Inspired by Topography again

Hey,–who I would link to but I’m at work and can’t get on Typepad–did a whole day-in-the-life photo essay on her blog (her baby is so cute it makes you want to scream) and I am gonna do it tomorrow, too. Who’s with me!? Who wants to capture their whole day on film and in prose? How fancy am I with my use of “prose”? Come on, do it with me! Not say “prose,” I mean do the whole taking pictures of your day tomorrow and putting it on your blog! You know Saturdays suck and no one reads you anyway! Leave a comment if you’re gonna do it too, making sure to link to your blog.

Ask June who?

(Obligatory Henry photo. So you'll leave me alone.) (Wow, look. I must have spilled coffee on that cupboard door, which you can't see in real life because I am never staring down at it like this. Now I have to go clean it. This is why Marvin hates coffee. Don't tell him about this.)

What cracks me up about all y'all is I never know what will make you comment. I never in a million years thought the Bob Seger/Monty Python combo would elicit 9,321,092.45 comments.

The Nester taught me to say "all y'all." Isn't it awful? And yet I can't help myself.

Oh, and speaking of how annoying I am, if I forget to tell you that Gladys is comment of the week for ONE MORE DAY, well, it'll be time for the NEXT comment of the week, is what it will be.

Look. I'm linky again. I'm Linky Tuscadero.

And you know what else I forget all the time now? Ask June. I have forgotten to do Ask June on Friday for the last 78 weeks. You can see I made a fine secretary. And also a stellar waitress. Oh, I was a terrible waitress. Cause scattered? Not me!

I used to work at Jacobson's restaurant in college. Jacobson's was a high-falutin' department store, and the restaurant served what-were-high-falutin'-at-the-time salads and sandwiches. Like chicken salad. Trust me. There was a time chicken salad was considered classy, as were radishes.

The restaurant also served drinks, and what was fun for me to watch were these 79-year-old women, dressed to the nines and sometimes tens, ordering the crab salad and three Manhattans. Which also used to be classy. I think Manhattans are whiskey and vermouth and that's it. But there they were, these women, gettin' toasted at 11:30, and YOU COULDN'T EVEN TELL.

I had such fun there. I worked lunch, so I had to be there at 10:30 and I was done by 3:00 at the very latest. The only drawback was it cut into tanning hours, but that's why God invented tanning booths. What malignant melanoma any day now?

I got a free lunch, so there was a lot of chicken salad in my life, and I worked with a group of gay guys who made me laugh so hard that I couldn't go out there to badly wait tables sometimes. When the old ladies would be cranky, we'd serve them decaf when they wanted real coffee.

And right in front of the building was the bus stop, and that bus took me right to my aerobics class. Oh, it was perfect.

I made about $100 a week in tips, which sounds sad now, but it was just enough to cover drinks and tanning lotion, which were my requirements for living. What wrinkles?

During the summer, they served a special salad that came inside half a cored-out pineapple. There were three scoops of mayonnaise-based salads in that pineapple. Or maybe one of the scoops was sherbet. I forget.

What I do remember is after I served those, every single time I would pick up the empty half-pineapple, dance into the kitchen with it on my head, and do a Carmen Miranda impression. With my polyester waitress uniform and nude hose. And perm. Mmm!

Okay, seriously, how did I get off on that tangent? Now I must shut up. And guess what I forgot to do again?

Ask June why she is such a numskull.

I Bob in your general direction

Last night, as Marvin and I were trying to go to sleep–which was not possible because a BUNNY had the nerve to be IN THE FRONT YARD and Tallulah needed to let us know repeatedly. Tallulah kind of acts like my poor grandmother did when she got the dementia; she'll tell you something 48 times in one conversation.


(Okay. The gas station part was something my grandmother used to tell us, not Tallulah. I threw it in for dramatic effect. Did it work? She did grow up there, as my great-grandfather owned the town gas station and all the men hung out there and played checkers and such. I think it sounds ideal, but she could not get out of there fast enough. Moved to DC. But that's a whole 'nother post.)

With the relaxing Tallulah news brief in the background as we lay there, I said to Marvin, "I just have to come out and say this. I like Bob Seger."

