I went to a dinner party earlier this week. I broke my two river rule for a potluck that was devoid of both pot and luck. I am a stupendous friend.
For the most part, it was a fantastic outing filled with good food and fun people. I’m still sucking at all those, “So what do YOU do?” questions that inevitably arise within the first two minutes of a conversation with a total stranger.
I tried claiming I was in training to become a Pine Marten, but that didn’t fly. So then I tried out different answers on various people. While sipping water I started with, “I do some freelance marketing work and occasional consulting.” Sadly, that won’t win me any most-interesting-gal-at-a-party awards so I had to add, “I spend all day online looking at weird things on the Internet.”
Halfway through my first glass of wine I changed my story to, “I’m a blogger.” To try and add some credibility I added, “I spend all day putting weird things on the Internet.”
While mingling, I met a gal named Mildred. Let me say that one more time – I met a gal named MILDRED. Is that the best name ever in the history of the universe? (Correct answer – it’s second only to Elly, of course.) I spent the whole night working her name into sentences. “So MILDRED, how do you like Queens?” “I’d really like to hear MILDRED’s opinion on Neil Patrick Harris.” “I’m off to fetch MILDRED a little more wine.” “MILDRED, those boots are fantastic.” “Oh my dearest MILDRED, what do you say we blow this popsicle stand, head to the village, and get matching tattoos with your name in them?”
I love a good name. Listening to some tunes yesterday, I realized that if I was reincarnated as a racehorse I’d want to be named Stewball. “He never drank water, he only drank wine.” That’s pretty damn cool for a horse.
Then again, I only run when chased. The odds of me making it as a racehorse are pretty slim. I then decided I should settle for someday owning a horse and naming him Stewball.
But what about Wildfire?!? Could I really have a horse and not name him Wildfire? Isn’t Wildfire technically a pony name? That’s what Michael Murphey said at least.
Not that I have a pony…or a horse…or solid plans to acquire either animal. But a girl needs to be prepared, just in case. Ponies happen.
Really it would have to be a pony instead of a horse. One – they’re much smaller than racehorses. If I’m going to fit a hoofed animal in my 700 sq ft apartment, I should probably shoot for the smallest critter possible. Two – ponies are easier to name. Case in point – you couldn’t really name a race horse Wildfire. Comparatively, I think it would be pretty amusing to name a pony after a racehorse. It would also be amusing to name a pony Magillicutty Vagina Juice. Say, do ponies drink wine? I’m not sharing my supply of vino with some booze-crazed burro.
Now that we’ve settle the great Pony vs Racehorse Debate of 2010, I can return my focus to the more important manners at hand. Will PETA hunt me down and maim me if I hire a surgeon to add a horn and wings to my pony? Can you litter train a pony? Will my ferret dying experience be sufficient to successfully dye my pony? Most importantly, what do I name my new pony?
You guys were pretty useless when I sought advice. I’m not naming him Glue, Sloppy Joe, nor Frau Bluecher. Starlight is still in the running, though. I do love me some Rainbow Brite. That girl knew how to rock the horizontal stripes and was not afraid of color.
Frankly Interwebz, I’m disappointed in you. It’s like your not even trying (or like you left the house and enjoyed the beautiful weather this weekend instead of hanging on my every tweet). If a pony happens today I’ll have to name him MILDRED. I hope you’re happy.