So it’s me and my wife and her husband and his husband (who is also my husband) and we’re sitting ‘round a table in some restaurant with some people from some newspaper from Austin.
Wait… I should probably back up.
Wait… I should probably back up.
So it’s me and my wife and her husband and his husband (who is also my husband) and we’re sitting ‘round a table in my living room with a reporter from some newspaper from Austin.
For two hundred days now, we’ve been living this Double Bigamy (All the Way). And for two hundred days now, no one has noticed. But here we are on day two hundred and one and someone has noticed. She’s standing in my living room, and she’s a real live journalist with real official press credentials you could check and one of those high tech audio recorders and everything you’d expect. The whole nine yards.
I’m told this is just the “pre-interview,” and I don’t even know what a pre-interview is. Pre-interviews are something in heaven and earth that are not dreamt of in my philosophy.
This real live journalist, she is excited. You can see it on her face, in the way she’s thinking out loud, her eyes darting around for new information. She is excited. By the time she sees the kids, I half expect her to shriek or to clap or to do a little dance or whatever it is journalists do when they realize they’ve just struck journalism gold.
“What a strange and wonderful family!” she says.
“This is really compelling,” she says. “Dana, you’re this gorgeous up-and-coming attorney at a major Houston law firm. And Anthony here, this handsome, incredibly well-spoken professor at a local college. And Aesop, a physician’s assistant and musician!”
“And these beautiful kids!” she says.
Although I cannot be certain, I believe I am physically in the room while she is saying this. In my, you know, bodily form. Visible to all with eyes to see.
It is clear I’m the fourth wheel on a tricycle here. And I’m seventh if you count the beautiful children. And I’m ninth if you count the reporter and the photographer. Heaven forbid anyone else shows up. I might be forced to sit outside to make room. I’m the fourth wheel, even though this was all my idea, and anyway, without me, it’s just plain old boring bigamy and not Double Bigamy (All theWay) at all.
The real interview is scheduled for some restaurant two nights later and I get ready with a few shots of Maker’s Mark. And two dozen Robitussin pills. And some codeine cough medicine. And whatever else I can find in my sock drawer.
Gorgeous up-and-coming attorney Dana, who is my wife, is putting on her makeup. Handsome, well-spoken Anthony, who is my brother and my wife’s husband, is tying his tie. And physician’s assistant/musician Aesop, who is my wife’s husband and my husband’s husband, is combing his hair.
I’m lining up a couple more shots of Maker’s Mark.
By the time we hit the restaurant, I look like this:
And the real interview – not the pre-interview – has started and the camera is snapping pictures, but I am busy watching a particularly aggressive French fry on my plate attack the weaker French fries. That little fucker shows no mercy!
And I point it out to the kids but I’m not sure I’m even speaking English because they don’t understand my words. The aggressive French fry – and I’ve named him Maximilian – is launching an offensive on my coffee but the coffee in this place isn’t strong enough to defend itself. It is a massacre.
And just before I pass out, Maximilian tells me not to worry. Maximilian has it all under control. Maximilian says I should go towards the light.
* * * * *
For two hundred days now, we’ve been living this Double Bigamy (All the Way). And for two hundred days now, no one has noticed. But here we are on day two hundred and three and someone has noticed. It has all been leading up to this.
“Mom, is Kaykay dead?” my daughter asks. She asks this matter-of-factly.
“No,” Dana says. She is looking to Aesop for some kind of confirmation.
And Aesop, he looks calm. Confident. “It’s just a stomach bug.”
“Just a stomach bug,” says the reporter. “She doesn’t look like she’s breathing. And why are you sniffing her coffee and going through her pockets?”
“Just a stomach bug,” Aesop says. He is checking my pulse. “But I’m gonna to call 9-1-1 anyway. Just to be extra-extra-cautious.”
* * * * *
So it’s my wife and her husband and his husband (who is also my husband) and our kids and they’re sitting in some waiting room at some hospital. They are waiting to hear whether Aesop or my daughter were correct in their respective assessments. Their assessments of me.
The real live journalist with real official press credentials is long gone, says she’ll “reschedule” the interview. But we know she never will.
|Go towards the light, Katy!|
And elsewhere, late that night, at some little corner restaurant in Houston, the body of some dish washer on the night shift is found in some back room.
