Bye Bye, Pie!

Mince Words with June: A Three Dog Life

Mostly what I got out of reading A Three Dog Life by Abigail Thomas is that beagles suck.

As the owner of a part beagle, I am allowed to say that.

If you didn't read the book, and you know how I enjoy it when you come to book club and leave the comment "I didn't read the book, but..." A Three Dog Life is the true story of what happens when Abigail Thomas' husband goes out to walk their beagle and the husband gets hit by a car and suffers hideous brain damage. He gets hit by a car because (a) the ding-dang beagle gets loose and I so know how THAT goes and (2) they live in Manhattan, so when the husband dashed out to save the beagle he was pretty doomed.

The title A Three Dog Life is good. When it's really cold, people used to say. "Oh, it's a three-dog night tonight!" meaning you'd let all the dogs sleep with you to ward off the chill. Abigail Thomas really does have three dogs now, and they have helped her through the part where she lost her husband but he was still there.

His brain damage was so horrible that he had to be institutionalized for the rest of his life, and although some days he'd recognize his wife when she came to visit, after that he pretty much said nonsensical things that were occasionally really beautiful. "Transparent windowlike words" or "add memory on memory deep in the forest, layers of dirt and leaves and branches...the past is underfoot." I was so impressed with the words he said even as damaged as he was.

Wasn't it weird when things would happen in her life and she would go to visit him and he would allude to those things? As though he were somehow aware of them even though he couldn't be? Like when she went to a friend's for beef stew and he mentioned beef stew that night? How was that possible? What did you think of that?

I admired Abigail Thomas for her attitude about this whole tragedy. She just accepted that this is her fate and has carried on. There was no denial or gnashing her teeth or wishing it weren't so. She isn't even dating anyone. She just left Manhattan and moved closer to his hospital and saw him when she could and kept going. I don't know if I could have been as stoic. Have you met me? There is little sto in my ic.

And of course I totally identified with getting pets to help yourself feel better. I don't know why everyone doesn't have a pet. Or seven. I have never understood those "Oh, no, I don't want a pet" people. When I go to their houses there is nothing to scratch or talk about or admire. If you ask me.

Oh, and the other thing that stuck with me is how quickly she and her husband fell in love. When you know you know. I thought of it a lot these past few months with all the semi-indifferent men I have met who claimed they just needed time to get to like me. No you don't. It's there or it isn't. Is my theory. Do you agree?

Did you like the book? Would you have brought your husband home and cared for him or left him in the hospital, as she did? Did you think that was a selfish or a brave, smart gesture? Did you like her? I did. I would like to be a grownup in the way she is.

Okay, tell me what you think.

Bouncing back

Yesterday I was pretty sad and I had to cut it out because I was annoying myself. So I went shopping at some vintage stores.

I didn't BUY anything, but I looked around and showed myself a good time.

I coveted this dress. Which would come in handy for all the galas and balls you are sick of hearing about me attenting. And those debuts? How many posts about yet another coming-out party do you have to read?

Okay. I really might have to go back and get me one of these gaudy starfish. I cannot help it. I love these pink sparkly ludicrous starfish. Yes, I am a drag queen going to a Bette Midler concert. You got an issue with that?

Here is me and my biggest fan. BAH!

Anyway. So I was going about my day when I heard from this guy I met on Match about a week ago.

I KNOW! How bad you wanna slap me right now?

Before our hideous breakup, Dick Whitman and I had agreed we would not see just each other, because we weren't ready for that sort of thing. I knew, once I stopped seeing Daniel Boone, that if I didn't hurry up and meet someone else, I would get all weird about Dick Whitman and surprise!

Too late.

Anyway, I had begrudgingly gotten back on stupid Match and right away I started talking to this great person, who was cute (he used to be--are you sitting down? Are you?--A FIREMAN. I KNOWWWWW!) and so funny and nice to me and really smart and has a master's in English and I was all, wow. He seems pretty good. I wonder how THIS will go terribly wrong?

Then we figured out? One of his best friends is Tank. The Miracle Angel Baby.

I KNOW!!!!!

For those of you who weren't here in 2008--not that you weren't born then. June's blog. Attracting three-year-olds since 2011. But if you weren't READING me then, Tank was my coworker and my carpoolmate and generally the nicest guy you'd ever want to meet. Tank rocks the house. Oh, and he weighed like a pound when he was born. Seriously, go read the link. For heaven's sake. Would it KILL you?

