I had a run-aroundy kind of a weekend, and now you have to sit here and read about it. Congratulations!
On Friday afternoon, I got the dogs from daycare, and apparently it really bonded them, that experience.
When I got home, I got a Camilla post card from my Aunt Mary, who went to London with her husband. Has anyone seen my zip-up-the-front dress and 17 pieces of heavy gold jewelry? I like how I can't manage to draw a mustache straight. In unrelated news, my drawing and photography and hair-smoothing seminar is starting back up, should you wish to block out some time.
Speaking of hair, has anyone alerted Camilla that it's not 1979? You can put down the curling iron, Toots.
On Saturday, Ned, his friend who we can never think of a good blog name for and I went to the house where Susan Sarandon's character lived in Bull Durham. I had this great idea that I'd show you current photos and stills from the movie, but stupid stupid stupid Typepad is taking about five minutes apiece to upload my photos, and I have to wrap this up. Also, Dear Typepad, Go fuck yourself.
It was a fund raiser, going to Bull Durham's house was (Bull Durham's girlfriend's house), and you got hot dogs and beer and you could watch the movie, or just creepy-crawl the house, which I did in droves.
Ned asked me if I wanted a hot dog, and of course I did and then it gave me a migraine. The point is, he got a sausage dog with brown mustard and jalepenos, and the reason I know this is because he told me when he returned, then as he ate it he told me again while he was exclaiming its virtues, then as soon as he was done with it he asked, "What do you think we'll have for dinner tonight?" He does that a lot. Talks about the next meal after the first one is winding down.
Anyway, I heard about the goodness of the sausage dog with jalepenos and brown mustard approximately 942 times over the course of the weekend, and I feel like maybe it was Ned's highlight. I can't be sure.
Here's the bathtub where Kevin Costner and Susan Sarandon had better-than-a-sausage-dog-Ned-begs-to-differ sex.
I'm Ned. Ask me about my sausage dog!
Anyway. So that was good. After, we went to a Beaver Pageant, which is a drag queen contest, and YES, it would be GREAT if I could UPLOAD PICTURES to show you, but have now been sitting her for THIRTY EFFING MINUTES just uploading the pictures you SEE and Dear Typepad, Continue to go fuck yourself.
The next day was Ned's grandmother's 94th birthday, and I went with his entire whole family, and "entire whole" is EXCELLENT English, to a fancy brunch, where Ned had salmon after (a) asking me about the brunch menu the day before, (2) going online and perusing the menu ahead of time, and (7) getting there and taking an hour and a half to look at the menu anyway.
On the way there, I asked, "Does the rest of your family have the menu issue, as well?" I pictured 15 people looking over the menu for six days while I get kwashiorkor. "Oh, no. That's just me," said Ned. "I wonder if whatever I get will be as good as that sausage dog? It had brown mustard and jalepanos on it, did I tell you that?"
Afterward, we went to Ned's aunt and uncle's house, and his whole family is very nice, and they showed me pictures of Ned as a youth, with white-blond hair. Ned pulled aside as many people as he could to talk about his sausage dog, and his grandmother talked about how fortunate she felt to be surrounded by so much family on her birthday. It was really very sweet and when I'm 94 I will have no kids to celebrate with me, and I'll probably just open a Schlitz in front of my TV or something. It's be the year 2059, so it'll be a super future-y TV, so.
After our celebration, we went to the movie Renoir, which was about Renoir and looked like a Renoir. The whole thing did. It was a really very pretty movie, and Renoir was kind of a dick, and not once did anyone eat or mention a sausage dog. So that part was a bust.
Tallulah continues to be my Now With Mulberry Swirls! dog, and note how the floor has mulberry stains now, too. Dear Mulberry Bush, Go fuck yourself.
I know I said I could tell you my Exciting News, but they wrote and said I had to wait till NEXT Monday, and godDAMMIT.
This does, however, give us a week to reflect on Ned's sausage dog. It had jalapenos and brown mustard. Did he tell you that yet?
P.S. I just found a TON of your comments in my spam folder. I have no idea why Typepad is now spamming your comments. Some were from people who've been commenting for YEARS. Dear Typepad, Go...oh, you know.