The body is mangled. Chewed.
Pieces of the body are missing.
A long line of ketchup stretches from the body and on out the back door into the alley.
Maximilian tells me not to worry. Maximilian has it all under control.
* * * * *
**To see an interview I did not manage to hijack, check out my friend Rafa’s RudeBlog. You’ll be glad you did. **
You give one hell of an interview KD. Too bad that vicious french fry interfered.ReplyDelete
I think u should be wary of any "journalists" in the state of Texas. I think this might be Governor Perry's secret "Jesus" police, finally coming through to collect evidence and put u behind bars. You didn't really think you were gonna GET AWAY with it... Did u? (like how sometimes I spelled out YOU and sometimes I didn't? I'm a Mormo....err MORON!)ReplyDelete
Oh how I would've loved to be fly on the wall in that restaurant.ReplyDelete
Shame it went wrong but I bet if one journalist heard about you it's only a matter of time before another does.
And there's always Jerry ?
I think you shoulda called that fry Maxwell.
@Ted McLaughlin: Thanks, Ted!ReplyDelete
Looking back now, there are going to be those who claim that the french fry thing was nothing more than a hallucination brought on by my pre-restaurant consumption.
But we know better than that. And there is the matter of the dead dish washer, too...
@D22 Zone: Danke! Someday, I'm going to develop a comment for others' blogs as concise and universal as this one of yours.
You know, something that can double as an ad.
@Rafa: You are probably right, and I sort of hope you are.ReplyDelete
Judging by the stuff that is coming out in the national press regarding our governor - who hasn't had a scandal in 11 years as governor! - I have to think that our journalists are working in tandem with elected Republican leaders.
I can only DREAM that they'll finally bring me to justice!
@dirtycowgirl: Or Maury!
cause I'm the daddy, I swear!
I hate it when they go through my pockets.ReplyDelete
You can never trust the French, fried or otherwiseReplyDelete
I'm going to start saying "Double Bigamy (All the Way)" from now on. It's just too catchy. It seems like a wonderful battle cryReplyDelete
@Apuleius Platonicus: He claimed it was to see if he could find what kind of drug I'd taken.ReplyDelete
But I'm pretty sure I was missing a five when I woke up.
@Brent: He seemed a little TOO ready to do battle to be French.
That might have been one of those Freedom fries.
@A Lunatic Pope: It's even better if you put on a kilt and paint your face blue before yelling it.
Or so I've heard.
Not that I have ever done that.
That would be ridiculous and I have a reputation to uphold...
Sure, they always say, "Oh we just wanted to find out what kind of drugs I'm taking." But isn't that what they court ordered urine tests are for?ReplyDelete
It must have been a freedom fry. That or one of the 3 musketeer fries. They are pretty tough.ReplyDelete
Is it just me or is calling 911 over a little cold medicine/whiskey chaser seem a bit extreme?
@Apuleius Platonicus: Obviously, the contents of my pockets are something that ought to be kept between me and my probation officer.ReplyDelete
Big government - by which I mean my husband and my wife - should be kept as far away as possible.
@Brent: That's us, though: Extreme! Extremely Xtreme! You can't stop us...
The problem is that people on codeine and alcohol kind of... flop over. I mean, they just pass out dead cold.
It looks scary. And Xtreme!
I've been reading through your blog and I love, love, LOVE it!!! Great points, great humour! Long live the experiment!ReplyDelete
"And whatever else I can find in my sock drawer." I wish we had more of this, and the "backing up" part.ReplyDelete
Welcome back to the bandwagon!?
I am not much of a codeine fan, whiskey however, yes please and thankyouverymuch. Thanks for the Xtreme warning, we shall pass on mixing and matching pharmaceuticals.ReplyDelete
@Dear Polia: Hi there! Found your page earlier and loved the pictures of the neighborhood.ReplyDelete
Glad you got something out of this weird thing I do...
@JerseyDave: I'm thinking about calling an end to the season. Maybe with this one, maybe the next one.
By my calculation, I'm still on LIMS Season 1.
38 episodes in...
@Brent: I'm not good with liquor.
I can drink wimpy stuff like wine.
Whiskey or hard liquor, though, and bad things happen.
Mixing hard stuff with codeine at least knocks me out and ensures that, you know... no one else suffers...
