I spread this afghan on the new couch, so Miss Sickly could get up and sleep on me. ("Specially handmade for you, by Grandma" a tag inside reads. Aw. Gramma. Knittin' me an afghan in the '70s colors. I am so glad I have this.) The vet called yesterday to tell me that as a result of a test they did last week, we should get Lu an ultrasound to make sure she doesn't have The Cancer.
Lemme tell you something. My Lu does not have The Cancer. It is a horrific-ness up with I will not put. The vet called the radiologist, who has to let the vet know when he can come to the office and do said ultrasound, which by the way is $330, tipping Talu's sickness well over the thousand-dollar mark at this point. Jesus.
She's outside right now, squatting in the snow. She seems to just rest her inflamed parts right on the snow, like it gives her some relief. I don't know how any of you can stand having a sick child, if this is how awful it feels to have a sick dog. I mean, I assume if you have a child that you like it a lot and stuff.
Sometimes I consider just running her over with my car, to put her out of her agony. I'm not even kidding you. She just seems so miserable. She goes to her dish and wags politely, then doesn't eat any of it and looks up at me pleadingly. All dogs love food, but food was Tallulah's joint. That chick would eat my strawberry tops. She used to ask to eat my paper towels when I was done. She was like a goat.
Today I added some Mrs. Dash to her food, and she actually ate it. I want you to know those scavengers called Edsel and Iris just wait for her to walk away so they can eat what she didn't. Zero concern for her well-being. Animals are terrible people. In the meantime, Lu looks skinnier every day. All she's usually eating is the almond butter I put her pills in.
Why do colors go in and out of style? Who decides, "Sayyyy, burnt orange and olive are where it's at," and then everything becomes gold and amber and olive and brown for a decade along with giant mounds of pubic hair. Who decides that?
I guess people had '70s bush in the 1870s as well. I suppose eventually they'll look back and be all, "What was with the 2000s, when every woman went around bald as a billiard in her girl bits?"
June's blog. Come for the sad dog news. Stay for the '70s colors and bushes.
Also, it would appear I'm having a Super Bowl party. Because sports. Fewks at work decided it was necessary that I do this, so I got out an evite and started thinking of who at work might be interested, then some of my regularly scheduled friends such as Marty Martin and Tall Boy, and next thing you know I've invited 20 goddamn people over and have you met my living room? Where we gonna sit at? Am I the most disorganized person you know? Does life seem to just constantly hit me in the face like a '70s bush?
I hate to ask for Super Bowl recipes, but if you have any easy ones, tell me. Do not say stupid things like, "You take your food processor" or "Make a reduction."
How do you MAKE a reduction anyway? Why don't they just say "reduce"? Speaking of reduce, I feel like Super Bowl food is not what you'd call heart healthy. Is it? Is seven-layer dip heart healthy? Seven-layer dip is sort of amber and olive, did you ever notice that? 70s-layer dip.
Okay, I gotta go. I got shit to do.
My webcam is making me look red-faced, and I think in real life I'm actually not, but what do I know. I could ask Edsel, but he always just tells me I'm the most beautiful mom anyone has ever had. Bullshit specially handmade for you, by Edsel.
I'll talk at you. Further reports on Tallulah as developments warrant. Let's talk about colors in the comments today. What was the quintessential color of each decade? I see the '80s as a jewel tone, but then again you got your Don Johnson pink in the '80s. All my decades are pink, though. Which is reflected in my face. Thanks, webcam.
Okay, bye.
