It "snowed" here.
Edsel somehow manages to look more dignified when he's outdoors. Maybe it's because his underbite isn't as apparent, or his ears are dwarfed when you compare them to the solar system. I don't know. But can you see he has snow on his snout? There's dignity for you.
"You're a good-looking dog, Edsel," Ned always tells him. I'm not sure if he's being sarcastic or what. I mean, a yellow Lab is a good-looking dog. A black German shepherd is a good-looking dog. Edsel is more cute and ridiculous, which makes him even more cute.
But discussing whether Eds is a 10 or a 7 is not why I gathered you all here today. I wanted to discuss the blizzard that tore apart our nation. They've delayed my work till 10:00, and god, I love the South. I made a WHOLE pot of coffee, and let's not discuss how I am not supposed to be having caffeine, and some brown-flaxy-wheaty-heavy-I-grew-up-in-a-hippie-home toast with almond butter.
The dogs are having the crusts. Talu never, ever misses when I throw food, and Edsel never, ever catches it when I throw food. Fortunately he's learned to retrieve it quickly, as Tallulah is capable of catching the thing I threw for her and also swooping down to steal whatever bounced off Edsel's teefs.
But I did not gather you all here to talk about what a dick my dog is. I gathered you here to discuss the blizzard that tore apart our nation.
Here's Ned, traipsing through the blizzard that tore apart our nation to get me through the gate that leads to his labyrinth apartment. Let me tell you. When I had a sprained ankle? What was fun was that 87-minute, 14-different-flights-of-stairs walk to Ned's place. What do the crippled folk do?
The snow started yesterday afternoon, after, I'd like to point out, I did a snow dance at work, where my coworkers may have been laughing less with me than near me. BUT I MADE IT SNOW! And they let us go early, and I took this early dismissal seriously by being very cautious. And by "very cautious" I mean I hauled my slutty ass to Ned's. Where we discussed moving in together, and we're leaning toward it, but if you read my Purple Clover article, you know I don't want to fix anything that isn't broken.
I love Ned TO DEATH, and I don't want to ruin that. But I love Ned to death, and want to move forward with our relationship. BUT WHAT IF I RUIN IT?
Quandary. I guess there could be worse quandaries. Oh, she loves someone to DEATH and he loves HER and they want to BE TOGETHER. That poor thing. Still.
And speaking of the person who put me in this quandary, I spoke with Marvin this week, because he had to text me to tell me about BARRY GIBB'S CONCERT TOUR!
After the excitement of that wore off (pfft. Like the excitement of THAT will ever wear off), I said to him, "Will you send me some of the videos we took in the '90s, when we were first married, so I can edit them and put them on my blog?"
I mean, come on. Don't you guys want to see me in an overall dress and brown lipstick? You know you do. "Yeah, sure," he said. But then the next day I wrote him again.
"You know, when we separated, I asked you to write me one last letter." Marvin had written me a lot of great letters over the years, and I have them all in a box. "I wanted one last letter, and you never wrote me one, and I've never mentioned it, but what I'm saying to you is I really want those videos. I don't want them to go the way of the one last letter," I wrote.
Marvin wrote back. "F," was all he wrote.
God, that app is the best thing that ever happened to me.
Anyway, F. Okay, that was funny. Still.
Oh! I have to go get ready for work, because I'll still find a way to be late even if we don't start till 10:00, but this morning I saw these tracks in the snow, along with the tracks of my tears.
DOOD! What is that? Do we have antelope? Is that it? Is it DEER? Do the deer and the antelope play? I can guarantee you that somewhere in this house you can always hear a discouraging word. Usually "Get the fuck off the couch, goddammit." But sometimes it's "What am I, a marsupial?" Oh, you should have seen me try to find an outfit for that book event I went to this weekend. Just me, my hair and the cannon I was apparently smugging in my abdomen. Holy crap. And I like how I'm all baffled by it when I ate two boxes of Girl Scout cookies last week.
A sleeve is a serving.
Oh my god, I really have got to go, but tell me what those tracks are. Here's another shot. Another professional shot.
You're a good-looking reader, Reader.