Just keep the zombies in their cages...ReplyDelete
I am sure the journalist was disappointed. Where else would you find Double Bigamy all the way AND the host of the Bigamists for Perry website in 1 location? She is afraid someone is going to scoop the story. This could be big.ReplyDelete
Judging by the reactions of some of the old-timers around here, I would'a thought they wanted the place attacked by zombies and nuked.
Anyway, I don't repeat myself.
Also, I don't repeat myself.
@Brent: Screw her!
I was being ignored (in comparison to my 3 significant others), and when I get ignored, I react the way any healthy 6-year old reacts. I act out.
I'm saving my story for Dan Rather.
I was selfishly thinking only of myself, then realised there is only one zombie I need fear.ReplyDelete
A shame that the interviewer won't get to revel in your brilliance. But that's journalism for you: triple homicides and viral cat videos are much better draws. Speaking of, have you thought of drawing up some hokey 'I can haz bigamy?' picture for the website? This site is much too smart and could use a lot of dumbing down for the general public.ReplyDelete
Oh, no, you probably mean ME, don't you?
People get me and Jesus mixed up a lot.
Good rule of thumb: I'm the one who can talk Jewish mobs out of killing me...
@A Beer for the Shower: Ha! I have sometimes wondered what kind of weirdo actually reads blogs this long... especially since there are no naked pictures in it anywhere.
Okay, there was that close up of a set of balls a couple weeks ago...
What i could do is promote the site as being about "Big Amy" instead of "bigamy."
I think Big Amy might have a niche market waiting...
Point well taken Katy. Of course she was blinded by lust for a headline, she forgot that whenever you have such an assortment of people (a lawyer, a PA and a professor walk into a coffee shop...)in an endeavor like yours you MUST have a mastermind! She was ignoring the evil genius behind the plot. You may want to consider walking around Montrose with a white, Persian cat. Just a suggestion. The cat doesn't have to be alive or anything.ReplyDelete
@Brent: You know, people IN and OUTSIDE the media love these stories about odd and eccentric people, but then they also want them to measure up to some conventional yardstick, too.ReplyDelete
I COULD (I suspect) live that sort of life, but I choose not to.
The people that alienates... well, they weren't going to like me anyway.
LMAO this was hilarious and freaky in a weird wayReplyDelete
@kitkat: Sorry I took 4 hours to respond to your comment, but I was hanging up the "Mission Accomplished!" banner around my computer...ReplyDelete
How long until you post the flight suit photo?ReplyDelete
(oh, wait, Katy wouldn't do that.)
@JerseyDave: Have I ever done anything to make you assume I am above such shenanigans? That I have some sort of level of social respectability or self-respect?ReplyDelete
I think I'm insulted.
In fact, I'm going to go find a flight suit now...
KATY MARIE ANDERS don't you dare ever go conventional on me. The world would be a sadder place. And if people don't like you, screw them and the uppity horse they rode in on.ReplyDelete
I guessed/anointed you with the middle name of Marie. Enjoy.
I always look forward to a good anointing.ReplyDelete
@Brent: I once had to pretend my last name was "Oopsy" for 3 years because of a poorly written blog.ReplyDelete
Compared to that, "Marie" is fantastic.
@JerseyDave: [Insert witty reply here]...
Miss Oopsy, would be an awkward name (although I am sure she was charming). My college Comp 101 teacher was Mrs Titzer, a woman with DD breasts. My 3rd grade teacher was Mrs Queerie. She was very strange, not in a good way.ReplyDelete
@Brent: I have sometimes wondered about the OTHER Germans who had the last name "Hitler"...ReplyDelete
Do you think they all went down to the courthouse in 1946 and changed their names en masse?
That's funny...D22 zone left the exact same comment on my blog...and every other blog I have visited! I bet he didn't read a single word!ReplyDelete
You should give him some of the contents of your sock drawer and tell him to relax, take a moment to actually read something, and post an intelligent response to your post.
Isn't it harder to eat french fries that have names? Kinda makes it personal, like serving up a pet pig for Christmas dinner!
@danjor: I think I learn more when I read than when I am advertising my blog. But hell, maybe that doesn't apply to everyone.ReplyDelete
On the upside, I like to think ANYONE can learn from a french fry hallucination!