I had ideas about what I was gonna write about today and then I sat down and ...blank. ...Oh! Mulch! Yes.
I came home for lunch and there was poor Chris of Chris and Lilly, unloading m'mulch. With a big pitchfork, like he was the devil. The devil who made my yard so pretty it's a sin!
While Chris was here, I went inside to have a delicious lunch full of nutrients, and usually I watch Gilmore Girls, but I got home a little late, so I flipped around, not literally, but with TV channels. And that is when I came upon a show called Paranormal Witness.
Mother of god.
So this couple? They had weird stuff going on in their house? I don't know what, cause I hadn't seen that part. What I saw was an exorcist or a priest--which isn't that the same thing?--or Judge Judy or someone came over and allegedly cleared the house of spirits. Mine is too. Totally out of wine.
So, the man was saying goodbye to the exorcist, high-crossing him or whatever, and when he came back in, his wife was sitting in a chair with her head down. Just still, in the chair.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
She looked up. Her eyes were entirely black.
MOTHER OF GOD.
"I'M FINE," she said, BUT IN A DEVIL VOICE. The devil uses Arial Black font.
And that is when I wondered if it'd be inappropriate to make Chris come hold me. It was the middle of the day! It was lunchtime! And I was frozen in terror.
MOTHER OF GOD!!!!!
Speaking of the devil, this morning when I went to photograph the mulch for you, and I don't know mulch, but I know I love you, I took this eight-second video of Edsel keeping his pimp hand strong.
Oh. It'd said 8 seconds on my photos, but once I got it up, so to speak, it was 44. Sue me. I love how she eventually turns away in fear. What the hell is he telling her with his subtle body language? Who knew Edsel had it in him?
I say "subtle body language" because my high school boyfriend Giovanni used to say, "When I'm with a woman, I try to use subtle body language," and then he'd point heartily at his man bits.
I've always known how to pick 'em.
Also, I'm throwing in this mug shot of The Poet just because I love it. Don't eff with the poet. She will iambic your pentameter. She will meta your phor. There's no rhyme or reason to what The Poet will do.
This week is the meteor shower, the really good one, and it's been rainy and cloudy here. Annoyed.
Back when I was dating Marvin in the '80s, I schlepped out to a cow field with my mother and stepfather, and we got on the hood of the car and watched the shooting stars. I kept getting bored and looking away and missing every damn one of them. I came home and wrote Marvin, who was 50 miles away, a big letter about it, including a lovely stick figure drawing of me looking down while stars shot over my head.
When Marvin and I broke up that same year, he tore up and burned every one of my letters in a fit of drama...except that one. That one he saved. LITTLE DID HE KNOW he'd be temporarily married to me and would want those letters back.
Whatever, Marvin. Why don't you go to McDonald's?
I gotta go. I've got to get to work, where a huge group of people are meeting over how much everyone hates an article I wrote, so that'll be relaxing.
I'll talk at you tomorrow. Oh! My free digital scale came! Oh my god I have to cease eating. Also, Lottie weighs 34.8 pounds currently. Me too. If I were on Pluto.