For breakfast, I am having a chicken sandwich. For dinner last night I had rotisserie chicken, so today I made a little sandwich with my flat, multi-grain, DON'T EVER HAVE FUN, JUNE bread and some excellent tomatoes.
I am really just fine with non-breakfast food for breakfast. In fact, sweets in the morning make me hurl. I used to go to this coffee shop in Seattle before work,
--I mean, when I lived in Seattle. I didn't fly all the way there, go to the coffee shop then fly all the way back--
and all they had for food was sweets. It IRKED me. Can you just offer us one goddamn plain bagel or something? Jesus.
How about a plain bagel coated in honey?!?
Anyway, hi. Yesterday many things happened including the part where you can't email me from my blog anymore. My hater ruined it for everyone, and I deleted that email account. And while I will miss the updates from that funeral home in Minnesota, it just got too spammy. And so if there's one bad apple, it spoils it for the rest of us.
I might actually go back to that funeral home and re-apply for email updates. A lot of people with excellent cat names came up dead.
Speaking of dead, we've had two readers die lately, and you know what sucks is death. One was Garden Girl, who commented here for years. She'd had a long-term illness and died at the beginning of July. I went back and looked at all her comments and smiled over some of them, laughed at others. I guess that's all we can ask for in this life, right? Is that the memory of us makes people smile a bit.
And also Ree died. Same day as Garden Girl. I'll bet you didn't know you were up for some potential bad luck that day, being one of my readers. Who will fate pick?
What would be funny right now is if I fell over dead at my computer.
Anyway, Ree had also commented forever, and also had a stupid fucking chronic illness. I noted she'd entered hospice (saw it on Facebook), and I mentioned it to some readers in a private message, and you've never seen a group o'bitches come in and save the day so fast. They sent her new bedding, and funny gifts, and talked to her via IM and really I think they made her last days a lot better.
Which is also all you can ask for in this life. That you die knowing someone cares.
What would be funny right now is if I fell over dead at my computer. And that no one cared.
I did not mean to put this picture in here. I've taken a picture of myself (well, let's face it. Every day. But what I MEAN is) on each birthday since whatever year I decided to take a picture each birthday. So this is this year's picture. But I meant to put up a picture of Griff.
Griff's computer was broken, and apparently there's some kind of temp one in my row, Death Row (that's what we call our row) (today's blog post has a little theme. Death and Chicken.), so Griff worked there all day yesterday.
At some point he wanted me to help him with a sentence, even though we're not on the same account anymore and I could have been all, That's so not my job. Anyway, we were turned in our chairs, talking about said sentence, when all of a sudden he bursts out with, "BASIL!"
We were trying to come up with a better word than "rove," which was the brilliantly chatty you-know-how-often-you-say-rove word he'd had originally. So "BASIL!" struck me as odd.
"BASIL!" he yelled again, looking agitated.
"Griff, are you having some sort of brain event?" I asked. Rove and basil just, yeah. I don't see it.
Then he stood up in his chair. "BASIL HUMMUS!" he yelled, and I saw poor Austin was trying to phone in a lunch order, and Griff had decided to scream his personal lunch preferences at Austin, which had NOTHING TO DO WITH AUSTIN'S ORDER.
I want everyone to scream basil in their comment today, like they have basil Tourette.
The reason Griff didn't have anything to do with Austin's lunch is that yesterday was Taco Tuesday at work and Griff had 49 of them. I did, too, and the best part was that I got there when the room was COMPLETELY FULL, and dropped a sour-cream-loaded taco right on the carpet.
"God, ERIN," I said to poor Erin, who hadn't dropped a taco even remotely. In fact, she was getting up to get me some napkins.
No one at work likes me. Including the carpet.
The other news is, happy-go-lucky NedKitty stayed here yesterday, and by "stayed here," I mean she hunched unmoving all day behind my wardrobe. The NedKitty, a Bitch, a Wardrobe. Really, she wasn't even being bitchy, just horrified. I didn't even invite my cats in for a motherfucker and child reunion, cause I figured they haven't been together in 10 months and they probably forgot each other and NedKitty had enough going on.
Dear BRF Alex: We dropped some paint on the floor. Actually, I did those baseboards myself, didn't I? Dear June...
I talked to Ned on my birthday, and he mentioned he had this moth infestation, when all he'd wanted to do was breed just a few moths so he could stick cocoons down the throats of size-14 women (everyone who hasn't watched Silence of the Lambs 47 times is all, "?") and it got out of hand. Anyway, he was gonna have to kennel NedKitty, and you've never seen a cat turn demon-y like NK in a kennel.
"Just bring her here," I said, and she was really no trouble at all. Ten pounds of fur behind my furniture is the norm for me, so.
He came to get her after work, and to be nice he walked Edsel while I walked Lottie. They got to go all over yonder while Lottie had to walk the same block with me over and over because we're learning loose-leash walking, and if she's with Edsel she's a KING KAMEHAMEHA ASSHOLE and doesn't listen. Anyway when we got back I tried to capture for you their out-of-breath happy expressions, and pet photography is hard.
Note it's really Edsel's fault that pet photography is hard.
A little blurry.
There. You guys are SOOOOOO critical, but you don't know man. You don't know how hard it is. "Oh, June and her blurry pictures! hahahahah!" Whatever, man.
I love how dogs have ridge-y lips.
I got more stuff to tell you, like how I kind of don't do Purple Clovers anymore and I kind of do, and how I don't do statistics textbooks anymore, and how I told a person in a wheelchair "fuck you," but I really have to get to work. I'm certain I'll remember all that tomorrow, because iron fist of organization.
P.S. Yesterday when I was home for lunch, I was in back with the dogs and I saw a gaybor in his yard with Jackie, and he stepped into a bush so he could avoid me. I fucking hate them.