Huge Ackman

I am in here because Marvin is watching a documentary about seahorses. I am not even making that up. Really, how could I make that up?

I am surprised that Marvin would be pursuing any movie at this juncture, as we just returned from the movie Australia, which neither of us knew was 12 hours long. Seriously, if you do not know this? When you go to see the movie and you think you are at the part where it's the logical end? It is JUST BEGINNING!

And one thing Marvin is? Patient with movies that he is not enjoying. He doesn't suck the JOY out of everyone else's experience or anything. First he does the thing where he leans forward in his theater chair. Then he THROWS himself backwards with a sigh. Sometimes he does a loud, theatrical snoring sound.

In this movie, every time you thought it was over and they went on to a new plot twist? Which was about 11 different times in the movie? Marvin would say, "Oh, come on" in the world's most exasperated voice. At one point American planes flew in and Hugh Jackman said, "Those are Yanks, what are they doing here?" "Making the movie longer, that's what they're doing here," Marvin said.

Marvin needs meditation or yoga or something.

Anyway, seriously two hours and forty-five minutes later, the movie was over, and as the credits rolled, Marvin sat motionless. "I know there's more. They'll show outtakes or bloopers or something." I made him leave before all the other people in the theater stoned us.

Even thought the film took place during World War II, as we got into the car, Marvin said, "I thought for sure we'd get through the Korean War, Vietnam, then I expected Men at Work to show up in a video."

Marvin does not enjoy a bad film. I guess he is trying to cleanse his palate with the seahorses.

I thought it was sort of okay. I mean, Hugh Jackman. How bad can it be?

We also went to the Natural Science Center today, because it is important that we leave our house of pets to go look at other animals. It'd be like if you got a babysitter so you could go to Gymboree or something. We went into the room with (ALERT, TEE! SNAKE MENTION COMING UP!) snakes, and while I am not hoping to see one coiled up in my yard, I am fine with them behind glass.

So I was peacefully staring at an (BRACE YOURSELF, TEE!) anaconda, when this woman with a toddler came up and tapped on the glass.

If you want to make me happy? Be sure to come tap on the glass at some poor trapped animal's cage. Because I'm certain you're not the NINETIETH person to do that today, so rest assured it is (a) really effective at getting the animal's attention and (12) not at all annoying to the poor thing. So I basically was already irritated at this woman.

"Ugh," she said. "Look at that thing. Ugh. It's sick, disgusting, and gross. That's what it is. Ack. I can't look at these snakes." She made her way to the next tank and tap-tap-tapped.

"Um, you're really not supposed to tap on the cage. See the signs?" I told her. I can't help it. I'm sure if the snakes could TALK they would say the same thing. Only in a more hissy fashion.

"So," I said, trying to seem not like the prissy busybody I was, "you don't like snakes, then?"

"No," the woman said, "I have a real phobia. But I'm trying not to pass it on to my daughter."


Now, what part of "ack" "disgusting" and "gross" is going to give your impressionable child a POSITIVE, UNPHOBIC feeling about snakes?

I don't know why I go to science centers. I just get angry.

However, they had a lot of cool stuff there, including an infrared camera that showed my hair was much colder than Marvin's mostly because it was so much further away from my body.

And speaking of Marvin and me, there were two monkeys there, and I do not know what kind so don't even ask. They were the cute kind. Anyway, there was a blonde one and a black one, and you could walk up and see them in this big yard. Well. The black one? Sitting off to himself, happily eating an apple. He didn't care who was looking at him. He had his apple and he was all set.

The blonde? Holy crap. That monkey was swing-swing-swinging from rope to rope, TWIRLING around on the ground, literally dancing for the crowd. There were two windows on either side of its yard, and it would leap to each window and entertain each crowd separately. While the black one ate its apple.

We watched them for a long time before it hit me. They were us! I was the blonde crowd-pleaser, twirling and grabbing my rope, and Marvin was the apple-eater. Now I totally wish I had brought a camera.

Did you know that seahorses are being overfished because some cultures think that consuming seahorses makes them more virile? Also, they live on sea ranches and they can change colors. 

They are hard to ride sidesaddle.

You can start with the theatrical snoring at any time, now.

And how could I ever refuse? I feel like I win when I loooooooose.

Tonight I was on my way to get antidepressants for my cat (shut up) and the song Waterloo by ABBA was on. I think one of you may have mentioned that it was your least-most-favorite song back when I asked you all to write in and tell me your least-most-favorite songs. And while I understand your angst, I do love me the ABBA.

