Bye Bye, Pie!

Here we are now. Entertain us.

I know this is a weird time for me to, you know, blog, but I did as much work as I could, then I did my Tracy Morgan or whoever DVD and THEN I did my TM, and now I really cannot work another moment. Really. I cannot.

I am doing TM now! Transcendental Meditation. It's not a religious thing or weird or anything, it's been around forever and all sorts of medical studies have revealed how good it is for you. You have to take a class to learn how to do it, but all told I have spent probably 10 hours learning and I already know how.

What's sad? Is I decided to take the classes THIS WEEK. Because I'm not BUSY OR ANYTHING. I've had to go in two hours each day this week for my classes. So I'm over there trying to feel all peaceful and the whole time I've been all, "I'LL NEVER GET MY WORK DONE! I'LL NEVER_____" Then I forget everything for 20 minutes because it is excellent meditation.

And that's all I'm gonna say about that. You aren't supposed to talk a lot about it. So click on the link if you want to learn more.

So when I am not at two with nature or whatever, I have been here. Working. Hanging with the prettiest cat you ever did meet, who looks DELIGHTED to be on the webcam. WHY DO THEY ALL ABHOR THE WEBCAM? WHY AM I SHOUTING SO MUCH TODAY? Aren't I supposed to be achieving Nirvana at this point? With the lights on, it's less dangerous.

Here we are now. Entertain us.

I love that song. Do you not love that song? I remember hearing it, in 1992, when I still lived in my home town. Where Hulk is. But I did not know Hulk at that point. I mean, I DID, as we went to high school together, but we were not in touch. This is all beside the point. The POINT is, I sat in the car and listened to the whole song. And I was all, "Who WAS that?" Because he just said "a mosquito, my libido" and I love him.

 

Sadly, I am now the age of the janitor in this video.

Speaking of old, but way more fun than the janitor with his mop, I have been back to hanging with my friend and neighbor Paul. He will be 97 four days after I turn 47. We are practically birthday twins. I was thinking I took this surreptitiously last night, but he said, "Oh, you just took a picture of me!" Okay, how did you KNOW that? You are 96. You should not know from iPhones.

He is delightful. Completely sharp. Full of stories. AND FROM TINY TOWN. Okay, the next town over. I am just saying. Once you've gone TinyTown you don't go back, apparently. It continues to haunt me.

Talu is excellent while we visit Uncle Paul. She just waits for us to shut up so we can continue our W. I like how I say "W" here like she can hear me.

Edsel, you will be stunned to hear, is a different story. Let go! Let go now mom let go! We not going? Okay Edzul pace. pace pace pace SNIFF UNKLE PAUL! pace.

Anyway. Paul has lived in this neighborhood for 50 years and has plenty of good gossip. When you hang on your glider all day you get a lot of guff.

Here we are now. Entertain us.

In other news, OH LOOK THERE'S SOME WORK, but also please note the NEW FANCY PEN my friend Dot sent me. And my Downton Abbey bookmark.

I need to carry that pen in my purse. Oh, let me just get out my subtle pen. Really if anyone ever said, "Who is June Gardens?" you could just show them this pen.

She also sent me my own little teacup piglet and...

97 boxes of Girl Scout cookies. Dot. An excellent friend to have. IF YOU WANT TO BE FAT FAT FAT.

See? Shouting again. Good meditating, June. Good job on the calmness.

Okay, am out. June, out. Out, damn June. You know what sounds good right now? A cookie.

Despair!

I have many issues, pressing issues of our time, to get to today. My dogs' playdate, and yes the word "playdate" irritates me; the winnah of the caption contest; the new comment of the week; my fancy nomination for best blog; and I forget what else. See?

Too much stuff. All of it stupid. I know there's something else, and can I remember it?

So, first of all, that caption contest Saturday with the picture of Edsel and his puppy friend Penny made me miss Penny. I should have kidapped her when I puppysat her last fall. Because a Penny saved is a Penny earned. God, I'm annoying.
So I invited Penny over, along with, you know, her owner, TinaDoris. TinaDoris is having a mimosa. Well, I guess she had guzzled said mimosa at this point, as her glass looks empty.

