Tallulah went to the vet yesterday, where she managed to bark at everyone in the waiting area so how sick can she really be, and it turns out old Bob Barker has dermatitis, which she got from seasonal allergies, which made her skin itch, which led to her chewing her foot 470 hours a day, which led to it getting all raw and disgusting, which led to her needing a steroid shot and some antibiotics.
$158 later we left. And by the way, the drive to the vet was ludicrous. The rain was coming down sideways, and you could barely see anything, and branches were flying everywhere, and there was a terrible multicar accident on the way, and I kept thinking if I died in this torrential weather that I'd look super-heroic. "She was going to the vet for her dog. Isn't that beautiful?" The whole rest of time, I'd be that saint who died on the way to the vet and not that kind of bitchy June Gardens.
But I lived, and by the time I pulled in to the vet's it was sunny again, and I think the weather here has some kind of mood disorder.
Here's Talu Limpadoo Gardens last night, holding her foot up dramatically, as Ned and I callously left her to go have dinner with Faithful Reader LaUral. Note how filthy that couch cover is. I pretty much change it every day, and I'd like to take this moment to thank Marvin for saying, "Ooooohhhh. Let puppy Talu on the couch. Come on."
Thanks, Marvin. THANK YOU.
Mostly Talu just wanted to sleep yesterday, anyway. I had a dream that my beloved cat Mr. Horkheimer, fmr., had hurt HIS paw, and I kept holding him and kissing said paw, and I figured I dreamt that because Tallulah is as much loved by me as Horkie was. Let's face it: You have favorites. You know you do. You're so over there right now liking one kid better than the other, aren't you? My grandmother used to say, "You're ALL my favorite" but pfft. Have you met me? Was clearly superior in that whole layout of grandkids.
I should really play my cards right with my cousins and aunts, seeing as my birthday is right around the corner.
Oh, and speaking of which, Faithful Reader Deb sent me a gift already!
She sent me these earrings, which are made by a friend of Ned's, who makes the jewelry. I had linked to these on the Facebook some time ago as a subtle hint to Ned, but FR Deb took on the task instead. Works for me!
So, armed with my earrings, which makes no sense, Ned and I screamed off to have dinner with LaUral. Once Laura signed in to comment on my blog and she must have accidentally hit the caps key or something, because she totally wrote "LaUral" and who has let that go not at all, over here?
When we got there, we noticed a dog in a car, and it was really too hot for that kind of thing even though it was 8 o'clock at night, and I love this art shot of concerned LaUral and God-let's-just-EAT-already Ned. He got a burrito. In case anyone was worried. I DID run IN to Ned yesterday at lunch. I was with a friend from work (the new girl who fascinates me) and Ned was with a salad.
The dog lived, or else it expired. I guess I really don't know. When we left the restaurant the car was gone. Maybe to the dog morgue, but I hope not. I tried to give him water but he didn't want any. I am just saying. Even if it's a nice 70-degree day, cars heat up DRAMATICALLY even when you open windows like this. It really can kill your dog, and quickly.
After dinner, we went to a bar, because that's what all middle-aged people do on a Friday, right? They should have middle-aged bars, that close at 10:00 and feature quiet music and drinks that won't give you indigestion. I guess those bars are called "Applebee's."
There was an Edsel-looking dog there, except he was extra mellow, and when I went to pet him I learned he was eight months old. EIGHT MONTHS OLD. Edsel is three and he'd have knocked over every table in the place, and stuck his tongue in all the beer, and generally have created mayhem all over. The dog above mostly splayed out and slept.
There was also this duo there, these two large funny women of color, all decked out because it was the birthday of one of the women. The birthday girl had this huge "DIVA" necklace on, and awhile later I saw this:
"HOW'D THAT BEARD-Y GUY GET THE DIVA NECKLACE?!" I demanded. I wanted the DIVA necklace! I didn't even WANT it till that guy got it, but then it was on. His friend, there, gave him that nice 21 & Hot sticker, which similarly killed me. Anyway, LaUral went over there and talked to them, and next thing you know
YES!!!!! I only got to BORROW it, though, and Dear Ned: Guess what I want for my birthday. Love, June.
Dear June: Guess who is over you and this whole evening. Love, Ned.
In truth, Ned had a good time, because he's affable that way, and what I'd REALLY like to see is Ned in the DIVA necklace. Because, demanding? High-maintenance? Metrosexual? All those describe Ned to a T. Is it to a T or to a tee? What the hell does that even mean?
I have to go now. I have to pay bills, which, fun, and then Ima weed my yard. Which, fun again! These are not things a diva should have to do.