Anyway, so this new guy tells me, "I've been friends with Tank since 8th grade."

You can imagine how slowly I stampeded to Tank's email.

"I cannot BELIEVE you know the person I've been trying to pick up on Match!" I enthused.

"What is this, Freak Out Tank Day?" he wrote back. "The Fireman just sent me pretty much the same email! This is unbelievable! When are we gonna double date?"

I asked if Tank would give me a letter of recommendation, and honestly, there is not much more a person could do than tell me they are a good friend of Tank's. He is that great.

The point is, Fireman and I talked on the phone Friday night, which was a great distraction from my sad Marly & Me fest. He is new to Match, so I was giving him some tips and asked if he'd gone on an official Match date yet.

"Not yet," he said. "Tomorrow at noon I'm meeting someone for lunch. Then if it works out we'll go to the museum."

"Oooo!" I said, the Gladys Kravitz of everyone, "Let me know how it goes!"

And at noon I did think of him, all going on his first date from this dumb site and all. At 12:37? Dude, I am not even kidding you. TWELVE THIRY-SEVEN. He emails me: "God, this is awful."

Okay, I know I only got his perspective? But that woman sounds like a drip. Needless to say they did not go to the museum. So we joked about his hideous date for awhile (okay, for example? She said, right away, "Um. Is that SWEET TEA? That's the WORST THING you could put in your body!!" Okay. Seriously, sister. He did not order a glass of hemlock. Lighten up.) and he said he had nothing to do all day and I said, "Why not have TWO awful dates in one day?!"

And that is how I ended up on an impromptu date with the Fireman.

We talked for almost five hours. We walked around downtown and sat on a wall and watched people. We ate nachos that were bigger than our heads. We discussed Tank, of course, and death and the cognitive function that makes one catastrophize (hello. How did he recognize THAT in me so soon?) and dogs (he has a Lab) and marriages and Vicodin and Wyoming and movies and Pink Floyd and my uncle Leo and my uncle Jim and my grandmother sticking the address book up my arse and politics and religion and heaven and Vicks Vapo-Rub.

We never shut the hell up.

Finally we decided to take a picture with the phone and email it to Tank.

Trust me. For one photo taken with my iPhone in which I did not even know if the thing went OFF, it was so loud where we were, we took one adorable photo. ADORABLE!

So you know what? That was helpful. I feel less awful. I guess I will live through another heartbreak after all. Every time I think of DW I want to burst into tears and rage, rage against the dying of the light and so forth, but I don't know if you have noticed this but I tend towards drama.

Oh, and yes. He HAS slid down a pole. Of course I asked.

P.S. Every time I write an annoying P.S. I picture you all leaving the room and me pulling you back in by your shirts. Don't forget to come back tonight at 7:00 Eastern for book club. Click Mince Words with June for details. Also, Joann is comment of the week and Hulk had to get an honorable mention because he was hilarious. See This Week's Special. Letting go of your shirt now.

What Would Tootie Do?

Dick Whitman and I broke up.

Could someone just come bash me over the head now and put me out of my misery?

And before you go hating on the Dick Whitman, as you are all wont to do and I heart you for always being on my side, it was my fault. Totally my fault. And I would love to give you every last detail because have you met me? But I don't want to invade his privacy.

As opposed to the part where I told you all about our dates, and his house, and that he was a good kisser, and his errant apostrophes. Yes. Privacy is number one when you are dating me. Which he isn't.

So to be VAGUE, I had convinced myself he didn't like me that much. But when we talked, it turns out he liked me more than I knew. Because here is a shock, but I am kind of all emotions all the time and he was more careful and measured and because he wasn't acting the way I would act, I thought it meant he was all, Eh, about me.

Yeah. But after we talked, now he does not want to see me anymore. I was supposed to meet a bunch of friends last night and instead I hugged Tallulah and watched Marley & Me in the dark. Again.

Tallulah gets so sick of me when I watch that movie. I am an albatross on that dog.

I feel like a big giant cloud is hanging over me. I am a Ziggy cartoon again.

So if that weren't ridiculous enough,  I checked my email last night and TWO DAYS AGO my old workplace boss had emailed me on my freelance email, which I obviously rarely check.

Remember my old workplace? With the Donkey Kong machine and the pictures of all of us as kids in the lobby? Remember how I loved it? And they broke up with me and with 39 other people last year?

