I came home tonight and put on my new party shoes, then hoisted my legs up the wall, because who doesn't? Then I took a picture of said shoes so you could see them in all their glory.
It's an eBay phone. I don't mean that it dials directly to eBay, which would be nice, I mean that our old kitchen in Burbank was all knotty pine and retro, so we got a yellow dial phone on eBay just because we thought it'd look cool in that kitchen.
I just tried to find you photos of that kitchen, and next time I need pictures of something else I will find them, but in the meantime I found photographs of me being inappropriate during dinners. Just a little something to make Sandy quiver when she considers me attending her wedding this weekend. In the not-at-all-noticeable red dress.
Really, if you can't call attention to yourself at a family dinner, when can you? I don't even like red and green peppers. But they make fine tusks.
We were at a wedding where chocolate coins were given out, which made sense given the groom's last name. And now you are sitting there thinking, "His last name is Pesos? Moneypenny? Coin?" Oh, give up. Anyway, could my mother and I leave it alone? Could we bring any dignity to our table? Of course not.
But that is not why I have gathered you all here today. What I was really going to talk about was how I was lying on the floor of the kitchen, my legs hoisted in the air, and I realized I could get some really unflattering shots of Tallulah at that angle. Who's the worst dog mom ever?
Oh sure, I'll pay to have MY double chin fixed, but I let old jowly flap in the breeze.
I just like this one because Tallulah is in front of the trash closet where food might also be kept, and I can see Winston's little foot in there. He likes to sneak into the closet and try to break into the food. You know what that square is on the floor? A piece of the cat food bag. What a jerk.
You're right, Tallulah. My deepest apologies. Now go to bed. Goodnight, honey. No, really, I'm hitting "Post" right now. No more unflattering photos of you. Goodnight.
I just saw that I can compose posts from email if I enter this super-secret-squirrel email address. I am testing it out now. If it is true, I will never be sad again.
I really have nothing to say, I just want to check out this technological advancement. OH! I DO have something to say. I still really think that many of my replies to your comments are going in your spam, either that or NONE of you have anything to say back to me, ever. Please check your spam for emails from “byebyepieblog.”
Also too, I am getting hundreds of emails a day now, so please do not be offended if it takes me 108 years to reply to yours.
I really should be proofreading an index right now and not typing this. I am a terrible person.
I was toppled, toppled I tell you, by a migraine last night, which means I went to bed at 6:11. Because it's important to get your 12 hours in.
YES. I take Topamax so I don't get migraines. But it doesn't remove them 100%. What do you want me to do?
Anyway, fortunately Marvin got the dog from day care, so as soon as I got home I PUT ON THE RED DRESS I AM WEARING THIS WEEKEND SO JAN STOPS HAVING FITS, had Marvin take a photo, then went straight to bed. Well, I took the dress off first.
Really, I don't know why Marvin isn't a photo stylist. What could be more festive than wedging your subject between the Victrola and the TV? Plus, I LOVE the stripy tights with the dress. Mmm! That's JUST how I'm gonna wear it the day of the wedding.
If you can get past my tights, those are the shoes I am wearing with the dress. They are a kind of metallic silvery gray and I am wearing silver dangly earrings the day of. And I'm getting my hair straightened. Oh! And I found the Vera Wang cropped faux fur jacket to wear over this to and from the wedding, or if I get a chill during. It too is a silvery gray.
I can tell I have a migraine in this photo.
That is all. I have eaten nothing since lunch yesterday and I have no personality.
Anyway, you'll see 9,000 photos of me and Dottie actually dressed up at the wedding, plus photos of the bride if we can get them in.
This is the weekend that I will be going to Michigan to attend the wedding of my friend Sandy. I went to college with Sandy. Sandy was always perfect. The end.
My date for the wedding is my other college friend, Dottie. Most of the people I mention on my blog have made-up names, but Dottie's name is actually Dottie. I am thinking that before I spend the weekend with both Sandy and Dottie, it would be fun to dig out college pictures of both of them, although I have to get their permission first.
It occurs to me that I lived with both of them at different points. When I lived with Dottie, we had a deal: every third day, it was that person's turn to buy the 30-pack of Stroh's. The THIRTY-PACK! Nice. Dottie worked at a popular sandwich restaurant that perhaps Jerrod might frequent, and I would visit her there often, and certainly not so that I could receive free sandwiches or anything. That would have been wrong and she never would have abused the popular sandwich restaurant that Jerrod might frequent in that fashion.
Anyway, seeing as Dottie and I are about to spend the entire weekend together, it was important that we spend an hour on the phone this past weekend. I do not have any idea what pressing topics we discussed, although I think we touched on our 8,957 pets.
While I was talking to Dot, I did this:
I color-coordinated all the books on my bookshelf. Have I lost my mind?
I told Dottie I was doing this while we talked, and she was slightly taken aback that I was not giving her my full attention. Really, it didn't take a lot of concentration to put reds with reds and blues with blues. But in her defense, I do have to say that although she has two young children, Dottie has never interrupted me in mid-sentence to talk to her kids. Which is a thing I think people should never do UNLESS YOUR CHILD HAS FLAMES COMING OUT OF ITS MOUTH or something.
So, really, given how polite she is to me on the phone, I should have been more polite to her. But I like how monochromatic my books are now!
I am flipping my lid, aren't I?
Oh, there are so many stories I wish to tell you about Dottie, but each of them involves mind-altering substances, and I feel I must get her permission for simply ALL of them. Man, this bugs me. Let me just summarize it by saying you cannot think the phrase "Dottie in college" without giggling a little.
