Welcome to a very special edition of Pony Party, brought to you by the losers at the Hollywood Foreign Press Association (HFPA), who currently have nothing better to do than hang around a horse barn. Normally, we would still be basking in the reflected glow of the overdressed ordeal celebrating professional incest known as the Golden Globe Awards. But nooooo – the HFPA had to cave in to a bunch of writers!
Seriously, HFPA members, have you ever met a writer — or even seen one in person? They’re a bunch of weirdos who spend all their time thinking about serial commas, gerund phrases and reflexive pronouns. What are you afraid of – that they might give you a paper cut? Throw a pencil at you? Spell your name wrong? Here’s a clue: the word “writer” comes from the Old Norse “haukur dorgeirsson guðlaugsson” which translates loosely as “spends all day in pajamas pretending to work.”
Anyways, we’re not intimidated by a bunch of good-for-nothing writers around here, so on with the show! This week’s topic: Necessity really is the mother of invention. Out of necessity, I have decided to invent something that makes it impossible for the human brain to recognize specific phrases. Example: Mine will be programmed not to hear “blind date” or its euphemisms — “There’s someone you should meet,” “I think you’ll really like him,” or the kiss of death — “You two are perfect for each other!” When these phrases are spoken, my brain will just go blank, not that that’s unusual, but lately hearing people speak these words has made my hair stand on end, and to be honest, it’s just not a good look for me.
Back story: I’m at home, quietly minding my own business (probably staring at the wall or something equally exciting), when my friend Casey calls and says there’s someone she wants me to meet (down, hair, get down!). First of all, Casey is on husband number four, and these two could teach Whitney and Bobby a few things about domestic disputes, so clearly this part of her “Operation Misery Loves Company” effort. Plus, having been down Blind Date Street a few times before – and having gotten car-sick every single time — I go all girly on her and burst into tears.
“Oh, come on!” she says. “He’s different!” (Note: “different” in this context should not be interpreted to mean anything. It’s just a distraction designed to keep the listener from crying even harder.)
“He’s sophisticated, great sense of humor, and I’m pretty sure he’s not an axe murderer.” That Casey — what a wit! Well, okay, but could we talk on the phone first?
