me again.  Let’s see, this is Thursday, so he’s moving in…IN FOUR DAYS!  I only had 4 days to get used to the idea of having another person in my house.  A person that I didn’t know.  Ok, so Ed and Jack have known each other for years, so he’s not a stranger.  Well, not to Julian; he’s a stranger to me.

That night, I offered to make hamburgers for the guys.  Jack said, “Actually, I gave Ed your mother’s famous pizza recipe and he couldn’t get it to work.  He would really love for you to show him how to make it.”

“I couldn’t make it because you didn’t tell me how much of each ingredient to add!” Ed said.  “You said, ‘Add flour until the dough is right.’  What the hell?!”

I laughed.  Of course I was flattered that Jack wanted me to make Nancy’s Famous Pizza, so I agreed.  Ed stood by side, learning and helping.  He’s a very nice guy and we got along great.  He listened and repeated what I said, and kneaded the dough like I showed him.  Even though he’d rather use a mixer like they do in pizza stores.  I told him that you have to knead in a little love, otherwise the dough doesn’t taste as good.  He shot me a dubious look, but he didn’t argue.  Smart man.

We learned that beyond the love of good pizza, we have nothing in common.  He doesn’t know who Ed Sheeran is.  SERIOUSLY – a 21-year-old redhead who should be using ES’s love songs to pick up chicks, doesn’t know who the singer is.  He stared at me when I quoted Weird Al Yankovic.  Ed is going to college to become a history teacher (humanities); I’m an engineer (math/science).  He likes green peppers and onions on his pizza, while I prefer tomato and mushrooms.

“John, you look hungry,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow at me.  A quiet person, he didn’t say much.

Weird Al is not moving in, either.

Weird Al is not moving in, either.

“Have a banana.  Have a whole bunch.  It doesn’t matter, what you had for lunch.  Just eat it,” I said, quoting Weird Al.

The guys laughed and teased John, but they had NO CLUE which song I was referencing.  Sigh.  The classics are lost on the young.

I further tried to win the guys over by sharing some fun stories of back in the day, when I played Dungeons and Dragons.  Oh, yes, I was a classic nerd growing up.  “And then, a little Halfling shook my character.  I was like, ‘What’s going on?’ and the Dungeon Master said, ‘Oh, nothing.’  Later I discovered that the damn Halfling had robbed me!  I was a thief, so I should have known what was happening!” I said.  “I mean REALLY.  If some little guy shakes you, aren’t you going to see if he takes your coin pouch?  It’s not exactly subtle.  Damn DM.”  The guys sympathized and laughed at the absurdity of some Halfling shaking a half-Elf.  “Oh, one more little detail: I was married to the DM at the time.”  The guys laughed.

I finished cooking the pizza and left the room.  At least I was a hero for making excellent pizza, even if my pop culture references were lost on the crowd, with whom I had nothing in common.  I hadn’t played D&D over a decade, and they were going to play in less than an hour.

I’m getting a roommate.  Wouldn’t it be fun if his name were Mike?  After all, I tend to collect Mikes and I have a thing for redheads; that would be a double whammy.  Nah, a redheaded Ed makes more sense to me.

Ed left on Friday.  On Saturday, Jack told me, “Aw, man, this is going to be great!  I can’t wait for Eddie to move in!  He’s going to be going to my college, and we’ll work out together.  We’re going to join a boxing club and go to the college gym.”  He smiled widely.  The thought made him happy.  “Guess what, Mom?  He’s 21, too, so he can buy you wine!”

I smiled widely, ‘cause that made me happy.  Maybe having another roommate will be a good thing, after all.

Cheers!