"So! How do you like your new job? Call me!" said the email. Yes, I am so unhappy I am hallucinating that my email is speaking to me.

Oh, crap. So naturally I DID call him, even though it was after hours on a WEEKEND, and it turns out Jane West? Who sat next to me at that job? Is coming to MY company.

It's like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a giant atom bomb to go off right near you so you don't have to feel this bad. As opposed to those teensy atom bombs. Mini Atom Bombs! Only during Easter!

And because life is ridiculous, I could find NO ONE to talk to. NO.ONE. Finally my phone rang and it was of all people Giovanni Leftwich, my old high school boyfriend. I told him the story, and as I did I reached my own conclusion.

I love my new place, too. It's six minutes away. My coworkers are fabulous (even the guy who teases me with the brown recluse) and my bosses are even fabulouser. What the hell am I even thinking? Plus, they didn't DUMP me.

"This is like when a terrible old boyfriend finally calls you when you're happily married," I told Giovanni. "No offense."

So yeah. Ima stay where I am. But it was exciting to be asked back. You take the good, you take the bad, you take 'em both and there you have? The facts of life.

The facts of life. Sans Dick Whitman.

Crap.

 

 

Edsel is in love. Story at 11. Or right now, if you just read my blog.

The hideousness of my day yesterday was not to be believed. I mean, no one DIED or anything. But I had one of those work days where I was overwhelmingly, gonna-cry-any-second busy. And you know what's a delightful idea? Come on over to your coworker's cubicle and ask her how it's going when she's on a deadline. Because 955939503p940f*(@400 people before you didn't just do that.

I was late getting home, and I had a date with the Dick Whitman, there, and as soon as I saw his ludicrous self I cheered up. There is something about Dick Whitman that just makes me giggle as soon as I see him. He is kind of a fussbudget. I think that is why he cracks me up. Other than avoiding vomiting in every way possible, I do not fuss. Or budget. It's interesting to me when someone else fusses.

Also, could Edsel be more obsessed with him? Edsel is passionately in love with Dick Whitman. If you rated the two of us, Edsel would win in the who-is-smitten category.

I made him look at my Norma and Vern pictures. Dick Whitman, I mean. Not Edsel. Who would just eat the pictures. And he liked them! No one can resist my my Norma and Vern shots. Nor my Schwetty balls.

I noticed in the comments people were asking for pictures of my kittens. Here.

Is this not the most terrifying photo ever? Why has Anderson's soul been stolen by Old Pitch? Look at those soulless eyes. He was a nice cat before Beelzebub took him.

Here is a picture of Roger, who happens to be sitting next to me right now. I do not know why he is assuming this bizarre let-me-hike-up-my-arm pose.

Here is a picture that is clear and see-able, which lets you know it was taken by my friend Laurie. A mere two months ago. Who has had an attitude change in those two months? Is it our Roger Dodger?

She also sent me a picture of Roger pooping on her pea gravel in her yard. Does anyone want to see that? I would be more than willing to share it.

Anderson Cooper is sitting under my chair, on the floor that always looks dirty because SOMEONE, whose name might be JUNE, decided painting the floor LIGHT GREEN was a great idea and now all it does is chip and look awful. June. Won't you hire her to decorate your house? She has some practical and good ideas.

So now you've seen the kittens and you can all shut up. June. The blogger who tells her commentors to shut up. Nice.

I've got nothing else to tell you. Maybe I do but whatever it might be has left the building that used to house my medulla. Because did I mention I had a busy day? Also? If you don't keep up with the comments on this blog, it is a LOT to read in one sitting.  Holy cats. Holy possessed-by-demons cats.

Okay. June out.

P.S. Of course.

I just realized I missed Charlotte's birthday yesterday. Charlotte is the too-cool kid of my friends Renee and Dan. I KNEW the 28th was SOMETHING, but was too busy panicking and crying. Anyway, she is six now, and last time I mentioned her on here, she made Renee call to see how many readers I had because she wanted to determine if she was officially famous.

Happy birthday, Charlotte! My tens of readers are thinking of YOU.

From the Queen of England to the recluse of hell.

The other day at work a brown recluse crawled into my coworker Vilhelm Oyster's cubicle. We work on the ground floor of a very old warehouse building. I shudder to think of what else is lurking down there.