So I was at a red light, and I was doing the arm movements to the song that they did in Muriel's Wedding, which if you haven't seen it is a good movie.

Anyway, I was thoroughly enjoying my own self, with my arm movements and my singing, which let's not forget I am not allowed to do at home or in front of Marvin ever, so alone in my car is really my only singing time. So there I was, flapping my arms,

Waterloo! Couldn't escape if I wanted to! Waterloo! Knowing my fate is to be with you. Oh woah woah woah Waterloo! Finally facing my Waterloo.

And do you know right there next to me was an entire family in an SUV, just staring at me like they had nothing better to do while stopped at a red light? What were they all doing out on the day after Thanksgiving anyway? Why can't people leave me alone? With my arm movements. And my Waterloo.

And YES, my cat is depressed. That's why she wears all black, I guess. And puts on her Leonard Cohen albums. I think she might be smoking pot. Just meow no, Ruby.

Tonight she takes her first pill. I had to go to a special you-are-a-bad-cat-parent pharmacy downtown tonight to get her pills. I walked in and said, "Hello, I'm here for Ruby DeLuna's antidepressants. Because apparently you can take me out of LA, but you can't take the LA out of my cat." I mean, really, I know. First my dog is sporting Betty Grable turtlenecks and now I am mood-enhancing my cat. Francis is trying EST next week. We are going to get a redwood hot tub so we can all sit in it and share our feelings.

You really can't escape your childhood, can you?

And speaking of my unstable pets, guess who is afraid of Christmas lawn decor? Tallulah has put on her brakes and growled at (A) a large, inflatable snowman and (2) an animatronic Santa with penguins singing. Maybe she is Jewish. Or just tasteful.

There is a big contest in my neighborhood where you get a THOUSAND BUCKS for the best-decorated lawn. Who is going to have truck-sized brakes installed onto her paws? She is going to be hoarse by New Year's, from the growling. Oy.

I had better sign off now, as Winston is finishing up his scream therapy and I have to pick him up. 

Sans turkey

I get irritated when people say "Turkey Day." I know this makes me the crabbiest person on earth, but what else is new. It's just one of those we've-heard-it-already phrases that I am over, along with voracious reader and metrosexual. I guess metrosexual is a word, and not a phrase, per se.

Do you know what no one says anymore and I am glad about? "Get a clue." People are pretty much done with that one. Remember how funny "Beam me up, Scottie" was the first time you heard it? It really was. I don't mean when you heard it on Star Trek, I mean in the context of someone wanted to leave somewhere because there was no intelligent life…oh, forget it.

I just had to go through all my comments from yesterday to make sure nobody said "Have a happy Turkey Day" because then I would feel bad.

Anyway, my turkey day was fine, how was yours? Why is the Macy's parade so terrible? Do you remember that it used to be good when we were kids? Is it just that we were kids so we didn't know any better? Because we thought those Hanna-Barbera cartoons with the same background that appeared over and over when the characters were running were really good too. So what did we know?

All that lip synching and the floats are so low now! Did they used to have all those musical acts? Wasn't it just Snoopy and Underdog floats and then Santa showed up and that was the whole parade? Did they stop and interview the Jonas Brothers and all that when we were kids? Because I don't remember that.


I take it back. I did NOT know the parade got Rick Rolled. Did anyone see that!?! Hilarious.

Marvin and I celebrated Thanksgiving this year with just the two of us and our 800 pets.DSCF1482

I know it looks like I stabbed Tallulah in the back with a rake in this picture, but really we–and when I say "we" I mean Marvin–were staining our new bookcases this morning so we had the door open, and Lula was lounging in the doorway looking so angelic. I did note that on Marvin's Facebook page he said he was thinking of trading in his dog for a less-annoying model. But she looks unannoying here.


I didn't even bother to get dressed until noon, and because I was trying to avoid being near that varnish, I sat in the back room where the open door was, as well. Francis took full advantage of this, and made biscuits on me for many hours. He gets a ridiculous dreamy expression and swings his head from side to side in a Stevie Wonder kind of a way when he is making biscuits on me. If you do not have cats you have no idea what I'm talking about right now and you are probably terribly worried that the next time you eat at your cat friend's house that their cat will actually make the bread product, aren't you?


