What to write about?
I made a list at lunch. Topics for my blog when I just don’t have the mind to write Fallon. It doesn’t happen often; in fact, I usually look forward to writing her all day long. But sometimes when I sit down, she doesn’t have much to say, which is fine. She needs a break and so do I. Those are usually the nights I write this blog. So, at least I get my writing fix in, even if it’s only me writing and not Fallon.
So, here’s my list of possible topics I wrote on my sticky pad at lunch:
My birthday celebration with drag queens.
My exciting layover in the DC airport.
The conversation the two flies had in my coffee mug the other day.
Bleak, isn’t it? This circulates in my brain. I mean, not just this. Plenty of thoughts travel through my head, but most of them have to do with when I can take my next bathroom break or when I’ll be able to hire my future butler, Fartswell, when EFH takes off. That, and of course, the ostrich races Batman and I will have on a weekly basis. Oh, there are plans already in place. You don’t even know. You think you might, but you don’t. And yes, you’re reading that write. His name will be Fartswell. He can be a Jim or Tom or Henry—I’m not picky—but part of his job will be answering to Fartswell. I’m still on the fence about him having a British accent and saying, “you rang sir/madam” every time we call him, but Batman thinks it’s a necessity. As already stated, I’m on the fence. I think I’ll just have to decide when I meet the man.
I’m thinking of putting an ad out: Seeking Fartswell. Would you respond to something like this? Only if the salary was good enough, right? But what would be an appropriate salary for a butler who has to answer to Fartswell and, among other duties, must stand in line while I’m busy shopping? I mean, I’ll get my own ice cream and all, but if I pick out a whole bunch of items from an Ikea or some fancy-expensive place I’d probably get kicked out of now, I don’t want to stand in line with the other coach passengers and wait my turn. I’ll have Fartswell do that for me while I get a drink in the bar next door. I think that’s pretty reasonable if I’m a wealthy sonofabitch, don’t you think? Hey, it’s my money. Don’t judge me.
Plus, I’m supporting America by employing people. Fartswell would just be the head butler. I’m not even sure who would tend the topiaries or clean up after the ostriches. Those are all things to be determined later once I’m able to write full time and have had enough books on the best sellers to afford to hire someone willing to be called Fartswell. But these are the dreams. Big dreams, I’d say. Ambitious, I know.
I just don’t want to be one of those people who come into money and not be able to handle it. That’s why I’m planning in advance—knowing exactly where it’s all going to go. And what happens if I remain poor? Well that’s fine too. I’ve gotten good at knowing how to handle very little money so… I’m covered. I’d just like the pendulum to swing the other way for a change. It’d be somewhat nice. Not that I mind being poor. Except, as a very wise pizza man once told me after I wasn’t able to give him a big tip:
You’re broke, not poor. Poor is a state of mind.
Yes, yes thank you wise pizza man. It sounds silly but I’ve sort of kept that with me. It’s like one of those sayings you get on a dove wrapper, like always be yourself or never forget to smile. But better. You’re broke, not poor. Poor is a state of mine. Wow. It was like my mind was blown… and then I got to eat my delicious pepperoni pizza. Pretty awesome night, actually. So, yeah… being poor, being wealthy… I think I could handle both. But since I’ve gotten really good at the one, I think it’s only fair to try the other. Plus, I’m looking forward to Fartswell.
I really hate standing in line.
(Just in case you’re interested…other duties for Fartswell:
Picking up all the cups I leave around the apartment (this really annoys Batman. It’s probably one of the things that he actually hates about living with me, but I remind him that if the aliens attack, we’ll be prepared.)
Collecting future castle-mansion house warming gifts. (That’s right—you will be required to bring a housewarming gift upon your first visit to the estate. Good presents go to Batman and me. Bad ones become part of Fartswell’s bonus.)
Taking care of the dog, Sir Fartswell.
The future looks good.)
2 thoughts on “Seeking Fartswell”
When you do become rich (notice, I said “when”, not “if”), your father only ask that you get us a butler with the assigned task of looking after our two angelic dogs – that would make our lives pretty awesome. Just putting in my digs for a small portion of your future wealth!
It will be done. I will set Fartswell on it.