Oh! I've got one! Dottie used to say "Hola!" instead of hello, which I don't know why. She is from Vermont. Anyway, one night my friend Mark was in my dorm room, having been kicked out so that his roommate could entertain. So we're all lying there, my roommate, Mark, and me, trying to sleep in the cacophony that is the dorm on a Saturday night, when we hear in the hall a giant,
Mark said, "I can name that drunk in one note."
Oh, I can't wait for this weekend.
Before I begin complaining about Jennifer Aniston's hair, I would like to thank Pal from MA, or should I say Aunt Pal from MA, who not only loaned me some earrings, but also sent a nice bone for Tallulah. Sadly, by the time I got my camera to photograph Tallulah enjoying said bone, that thing was already in her past.
Were you worried the earrings were in her gullet, as well?
Okay, so what I have to say is, this was Jennifer Aniston's big moment. It was her opportunity to be all golden and glowy and sunny like she can be, and really show up old Morticia, glowering in the front row, as she in wont to do ALL THE FRICKEN TIME.
Why can't that Angelina Jolie CHEER UP, ever? I mean, you've stolen every man you've ever wanted, you've got all the ink you've ever dreamed of having, you have the 9 million kids you crave. SMILE!
And I really wanted Jennifer Aniston to do it. To be as stunning as I know she can be. And then she didn't brush her hair.
Why do stylists think the rest of us are going to understand their avant-garde things? I mean, maybe Jennifer Aniston's stylist was making some sort of statement I am too shallow to understand, but you know what? Once Jennifer Aniston got to the Vanity Fair party, she brushed her hair. So my feeling is once she had the opportunity to get over the ABJECT TERROR she must have felt at having to go on stage in front of ghoulish Angelina Jolie and her ex-husband–and who wouldn't be nervous about doing that, with all of us watching knowing full well what's going on?–she finally retreated to the bathroom and said, "GREAT GOOGLY MOOGLY, WHAT IS GOING ON WITH MY HAIR?"
And that is when she took a brush to it.
And here's the other part. If I were Jennifer Aniston, I do not care if I were at the Oscars, and the whole world was watching and my career were at stake. If I got out on stage, and old crypt-keeper Angelina Jolie were RIGHT THERE in the front row, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, what I would do is LEAP off the stage, land with my feet on each of Angelina Jolie's armrests, and pull off her snide, too-cool-for-all-this monkey face. I would scream like a banshee and pull that monkey face clean off.
And steal those emerald earrings, is what I'd do. Because those were really pretty.
Then I'd high-tail it out the front door.
Perhaps this is why I'm not a movie star, as I appear to lack any sort of decorum. And I know in reality it is Brad Pitt we should all be mad at, but for some reason–and I am unsure if I have made this evident–I am not fond of Angelina Jolie.
The only person who bugs me more than Angelina Jolie is that Gwyneth Paltrow. I'd like to see those two fight to the death, perhaps on top of the screaming form of that I Kissed a Girl person, Katie Perry or whoever, the one who always has to wear a banana and roll her eyes. Oh, give it up already. Kiss a speeding locomotive.
Someone took her bitter pill today, didn't she?
It is late Saturday night, but I figured I'd better post tonight because I'll never get the chance tomorrow. As you know, it is the Super Bowl day for all women and gay men.
I plan to be answering my phone 11 million times tomorrow, as various people call me to exclaim over particularly bad outfits.
Do you know that when I lived in Los Angeles, even though I was inevitably invited to an Oscar party, or I knew someone who was working at the Oscars, I would for some reason forget and drive past there at some point in the day, and I'd always end up going,"Gee, why is it so crowded on Hollywood Boulevard? Seems really busy for a Sunday."
I never said I was a mental giant.
And no, I never saw anyone walking into the Oscars. They rope that part of the street off, girl, and you have to have some kind of tag on your car to even go down that part of the road. But you can imagine how the already-charming traffic is even more so on Oscar day.
All this talking about multiple phone calls reminded me of a particular humiliation I have hitherto forgotten to tell you about, however, and why not pick a glamorous day like Oscar day to share it?
One time I had, let's just say, an upset tum. Things were not going well in my innards. Naturally, I felt the need to call my mother and regale for her EVERY DETAIL of my misery. She wasn't home, so I left it on her answering machine. And yes, she still has an answering machine, not voice mail, which belts out my message as I'm leaving it.
"Well, there is something wrong with me," I said. "I don't know if I ate something, or I caught a bug, but everything that has ever been in me has come flyin' out of the back of me today, in droves.
"I saw the Barbie shoe I ate in preschool. I saw that turquoise crayon. I saw part of a lung. I think wild monkeys are gonna fly outta there next."
And just in case I hadn't driven the point home, I finished up with "Oh, I'm sick. Seriously, who stepped on that tuba?"
And again. Grace Kelly called. Wants me to play her in the story of her life. Because, refined?
My mother called a few hours later. "Did you get my message?" I asked, wanting sympathy.
"Yes," my mother said. "And the contractors in my kitchen were thrilled to hear all about your bowels, honey."
You can imagine my mother's delight as she turned on her answering machine when they were all there, heard the start of my lovely message, and one of them said, "Oh, we already heard about all that."
Now, why she had to tell them it was her daughter calling was beyond me. Couldn't she have said I was the insane neighbor? Oh, how I hope none of them recognized my senior picture or anything. "Hey! That's June from high school!"
