I went out last night. Slept in m'pearls. I also took Lottie with me, because I'm living like a HERMIT not going places because I feel bad about putting her in a crate too much. And unlike my mother, who has a dog-sitter come all the time when she goes out, I can't do that because not rich.
So she went with me. I was like Paris Hilton or some similar asshole. We had a good time, and she was fairly well-behaved, actually, but we got home after midnight--we'd let it all hang out--and she went straight to her crate and passed out. Drunk. She had on a little party hat, streamers all over her ruff. Dog phone numbers written on her paw.
Probably no one does that anymore, look desperately for a pen and then write your number on someone's hand. I remember having a phone number on my knee once, and getting up and heading straight to the pool the next morning, then finally looking down and going, Whose fucking number is that?
Nice. I hope my Lot doesn't have a number on her knee.
Speaking of Lottie, slutty Lottie who may have a drinking problem (she's in there gulping water like a banshee as we speak), I took another laundry basket shot of her.
May 19. May 19. Well, we can't dance together. No, we can't talk at all. Please take me along when you climb on down.
June 5. Say, Lottie, why don't you try changing dramatically?
June 26. She's also grown a fifth paw. Helpful.
Also, in much more important news, this is happening...
Oh my GOD, my life is complete. Remember when I had that idea to feature June's Junk each week, where I review junk food so you don't have to? I wanted to start with the Frito Burrito, which was the greatest thing ever invented and why so chubby. But NOW. NOW we have something to live for. I will report back to you forthwith. Oddly, they're coming out with it on a Monday, which, why?
But now I live for Monday. And the deliciousness that awaits me. There was a Burger King at the end of my street till a few months ago. It closed after more than 30 years. Ned told me that in high school, he and his friends went there for lunch every day. All the other kids went to McDonald's, but they were the alternative kids who went to BK.
Anyway, now it's gone and it's the only time I've needed Burger King. Will do Google search forthwith. Forthwith is a very big word with me today.
In other news that's not nearly as exciting as deep-fried mac and cheese dusted with FUCKING CHEETOS TEENSY ORGASM COULD NOT HELP, I have a friend who's going through the shit right now, the shit that life throws at you sometimes, so yesterday we had lunch and went to the cemetery. Because what's more fun than that?
As usual, I took photos to keep on hand for potential cat names. Behethland T is a perfect cat name.
These are m'cats, Bill Friddle and Myrtle Cheek. You totally pictured orange tabbys when I said that, didn't you? Those are orange tabby names. (June makes new plan. New cat import plan. June notes there is no one to stop her.)
Another excellent cat name. I see a tuxedo tabby. You could even say, "Wherefore art thou, Romeo?" even though that doesn't actually mean "Where are you, Romeo."
Anyway, my friend came up with his own tombstone idea, which will be the Google Map red pointy thing, all shiny and red, with "He has reached his destination" on his tombstone. Which, really, is an excellent idea. "What do you want on your tombstone?" he asked.
"I told you I was sick," I said. Too quickly. Have given too much thought.
We strolled around and decided any time someone had an image on their stone, it was a clue to how they died. One person had a sand dollar on her tombstone. "Someone in her family threw one at her and accidentally sliced her head open," said my friend.
"Bad frog legs," I said, then planned my own commitment ceremony.
"Butterfly attack."
"Her dog ate her."
"Died from clapping," said my friend, and I honestly don't know why he and I are having stretches of bad luck right now. When bad things happen to good people.
Anyway, I'm just saying, I don't know why more people don't hang at the cemetery, because I just loves it. I invite everyone to come make fun of my stone once it gets here, which will be sooner rather than later once I get addicted to deep-fried mac and cheese.
Dusted in Cheetos. Maybe that should be my epitaph. Dusted in Cheetos.
Anyway, I gotta go. I'm teaching that sensitivity seminar, and then I have my healthy cooking class I lead on weekends.
XO,
Myrtle Cheek