Finally, dinner was served. Note that we had all side dishes and no turkey. Please also note that we have skeleton hands for our salad. Marvin loves the skeleton hands. We have real salad servers for when actual grownup people come over. I asked Marvin to not pose, so I don't know what to tell you about this Kewpie Doll look he's got going.

I would like everyone to take note of my Nester tassel on our corner cabinet. Thank you.


Um. Not grateful for this. And what Thanksgiving meal would be complete without generic Windex?

Me and luWe took a large after-dinner walk, to burn off those calories. We will be walking to Tibet, then. Tallulah found a chicken bone, making her the only one of us who tried to consume an animal today, and the only one of us who did not eat generic Windex for dinner.

I know you were looking forward to replacing me with a funnier blogger, but no such luck.

I'm fine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, Lord, this has been a harrowing few days. Seriously.

I took your advice and called the mammogram place back and asked them to s-l-o-w-ly read me my test results. The woman said, "An asymmetrical speculated density. Oh, see honey, that's nothing! He's just speculating there's a density."

The 15 minutes I had spent online had already told me that "speculated" was not the word this woman was seeing. "Read that closer. Are you seeing 'spiculated,' there?"

"S-p-i-c-u-l-a-t-e-d. Oh, yeah, I guess I am."

I started to cry. "Spiculated is not good," I told the woman who, you know, WORKS AT THE MAMMOGRAM PLACE.

When they find things on your mammogram, if it's spiculated, it means it kind of looks like a starburst, and I do not mean the fruit chew. A starburst in your breast is not your friend. At all.

I had no idea I could be as terrified as I have been since Monday morning. In fact, the last thing I ATE was a bowl of oatmeal at 8 o'clock Monday morning. I have actually been shaking since then. Constantly. I haven't slept much. I had NO WAY to make myself feel better.

After the speculation/spiculation conversation yesterday, I left work. I called around and got in to have a mammogram today, instead of waiting until next week. Then yesterday I had my crown put on at the dentist, which if you have dental phobia? Go ahead and be convinced you have cancer. That will take your mind right off what they're doing to you in that chair.

So today I went to the new place, with my report from the old place in hand. They mashed me around and took a bunch of pictures. Then they told me the doctor would come talk to me. You know what's awful? Waiting in that room for the doctor, that's what's awful.

The door opened, and it was the technologist from before. "Honey, we're going to ultrasound."

"What? Why? I thought I was gonna talk to the doctor!"

"Are you shaking? Don't shake. This is just what we are gonna do, hon. Let me get you a warm blanket."

There was a bad photograph of tulips on the ceiling. I wondered who weeded that garden with all those tulips. Finally the doctor came in and asked how I was. "I am not good," I told him.

"Well, neither am I," he said. "I do not agree at all with your first report. I don't see any spiculation, and I don't see it on the pictures we took today. I'm gonna take an ultrasound to be extra sure."

I started to cry. Again. I have cried 9,659 times in 72 hours. "Are you saying everything is okay?" I asked him. "I think it is," he said. Then he did the ultrasound and the tensi0n was as thick as my hair. "Yeah, I see nothing. Come back in six months. You just have dense tissue."

My hair is dense, my brain is dense, my tissue is dense. I can so live with that.

In the meantime, thank you all for writing to me. I have been too big of a nut to post. Unfortunately, during one of my 11 million crying jags I told Marvin I would do anything for my results to be okay and he said "Including moving back to Tiny Town?" and I said yes and now I have to TOTALLY backtrack on that.

 I am dying to weigh myself; I wish my stupid scale had batteries. Oh! I can't wait for Thanksgiving now! Can you?

Wherein June is inspirational to no one.

DSCF1181Me, in September, before my WHOLE LIFE GOT CRAPPY.  And not to mention carpy.

Remember a few months ago, when I went to the doctor because my face was numb and I thought it was a pulled muscle or something and he said no no, you have some horrid brain thing and I went two or three weeks thinking I might have some sort of horrid brain thing and then it turned out to be nothing?


So, first of all, I cracked a tooth this week, which I know for the rest of normal society would be like, "Ugh. I have to go to the dentist. Yuck."

For me, in the meantime, I am half hoping to be stuck dead by lightning before my Wednesday appointment, I will have trouble sleeping until it gets here, and the day of I have to take Xanax. Just writing about it now I am starting to shake a little.

I am not pretty about the dentist.

