Ok....my humor is piqued enough betwixt my inner circle where I feel compelled to share the conversation between Ms. Blog Stalker (heretofore "Ms. BS,"...go back to other blogs, you all know who she is, my former supervisor) and myself, which came in as a surprise whilst I napped yesterday afternoon. Slander has to be recorded and false. Libel has to be written and false, neither of which are valid in this case, so my ass is covered and my phone fully charged. Mind you, I'm typing this out VERBATIM, grammatical, syntactical and typographical errors left intact, just the way they came across the phone:
Monday, 3:26 pm......
Ms. BS: Hey (insert name of scary, giant, mean African-American henchwoman/best pal) and I would like to have lunch w you one day .what day us good for u?
6 Hours later, after I'd awoken and consulted with colleagues.....
ME: That's surprising. What did you want to discuss? I'm extremely busy with graduate school.
Ms. BS: u know
Ms. BS: I also busy with jobs but I need to talk to u
ME: I really have nothing to talk to you about.
Ms. BS: U sure have a lot to say people tell me I never anything to u and I'm tired of hearing from others of what u say if you have something to say tell me to my face
ME: I have zero interest in meeting with you or (henchwoman). Take care.
Ms. BS: Then I better not here (editor's note: sic) anymore shit u r talking about me I don't bother u don't bother me
[Just when you think scene cuts, I'm rudely awakened at 4:45 am Tuesday morning]
Ms. BS: ,this goes for your friends also I heard it didn't stop
[Can we cut scene NOW, please?]
Clearly, I must have her blocked from accessing Blogger; otherwise, she wouldn't be telling me all of this juicy information in a third-party format. "I heard that..." etc. (Unless she suffers from multiple personality disorder or hears voices.)
If anyone's muff-diving, it's the Henchwoman and Ms. BS. I spend so much time investing in my friendship with Meg that when she's stumbly and I hold her hand to walk to the car, people probably thing we're rug munching too (which we're both extremely too man-obsessed to do). Frankly, I don't care, if that's their thing, go for it. Live! I'm just baffled beyond belief that anyone would think I'd be stupid or naive enough to actually meet them "for lunch.." They'd tag-team scream at me! At that point, I'd whip out my latest tracking report of visits from the office during the work day, when they violated the company rules again, to which they're apparently immune. I didn't even find out that the Henchwoman, who had moved to Texas, had returned to her job at Balderdash & Veritities, from Guy. Who told me? A grocery checker at Domnick's. I'll hand it to the Henchwoman. She gives painless shots and can find a vein in Gollum. It's totally immaterial that she's unlicensed.
The last time Ms. BS and the Henchwoman argued with me via text, which was over a year or more ago, or more, before my hysterectomy in 2012, they threatened to go to Lady GuyGuy and expose what Guy and I are up to (read: honestly? Pretty much nothing). My feeling was like, "Go ahead! It's all published anyway!" I care about Guy and his situation, but I don't care what Lady GuyGuy thinks of me, or Ms. BS or the Henchwoman or anyone else left dangling at Balderdash & Verities. Their vapidity is astonishing; their banality unparalleled. Their morbid curiosity, however, is cranked up to 11 on the amp.
They'd left me alone for the greater part of a year, but checked in right quickly for my reaction to Madame Guy's death. Unless I'm wrong and they've been proxy accessing, but keep in mind, these are not intelligent people.
It's just irritating.
Which was why I broached with Guy if it was wise if I came to the wake in the first place. But he wanted me to come. I was glad I went. It was nice to see (most of ) his family and all the old pictures from the family. It was good to support him. I had something special I wanted to give him. In case it isn't already apparently obvious, though I might have been nervous such that I requested the escort of Meg, that was more for the sake of trying to commiserate with Lady GuyGuy, not the staff at Balderdash & Verities. Turned out I had no time to even offer my condolences to Lady GuyGuy, for she was in the surely sympathetic arms of Ms. Blog Stalker, among other throngs. Who left Guy standing by himself in his own little area?
Lunch. Meet us for lunch. Hi, you get a 45 minute lunch (if you choose to abide by any of the rules set out by Balderdash & Verities). I suppose that's enough time to beat me to a bloody pulp, but a) you'd both lose your jobs and end up in the county clink and b) thanks, but my hair stylist already noticed the 1.5" half-moon shaped gash on the top of my head as a result of falling, stumbling back into my house in the middle of the night tanked on Ambien. Hair grew IN it! She thought it was astounding I didn't have a concussion. I probably did, but just ignored it & went back to my meatballs. Heads bleed. A lot. Off-topic, I understand.
This'd be me and Arlene, except I would have the intellectual posse backing me up to kick her ass. I'd be Billy Batts, winding up in the trunk: