Perhaps you’re wondering, “Did our dear friend June expire? Is she on the other side of the grass? Feeling the silk?” It always kills me when I say that and someone out there doesn’t get it. You’re dead. In the coffin. The silk-lined–oh, forget it.
Anyway, it’s my head–it’s been giving me trouble. Am on day 9 of waking up with a migraine, and let me tell you, it’s put me in a MOOD. So since the last few days have been a bit of a blur, of just me trying to get through the day as normally as I can while I wish to FEEL THE SILK (“I don’t get it, June”), I will just go through all the photos I’ve taken in the last couple days to guide me so I have anything to talk to you about except my agony. MY AGONY! I just fell to my knees dramatically. As opposed to falling to one’s knees not dramatically.
The other night, though, I got up in the night to get water or heroin or something and I accidentally closed Steely Dan in a door. He didn’t make a sound as he tore off, appalled, but now whenever we’re going through a door together, he waits till I’ve passed the door frame first. You can’t blame him. Also, stop being so smart, cat.
Every time one of my older neighbors dies, younger couples move in and fix the place up. So while it’s sad, it’s also kind of good for my ‘hood. I just said ‘hood. Cause I’m so street. Word up.
I do miss Paul. Whenever I’m walking Edsel, when I pass his house I get wistful. We used to go sit on his glider with him and talk. He was lovely.
When I get home from work, some nights Dr. Laura is good so I stay in the car to listen to the whole call–and may I interrupt this thought to say Dr. Laura is an asshole? However, that doesn’t mean I’m not riveted. You don’t think I know some of you hate-read me the same way I hate-listen to Dr. L? Puleeeze. Also, you think I care? Go on ahead wit’cher hatey self. Now go do the right thing.
The point is, Steely Dan has taken to jumping on the car when I get home, and climbing though the window if it’s down. Then he likes to prowl about my car while Dr. Laura humiliates another person who just wants advice. Oh my god, a hateful woman, she is.
The Poet at work is getting two new dogs tonight! She’s a Pomeranian person. Her last two dogs, which covered, like, the last 32 years of her life, were Poms. Now tonight she and I are driving all over yonder to meet and possibly (pfft. probably) adopt a mother and daughter Pom duo. So some of us at work got a little collection going, a baby shower of sorts, where she did not have to be the center of attention, as that is not her thing.
I found her those Pomeranian notecards, in case she wants to write other Pomeranians. I wonder if Pomeranians are Armenian? Because Marvin once pointed out to me that all Armenian last names rhyme with Armenian, and that has stuck with me.
Being on WordPress is exciting, and not just because someone at their help desk reads this blog and has been ridiculously helpful these weeks and should get, like, a work award for all the assistance she’s given me. But also cause it gives me all kinds of stats, such as who comments the most (Laura T) and who looks at what categories, if you’re so inclined to read my blog by category.
It would appear …friend/Ned is the top category, and how can that be more interesting than my pets, who do all sorts of fascinating things?
Look at poor beleaguered Edsel, who had to take all Lottie’s toys, fmr., out of the hole she dug in that bed in order to hide said toys. Not only did they make his bed lumpy, he never plays with anything but Blu, so they’re all for naught. That terrible day that Lottie left, I tried to gather as many of her accoutrements as I could find, not knowing she’d created this bunker, this storage unit, till weeks later.
He looks clean, though, doesn’t he? That bath did him a world of good. I mean, I guess that’s a matter of opinion. Depends who you ask, here.
Okay, I gotta go. I’m going to work and then getting right on the road to steal me some teensy floofy dogs. I suggested the names Pom-Pom and Mediterranean the Pomeranian, but no one listens to me.
Your favorite hate read,