Anyway, on that charming note, I hope you all enjoy the Oscars, if you watch them. It is at times like these that I miss living on West Coast time, as I could actually watch the entire thing. As it is, I will have to stop at about 10:30, because that is as late as I can stay up. Otherwise, I will not feel well the next day, and then I will have to call my mother to tell her about it.
Good gravy. They're lights.
For those of you who don't read my comments, yesterday I posted a perfectly nice photo of my cat Ruby, and at the end of my workday I checked my comments, and did anyone write in and say, "My! What a lovely cat!" No. Probably because nobody uses the interjection "My" unless they're 98 years old.
What every single human being said in the comments was, "What are those ball-looking things in the background?" It was like you were all from some planet where round shapes didn't exist or something, so great was your thirst for the answer to the ball query. So here it is. They are little polka-dotted lights. Wait. I'll go take a picture with them lit up. This should REALLY be exciting…
Note that in the first photo, there was no Marvin but there was a coffee cup on the table, but in the second, the coffee cup was gone and Marvin appeared. Leading one to believe that perhaps Marvin turns into a coffee cup at certain times of the day. That'd be great. That'd be like the female version of that joke where the woman turns into a sandwich and a beer.
Anyway. This week's comment of the week liked to kill me. I did not even give J an honorable mention, so great was my love for Gladys, who made this week's comment. And really? It was not Gladys who killed me, but her husband, who apparently thinks every ailment can be cured by the expelling of gas. You have no idea how many times I have thought of that and gotten hysterical. Slays me.
So Gladys, please share your trophy with your spouse.
Oh man, I should totally make a trophy to mail to the comment of the week person. Some sort of June trophy. It should be really awful. I have no visual skills. Suggestions, please.
It's nearly impossible to take a good picture of Ruby, because she is all black. And it's a shame, because she's so pretty. At least here you can see her lovely profile. And she's not actually peeing on anything at the moment.
The Ask June questions have trickled in, and one was in the wrong place, much like Ruby's deposits. I should not REWARD such behavior (I won't be IGNORED, Dan) but I decided to answer it now, otherwise I will never remember that it exists. For the record, Ask June here.
Linda in CO asks, "When you proofread about something like electrowhateveritwas, do you get and retain any knowledge about your subjects, or is it kind of in one eye and out the other as you pay attention to the proofreading stuff and not the subject?
Will you eventually end up like Rosie in White Men Can't Jump, a f*ing font of useless knowledge?"
Oh, and by the way? I am finding out that when I respond to you guys? And occasionally I do, when you leave a comment, my pithy responses are going in your spam. So check for "byebyepieblog" in your spam. There could be a pithy, pithy gem in there. Apparently "pithy" is a big word for me today.
To answer your question, Linda in CO–and by "CO" I assume you are in Colorado and not some company somewhere or hopelessly codependent–usually not. When I first started I thought oh, aren't I going to get smart, learning about statistics and math and the law and such. Yeah, no. The only thing I ever retained was the time I proofed the sex book. Did you know there is a group somewhere that bites each other's eyebrows off as a form of foreplay? Now, how could you cheat? You'd come home looking like that Pink Floyd guy when he goes crazy at the end of the movie and your spouse would be, "Where've YOU been?"
Have I mentioned lately how much I heart my Topamax? Everyone needs to fake migraines and rush to their doctor NOW.
Frankie, who can't relax, asks, "Am I allowed to be annoyed by grammatical mistakes if they're in another language?"
Frankie asked this question because everybody goes around saying "panini" wrong. I didn't know this, but once she pointed it out to me, I was perfectly willing to be snobby about it. "Panini" is Italian for sandwiches. So saying, "I'd like a panini" is wrong, as you are saying "I'd like a sandwiches." I used to lose my mind when people said "The La Brea Tar Pits," as what people were saying was "The the tar pits tar pits."
Also too? In college? My best friend majored in French, and at the cafeteria they were serving french dip au jus, and the person serving it kept asking each person in line, "Would you like that with au jus?" which is saying "with with juice" and I thought my best friend was going to stroke out.
So yes. I say you absolutely can be annoyed in every language.
I must go be annoyed in English now, as it is my job to do just that. All y'all have a fine day!
Marvin and I are in a big fight.
I usually don't exploit our big fights for blog material, but then again we don't fight a lot.
Don't you just get annoyed when people say about their other person, "Oh, we never fight!" I do not believe that to be true, first of all, and why do people feel the need to appear perfect to the world? And if it IS true, you are repressing a lot of crap, there, honey. That's all I gotta say about that.
Anyway, we are getting 3 trillion seven hundred ninety eight billion dollars back from our taxes this year, which is refreshing, as we usually owe tons of money. This is the only good part about being poor now and also owning a home for the first time.
Since we left LA and Marvin became a teacher, we make a lot less. Ironically, since we left LA and Marvin became a teacher, we were finally able to afford a house. I know that makes no sense, unless you have ever looked at housing prices in LA. Our modest little house would go for about $800,000 in LA. At least it would have when we left. According to my friends back there, everyone is now basically standing in bread lines and it is dramatically different in the past year and a half, so maybe my modest little house would be worth a mere $600,000 now.
What we're fighting not-at-all-fairly about is what to do with the money. Neither of us want to buy anything fun, but I will stop there with the details. Both of us want to do something practical with and dull with it. I'll just say that.
And Tee, he won't take the Dave Ramsey class, I already suggested it!
Why is money such an emotional issue? Geez, Louise.
And in other news, I have not finished my 49 pages of electrophoresis, but I am proud of Frankie who Can't Relax for knowing what it is. Look at the big brain on Brad. Doesn't Frankie who Can't Relax have a PhD in science or something? Can anyone tell me how it is that someone could slog through an entire doctorate program in SCIENCE?