And I do. I am sorry. I know it's not cool, okay? And that my Michigan is showing. Because Bob Seger is from Michigan, and if you are FROM Michigan you can just kind of tell old Bob is one of your people.

One of my friends who is a little older than me had Bob Seger's band play at his prom. Now, who gets to say that? I have no IDEA who played at my prom, except I know it wasn't any Bob Seger.

Marvin took this information in stride. "I guess I do, too, as long as it's not DOdododododododo. DOdododododododo." he said.

"JUST TAKE THOSE OLD RECORDS OFF THE SHELF!" I screamed. Why is it that when someone tells you they hate a song you feel compelled to sing the whole thing?

Tallulah and I were a duo at that point.

"I'll sit and listen to 'em by myself! [rrrrrrabbit! rabbit rabbit!]"

Anyway, I hate that song too. And the Katmandu one. But I like all other Bob Seger songs. Sue me.

And you know what I hate? And I don't want to hear it, but I know I will.

I hate Monty Python. Do you have any idea how nauseating it is to be the only person in the world who hates Monty Python? Someone once told me I showed a lack of intelligence because I hate Monty ridiculous Python. Okay, I laughed at The Canterbury Tales (tee hee, quod she), but I'm an idiot because I hate Monty and his pythons.

And people CAN'T let this go. They can't just accept it. "You don't even think it's funny when they…?"


Not even the time they…?


I had an old boyfriend who constantly whipped out Monty Python videos. "Just watch this one part with me," he'd say. Then he'd LOOK at me during the "funny" parts to see if I was laughing. THAT'S conducive to hilarity, thanks. No pressure. Not making me self-conscious.

Now, whatever you do, please leave 850 Monty Python quotes in my comments. Because that's the other annoying part about MP. People are forever putting on a high-pitched, terrible British accent and saying three words and we're all supposed to know the context, and WHOO! Let me slap my knee.

"I'm not dead yet!"

I can help you with that.

Roll me away.

Down under

It is 10 o'clock at night and I just barely got here, mister. That's what Marvin's students used to say to him when he substitute taught back in LA. He'd say, "Okay, everyone get out your books" and the students would be mad that he wanted to start with the learning, you know, right away. "I just barely got here, mister!"

But really I did just barely get here. I met up with the other June–or got up with her, as they say here in the South. "I'll get up with you next week, over yonder! I just barely got here!"

Anyway, the other June and I went to a class in Australian wine today. They made us drink upside down. BAH! Cause, see, Australia is on the other side of the earth? And the toilet water swirls the other way? Cause it's on the other side? On the other side of the mountain? Did you ever see that depressing movie, The Other Side of the Mountain? Sad. I have never skied because of that movie. Well, that and I don't care for careening down icy vertical pieces of land.

But, really. There is all sorts of fancy wine in Australia and apparently they wanted to serve us 92,000 sips of it. I eventually asked for a thingamabob to toss out some of my wine, because they were giving us so much and I had to drive home, for heaven's sake. And go to work. And not make out with the other June and lift my shirt to get beads and such. Crones Gone Wild!

So when I got here, I sat down at the computer, as I am wont to do, and I noticed I couldn't access the web cam. Y'all know how I can love me the web cam if the mood is right. So I called to poor Marvin, "WHERE'S THE WEB CAM?" Of course, he had no idea. So I fishwifed him in here and made him locate the dang thing, then I realized I really didn't NEED the web cam, but now I felt like I had to use it or lose it. And by "it" I mean my front gumline, seeing as Marvin hauled himself in here and looked at 8493048459038585 doo-dads on our computer.


Hey! Hi! Its me! With Jimmy Page's hair!

Then I decided it'd be more interesting to take pictures of me and the pets. Junesie and the pussycats, as it were.

Henme Hen stare at you. Hen hate life with Jimmy Page. Please come get Hen.

Winnieme DOOOooo go on, mother. Tell me everything. Once you get your cornea out of my eyebrow whisker, I mean.

Meandlu Heyyy! Lula not pussycat! Why I here in web cam?

