Girl, I am back in my house. Could Tallulah be any more obsessed with me? We went to dog day care to pick her up before we even went home yesterday. The car was packed with our stuff, and we knew we’d have to ride with her lard arse on my lap (really, she’s quite svelte. I kind of just wanted to call her lard arse), but we were dying to get her.
About 100 miles outside of Greensboro, we started saying, “Talu!” every five minutes. We’d say “Knock knock!” “Who’s there?” “Talu!” Or Marvin would say, “Oh, you know what your cousin Jason told me?” Then he’d wait. “TALU!” Or I’d say, “That sign back there was weird. You know what it said? TALU!”
It’s really no wonder we have no friends.
I walked into the day care, and there’s this big window where you can watch all the dogs, kind of like an aquarium, only much more lively. Anyway, she whipped her head around the moment I walked up. Then she tore to the gate, because she knew she was gettin’ the hell out of there.
I guess five days at dog day care is too much of a good thing.
Oh, when she got into the lobby, it was like Ashley Wilkes coming home from the war. I know I always use that example, and you wish I’d see another movie already, but oh! She was happy to see me. Then Marvin finally got in (what TAKES Marvin so LONG to get out of a car and into a building? Is he putting on his lipstick? I am always in a facility 10 minutes before he is. I used to wait patiently in parking lots while he did whatever mysterious thing he is doing in the body of the car, back when we liked each other, but I gave that up years ago) she TORE over to him with equal eagerness.
When she got home, she was exhausted, and she followed me around but kept falling to the ground to sleep, but I noticed she kept opening her eyes to make sure I was still there. Finally I put my feet on her so she could be sure of me and then she sighed and slept. I also noticed last night that every time I moved, she would move to make sure she was touching me.
Poor Talu. I am never leaving her for that long again. Do you hear me, my mother’s evil dog? You’re gonna have to tolerate Talu. And you DO have a lard arse. That Talu will kick.
Anyway, before I forget, tomorrow night at 7:00 my time (Eastern) is book club. We supposedly read Water for Elephants. Be there or be large and gray.
Since I finally have my camera hookup thingy, I can show you some pictures from our trip, not the least of which is the pretty and luxurious motel we stayed in that first night on the way to Michigan.
You have to hand it to them. They tried to liven up the room a little, so you thought of killing yourself a little less. This room looked like every motel room Jeff Bridges stayed in in Crazy Hearts. And will everyone stop telling me they haven’t seen that yet? Could you just GO to a good movie, please?
Anyway, there is Marv, looking at what is supposed to be the English countryside, I would guess. How disappointing to turn back to the room, which is the Ohio expressway side.
Naturally, they also had sort of a Greek or maybe even Italian window on the other side of the room. What would you say it was? I mean, other than tacky and ludicrous? Here I am trying to jump.
This truly encapsulates my feelings about the room. Stabbed through the heart, and Marv’s to blame. You give motels a bad name.
Also too, there were many photos from the past bandied about, because at the funeral they had big displays of Uncle Jim. I took pictures of photos, which is I’m sure something Dooce does in her blog a lot. Also, I’d like to mention that I’m expecting Washington DC to call me to speak soon. Did you see Dooce got to speak in DC this week? Did I mention she probably did not tell anyone to wear a Mayor McCheese head? Did I mention she was valedictorian of her high school and I graduated with a 1.7?
Here is my hot Uncle Jim as a youngster in front of Gramma’s house, and LeRoy. I wish I could tell you how much we all loved LeRoy. This dog was so cool. The reason I am showing you this photo is for some reason something about LeRoy reminds me of Talu. Marvin didn’t see it, but I don’t know. The size? The face shape? I might be the only person here who listens to the pet psychic on satellite radio, but she says our beloved pets revisit us in life, and I thought, I wonder if LeRoy revisited me as Tallulah?
When I say stuff like that, Marvin kind of hates me.
At any rate, LeRoy bit Jim’s toddler son (AFTER PULLING LEROY’S TAIL) in the face, and Gramma insisted that LeRoy be put to sleep, which caused a few of us in the family to suggest maybe the toddler be put down instead, but the kid won out over the dog, and this week I once again thanked my now-32-year-old-cousin for killing my beloved LeRoy. Then I bit him in the face.
Everyone in my family kept saying, “Your legs are still nice, June.” Okay, yeah. For the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Woman. LOOK how cute. No wonder I went around in those Freddie Mercury short-shorts.
Am never eating again. Until I look 16. If I stop eating I will not look 16, will I? I will just look like Cloris Leachman.
Okay, I have to go. Am meeting Other June at Starbucks where I am certain I will not have some sort of pastry or anything, and then we are headed to the farmers market, which if you recall, I am the only person who buys processed food at the farmers market. Lettuce, schmettuce. Where are the crackers and cheese spread?
See you tomorrow at 7 for book club. Oh, and I will check in in the a.m. to award comment of the week. Smell ya.