Anyway, I did about 30 pages and I stayed late and I just couldn't get it all done. And this had nothing to do with Paula from New York Dammit and me trying to find out the exact words Bugs Bunny used when he told off that cannibal that time. Do you remember that? He just kind of pretended he knew the cannibal's language and it made him really angry? But it's not the cartoon where the men turn into hot dogs.
Yeah. My inability to get my pages done had nothing to do with trying to look that up or anything.
Do you think this is why I only have a bachelor's degree? My fine attention span?
Hey, maybe Marvin will let me put all the details of our argument on this blog, and we can have a vote on what to spend the money on. Do you think that'd be productive and healthy? I could put one of those little polls on here where you click yes or no and it shows you the results, like they have on People.com, where you vote whether someone's outfit rocked it or not. "Does Marvin's spending plan rock it or suck it?"
If Winston were a Playboy centerfold, and I understand that many odd things would have to transpire in order for that to happen, in the questionnaire part where he filled out his turn-ons and turnoffs, his turn-on would definitely be caps to water bottles.
(His turnoffs would be our other cat Ruby and being accidentally sprinkled with water from the sink. You should SEE how offended he gets if you get water on him. He is so mellow otherwise, but splash a little water on that creature and he goes huffing out of the room like you questioned his heritage. Geez.)
Before his life was ruined and we got this dog, there were eight million seven hundred and fifty thousand water bottle caps on our floor at all times. He would bat them around, and them carry them in his lips like prey. Which really mimics how big cats in the wild do it, with really enormous wild water bottles.
And oh, he was annoying about it. If you were drinking a bottle of water, he would sit over you like a vulture. "You gonna need that bottle cap? You usin' that bottle cap?" Sometimes he would try biting it off himself.
Once we got Tallulah, though, I didn't throw him the caps, for fear Lula would eat them. Winston would literally put a cap in Lula's ass.
Now the dog is getting bigger and she is listening to me when I say "leave it" and "stay," so I am letting that beleaguered cat have his caps back, as long as I watch him like a hawk the entire time and throw the thing away once he's over it. It's relaxing, is what it is.
This, however, has brought the obsession back full force to Winston. He had kind of forgotten he liked the caps, and now the sweet nectar of that orb of plastic has returned.
So imagine my delight when I drank a bottle of water and left the DING DANG CAP next to the bed last night.
Winston didn't discover it until 4:52 this morning. I know this because that is when I woke up today, never to return to the land of slumber. I have 49 pages of really text-heavy scientific pages about electrophoresis due today. Do you know how many I have read? One. Do you have any idea what electrophoresis is? Neither do I.
He starts batting the thing around the bedroom, which awakens Tallulah, so she stirs. "Leave it," I muttered. Poor Tallulah left it, but you could tell she didn't want to. It sounded like Winston was practicing for his tap lessons down there. Or his hockey tournament. Oh, he was batting and pouncing and swishing and doing the sideways spider kitty thing. Tallulah started to get up again.
"LEAVE IT!" I said again, wishing I could throw the cat down a mountain. This time Tallulah lay back down, but started talking. She does this thing where she sounds like Chewbaca and the Tasmanian Devil. "Rooooow ooow rrrooowwwr. Ooow rrooow gggrrrrroowww!" said Tallulah.
So that, folks, is why I am going to be a stellar employee today and why I wish I were one of those "I really don't care much for pets" type of people. Maybe I should just adopt teenage pets. You notice Ruby and Francis had nothing to do with this scenario.
Then again, Winston's centerfold brought in a lot of dough.
In a photo that has nothing to do with this post, look! My daffodils are coming up! And what a blurry photo! I laid on the ground to capture how they match my car, and then spent the rest of the day having an allergic reaction to whatever I laid in.
I am typing this Monday night, late, and I am setting it up to post Tuesday morning. I have officially become one of those people who post in advance now. Although again, some people post WEEKS in advance, to which I reply, "?"
How can you post about what's happening in your life weeks in advance? I guess these particular bloggers are posting about something else. I do not know what. Perhaps they are the types who have particular, I don't know, TOPICS and such.
Anyway, tonight I went to see Frost/Nixon, which means I have now seen every movie nominated for best picture. In case you didn't know, Frost/Nixon is about a time that former President Nixon was really cold.
Honestly, how do you stand the humor?
So, it was good, but I'd like to address the people of Greensboro now.
People of Greensboro, there is this thing called THE TIME THE MOVIE BEGINS. If the paper or your computer tells you the movie begins at 7:15, this means you are to be in your theater seat at — GUESS WHEN? — 7:15. It does not mean that you are to meander in at 7:25, with your giant Coke and your tub o' popcorn, speaking loudly to your companion about where to sit as you stand in front of the screen looking over the seat selection.
It also does not mean that you are to loudly whisper about what is happening onscreen as you use the seat in front of you as a footrest.
In yet another completely unrelated photo, here is Tallulah's new crab. She has had it four days and already it is filthy. Dogs are disgusting human beings.
Seriously, every movie I have been to in Greensboro, I have run into this problem, and I honestly think it is regional. I get to the movie, and I am the only person in the theater when the movie starts, and for the next 20 minutes I am assaulted by popcorn people.
And I do not want to hear about the sitting through the Coke commercials, mom. There are no Coke commercials at either of the theaters I go to here. And some of us consider the previews PART OF THE MOVIEGOING EXPERIENCE, and would rather not be INTERRUPTED DURING THEM!
