Friendy Friday - Queen B

You all know that I'm one of the Shamblesons in the "Shambleson and Shambleson Pussy Palace," but I know you're wondering, "Hey, who is the other Shambleson? Is she just as shambly as Shambleson A?" The answers to these questions are "Bethany," and "Heck yes!"

Bethany and I met some amount of time ago because we both knew these chicks and we were in some class together or something. One day we ate lunch at Qdoba and decided to get a house together and stuff.


Bethany is really good at knowing about animals (existant and extinct), arranging things in the dishwasher, sending e-mails, singing like a frantic old lady, writing, playing Scrabulous, mixing food together, keeping me sane, Netflixing, and being taller than me.

Here are some writing samples from Bethany:

• This is a response to our friend who sent us pictures of some of the weirdos who responded to a personal ad on an online dating site.
  
  
  
  
  
  Oh, heaven! How much did you have to pay to look up these Indy singles?! I’m sure their mothers are still wishing they’d gone the way of the back alley coat hanger and bottle of JD—if you know what I’m sayin’…
  
  Bachelor Number One looks like he raided the prop truck at the Seinfeld lot and made off with The Puffy Shirt. I’m sure he speaks like this: “Tis crisp yet juicy, this plump bird, satisfied in the company of such finely roasted neighbors. Hear me out, fine relations, and heed my words, for methinks it adventurous, and fanciful, too, to saddle mine fork with both fowl and carrot at the exact same time, the twin juices blending together in a delicate harmony which doth cajole and enliven mine tongue in a spirit of unbridled merriment!”
  
  I imagine Bachelor Number Two’s room in his 85 year-old step dad’s room to be papered with pictures of babes and Monte Carlos and posters with quips like “What sucks and has nine arms? Def Leopard”.
  
  Ol’ Broad Number Three dips her French fries in mayonnaise and has to push her cats off the bed when she listens to Kenny Chesney because he really gets her “down there”. I know this to be true.
  But I’m sure you knew all that.
• When it was a cute, blonde little baby's birthday, Bethany wrote her a letter to go with her gift. Here are some excerpts from it:
  
  I know that you’re kind of a “baby” and all, but I decided to get you a book you can’t even read yet. How about that? You know, I have never shopped for children’s books in my lifetime and I imagine you haven’t either but were you aware they keep them really close to the floor? Like really close. The last time I was caught crawling around on the floor peering at a low-lying shelf, its contents were marked “adults only”…
  
  The thing is, Maisie, is that your new little cardboard book, The Snowman, isn’t a bit like The Snowman I still remember after all these years and drinks and those two hits of LSD I once took when I was “studying” with a “friend”. I didn’t notice that your book is about lifting and learning until after I had already brought your new little cardboard book home and removed the price tag. (This is something my mother taught me when I was kiddo along with saying “bless you” when someone sneezes and keeping my legs together. I still don’t understand the point of such chores.) See, the absence of a price tag or a receipt is well known to be in direct correlation to the frowny faces a cashier makes...
  

So here's to Bethany. Queen B of Queen B and the Handjobs. B.Lister. Fatty Fatty 2 by 4. Shambleson B. She's my hero.