Then, today I called home to check my messages to see if Ruby's test results came back (and for those of you who know me in real life who keep emailing me about her, she is not dying or anything. She is just old. She is going to be okay, for now). There was one message.

"Hello, June, this is the mammogram center calling."

I was all, hunh. Did I leave my coat there or something? Seriously. That is how in denial I was. My coat. Did I leave my coat there. "Please call us at your earliest convenience."

Well, guess what? My earliest convenience turned out to be right that second. And they told me they found "a density" in my test and need to do another test before they turn in their final report.

"Okay," I said. "How scared do I need to be?"

"Well," said the woman, "the results say a density of bluh de bluh bluh, with a bloobidy bloo bloo and other medical things that I am saying at 45 miles an hour because I am as sensitive as sandpaper, but it also says it doesn't look like a malignancy. I call about eight woman a day with this sort of thing."

"Um-hmm. And how many of them die of breast cancer?" I asked her.

"Your doctor, Dr. Yow? Yooo–"

"Yoo," I snapped.

"Yoo — can tell you more. He has these results too." So my hysterical you-have-a-tumor doctor has waited a WEEK and hasn't called me about my "density"?

I made an appointment for NEXT TUESDAY. Not tomorrow, NEXT DING AND ALSO DANG TUESDAY for I don't even know what test. I talked to Dr. Yow/Yooooo/Yo's nurse who said Dr. Yoo did NOT have my results, so who even knows what to believe. In the meantime I went to my boss's office to tell her I'd be missing work next ridiculous Tuesday morning.

"Cindy," I said, "they –"

And that was as far as I got before I started to cry in front of my boss. The one who doesn't like me as it is. Then I went in my office and sat on the floor for two hours, one of them my lunch hour, one of them not, and sobbed.

I cannot handle this.

I am not strong.



I cannot believe I have this AND a dentist appointment in the same week. Seriously. Next thing you'll tell me it's the all-jazz-all-cilantro Thanksgiving this year. With mimes.

My father did point out that if it is something, that at least I could get a wig that didn't, you know, frizz up. Which I guess is something. But in the meantime I am not taking it one step at a time. I am not being stoic. I am not keeping my wits about me.


What Smells Loud?

It is Sunday night, and I am drinking my 57th Aquapod of the night because Marvin and I had Chinese food for dinner and Mr. Salty called and wants his sodium content back. Yeesch. I feel like a salt lick.

It is going to bother my mother that I am drinking this much water before bed. "Won't you have to get up and go to the bathroom?" I can just hear her. It bugs her that I don't have to go as much as she does. It also bugs her that I fail to have wadded-up Kleenex in every pocket. Seriously, does this woman have a cocaine problem that I don't know about? Whose nose needs this much wiping?

Speaking of people who are older than me, I went to the movies today because Marvin was playing guitars with his friend Ron, which I understand has nothing to do with anyone being older than me yet and you wish I'd get to the freaking point for once. But really, who is the nicest wife ever? Certainly not me, but I am definitely up there with the pretty good wives.

DSCF1480Nearly every weekend, Marvin's friend Ron comes over and the two of them get out 11,367 pieces of musical equipment and spread it yonder. Plus, then they play loud music and sing. They usually do it at our house because Ron has two kids and two dogs. Which I guess is more chaotic than one dog and three cats. And a paparazzi wife. Hey, I just noticed you can see two small bookshelves in that photo above.

LoveAnd two small bookshelves in this photo! Ron looks  like he loves Marvin here, doesn't he? Ron is only the nicest guy on earth.  

Oh, and in  answer to all the things you asked me in my bookshelf post, we have a bunch of 8-track players and I can't believe anyone is excited about them because I personally would like to be playing 8-tracks out Marvin's hind end. We have anything that ever played music ever at any point in history in our house, and we usually have 87 examples of each genre. We have a Victrola, 950 portable radios (that's what those multicolor balls are someone asked about before, that you can just see past Ron, there), we have fancy radios, fancy stereos, we have stuff I don't even know what it is, and all I want to do is hear the same four ABBA songs on cassette that I have liked since 1979.

So, GETTING BACK TO THE PART WHERE I WAS GONNA TALK ABOUT OLD PEOPLE, when Ron came over, I made myself scarce so I went to the movies. I went to a French film called Tell No One and the only other people in there were two older couples and then two older women together.


