Because of the holiday weekend, I forgot that Sunday was Sunday and therefore I did not exfoliate using my microdermabrasion, but before you panic, I did remember today.
I should probably not scare you like that.
It's from Mary Kay.
I got gift certificates, two of them, awhile back. Long story.
I certainly do love it when you guys make me go back and give you the details. "What KIND of lip gloss, Jooooon?" OH MY GOD WHO CARES.
In unrelated news, today is EDSEL'S BIRTHDAY! Let's take a birthday photo RIGHT NOW of Edsel in his element. He's fighting with Lottie currently. On a new and different note.
Yeah. No. There's no getting him to pose-n-smile currently. He's in it, man. He's in the trenches. Look at his muddy feets. Look at the eternally-out broom. I Shark these floors every day. Every. Day. Lottie brings in sticks. Yesterday I mopped, left the room for one second, and came back in to a big pile of dirt with a branch on top.
Anyway, now he is 6. My big Eds. Remember his puppyhood? I don't recall him being an asshole puppy, actually.
Speaking of mud on my floor, ya got mud on yer face, ya big disgrace, I am obsessed with the lack of grass in my back yard accompanied by dogs running in an out and therefore mud on my everything. Wouldn't the dogs just trample ground cover? I've wanted to extend my deck, get a bigger deck, cause who doesn't like a big deck and oh my GOD, June, but it costs.
What the hell? This is the worst year I've had for lack of grass. The people who used to own this house must have done something to the lawn, or is it just that the trees have grown so much? But I WANT shade in the back, so what's a woman to do? Tell me. REMEMBER DOGS WILL TRAMPLE. And if you tell me to just throw a bunch of wood chips on my entire backyard I will die of depression. Hey, here's my wood chip back yard. I'm part chipmunk. Very proud of heritage.
I cleaned my keyboard while Google was up, and this happened. heeeeeeee.
I should probably look into getting a life.
I was worried about Lottie being scared of the fireworks, so I took her to the cookout I went to and she was perfectly fine. She sat on my lap while fireworks went off around us, but I gave her treats and talked cheerfully--a stretch for me--and made it seem like a positive thing that booms were surrounding us and the Yankees were coming, and she put her chin on her paws and sighed. She was more Melanie than Pittypat.
Also, I went to the attic and got down two old files of my paperwork, because I know years ago, years and years, this company came over and did a blueprint for me of stuff I could plant in my yard that'd do well given where the sun is and the shade and so on. Of course I NEVER FOUND THE DAMN BLUEPRINT, but I did find a bunch of other fun stuff, such as Anderson Cooper's kitten papers and Iris's adoption form where they call her deformed.
This was on the back of one of my endless medical reports: A warm note to Marvin. If only all our notes and conversations with loved ones came with literal interpretations.
"So, you're going to that concert, then." (Literal interpretation: I feel neglected.)
"You getting something from the kitchen?" (LI: I feel empty inside and tried to fill the gaping maw in my soul with a reality show, but that's not working so how 'bout you bring me a Ho-Ho? See if the hole in my soul is shaped like a Ho-Ho.)
"Fine." (LI: This is the furthest thing from fine.)
"I went to the movies. Dogs have not been fed." (LI: This marriage is over.)
I gotta go. I got three meeting notices on my phone last night, at midnight, and I was all, "Oh, no, I have a meeting! I have...zzzzzz." Then the next one would beep in. "MEETING! I HAVE...zzzzzz." I wish I'd never hooked up my work email to my phone.