I overslept. In elementary school, there was this poor girl who'd come to school late all the time. Our teacher was a terrible person, and in front of the whole room she'd make the girl say why she was late. I mean, we were in first grade or something--you know it had to be some negligent parent out there and not her six-year-old self.
"I got up too early," she'd always say, staring at the ground. I have little hope for that child. When you're already rolling your eyes at someone in their sixth year, it can't bode well for his or her future.
When I wasn't working, I spent yesterday enjoying the shit that Google Photos has done to my, you know, photos. They made collages, and little animations, and put cute frames around my photos. Lemme see if I can put one of the animated pictures up here. You know what I like about myself is my time management skills. I came on here to say I can't talk because late.
Did it work? You have to click on the image to make it work. Then click your back arrow to get back to this riveting blog.
Iris was just a bitty kitten, with medicine crap in her ear. Poor Mrs. Iris. She certainly grew up to be the swan.
Oh, I really hope you can see the animation of these! This one features a cameo by Roger! If you're only getting a still, at least you get a deep dive into the cornhole that is Talu's.
Anyway. Google Photos. Making me late for everything since 2015. They keep telling me to save to Library, though, and I can never find the damn library. Thanks, Google. Efficient.
Oh, look! They also divide your photos by location!
Also? Not always accurate.
Tonight we have the movie Spinal Tap, then tomorrow Ned has a work thing so I am SINGLE SINGLE SINGLE, which means I'll eat Parmesan cheese out the can and read a book. Yesterday Ned and I were debating where to go eat, and he suggested not one but TWO Italian places.
"I already had Spaghetti-Os for lunch," I reminded him. "Oh, so you've already HAD Italian, is that what you're saying?"
Ned is so unsupportive.
And lemme tell ya who's good at not getting his way. I eschewed one place because it's always freezing in there, and then when we got to the place I suggested, of course it had to be -942 in there. It was like we dined on Pluto or something. "Oh, I'm glad we picked a place that wasn't FREEZING," groused Ned. Then all night he complained about how full he was, and how bloated he felt, like I'd force-fed him the barbecue plate with hush puppies AND a side of fries.
Oh my god, remember three hours ago when I said I was running late? Now I have seven minutes to get to work and I'm in my robe. Good gravy.
Yours in organizational skills,
P.S. LOOK! Ned's Uncle June niece, animated!
I didn't blog this morning because I posted sort of late Sunday, and then late again Monday, and I wanted people to have a chance to catch up if they hadn't read yet.
But just now I was looking for photos for a work thing, and I was searching my trash looking at deleted photos, and I got a huge kick out of so many of them.
I love this.
I recently spent $50 on some face products from an infomercial, and I was planning to tell you about them and use this fetus as my "After" picture. But I announced I'd bought the products on Facebook, and was inundated with advice, so then I didn't feel like talking about my face products anymore. Still, funny idea.
Marty Martin made me this. Technically, it was Spraingate 2013. Still. The pain lingers on. The gate lingers on. The cankles linger on.
Hulk at prom.
I also had a photo of Ned's niece when she was a baby. She may literally be the cutest child possible. But I emailed Ned to ask if I could put it in, and he didn't answer, so forget it. But she is a muffin.
Oh. Wait. He just said okay. LOOK AT HER!
And finally, cute. Cute cute cute.
If Ned's not here, I have to walk the dogs separately, because if they see another dog, they attack each other like idiots. I do not know what drives them to do such a thing, other than they can't attack the dog they see, so it's the next-best thing.
You know how sometimes people say about countries who are at war with each other, "Oh, just let them kill each other off already"? That's sort of how I feel when my own dogs bare their teeth at each other. At the very dog they plan to curl up on a dog bed with in a few hours.
It's that man you fought with this morning. The same one you're going to make love with tonight. That's truth, that's love. I've been undressed by kings and I've seen some things that a woman ain't s'posed to see. I've been to paradise but I've never been to me.
No, you're welcome. I'll burst into that song any time you like.
So, when I was walking Edsel alone tonight, I was admiring the spring and the flowers and the houses and so on in my neighborhood, and I thought of The Color Purple, when Shug Avery said, "I think it pisses God off when you walk by the color purple in a field and don't notice it."
I don't really have a field anywhere near me, per se, although people often mispronounce my last name (my real one) as "...field" when it's FELD, folks. Feld. There's no I in me. There is, apparently, a king in me occasionally, seeing as I've been undressed by one.
Oh my god, I never get to the point. Again, I do not have a field near me, but I did decide to grab my phone when I went back to the house to retrieve Tallulah, and notice all the color purple on my walk.
I woke Ned up in the middle of the night. According to my Fitbit, it was somewhere between 2:47 and 3:08. "I'm sick," I announced, not at all dramatically. "My stomach is sick."
"Oh, no!" Ned jolted up. "Come here! What can I do?"
Now, see, there's the difference between Ned and me. I'd have been all OHMYGOD STOMACH SICKNESS! I'M GOING TO A HOTEL!
"There's nothing you can do," I said to him, not at all dramatically. "I'm going to sleep on the couch." And I did. Lily slept on my stomach, which I thought was going to be awful but was in fact not so bad. The 49 times I had to get up and run to the bathroom last night, Edsel accompanied me, and now I have an image of me on the pot and Edsel playing accordion.
The point is, now I feel better, and I'm going to work because stoic, and I weighed myself and lost like a pound, which is completely unfair. I promise you I dropped Mrs. Brown off at the pool 90 times, and Mrs. Brown's been retaining water.
Does that ever happen to you, where you wake up horrifically nauseated and you feel awful and you finally fall asleep and your body's all, eh. Better now, mostly. What is that?
In other news, don't forget that we've got a new book club book, and that book is Forever by Judy Blume because it's 1976 right now. Red, white and blue everything and the bicentennial minute.
