In case you're pacing the floors wondering how I am, my foot feels better. I guess "sprain" was a strong word. "Twisted" might have been more accurate. And it's not like me to exaggerate.
Yesterday, Ned, who is the best boy ever invented on planet Earth in the history of time--and what do you mean please see the paragraph above?--took me to the nice Jeffrey Dahmer movie, and in case you didn't know, Jeffrey Dahmer might've had a screw loose. Ohmygod, I remember the first time I saw this cartoon, and finally got the "screw" and "ball" reference. It just about slayed me.
So, after our romantic comedy, Jeffrey Dahmer Gets Food To Go, we went back to Ned's house, as he was also whipping up a batch of something, but in his case it was vegetable stock. I sat on the couch and read my comments while he did whatever in the kitchen. Because a help? Wooo! That's me all over.
When I was done reading my comments, I started taking pictures of my own self and posting them to Facebook. Because what do my FB friends want to see more than a photo of me? Hey, I have to look at all your damn kids constantly. "Joshua after his first poop!"
Anyway, finally it was time to meet my pals Marty Martin and Kayeeee for dinner. I had scheduled said dinner just exactly at the same time as an important sporting event, yet Ned still likes me. Dudes, how'm I supposed to know when important sporting events occur? It's not like there's some magic SCHEDULE out there for me to look at. God.
Apparently, Marty and Kayeeee have been together so long that now they're starting to dress alike. Although in this shot it looks like Kayeee is wearing more of a cranberry color to MM's red. Trust me, had you been with us, it looked exactly the same shade. Also, it would've been awkwardly tight in that booth.
Anyway, I asked Kayeeee about her cats, as they are getting up there in years, not thinking about how Ned's cat is no spring chicken (she'll be 13 in May) and he kind of...worries about her. And her demise. And I so feel him on this, because pretty much the last seven years of my beloved cat Mr. Horkheimer's life, I obsessed about his death. He'd come flump next to me, and I'd be all, God, I love this cat. One day he'll be dead.
You know where it's fun? In my brain, that's where. And apparently Ned is as fun as me, because he told me he does the same thing with NedKitty. So it was sensitive of me to ask Kayeee about her old cats knowing Ned was pictuing a hood-and-sickle kitty of doom visiting his apartment any day now. And by the way that cat is as spry as my year-old cats.
"Oh, the one cat's not good. I've been using the come-to-your-house vet that you used," Kayeeee told me. "The vet we were using was terrible."
"What vet is that?" asked Ned, who I know was convinced that out of the 739452402 vets in Greensboro, Kayeee would say the one he goes to.
"Oh, you've probably not heard of them. It's called Meowschwitz," said Marty Martin.
Meowschwitz. And that is why I hang around Marty Martin.
In case you were worried for Ned, said sporting event was on TV where we went, and I am sorry to tell you we may have had to stay and watch the whole thing. Whoever it was we wanted to win, won. Mostly I noticed how some basketball players wear really long socks and some do not. Also, tattoos don't show up as well on black people, and they ought to invent ink for darker pigments. See, I'd be a millionaire if I ever took these thoughts all the way to the action part.
I guess that's all I have to tell you, except that when I got home, Annie Hall was on TCM, so I watched that for a change. Even though I've seen that movie probably 15 times, I love it all over again when it comes on.
Most of us need the eggs. Or in Jeffrey Dahmer's case, the legs.
June, failing under the power of the Meowschwitz line since 2013.