Sometimes I sit at this computer and think, "What the hell was I gonna say today?" This is one of those days. I was worried about Lu last night, as she was panting and moaning just a bit. Going outside, getting on the forbidden couch, and even treats didn't seem to lighten her load any. Well. She lightened up for the treats a little.
Finally I decided to give her another pain pill, even though it wasn't time. Fuck it. Give my daughter the shot.
So I didn't sleep well, because I kept reaching down to make sure I hadn't OD my own dog, so that was restful. She seems okay today, if groggy. She did a groggy harrrrr. So.
The other disturbing news is I'm worried I missed my hurr appointment. I think maybe it was the 15th. My hairdresser, the HAIRDRESSER I share with my coworker Austin, who insists she's a barber, with her aromatherapy salon, usually sends me a reminder, and I didn't get one, so maybe I'm making shit up. But I got roots, man. I'm Alex Haley. I know I make that funny joke every time.
I was going to show you my roots, but then I got involved with how pretty Lily looks in the sun. You know how gray hair is suddenly the color for the young set? Why can't gray roots be in? I should set a trend. Wait. I think I already am. It's only been six weeks, but there is snow on the silver mountain. I know I also make that joke every time. How sick of me are you?
Actually, someone said something interesting the other day.
That's all. See you tomorrow!
No. Someone said they liked breezy, rambling posts. But then the other day on Pie on the Face (a group on Facebook where you all gather to talk about how much you love my blog, which you never really do, but rather you send in cat videos, which is preferable anyway), someone said they particularly liked that day's post because I stuck to one topic the whole way through, that topic being my dying dog which is hard to not dwell on.
So which do you like? What kind of posts are you all, "Oh, good" and which are you, like, "Jesus, shut up, June. Ima go look at The Bloggess." Is that how you spell it? I love her. She trumps Dooce and her world travels and secrecy about the boyfriend any day, if you ask me.
Once I read someone say that she stops reading a blog if it gets popular. Which annoyed. Hey, I like your blog. But if other people do, I'm out of here. I don't know why I'm talking about blogging today, seeing as four people do it anymore.
Last night I went to the old theater I like. Up in what they call The Crown, which is the top floor and not a literal crown, which, disappointment, they show art films and the like. Last night was a great documentary about this eccentric old guy who was an artist, who these filmmakers stumbled upon at a Pirogi festival, and whom they filmed for years. They were there for questioning after the movie, and it was great. Don't ask me what it was called. Google fucking it.
I also received an email receipt for my purchase at the concession stand and why so chubby, which was disturbing because I didn't tell them my email address. I paid with my ATM card. How did they know my email address? And they were all Thanks for your purchase of old popcorn at The Crown. Sorry your dog is sick and stop stress eating. You look roomy about the ass, June. You're never gonna catch a man with those hips. Hips don't lie.
I know I make that hilarious joke every time.
So, like, that was weird. About the receipt. I also did my taxes yesterday, AND I finished my statistics textbook and what amphetamines? Go, June. The point is, I perused all last year's bank statements to add up my medical expenses ($4,800. Thanks, kidney stone.), and I was stunned to see what I spend my money on. My bank statements go like this:
See what I did, there? I made a Large Marge joke.
Anyway. My bank statements, and say "bank statements" one more time.
- Movie concessions
- Fast food
- Fast food
- FAST FUD
- Another movie
- Music on iTunes
- Fast food
My friend Sandy says she's actually surprised I'm still alive. Oh, also, I owe money for taxes. Goddammit. I did a TON of freelance last year. And go ahead. Tell me I can deduct this room of the house. Do it. I will be so pleased.
The other night at that dinner party, someone mentioned a scenario in which a person was avoiding capital gains, and I said, "Oh, wow! Is that what that means when people say capital gains? I never knew."
I always thought it was when you got a particularly good bottle of laundry detergent.
"You're HOW old?" one of the Baby Boomers at the party asked me. "Thirty-nine? Forty? You should know this stuff by now." She thought she was chastising me, but really I was just excited about the part where she thought I was 39 or 40.
I gotta go. I know a lot was said in this post, and we need to really take some time to step back and think it over calmly.
See what I did, there? I wasn't calm.
Fast food. Fast food. FAST FUD.