We're having an exciting day over here at House of June.
Tallulah got a new collar, thanks to Faithful Reader Lindy. You may recall a few weeks ago that Tallulah broke out of her collar on a walk. She broke those chains, like she was in an '80s (not 80's) heavy metal song.
Not that I literally had the dog on a chain. I can see the comments now.
Tallulah was busy lunging at an innocent puppy named Snowflake, who lives a couple blocks away, which I just typed "clocks away" and I am SICK AND TIRED OF TOPAMAX, is what I am. A couple clocks away. God help me. Anyway, in her terrible lunging and snarling and foaming at the mouth and cursing and mewling and swearing and grabbing her switchblade and throwing a tea party, her collar broke. Clean off.
Then once she was free, she couldn't have cared less about that puppy and was content to run about the neighborhood like the goof that she is. And that is when Faithful Reader Lindy wrote me and said she buys fancy collars for her big-necked dogs that will not break, and could she send one to Talu.
Isn't it pretty? It's so feminine. You'd never know it is for dogs who are jerks. If you look carefully, it has a little four-leaf clover charm on it. Like, good luck getting out of this one, assy.
I told my father about my new collar, and how Tallulah's neck is bigger than her head and how strong she is, etc. My father said, "Her neck is bigger than her head? Is she a dog, or a bouncer?"
Perhaps Lu could get some evening employment.
Oh, and speaking of my family members, yesterday I wrote about music, and my Aunt Mary wrote in and said she liked "Ruby in the Sky with Diamonds."
Naturally I called her last night to make fun of her.
"That's what you said when you were little!" my Aunt Mary told me. "You used to sing 'Ruby in the sky with glasses' instead of 'Lucy in the sky with diamonds.'"
I did? I have no recollection of this, but it sounds like something I would have done. I can see that I would have preferred rubies to diamonds, because they had a color. I have always been into color. Plus, rubies are my birthstone.
So I will let Aunt Mary have a pass on this.
Also, look:
Mom grew out yesterday's perm and put on a Bye Bye, Pie t-shirt.
I told her I would put her picture in my blog if she took a photo of herself in a BBP shirt, and this weekend my cousin took her picture and emailed it to me. I got the picture Sunday night.
Yesterday, my mother called me.
"You promised my picture would be in your blog if I wore the shirt," she said.
"Well, yeah," I said. "Not instantly. Poor Faithful Reader Fawn Amber had to wait like two months to get HER picture in. Plus, your picture IS in my blog today. I mean, it's from 1975, but it's in there."
So in order to not get another terse call from my mother today, behold the shot above.
In the meantime, I must go and work. I am rootin' out, over here, and cannot afford to fix my roots. I am expecting a big check any day now, and once that gets here I can call my straight hairdresser and make an appointment. I am not being sarcastic; he really is straight. I call him the straight hairdresser because it's just such an anomaly.
Anyway, last night I was discussing with my Aunt Mary ways to disguise my roots, because the Pepe LePew look is still not in. Remember for awhile how Sarah Jessica Parker made the brown-root look cool? Why can't the gray-root look be cool?
Anyway, I really can't rock the jaunty fedora like I'm Pink, and I told my aunt that if I wear a bandanna, everyone will think I am in a gang and I will be shot. You know how many 44-year-old white women you see in dangerous gangs. Well. You know how many 44-year-old any color women you see in gangs.
Maybe I could bring back the beret. Or the Chef Boy-Ar-Dee hat. There's a look. I can see the New York Times covering it now. Fresh from Greensboro, women are welcoming summer in crisp chef's hats. Puffy!
And no one tell me to give up and go gray. Could you all please remember what Marvin looks like? He looks 17. He still gets carded. I know he has gray hair, too, but he looks 17 with gray hair. I cannot grow it out. I wish he'd hurry up and jump the shark so I COULD grow it out. Trust me.
What about some kind of goth hooded cloak? I could look really faraway and sad. Can I pull that off? Maybe I should just have gray roots and go with it. Just go with the haggard look, like that poor woman in the quintessential picture from the Depression:
Okay, look. Even HER roots were done. Sure, she couldn't afford Botox, but she managed to get her a box of Nice 'n' Easy or something.
Crap.
