This is why you can't let puppies out your sight for even one minute. This is why my days are spent never deep sitting anymore, but rather bounding up constantly whenever that dog toddles out of the room. And have I lost weight? No.
Also, experts advise that when your puppy is in duress, it's the most humane to snap a photo for your blog before coming to her aid. My phone happened to be in my HAND. Back off, PETA.
Other than attempted murder by bra, my weekend was fairly copacetic. On Friday, I met up with Kit and we never actually spoke. She invited me to the local bookstore to see a panel of gay people talking about their experiences, which was made even more interesting after the events in Orlando.
There's the back of Kit's head, in white, which is all I saw because I drove around downtown for TWENTY MINUTES looking for ANYWHERE to park, and I had to finally go to the rapey tall garage place and park on the 5th floor, and then I made myself walk down instead of the elevator because fitness guru and the point is I was late and it was standing room only by then.
The talk went on for more than an hour and I was wearing heels because Hashtag Trying to Pick Up Lesbians Just a Teensy Bit, so after awhile my feet hurt and I went to sit in the front window of the store.
And that is when the fire alarm inexplicably went off, causing the fire department to come, and Hashtag Forget it, Lesbians, June Has a New Goal.
Also, here was Iris's weekend. The whole thing. She needs help. Send help. Your donation could help an obsessed Iris today. A few pennies a day will get Iris off the...oh, forget it. Those birds will come out of that house and Iris will be all, "Welcome to Earth" like Will Smith in that one movie with the aliens.
On Saturday, I got up with a friend who said, "Is it possible that we don't blog about our time together?" which, ?
So, okay, I won't. But I ate barbecue and I matched the ceiling at a brewery.
We were there at maybe 3 in the afternoon and the place was packed. Who are all these yahoos getting their drink on at 3 p.m.? I'd be asleep by 5, like, for the night.
That ring was on the anyone-can-take-it table at work. I took it.
Sunday showed up like it always does, and Lottisimo P. Houndsworthy got up with her trainer and acted perfect again. I get one hour a week where she's impeccable.
The trainer taught her "place," which means I'm to gesture grandly at the bed and she's to go to it until I say she can't. She did it for him 800 times and when he left she got on there for .0000002 seconds and left in a huff. It's not what I said, it's how I said it.
Here she is sitting serenely while the trainer walked all over yonder. He could have walked to the corner store for cigarettes and she'd have waited patiently. If I got out my pistol right now and pointed it at her, she'd still get off the bed. Still, if you practice with her enough, she will mind really well.
"Wow!" said the trainer. "She learns fast. I don't know if I've ever seen a pup learn so fast."
She only likes him.
After the trainer goes, there's usually a blissful period where we all rest a bit. I hang from the ceiling, as I am a bat. I love the tableau, of Jo's book, the inevitable paper towels, the inevitable enzyme spray, water and a notebook for all my pithy pithy thoughts du jour. And a goddamn shoe. WHAT IS SO RIVETING ABOUT MY SHOES?
Then I took the Eds and Lot for separate walks, so Edsel can actually, you know, walk, and Lottie and I ran into Ava's family.
She loves the shit outta those kids. "Can we run with her?" they wanted to know. Fuck yeah, you can run with her. Run till she turns to butter, I beg you.
So that sums it up. I did Tracy Anderson twice and ate fettuccine Alfredo with blackened chicken three times (1 serving at a restaurant fed me three times) so fitness was a wash.
What'd you do all weekend? Tell all.
Oh, and here's my latest Purple Clover. It's about things I miss from childhood. Like being able to eat fettuccine Alfredo and not care.