26 September 2007

Sheepdog Hater, Part 2

I got brought to task for not finishing my post about the Sheepdog Hater. In fact, Rebekah called me AT WORK yesterday morning, asked if I knew who was calling without revealing her identity (of COURSE, I did--LIBRARIAN), and demanded that I email her the details immediately. And it sounded a little bit like she might have sequestered herself in a phone booth to make the call in a top secret kind of way. And that after she talked to me she was going to call Batman to let him know about some trouble in Gotham City.

I didn't finish the post, though, because

A. Sheepdogs are more interesting than Sheepdog HATERS.

B. I'm not sure I want to go where I was going with that post anymore. I adopted a new policy about a year ago that no one except a rather small handful of people get the inside scoop on my social life. Everyone else, family included, are treated like paparazzi--I only refute false reports. I don't provide information. Occasionally, I throw my parents a bone and tell them about a young man who's in the picture, when my mom gets a certain tone in her voice that suggests I'm going to die alone with cats chewing on me.

But I like Rebekah and she sent me an email saying that she is "making a delicious chocolate and pecan pie this weekend that will make you cry," and I want to make sure I get in on that action. So, here's the rest. I was looking good and there, right in front of me, was a boy I don't want to date, and I thought, "Maybe I should re-enter the dating world. Maybe this is a sign." And I started thinking about a book I read a while back, Around the World in 80 Dates, about a woman who worked for Lonely Planet and took off on a trip around the world, getting set up with people her friends and her friends' friends knew. So, I'm just sayin', if you know anyone . . . But you don't. I know that I'm just going to get excuses. Further along in Rebekah's email, she said, "I was going to set you up with this guy in our office, but he is a moron and would only infuriate you."

So, there you go. No lovin' for me, because none of you know anyone single and normal. It's always, "So, Marmot Dad wanted to set you up with his co-worker but then we found out that he's the dictator of a small Fascist prinicipality, and we know that's not really your scene" or "We met this guy you might like. The good news is that he has a job. The bad news is that he's employed as an arms dealer. Don't judge." Still, my sister knows British people, and even if they deny it, there has to be a secret British network that keeps track of book-reading, British boys residing in Utah that she could hook me up with. There HAS to be.


Anonymous said...

Tone of voice, huh? You may be out of the will. And don't forget that your Cousin Minnie DID die with 27 cats in her house (some dead), and all her cat food removed from the cans and placed carefully in plastic bags in the freezer. Love, from the Mom who is apparentlly purposely kept in the dark.

MBC said...

See?! Apparently you have good reason to worry. I'm sensing a tone right now, too. And, I know, I'm not allowed to joke about consumption either. A grandmother died of it. I'm glad no one had a hunchback, that I'm aware of, because I seem to be developing one while working at my computer.

Amy said...

I think you'd do great with a small Fascist principality. Obviously BETTER with a mid-size one, but you can always invade your neighbors.

MBC said...

Amy--I'm holding out for a Socialist. And any principality would be fine. I'm not greedy.

Nemesis said...

Um . . . could your sister hook me up too? Because I fully accept that this addiction to Brit men is not going away on its own and is actually my Destiny Speaking to Me.

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