Like the time JTC sent me an invitation to MaryEllen Marini’s costume party, which might have been okay if I was actually invited to her party, and it had been a costume party.

Fine, the Drama Police called, and they said maybe I’m not a goner, but I won’t get a tart, which is pretty much the same thing. My blood sugar is low.

I’d heard people order coffee drinks whose names went on for half an hour . . . A double mocha joka jerky over ice with a peppermint twist and a Kansas City pickle on the side.

This is bril. I can’t wait to shop. Very bril.” Okay, maybe one too many “brils,” but it was progress.

VIP?” Ellie asked. “Ha-ha-ha! I said ‘pee’!

Things were getting more un-boring by the minute. Maybe a little too de-bored-ified.

Sam picked up his hand-phone and looked at Ellie. “It’s the Shut Your Piehole Factory; they want to talk to you,” he said.

Instantly my hair started to scrunch up. Ringlets pulled out of the braids like they wanted to remind everyone that I was cursed and I couldn’t hang out…CiCi stopped twirling long enough to notice. “Yikes!

We sat at a mahogany table that had enough nicks and dents to be an English muffin. I wondered for a sec if the Irish called them English muffins or something else.