Sunday Morning Post

My pal Jen called me yesterday, out of the deep blue sky of forever since we last spoke. It’s been like, almost an entire calendar year and none of it mattered once we got down to giving each other shit. We somehow became solid friends in spite of ourselves.

Last fall, me and Jen engaged in some horizontal shenanigans. I blamed it on my inability to untangle myself from a married woman who chose her sides based on which social media platform she was using. Jen blamed it on the wine. We both agreed that the holidays would play our foil.

So when the gal I once played human Rubik’s Cube with dialed me up almost an entire calendar year later (Read: More than nine months hence), my mind wandered to a place no dude wants to be entertaining on a lazy Saturday. Until she hit me with the what’s what of her matter of fact.

“I’m engaged!” She coughed.

“What in the blessed fuck girl?! You? Miss . . . I’m never getting married again?”

“I changed my mind, okay? Jesus!” She laughed.

“It’s a damn shame because you were worth WAY more on the market,” I laugh. “But seriously, congratulations,”

“Yeah well . . the market is depressed,” Jen laughs back.

“So I’ve heard,”

“And get this, he totally understands dipping pizza in Nutella,”

“Oh shit, he’s retarded?”


“As long as you’re both retarded, you will live happily ever after . .”

“Hey, what’s doing today? Wanna grab some coffee and I can show you the rock?”

“Hey . . yeah! Maybe we could go for manicures and chat up The Bachelor too!”

“Fuck you, seriously though. Coffee?”

“Let’s change it up a little bit. I wanna see Aquaman, so bring coffee and I’ll get the tickets,”

“Ooooooh! Jason Momoa, mama likey! Okay . . you got a deal. But they’re not gonna let us bring coffee in . .”

“First of all, you and I both know that some pimply faced ticket attendant is no match for your sweet talking ways . . and besides, not a concern if we get there early and catch up. That way we’re not being those people who chatter over the movie, yanno?”

“Those people suck,”

“Exactly . . .”

So we met up with plenty of time to spare. Jen gifted me a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup hot chocolate, which is way more sinfully stupid than it sounds. After she showed me the ‘rock’, we got down to the business of giving each other shit.

I asked her if Ryan has any kids, and she said he has one son from his previous marriage. “But he’s fifteen, which is kind of a big deal for me since every time I hear some bratty six year old throwing a tantrum in public, I think there’s no way . . .” Jen said.

“That’s very mature. I usually just think that dad’s penis was evil and mom’s vagina was broken,”

“I am at peace with being a selfish bitch,”

“You know what I’m at peace with? The idea of a meteor crashing down to earth while the world is sleeping,”

“Well more than half the world would not be sleeping, and it would be kind of horrible . .” Jen said.

“Yes, and I am at peace with the idea that I would be on the sleeping side of the planet when it happened,” I said.

“I would want to be awake, and at a Dave Matthews concert or something,” Jen said.

“Oh my fucking God,”

“Why do you hate Dave Matthews?”

“I don’t. Because to hate infers an emotional investment, and I don’t invest myself in pretentious monkeys who believe their lyrics should be amended into the ten commandments,”

“Nope, no hate at all . .”

Jen’s phone chimes and it’s Ryan. She puts it on speaker so that introductions can be made in the new old fashioned way. The dude sounds just like a movie star, and Jen’s eyes light up when he speaks.

“My man, first of all . . . condolences. I would like to tell you things will get better but I’m a horrible liar . . .” I say.

The two of them crack up in unison, like little kids who share a secret no one else in the world is privy to. Jen’s face scrunches up and when it irons itself out I can see the little girl she used to be. The one who believed in fairy tales and princes and happy endings. And inside this wonderful moment, flowers are blooming in the middle of winter and the world is making sense. I am smitten with these two, and it turns me into a ball of mush and it steals my snarky retorts.

I hate when that happens.







65 thoughts on “Sunday Morning Post

    • T Sizzle,

      So very wrong. And what’s worse, now she has someone who shares the addiction. It’s gonna be an uphill battle, and I wish them the best of luck.

      And yes, please? LOL. I have to say, it’s refreshing that you feel the same. I don’t share my thoughts as per DMB with many for fear they are a part of the cult.

      I do not hide that sentimental side. I simply understand it differently than most. And to borrow from Jen, I am at peace with that. 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

      • Well, she probably found the only person who thinks that pizza thing is OK. Good for her!

        I never understood why people liked DMB. Or Mumford and Sons, ya know, since they only know the one song. 🙂

        That’s good to hear. Your “I hate when that happens” at the end there had me concerned.

        Liked by 1 person

        • If you ARE going to suffer from an affliction such as dipping your pizza (crust) in Nutella, I guess it’s a good thing when you have someone who shares the affliction.

          Yeah, I don’t understand the fascinations either. But it’s not something I talk about in mixed company. Hells, I think I’d rather bring up politics or religion!

          Oh, that referred to how these two rendered my snark-o-meter useless is all, LOL. It is damn near impossible to pull it off with them two. It’s adorable, actually.

          Liked by 2 people

  1. B,

    It’s great when you have a friend you’ve danced horizontally with and still respect each other in the morning… though, that Pizza-Nutella thing coulda been a game-changer.

    There is an expression in Quebec that goes like this: “Chaque torchon trouve sa guénille”. Which really is horrible sounding because both torchon and guénille are words for rag… so “Each rag finds it’s dishrag” or, wait. I just remembered another one: “Chaque pot trouve son couvercle” meaning: “Each pot finds its lid” – sounds way better, eh? Bottom line is: there is someone for everyone out there 🙂

    And you can be the snarkiest you can, except with it comes to your close peeps’ happiness. And that is a very good thing.

    To love and finding your perfect rag,


    Liked by 4 people

    • Q,

      We always understood ourselves as friends, and so that whole Nutella thing was never going to affect me adversely, LOL.

      Jen found her lid. God bless those two, really. I don’t have to be of the same opinion to appreciate the hell out of it.

      I always root on, encourage and support my peeps. Their place in my life lets me know I’m doing things the right way. 🙂

      The rag thing is a tad bit wishy washy. I like the lid. More forceful! LOL.


      Liked by 4 people

      • Of course. And you know I’m teasing.

        Yes, they found each other and I agree, the rag thing is wishy washy – Hey, I didn’t invent the expression!

        And that you are, my friend, that you are. 🙂

        Liked by 3 people

        • You? Tease? I must have the wrong number, because you’d never dream of doing such a thing . . .

          Of course you didn’t. You would consider such an expression to be . . in your words, fuss-ass. It would be akin to not using the letter “U” in keeping with his majesty. 😉

          You da sweetest! MUAH!

          Liked by 4 people

          • Thought I’d throw you for a loop… can’t have you getting too complacent, yanno…

            I would strive to be more positive in my descriptor, yes. Fuss-ass – me? Use such an expression? Whatchu talkin’ about? Umm.. HER majesty.

            I try… MWAH!

            Liked by 4 people

          • I dream of being complacent. And having a beer belly too. But I don’t think I would be able to pull it off without becoming a basket case.

            Oh yes, silly me. I was talking old school rather than the current regime. Your correction is much appreciated.


            Liked by 4 people

          • Complacency is not a place to be. It is that neutral zone where feelings don’t exist. It would make us automatons. No way you or I could stay in such a place – not for very long, anyway.
            As to the beer belly… no comment.

            You are forgiven, Colonial. But just coz it’s you.


            Liked by 3 people

          • Blech!
            I like where I got to, very much by accident. You simply have to be comfortable in your own skin, it’s the whole enchilada.

            And no, I mean like a legit, gut hanging over the belt where you wonder how in the hell they put it on in the first place. Those dudes look uber comfortable in spite of it. But I think I’d just be miserable.

            I must go fetch some firewood for the cold winter’s night to come! Lo and behold, the rabbit stew is almost ready!

            Liked by 4 people

          • Blech to both complacency AND that beer belly hanging over the gut. Honest to gawd… wherever did you get the notion they are comfortable? They can barely reach their knick-knack ( to take a leak, never mind holding a woman tight and letting her know he’s interested… she ain’t gonna feel nuthin’ coz it can’t reach – it does shrink as the belly expands, just sayin’…

            Ooohh… be there enough stew for two?

            Liked by 3 people

          • Now that is WAY more penis knowledge than I bargained for, LOL.

            They DO look comfortable. Gut flapping in the breeze, not a care in the world. A beer in one hand, contributing to the situation even further . . .

            Stew for two! Bring the bread!

            Liked by 3 people

          • Who knew?

            If you say so. I do know that when it comes time to take their shirt off for some game (I see it at the Golf club Christmas parties), it’s always those guys who are the first to strip – so… either they don’t give a shit or they are comfortable.

            And the mead… must have some mead to go with the stew and bread!

            Liked by 3 people

  2. You had me at Reese’s hot chocolate. Man does that sound like a one way trip to hell. This post warmed my heart in that you could feel happy for someone who was feeling happy as well. Sometimes life is about others and you did a swell demo of that today. (BTW. anyone who dips anything into Nutella needs help.)

