“So. There you go,” texted Ned (“text” Ned), as he sent me the image above.
For all the complaining I do about people saying “text” as a past-tense form of, you know, “text,” I still hear it all the time. I also love that people write to me, “I read you everyday!” Well, you just failed my litmus test for whether you read me every day two words, so.
To review: I wear my everyday clothes every day. That is how you remember when to make it one word or two.
Anyway, Ned did not send me the above because they used “every day” right, but rather because he knows how I enjoy wall art, and even walls, telling me what to do. The woman who sits next to me has a calendar that every month has commanded us to do something.
I really don’t want any inanimate object telling me what to do. Also, that really looks like a lived-in room up there. Oh, let me just move aside the five-foot fake flowers so I can read about my FAITH. Apparently you have to scream that word.
At work, there’s a falcon (and a snowman) who resides up on one of the poles in the parking lot. I’ve named him Falcon Chris. I think he likes to survey his domain up there, and of course I’ve ordered some hawk gloves so he can land on my arm and I can kiss him repeatedly. I’m sure it does tons for his street cred when I’m down there going, “Hi, Falcony muffin headed muffin! I love you so bad! Did you catch any mice-ses today? Any delicious mice-ses? I’ll see you tomorrow, kittenheaded Falcon Chris!”
I love him.
Speaking of creatures I love but should not, behold Steely Dan, who allegedly turns one today except see yesterday’s post where that is just not true. He turns 10 months today, it’s just that the medical community won’t accept it.
OH MY GOD IT’S HOT.
Guess what I get now? Sexy hot flashes! I mean, the rest of the world gets a hot flash when I change clothes and forget to draw the blinds, but. I mean, mother of god, have you had these yet? I get them a few times a day now, and you’re minding your own business or stalking your ex online, whichever, and
BOOM IT’S HOT MOTHER OF CHRIST.
Then it isn’t.
Aging. It’s gettin’ old.
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Wooo! BAHAHAHAHA!
In other less elderly news, a woman at work brought her dog in yesterday. You know how I get about that. I get all Falcon Chris about that, is how I get. Dignity? I’m a regular Leslie Uggams.
Say, June, why don’t you pull a celebrity, fmr., out your ass?
Anyway. When I wasn’t lusting after animals domestic and foreign yesterday, I also received in the mail some Lipsense, and thank god because my lips have been confusing for years.
Faithful Reader Leslie sells this stuff, and for months now I’ve been watching her talk about it on the Facebook. It’s lipstick that lasts all day, and you know I was tempted to get some, but see Kaye, budget taskmaster. But the other day she messaged me. “I’m sending you some of the Champagne Pink lipstick,” she said. “If you hate it, just don’t mention it on your blog.”
Naturally I planned to hate it and rage on about it the way I do wall stencils where they scream the word FAITH at you.
Here I am last night after work, apparently as a prison guard, because what’s with the mug, sourpuss?
Okay, so, you gotta put it on in this exact way, then sit there with your mouth open for five seconds, and that middle picture reminds me of my ex-best-friend’s husband, who when my ex and I would be in one of our seven-hour phone calls, he’d at some point want her attention, so he’d stand in front of her with his mouth open like he was JUST ABOUT to say something, and stand that way, in suspended animation till she was all, “WHAT?”
They’re divorced now.
Anyway, the final one looks like I’ve just had seven hours of sex or I’m thinking deep thoughts that must soon be stenciled on a wall somewhere, but the point is, (a) I like the color and (2) I took it out on the town, and by “out on the town” I mean a 20-minute walk with Edsel, and it lasted through that and also through the Pepsi I drank, which, don’t even ask.
Okay, at my headache study, I’ve struck up a friendship with the janitor in the building where we go after hours for our study meetings, and the other night he knocked on the door and had bought soda for everyone. It was so cute I could have cried. I could have Falcon Chris-ed all over him. I saved one of the Pepsis for a special occasion, such as new lipstick.
Anyway, I gotta go.
So far while I’ve been writing this, I snapped at my friend Mark for texting me (“I’M WRITING“) and then Ned for calling me six seconds later (“Im WRITING“) and now I’m fairly late for the shower portion of my day.
Before I go, I had the fence man over yesterday to measure my yard, and it will cost $4,200 to put up a wood fence just on three sides, and not the side near Peg’s house (it’s so tree-y that it would cost a fortune to do that part).
So. No fence for me, it looks like. Don’t fence me in. Because I can’t afford it.
In debt’s grip,