Look how big she got! You know what I should do is link to her October visit so you can compare. Because I'm sure you don't have to, you know, get back to work or raising your children or anything.

Here. That was a link to October, so you can go back in time. Alternatively, here's a photo from that day.

edzel stay spindlee, mom, no matter whut seeson.

lu stay annoy, mom. no mattar whut seeson.

Oh, Talu played too. She is fooling no one with that irritated puss. They ran like demons across the yard for ages.

In the meantime, TinaDoris and I ate mini quiches that you can imagine I slaved over and cooked from scratch. We talked about just everything and occasionally yelled at our dogs.

After a spell, my adult dogs started to seem like they were getting a tad logy. And guess who was NOT logy? Guess who was the anti-logy? Was it Penny? Was she still leaping from dog to dog, doing the bowing let's-play thing? Did she even try to engage Iris in play?

Please note on your calendars. March 4, 2012. The first time Iris got all Halloween-looking and hissed.

Eventually, Edsel hid in the corner of the couch, hoping maybe Penny couldn't see him over there or something.

Then he falled asleeps.

Last night ...friend was over and it was like I didn't even HAVE dogs. They went to the door to wag at him and then we never saw those dogs again. Tallulah went to bed and Edsel went to angry chair. It was sort of fabulous.

 Anyway. Playdate. Annoying word, successful outcome.

Speaking of Edsel and Penny, I have the big winner of the caption contest.

Edsul eets, butt Peeny falls out of teefs!

Posted by: The Furry Godmother | 03 March 2012 at 07:37 PM

Yes, Furry Godmother is the big winner. Would you like a "Despair" pennant, Furry? I saw it on the same site that sells my inflatable toast and it cracked me up.

Look who did a screen shot because she is all fancy.

Honorable mention goes to Sadie, who had about 87 different captions, all of  them hilarious. Inflatable toast or bacon floss for you, Sadie?

And thank you all for participating.

Oh, and comment of the week goes to d-lou. She was excited I used the word "debaucle." For some reason it just cracked me up.

There. Did I remember everything? Oh, crap, no. See? Too much stuff.

When TinaDoris was here she said, "Your blog was nominated for Best Blog of the Triad in Yes Weekly." I was all, it was? So sure enough I went on there and it has been nominated along with Yes Weekly's blog. Don't you think everyone will just go on there and vote for Yes Weekly's blog? I have no chance in hell. Anyway, here is the link. It is a pain. You have to sign in, then go to the "Media" category, and find me under the Best Blog category.

I understand I am hardly worth all that effort. But thank you, if you do vote for me. I will be RICH! FAMOUS! Or...MENTIONED IN A LOCAL MAGAZINE! Whichever.

Okay, I have to copy edit 394959394 pages today, so I will chat at you later. You will find me at the end of this day hiding with my head on the corner of the couch.

 

June returns from her job interview. Not that I was there all night.

I'm really not the world's best speller. I'm not. I mean, I don't do that thing where I spell definitely "definately" or anything, and I use the right form of "there" and all that, but when it comes to always knowing when to drop an "e" off a word or whatever (I always think, "Truely or truly? Judgmental or judgemental?"), or if "i" before "e" applies here? Not that great.

Yes. I have been a proofreader for 15 years now.

What I'm good at is knowing how to fix punctuation and grammar and knowing how to LOOK UP WORDS that I have any doubt about. And this is why, when they gave me a proofreading test yesterday, with NO DICTIONARY--which is so phony because in real life you'd have your honking dictionary or m-w.com on you at least--I hemmed and hawed over whether embarrassed had two "R"s in it.

I know. And I also know you should go with your first answer, and my first answer was to leave the two "R"s in there and guess what. GUESS WHAT?

I took an "R" out.

And dad, embarrassed has two "R"s. Thanks for the bad-speller gene.

