I had such a BIZZELDY day yesterday. I have a statistics textbook to proofread, which I haven't even opened yet, and I was going to start it yesterday. But first, as you know if you read me yesterday and why didn't you, I had to scream on over to the headache clinic for my final did-this-experimental-medication-kill-you-checkup.
I am certain they will miss me. Every month the doctor does a physical. "Am I dying?" I always ask him as he checks my reflexes. Then they take my blood and always forget to call me to say everything is fine. So I have to call them. "Am I dying?" I always ask them.
One month they remembered to call and I jumped straight out of my skin and my skeleton hung in the air for several seconds when I saw it was them on my caller ID. "Hi, June, just calling to say your bloodwork looks great."
Okay, don't call to tell me that if you are gonna forget all the other months. Geez Louise. Kipper's dick.
They said they may eventually find out if I got the placebo or not, and if so, they will tell me. I think it'd be HILARIOUS if I did, given the 0584049 side effects I reported. I like how today's made-up number started with zero.
After my excursion to the doctor, I had to go to the tire store, which is not a store where everyone is sleepy, because did I tell you how I was parallel parking the other day and got a flat tire? I do not mean I was having sex. I was literally parallel parking. And I am a good parallel parker. Hoo-hah. No, really. When I lived in Seattle I could park up a hill backward.
However, earlier this week I was parking and there was a ton of space on one side of the street, but I decided to be cute and park right in front of my friend on the OTHER side, so it'd be like her car was kissing my car's arse. That is really what I thought and what compelled me to cross the stupid street.
Somehow I WHIPPED into the curb, which was made of SHARP BRICKS, and why? and BOOM! …Pooooooooo! went my tire and BING! went my car's thing on my dashboard, telling me I had a flat tire and "Kipper's ding-dang dick," went I.
Well. Not really. Because I hadn't learned that phrase yet.
Anyway, I had to call AAA to put the spare on and also I had to phone Marvin, who had to stand out in the ridiculous freezing cold while I had fun with my friend (whose car was kissing my car's arse) inside where it was warm. Eventually Marvin came inside and you have never seen anyone's cheeks so flaming red. He could not have looked colder.
The point is, I had to get a new tire yesterday. Thirty-nine paragraphs later.
Well. There was trouble, and it took TWO HOURS of me reading Women's Day in the lobby of the tire store, and why does EVERY Women's Day article have to do with parenting? Why don't they just call it Parents' Day?
Then I came home and walked each dog individually, because I cannot walk them together because it is like walking two freight trains, and I don't know if you have ever walked a freight train, much less two, but it is pully. Is what it is.
So THAT took an hour, and then I spent an hour sweeping the floors and straightening up, and I was JUST GRABBING my FedEX package to finally proofread it when the phone rang.
"KIPPER'S DICK!" I said, and aren't you glad I got a new phrase? I mean, I had not had ONE SECOND to sit down ALL DAY.
It was Marvin.
"You know my guitar student will be there in 25 minutes, right?" he said.
HOW in the kipper's dick was I supposed to know this? Oh, I was irritated. And it's not like I could be in the next wing, making myself scarce. This is not a roomy house. So I had to leave. OH I WAS IRRRRRKED.
So I did what anyone would do. I got birdseed and I also went to Burger King, where I got a delicious chicken sandwich, and I sat in my car and read a book. Which, by the way, are we EVER gonna meet for book club, or what?
Anyway, I'm reading and eating, my two favorite things, when I sort of noted movement out of the corner of my eye. There, in Burger King's parking lot, was the PRETTIEST CAT you ever saw. It had smoky gray and peach markings, in a calico kind of a way, but smokier than a typical calico. It was smoky, is what I'm saying to you. Cause it's, you know, North Carolina. Everything smokes here.
You know how I am. I rolled down my window. "kittykittykittykittykittykittykitty!" I said.
Smoky kitty ignored me.
I called Hulk and left him a message about how I was in the parking lot, and what I saw, and how if I came home with a kitty it'd be Marvin's fault. Then I got out my car with the remainder of my chicken sandwich to lure the kitty.
Anyone at Burger King would have seen an ancient woman with half a sandwich, saying, "Kittykittykittykittykittykitty!" to the bushes. I don't know why no one came over to help.
The cat would not appear, so I broke the sandwich up and got back in my car, where there was a message from Hulk already.
"DO NOT TAKE THAT CAT! DO YOU HEAR ME? DO NOT TAKE IT! YOU ARE AN ANIMAL HOARDER! LEAVE.THE.CAT.THERE. I am gonna turn on the TV and see you on that show. DO NOT TAKE THE CAT."
I returned Hulk's call. "So if I'm hearing you right, you want me to take the cat?" I asked him.
As we talked, 9 million birds came over and ate the chicken, which makes them cannibals, although Hulk pointed out that assuming a Burger King chicken sandwich is actually made from chicken is assuming quite a bit.
Anyway. The point is I never got the cat, and when I got home, Marvin told me he was going out with his friend Ron, which further irritated me, but at least I finally got to sit down, but by then it was late and do you really think I felt like proofreading by then?
Instead I had myself a little party for one. A little party in my pants. Okay, not so much in my pants but more on the couch. In my pajams.
Oh! But I like how I titled this June Attends EE's Funeral and then I never brought it up.
Today I have to get my roots done in Raleigh, because that's where my hairdresser is and she is worth the trip, trust me, but LAST time I went to get my hair done, I had to drive right through the middle of the state fair. Yes, right through. I had baby pigs and a Ferris wheel on my car when I got to the hair place. Now today it is Elizabeth Edwards' funeral, which is open to the public, plus those morons are protesting, so then MORE people will go to yell at the morons, and the point is WHAT ABOUT MY HAIR?
It is gonna take 800 years to get there. Kipper's dick.
At least I have a good tire.