Oh, I was sleeping so NICELY this morning. Lottie did her usual waking at 6:00 thing, which we have down to a science. She whines once, I get up, still asleep, walk her outside, she pees, and without saying a single word to each other we go right back into the bedroom and fall asleep.
But today? I fell asleep for a long, long time after. I was jolted awake by the fact that I felt so rested. "Oh, no," I said, reaching for my phone.
8:37. I'm supposed to be at work at 8:30. It was 8:30fucking7.
"OH, CRAP!" I shouted, getting Lottie out of her jail cell, running to the back door, letting those two hooligans out, dumping food in bowls, letting hooligans back in, showering while they ate, letting them BACK FUCKING OUT while I dressed, and at 8:57, I was ready to leave.
I went to the back yard to see Edsel and Lottie running fast fast fast as they could around the yard, in a big circle, doing that thing where they're both leaning sideways, so fast are they traversing. If I say they were turning to butter, is everyone going to get up in arms that I referenced Little Black Sambo again, a thing I had FORGOTTEN was a ref to that book?
Little Black Sambo. How is it, that in this lifetime, we were able to purchase a book with that title? And think nothing of it! Good gravy.
Anyway. I felt terrible making them come in, but I had to, and they were panting like, you know, a couple of dogs.
"Henh, henh, henh, henh," smiled Lottie as she made her way to the water bowl.
"Huh huh huh huh," breathed Edsel, as he shared the bowl with Lottie. There was no time for alpha wars.
Her little heart was still racing when I dumped her back in her crate, and I felt awful about it, but here I am back at home and she's no worse for the wear. She's back outside, doing Lottie things. She loves a good rock, man. She brings in rocks constantly, and likes to dump them on the floor, scratching it something awful, and stay tuned for a very special episode of Lottie Goes to the Pound coming your way soon.
Like, the more I know her, the more I TOTALLY GET why someone said, "Let's dump her near that gym where all the white people go." They knew some asshole do-gooder would take her in and deal with her punk ass.
Hello, Lottie, two minutes after you were dumped. I am your asshole.
So the point is, I got to work by five after 9:00, and to tell you the truth they're a little loosey goosey about time there, so the whole thing went without incident, other than my cold panic and looking like a homeless person today.
Hey, hurr.
Good god.
I'm eating lunch while I talk to you. I had a can of Franco-American spaghetti, because I too am Franco and American and I like to eat the food of my people. How is spaghetti remotely French? Is James Franco heir to the spaghetti-in-a-can fortune? If so, why does he work so much? What the hell is wrong with him?
Anyway, I had that, and now I'm having some Pecan Nut-Thins and "Classic" hummus. That's what it reads. Classic. Like it's the Chanel of hummus. The little black dress of hummus. My hummus is The Wizard of Oz. Beetoven's Fifth. Of hummus.
Goddammit. Lottie just brought in another rock. I hate this rock obsession. Maybe, like my hummus, she's into classic rock.
Now I'm having blueberries, and perhaps you're thinking, Wow, June, eat a little smackerel of something, why don't you? Why so thick, June?
Tonight I get my hair done, my roots, as it were, and you can't see them above because I use root spray. But remember that scene in Terms of Endearment when Shirley Maclaine had the roots because Debra Winger was dying? I'm like that underneath this spray. GIVE MY DAUGHTER THE SHOT.
Don't you hate a bitter blueberry? It's so disconcerting.
Okay, I'm glad we had this talk. My mother just called and she's getting her hair done today, too, so it must be genetic. Oh! And in summation, I was able to finish all the episodes of Orange is the New Black last night. Hashtag goals.
What the fuck does Squad Goals mean, and why is everyone saying it? I hate all this meme crap. Whatever, MaryLou; why don't you go work at McDonald's?
Okay, June, out. Should I do something different with my hair tonight? I mean, other than banish the late-for-work-homeless look. Tell all. My hairdresser will adore us. Remember that time I sat down, and with a straight face said, "I'm thinking perm."
June. Cut her hair for the challenge. Stay for the hilarity. And sixty dollars.
Heart hands,
Lunchy June