However, it was page after page of testing. Compare these documents side-by-side. Straight-read this document. Whip up a souffle. So I think in general I did pretty well. Ironic word to screw up with, though.

In the morning, before I got there and erroneously removed an "R," (oh, and erroneously I know how to spell. I just typed the PEE out that word with no issue) I was putting on my interview outfit, which I had selected the day before down to the necklace I was gonna wear.

As soon as I put it on I realized I was wearing an Edsel suit. Seriously. I don't know how I can take something out of the dryer, set it on the dining room table for two weeks, then hang it in the closet and it gets so covered in fur.

And yes it IS Edsel fur, as opposed to the 20 other pets here. His furs are long and wispy, like his brain matter, and he is sheddy.

My point is, I roll roll rolled that pick-fur-up thing and the fur would not come up. It was like a nightmare. Then I got out packing tape and tried that. Still. Most of the fur was staying put. I was considering a whole other outfit altogether when the doorbell rang.

#$$&*$.

It was Peg, my next-door neighbor. The one who doesn't know when not to have a party. "Hiiiii!" she said, all cheerful.

Could I have been less in the mood for a drop-in at that moment? "I'm getting ready for an interview," I said, exasperated.

"Oh, I'll just pop in for a minute!" she enthused. My mother has people popping in and out of her house all day. If this happened to me I'd commit hari-kari in a week.  

Anyway, she brought me a Valentine.

She also brought a dark chocolate bar filled with raspberry.

 

Me. At the 1:55 mark.

Anyway, she tried to help me get all the teensy balls of fur off my pants and finally said, "Oh, no one will see," which I do not believe to be the case. And ALL my black pants are like this, so it's not like I could slip on another pair.

Why do we have to have all these pets? Oh. It's just me here. Crap.

Anyway, I drove the 595403030 miles to the interview, and the buildings are beautiful, and there were geese there and you know how I like the geetzes. There was a boy goose and a girl one, and ONCE AGAIN I took a PHOTO of them with my PHONE and now it isn't showing up on my computer even though I plugged my phone in. Does anyone know why that's happening?

There. I just had to email the damn thing to myself. My point is, I thought the girl goose looked pregnant, because I am a goose gynecologist. So if I get this job I can once again get attached to goose babies at work.

It's just a contract position, you know. Not permanent. Because apparently no jobs are permanent anymore. 

So I guess we'll have to see. Oh! And I got there about 20 minutes early and ran to the impressive bathroom in the lobby, where they had hand lotion and tampons and so on, which was kind of exciting. Remember my job in Winston-Salem, where they had the huge thing of mouthwash in the bathroom?

Anyway, I washed my hands and as soon as I dried them I realized my hands smelled like grapefruit. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. Why in the Sam Holy Hill is grapefruit the trendy thing? So then I had to sit there and wait to die, which surely would not have gotten me the job. Clearly I lived through it, so if indeed the soap WAS grapefruit, it was just fake grapefruit smell or not enough to slay me. But Ima have to do BYOS to work.

I kept feeling like my hands were itching.

I guess that is all I have to tell you. I will let you know if they, you know, call me or anything. In the meantime, I have to pay bills today because I got my severance check, and also I have to clean my car, which has 39549549 pounds of Edsel fur to match my pants. In other words, I have a day of fun and frolic planned.

Maybe I'll head to the library and check out What to Expect When You're Expecting Baby Geeses while I'm out...

Margaret Thatcher stalks June

So as I was SAYING, before my stupid stupid stupid post went MISSING yesterday, I have a statistics textbook that I have to copy edit due on Monday, and man. Am I ever on top of that. Because I haven't spent all week being desperately ill or anything.

The place that I freelance for is always really nice to me, and I have yet to miss a deadline for them, and in fact now that it's been 10 years--which I just mistyped 120 years and it feels like that--with them, we don't even set up deadlines for me anymore. They send me a delightful statistics manuscript--exciting!--and I get it back to them in 10 days to two weeks.

