Creative License

Thom:  Thanks for stealing my line.

Me:  What line?

Thom:  The “stop raping my daughter Lifetime Movie” line.

Me:  I thought that was Chris’s line.

*Our waiter drops off a pitcher of beer and a blond beehive wig which Thom immediately places on his head.*

Thom:  You didn’t give him credit either.

Me:  I’m sorry.

Thom:  And I never said I wanted to be aluminum siding.

Me:  Ok.

*A busboy stands behind Thom’s seat and leans around to apply blush and lip gloss.*

Thom:  And you’re always trying to make me gay.

Me:  Well, I always wanted a sister.

Thom:  You just make all this stuff up, don’t you?

*a flock of cartoon blue birds descend from the rafters and drape Thom in pink chiffon*

Me:  I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Thom:  Like tonight.  I bet you’ll write something about tonight and none of it will be true.

Me:  It’s possible.  I seem to be all drool and no creative juices this week.  Do something funny so I don’t have to make something up.


*NPH dressed as a Vegas showgirl rides in on a white unicorn pulling a parade float covered in chinchillas and rainbows*

Me:   I’m not sure that’s funny, Thom.  I’m not even sure that’s legal.

Thom:  Only because you aren’t drinking.

*Thom, lifted from table by winged leprechauns, joins NPH and Ani Difranco on parade float and performs “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar” on a steel drum.  After performance, Thom nods head a la “I dream of Jeanie’ and instantly reappears in seat.*

Thom:  Half the stuff you write about never even happens.

Me:  But at least half of it does.


    1. Or ignoring me altogether. Thom seems to have a problem with that one. Mostly because I bob around in his face screaming, “I’m not touching you….”

  1. Jeremiah claims that most of my blog is made up too. But I have lots and lots of photos to back up a lot of what I write about.


    it’s all completely true. He’s just jealous of my total and complete AWESOMENESS.

    YOU HAVE A BABY INSIDE OF YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
    I so get to name it. Call me Rumpelstiltzkin.

    1. Just so long as you don’t call it Rumpelstiltskin. Which, I’m sure, is what I’ll name its foreskin if it’s a boy.

      Too much?

  2. Aw, maybe the blonde beehive didn’t suit him as much as he’d hoped and he had a little tantrum? Boys!

    Were you giving that baby booze? YOU CAN’T GIVE A BABY BOOZE! 🙂 (that’s a funny quote if you’re British, incidentally. Which you’re not. Never mind.)

  3. If you wouldn’t mind sending back the cartoon blue birds so that they can continue to circle my head, that would be great. This is the internet, truth need not apply — plus, you know he loves it.

  4. Not fair. All I ever get are Bats descending from a belfree. (sp?) Bellfree (?) Crazy Clocktower. Sigh.

    This is why my husband never reads my blog. He’s always all like “It’s boring. I live with you so I know all about it already.”

  5. The best thing about writing is that, not only can you make shit up, you can cite phony sources and have no sense of ethics at all. It’s sort of like being the government, with the added advantage of being able to use silly photos.

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