Hi! [Breezes in, opens your cookie jar.] This is it? God.
Yesterday morning my damn computer kept spooling at me and groaning and waving a hanky and basically my computer was Ashley Wilkes, neglecting the wood stack and gazing at the sunset, missing 12 Oaks, so I said "Fuck it" and didn't blog.
At lunch I finally shut the damn thing off and started anew, and my computer seems like it's back to full Mammy strength. Who was it who hated my references to Gone With the Wind all the time? Was it Bitchy Resting Face Alex? Because, irony.
Guess who I just spent the evening with? It was either Ashley Wilkes or BRF Alex. Please note the top of her door. She caught and slaughtered Colonel Sanders. I didn't want to show you the mount she made of him. He's such a beloved figure.
I don't know if it's because I said I never get invited anywhere on my last post, or if I put it into the universe, or--more likely--coincidence, but ever since I was last here, my phone won't shut the fuck up. "Come to this!" "We're having that!" "You're invited!" So that's good. Seriously, I heard from people I haven't heard from in YEARS these past 48 hours. I got so many texts and IMs that I finally got rid of my Facebook message app. Like, my phone was insane. Weird.
Anyway, BRF Alex invited me over to eat some of her delicious chicken pie, which is not a euphemism.
All these years we been knowing each other and she only ever invited me over one other time, and I stood her up--can't remember why, now--and it had become sort of a joke between us how I was never allowed in her house after that faux pas. But now that I'm the new, in-demand June Gardens, that's all changed.
I spent much time obsessing over her dogs, who don't give you much choice. (Mom, I brought them some of the dog cookies. Am hit amoung BRF Alex's dogs.)
There's her husband, whom I ignored because black-and-white versions of my dogs. We banished him. He remembers The Colonel. He stays on his best behavior.
Isn't their house cute? Doesn't it piss you off that people in their 20s have such a cute place? When I was in my 20s I lived under a bridge with some crack.
Anyway, so yesterday we got out of work early. Now I have four long days here with no real plans except for Christmas day, despite my in-demand self. I am determined to not get depressed. I have a whole list of shit I'm doing, none of it that fun, except I do plan to get my brows waxed. Kaye has forbidden it, but I cannot stand myself a minute longer so Ima go spend that six dollars and FUCK IT, KAYE. It's Christmas!
There's next year's Christmas card.
Anyway, so since I was home and it was still light out, Edsel got a long walk, in which he snarled at all dogs, which, is that a self-loathing thing? It's like when I hate all show-offy girls.
Peg is headed to her daughter's for Xmas, which is good. I worried. I'm still rolling her trash to the curb each week, and she acts like I've bought her a house. It's really not that big a deal. Still. If we wanna go around talking about what a wonderful person I am, I've no issue with that.
One of the things Ima do this weekend, this endless fucking holiday fucking weekend, is pick out which posts I wanna make a book out of. Hence my new truncated look on my posts. Reading the archives on this thing is a pain in the ass. And I don't own Typepad, so there's not much I can do other than this truncating, and having, like, 100 posts on one page.
And while we're on the subject of this blog and readers and so on, here's a blanket answer to the 2394838484 messages I've gotten:
- No, dear reader, I would not like you to take me to my colonoscopy. It's very sweet, but it's a, you know, vulnerable thing. My mother is taking me. As that is her job. That's what she signed on for 67 years ago.
- Yes, dear reader, I'm sure your package got here. I think this is the first year gifts from readers outnumbered gifts from people I've met, which is once again very sweet. I have opened exactly zero packages that've arrived these past few weeks, because they're mostly from Amazon and I don't know who they're from, but I assume they're Xmas-related. On Christmas I will open them, and thank you accordingly. I need a bridesmaid over to write down the names and the gift.
People must feel sorry for me this year. Join the club. I feel just terrible for me.
Someone is meowing somewhere. Goddammit. Hang on. We all KNOW who it is...
He just wanted attention. God help us, everyone. He's one of those head-butting kitties. He likes to be petted. I like that about him. I do not like the "ME BORED!" meow, however.
All right, I gotta go. These eyebrows aren't gonna wax themselves.