Can you tell this is sticking in my craw? Apparently my new prescription Vitamin D is not helping with my crankiness yet. I will not even touch on how TV newscasters here pronounce it "Dinver" instead of "Denver."
It's just so SURPRISING, as the Southerners are otherwise so polite. This is the one way they have been inconsiderate. I don't get it.
The other day I came home and Marvin and his friend Ron were in the backyard filming themselves playing guitar. I really have to paint that chair. How do you paint aluminum chairs?
If any Southerner has a theory on this, please let me know. Not why Marvin would film himself. That is between Marvin and the universe. None of us down here can figure that one out.
I forgot to do Special of the Week on Saturday. This week I awarded the dubious distinction to Rachel, who commented on the Free Credit Report Dot Com song. Did I mention I should've seen it coming at me like an atom bomb? Did I mention that song is STILL in my head?
Anyway, J was funny again, too. What else is new? Do you think there'll ever be a week where J is just earnest and deep all week, and we won't be able to give her an honorable mention? Wouldn't that be terrible?
I was busy yesterday, and now it's 10 minutes to 7:00 and I must shower before getting into my street attire, so I will quickly run down for you the pressing highlights of my life. Which I'm sure will matter deeply to you.
1. I just tried to make an automatic numbered list and now it won't let me type next to it and have I mentioned I hate the new Typepad? It has been nothing but trouble.
2. Last Thursday, we were leaving day care and Tallulah jumped up and grabbed a crab toy off the table. She has never done this, so I bought her the toy. It is purple and it crinkles so that whenever she is playing with it in a different room, I think that she has somehow found a shopping bag. The crab is my astrological symbol. Do you think she knew this when she picked it up?
3. I had blood work done at the doctor for a general physical and I am low in vitamin D. Have you ever heard of such a thing? I got prescribed vitamins. PRESCRIBED vitamins. Sometimes I am a freak.
4. I got the red dress that I bought to go to that wedding, so now J can sleep nights, as she has asked me about it in the comments 79,000 times. Yesterday I went to Belk and bought a red brassiere and I will take a picture of the whole getup in the hear future. I am thinking no necklace and big earrings. I am thinking of having my hair blown straight so one can SEE my earrings.
5. I also bought red nail polish yesterday, which I was able to do because I had the dress with me so I could really match the red. I never buy nail polish anymore because all one ever does is pick the color at the nail salon. So I just discovered Clinique no longer sells nail color. When did that happen? Also? Department stores are not currently into really red nail polish. They sell all these sort of muddy off colors. I do not wish to have Morticia Addams' nails. I am not attending a Cure concert. I realize these references make me 92 years old.
6. I had better shower now, as it is 6:57 a.m. and I must leave the house at 7:20. This isn't gonna be a good day for my personal appearance.
We are back from our visit to TinyTown.
Nevertheless, we got to see a lot of our old friends at the church yard sale. That's why we went back. Because the church, where I used to be a secretary, had a yard sale. Lots of people said, "Y'all didn't come back just for this yard sale, did you?" and when we said yes we got a lot of "…oh."
But hey, they had a lot of good stuff!
And somebody had to fool around with just everything. Somebody was randy and full of beans.
Apparently, they were selling really forced smiles, and Marvin picked one up. This is one of the guys Marvin was in a band with. He has the coolest cat ever, and he IS the coolest cat ever.
That's his similarly cool wife on the right. She is the first friend I made in TinyTown. Her camera is better than mine. Also too? Everything she bought at the yard sale suddenly seemed like a really swanky treasure I had somehow missed.
But now let us turn our attention to the woman on the left. This is Lucy, and she said I could use her real name. I asked if she wanted a fake blog name, but she said she has gone with "Lucy" all these years, and it'd seem odd to switch now. Lucy is in my top 10 list of favorite people on earth, right after Barry Gibb and all kittens. The entire time we are together we are in hysterics.
No, we didn't hit the bar after the sale. We had pizza. At Papa Joe's, in case there was any mystery.
At the sale, there was this whole mysterious kitchen section, and Lucy, who has been making dinner for her husband for 54 years, continues to be baffled and amused by my lack of cooking prowess. There was this tin for sale, it was like a muffin tin, only instead of little spaces to put muffin mix were little corn-shaped indentations.
"Lucy? How do you make corn with this?" I figured this was some Southern dish that had escaped me thus far.
Lucy looked at the tin and she looked at me. "No. You–"
Then she started to laugh. "It's not for corn." She started to double over. "It's for corn muffins." She started to cry a little. "You take your corn meal–" But she knew she'd lost me at 'corn meal.'
She called some people over to tell them my latest humiliation, but she was laughing so hard I thought she was going to spit up.
"She thinks you make corn in the corn stick pan!"
Oh, the hilarity that ensued. And, didn't she say corn muffins the first time? Then all of a sudden they were all talking about corn sticks! Are corn muffins and corn sticks the same thing? These people who cook speak in tongues.
And also, why is it when we are eating corn products, we must remind ourselves that we are eating corn? When you eat corn on the cob, they give you those little corn-shaped sticky things to hold the corn. Now when you eat corn muffins, or these mysterious corn sticks, they are supposed to be corn-shaped. Why? When you drink a strawberry shake you don't drink from a strawberry glass. You don't cut your steak with a T-bone-shaped knife.
Anyway, after Lucy pulled herself together she gave me the coolest thing. She made me a copy of her wedding photo, of which I have been enamored for the longest time. She knows I collect old photos, plus she and her husband are so CUTE in their wedding photo! Look:
Look how beautiful. And that dress!