Also, Ned and I went to that Chris Rock movie, Top Five, which I did not even want to see but he showed me the preview and I said, Oh, now I want to see that. So we did, and it was great. I didn't even expect to like it, and I don't know why because I like Chris Rock. Anyway, I recommend. And look at us, going to a mainstream movie! We're so basic. We totally shoulda gone to Applebee's after.
I have to go, which I always say and then I talk 72 more minutes. Here's my latest Purple Clover and here are photos I've taken recently that're on my desktop that I keep meaning to add here and never do. June Gardens' School of Organized Thought. Instructor: June--oh, wow, look at that!
She's 109, and she can still jump to the top of the wardrobe. She'd be one of those old ladies who still cuts her own grass.
Hey, how's that the-dogs-aren't-allowed-in-the-living-room thing going?
When my coworker, Griff, left for Christmas, we decided to all chip in and girl up his workspace. Sadly, you can't see the MILF someone put on his wall in glitter letters.
And finally, in summation, Faithful Reader Paula sent me TWO Real Romance magazines and I have read them thoroughly. I read them thoroughly the minute I got them. Ohmygod, they were FABULOUS, and I forgot that each narrator is a cute girl with a pert figure. "I was 26 years old, with honey-blonde hair and a pert figure." They're never a dog.
Okay, it's late. I gotta dress like a sexpot and get to work.
For breakfast, I'm having Ned's pumpkin flax granola with plain yogurt. Who the hell have I become?
We each got a big one, and two cute small ones for ambience. There was a beautiful well-behaved Golden Retriever there, and I wondered aloud if that was the very Golden they called me about when I was out the door to get Edsel. Do you remember? Some rescue place had a Golden Retreiver puppy and I'd filled out an app, but by the time I got a call back I'd already been "approved" for Edsel. Approved. They couldn't GET me there fast enough. Poor Eds. Poor maligned Eds.
We went to Target for candy, where I saw glitter pumpkins and realized we didn't need to go get real ones. Glitter pumpkins would have made my life complete.
Tallulah. The face of determination. You've never SEEN someone so determined to eat all the pumpkin guts. She'd grab a big string and have it hanging out her ridic mouth like she was a bear who'd just landed a salmon. Edsel joined her, but you could tell he wasn't into it. Kind of like later, when I sat with Ned while he watched the World Series.
Later, as we watched the fascinating World Series, I might have come in with some Halloween candy. "What are you doing?" asked Ned, appalled. Y'all, I don't know if I can live with this kind of weird discipline. Who doesn't immediately eat the Halloween candy? "Do I need to get more? Will I need more before Friday?" asked Ned, who wears me out to my very bones. You eat one, maybe two, okay three pieces of Halloween candy and all of a sudden there's a world shortage.
This frustrates me so much that I might need a break. Give me a break. Give me a break. Break me off a piece of that--
...I'll be right back.
I found two CDs with my initials on them, and seeing as I haven't released a CD in ages, and should really get on that live album, I was intrigued.
It was a whole mess of pictures from five or six years ago, that were on my old computer, the one I punched. Marvin must have somehow saved the pictures and I never looked at them.
Travel with me through time, won't you?
I adore Marvin, to this day I do. And dear god, I wish for him some woman who can't keep her mitts off him. We look like we're posing at Olan Mills.
I like his hair that way, though. He looks like a little spider monkey.
I'll give you a moment to stitch up your sides.
I laughed at this for 700 minutes. This is quintessentially my life. My life plus a blue whiteboard. I took it with me in this move and put it on the fridge, and just the other night, Ned was all, "Is this yours? Where'd it come from?"
There's a whole section of my life Ned is oblivious to.
Okay, one more.
Oh my GOD, I just spent hours--hours!!--with Apple, but my PHONE IS FIXED-DED! I am so happy. I have to go get ready, because Ned and I are headed to (wait for it) Winston-Salem to see Marvin's band play. I know, man. We are all the height of sophistication. It's like we're French.
But to celebrate the Return of June's Phone, I went around the house and made everyone pose with me, even though I just did yoga with Gurpmaloni Fonda or whatever his name is and I look like hell.
Anyway, I will let you know how it goes with Marvin and his band. Do you think he and Ned will get in a fist fight or anything? Who would win, if it came to blows? Maybe the fight will be, "Ohmygod, you take her." "No, YOU take her!" poundpoundpound.
Won't you enjoy my fight onomatopoeia?
This site's gonna be the death of me. Typepad is STILL having problems and this thing comes and goes constantly. When I went to log in today, I got the big warning you get sometimes about how I was logging in to an unsafe site. I've been logging in to this site since 2006! Now it's unsafe. At any speed.
So I'll wait till all seems actually stable to really post anything. Go read yesterday's if you didn't get. I'd hate for you to miss my impressive art.
P.S. I had a stupid idea but Ima do it anyway. Let's have selfie day. I just copyedited an article on selfies and I got inspired. Send me a photo you took yourself, of yourself. Email it to the email address on the right side of this blog (beneath the ad) and title it SELFIE.
Only title it that. I will not reply to you, because part of what makes finding these emails from you all so hard is that I've replied, so then when I do a search for "SELFIE" I also come up with 75 emails of us talking. So don't find me roooood.
Oh, and tell me your name (the name you want me to use for you when I mention you on my blog, anyway) where you were (Kansas, not "my kitchen") and any other fascinating tidbit. You have till this Friday at noon Eastern time. Go!
P.P.S. Y'all. REMEMBER TO ATTACH THE PIC. If you don't attach, your photo won't be shown. Because there, you know, IS no photo. Is the thing.
P.P.P.S. Oh my god, you all keep saying funny things and I want to reply BUT I CAN'T.