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Wendy News
June 23, 1999
Issue #10
Please remain on the line.
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TABLE O' CONTENTS:
o The Truth About the Boy
o The Job Thang
o The Adventures of Milo Edward and Grover Bean
o Reviews by Moi
o Letters
o Really Official Credits
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The Truth About the Boy
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Okay, here goes: I've been holding back. What I mean is, I've been purposefully not writing much about Mark. Why? Because I'm self-conscious. Because I'm afraid people won't like me talking about my boyfriend too much. Because I have people reading this newsletter who I know and I'm not sure I want knowing all this stuff. But you know what? That never stopped me before. In fact, it's always been my policy to write whatever I want in my newsletter, even if it meant some people might end up steamed at me (my birthday gift ["the book"] snip did not go over well with Mark, for instance). Total honesty is what I strive for here.
So I'm turning over a new leaf; attempting to morph back into what I used to be: a blabbermouth who told many of her deepest, darkest secrets to whoever would read them. Of course I don't/won't go overboard. But I have written some pretty personal stuff, and I'd like to keep it that way.
The truth about the boy is, I love him. I loved him on our first date and I still love him almost five months later. This is the first guy I've actually wanted to spend the rest of my life and have children with. I get excited when I think about the rest of our lives together. For the first time in my life, I'm mulling over what I would want my wedding to be like. Whenever we have a problem (and we do have them), I feel even crummier than I usually would because I want so badly for this to work. I am determined to make it work.
And most of the time, it does work. He's my best friend. He also makes my heart go skee-bop. We laugh and act silly together, we think the same way about a lot of things (well, he's way more political than I am. I gave up awhile ago.), and we're both completely adorable. I never thought such a cute, loveable boy existed. He's like the human version of Grover Bean (who, by the way, loved Mark from the beginning).
So that's that. I guess maybe I feel more secure exclaiming these things after five months than I did at three. Every day the whole thing gets a little easier.
I think I kind of wish he wasn't reading this. It makes me self-conscious. I've gotta get over that.
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The Job Thang
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Yes, I'm still at the law department, and I surf the Internet freely because what are they gonna do, fire me? It's still a pretty good gig, especially when I know it's only temporary. In three more weeks Mom and I move into our new house and then this job will be a long way to commute, so I'll probably ditch it then.
I had an interview last week with an Internet company of unspecified name. It went pretty well. I haven't heard glowing reports of this company, but I haven't heard anything particularly bad either. It would basically be like working for a newspaper, only it's online and doesn't cover politics. It sounds like it might be a lot of fun, but it also squeaks of unspecified responsibilities and duties, plus I'll be working in an office with only one other person, who is also my manager -- a possible recipe for disaster. But it is more money than I'm making temping and at this point I've gotta go for the security thing. Well, I don't have to, but I'm really tired of being broke all the time. And paying for my own health insurance.
They'll be calling candidates this week to make offers. In a way, I'll be relieved if they just don't call. Then I won't have to make this decision. But if they do call, I'll probably take it.
The California job is on hold until the end of July. I figure by then I'll know better where I want to go and what I want to do and if the Boy will come with or not.
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The Adventures of Milo Edward and Grover Bean
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I never told you about Milo's Great Escape. It happened during one of my writing lulls. I guess Milo was used to being able to get outside of the apartment and wander around. Of course, that was when I was in a closed building in New York City, and the farthest he went was to the third floor to scream at the door of my downstairs neighbor until she opened up and let him in.
Anyhoo, Milo kept making a break for it. He'd wait at the front door and when you opened it coming in, he'd try to shoot out between your legs. To curb this nasty habit (there's only parking lot and danger outside our door) we kept a spray bottle in front of the door. Whenever we came home, we'd first arm ourselves with said bottle. Upon entry, we'd squirt the hell out of the little bugger, who was sitting there, poised to go, about 80 percent of the time. This seemed to do the trick. But then we got a little lazy. And then we stopped with the squirt bottle altogether. By then, though, Milo seemed pretty much cured. He didn't really try to get out anymore.
Of course what I know now is that the little demon was scheming the entire time. "When you least expect it, expect it," he was surely thinking when he gave me one of his blank stares. And one day, coming home from work, I opened the front door and ZIP, he flew by me, bumping his flabby stomach against my legs only for a millisecond before bolting down the stairs. I dropped everything I was holding and went down after him. I almost got him cornered on the second floor but he flew by me, past my outstretched hands, and down to the first floor, where he shambled into the bushes.
Well damn if it isn't impossible for a human being to get into those bushes. I sweet-talked, then threatened, then sweet-talked again, trying to lure him out of there. He sat contentedly behind innumerous sharp branches and looked like he knew he had just done something really bad-ass and cool. He didn't budge. After about twenty minutes I got fed up and went upstairs without him. I figured he'd probably get spooked by all the cars and run upstairs eventually.
