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Long Time, No Shit
By briantologist | November 4, 2003
So yeah, it’s been kind of a rough couple of weeks. This was mainly due to the unfortunate matter of Darleece’s miscarriage, which, let me tell you, is the kind of thing that can really put a damper on your week. I should note here that, based in no small part on my strongly held belief that too few people think to themselves, “maybe I should suggest to my kid that he stop shrieking at the top of his fucking lungs in the checkout line two feet away from that guy in front of us!”, I’m in no hurry to be a father. Darleece feels basically the same, getting, as she does, quite enough of kids during the average day of children’s librarianship. As such, neither of us had the slightest idea that there might be some bun-ovenship going on.
We’re both doing much better now, and she’s going back to work tomorrow after a much-needed week plus two days off. Thanks to everybody who said nice things to us and was generally supportive. Which, by the way, everybody totally was. Jimmy Jam brought a bottle of whiskey and spent an evening watching TV with us. Max Power brought beer and spent an evening watching TV with us. Many people were nice and sent flowers, or were just nice, which is also very fine. Some kind corporation or another was nice enough to issue the second season of “Angel” on DVD, which gave my lady something to watch for several days.
Jimmy Jam once noted that “Girls don’t want McDonald’s after an abortion … found that out.” Regardless of what the ladies want after a D&C, it’s become profoundly clear how helpful a healing influence television can be. In a situation where something unpleasant has happened, something that’s not physically harmful on a permanent level and that takes some time to mentally get used to, TV can be a great calmer and number of the brain. It’s like that cough syrup with codeine in it: It keeps you calm and detached until things die down some, and you’re comfortable getting up and looking around again.
In other news, our Novemberween party last Saturday was a tightly concentrated success. We got our pictures back, and I’ll scan them in and turn them into an online photo album pretty soon. Suffice it to say that, drunk as the rest of us may have been, Max Power was way, way, way, way, way, way, way, way drunker. I mean, he was really drunk. No, seriously. I’m not even kidding. No, listen.
In closing, I should mention that we dearly and acutely missed Agent Foxxy Boxing at said party, as her presence would’ve taken the whole thing to a new, potentially dangerous level. I should mention at this point that I mixed up a couple batches of Sangria (Dr. Voltron’s recipe), aka “Truth Serum.” Since most of us tell the truth anyway, things get ugly and hilarious when we start telling the truth. Good times. Good times.
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