Head and shoulders on the beach

Ima tell you now, I'm all over the place today. I am like that horrible joke about the astronaut whose rocket exploded and the punchline is "They found her Head & Shoulders on the beach."

I can't remember how the joke goes, but obviously it had something to do with shampoo and the explosion and don't get me to try to tell jokes. The only joke I like is:

"Ask me if I'm a train."

"Are you a train?"

"No."

I have many, many things to cover today. All of them crucial. So let us begin.

1. For those of you who read the comments, there was much hue and cry to see the tiles that Faithful Reader Furry Godmother made for Faithful Reader Paula H&B. Furry Godmother is an artiste, and yes, she needs the "e" at the end, so artitse-y is she, and one of the things she will do is paint portraits of your pets. Here is a link to a page on her site, showing you happy people hanging Furry's art.

So, Paula H&B–which if you do not read the comments or if you are new, "H&B" stands for hookers and blow, and I am sorry, you are just gonna have to imagine why. The comments here? They get ridiculous–has two cats, and Furry Godmother immortalized them on tile:

Eddie tile
Here's Eddie, who I have the feeling is the good cat.

Simon tile
And here is Simon, who I never hear about unless he has done something dickly. And I hear about Simon often. Is what I'm saying.

2. Am I the only person on planet Earth who thought Cate Blanchett's dress was pretty last night? My mother called to say it was the ugliest dress she'd ever seen. My stepfather, who was raised on a dairy farm and wears gray cardigans but yesterday suddenly became Mr. Blackwell, said it looked like some kind of building.

Cate-blanchett-2011-oscars
I think it's unusual, kind of retro, it was pretty colors, and I just all around thought it was swell.

2001
Gwyneth Paltrow, however, looked like 2001: A Space Odyssey. And I wish someone would shoot her off into space. Have I mentioned I can't even say her name without my nethers puckering up? Oh, how I cannot stand that lemony woman. She has always reminded me of a lemon. Or an egg.

3. Snowflake's brother died. Did I TELL you I'd be all over the place today? I did. I WARNED you.

Snowflakebro
Snowflake is the white dog who lives a few blocks from me, and a couple of months ago, the family got a puppy from Snowflake's mother. He has grown up since I berserkly took my camera with me when I was walking my own dog and shot this photo, and he looked exactly like Snowflake, except brown. Because genetics. They aren't just a good idea. They're the law.

At any rate, the family named him Coco, and it is my theory that this family spends approximately .027 seconds thinking of names for their dogs.

Yesterday I was walking Edsel, because I cannot walk both dogs at once and sometimes I see people idly strolling with their two big dogs and I think, "Who ARE you? What kind of PACT have you made with SATAN that you can just walk with your two big dogs and not just be a corpse being dragged behind these creatures?"

But I digress.

As I passed the Snowflake house, all the little girls who live there were in the front yard with their dad and they were busy running back and forth.

"COCO DIED!" they all screamed at me, as soon as they saw me. "CAN WE PET YER DAWG?"

Since I got Edsel, they have given up trying to guess which one I have with me. I have never said these children were the brightest bulbs, and they ARE all extremely blonde-headed. They will catch rich husbands, so it'll be fine.

I took beleagured Edsel with me to the yard, and although he is a friendly fellow, he always looks a tad…drained when we see those kids. He wags his tail and cowers at the same time.

"WE'RE PUTTIN' FLOWERS ON COCO'S GRAVE!" they screeched. I have no idea if they use these voices indoors, but I tend to think they do. "HELP US PUT FLOWERS ON COCO'S GRAVE!"

So with one hand I held Edsel, who looked like he could use a Mickey's Big Mouth, and with the other I picked the teeny white wildflowers they had in their grass. The dad told me that yesterday Coco just started breathing hard, and then he started drooling, and next thing you know he fell over dead.

"That sounds like poison," I said, over the din.

"I know," he told me, twirling his nipple rings. I wish I were making that part up. "But I got nothin' back there to poison the dogs. That stuff is all in m'shed."

"WE'RE MAKING A CROSS TO PUT ON THE GRAVE!" the oldest towhead bullhorned. And then the littlest one, who is so adorable you would die, she looks like a Cabbage Patch doll, pulled me down and said, "I miss Coco."

Oh, I felt terrible. And I am worried sick. What the hell happened? Did someone poison him? And why did they spare Snowflake? This neighborhood has more mysterious deaths. I feel like Angela Lansbury.

4. Marvin has been out of town since Thursday and I didn't want to tell you, in case any of you were crazy and wanted to come murder me to ribbons. Of course, little did I know the grim reaper was right here in my own neighborhood. At any rate, he was in Chicago, surprising his father for his birthday, which was another reason I could not say anything, as his dad checks in with this blog from time to time, and nice way to ruin a surprise.

MARVIN IS LEAVING TODAY TO SURPRISE HIS DAD! …HI, MARVIN'S DAD!

Anyway, my point is, could I have been more frightened at night while he was gone? I was convinced I'd close my medicine cabinet and Glenn Close would be behind me, wondering why I was there.

I was certain Linda Blair would be levitating above my bed.

I just knew the Mansons were creepy-crawling my house whenever I went out and I'd be the next Sharon Tate.

I was so IRRITATED with myself. I was a swinging single gal until I was 33 years old, and I lived alone plenty. I was never scared to be alone that whole time. Then I get left alone for three nights and I fall apart. Plus when I was single I only had Mr. Horkheimer to protect me, with his cat self. Now I have a vicious Pit Bull and a mean, mean German shepherd machine.

What gives? Hate me.

5. And finally, some of you have heard me speak of my friend Sleeping Beauty, and she is finally letting me tell you SHE IS PREGNANT! And the exciting thing is, she must have conceived right when I visited her in D.C. back at the end of October, so we think I might be the father!

Oddly, she is due on my birthday, and she knows it's a girl, so I suggested she name it after me and her dog Puck. June Puck or Puck June.

She did not go for this suggestion, and I do not know why I am having a child with this woman.

Anyway, congrats to Sleeping Beauty and her boyfriend Nate, who is the only man of Sleeping B's I have ever liked.

By the way, the Beaut had to fly to China in the early stages of her pregnancy, and I can tell you right now, that is not such a good idea, queasiness-wise. She did not give me permission to tell about how she barfed in her own hair, so I will not tell that part.

And that is all I have to cover today. I know. If only I'd have changed subjects more. And how is it that I know after the first 10 comments we'll be on a whole different topic altogether?

121 thoughts on “Head and shoulders on the beach

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