Super Bowel

I never even ATE a brownie last night, but this morning I was pleased to see there were some left over and my guests left me an edge. Oh, HELL yeah. Brownie edge.

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I had a few people over for sports night, because sports, and I made a couple plates of vomit.

Actually, this was seven-layer dip, which was seven layers of disappointment. I adore seven-layer dip, you might even say it's my super food, and this was my first sojourn into creating it myself rather than scarfing it compulsively at someone else's party, and eh. I don't know what I did wrong. Too heavy on the beans or something. I don't even think I LIKE refried beans. And refried anything might be my super food, so.

I was gonna have a lot of people over–14, to be exact. But once Tallulah got diagnosed, I felt sad, and could not imagine getting it up to clean intensively and cook a million things when all I want to do is kiss her ears. So I canceled the party, but some of my close friends such as Marty Martin said fuck you, we're coming over anyway, and Kaye said if she saw ONE THING look clean, she'd be mad at me.

So I made chili, and brownies, and bad seven-layer dip, all of which took maybe an hour to prepare, the worst part being I HATE EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING AT THE STORE OH MY GOD. That fucking store on Super Bowl Sunday, when it was our city or county or something that was in said Super Bowl. It was worse than Thanksgiving. Or THANKSgiving, as they say here. Jesus. It was full of the hot sports men, though, and there I was in my Smitten With My Kitten SPCA LA shirt on. Tempting. Come break you off a piece of this.

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So it ended up just being Jo, of course, and Marty and Kayeee, and also my coworker Austin, whose family just moved into my neighborhood this weekend and he just needed a break from moving, already. Please note how when you're at my house, you have no choice but to be Uncle Billy from It's a Wonderful Life at all times, with the animals upon you.

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Why does anyone want to be my friend? Note how the animals migrate from one guest to the next. You may be wondering where the hell Iris is. I ground her up, made her one of the seven layers.

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I don't know why they thought begging would come to fruition. You know what a well-oiled machine these dogs are, with the discipline. "Anyone who wonders if Talu gets treats is high," I announced. "Tallulah gets whatever the hell she wants." Ahead of time I told her to pull out her cancer card as often as she wanted. She asked me to get her a bald wig but there wasn't time.

She did, sadly, pee twice on the floor while people were here. I felt so bad for her, because usually she has dignity. My poor sick Lu.

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Here I am, with my chin. Good lord. Underneath the looming cooter. I hate to sound like The Dude (no, I don't) but that painting really ties the room together. I love my living room now. It's 100% me. Meaning blue and sort of vaginal.

I have no idea who won or lost that sporting event. My favorite commercial was the Sheets one with the asses. Because ass jokes.

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Kayeeeeee and I had cup exchange last night. I had managed to both steal a cup and leave a cup when I stayed with her in the fall. What we did NOT know is this mystical thing would happen with her cup matching her shirt when I returned it to her. Blue and gray stripes are a big thing with Kaye. They are her super foods.

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After everyone left, I found Tallulah drunk in a nest she'd made. Nests of pillows are Talu's super food.

Okay, I'll stop.

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I had a talk with Edsel this morning. We sat on the floor and had an awareness session, like my hippie parents used to do with me. I totally need to look into getting some zigzag carpeting. Anyway, I told him that while I know he knows Tallulah is sick, I need him to be strong right now, and be okay with less attention sometimes.

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fuk dat

By the way, I Googled "byebyepie + zigzag carpeting" and came across a photo of Ned, and thanks, God. Have I ever asked you this before, if you've ever Googled "byebyepie" + any other word and hit "Images" to see what you get? I think we did do that before. Anyway, for me it's fun, except for when I land on the Ned pics. Which reminds me that this weekend, Edsel was sleeping splayed on his back, and I was racking my brain trying to think of which friend I could text a dick pic to, except it'd be Edsel's dick.

I couldn't think of anyone, but now it occurs to me I totally coulda sent that to Faithful Reader Fay. You gotta pick and choose who you share your tasteless jokes with, man. Pick and choose.

In sports,

June