Whit, our handsome groom, was TinyTown's doctor forever, and he basically delivered the town. Well. You should try to have a lunch with that man. It was like trying to lunch with Tom Hanks. He knew every person at every table. He had to hob and knob with the whole place. I was kind of cool by association.
We got many good things at the sale, such as this vase:
and some sort of movie camera (that was a Marvin purchase).
And what visit to TinyTown would be complete without a trip to the Tractor Supply store, where someone may have received a John Deere tug-of-war toy? Which was easy to photograph in action, at any rate.
So in all, it was a fine visit to the town that is not so large. Why did we move, again?
Marvin and I celebrated Valentine's Day tonight, because we are jetting off to TinyTown early in the morning. What do you mean? TinyTown is a VERY hot romance destination spot. You got Paris, Rome, the Poconos, TinyTown.
To make matters even steamier, the reason we are going to the town that is tiny is because the church I worked for is having a giant rummage sale, and we don't want to miss it. Cue the Al Green!
I am very much looking forward to going, actually. Afterward, we are having lunch with some of our friends, and I told them that I plan to be COMPLETELY decked out in their old clothes, which I will have purchased at said sale.
Anyway. When I got home tonight, Marvin had the music playing, and he had his robe on in attempts to look all sexy and Hugh Hefner-ish, but really it just kind of looked like he had the flu.
Nothing says "come hither" like your spouse, a bag with Valentine's gifts, and a 50-pound dog in the way.
I want you to know I paid good money to rid myself of my double chin, but the angle with which Marvin was draped so alluringly on the couch seemed to capture it in every shot. I do not know why Tallulah is doing her Monet impression here.
Marvin got me not only a nice fish to place in my pelican chin, he also got me a large ceiling and a lovely ring, which no matter what I did I could not film up close. It is from Red Envelope, though, if you want to single white female me on it. It has my initial and my birthstone, which is a ruby. It's so pretty! I wish you could see anything other than a shiny silver orb. And those chins.
I got Marvin a Clash t-shirt. Who got the better end of this deal?
I do not know how many photos of Marvin opening gifts I have put on this blog, but in 10 and a half years of marriage and 12 years of living together, in every photo of Marvin opening a gift, he has had this same expression. This is his I'm-opening-a-gift look, apparently. Can Tallulah leave us alone for 14 seconds? Jeez.
So that about wraps up Valentine's Day, except that I have gifts to open from relatives, because I'm an only child. Sue me. So let's get our bow and arrow and shoot over to Ask June.
Linda in CO follows up on last week's "the no's have it" query with: "I thought the plural of 'no' was 'noes' (like potatoes)."
Linda, over there in CO, I looked this up in my faithful companion (although who could be more faithful than old snout girl up there) Merriam-Webster.com, and you are correct. The plural of "no" is "noes." Therefore, in last week's debate over whether it's "the nos have it" or "the no's have it" I guess really it should be "the noes have it" and whoever it was who wanted to throttle her friend (I can't remember now who it was) for saying it should be no's needs to call that friend and say, "We were BOTH wrong!" as was I. She also needs to call her friend and say, "The world's longest sentence just appeared on June's blog!"
Who knew the plural of "no" was "noes"? Linda in CO, that's who.
Jessica burns with curiosity over, "Which blogs do you frequent?"
Well, if you comment on my blog, I am certainly going to pop over there and look at you, that's one thing. So I assume you mean other than people who comment. The blogs I look at without fail, and who do not look at me, include Blue Poppy, My Topography, and Posie Gets Cozy. They are all wayyyyy too cool for me, and don't think I don't know it. But their blogs are lovely and they are all fascinating women and in my opinion kind of perfect. That's why I read them.
Why do you read people? There was someone I read for awhile whose life was in shambles. I found her on Blogspot when I first got started blogging and lost her. Her husband wouldn't sleep with her, and she'd get drunk on bad vodka and the kids' Kool-Aid. I was riveted. I forgot her address, and just try clicking through all the Blogspot sites to find someone's blog. I hope she's okay.
On that cheery note, I had better get rested up for the big rummage sale. I think here in the South they say "tag sale." Whatev. I'll be so hung over from bad vodka and Kool-Aid, I won't care what you call it.
Someone's comments got me thinking about which breed of dog would be Republican and which would be Democrat. Your thoughts?
I am home from work late, because apparently I go to the Monica Gellar School of Competitiveness.
Yesterday morning they called six of us into a meeting and gave us a new task that had very little to do with proofreading, which is good because very few of us were proofreaders. We were from all over my department. We were each assigned 200 pages and had to do stuff on said 200 pages that involved spatial relations and coming up with percentages and basically other than asking me to be an emergency room physician, you couldn't find something I am worse at.
(Marvin and I sometimes ruminate over what our worst job would be, and he likes to do his impression of patients coming in to my emergency room, with me flapping my hands. "OH MY GOD! Oh! My God! Is there anybody who can help this person!? I'm going to faint. You aren't going to barf, are you? I can't be around barfing. I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! STOP BARFING!")
At the meeting, I asked the person in charge when said task was due, and he said, "Yesterday."
Now, I happen to like deadlines. I thrive on deadlines. You give me a deadline, and I will KILL MYSELF to get the thing done before the deadline. But if you tell me something nebulous like "yesterday," you tell me that I have to go in a way-back machine, I will suddenly cease to care and I will handle the task like Butterfly McQueen.
Oh, look. Gone with the Wind.