Vilhelm murdered said spider, because he is manly that way, and then put it under a jeweler's loop he just happened to have, because apparently Vilhelm is busy splitting diamonds on his down time or something. At any rate, then he Googled the spider and convinced us all it was a brown recluse.

Marvin used to always insist that any spider that wasn't black was a brown recluse, causing me to point out that they certainly weren't very reclusive considering how often they showed up in our lives.

Anyway, Vilhelm kept talking about the recluses who are brown, and talking about them, and how if they bite you your skin falls clean off, until someone said:

"LOOK AT JUNE!"

I was totally curled up in my chair, editing something in a fetal position. No way was I touching that spider-ridden floor.

Anyway, the fumigator came yesterday and told us we were all berserk and it was just a regular spider.

This has not stopped Vilhelm from sneaking up behind me like a JERK and TICKLING me just a little so I think there are spiders all over me. And guess what. Guess who reacts EXACTLY as he wants me to, which is to SCREECH and JUMP UP and BRUSH OFF MY SKIN, which is about to fall clean off.

Stupid Vilhelm. I'll tell you who'll be reclusive. Vilhelm Oyster after I pound the pee out of him.

I really have no other news except that my iPod played good songs while I was walking the dogs today and Ima share them all with you. So you can jam out at work and get fired.

The dogs, our field, my iPod cord and their poop bag holder.

That picture caption made me think of The Cook The Thief His Wife and Her Lover. If you haven't seen that movie, don't. Trust me.

Okay, here's what I got to hear today.

 

My song!!! Hi, mom. Hi, Gloria Steinem. Can't help it. Love this song. Also? This video is kind of upsetting. FYI.

If that weren't enough, I got to hear Chaka. Love her. Love Prince, who wrote this.

 

Then The Cure came on, and I love this song. I feel all emo and meaningful when I listen to the Cure. And no, I could NOT find a video to go with this. It made me emo.

 

Ever since I read Keith Richards' autobiography I have put more Rolling Stones on my iPod:

 

As if my iPod day could get better. And yet it did! IT DID!

 

Coolest song ever. Coolest band ever. And I adore this video. It's like having a fever.

Everyone knows about it. From the Queen of England to the hounds of hell. I LOVE HIM. Why doesn't he call me? Because I need to date another person who's in a band. Do you think he'd keep guitars under the bed?

So that was pretty much the highlight of my day. Good iPod songs. I mean, it could have been worse. The highlight could have been "I finally stopped barfing" or "The train only ran over part of my leg."  Or I could have been Sting.

Don't forget to finish A Three Dog Life, as we are meeting for book club on Sunday night. The first person who leaves a comment saying, "I'm here but I didn't read the book" gets a brown recluse from me.

Here's the scoop

As I was SAYING yesterday before my stupid computer crashed (I hate computers. So bad.), I bought a new litter box.

I KNOW! Can you believe you were kept from this news for 48 hours?

I bought it with part of the Amazon gift certificate my father sent me. And I realize I am the only person on planet Earth who would use a gift certificate to buy a litter box.

But LOOK at it!

It has a dome, which will make Marvin jealous because he always wanted to live in a stupid dome house, and it has curvy stairs kind of like they had in the Beverly Hillbillies.

Other than the advantage that my cats can parade down the stairs as Ellie Mae Clampett did whenever she'd finally put on a way-too-frilly dress, the steps mean Edsel can't stick his ludicrous SNOUT in there and get him some cat bits. Some Almond Roca, if you will.

So it's all delightful. Except I got the thing, and it came with directions, including 75 steps for how to put the top on the bottom, which believe it or not I was able to discern without their help.

However. HOWEVER. It also comes with a filter, which is wonderful and I need all the get-the-cat-poop-smell-out-my-house help I can get, and the filter also had this plastic...disk action that looked like it'd snap shut, except it didn't, and you were supposed to place this contraption to the top of the dome. And the filter part? Came with no directions. Because placing up there is so OBVIOUS, I guess.

Well.

I snapped and I twisted and I turned and I TRIED TO GET THAT #$@**#$ thing in for FORTY minutes, and you KNOW how I have the spatial relations skills, and I kept yelling "#@@&!" and scaring the dogs. Finally I BURST out of the house, carrying that dome, and STORMED across the magnolia leaves to Peg's, who is an interior designer who draws her own blueprints and such.

POUNDPOUNDPOUNDPOUND!

