The dog and Lily are on their needy chair, Iris is meowing to go out because busy season, so all is right with the world, other than the part where I just said, "the dog."
Singular. The dog.
I don't know how 45 pounds of dog gone can make such a difference in this house, but it seems 10 times quieter. Even though the dog left over is Edsel. Also, I just accidentally said "doggone."
But speaking of gone, if you're my Facebook friend you've probably seen this already, but yesterday I got the bill for euthanasia. EDSEL's euthanasia.
It was one of those things where I saw the envelope and got all ready to cry, and then I opened this and laughed like an idiot. Poor Edsel. I was all, "Why are they saying Lu was a neutered male?" And right then I knew. Oh and go ahead, talk about how expensive it is and what an abomination, because there's a lot I can do about it, so THANKS.
Wait, why does it say "Beuthanasia"? Who's Beuthanasia? Don't you see kind of a jolly larger woman? Child, I'm here to put down your dog!
I also finally got Lu's blue dog bowl and placemat and put them in the dishwasher and then put them away. That shit is rough, man.
The very first morning we woke up without her, I decided to start feeding Eds at her old place, in the kitchen. When we used to live here before our year abroad, Edsel ate in this back room. When we moved back, I decided to put his bowl closer, in the old computer room with the goddamn constantly peeling floor. For six weeks, I am not kidding, he'd run to this room at mealtime. Then I'd have to remind him where his bowl was and he'd be all, o, yeph, of courph.
I just spoke underbite.
So you can imagine. Now twice a day, he runs to the computer room for food, even though he sees the food hit the bowl in the kitchen. Cerebral-ness is not Edsel's strength.
If you're my Facebook friend, you also know that I got on Craigslist like it was my porn and just perused, JUST PERUSED, puppies. Then I had to see this Great Pyrenese/Golden Retriever mix. Do you know what I enjoy?
[Brace yourself. June is irked.]
When people say Golden Lab. Oh my god, that irks. Golden Retriever/Yellow Lab. It's not that hard.
I also hate it when people write a statement and end it with a question mark. "I heard you weren't going??" Oh my god, stabbish. THAT IS A STATEMENT. STATEMENT. NEEDS A PERIOD AT THE END.
I finally, in my OK Cupid profile, had to say "If you think this is a thing: ,,, don't even write me." You have no idea how many profiles do this. "Where to begin,,,,I love fishing, sailing, really anything on water,,,LOL!"
I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. Just me and 20 dogs. COMMAS ARE NOT ELLIPSES, THOUGH. I thought commas were ellipses?
I just made myself mad doing that. Maybe I need to up my antidepressants.
But the good news is, my house got power washed and painted!! I thought you were getting your house washed, June?
He still has to finish up. He's not gonna leave that shit there forever. But he's a big leaver of half-full water bottles, this guy. He left one on my deck when he power washed. I hate that. I thought you hated leftover water bottles, June?? BUT LOOK AT THE PORCH!
Wait. I think that needs a sound effect. Here's the porch, fmr.
And the porch now.
I have big plans for this one inch of porch I've got. I want to get a much girlier mailbox. I saw some really lovely seafoam and also white ones on Etsy. And curlicue seafoam numbers for the house address. Plus also, what say you to me painting that door a gray-green? A soft gray that somehow doesn't look awful with the green roof. Why I gotta have a green roof?
And finally, in summation, I was at PetSmart the other day getting flea meds so I can give Edsel bladder cancer, too, when I saw some pretentious treats. And right then I thought of Jackie, my new neighbors' grayhound with the elegant collar.
I got the treats, then the next day at lunch I went to the grocery store and shoplifted some Prosecco.
I really did. I got soup and lite Laughing Cow cheese (I've lost 11 pounds since that terrible day a month ago when I got on the scale and I was a linebacker) and the Prosecco, and I was doing the self-checkout, wondering if the cashier with no arms was judging me, thinking I was drinking Prosecco for lunch. I noted the total seemed a little, oh, low, but left anyway. It wasn't till I got to my car that I realized it'd charged me twice for the cheese and nonce for the wine.
The last time I shoplifted there, it was seven-dollar root touch-up, and when I took it back to pay for it they said, "Don't worry about it." So.
The cashier has arms, sort of, by the way, but they are short or something. She's a lovely person and I was rude to her before I looked at her and saw she didn't have so much in the arm department and then I felt like a dick. I was at the self-checkout, and you know how that is with the machine bellowing 40 questions at you. "Do you have any coupons? Is there anything under your cart?" Oh my GOD, stop condescending and check me out. Hey world, check me out.
While you're answering that codependent bitch's endless queries, they also want you to be over at that little box, sliding your card and putting in your number and telling it whether you want cash back (I never do. A thing that irks my coworker Griff to no end. "How can you not have any CASH?") and the whole thing is mind-boggling. Cerebral-ness is not my strength.
"Have you tried organic vegetables?" a voice next to me asked. "What? I--Can you hang on? I can't do all this at once," I said, and that is when I turned around and noticed I was being snippy to an arm-free person, and I felt like an asshole. All snotty, with all my arm length about me, all smug.
I still to this day don't know why she asked me that. She keeps me at arm's length now.
Oh my god ANYWAY.
I wrote a little note on my Crane stationery, put the dog treats and wine in a blue sparkly bag that I reused from someone giving ME something in it, and walked over there. I knocked on the door, and there they were. My hot gaybors. They are spectacular-looking.
They seemed at once thankful and wary. I know this hair makes me look insane, and also I do the nervous talking thing. In the note I invited them to call and come over for drinks on my deck and a striptease, but they have yet to call. Maybe they were worried I'd be all, HOMOSEXUALITY IS A SIN! on their asses. I don't know. Do I LOOK like the type to come over there and say that? Maybe this hair says that. I like to think horseshoe hair says that and not berserk hair such as my own.
Oh my god, Edsel was barking at Jackie JUST NOW. He wouldn't come in. He's obsessed with Jackie. Those gaybors hate me.
I have to go, and I'm certain you're sad, but don't let me forget to tell you about how I discovered we are terrible to old people. I like how I was just terrible to everyone: the armless, people with horseshoe hair, people with bad punctuation, and yet I'm all BE NICE TO THE ELDERLY, YOU DICKS.