There is nothing better than kissing Tallulah's velvety ear. You must trust me on this. Also too, when I dropped Tallulah off at dog day care this morning, there were THIRTY-SIX Jack Russell terriers there! They have been rescued and all need adopting!! How cute was it to walk in on THIRTY-SIX Jack Russells? Of course Marvin said no. Have you met his stone heart?

I'd link you to dog daycare's web cam again, but Marvin said tonight all the dogs were gone, gettin' fixed. Gettin' some snippage. My sack's barely got here, mister!

Okay, really? You thought I was gonna pick up all 260 pounds of Francis and bring him into the room where the evil DOG is and take his picture with the web cam? I appreciate my aorta, thank you. Did not want it dug out by cat claws. But look how happy Fran looks to pose with me! Not at all terrified and bleak about life!

Okay, I must rest. I'm just barely getting there, REM stage!

In which I blog about all the things you told me to blog about yesterday, and change my name to Fuquay Varina

So, I asked you guys what I should blog about, and you told me, so here you go. I will divide up your requests with little asterisks. Don't you hate it when people pronounce it "astericks"?

First of all, holy cats! I am SO not delving into why Marvin and I hated each other in year seven. Geez Louise.

I know I tell you everything, but I don't tell you EVERYTHING everything. Besides, it wouldn't just be my thing, but Marvin's super-secret secrets, too. Like, it'd be totally rude of me to tell you how he DROVE AWAY and LEFT me in downtown LA during the LA marathon, with no money, phone, purse, or coat during year seven. It'd be terrible of me to mention that.


So let me see. What else did you want me to blog about when I asked earlier? Oh, yeah. Annieology wanted me to say she was awesome and Mary wanted me to say she has good cards.


Garp wanted me to talk about Garp. Garp is Marvin's aunt's dog. He is a beagle. He is berserk, but he's cute. When Marvin's aunt had a party earlier this year, Marvin and I went to the room where poor Garp was cloistered and we learned that he certainly knows what you mean when you say "peanut butter." Naturally this drove Marvin to say "peanut butter!?" 470 times, and that dog was whipping his fool head side to side like that woman used to do at the end of Hee-Haw when she said, "That's all!"

Have you noticed I am entirely too well-versed in Hee-Haw?


I am enjoying my little stars. My "astericks."

Someone else wanted me to blog about Tallulah. I love her. She got a bath this weekend. She was not pleased. Let's put in a picture of Tallulah.


This was last year, on my birthday. (Before Topamax. Wow.) It was at my mother's place in northern Michigan. Also in this picture, in case you noticed that Tallulah was not alone, are me and my bra strap, my friend Gertrude, her dog Buster who appears to have no facial features, and her child Emma. The one who can hula-hoop. And by the way, I have been trying to buy a hula-hoop for a week and can't find one. I went to Target and Toys-R-Us. I refuse to go to Walmart. I want to get a hula for Tallulah. I want to teach her to jump through it. Because I am a sad, sad little man.


Someone else wanted to know if Marvin had any active blogs but he said no. Also, Lynn wanted to know where I saw Marvin and me in 10 years, and I hope not at Walmart. Marvin says he sees us in 2019.


Oh, and a couple people asked me about TV shows and as you know I am not that up in the TV viewing. But we are obSESSed. Ob.sessed. with Mad Men. We are caught up on the first two seasons and are dying dying dying for season three to start.

And as for books? I am not reading those vampire-y books everyone is reading, but Olive Kitterage was really good. Go read it.


Oh! And what I would consider a day of pampering? A day where THE PHONE DID NOT RING ALL DAY.


Also requested, of course, was that I put up a picture of Henry. Here.


Seriously, he is gigantic. Tallulah is apparently doing her Monet impression.


And Jan, re your request, my father didn't put my childhood cat Shadow to sleep on my birthday, which makes it hard for me to tell the story of him putting her to sleep on my birthday. But that would have been awful. Like, leaving-someone-at-the-marathon awful. No, he put her to sleep on some RANDOM day when I was six, and I am permanently scarred. She was a beautiful kitty, all black with long hair. She had some illness, but that was NO EXCUSE if you ask me.


And finally, I don't remember the first thing about The War of the Roses except it looked a lot like our year seven.

