Last night? I shut the dogs out and slept alone. I am a terrible dog mother. I might be the worst dog mother since that awful woman starved that Pit Bull and left him in the laundry chute (oh, he's fine now. Calm down). (That woman got arrested and spent some time in jail, but if I ever saw her, I would punch her so hard, right in the face, possibly multiple times. Definitely multiple times. I would punch her till someone had to drag me off of her. Is what I would do.)
My point is, I slept like a LOG. A LOG, man. I slept so well I can't even begin to tell you. I don't think I ever woke up once. God, that was wonderful. No contorting myself around 100 pounds of dog. No Pitty jaw on my head. No being jostled when two dogs hear the tiniest noise outside and they have to dramatically leap up to investigate out the window.
What if I always did that? Can I always do that?
You should've heard Edsel today, though, when the alarm went off. I've no idea if he ran in from the living room to whine mournfully outside the door, or if he just laid there, forlorn, all night, with a boom box over his head.
Anyway. Slept well.
When I woke up today, not only did I think about how lovely that was, but I also thought about my stupid hair, and how annoyed I am that I didn't get it cut this weekend. The good news is I have an appointment this weekend with my colorist, the one who's nice but has a bitchy resting face, and I've scheduled a cut from her. I don't even care anymore if she's Curly Girl-certified, because she isn't. Although one of you in the comments gave me the number of another Curly Girl-certified person, and I will call him for next time. Am currently in hair crisis.
I think the worst part of all of that sitch last weekend was that I made Ned say goodbye to my hair when I left for the appointment. I even waved the ends at him. "Goodbye, hair," Ned said beleagueredly, and the fact that I got him to do it is a testament to my powers and beauty, if you ask me. Beauty that's compromised by my cave woman hair. That's the second day in a row I've compared myself to a cave woman, and I don't know what to tell you.
Oh! SPEAKING of Ned, and don't let me forget to tell you about my coffee after this, but speaking of Ned, we had a brief, crabby dinner yesterday and then he had to do work things. So I went home and did me some Tracy Chapman, as I am wont to do and why do I not have her body yet? No one mention the not one but two Kashi bars I consumed yesterday. Hey, they're natural. -ish.
Anyway, I'm on all fours doing Tracy Chapman, so in other words I was Whitney Houston.
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Tell me I'm not the only one who heard those rumors in the '80s about Tracy Chapman and Whitney Houston. Oh, God, am I? How will I know?
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!
You do better when I don't get good sleep.
SO I'M ON ALL FOURS, and something catches my eye, almost literally, because it was
the
biggest
bug
ever
invented
on my wall.
And it was right above Edsel, who'd been lounging on his dog bed chewing Bluuuu. He's some watchdog. Although if you look in his manual, his Watchdog Manual, it never mentions having to off large enormous giant bugs, really. But it mentions protecting me in general, which was not happening as he casually chewed the ends of Bluuuu, the Everlasting Gobstopper of dog toys. How I wish I could find another Bluuuu. I have no idea where I got it. I know I've HAD Bluuu for more than two years, and he's managed to not destroy it yet, and he has that dang thing in his mou
OH WHO CARES. BIG BUG. BIG BUGGGGG!
I could not call Ned, which would have been my normal mode of transportation in this matter. He was not around. He was at his work thing. Why do I have to date responsible adults?
So before I could think a lot about it, I got the vacuum cleaner attachment and sucked that bug up, then shoved the attachment back into its slot, so the bug will at least perish in there if the sucking up didn't slay him. I hope. Nobody tell me any horror stories.
I went back to do Tracy Chapman and everything on me was shaking in fear. Being single sucks. What do lesbians do? Is there an Official Bug-Killing Girlfriend? Or does everyone just flap their hands around and screech? That'd be the kind of lesbian girlfriend I'd get stuck with. One who was just like me. I like how I keep referring to having a girlfriend and I have to say "lesbian," as if that weren't implied by the mere fact that now I'm dating a girl.
Oh, and finally. My coffee. See, I told you not to let me forget and you did.
Yesterday I got to work and said, "OH CRAP! I FORGOT TO MAIL MY TAXES!"
I've had my teensy payment toward my giant tax bill shoved in a Christmas-card envelope for, like, 10 days now, and I'm sorry to tell you it also has a Christmas stamp, and once the government sees all this they'll probably start bugging my house to ensure I am not insane. Which, yeah. But I DID NOT REMEMBER to mail the damn thing, and here it was April 15, so at lunch time, about 7 different coworkers alerted me to mail my taxes, as they'd all set reminders on their phones.
Then AT lunch I got a text from my boss: Don't forget to mail your taxes.
I don't know if I've told you this, but at work we've started cheat sheets for each other so that different parts of work are easier. Like, let's say you're really good at knowing one thing but others aren't. There's a cheat sheet on the server to help you, written by the expert at work.
Did I tell you that they (oh! so hilariously!) proposed a cheat sheet for how to deal with me? Harrrrdy harrr.
Oh my god, the coffee. There's a girl at work, a Not Alex, who weighs 14 pounds and looks fabulous. She eats a Paleo diet, and I don't even know where you can BUY a Paleo these days, and anyway she told me she drinks coffee with a spoonful of coconut oil in it every day, and that it keeps her full till lunch.
So guess who's doing that right now? And so far, I could still go for an Egg McMuffin. Further reports as developments warrant.
TALK AT YA!
Perkily, June
P.S. Oh, hell. I keep forgetting to tell you to go buy Jo's book, Opposites Attack. I copyedited it, so you can look for mistakes. I've read the dang thing 12,000 times now and still enjoy the crap out of it. So I promise you'll like it, too, but it will also make you hungry. You can get it on your Kindle or a real copy in real life.