Oh. And I did want to show you that on the back of Marvin's notebook he has a picture of Richard Carpenter. Okay, why? Should I be at all concerned?

So, before the movie starts, said older people were all talking. A lot. I mean, no one was taking the time for any companionable silence. I was thinking okay, maybe I am just noticing it because I am here alone, you know? But then? When the movie started? And there were subtitles?

You guys.

Through the whole movie.







I mean, you all know I like me the old people. And I would've thought out of any group of people at the theater, OLD people would be the most polite. I mean, weren't they taught to be quiet in the theater? I would have thought those darn kids would be the ones to talk and be annoying. And it wasn't just the subtitles. They were talking back to the screen. There was one part where the guy with the red, dead wife found pictures of his wife all beat up, and he told his friend he'd never beaten his wife. One of the women said:


I mean, this was a FOREIGN FILM! Who WERE these yahoos at my movie? I couldn't believe it! I wanted to give all six of them a good scolding after, but I didn't dare. I still love me the old people, and have signed up to be a visitor to people who apparently have no visitors. What if it's one of these magnificent six and they recognize me as the terrible woman who yelled at them at Tell No One?

Maybe they thought it was called Tell Everyone.

June. Ending more marriages than Angelina Jolie.

You guys! Look what happened!

Faithful reader Tarva went out and adopted the cutest puppy you ever did see and she named it June! Her husband hates me, as does her other dog!

Oh, LOOK at that puppy! Look at Lucky's irked expression!

This whole thing has made me very exclamation pointy!

Shelf this

Peedaddle. Which trust me, is a euphemism for some much stronger language, over here. I just spent an HOUR writing an whole huge post, and the thing got lost. Many bad words are being said here in the house of the Gardensalad.

So let me reiterate, before I was so RUDELY interrupted by stupid stupid stoooopid computers and their technology.

The first and most important thing I was telling you was that I declared it Talk Like Fred Snyder Day, which was created precisely to annoy the bijingles out of Marvin, and that it did.

Fred Snyder is that guy from the B-52s. It's easy to talk like him. Just say lots of simple declarative sentences, but say it LIKE IT'S A PARTY!


It's also helpful to bop your head a little.


When we got home today from our many adventures, Tallulah had barfed on the couch.


Oh, Marvin hates me today.

 Also, we had depressing news. Our beautiful cat, Ruby, continues to do not so well. I do not wish to get into the particulars, but we took her to our vet today, Dr. Ho, an excellent vet whose name Marvin and I are not obsessed with in the slightest. Is she a PhD in prostitution? Is she a doctor and also a ho? Our maturity is limitless.DSCF1002

Anyway, the end result is that Ruby now gets her own room. She is in the spare bedroom with her own litter pan, food, bed, and she seems to be enjoying this tremendously, actually.

And Tallulah and Winston? OBSESSED. Obsessed with the spare room. Neither of these bozos could've given two hoots about that room until some sick cat was convalescing in there, and now there is nothing more compelling than those four walls. Winston got his easel and told me he wants to capture the room at sunset with his watercolors. Tallulah got her smudge stick and said she needs to get in there to remove the room of bad energy.

Whatever with those two and their snouts at the door.

Francis, who is similarly old and crotchety, spends most of his day glaring at all of us from his pink chair,  so he does not care where Ruby is. He has lived with Ruby for 11 years and has rarely cared where Ruby is, actually.

But the good news is this. Do you remember in June, when my next-door neighbor Peg came over? I really, sincerely hope you do not remember that, because that is just too much June trivia to have, there. Anyway, Peg is an interior designer, a fancy one, which I know not because she said, "I'm fancy!" but because I figured it out when I went to her house and saw her awards.

Anyway, way back in June she came over and suggested I ixnay all the small ookshelvesbay. For those of you not sophisticated and bilingual in pig latin such as myself, I will explain.

Front door 

As an English major, I have manymanymany books. And may I remind you I moved from Michigan to Seattle, Seattle to LA, and LA to here? You'd think I'd have PARED DOWN the books, and I have. But still, with the books already. But as an English major, I have always been poor and cheap, and therefore I have always ended up buying small bookshelves instead of investing in large ones.

Are you expanding these pictures and looking at my books? Oooo, stop! I feel so invaded.


Hunh. A smallish bookshelf. And yes, that is a painting of a pie. I am actually not that obsessed with pie.

And I know there are at least three beauty and diet books visible on this bookshelf. I want you to know I a really not that shallow.