Okay! Thanks for telling me what to blog about! This wasn't disjointed at all!

Tonight, tonight

I will be here till next week, trying to catch up to my hideous deadlines. Did I mention this is our busy time at work? At any rate, when I finally DO get home tonight, what do you want me to blog about?


It is 10:12. I am tired. I wrote tomorrow's post based on all the things you told me to write about today. I figure it's too late to post today. I do not know why that would make any sense. Have I mentioned I'm tired? Anyway, anything anyone told me to blog about after this will be moot. And mute. And moooo.

My life/my life in my head

Marvin and I have been outside all morning, tidying up our yard like the middle-aged homeowners that we are. A thing I sort of refuse to accept. I was pulling weeds yet also thinking, "How can I be out here robustly yanking ivy at 10 a.m.? Shouldn't I be exhausted from my night of doing blow with Courtney Love and the Rolling Stones?"

See? Even my fantasy drug friends are old and tired. I couldn't even come up with anyone under 45 to do drugs with IN MY MIND. Depressing.

So, if I'm not gonna be the Edie Sedgwick of my time, I am at least gonna have a tidy yard. Which stems from my German heritage and also from growing up in Michigan, which is kind of a redundant thing to say. Everyone in Michigan is German. And I do not want to hear dissent from the two Scotch-Irish people there.

People in Michigan have the tidiest yards of anyone in America. I am not making that up. I do not know why it is. Perhaps it is because they only have actual yards for three months out of the year; the rest of the time their yards are covered in snow. So they celebrate it while they've got it. Like my drug supply with my good friend Court.

In other news, I went to the museum yesterday with my friend Lucy from TinyTown.


We all wish we were one-eighth as cool as Lucy is. I'll bet she partayys with every famous rapper you can think of–which for me is not many, because did I menti0n I have become middle-aged?–yet she'd be too gracious to brag about it.

We had a stellar time. The museum had lots of, you know, ART, but then it also had an exhibit of dresses from all the fancy designers–Dior, Valentino, Gucci. Lucy and I had a long discussion about how it was a shame that Versace's sister was such a butterface (everything looks good on her but her face), and other deep artistic topics.

There was another museum we wanted to go to, but my GPS wouldn't recognize the address, which was annoying. So (are you sitting down?) Lucy got out a MAP and LOOKED AT IT, then told me where to drive. And we got right there. I do not understand people with this skill.

After, we had a good lunch involving sandwiches consisting of turkey, brie, and green apples. We discussed how our sandwiches at home were boring. Then Lucy told me how to make green beans with fatback and it took me a long time to realize she meant real green beans that you, you know, snap. In my mind, all beans come out of a can.

I eat them with Keith Richards all the time when we have the munchies.

Obligatory Henry shots, back and better than ever

I am going to a museum today, with one of my TinyTown friends. If you are just tuning in, that made no sense. In a nutshell? Marvin and I lived in Los Angeles. Then one of us said, "Hey! Let's move to North Carolina, to a town of three thousand people! That won't be jarring!"

It was. We lived there eight months before we caved and moved to Greensboro. And now we go, "TinyTown was kind of fun. Why'd we move?" I do not know what to tell you about Marvin and me.

Anyway, since I will not be here today I thought I'd regale you with some Obligatory Henrys, because you are all complaining that you haven't seen him. Honestly, with you people and the kvetching.


I took this one by accident but I like it. He was on my lap.

There's our boy! And who's getting a big-cat snarky attitude? Is it our Hen Hen Hen? And yes, that is a 3-D book of Hollywood nudes. I do not know what makes them Hollywood nudes, as opposed to other nudes. I have never looked in that book. We have it because Marvin is a perv. In every dimension.


Okay, I know I should not talk about my own cat child, but he's a little awkward right now, with those child-bearing hips and tiny pinched head. He's got a bit of a bowling pin look going. But I'm sure he'll be stunning again in no time.

And in case anyone's on Team Winston…

You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? Then who the hell else you talkin' to?

I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you read my blog anyway.

Hey, remember in June and July when all I did was torment you about voting for me in that ding-dang Funniest Blogger contest? Well, yesterday they officially announced the winners! And I wasn't one of them!