The first thing I needed to do once I got back to my office was place a panicked phone call to my father. "They're making me DO MATH!" I whisper screamed. After he stopped guffawing, he tried to help. My father is very linear and scientific, so he makes fun of me a lot for not being so. He cannot spell his way out of a paper bag (he recently said, "Aren't 'Cooper' and 'copper' spelled the same?"), and I make fun of him for that, so we're even.
"You have to think of each page as a grid," my father began.
"Okay, you've lost me at 'grid,' " I said. "I can't think in grids. There are no grids in my head. In my head are laughter and flowers, father. Grids."
But you know what? Once I started thinking of each page as a grid, doing the whole percentage thing I had to do to each page was a snap. Why didn't someone tell me? Soon I was clipping along at my new task. After a few hours, I emailed one of the other people working on her 200 pages, and she had only gotten 20 pages done, and I had done 41. HAH!
This morning, one of my work pals meandered into my office. "So how's your project going?"
"Good! I got over 100 pages done yesterday!"
"A hundred! Great!"
"You finished yours, didn't you?" Oh, I hated him right then. How had he FINISHED? He got all TWO HUNDRED PAGES done in ONE DAY?
"Did you proofread each of the item numbers?" I asked him. "Did you highlight your changes in pale yellow? I thought we should do that, so they knew we made changes, yet the pale yellow would be easy to read against. Did you do anything like that?"
This guy is not a proofreader. He looked at me for a long time. "…No. I didn't do anything in any pale yellow, June."
Okay. So he did a sloppy, sloppy, careless, color-free job. Who cares if he got his stupid pages done, they clearly weren't going to be up to snuff.
About 4:00 p.m., he came back in. "So, have a good evening. Got plans?"
"Did somebody else finish?" I asked. What was WITH these freebasing coworkers? Sure enough, he told me someone else got ALL 200 PAGES done. And she was someone I know would have done a really thorough job. She probably even highlighted.
And this, folks, is why I stayed till all hours and worked like a banshee and got that stupid task done. No one was gonna show ME up. Well, two people showed me up. BUT NO ONE ELSE!
Now I'm gonna knock over a can and get me some turkey.
I don't know if you've noticed that I don't have any kids. That's because I don't want to have kids. I have had people say just awful things to me about this, but my favorite thing people say is, "Well, you'd feel different about motherhood once you had one."
Okay. Well. Is this something we really want to experiment with? I mean, should I just go ahead and have a child, which I don't want to do, on the off chance that maybe I'd feel like this was a good idea once it was here and I'd made a lifetime commitment to nurture and care for it? It just really never seemed like such a smart scheme to me.
But you may have noticed that I do have a dog. This is my first dog ever. I never had one growing up. We were always cat people. My mother started getting dogs just as soon as I moved out of the house. To say that they replaced me would not at all be inaccurate. They have presented her with exactly the same problems that I did: each one has been unruly, uncontrollable, wild, gets Ds in math, and dates Republicans.
So, this being my first dog, I really had no way of knowing if she was a smart dog or not. I knew that Beagles were in the top 10 of least-intelligent breeds, and if you'll recall from the 7 million dollars I spent on the dog's DNA test, she is part Beagle. But the other two breeds she has in her are supposed to be highly intelligent.
Did you know you can Google "Dog IQ tests" and there are many little tests you can give your canine? First I did the ol' throw the towel over your dog's head thing. My mother said her Beagle will sit there all day with the towel on its head, just accepting the fact that it lives in terrycloth world now.
I am happy to tell you that Lula got that towel off in two seconds, so I moved on to other rigorous exams. I was moving furniture around and hiding treats and dirtying pans. Oh, I went to town on the IQ tests.
And she did so well on them! My dog was BRILLIANT! The whole next day, every time I looked at her, I was so full of the pride. Maybe she was the smartest dog ever. Maybe she secretly knew how to solve this economic crisis, if only she could get out the human words. Perhaps she wasn't really humping the cat, she was trying to tap out messages to me in Morse code!
So I went back online and got more. This time there was a video. It showed this very British man who had a tin can. He made a Lab stay and watch while he put a treat under said tin can. As soon as the Lab was allowed to move, that dog tore over there, knocked over the can, and got the treat. Then they showed a Shi-Tzu, who wandered over and sniffed the can, then gave up.
Well! I knew how Marie Curie, over here, would do! I emptied poor Marvin's can of olives (that's where your olives went, hon, in case you were looking for them. You really shouldn't store open cans in the fridge anyway, botulism boy) and made Tallulah lie down and stay. She watched while I put turkey under the can. "Okay!" I said.
She got up and hurried over. She bent her head down to look at the can. And she stared. And stared.
"Get the turkey, girl!" I yelled. I'm afraid I even tapped the can a little.
She gave new meaning to the term "hangdog," the way she just kept hanging her head down. I started to feel a little sweaty. "Tallulah!" I said, a little shrilly. "There's turkey under the can! TURKEY!" I may even have lifted the can.
Three words kept running through my head: "Run, Forrest! Run!"
You guys, THIS is why I should not have kids. I would have the kind of kids who have nervous breakdowns when they get Bs, or who have to run away from home because they didn't get into Harvard. I was SO DISAPPOINTED in her that she wasn't as smart as that freakish, egghead Lab from the video who was probably on performance-enhancing drugs just to make all of us with NORMAL dogs feel bad.
I stopped giving her IQ tests after that, because I am thinking she's gonna break out in hives, or I am, or the turkey will.
That's all I have to say about that.