I knocked irritatedly on Peg's door, like this whole thing was her fault.

"You startled me!" she said, looking at me in my work clothes, with no shoes, and a litter box lid. I looked like a homeless business casual person.

"I CAN'T GET THIS F****NG FILTER ON THE FU****G CAT BOX!" I screeched.

Peg put her purse down, as clearly she was getting ready to attend her I-have-an-insane-neighbor support group, and placed the dome top on her table.

"Let's see, you just...no. Well, then you...hmm. How--F**K!" yelled Peg.

Nevertheless, in five minutes she had figured it out.

Really, have you noticed I am not good at ANYTHING? Nothing. Except garnering pets. I guess that's good.

As long as they don't poop, because there will be no filter.

Crap.

 

 

June hates everything. So look at Edsel.

 I wrote a whole post and the stupid computer crashed and I hate everything. So now that I'm out of time, please enjoy a photo of Edsel while I stomp around crabbily.

 

I've been looking so long at these picture's of you

I forgot to tell you that when I was on my date with Dick Whitman the other night, I read his tarot cards. He is going to meet a Libra in October and I already hate that wench.

Anyway, he said, "I had my tarot cards read before, in 1989. My sister read them for me and we videotaped it."

You know how I am. "Ooo! I want to see that!"

"You do?"

So Dick Whitman opened the tidiest closet you have ever seen and got out a covered box neatly inscribed with the word...

...are you ready?

Seriously, are you?

Video's.

With the apostrophe.

He took the lid off that box, and inside were the tidiest collection of videos ('s) since Felix Unger organized his videos. If I have any videos left they are strewn in one drawer, then another, and maybe in the car, or in my hair, and in Edsel's jaws.

"You, um, certainly are tidy," I said, trying to ignore the apostrophe.

"Yes, I am," he said, piling a perfect pile of tapes as he looked. "And I'm NOT GAY."

See. It wasn't the gay thing I was worried about. Finally, I asked. "So, who labeled that box?"

Dick Whitman finally stopped alphabetizing the pile of videos to look at his errant " ' ". "Oh. I'm afraid I did that," he said, and WENT BACK TO SEARCHING like nothing was wrong.

I started to feel a little woozy. "Do you, um, have any White-Out or anything?"

"June, there's a Sharpie in the other room. Why don't you go get it and cross out the apostrophe."

"No, no. That would be weird," I said, desperately wanting to get the Sharpie.

Anyway. We finally watched the video ('s) and in 1989 Dick Whitman was all hot with long hair and Malcolm X glasses, and I told him I had Malcolm X glasses back then too, and this whole entire stupid story was to tell you that. Well. And to tell you about the apostrophe. I hope that Libra is ready for a lifetime of 's.

So I told Dick Whitman I'd send him a picture of me in the Malcolm X glasses:

Mom and me rockin' out with our glasses out.

And in the meantime I found a bunch of other photos to show you. But now I have taken 60 hours to tell you that story so I can only show a few.

Dad and me on New Year's Eve when it was about to be 1984. I loved that dress. And those earrings. We thought we were cool. And we kind of were.

Even before I had a blog I had to stop and photograph ludicrous things. Like that sweater.

Why was everything brown in the 70s? Why do Coke cans never change?

Okay. Must shower. Or, as Dick Whitman would write, s'hower.

Okay ONE MORE.

My friend Lisa, pretending to be my bearskin rug.

June. Loving herself since 1991. Loving her rose pants since...why did I like those rose pants?

Okay, really going.

 

Blogger with Benefits

I am sorry to tell you that I will not be addressing the topic of glasses frames today, and I know you are sad. But I heard you and LEOPARD IT IS!

Okay. Kidding. I just heard 4027838492 people go, "NOOOOOOO!"

Last night I went with my friend Laura and Mary-Tyler-Moore date Dick Whitman to see Friends with Benefits.

Remember on Mary Tyler Moore? How she'd go on dates with good-looking men and they'd drop her off at the door and you never really got to know them? That is kind of all y'all and Dick Whitman. I just throw his name out there and show you an elusive picture and that's all you get.

Lest you think D. Whitman is whipping something up at the stove, you should know he is as into cooking as I am. I was basically forcing him to make hummingbird food because his feeder was empty.