So, there you go. I did not win. My blog sucks. If you want to write in and tell me I was robbed, go right ahead. However, don't say anything bad about any of the other contestants, because I have made friends with some of them, and I know one of my friends won Funniest Blogger, and her blog totally rocks.

But THANK YOU SO MUCH for voting for me! I was excited to get into the top five! You guys should win an award for best faithful readers and voters, is what I say.

In other news, since it was just recently my wedding anniversary with the charming and not-at-all-obsessed-with-Gatorade Marvin Blueberry Gardens, I added yet another picture to our Anniversary Memory Book and decided to share my photos with you. The lucky reader. Of a loser blog. Good job!

Someone got us this Anniversary Memory Book for a wedding gift, and it has been the gift that keeps on giving. Every year, you add a current picture, and on the other side of the page you write where you lived and how much rent you paid, where you worked, things that happened that year, etc.

We have made a point of taking our photo exactly on our anniversary each year, and you will see that Marvin has been equally faithful to his shirt choices each year. Because no one gets a charge out himself more than Marvin.


Okay, he never repeats this outfit. Seeing as he rented it. This would be our wedding day, Sherlock. I am sorry to tell you that I have recently begun looking at our wedding photos and thinking, "My God, we look young." I think I kind of have alcohol face here. I drank a lot more than I do now, and to me I look bloaty. And what was with the whole Where the Red Fern Grows action around our cake, there? I never noticed all that…growth until this second.


Yearone 001

Hey, look! Alcohol face has a beer! What you may enjoy about these photos is my consistency of hair color. I do not know why I keep thinking that red will be a good idea. I am seldom correct on this. Anyway, in case you were curious, we took an antique train ride for our anniversary. It was cool.

(As an aside? All day today I have been smelling Agree shampoo. It comes and goes. Why do I keep SMELLING it?)


Twoyears 001

Ah, now see, during THIS year I was training for a marathon. Look how slim and bloaty-free my face was. Note Marvin's shirt from year one to two. Also? I made him stop wearing those Tom Sawyer shorts shortly after this. (We had moved into that cool apartment I told you about. The one with the annoying Italian guy upstairs. Look at the corner cabinet! How I loved it there.)


Three 001

I look all curvaceous. And a little jowly. At least Marvin has changed his shirt. I remember that the annoying Italian took this picture.


Four 001

Ah! The return of the shirt. Yes. Also, what's more flattering than the we-are-taking-this-photo-ourselves double chin action that Marvin's got going? I guess we hated the Italian enough at this point that we couldn't ask him to snap us.


Five 001

Our cleaning lady took this picture, in her living room. She lived across the street. We eventually became really good friends, which did not bode well for her cleaning my house, because she felt perfectly justified in yelling at me about what a slob I was. At least I change my shirt.


Six 001

See what we did there? We had ME put on the shirt. Why does Marvin look terrified? Look at how much light we got in that apartment. Did I mention it was my favorite place, ever? Did I mention the Italian ruined my life?


Seven 001

Okay, truthfully? We HATED EACH OTHER for most of year seven. I'm not sure why. We moved, as is probably evident from the modern look of the room behind us, to a house in Burbank. This was the spare room, and it was the room where I started blogging. Good times. I mean, other than the part where we hated each other. (I would like to point out that although the stripy shirt is gone, Marvin has pulled out year three's shirt.)


Eight 001

And he pulled it out again. So to speak. I love love love my hair in this shot. We still live in Burbank, and if you look carefully, you can see the mountains in Griffith Park behind us.


Nine 001

So, yeah. This was the year we didn't spend any money. When some of you got to know me via Bye Bye Buy, my first blog. LOOK HOW BAD MY HAIR LOOKS because I am no longer gettin' those $300 haircuts and 9 million dollar color jobs. This was some red from a box of L'Oreal. Not a good advertisement for them. Now I miss that house in Burbank.



We went back to the place we got married. I am cracking up, because I just noticed Marvin's shirt in year 10…



And this year's shirt. I know he didn't even mean to do it this time. Oh, that's funny.

Well, that sums us up. Eleven years. One of them crappy. But not as crappy as this blog, apparently.