By the way, what's this?
When Ned was sewing on my buttons, we noted that silver saint-medal-looking thing, and we knew normal domestic people would know what you did with it but we were flummoxed. Is it like a golden ticket, and now Ned has to be Pope? Do tell.
And speaking of faithful readers helping a sister out, yesterday in the comments, someone said we were so hungry after eating fish and vegetables because we didn't have enough starch or something, and she suggested rice with sauteed vegetables as a side dish, and I want you to know Ned listened and made that with his leftover fish and had a "godammit, this is good" moment. I was on the phone with him when it happened. So thank you.
I really had no idea what I was gonna blog about this morning, but now I have a little theme: faithful readers.
For example, Faithful Reader Jan recently got a puppy, and named it Wilbur, and in a stunning turn of events, I love him. I asked her if I could share Wilbur with all y'all and she said yes. What she does not know is she also agreed to give me Wilbur after I drugged her. How you drug someone through the Internet is beyond me but I did it.
LOOK AT HIMMMMM!
Also, two Christmases ago, I went to dog daycare to drop off my curs, and there in the lobby they had a sign: "We are fostering Ladybird. She is from the animal shelter, but she'll stay here for a month. She needs a home." I think, thank God, they did not say "furever home," which makes me want to stab self with drink swords.
Also, y'all, what was going on with my HAIR two Christmases ago? Why did none of you speak up about that Jean-Harlow-on-heroin mess?
Anyway, I put Ladybird up on this here blog, and those of you who did not cancel Christmas over my hair said you loved her and wished you could take her and blah blah blah. Then? I got an email. My friend Mindy, who I've been friends with since 8th grade, had just lost her wonderful dog at Thanksgiving, and she was in the market for a new doggie snickerdoodley doo. Because that's a lot better to say than "furever home."
The point is, I schlepped to Kentucky with Ladybird nine days before Christmas and met Mindy in a mall parking lot, which by the way is a brilliant thing to do nine days before Christmas. Ladybird was so nervous about me in the car, and then we stopped at Long John Silvers and split a piece of fish, and then she wasn't nervous with me in the car anymore.
My point is, I keep meaning to send you pictures of Ladybird, who thank God Mindy and I decided to call Lucie, because apparently I have to stick my mitts into everyone's everything and have a say in that dog's name.
So here is Lucie in her furever home. She is happy, and I got 20 free visits to dog daycare. Win! See? At least I didn't say win-win. But let me say furever home again. Ooo, how about veggie? I haven't said that yet.
The only other faithful reader story I have to tell you involves a nice woman who wrote me yesterday. Sometimes someone will email me and say, "I just found your blog and read a bunch of it and you are so not funny." Okay, no one writes that, but you know that's what they mean and they're just writing cause they feel sorry for me. "Wow, keep, um, going there, June. [You poor poor thing.]"
Anyway, so she somehow told me, in her email, that she was Navajo, and then she said a bunch of nice things and attached the number for my local comedy school, should I want to attend, and the point is I wrote this back:
See, the part where you're Navajo should probably tell me that I should abstain from letting you know my Uncle Jim used to tell people he was a member of the Slap-a-Ho tribe. A tasteful person would say to herself, "Don't tell that to someone who's actually Native American, and who you've just met." That's what, say, Jackie Kennedy would tell herself. On the other hand, did Jackie Kennedy have any relatives who'd make Slap-a-Ho jokes? Well, maybe that drunk dad of hers.
I always get impressed with myself when I remember to use my out-quote feature. Anyway, thank GOD she wrote back and did not hate me furever for my Slap-a-Ho reference. I mean, really it's Uncle Jim's fault. If he hadn't said it I wouldn't be forced to repeat it.
Oh, wait! I thought of one more faithful reader thing. Apparently this is less faithful readers and more faithful readers' dogs. Beause FR Letha does dog rescue, and she sent me a photo of her latest crop, Pit/Beagle mixes, which in case anyone forgot is Tallulah's fine mix of breeds.
LITTLE LUUUUUUUUssssss! LOOK at them. I say that second one is from some affair mom had with a St. Bernard who got thrown in the mix. But whatever. The last two totally have Talu looks on their faces. yah. we got pit in here. to not eff wif, bittches.
Do you know what'd be a lovely accessory in my home? A spare Beagle/Pit, in case the one I have wears out. Don't you think? What do you mean, "no job"? What's that about "small house"? Oh, shut up all of you. June's gonna go Pit on you.