hey! I told you ten a week for like a year! or ten years, as it happens for some...
Good eye! I did not spot it, because I looked at the captions first and then barely looked at the cartoon. I have noticed, though, that in caption contests, given a drawing that doesn't have caption offerings right alonside it (thus distracting them from the drawing) non-cartoonists often fail to notice which character is actually speaking. I say this as a New Yorker cartoonist, myself, with experience in live caption contests. It's kind of uncanny. Yes, people do fail to notice who is speaking. Haha. I love the sinister twist you put on this!
Edith Zimmerman. Best. Editor. Ever.
LW1, you made me think of a friend of mine, who once, when I asked him about cold sores, said, "Ah, herpes. I fell in love in Paris twenty years ago with a beautiful woman who gave me herpes. I'll never forget her. Ah, well." Does that sound crazy? He fondly remembered this woman, will always cherish her memory, was truly in love. I don't see anything wrong with cherishing past loves, sometimes indulging in daydreaming and fantasies, even. But it's just a luxury. This is one of the things I learned in France. How many married men did I know, who'd tell me about people they were still in love with, but had declared them off limits because they loved their wives? And had no guilt about it, because it was just a separate thing, just a dreamland, just a figment now? They'd even be sweet to the lady in question at parties, flirt with her, all the while knowing nothing would come of it. It's called romance. It's totally possible to still be in love with someone from your past, while moving on, and just enjoying the luxury of having that old flame in your heart. You just need to loosen up. It's nothing to be ashamed of, still being in love, totally unrealistically. It's just something you have to realize you can't act on. It's a love story, to be told, but not to be lived. How lucky are you to have had that little bit of closeness with her at all? Many people never get that, or they get it too late, and have to cheat on their partners, get messy divorces, etc. This is one of those things that my best friend used to tell me, you "put in your pocket," and are happy to have, but you walk away. You'll be okay! You're romantic and dreamy. Nothing wrong with that. Take it from someone who has thought she'd found the ONLY ONE, several times, and been dumped by most of them. You'll be okay if you just let go. Smile at yourself, and move on.
On Wisdom Teeth
@deepomega me, too. I actually begged my dentist to take all my wisdom teeth out, told him it had always been my dream. So he said okay. It was nothing at all. I got nitrous, and it was like dozing on a subway, really, going in and out, time moving quickly. I got the dreaded "dry socket" but it got me out of a family gathering I didn't want to go to, so, totally worth it. ;)
Best thing I ever did, should've done it a decade ago! I love my new, less cluttered mouth! Cost a bit, but man, when I think what I spent filling cavities in those damn wisdom teeth, sheesh. Total money-saver.
I can't abide pink most of the time, but I find it strangely endearing on little old ladies wearing pink saris and sneakers.
Yes, yes, yes, to Donna Tartt's reading of True Grit! It's wonderful!
@Lemonnier I paid $500 a month for a closet in a DUMBO loft in 1998!
After reading every male hardboiled or noir detective story I could find from Chandler to Parker, then going through every female detective series I could find, I thought, why not try some lesbian detective stories? Well, there was so much schlocky stuff about nipples going erect under pale silk shirts at the drop of a hat all the time, around all the clichées and old tropes. I'm glad I tried them, and I've gotten a new list of potential good ones from thehairpin.com's thread about lesbian novels (so there's hope!), but the titles in my Kindle still kind of smirt at me with their erect nipples from my archives list. Sometimes I wonder if I should delete them permanently, but they kind of make me happy that they're in the peanut gallery of everything else I've read. Also, from childhood: Queenie, by Judy Blume. All I remember is how bad and embarrassing it was, nothing else.