But this time they sent it to me before Christmas, knowing I wouldn't get to it till after all the holidays were over, so I emailed Monica, the beleaguered person I deal with at the publishing company.

"So, um, when do you need this, drop-dead date? We never really said."

"Monday."

"Hmmm. Yeah. See, I got really sick last weekend and didn't get to look at this at all. And you know, I never missed a deadline with you, not even that time I had a death in the family, remember? So, when can I get this to you?"

"Monday."

Crap.

This being sick thing. It's gotten me nothing this week. Ooo, except svelty-svelte svelte! This woman at work said, "You look so...what is it? You're so cute today!"

"I barfed and got skinny."

June. Always the pleasant coworker.

Anyway, so I have to, yes, proofread statistics all day, and the first person who asks, "Don't you have to know statistics?" gets slapped with Monica's liver. There is a statistician who reads for that stuff. I just check that the sentences are complete, the chapter titles are the same size, that the parentheses have a beginning and an ending, that the references are set up right, that sort of riveting thing.

Except for me that stuff really is riveting.

And you know what bugs me? Is when people use the word "grammar" to cover any error in a sentence." oh hai june luv her blawg bet my grammer is buggin ya!"

The word "grammar." Please look it up.

You know what I am? Not fun when I am in the middle of working my regular full-time job and then also freelancing.

Ooo, but you know what? After this charming project is over, the beleaguered Monica has another project for me, and I'd be the consulting editor! Doesn't that sound fancy? And she said they are gonna pay me $900 an hour. Okay, she did not say that much but it IS double what I usually make. I am fancy.

In other news, on the way home last night, the woman in the car behind me looked exactly like Margaret Thatcher. Oh, it was irking me. I kept thinking, She doesn't look THAT much like her, then I'd look in my rearview mirror and there she'd be again, totally Thatchering out. It was uncanny. It had no cans. She was driving a Lexus. Do you think Margaret Thatcher would drive a Lexus? Would she even know to stay on the right side of the road? Is Margaret Thatcher still alive?

More important, why is she following me?

Finally, I leave you with very important images which FAILED to make their way to this riveting blog yesterday, after I typed the whole effing thing and it disappeared.

I was thinking about my blush. I have this powder blush that Pal from MA talked me into getting, and I like it except it doesn't spread very well over my very opaque spackle foundation that Shields and Yarnell want to borrow. I was wishing I had me some of that liquid 8-Hour Blush from Cover Girl they made in the '70s, and does anyone remember that stuff? It came in a long round tall container with a white top.

Whenever Barry Gibb walks by a barber shop he finds himself wondering if they sell Brylcream, and now here I am wondering if I can get my hands on blush from the '70s. Or for that matter Brylcream, because I don't think I've ever seen Brylcream close up.

Anyway, I tried to Google this blush because it became an obsession, and gee, why am I gonna miss my statistics deadline? And I cannot for the life of me find that DING DANG blush, but I did find these important ads.

I think she'd need less makeup if she stopped rubbing up against stucco. And maybe more Prozac, less foundation, there, sister. Cheer up. Remember how Love's had everything? Makeup, perfume, I think even bath stuff. Where did they go? Where did our love go?

Hey, will you get my jean culottes out the dryer? Ima get on my bike and go to a field with my Ten O Six Lotion. This ad makes a ton of sense. But Bonne Bell was always schlepping us out to the middle of nowhere to tout her chemicals.

I have two things to say about this ad. Other than the 14 things I already said. A man came at me with those flowers, my throat would close up and I'd die before we could get to the ER. Romantic. And if I used Ten O Six at this juncture, my skin would shrivel up like one of those apple dolls.

It turns out I could look at old makeup ads ALL DAY. Again. Why the missed deadline. Sorry. I was in Lip-Smacker Land. I had ALL of these flavors. All of them. I didn't even LIKE some of the flavors, like root beer and Good and Plenty. Irrelevant. I had to have all of them. Bonne Bell Lip Smackers. The Beanie Babies of the '70s.

