It snowed again, which is very exciting for us here. My work is delayed a crummy hour. Given how much sliding down my street I did last night, I thought maybe they'd close the whole thing down. But no. I hope this weather won't interfere with all my day-after-Valentine's-Day flowers I am to get at work. My Presidents Day flowers. Because I'm a capitol gal.
A lot of this weekend involved watching old movies while trying to avoid my statistics textbook, and feeding Talu whatever she wanted. She's been on this pill for a few days that's supposed to shrink or at least slow her tumor, and she seems to be feeling much better. She even harrrrrred yesterday. That's this thing she does where she buries her snout in the carpet or bed and snurfs around and eventually falls down and rolls and says, "Harrrrr, HARRRRRRR." She's always done it and I have no idea what it's about, other than happy.
Remember when I called that pet psychic the other day? She emailed me to ask if she'd sent me the CD of our session. "No," I wrote back, "but I also haven't paid you. I'm so sorry." I told her about Talu and how I'm forgetting everything other than staring at my dog. "Oh, my god, don't even worry about paying me," she wrote. "Let me talk to Tallulah."
Later, she sent me an email. She said she told Tallulah that her tumor was inoperable, but I would make her comfortable and that a nice woman was coming over to peacefully let her go when it's time. (That same poor soul who used to come make house calls for Francis.)
Then she told me that Tallulah said thank you for telling her what's going on, and for making sure we have more time together. That she will be appreciative when the woman comes to the house to end her pain. She said to tell me she has loved our time together, "You've given me so much" and that she will always be my Tallulah. "I trust you with all of me," Tallulah allegedly said.
OH MY GOD. So that was a sobfest. Despite Lexapro.
Really, I feel like if Tallulah could talk, it would mostly be about food. But what do I know? I see her being food-driven like Ned. "Do mom remember that grouper Lu had in May of 2013?"
People have sent Lu treats, and tons of emails, and my coworker Slutty Pancakes gave me this Talu picture. Everyone feels bad about dead dogs. That's just how it is. Dogs are so much more appealing than us, I guess, even the bite-y ones.
Lily, sittin' on my statistics. Because cats don't give a SHIT what you're doing or when your deadline is.
I did take my statistics and my ass downtown Saturday afternoon, and did my work at the bookstore, where they have coffee and some food. I got (and I hate to sound like Tallulah and Ned) an absolutely delicious ham and cheddar sandwich on focca--foca-foocaa--flat bread. The side was grape tomatoes with olive oil and basil, which I put ON the sandwich and holy mother of Christ.
I sat in the window, not that I'm a bird or a mannequin. They have little tables in the window. I wasn't there 10 minutes before I saw someone I know, and had to converse, but after that I spent three hours in peace, doing my work. There was an unlovely couple there, clearly on a first date, and they seemed to be having a good time. They were similarly unlovely, but as I watched surreptitiously from my table, they both got lovelier because they both seemed to be getting happier as the date went better and better. It was really very sweet, although if you ask me, it wouldn't have killed the woman to have put on something cuter and to knock it off with all the talk about her kid.
Said the person who spent 89 paragraphs on her dog.
Other than proofreading statistics and staring at the dog and watching old movies, my weekend culminated in going to my friend The Other Copy Editor's house to attend her Valentine's Day dinner party last night. Before I got there, I headed to the inconvenience store on my corner, which never has anything except they do have Kendall Jackson Chardonnay, which is good. I don't know if anyone remembers Valentine's Day 2012 in your Big Book of June Events, but Ned and I had just met, had had maybe three dates, when he was felled by illness right before V-Day. I remember he sent me an e-card, and later told me he was in bed that whole day, and the only time he got out was to send me that card and fall back into bed.
Anyway, it was just me and me that V-Day, so I went to the inconvenience store for a romantic dinner with my good friends Kendall and Jackson and maybe some salt-and-vinegar potato chips. There was Harry, the guy who was always my guy at the inconvenience store. He called himself Harry, but his real name was something like AbuDabuGaneshapur or something.
Was that racist?
"Oh, June, are you alone on Valentine's Day?" he asked me.
"Well, sort of. See I've just started seeing--"
"Oh, I am alone, too, Miss June. I am so lonely," he told me. "Why don't I bring a bottle of wine to your house after work? We spend this day together."
And that is how I ended up pulling my car as far up the driveway as possible, to try to hide my YELLOW FREAKING BUG from Harry in case he went looking for me after his lonely shift.
The point is, Harry wasn't there last night, although I was kind of hoping he would be, to bookend that event. Instead it was a kind of hot girl of color who was funny, but that's neither here nor there.
The inconvenience store was out of Kendall Jackson, clean out, so I had to get some shitty Chardonnay and head to TOCE's house. It was just starting to snow when I got to her street.
But it was so cozy at her house.
I love how the Baby Boomers are having a conversation and the Millennials are looking at their phones. Hello, stereotypes.
I don't know how I managed to get myself in focus and everyone else is a soft blur, but it kind of sums up all my relationships. The food at that party was so good that it was the kind of thing where you just want to be alone with it and stroke your plate lovingly. I'd have gotten up for fourths if I could have. Holy crap.
I was there for two hours and it managed to snow like a banshee in those two hours. Then I had to slide home terrifyingly (yes, I HAVE forgotten I grew up in Michigan) and had to clomp through this tundra in high-heeled boots to take out my trash and Peg's trash, forgetting that today is Presidents Day and fuck.
I know you wish I'd talk more but now I have to go to work. Happy Presidents Day. In honor of it, I'm Lincoln to my latest Purple Clover. In which I talk about naked teenage boys of color. So. Hope you think my article is da O-bam-a.
Don't Washington your hands of me. I'll Fillmore of your needs tomorrow. And I'll be Nixon this kind of talk. It's Tru, Man.