Well cagey readers, it would appear that the proverbial jig is up. That’s right. I was recognized the other day. Upon meeting a new coworker, she asked me if I happened to write for a blog. From there she deduced that I was, in fact, the one and only Marisa of TLO fame. Maybe it was my drunken state, or the fact that I had taken my top off during our work training session. Either way, my identity has been compromised. But don’t’ worry. I killed my coworker so she couldn’t tell anyone who I was.
And let that serve as a warning to you, cagey readers. If you think you meet me out in the real world, it’s probably best not to admit it. Because I will kill you.
Here’s your Friday Night in the Big Town.
Fun fact for you cagey readers: I used to work at a daycare center. Yeah, people actually trusted me with their children. For reals. Anyway, when I did, there were like three videos we could watch before naptime. One had some weird puppets that talked about sharing and another one was a Sesame Street story about the importance of saying please and thank you. And the other one was Barney.
I’m thoroughly convinced that the reason those kids at the daycare were so terrible was not because they were super spoiled Edmond kids, but because Barney subliminally programmed them to be shin-kicking terrors. Also, they all had dumb names where their parents had substituted the letter “y” for “i” and vice versa.
Anyway, if your kid sucks and kicks shins and has a dumb spelled name, then I think you should totally take them to go see Barney.
Would you like another Marisa fun fact, cagey readers? When I get drunk, and I’m talking falling down drunk, I like to sing Cyndi Lauper songs. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because alcohol helps me see your true colors shining through. Regardless, I feel that alcohol probably helps you see true colors.
All of that is to say that I think you should go to Lucky Star Casino, get your swerve on and sing some Cyndi Lauper. Also, bonus points will be awarded if you dress in traditional Lauper garb.
I bet you cagey readers remember singing “This Land is Your Land” in elementary school. I do. I think it was pretty much required of all children growing up in Oklahoma. Also required of those children was knowing the alternate lyrics. These lyrics were just as important as knowing the “Jingle bells, Batman smells” version of the Christmas carol. If you were inclined to snicker behind your teacher’s back, I’m sure you remember singing “This land ain’t your land/this land is my land/I got a shotgun/and you don’t got one/if you don’t get off/I’ll blow your head off/this land was made for me not you.”
Probably shouldn’t sing that if you go to the Woody Guthrie Tribute.
So that’s all I have for you this week, cagey readers. If anyone else wants to figure out who I am, I hope you’re ready to die. Sorry. Gotta keep my identity safe. Think about it. Clark Kent would’ve been screwed if people knew he was Superman. And seriously, the work I do is so much more important than old Mr. Kent.