I have several small things to tell you today, and as usual they are all dumb.
Maybe they'll poop in the box. That I'd like to see. In keeping with my June-is-an-excellent-mom news, my dogs are eating cat food this morning. Ned fed them last night, as I was at a meeting till 7:30, and he texted me ("he text me") to tell me I was out of dog food, and then guess who forgot anyway because she sucks.
They seem pretty gleeful about it, really, and I will be equally gleeful when the gas sets in. Did I tell you how sorry I was when I let Talu eat the last of my blueberry pie a few weeks back, in those halcyon days when I consumed actual calories and enjoyed my snacks, as opposed to that delicious bowl of broccoli covered in fat-free cheese that I had yesterday?
Tallulah is doing half an Edsel impresh. Wait, let her get her novelty bottom teeth.
Speaking of tute-ing. I went to my orientation to learn how to be a tutor to people who have trouble reading, It was a good orientation, although I really wasn't expecting to get a swirly. They talked about how you are not helping, but serving, and the difference between the two. Mostly that helping means you're sort of superior to the person you are working with, and that helping is draining, whereas serving means you are on an equal playing field and it should be invigorating to serve. Then they showed a video of people in this program locally and the very first person they had on there was a person I know from work. She has never mentioned she was doing this, whereas I have already blogged about it twice and I've worked with no one yet.
Soon I will be sporting my Ask Me About My Literacy Tutoring t-shirt. (Running joke (c) Ned Nickerson.)
Speaking of Ned-ing. It was two years ago today that I knew I was in love with Ned. It took him
to realize he was in love with me. I tend to plunge into things with abandon and Ned is more cautious and well-thought-out. I mean, a puppy thinks things out longer than I do. Anyway, how it went down was he and I were emailing--because we sometimes spent the evenings emailing back and forth back then--and I know he'd get on his computer, write me something, then go about his evening like a normal person, while I emailed back and kept my damn phone glued to me like a barnacle--because you are sick of hearing about the barnacles I glue to myself--waiting for his reply. (What that was was a concise sentence.) My point is, you guys had been asking about him and I was loath to spill on him yet (not literally. Am certain I'd already spilled something on him at that point. Have you met me?), and I told him.
Several emails later it was obvious he had not gone to my blog to see what you all were saying about him, and I asked how he could NOT go over there and look, and he wrote back, "Would Steve McQueen care what was said about him on an Internet blog? He would not."
And that's what got me. Mostly "Internet blog." And also his contained-ness. As I have no container whatsoever.
Anyway, the rest is history, and now Ned loves me too and it was worth the wait. Oh, how I adore Ned.
Is "torturesome" even a word?
And I'm not giving him up for Lent. Yesterday was Fat Tuesday, as has every Tuesday been for me since about 2004. However, even though I did not go to Mardi Gras AGAIN, for the 49th year in a row, I still wish to give something up for Lent. I always like to give something up for Lent even though I am not religious. Ooo, remind me to tell you my cousin Katie's story. But my point right now is, I am giving up Faceook. For Lent. Yes, I am. And I'm gonna have to ask you guys to help me tout my Purple Clover articles on there, because that is really a work thing, me doing that, and I can't NOT do that. So when new Purple Clovers come out, I'll be emailing you, Paula H&B or Anita or some other faithful reader, asking you to put my dumb article out on Facebook.
Next week's is written under the pseudonym June Gardens (catchy!) because it's all about sex and I don't want future employers, or current ones, to Google me and see it.
Oh my GOD, could I have strayed further from my point? My point is, no Facebook. Till whenever Easter is. Ima go out on a limb and say maybe 40 days from now. I got on there this morning out of sheer habit and said GODAMMIT! LENT!
Which means I'm going to hell.
Speaking of hell. My cousin Katie, of "Aunt Katie, are you a lesbian?" fame, recently bought a house in northern Michigan, a thing people in Michigan refer to as "up North," which I can't bring myself to do.
Here is Katie in a picture she recently texted me ("she text me"), showing me a scarf she's sending me, and all I could do to express my gratitude was text back ("I text her"), "Nice plaid. Aunt Katie, are you a lesbian?"
Give me one funny story and I'll drag it out 30 years. My favorite part of that story is how Anna was all supportive of Katie's coming out. "It's okay to be gay." Very free to be gay you and me.
ANYWAY, Katie, who is technically straight despite her plaid, bought a house with her spouse Jason, who is not a beard. They had friends over recently who have a child, and that child said he didn't want to go upstairs because "there's a mean-looking man up there." Then he said
he said THE MAN HAS HORNS.
AAACCCCKCKKKKK!!!! Am hysterical right now. HORNS! I don't think he meant it was the ghost of Louie Armstrong up there, either. I am dying. I'd be out of there so fast the roof would blow off, and Katie is over there calmly getting sage to burn when she's not at Lillith Faire.
The end. That's all I've got to tell you, other than I wish this cold would shit or get off the pot, as Jackie Kennedy used to say. It's been three days of a sore throat and aches, and tiredness, and let's just get to the blow-my-nose-a-lot stage, which is not as awful as this stage, Also, Ned was wrong. This illness has affected my appetite not at all, and do anywon haff bloobery pye?