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!