The controversial paper towels.
I cannot believe how long you people can discuss a thing, in the comments. Anyway, here are the pretty paper towels Ned bought to seduce the ladies, and it's workin' on ME anyway, because every spill I'm all, DANG! Looky here at these paper towels-es.
How many paper towels can you USE in a two-day stay? Apparently you've never had five pets. Look at Iris's tawny nose. Don't you just want to boop it? She sincerely hopes you do. No, really.
Ned usually fed everyone in the morning, because he got up first, but when he's gone, or when, say, we're broken up and I'm homeless and he's out of town and I have to come back to my former home and care for my own equally homeless pets--let's just throw that out there as a possible scenario--here is the routine.
First, you get NedKitty's giant bag of old-lady cat food out, which someone has chewed a HOLE in, so you have to lift it horizontally like you're saving an unconscious maiden. Then you have to find a way to awkwardly get kibble in her old-lady bowl without spilling it everywhere. Shut her door.
Desperately attempt to get the gray cat heads out the way so you can pour the prime-of-life food into the other cats' bowls. Spill most of it on the floor because they refuse to budge, because GOD FORBID the other cat starts eating first.
Give them new water, because Tallulah's drunk all of theirs just for spite.
Go downstairs, where the dogs are bucking like broncos because IT BE FOOD. OH THANK EDSUL GOD, IT BE FOOD. Worree we never eeet agains.
Endure scratches to all parts thanks to dog claws and bronco activity. Dump in brown kibble, and today might be another day to say Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss. I don't even LIKE The Who. I blame Marvin for that lyric being in my head where geometry could be instead.
Refill already totally full water dish, because cat water be supreeme.
Schlep plastic bag upstairs, and why Ned insists on leaving them downstairs is beyond me. Walk into NedKitty's room, where most of her food is uneaten. Change her untouched water (the dogs don't dare) and scoop all 3949392 litter boxes. When you're done, note that gray prime-of-life cats are eating old-lady food, and NedKitty is at their dish, eating prime-of-life food.
Let dogs out, realize it's 20 minutes that you've been up and you still haven't peed. Silently envy those cold, I-hate-pets people.
I just noticed for the first time that the basement door gets a utilitarian black porcelain doorknob and not a fancy crystal one like the rest of the house. It's like the door is warning you: Utilitarian stuff down here. Dank necessary stuff such as boiler. Don't get excited.
Ah, this house. Ima miss this house.
Here's my tree again. Remember two weeks ago when I showed it to you? Aw. I love this tree. I wanted to see it every fall.
Sigh.
Also, tell me if I'm being a bitch. I mean, I probably am, but why is this happening?
You know I have a blog, right? And mostly it's read by people I don't know. Now that I have drama, my numbers are back up to, like, 2,800 people a day.
Heyyyyyy! Hiiiiii! Hi, everyone who loves it when I have PAIN.
The point is, there are easily--easily!!--100 people I know in real life who also read this blog. Friends I've had forever, classmates from 1979, relatives. Whatever.
For some reason, it annoys the SHIT out of me when people I know in real life email me to discuss something I said in my blog. Can you tell me why? Other than that I am the world's most irritable person? The thing that bugs me MOST is the questions. "Where did you get that necklace?" "Oh, which restaurant was that?"
I mean, these seem like perfectly benign Qs. And yet I get so annoyed. What is wrong with me?
The only things I can think of are:
- I have a blog that has a comment section. Hey, maybe this could be addressed in the comments.
- Maybe I feel like, hey. Already WROTE what I want to write about today. Really don't want to say more on it. Could we just discuss life like normal people?
- I am just a bitch.
Remember some years ago, when my poor mother and I went to her then cabin in northern Michigan? I loved that place. I really abhor the phrase "happy place," but that was my, you know, place. Where I felt happy. Anyway, we were there with a bunch of relatives, including my cousin Big June, who's my mother's age and who is an only child such as my own self.
...Wait. I just found it the post where I wrote about this. It's actually from my OLD blog, Bye Bye Buy, and this scene happened eight years ago. Oh my god. Oh Edzul god. Here...
My mother has a cousin, also an only child, who has the same name as me. Ever since I was born, this poor cousin has been "Big June" while I got to be "Little June." If I were her I would hate me.
At any rate, Big June and her husband also came to said cabin on Saturday. They walked in. We said our hellos. The men went outside to move a boat or some manly thing. Big June found a photo album and started looking at it. I was maybe seven feet away, painting my paint-by-numbers kit. For a lovely three minutes, we did this.
Me: [Paint paint paint.]
Big June: [Peruse peruse peruse.]
All of a sudden my mother came in, chattering like a magpie. "Have you two looked at that lake? And those colors! You should have seen it this morning! It looked like the trees were on fire! Oh!"
Me: [...paint paint paint...]
Big June: [...peruse peruse peruse...]
After a minute or two, my mother came back in, this time from the kitchen. "We have pie! Do either of you want pie!? It's blueberry! It has real filling! There's coffee! Do you want to walk down by that lake? I'll be outside if you want to walk down there."
She left, and after a while Big June, never looking up from her album, said, "She wants to talk."
"I KNOW," I agreed heavily. We were appalled at this idea. It was as if my poor mother, who just wanted to converse with her out-of-town daughter and her guest, had suggested we all strip naked, make bikinis out of metal Jello molds, and plunge into the icy lake.
"I think this is an only child thing," I told Big June. My mother comes from a loud family of five.
So, is that it? Are we happy to be silent together because we have no siblings? Are there people from giant loud families who also enjoy their quiet time? Does quiet time equal "we aren't having fun" for you? Or are Big June and I just huge bitches?
The point is, my mother left a comment: "Yes, you're just big bitches." Probably the same applies here. But really, I want to make sense of it. Why does it bug me so much? It happens every day, for sure, and sometimes several times a day if I've blogged about something controversial such as paper towel preferences. Why does something that seems perfectly okay to do annoy me so bad?
I also get annoyed when people I know refer to my blog as "the blog," as though no other one exists. I hated "the wedding," too. Like I was Princess Diana or something. The baby. Also irks.
Why does anyone like me?
Okay, I gotta go. Am stupidly excited about six-minute commute. The commute from Kaye's house blows. This one is so simple and teensy.
Your simple, teensy pal,
JUUUUUUUNE
