O.J. Simpson called. Wonders why Marvin is so terrible to me.
Scott Peterson also called. Told me I could do better.
So, Marvin’s parents are here. They got in yesterday evening and we all met for dinner.
I ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, because I’m a gracious dinner companion that way, and I’m sure Marvin’s dad can’t get enough of me. Also? I got the best cream soda.
It’s made with cane sugar and real vanilla and you can tell. It looks like everyone else had bread and water, doesn’t it? They couldn’t afford to order dinners after I got that $80,000 entree.
Anyway, then we all schlepped downtown because there’s this thing called First Friday that happens on–are you ready?–the first Friday of every month, where all the galleries and stores stay open, and people sell their wares on the street, and you can go into stores and guzzle free wine and so forth. Marvin plays his guitar there every First Friday, and this time his friend and bandmate Ron joined him
I am sorry to tell you that they threw in a Rush song this time, although mostly they play original stuff that Marvin wrote. Sometimes he’ll sing some song about some bitch in his life and I always think he’s written said song about me, and he always denies it. That one about “I’m so sick of your blog I could puke” makes me suspicious, though.
In the meantime, my mother-in-law and I walked around and looked at the wares, and she said she’d get me a few things as an early birthday present.
And let’s pause for a moment to look at this hapless woman back there in the sleeveless top. Does every woman in the world in your town, and I realize that made no sense, have that hairdo? That fortune-cookie hairdo? Why? Why does everyone have it now? I hate that hairdo. Probably 40,000 people reading this blog are sitting there right now with their long-in-front fortune cookie hair swinging madly at me. But I’m sorry. Open the cookie. It will say, “Stop with that hairdo, already.”
Not that I am one to talk about hair.
So, perhaps you are wondering when I get to the part where Marvin is the meanest husband in the entire world.
We were just getting ready to leave, when this woman walked past with a bitty puppy that she was holding. My friend The Other June, who was also there, took a picture of me, because I guess I don’t need to tell you I rushed over there and immediately held said bitty puppy, who is nine weeks old and half Australian shepherd and who NEEDS A HOME. He’s a boy puppy and he needs to be mine.
I emailed The Other June to ask her to email me said photo so I can show it to you, but I have not heard from her, and I don’t know what she thinks SHE’S doing, not sitting there at her computer at the ready whenever I need her.
So I took my new puppy over to Marvin and I said, “Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease can we take this puppy home? He needs a home. We have a home. It’s the perfect situation!”
And horrid, horrid Marvin, who I do not even like, said no. I told him he didn’t have to get me a birthday present, that this could be it. No, he said. I said I would also not need a CHRISTMAS present. No, he said. Because he is mean. Meanness runs though his veins. Which are also icy.
So the moral of my story is I have no puppy. And Mr. from The Color Purple was a stellar husband compared to mean mean mean Marvin.
I want that sweet puppy so BAD. Lula needs a dog friend. And Australian shepherds are smart! She could have a smart friend! They could wear berets and smoke Gauloises and discuss Kafka and chase squirrels. But in a really intellectual way.
You all have to help me get that puppy. I know I sound like Cruella DeVille. PUPPIES!
Oh, and comment of the week goes to Shana. Who should be spending her time trying to help me acquire that puppy.
P.S. I got sick of that “vote for me” post at the top of my blog, so I will just put an annoying reminder at the bottom of my posts instead. Fortunately for us all, the contest ends July 12, so you can vote for me once a day till then and I know you are thrilled. Here is the link. Thanks!