Dick Whitman has a really cool house and I have informed him I am moving in. I think when you have known someone seven weeks, and you are married to someone else, and when that someone you are moving in with is deathly allergic to pets, that there is no other next right step than to gather your things and your 60 pets and move right in. But if you saw that cool house you would make no sense, either.

Here is a blurry shot of Dick Whitman's porch. Note the spilled hummingbird food.

Anyway, Friends with Benefits was funny, of course, and for those of you who have seen it, my friend Dave says "Strictly dickly" all the time, so I know for sure that is his line. Also, is there any way I could get Mila Kunis' body yet continue my torrid affair with Chik-Fil-A? Please advise.

That is all I have to tell you, except that Tallulah has not had a bath since January because Marvin used to lift her into the tub, and I know I could probably do it if I had to, but I have had this fear I would drop her and break all of her legs. However, she is sitting next to me right now:

And decaying bodies in rainforests smell better. I really need to address this issue today. Look at her giant ET back foot. I love Talu. {News flash.}

Don't forget that a week from today we will be meeting here for book clurb. Clurb. What the hell is wrong with me. We will be discussing Three Dog Life. Click Mince Words with June for the deets. Who is annoying? Deets.

Clurb.

Carp.

 

 

So the red glasses, then?

Okay, I guess generally you liked the blue frames. I say this based on the 9394539 comments that said, "The BLUE! THE BLUUUUUUUUE!"

So I just have one more query. How much do you hate me right now? The blue?

Or the frames I currently own? I have no idea why I was so crabby on this day. Perhaps I was cranky that Marvin had all that hideous music crap in my house. Guess who do not miss the hideous music crap? Guess who doesn't miss drawer after drawer of black cords? Hi, Marvin.

At any rate. Thoughts on frames again, please.

Oh! And speaking of your thoughts, guess what I actually remembered to do? I assigned a comment of the week! When I went there to paste in the current comment, I realized the last time I did it was late June. Story of my life. Late June.

Well. I don't mean I'm PREGNANT. Just late with things like comment of the week. Don't get your knickers in a twist.

Comment of the week goes to Lisa, which does not narrow it down because I have 69394193&$3 million commenters named Lisa. And someone figured out they all seem to hail from Texas. So comment of the week goes to Lisa from probably Texas, who made mature comments about ballcocks at the hardware store. Click This Week's Special if you want to be mature with us.

Speaking of mature, have you joined Pie on the Face at Facebook? Again, I am BANNED, but I can see what everyone is talking about and if you think the comments get ludicrous here, you should see them there. Go join. Prepare to get absolutely nothing done.

And while we are talking about getting nothing done, Laurie and I are not putting up my screen door today after all. We need a circular saw. I KNOW, right? Hear us roar. And not only do we need a circular saw, it needs a fine blade. Yes. A blade that is super good-looking. The Halle Berry of blades. I asked two people if they had one I could borrow and they both said yes then last night they both said oh, you know what? I thought I had a fine good-looking blade but I don't.

Sigh.

So the part where I was gonna have to go BUY one and also paint the door and also HANG the door and it is seriously almost 100 degrees out just sounded miserable so I said Laurie? Let's blow this off for another time. What say you? And she said heavens, yes.

Therefore, the only real plan I have today is that at 5:00 my friend Laura and I are joining Dick Whitman at the movies to go see FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS, written by my friend DAVE NEWMAN, who I am obviously v.v. proud of because I cannot stop plugging this movie and if I go there and find out he used any of my funny jokes in this movie I am suing the crap out of him.

Am looking forward to watching Dick Whitman buy a bag of M&Ms and eat 1/3 of said bag. Who IS this guy? Why would anyone with that much impulse control find me remotely attractive? Maybe I am fascinating to him, like an anthropological study. I am a gorilla in his mist. An M&M-eating gorilla.

Finally, before I go do nothing but clean cat fur and eat nectarines till 5:00, I wanted to share with you an image that has amused me all week. My stepsister got me a desk calendar for Christmas that I have been loving. It features advertising from days of yore, and your what I'll never know. This week's ad is below:
How much do I wish I had purchased this outfit for Hulk and his pool party last week? It is stunning. And he would have rocked it. Look at abdomen woman admiring the hell out of him. Or maybe she's just admiring that stream falling right onto her hoo-hah.

That pattern reminds me of the beginning of Rocky and Bullwinkle, remember? Really everything about the ensemble says yes to me.

You always get the good ideas after the fact.