Oh my GOD, why do I have all these pets? The second the alarm went off, Tallulah started groaning, and how bad do you feel hitting snooze and making cancer dog wait. So I got up.
So then the cats started mowing for food, and then Tallulah wanted back in, and in the chaos of feeding everyone and trying to make coffee, I realized I still had the scoop with Edsel's food in it in one hand while I was making coffee with the other, and he was all wagging patiently and poor Edsel. Then I had to pill Lu, and every day I try to mix it up, what she gets her pill in. Today it was in a teensy piece of my leftover cheesecake.
Then Iris insisted on going to the shower with me and as soon as I got in, she meowed incessantly to leave the room. It was the least-relaxing shower of all time.
MEOW! Is it meee yur lookeeng for?
Meanwhile, I'd let the dogs BACK out, as they'd insisted, and as I was drying off they were barking incessantly to come back in as opposed to Iris's incessant meow to leave the room.
Everyone was inside and I sat down to type and Iris meowed to go in the back yard.
"You're all cut off for the rest of the morning," I just announced, and I'm sure fear strikes them all. "No one's needs are getting met till noon."
When I went over to photograph Lily on her needy chair being no trouble (trubbul), I noted Peg's tree is blooming. Yay! Some years it doesn't bloom at all. Some years it just starts to and then there came an early frost and the pony she named Wildfire busted down his trough.
Stall? Does he bust down his stall? Why would be bust down his trough? That doesn't even make sense. As opposed to having the lyrics to Wildfire at the ready.
I have a date tonight. Speaking of ready. He lives on one of those cities all the Mark Allens live in: Raleigh, Durham, Chapel Hill. They all live there and they all work at various universities. There must be some sort of Whore Alert section of the newsletter that alerts them all I'm available. Anyway, Mark Allen is here for a basketball game--me too--so we're meeting after. Further reports as developments warrant. I'm seriously talking to three or four men right now, but there's one I like more than the others. FRADW again.
Last night, I schlepped to Winston to see my friend Vanessa, of Charlie and Vanessa. Charlie has already moved to Massachusetts. Vanessa got a promotion and has to move there, not that that's too shabby, and she convinced him to move to a facility there, because healthcare is much better in Massachusetts as opposed to his place. Thanks, South. Thanks for paying your teachers a living wage, too. I rarely say, "Assmunchers," but when I do I apply it to how my state is run.
She asked a few of us who have known each other through the years, all of us through Charlie, to have dinner, and it turns out the four of us should have been a...a...what'd that be called, if four people were friends? Not a duo, not a trio. A quad? A foursome? That sounds like we'd have sex, which would not be possible because three of us are straight.
I need to stop making whole paragraphs say "anyway." It's not a thing.
We had a ridiculous time. Ridiculous. We were there for hours, and our waitress was one of those waitresses who can't be bothered to pause for one second to let you stop talking and acknowledge her.
"So then I took the gun and"
"EVERYTHING TASTING OKAY?!"
Jesus. She was hot, though, our waitress. A young girl, natch, from London, with tons of black hair. I referred to my latent homosexuality and Rich Jew (that is his real name. I cannot help but use that real name because come on) said, "Is it? Is it latent, really?"
I love him.
After reviewing the pictures, I feel our sides of the table were sort of divided in terms of fun had.
Oh! ALSO! Vanessa is an artist, an artiste, and she's way into bugs and have you ever noticed I only like weird girls? I do. I cannot stand traditional girly women, which is what I am, other than my new BDSM deal with young boy humiliation, as evidenced above. The point is, J, up there, brought her a present. It was this clear plastic container.
"Oh my god!" said Vanessa, delighted. "Is this Kate Middleton!?" She held it up. "What's in there?" I asked, stupidly.
"It's J's brown recluse! And you're GIVING her to me?" Vanessa was delighted.
I smiled serenely, like having dinner with a brown recluse was on my to-do list.
A brown recluse as a goodbye gift. If I ever go anywhere, you got your inspiration. I should add it to my Pinterest board.
Oh my GOD, cancer dog is moaning to go out again. I will let her out, because cancer dog, and get to work. I'm glad we had this talk.