Note they had "orange pop" flavor and also Orange Crush flavor. Nice. Nice way to scam us, there, Bell.

Okay. I am going back to my statistics book, which is exactly as exciting as thinking about Margaret Thatcher and makeup in the '70s. Carry on.

In which June is fat and incompetent and obsessed with her pets. In other words, nothing is new.

I am so sick of my fat ass I could puke. Seriously. This is the fattest I've ever been, and I was blaming it on my migraine meds, but lately I've been taking my migraine meds every other day to see if it made a difference?

Yeah. It did not.

Remember when my headache doctor said, "Those meds don't cause weight gain. Could it be your calorie intake?" I hate the medical profession and their emphasis on stupid logic.

So I'm thinking of finding a 10k to run in a few months, so then I am forced to train. What say you?

In other news, yesterday was the stupiest day ever. I had this big assignment for work, and it was due by end of day, or EOD, as people need to say, and I had the day before yesterday and yesterday to do it. I was really worried I would not get done on time, so I started with gusto and by yesterday at 11 a.m.? I was done.

Done! Yay!

I decided to be all extra super efficient, and compare my document to the last one done in May, and when I did so?

I lost my document. LOST IT. LOST. Like the TV show. It was that confusing. Somehow I had REPLACED the document and a polar bear showed up.

Oh it was awful. I called IT (all IT departments detest me) but there was nothing they could do because I had been working on my desktop. So I had to start ALL OVER AGAIN and get done in six hours what I had done in 11.

But I did it. I was cranky and exhausted but I did it. One of my favorite coworkers, who I will call Vilhelm, because that is not remotely his name and we had come up with some ludicrous last name for him too, should I ever mention him here but now it is wiped from my brain, came over and sat on my desk at about 4:00 yesterday, obviously ready for a chat.

"Really?" I said, as he sat, never looking up from my stupid task. "REALLY. You think Ima TALK to you right now?" And then I did. Because I have the work ethic.

Computer things always happen to me. Does anyone remember the time I turned my whole screen upside-down?

I have to go, so I can screw up something else at work, but here are pictures of my pets, because you guys are never satisfied. "June, why can't you photograph your pets in the middle of the night when you wake up and find them being cute?" "June, it's been TWO DAYS since we saw Tallulah!" "June, can you take the cats to Pluto and photograph them there?"

I was leaving for work yesterday to have that hideous day, and I noticed everyone in the window saying goodbye. Edsel is in the next window, on the right. See his spindly leg? And yes, I did go back and shut the window. Although I pity the fool who'd try to crawl through there with Talu on guard.

andersun hideeng. what you meen i not brown?

rodgder hyde too. what you mean i not patterned like rownd Dr. Seuss flowers?

I may have said "dog daycare" in order to elicit this head tilt from Eds. Who is the world's meanest dog mom?

Lu know you not mean dog daycare. it late. mom suk.

Have you ever noticed there is stuffing on the floor at all times? Also, I really enjoyed finding my SHOE out. Edsel also ate the pink shoe that that guy at the airport tried to claim was his. I cannot win.

This does not mean I do not want y'all to get me a bulldog puppy. My birthday is a month from today. Gives you PLENTY of time to save up. I think bulldog puppies are like a thousand bucks.

Okay, waddling to work.

June works hard for the $

I am home from my first day at work. Please note that I am typing this at twenty to 6:00, and I have let the dogs out, talked on the phone, changed clothes and put in an Amy's Burrito to cook before I got on here. Who likes her short commute? Did I mention I have not had a short commute in almost 20 years? Did I mention the first George Bush was president then?

I think I like my new workplace. Y'all know when I get a new job I do not talk so much about the place itself, lest I get fired like Dooce, but the building itself is very pretty, and everyone is cool and tomorrow I get taken out to lunch.

Wooooo!

Also, I already had two pertinent conversations about em dashes, and you just do not know how as an editor I miss talks like that.

