But I already TOLD you about my weekend, because a picture paints a thousand words.
Then why can't I paint you?
(This might be the best of all the horrific videos I've ever given you.)
So okay, so I'll give you a synopsis, because you know how brief I am, in case you didn't look at my nice pictorials I gave you on Saturday and Sunday. Mostly, I cleaned. And Marty and Kayeee and Jo came over. Kaye stole all Jo's Es.
All my laundry is done--ALL of it. The only thing in the hamper is a pair of jeans that I wore yesterday and may or may not have gotten melted cheese on. Hashtag, still a health nut.
...with Lottie observing Edsel's every move, like he has the answers to life. Edsel is showing Lottie how to dog, and god help us, everyone. Remember when hippies would sometimes pick someone really bad to be their guru? Yeah.
Thank god I also had human interaction, because sad.
Humans came over and ALSO looked at my animals.
We all went to dinner, Marty, Kayeee and Jo and me, and I was complaining about Kaye's evil, endless budget she has me on. "What if I actually meet a man, and he thinks he likes me till he notices my eyebrows aren't waxed?" I kvetched.
"So, if you don't wax, his interest will wane?" asked Marty, and that is when he got down on one knee and gave himself a promise ring.
Oh, and I also had human interaction with the dog trainer. He came over so he could look at my animals.
Lottie was, of course, PERFECT again while he was here, sitting for him and doing downs and stays and giving him advice on his hedge fund. "I'm not just feathering your cap, here, but that really is a highly intelligent dog," he told me. Again. Goddammit. Again.
I wanted slow and dumb. I got Lottie.
"You weren't meant to have a mellow dog," said Kaye, who was there the day I said, Oh, no. I'm not ready for a puppy. Let me give perfect Stanley to a family. A stupid, undeserving family with some dumb child who in no way needed a puppy.
When I took this picture above, by the way, the trainer said, "She knows you're up to something." I was trying to be surreptitious with the camera, but Lottie already knows the score. You live in this house, you pose for a blog.
On Monday, I decided to get out and have the stink blown off me, as my father would say, so I put on real pants and headed to this rose garden I like to go to. I know I never promised you one, but here's the rose garden.
(Annoying local readers will send me the "Where was this?" messages.)
I love it there. I was thinking, on the drive over, that maybe I'd meet a nice man at the rose garden. Maybe he'd be at the rose garden because his dead wife always loved it there. Then I got annoyed with the dead wife, wondered why he had to bring her up every goddamn second of the goddamn day, and can't we just enjoy the rose garden without old dead Agatha coming between us again?
Then we broke up.
On my drive over, I got waylaid by a bike race, which was probably being thrown in memory of stupid-ass dead Agatha, and I had to wait till everyone on a bike went by. Which took forever. I had to yell, "I don't even know HOW to ride a bike" to approximately 10,000 bikers. Are bikers motorcyclists or are they people who ride bikes too? I have no idea. Go ask Agatha. When she's 10 feet talllllll.
During my interminable wait for the bikercyclists, I noted a little, I don't know, homage? Plaque? Stone? Monument? to Daniel Boone. My Uncle Leo would have gotten out of the car to read the plaque, but I just sat in my driver's seat feeling annoyed.
Imagine if you've just tuned in, and you wonder why June would be irked at a lovely uncontroversial figure like Daniel Boone. Also, when did I get those frowny lines around my mouth? Goddammit. I never frown. I'm often frowned upon, but...
I guess those are all the pictures I wanted to show you from my riveting weekend. This whole time I've been writing you, Lottie has either been trying to chew this chair or my robe. I took her over to her plethora of toys and said, "Here's your antler. It's the right thing to chew."
And then I borrowed Marty's promise ring to give to myself.