Yesterday I got my 10,000 steps in, did 35 minutes of Tracy Chapman, and then sat down to watch Real Housewives with a bag of Fritos. And this is why I hate myself.
Oh, also I walked Edsel yesterday, and the people on the corner have an 8-week-old BABY GERMAN SHEPHERD PUPPY. As opposed to an adult puppy.
They did the thing. They were all out in the yard, letting it run free, so I made Edsel stop. "He's okay," they said, meaning their bitty puppy. Sigh.
"He's NOT," I said, meaning my dog-eat-dog-world of a dog. Jesus Christ. Ima start a national campaign. STOP LETTING YOUR DOGS BE LOOSE. NO MATTER WHAT.
My dog is following the rules. He's on a leash. If your free-to-be-you-and-me dog runs up to us, your dog is done for. AND THAT WON'T BE MY FAULT.
If Edsel had eaten that bitty German shepherd puppy snickerdoodle I'd have died of sad.
In other news, this is my last day of work this week. Tomorrow I go on my vacation to the beach. It's supposed to be in the 70s and sunny all week, so yay. I really didn't take vacation this year, except to kill my dog and take Ned to his colonoscopy. So.
Oh, and I meant to ask you. What should I do for my 10-year anniversary of blogging? It's December 15, and I thought I should do something more than what I did for the two-year cotton anniversary in 2008.
Nice. Also, while I was Google Imaging "ByeByePie" + "Cotton," I found this...
Did I once give away cupcake floss? Because mmmmmm!
Also, "give away." Did I once promise and never send someone cupcake floss?
Anyway, my 10-year anniversary. Should I have you all over? Should we all go to Hawaii together or something? Do tell me your ideas. A lot has happened in these damn 10 years.
Also too also, I am sick of my hair. I been doing the same damn thing to it for ages.
My hurr, in 2014
My hurr with DW's mom, in 2011
My hurr, 2013. How bad do you want me to stop saying "hurr"?
My friend Jo called last night, ironically, to ask me what she should do with her hair, and one place to go for all your hair advice is my house. June's House O' Hurr. Anyway what she told me is "not a damn thing. Don't change your hair."
Basically Jo doesn't want me to go changin', to try and please her. I've never let her down before.
Oooooo.
What say you? I mean, if I cut it short I'll look like George Washington. If I blow it straight I'll look basic. I can't win.
I gotta go. This whole time I've been trying to write you, a teensy annoying gray paw has been striking me from behind the computer. Is there a 24-hour drive-through put-your-kitten-to-sleep place near here?
I probably won't blog from the beach because I used to be able to email this blog and post that way, but now Typepad claims you can do that but it never actually posts what you emailed. So. I also can no longer reply to comments unless I get on here and comment directly, a thing that always looks good at my desk in the open floor plan.
Talk to you later, when I'll be sure to say hilarious things including "Life's a Beach." Maybe I'll even get one of those "Life's Good" stickers that don't make me want to kill everyone around me or anything. Here's what happens every time I see one of those stickers:
Sticker: Life's Good! : )
June: Fuck you. You fuck sticker.
XO,
Jooooon
