Ned has now done something to the gate that renders me unable to open it, so every time I wish to move into or out of the dining room, I'm like George Bailey trying to get into Mary's fence. So to speak.
I have seen that movie approximately 678 times. Do you know who was sick to death of that movie? Jewish Marvin, who did not appreciate an uplifting ending. You will not believe this, but Ned loves that movie and cries at the end every time. I'm sorry, Ned, but you do.
My point is, that newly Fort Knoxed gate vexes me. Meanwhile, after Tallulah got right through that gate yesterday, she slept with me all afternoon. Oh, it was lovely to have her there, all pressed on me and doing her sigh/moan thing when she stretches. When Ned came home, I thought for sure she'd jump down guiltily, and it'd be our secret because heaven knows she doesn't smell like a Beagle or anything. But she sat tall and proud when he walked in.
lu not give one shit.
Edsel slept on the floor. He knew the real bed was forbidden.
Anyway, I am relatively normal today. I mean, using the filter of we're dealing with June, here. I didn't wake up today as a British banker.
So I might as well tell you all the dumb things I did all weekend.
First of all, I played with this age guesser thing all weekend, and the first person to ask me the web address gets beaten by my clearly 34-year-old ass. Then I have to go home and care for my 55-year-old man. THE ADDRESS IS AT THE TOP OF THE IMAGE. Look how I'm already cranky. I'm too young to be cranky.
Sometimes, depending on which picture I'd use, it'd say I was 44, 34, 49. Thank god it never said I was older than I am. I put in a picture of me with one of my friends and it said she was 60, a thing I will not tell her but I am telling you.
Ned keeps talking to me from the other room, and he KNOWS the rule, which we established before we even set foot in this house. If I am in here writing, there is no speaking to me. None. If he or an animal is to die, I will discover it after I've posted. And yet? Talking.
Okay, my lack of response must have tipped him off, as he has fallen stonily silent. I am a delight. I am a pleasure of life.
We went downtown, so to speak, to look for Adirondack chairs and tables for our front porch, which by the way Ned keeps calling Hurricane chairs for no reason other than he wants to bug me. He accidentally called them that once, and now continues to do it because every man I've ever been with THRILLS at bugging me. THRILLS at it.
We went to Kit's store and didn't find any. Dear Kit: We did not fool around in your windows, at all. Dear Kit: I left Ned there, under the umbrella. You can try to get 20 bucks for him.
They've done this downtown, to the sidewalks, and we have no idea why. Whenever we go downtown (where Ned used to live) and there's something new, which is ALWAYS, we feel bad that we're not right on top of things like we used to be. There's a whole new restaurant down there that we didn't know about. In the old days, we'd have been the first people there.
Here's Ned, looking mean.
Whenever he takes a mean picture, I show him and he laughs at himself. "I like that one!" he'll always say gleefully. He just came in here to say goodbye, as he is leaving for work and I'm still unshowered in my robe. He saw the picture above and laughed. I feel like unmean Ned pictures will not be coming your way soon.
We can be certain he's mean behind the steam.
This is the most Tallulah picture of Tallulah I've ever taken. There's her whole personality in a nutshell. Why do I pick the glare-at-me types? Although I do have to say, those IDIOTS across the street were screaming yesterday. Screaming! I think one of them was playing in the yard with her boyfriend, and by the way, boyfriend? They are a pack of Butterfaces, is what they are, over there. Chubby Butterfaces. Which makes them not Butterfaces, because the whole point is someone who has a great body, but her face.
My mom is weeping under her ERA Yes poster right now.
My point is, I was up on the couch, tepidly trying to read post migraine, and Tallulah burst over and got right on my lap. That screaming made her shake. I mean, now they've done it. They've scared my tough dog. Heifers.
If I ever tell you that we're outside, and I show you pictures of the other animals, and you wonder, "What's Edsel up to?" This is always the answer. Always. He is always chomping Blu. Champing at the Blu.
This would be an excellent time to remind people it's CHAMPING at the bit. Please say chomping at the bit. Go ahead. Say chomping one more time.
We let Iris out, into the fenced back yard, so she could be jungle cat.
Lily and NedKitty have zero interest in being out, thank god, but you know how Iris is. She was having a wonderful time, pouncing on grass, chewing poisonous leaves, and then Ned said, "Does this yard seem even more...bird-y than yours was?
"Where's Iris?" I asked, and I did not have to look far. Because I did not have a bird in the hand, but there were two in the bush. A Thresher couple is in our bush, so to speak, tending to their nest. We'd remarked on it earlier in the week. And there I was, unthinkingly letting that murder cat in the yard.
She will not be venturing out till spring is over. That bird murderer. A nest of baby birds is for her what a week with Boris Kodjoe is for me. Go Google him. Prepare to have no more thoughts for the rest of today.
Okay, I won't even make you Google him.
Anyway, that sums up my weekend, and oh, here's what we cooked, and by "we" I mean Ned.
Note the potato salad and potato chips. That was a June move, there. Which is why I will never tap Boris Kodjoe, unless he's into starchy women. Maybe he is! "You know, the women who really do it for me are Midwestern starchy white chicks. Who are 49."
You neva know.
Okay, I'm off.