This is my favorite time of year, because, for example, this is the view out my kitchen window. Every hour I spend dicing and sauteing, I see this. I also have a view of this:
Speaking of which, last night I was walking Edsel.
I took this by accident, but I love it. I was really meaning to film The Watching of the Chickens.
Although right then it was the Ignoring of the Chickens. You know, once Tallulah got sick and I learned it was terminal, I was getting her Gentle Leader on her that same night and I said, "You know what, Talu? Never again." And I put a leash on her like she was a normal dog, nothin' on her snout, and SHE WALKED JUST FINE. She didn't pull me like I was miming dog-walking. Edsel, however, would not be fine. He pulls even with the Gentle Leader. Remember when I took them both in for harnesses? Good gravy.
Anyway. We were at the park walking in the grassy knoll part, and I always call it a grassy knoll in my mind and I often think of the photo I took of my grandmother, at the part of Dallas where Kennedy was shot, where she's pointing to the grassy knoll dramatically, like the old pictures. Now I want to dig that photo up and this is why I'm always late for work.
ANYWAY. My phone rang, and it was Ned. "Are you walking the dog?" he asked, because he knows my moves. I assured him I was. "I'm near your house, can I stop by?" Ned had a stress test last week, because what stress, and he'd had chest pains because did I mention what stress? He's the fancy president of his company, and do you know what I would never like to be? Is a president of a company.
The point is, he was running on the treadmill and that all went fine, except he pulled a calf muscle really bad and I'm sorry that I think that's hilarious. So now he's STILL GOING TO THE GYM, but not doing anything on his bottom half. This means he was done with the gym spectacularly early, like 7:00!!, and wanted to pop over. HE STILL HADN'T EATEN, of course, and Ned's whole evening schedule has always irritated the crap out of me. I hate to inform you that I freaking love living alone. I really do.
Anyway, we were still in the grassy knoll when I saw his car pull up, and we ended up meeting on the bridge of the park, and when Edsel saw Ned he broke into an ecstatic run, and the whole point is, Ned brought me two bouquets of purple tulips. I hugged him and Edsel wrapped his leash Ned and me twice, like a lasso.
"I'm sorry you had a weepy weekend," he said, handing me the flowers. And no he's NOT trying to get into my size 10 pants and my very big bra. Would that he were. Ned won't just bang people willy-nilly. He has to be all stable and in a relationship with a person, and what a pussy.
But he did come have a drink at my house. He had a beer. I had water. I was out of points for the day.
I just noticed that I'm typing this whole thing with a cat asleep on my arm. I hadn't even noticed. It's incredibly uncomfortable, and why the carpal tunnel, June?
I guess that's all I have to tell you, other than my job changed a few weeks ago, and I think I told you that, but as a result, I'm now someone who has to go to meetings all the time. I'm forever leaping up to go to meetings. The woman who sits next to me told me at the beginning of the day, she looks in her calendar to see what meetings are ahead of her, rather than just letting the meeting alert thing stun her with the info 15 minutes prior. She says that way she's "prepared" for the meeting.
She's like 27.
Oh, also. I will be intentionally vague about this, because I'd hate for anyone to feel bad. But a coworker found a horrific book that has never been published, and when he opened it in the middle of the book the first thing he read was a love scene, that said, "For five glorious minutes..." Oh, then it was on. We BEGGED him to bring the book in, and every day we have something we call Five Glorious Minutes, where we read the book aloud. It's so fantastically awful that we can't get enough of it. Five glorious minutes are never enough. It's so bad that it really should be published. Maybe I'll sell copies of Five Glorious Minutes. Can I get sued for that? Yeah. Probably.
Crap. It's 8:31.