I wore one of my new ensembles to work today. Yesterday I went out and exhausted myself creating a wardrobe-y when the day before that there was none. This new place is pretty dressy, and I have not had to dress up for work, like, ever. In fact, the last time I had to dress up for work was the last time I had a short commute. Apparently the two go hand in hand.

Anyway, $455 on my credit card later, I now own five pair of worky pants in size enormous (who needs to diet, stat?) (who needs to stop saying things like "stat"?) (do Amy's Burritos count as dieting?), four new sweaters, three super extra-cute pairs of shoes and 96 old blouses that will have to do.

Here are my new Jessica Simpson shoes, and I like how my old shoes are peeking at them with envy at the edge of this photo. They are supposed to be kind of beigy gold, but I wore them today and I think they are more pink. What WILL I find to go with them?

I hope you're sitting down, but I picked up some silver metallic flats, too. Hey, they were on sale 30% off, and there is the tiniest scratch on the toe of one of them so I had them knock off an extra 10%. My, these are good pictures. I cannot TELL you how exhausted I was, after working on that statistics textbook all night then having to shop all day, so these are very, "Oh my God, I am so not in the mood to get my phone and photograph this" shots.

Finally, I got me some cream and black spectators, because you know I enjoy spectating.

I finished the @##$@&*%% statistics book, by the way, SIXTY-EIGHT HOURS later. That is not one of my exaggerated numbers. That is why I felt free to rack up $455 on my credit card. As soon as my check of pay comes from freelancing, I can pay that credit card right off.

And if new shoes and size-enormous pants weren't exciting enough, my friend Blanche sent me a Sephora gift certificate last week to say congratulations on the new job. Blanche is the cutest friend you could ever ask for. At any rate, I got me some Bobbi Brown lipstick, because that's my prerogative. It came in the mail today while I was toiling.

Won't you let me edit something for you? With my ram's horn hair? And my busy necklace/collar? Why did I combine those two items? I see now that it was a mistake.

Oh! Oh, oh oh oh! And I forgot to tell you the other exciting thing! I have been in the spare room lately, not to sound like The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, and every time I'm in there, I keep thinking, You know, it sounds like baby birds out the window. And I keep looking out the window like an idiot and not seeing any nests and do you KNOW there is a nest RIGHT UNDER THE WINDOW that I was missing day after day?

June. Alert. Good with accessorizing. And ram horn hair.

Anyway, there is a CARDINAL'S NEST and it's RIGHT THERE, and I do not mean the pope or whomever is there with a tiny hat, but rather a red bird and his brown wife, and their tidy tidy nest and at least two fuzzy little birds who I can see clear as day. If there are more they are hidden by foliage, but those two are RIGHT THERE under the window!

Okay, like, see if you really really really look, you can see red in the middle of the picture? That is the dad cardinal.

I have to go because Marvin just showed up to deliver some legal papers. I asked if he had anything to say to the blog crowd but he said he did not. Hmph! Edsel is having hysterics at seeing his daddy.

Remind me to tell you about the scorpion that is under my corner cabinet. I have to go peel Edsel off Marvin.

June is no longer a drain on society. Well. Sort of.

I HAVE A JOB!

A JOB!

A jay oh beee!

Oh, what a relief. And yes, it is at the place that fed me ice cream during the interview. Yay! I will get fatter than ever!

I start May 2, which in case you hadn't noticed is Monday after next. I had five months of the days yawning before me with nothing to do, and all of a sudden my life is in a whirlwind. The Wicked Witch of the West is bicycling past my house, I'm telling you.

First of all, I must proofread that statistics textbook, which is one of the difficult text-y ones with line numbers and such that will take me 700 hours. Also too, Ima buy this house. I already talked to a real estate agent and a lawyer and to Marvin, and if everything works out, I can make it so just my name is on the title.

June Gardens. Land owner.

This means my father will not move in, which is sad because it was going to be fun to have him move in, but really, how sexy is it to be 45 and living with your dad? Plus also, I didn't want us to move in together and have us end up hating each other. We haven't lived together in a long time. I'd like to keep our relationship good. However, he might visit, because he promised me a bacon, lettuce and fried green tomato sandwich and I would like to hold him to that promise.

