Edsel won't eat breakfast. I mean, he WILL, because I stood over his bowl and made him, but he didn't want to. Is there anything more disconcerting than a dog who won't eat?
Last night I put the kibosh on him sleeping with me, because he's a pain in the ASS to sleep with. You move one simple iota, as opposed to a complex iota, and he HUFFS off the bed, FLUMPS on the floor, sighs, HMMMMMMM and then seven seconds later jumps back on the bed, turns 14 times in a circle and flumps down to sleep.
Then you move again one simple iota. HUFF. FLUMP. SIGH/HMMMMM. JUMP. CircleCircleCircleCircleCircleCircleCircleCircleCircleCircleCircleCircleCircleCircle.Flump.
So he might be having a hunger strike, is what I'm saying.
Last night, on our walk, we ran into Jackie the greyhound who's black, and our gaybors. I mean, she wasn't out there walking herself, with her 11-foot neck. Man, do greyhounds have then a neck on them. She was extremely dignified, and Edsel was DYING to go over and say hello. The gaybors, who officially think I'm weird® and fuck them, pulled Jackie the other direction.
"For Edsel, this is a celebrity sighting!" I said. They laughed nervously.
OH FUCK OFF.
YOU just had a celebrity sighting, Bubs. Don't you know how many people read me? Like, seven! God.
Oh, speaking of which, I got home last night to so many gifts from so many of you, and nice notes, and that was so sweet. I also got really nice emails this weekend, lots of keep-your-pointy-chin-up stuff, and it was very much appreciated, you guys. That was really nice. I mean, I think about what kind of generosity it takes to (a) actually care about the feelings of a blogger you've never met and (2) to take time to write that blogger, find her damn email and so on...it's so kind, is what it is.
I had all my assessments yesterday, when all my assessments seemed so far away, and also so did caffeine, and everything is swell. Well, I have no idea how my health assessment went, except I know my blood pressure, as usual, is nonexistent. My grandmother, the one I'm turning into, had blood pressure that was so low they were actually concerned about it. And yes, MOM, I know your side has low blood pressure, too. But with Grammy they were all, You have to do something about how low it is.
Anyway, there's that, but I have to hear what my cholesterol is, and it's never, ever good. But I've been on Weight Watchers since March, so maybe it's not as awful as usual, my cholesterol. There's less Hardees in them-thar corpuscles.
When my health thing was over, I took one of my bad-for-the-earth pods to the Krups machine, and what kind of future world IS this, and the goddamn thing was in "Add Water" mode. GODDAMMIT. No one has more impatiently added water.
Oh, and after work, I went to the gym. I can walk there. I have to go past Peg's, then past this what I assume is a snake-infested field, then through some corporate-y office parking lots, and boom, I'm there. Seven minutes. Met with a very perfect-bodied girl who asked me about my goals, which is silly. I want to look like Totie Fields and be squishier than ever. She asked if I was doing anything physical now, so I told her about how I don't have sex--no. I told her about Tracy Anderson, and then she gave me a little fitness/flexibility test. Here's how it went.
"Okay, now I'm going to test your [insert thing here]. I need you to [insert activity here]." She'd do it, then I would follow suit.
"Oh, wow! Oh my gosh! Oh, wow! You can really do that! Okay."
Every time. I passed that test like a champ. I guess she thought I was some old bag, like Ruth Buzzy, who was probably two decades younger than I am when she played that old lady on Laugh-In. Three. Three decades.
So I did pull-uppy things with ropes, and squats, and used a machine for my arms, and thrust my generous hips about, and then I saw two men from work, but not two men AT work, and then I walked home through the corporate parking lots and snake field and Peg's house.
Peg has still not taken down her Christmas tree. I've been taking her trash out for her, but I gotta think of a graceful way to be all, Hey, let's get that tree down. She called me last week on Cinco de Mayo to come over for a margarita, but I was already out, but maybe I'll force my way in this weekend for a casual raincheck margarita. What say you?
I gotta go. I have three brainstorms at work, ironic for someone whose brain storms all the time, and then tomorrow I have a three-hour hair appointment, ironic for someone whose hair always looks bad.