I got upstairs and Grover was, of course, screaming his brains out. You can't separate Grover from Milo - he isn't maleable that way. After about fifteen minutes of listening to his agonized cries, I went back downstairs to check the bushes. Milo wasn't there. I looked around, called, checked all surrounding bushes. No Milo. By now it was beginning to get dark and I could see less and less. I went back upstairs to get a flashlight.
If you ever want to meet all the homeless/bad-ass kitties in your neighborhood, just go looking for your lost kitty. One kitty stumped me several times because he was black and white like Milo and seemingly following me on my search so I kept bumping into him.
To make a long story not so long, I didn't find Milo that night. Or the next morning when I went out looking for him before I had to go to work. Or that night when I got home from work or the countless times I went out looking until about midnight.
Milo was missing for three days. I found an old picture of him which was a nice clear one of his face, enlarged it, and printed "WANTED" and my phone number on it. I made 30 copies and posted them all over the apartment complex. Because Milo has done this before (but was never missing for this long), I had to once again consider life with only Grover Bean and no Milo Edward. I didn't like that picture. It felt lonely.
Grover cried and cried the entire time. He was pretty much inconsolable and clung to me in case I, too, was thinking of shooting out the door and not coming back.
After three days and three nights, I woke up and went outside to look for Milo. I called and called and got no response. I went upstairs and got ready for work. I got all my stuff together and grabbed my keys. As I was locking the front door, I heard a distinct meow. That croaky squeak I know so well. I perked up and said, "Milo?" Another squeak, this time closer. I looked down the stairs and my filthy black and white kitty was climbing up to meet me. I stumbled down to the second floor and scooped him up. He was so dirty all his white parts were gray. And his feet were filthy. I kissed him and hugged him and swept him back into the house. I really had to go to work, but I stayed a couple of minutes to pet him and let Grover see him. Then I went to work with great relief.
I'd say it took him a good five days of bathing to get all the dirt and filth out of his fur. His white feet remained gray for about a month, most especially his little heels. Cutie.
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Reviews
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"Twin Dragons"
Jackie Chan, Other People
Mark and I went to see this one night at the $2 movie theater. I'll see just about anything for $2, and I liked "Rumble in the Bronx," another Jackie Chan movie. Mark claimed this was an old one of his from Hong Kong that recently got English voice-overs. The only real bummer is that at the end of the movie, no outtakes. He didn't know at that time that audiences love Jackie Chan outtakes, and will pretty much watch the whole movie just to see them.
But I digress. The minute the movie started, in black and white, with an aerial shot of two newborn Asian babies in a hospital squirming and then being picked up by hospital staff, I leaned over to Mark and said, "Oh, this is going to be good." The babies are brought to their parents, who are 1960's-out in a flip hairdo for mama and polyester plaid pants for papa. They coo and snuggle their new babies until a Bad Guy comes in and for reasons I don't remember, wreaks havoc on the new family. Suffice it to say the babies get separated, one baby staying with the parents and the other being found and kept by some random floozy. (Oh dear, that can't be good.)
The movie then kicks off with a big old car chase/fighting scene where you are introduced to the bad-ass twin who lives on the wrong side of the tracks (of course). Meanwhile, the goodie twin is performing a piano recital in some fancy recital hall in front of a gazillion people. Etc. etc. etc.
The plot doesn't matter. The plot is silly. One twin can fight; the other can't -- that's about all I gleaned. Jackie Chan, as always, does amazing stunts and is so adorable and endearing, you don't even care that he can't act. There's a tidy happy ending and except for the no outtakes credits, you leave feeling pretty satisfied.
Rating: Good -n- trashy. Rent it or pay no more than $3 to see it.
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Letters!
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Just one day after I decided to come clean and start writing about my love muffin again, I received this lovely e-mail from a reader. Kismet? You decide.
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Wendy,
Forget the Finn guy who requested no more mushy boy stuff. I'd love to hear what you and dear, darling Mark are up to. You've waited long enough for Maybe-Mr. Right! And... Reese's Cups suck! But I'm told that newer Milky Caramel Milky Way Bar thing is good. Maybe you and your mom could review it???
Hello to Milo and Groovy Grovey!!!
Adrienne
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Really Official Credits!
Editor, Writer, Utterly Shagnificent: Wendy Hall
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"Wendy News" is a Girl Planet Production. Copyright 1999, All Rights Reserved. Any stealing, cheating, backstabbing, duplication or otherwise funky bad behavior without permission from Wendy Hall will result in Girl Planet Productions giving a ringy-dingy to our Super Lawyers (yep, they do wear capes).