so are the days of our lives? Yeehaw: It's Memoir Monday time again!
Oops, not that one... this one:
As the Trav says:
"Hey y'all. This little thing is called Memoir Monday, and I'd be thrilled if you gave it a shot. Just jot down a story about yourself, grab my code down there, and I'll link you up to be read by all my wonderful blog buddies. The only rule? It has to be true. I am personally doing what I can to help cure your case of the Mondays. Thanks for playing along!"
Screaming masses of stalkerish fans join this blog hop sorta thing of the fisherman. If you want to be in the kewl group then leap on over and join in. Just make sure the tale you tell is one to captivate and, of course, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth!
And so on with my Monday Madmother Mouthing Off.
Friends often tell me: "You should write a book." Not because they adore my turn of phrase or written prose, nor due to any underlying adulation of my ability to spin a tale. No. Merely because my life has ALWAYS seemed to lurch from crisis to crisis. Just like a soap opera.
So, for today's Monday Memoir, I am going to tell you a story from my overly dramaticised youth. In standard subtle soap script style of course.
Scene 1: Crowded Ballroom.
Our heroine, Bad Girl (prior to Madmotherdom), has just had a confrontation in the ladies room with Old Wife, who was formerly married to The Crush. Bad Girl and The Crush had enjoyed a brief relationship during a break in his marriage. The Crush had since survived a failed reconciliation attempt and now was with Boring as Batshit Woman. Bad Girl, unused to defeat, was still nursing a badly bruised ego and a lingering lust for The Crush. These unrequited emotions did not stop her from starting a new sensual adventure with the aptly named Toy Boy. Toy Boy has crashed the Ball to seek out his partner in the carnal.
TB: "Hey. Thought you might need me, so me and Offsider decided to drop in and crash this joint."
BG: "You told me this was not your scene, you told me you weren't coming to some boring formal crapshot place."
TB: "It isn't my scene, but you are. I figured with The Crush, Boring as Batshit Woman, and Old Wife being here it might get a bit difficult."
BG: " *Sniff*, she said "Here it comes, would you look at what it's wearing!" Then her bunch of witches sniggered at me. *Sniff!*"
TB: "Whaaaaaat? Look at her? Come on - really look at her! She is a scrag. You are looking so hot tonight, how can anything she said worry you? What, didn't they have a mirror in the toilets? Do you not know how good you are looking?"
BG: "You're just saying that to get me to take you home with me."
TB: "No I am not. You look amazing. Come on, let's dance."
All eyes upon them, they take over the dance floor. At one point TC tries to cut in but is rebuffed, OW scowls from her seat, BaBW, well, is just boring as batshit.
Cue theme music.
The end.
And yes, I did take him home that night, but it wasn't the first time, nor was it to be the last.
3 comments:
I'll count my post for today as a Memoir Monday :P
SOMETHING TRUE ABOUT MYSELF;
Years ago I was abducted by aliens. They placed a communicatIONS chip in my brain, and have been talking to me ever since. I used to wear aluminum foil hats to block the alien voices, but it did not work (and people thought I was crazy and chased me with a net).
I have now resigned myself to hearing alien voices forever. Recently the aliens told me to walk to New Zealand (a hot bed of alien activity). It was a long trip (mostly underwater). I followed a line of lobsters that seemed to be headed in the right directions, but was soon hopelessly lost. And, I forgot to bring my GPS.
This is when I met Madmother on another blog, and she promised to guide me to shore and keep me warm. Ha! I was stood up, and soon more lost than ever. I was forced to camp in Antartica in an igloo with nothing but a ripped net and a penguin to keep me warm.
I am currently trying to walk back home, but I am lost in your reef, surviving on crustations and eels. The authorities (Coast Guard) contacted me and stated that I was not allowed in Australia because of suspected mental instability. This is totally unfair. Beaurocrats! They are the same everywhere.
Well Walter, in reality I did not stand you up. Was on my way hankering for that lobster dinner, when I became disoriented. All those igloos look the same in a blizzard, you know.
A nice native took pity on me, invited me into his home where we feasted on lobster, drank champagne and then made mad passionate warmth on a polar bear rug. Come on, you know how terribly cold it was there, what was a girl to do when a rug roll is offered?
PS The authorities ARE aliens here.
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