On Saturday, Ned helped me clean my gutters. I know! It's rewarding to date me.
Also, by "helped," I mean Ned climbed the ladder 4858483 times, got on the actual roof
dug his hands around in bug-filled pine needles in my gutters and climbed back down. I held the ladder. So it was good of him to assist me.
When Ned was on the roof, he said, "Geez, maybe I should have on sunscreen. It's pretty hot up here on these shingles." And I pointed out we were BOTH sitting on shingles at that moment. See how helpful? I brought the funny.
Sometimes I had to also schlep over to my shed and get more garbage bags, and also I took pictures. Exhausting.
My azaleas are out! Say it loud, we're out and we're proud.
All of my daffodils and hyacinths are long gone, but the pansies remain. Insert hilarious homophobic joke here, which I'd do myself but I can't think yet today. I go to sleep on these dang steroids and I lie down and it's this.
Then I wake up kind of tired, but I just took more steroids so in a minute and a half I'll be over here looking like Flight of the Bumblebee again.
Which is why I was so ready to clean the gutters, with my steroid rage and all, and I like how Ned got pulled in along with my mania. Oh! And at some point poor Ned cut himself and...and?
I gave him an Abraham Lincoln Band-Aid. I know. I got these 49 centuries ago because someone reading this stupid blog won them in some stupid contest I had. Who do I actually owe those to? Is it Faithful Reader BStar, who won them, like, 45 years ago? Yeah. They're cool, BStar or whoever I owe them to. Bet you wish I'd have sent them to you.
Oh! And speaking of contests, last post's Bitchy Resting Face awards went to Alex #2, who I don't actually work with but is the husband of a coworker.
ANNND Alex #5, who I ALSO don't work with but who was a FRIEND of a coworker.
She was, in fact, really really nice, then when I told her to pull out a BRF she NAILED it, man. Thanks to everyone who participated. You all win absolutely nothing, or maybe you'll win something I will purchase and stick on Ned.
Here, by the way, is a photo of energy-filled, let's go out and PARTAY! BRF Ned, after he'd cleaned my gutters. Did I mention he'd gone for that bike ride he was so obsessed with having before he cleaned my gutters? Did I mention it's rewarding to date me? So much up side!
I'm sure at this point you cannot tell at all that I'm just looking on my desktop to see what other pictures I took this weekend and then I'm slapping them up on here as I go. This has been a super-well-planned post today where I knew just what I was going to say when I sat down. Or, you know, not at all. Perhaps I sat down and said, "?
The reason I was showing you this picture, above, is to say that Tallulah stood there that way for so long that I became convinced she'd turned into a sort of centaur, and that she was afraid to come out past that wall because I'd freak out when she had man legs. Although then I started thinking since she's a girl and all, maybe she'd walk out with girl legs, and have on fishnets and heels like the lamp in A Christmas Story.
Honestly, poor Lu stood there for such a long time that eventually it seemed INEVITABLE she'd become a centaur, and the longer she stood there the more hysterical I got, picturing it, and I wonder if these steroids are such a good idea.
In case you're on the edge of your seat, she eventually walked out from behind that wall with her dog legs. I might have lead with it had she, you know, not.
Anyway, I took that picture of TaurLu while poor Ned recuperated and we watched the Kentucky Derby, which, wow. There's two minutes of your life just gone. Maybe they should have two or three of them or something, so there's a reason to turn on the TV. There was one horse called Dramatic Holiday or Intense Holiday or Holiday with These Drunks Again or something. It was a drama-filled word and then "Holiday" and I wanted that horse to win and he didn't. But seeing as it was 18 seconds of my afternoon, I didn't get too invested. It was like high school sex.
Sorry, Cardinal.
Oh, and that card on the table is a get-well card I bought for my stepfather last week because he had open-heart surgery and he's doing better though not home yet, and what I like about myself is my ability to get ANYTHING FINISHED. All I have to do is write, "Love, June" and address the envelope and put a Christmas stamp on it because that's all I have in the house, and then I have to remember to mail it and Dear Stepfather. I got you a card that you will likely never see. Love, June.
Okay, it's 8:01 and I am once again going to be late for work. Of course, now that my dog has woman legs, I can take her on the road and never have to work an honest day again.
XO, Your steroidal pal, June
P.S. Forgot to blatantly promote my own self again. Here. Read this.