Marvin emailed me at work today about the Kate Spade bag, so I guess he IS still reading this blog. That little trick didn't work very well. And for those of you who wanted to see the Kate Spade bag I supposedly bought for $425, okay, see, I didn't really charge a Kate Spade bag on my credit card. I think I have 47 cents on my credit card. Is there a really good sale on Kate Spade bags I don't know about?
What I was doing, see, was lying about purchasing said bag in order to get Marvin's goat, because once he READ that I had done this dastardly deed he would yell at me, but what I was doing was seeing how many days passed before he read my blog. Are you seeing my plan now? So there is no picture to show you because the bag is not real.
In LA, there was this garment district, and they sold fake Kate Spade bags, except some of them had labels that read "Kade Spate." That always killed me.
So, today I tried to photograph pictures of my animal companions, to very limited avail.
Here's my feline-American and canine-American above. Do you think I'd make a fine photojournalist? I am good with the action sequences.
It's THEIR fault. They won't sit still for half a millisecond.
This is actually a rare shot of Ruby and Winston together. It is rare because they do not like each other, and those of you who have cats can probably see that Winston is .7 seconds from hauling off and smacking Ruby, as he is wont to do. Then Ruby will whine and run away and pee on the half an area rug we have exposed.
Our house is the least-warm and inviting house you have ever been to, because we can't have area rugs, because Ruby pees on them. You have been to high-security prisons with more warmth than our rooms. Well, plus, you have to stand behind that glass wall to make phone calls.
I really need to tidy up the fridge.
Oh! And yesterday I said I wished someone from New Zealand was reading and someone wrote in from…NEW ZEALAND! It was obviously my moment to get my wish, right there. How cool are we, hobnobbing with New Zealanders?
I guess that's all I have to tell you. I am going to go see The Reader tonight. There is nothing to top off a day of proofreading like going to watch a movie about somebody reading something. I am hoping this movie wipes the "Free Credit Report Dot Com" song out of my head, because it has been in there for two days and I am driving my coworkers insane, walking around singing it in the workplace.
Free credit report dot com. I should've seen it comin' at me like an atom bomb. WHY AM I SINGING THAT? I CAN'T STOP!
First of all, excellent marriage advice, everyone! Eeeexcellent, Smithers. Really, thank you. You all rock. It is like I have hundreds of friends all over the world. And hey, I'm trying to get someone from New Zealand to read this blog. Wouldn't that be cool? COME ON, NEW ZEALAND!
Second, someone sent me a link last week, with pictures of old rooms from the '30s and '40s. I want that person to know I have gotten nothing done since she sent me that link. Oh! I love those old drawings of 1930s kitchens and 1940s living rooms and libraries and such.
Third, all sorts of nice people have mentioned me on their blogs lately, and given me nice awards, and I don't know how to take the award from their blog and put it on mine. I have no computer skills, a thing dcrmom and Marvin can attest to. The part where I learned how to put pictures on here took 750 divorce-inducing hours. But don't think I'm not grateful for my awards.
One hundred and ninthly, driving home this evening, could've sworn we had it all worked out. You had this boy believing way beyond a shadow of a doubt. Well, I HEARD it on the street. HEARD you might've found somebody new.
Okay, that was only funny if you are as old as I am and you spent seven hours a night watching MTV in 1982.
I was driving home tonight and I heard the song Praise You by Fatboy Slim and I remembered the first time I saw the video for it. I was thinking, "That was the hardest I ever laughed in my entire life, the first time I saw that video." Even later when I learned they weren't an actual dance troupe, I STILL laughed at that video, because the thought that anyone could choreograph dancing that ridiculous just kills me.
Then I thought, no. The hardest I ever laughed was the time my cousin Katie and I were at the gas station, and I was filling the tank and she opened the car door and said, "Maybe when we get home, you can cream my feet." Now, that is an old joke between the two of us, but what was funny about it was that some pervert man was filling HIS tank, and he looked so COMPLETELY AROUSED by us that we fell into hysterical giggles, and I had to somehow finish filling my tank while I was in fits.
But no, then I remembered the time I was driving in a separate car from my high school boyfriend, and I thought he was in the car next to me at a stop light so I pulled down my eyes and pushed up my nose and turned to his car, only it was some complete stranger, and I had to sit through the entire stop sign next to that person.
But then I remembered the time Marvin and I were at the fancy restaurant and the menu had a dessert item called an apple dump but he called it an apple shunt.
But no. I remember the time I laughed the hardest. I was about 12, and my mom, my Aunt Kathy, my Uncle Leo and I were at an A&W. You all know what those are, right? They are the kinds of restaurants where you order and eat in your car.
I have no idea why, but my mother and I were eating in one car, my aunt and uncle in the other. Mom and I happened to look over at Uncle Leo at the same time, and he was tossing the rest of his vanilla shake out the window.
Except his window was shut.
All you could see for a minute was all vanilla shake, all the time. Then, as it slowly dripped down, you could see my uncle with his head thrown back, laugh laugh laughing. I guess the funniest part was that we knew how ding-dang NOT funny my Aunt Kathy was finding it, over in the passenger seat.
She is neat and tidy. She is a Virgo.
If you know me in real life, you are probably going to write in and say no, you were much more hysterical the time blah blah blah. And that is fine. I could be wrong.
So tell me when you think you laughed the hardest. Oh, and one more thing before I go feed this ANNOYING CAT. I don't think Marvin is reading this blog anymore. So every day, I'm gonna say something that if he were reading it, he'd be really angry about, and we'll see how many days until he yells at me.
Day One. I bought the CUTEST Kate Spade bag today for $425! I charged it! Shhh! Don't tell Marvin!