DAD.

Now, I know what you may be thinking. "Oh, good! She can get her cats back!"

Yeah. No. I'm not gonna do that.

Every time I think about Henry and Winston, it's like a giant reaches in and grabs my innards out. It is so painful. Winston is the picture on my cell phone wallpaper, and every time I see the picture I get sad, but I am even sadder about taking his sweet picture off.

However, Marvin loves our pets as much as I do. I mean, you only saw my ridiculousness about these pets from my perspective. You never heard him talk to those cats in a high, absurd squeaky voice, or saw him sleep in the crack between the bed and the wall to accommodate all the pets in the bed.

Gee, I wonder why he left?

And he paid a huge deposit to have those cats. Plus, how weird and vengeful and animal hoardery would I be to say, "We had five pets between us and I demand them ALL!"

So he keeps my kitties. Note I just said "my" kitties. Because on the inside I am a weird animal hoarder. But I am trying not to be. Also, I would like to note for the record that Marvin took the good cats and left me with Francis.

fran resent

I must go and work on that book, and also clean the house because a friend is coming over for dinner tonight. And by that I mean she is bringing over an entire cooked dinner. Am I the most pathetic person you do not know?

Before I go, yesterday in the comments I announced my job-y status and Faithful Reader Jenny suggested that in celebration of my new station in life, I have a giveaway of one of the inflatable items I enjoy so much. I think she was brilliant to think of it.

Therefore, everyone who comments before midnight my time today is in the running to win:

Inflatable toast! I know! Comment soon!

Cause I'm free! Freelancing!

I cannot blog today because I am freelancing on-site all day. As opposed to the outta site proofreading I usually do.

BAH!

Anyway, because I have to go shower and put on real clothes (as opposed to the virtual clothes I keep putting on daily, and why do I continue to get arrested, I wonder?), please talk amongst yourselves.

I thought maybe you could all tell me what your favorite song is, and also what your least-favorite is, and if you have any reason why, tell me that too.

This is not like Pieces of Wisdom, where I report your answers, it'll just give me something good to read when I return home.

Because it's not like I'll be reading all day or anything.

P.S. I still have free days from Dog Days Greensboro, and Tallulah and Edsel are there today, if you want to watch them play: http://www.dogdaysgreensboro.com/index.php?op=webcamfront

They are the blond medium-sized mutts. That ought to narrow it down.

Winging it

I was in the yard raking feathers, as you do, because this happened:

Does anyone remember when Tallulah used to be the jerky dog? Do you? Remember when she ate my Chicago Manual of Style? And my favorite childhood book that is irreplaceable? And JUST when she was getting normal, WHAT did I do?

I need to be examined in the head. "Oh, I need a PUPPY!" I said. You were here. You saw me do it. You saw me obsess. "I want a puppy so BAD! I need everything in my house destroyed! I need it to look like we had a snowstorm just in the backyard and nowhere else! I NEEEEEEED that! I need my nice silk decorative pillow to be ripped from limb to limb!"

And everyone says, "At least he did it outside," but you know what's easy? Getting up 9394959384 feathers off the grass. You know what might have been easier? Vacuuming them off the hardwood floor.

At any rate, there I was, raking the feathers, when the phone rang inside. "Don't they know I'm out here raking feathers?" I thought grumpily.

But it was that company! The one that said they'd call me if they got funding for a fabulous job for me! And I am going in today to "discuss the position."

!

!!

Also, !!

I had to buy new pants. Not because I peed on the ones I was wearing, which I kind of did, but because I bought this fancy gray-blue Chanel-ish jacket (if you could buy Chanel at J. Jill) for the last place I interviewed  and I accidentally bought CROPPED pants to go with it and I went to that interview looking like Gilligan. I have 70 bazillion black pants and no other gray or blue, and I insisted to J. Jill when I went yesterday that their my-size pants just didn't fit right.