    Liked by 4 people

    • That drink should be illegal. But I’m glad it’s not.
      I feel happiest when it’s someone else, I really do. Maybe it’s the writer in me, the observer who sees so much anguish and hopelessness. And then, there’s bloom and I’m all gooped up for the kids!

      Life is about navigating the differences. Not with hate and derision but with love and good wishes. The problem with this world is that too many people think there’s a blueprint for how a life is supposed to behave. There isn’t. It’s all wide open. The universe, it doesn’t speak to us, no. We speak to the universe.

      Thankfully, they have each other when it comes to the Nutella thing.

      Liked by 3 people

  3. First of all, let me begin by saying how much I loved the path of this…the way it began, like an unexpected Christmas gift that alas, you ended up giving back.
    The last paragraph is so, so, so, beautiful. I hope you save hard copies of essays like this one.

    “The two of them crack up in unison, like little kids who share a secret no one else in the world is privy to. Jen’s face scrunches up and when it irons itself out I can see the little girl she used to be.” See, we were all once that little girl, even you…:)

    Liked by 2 people

    • SB,

      I didn’t include the part about how my ‘untangling’ from this married woman was not the result of possessing a broken heart. Hell, I haven’t suffered from a broken heart since Marla Gotlieb dumped me for Mark Prober in the fifth grade. And that one only lasted through lunchtime. No, mine was more a realization that every time I obliged the standard practice of being “In a relationship”, I felt as if something was missing. After which the relationship ends up veering in a negative direction. The married woman made it easy for me to leave. Jen made it easy for me to see why it was the right decision.

      Jen has been through hell and back, and she deserves this happiness for the plain simple reason that she did not ask for it. She never bitched or whined or bemoaned the epic failure of her first marriage. She lived her life not looking for that mythical ‘other half’ after that. She eschewed online dating for old school interactions and when each and every one of them failed, she picked herself up by the boot straps and moved on. Adult like and such. There is no Prince and Princess lottery.

      I haven’t been called a little girl since I played high school football! It’s kinda nice.

      Liked by 3 people

  4. Oh, to be a fly on your walls with other convos like this (though I suspect all your convos are like this!). Congrats to your friend with best wishes for a happy ever after life. Not that I necessarily believe in it, but hey if it works for others, more power to them. Not to sound cynical but my ‘life professor’ seems to be the dean from the ‘life is cruel university’. C’est la vie. ❤️

    Liked by 2 people

    • You got me pegged! LOL
      I’m happy for Jen, but I do agree with you. I once wrote that we pen our own happy endings. Life is beautiful and life is cruel. Both. But above all, life is to be lived by the rules that matter in our heart and soul. The rest is just soup du jour.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. I have a running joke about Dave Matthews with some friends. My distaste for them harkens back to their dumping shit into the Chicago River. So yes, this is my favorite line:
    “I don’t. Because to hate infers an emotional investment, and I don’t invest myself in pretentious monkeys who believe their lyrics should be amended into the ten commandments,”

    Hate does infer an emotional investment. I’m going to hold on to that one. I think you’ve written it before.

    Anyway, what a great surprise on so many levels. What I’m not surprised by is your joy for your friend. That’s a true friend. You are a good man Charlie Brown!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. This was a pretty cool read … I felt like I was hanging out at the movies with you or just being a chismosa and overhearing the conversation. I LOVED the last line. Epic.

    And incidentally I was rolling when you mentioned Dave Matthews and your friend liking it and you … well you having a different opinion. It reminded me of Marc Maron’s Netflix Special. It cracked me up! He shares your opinion of Matthews.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Haha! I haven’t heard chismosa in ages, I love it! Glad it came across that way. As a writer, I would hope you would let your observational skills. But at some point, if you knew it was me . . Cayman/Marco . . you would HAVE to introduce yourself! LOL

      I will have to check that out. It’s just my opinion, and thank you for not thinking me public enemy number one for it. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      • I would have totally been like Cayman!!! I mean Marco! It’s me!!! Sunshine and Waves. The Guat. Then I’d have to steal a piece of that recess from you 🙂 I have no opinion on Matthews at all but the fact that you mentioned it made me laugh because I thought of Maron’s comedy special and his take on Matthews had me rolling! Ha! I just might watch that again. Him and Mike Birbiglia crack me up.

        Liked by 1 person

        • Heck, Jen woulda bought ya one. My peeps are like that. Sunshine and Waves indeed. And don’t forget Riley fans!
          Admittedly, this is the first I’ve seen of Maron. Funny, funny dude! Thank you for that chime!

          Liked by 1 person

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