Today I have my phone, my computer is charged, and? No photos to show you. I took zero photos yesterday. So I'll show you a picture of Tallulah dead in the bushes from when I dog-sat last week.
Poor dead Lu. She is literally resting in peace. I wonder what'd make you say, hey, bricks look comfy, as does this bug-infested bush. Let me just--zzzzzzzzzzzz.
On the interminable drive home from my office to Kaye's house, and Dear Kaye, How the fuck do you stand it? Kaye, who is nice enough to let me stay at her damn house for six weeks, most of which she will be out of town for and doesn't have to put up with me, but so far she's gotten around 90 texts that go like this:
June: I can't start the dryer!
Kayeeee: Push the "Power" button.
Anyway, Kaye has an even longer drive into town to get to her job than I do getting to mine. She lives right off the busiest street in town. Well. Not right off. First you have to drive down these kind of country roads to get to the busy road, and lately there's been frost steaming off the grass in the mornings, and it's been really lovely. And at night I can see the pink sky as the sun sets.
Then you get to the busy road and you want to take you own life.
Kayeee is from Connecticut, and apparently her commute there was the opposite of fun. "Oh, Kayeeee loves her commute here in Greensboro," her boyfriend Marty Martin told me. "She's said it's her favorite part of Greensboro, even more than me."
"If she thinks that shitty commute is better than you, she must abhor you," I told him, because I'm the kind of friend who you leave feeling all glowy.
So I think she must know some sort of all-country-roads, secret spyware way to get to work that with my innate sense of direction I will never figure out. Siri, that syphilitic bitch, is no help in this at all, as she's not for ANYTHING. Siri was invented to give us another thing to have a heart attack about.
Back in the old days, the reason you had a heart attack was because you ate dumplings for lunch and never saw a doctor. Then you'd peacefully die in a field of corn you'd been sweating over and darn, that's the end.
Now we have heart attacks while sitting in front of our computers, after our WiFi goes out.
OH MY GOD. Seventy paragraphs ago, I was telling you that in the interminable drive home to Kayeeee's, there is a diner that has a drive-up window, and I've managed to not go to it so I can have a sensible dinner at home such as fish sticks.
But yesterday I got me a pork chop, and some mashed potatoes. Oh mother of god, that was delish. And so good for you. After that, I did me some Tracy Chapman, and a teensy part of me wondered why bother. But I did it. Kayeeeee has a big dresser in here, or something, that has a mirror, and I caught a glimpse of myself doing the arm exercises, which take longer than my commute, and I was all, Heyyyyy. Look at you, all arm definition-y. So that's exciting. Imagine how much more arm definition-y I'd be with zero pork chops consumed.
I'm gonna go, but before I do, I thought of something the other day and have been meaning to ask you. Which celebrity do you positively hate, the way I hate this commute? Which one just makes your blood boil. I know everyone's poised over the keyboard to say Rachel Ray. I buy her dog food, or rather lately you buy her dog food for me. Still. She bugs.
Who else? It's me, isn't it. I'm the big celebrity you hate. Oh, boo hoo hooo. Booo hooo hooo hoo hooooooo.