Oh heck, I am so.

Back porchWell, have you ever? A small bookshelf! So, way back in June, my fancy neighbor took me to the unfinished furniture store, which does not mean the store is unfinished, but rather the furniture is.


Hey! Is that a small bookshelf? And also an obsessed Winston at Ruby's door? So the reason I never bought said bookshelves is because it would have cost nearly a thousand bucks to do so. But today I got a bug up my rear and I said to Marvin, LET'S GO TO THE STORE! THE UNFURNISHED STORE!

Then I bopped my head.

And do you know? They were GOING OUT OF BUSINESS. I had no idea. We got three 84" shelves for 184 bucks each, which is a savings of 11 million dollars. I am standing here beside myself.


This blog just keeps gettin’ weirder

Faithful reader Stephanie just made me a part of Donna's family. In the '70s.

Me and fam 

It's like I'm visiting from the future, telling Donna's mom a little secret. "Donna is gonna put this picture on mybloooooog! We are all gonna obsess over it! Don't spend your money on this phoooootoooo!"

But while you're up, what is this?


I mean, other than an empty bird feeder because I am obviously the meanest person on earth? What is this–this substance all over the ground?


My car was similarly covered in this…thing which I sort of hoped was vanilla frosting. It somehow hearkened back to my childhood. To those many years in Michigan, when I said, "MOTHER OF PEARL WHY DO WE LIVE IN A SNOWY CLIMATE?! I CANNOT WAIT TO MOVE AWAY!!"

You guys. We moved to the SOUTH. I thought it was all, you know, hot and syrupy and magnolia-y here all the time. I thought I was gonna fan myself indolently with a palm frond. What is with the SNOW action?


Marvin had to pour hot water on my windshield because we don't own any of those thingies to scrape off the car. Yes, we did both grow up in Michigan. Shut up. You honestly forget. Plus, remember the part where we thought we'd be indolent with the palm frond?

And yes, Marvin is in his pajamas. They delayed school two hours. At least if it's gonna snow in the South, they have the decency to be wimpy about it.

Do you know what I need? Warm clothing, is what I need. All I have are cotton pants and cute little flats. Do you think I own one pair of tights or any sort of foot-covering device? One of my LA friends said I could get something called Cuddle Duds, but I am sorry, I cannot bring myself to purchase anything with the name "Cuddle" in the title. I could purchase something with "Duds" in the title, but that would also involve "Milk."

Oh, and hey! Speaking of bizarre images, did you notice my blog looks a little differented up? Sadie Olive, my fine blog designer, did some Botox injections. So I revamped my description, because how often do I talk about health (oh, and by the way I did try to weigh myself like I said I was gonna, and my scale just says "Lo" when you turn it on. I figure it is saying, "Girl, don't even bother to step on here. Your weight is lo, girl. You look GOOD! Mmm!" Or perhaps it needs batteries.), and I have my cute Comment of the Week thing, not to mention I now have Disease a la Mode, where I will fill you in on what's wrong with me now. Plus I still have blogs I like, although I am telling you now that people who go more than a month without updating are gettin' kicked off that list and I am talking to you, Miss Doxie!

And finally, I am not that mean. It's just that those birds will eat a whole tube of that seed in ONE DAY, I am not even kidding you and sometimes life takes over and I forget to refill it. But I try. I am tryin', dog. Keepin' my head above water. Makin' a wave if I can. Temporary layoffs. Good times!

That's what the birds will say if I ever feed them their ding-dang seed again.

Special of the Week

Poor Faithful Reader Juice thought Faithful Reader Paula was really dead, based on some stupid joke I made in a post. We are all very lucky that Juice is at least cute. Anyway, Paula checked in from hell many times…
Just Paula. said in reply to Juice (and inflatable Toast) (and Chloe)

Yes. I died. It is warm here but at least we have wifi. Gotta dash, having smores with Hitler.

Just Paula. said…

Barbecue at Jack the Ripper’s tomorrow!
(Someone wanted Paula to check if one of their enemies was in hell…)
Just Paula. said in reply to BStar…

Certainly! I’ll check with Eva Braun in Admissions.

Just Paula. said…

My favorite part? Molotov Cocktail Hour!!

Just Paula. said…

Pot luck with Pol Pot!

Just Paula. said…

Also? All the shades and blinds are always crooked.

Just Paula. said…

Book club with Oliver Cromwell.