"Are these petites or something? They don't...give in the hips, somehow."

Guess who is a size larger? Guess who is a size 4789 now? Guess who is fatter than she has ever been and misses her Topamax days so, so bad? Oh, I need to diet, and yes I DID just eat strawberry pie and yes I DID just go to the salad bar at Harris Teeter and get fried rice.

I had better go get ready, and by the way I am having a feather giveaway. I know you all come here for the giveaways on this blog, you Greedy Guses.

Also, I have had the same people as comment of the week (see the This Week's Special button) for 80 weeks and I have been meaning to give Paula H&B and her comments about her cat Simon's poop the coveted award, and I do not even think she MADE that comment in the last seven days, but I am so far behind now that I am giving it to her and will catch up on Saturday, the traditional award day.

That was the longest sentence in the history of time. Now I gotta go FIND her comment, which should be a delight. Almost as delightful as raking feathers.

Hire me and my Meridith Baxter hair

I am sitting here in my interview suit, like that's just something you sit around the house in, as though I were starring in a Lifetime Television for Women movie. Which I kind of am, lately.

She Loved Her Pets Too Much, starring June Mint.

Her Hair Was Stupid, featuring June NotGardens.

Not With MY Red Pen, You Don't! Guest Starring June NoName, based on the novel Push by Sapphire.

(Hello, Faithful Reader TwelveDays.)

What should my new last name be?

Anyway, I think my interview went well. I think this because two of the three people I met with said, "You have all of the qualifications we're looking for." The other one said, "You totally suck but you're a hottie."

What if that had happened for real? Sadly, I would have been excited to be called a hottie, I think.

Anyway, they said they'd let me know next week, possibly, so I am thinking maybe I'll just hang around the office till I get an answer. What say you? Sane? Maybe I could just start putting up my Barry Gibb posters in an empty cube.

Also, because I know you want me to mention it more, I thought I had finally finished that hutch. I went out and bought new handles for it, I painted it AGAIN (I KNOW!) (nothing in the history of time has as many coats as that hutch. Burlington Coat Factory called, asked if they could buy me out, I have so many coats on this hutch. Joseph called. Wants to trade his technicolor dreamcoat).

(We're talking a lot of coats.)

And those new handles? People have spent less time buying condos in Manhattan than I did selecting the handles for this thing. You'd have thought it was the King of Prussia's drawers I was getting handles for. I have no idea if there is such a thing as a King of Prussia or if that is just a city somewhere.

 
Here is a fairly clear photo of the dog, and a really blurry shot of the handle, which is just what you wanted. I hate myself. And note the white effing paint of the deck.

Also? Last night? After I thought I was done painting? I took all the paint and rollers and trays and brushes and stirrers and cans and can openers and drop cloths and easels and paint chips and tape and berets and French music and nude models and poodles and existentialism and decided to carry it all into the shed at once.

Guess who dropped the paint ALL OVER HER FOOT once she got to the shed? The night before her interview? I look like I have vitiligo.

Then this morning, I DRAGGED that hutch into the dining room BY MYSELF, BEFORE MY INTERVIEW, just because I was so dying to see it finished and in the room it was supposed to be, and I stepped back to admire my work?

I forgot to paint the feet.

I painted MY OWN FOOT, but after the first coat of primer and paint, I FORGOT TO PAINT THE $##@#$$%&#&# FEET. So now I have to go to the $(#(#$*$_@ shed, get what's left of that can I spilled, get the brushes and drop cloth and poodles and French mustache and cheese and PAINT AGAIN TODAY and COULD SOMEONE KILL ME PLEASE?

Merde.

Will someone remind me not to take on projects in the future? This is why God invented hiring people to do things. This is why God invented crafty folk. This is why God invented my friend Laurie.

Okay, I am going to paint in my interview suit, and I am just saying that to make the humorless among you have 80 fits. Really I am going to walk around my house with my arms crossed, looking out windows like they do on Lifetime, until Ted McGinley shows up.