Even though I have allegedly set it up so that when I plug my phone into my computer–and there’s something anyone said, ever, in 1947–my photos should pop right up, they never do. They USED to. I’ve no idea what’s gone wrong.
This means that, every day, as opposed to everyday, I plug in my phone, wait expectantly because I’m incredibly sane, then get annoyed that the photos don’t pop up. So then I have to click on the icon for photos, and you want to know what annoys me?
That bounce, bounce, bounce, thing that happens at the bottom of your Mac when an icon is starting or wanting to tell you something. You’re in the MIDDLE of writing your NOT BLOG, and bounce, bounce, bounce.
You’re Skyping your therapist. bounce, bounce, bounce.
Doing freelance work that’s due. bounce, bounce, bounce.
And every time it happens, I’m all, WHAT? What do you want? I don’t do well with interruptions.
The point is, as usual today, I plugged my phone in and no photos. Then I got the bounce, bounce, bounce, and there was great annoy, Lu annoy, in the land. And then after all that? After I plugged and kvetched and bounced and scowled and waited?
I didn’t take any pictures yesterday. After all that, there was no harvest. Yesterday was a busildy day, with me filling in for another department, and then this place I used to work for circa 1999-2002 wrote me to ask if I could look at four, yes four, things they’re printing like it’s 1999, and I said sure, so at lunch I killed myself to do that, and I worked late to help out yet another department, and then I came home and worked on that freelance project I have until 9:30.
Then I looked at my phone, and this other woman I freelance for said, “I know you’re doing that big project, but do you have time to do one for me, as well?”
And that is why I did not take any photos yesterday, I guess.
So because we’re all visual–why else are you here? No one wants to READ anymore. Read. Pfft. Soon people will forget how. Heaven knows they’ve already forgotten how to spell and punctuate. Lately I’ve been seeing this a lot: ,,,
Well,,,the thing is,,,if Tamara wasunt sutch a bitch,,,she would be a nicer persun.
Maybe I need to not be a member of those Real Housewives clubs on Facebook. But I see it on dating sites, too. Commas. They require a space after them, and no space before them, and you only need one. Should I get this as a lovely tattoo?
ANYWAY, since we’re visual and I have no current pictures, and by “current” I mean from the last 24 hours and when did we all get this way? Since I have no currrent pictures,,,I will just randomly scroll through my photos and plop some in here. Let’s go way back so they’re interesting.
Hey, selfie-taker. Good selfie. This was Christmas 2012, when Ned and I schlepped all the way to that small town where Violet the puppy lived, to see her in the Christmas parade, riding her fire truck. Do you all know that she died? Violet was a black and white puppy someone placed in my car in October of 2012, while I was in PetSmart. I had no idea they had car service. Anyway, I found her a home at a fire station nearby, and this spring she got really sick and died.
Boy, June, this is fun.
Ned’s old apartment. Boy, self, this is fun.
Heeeeee. I have an actual Aunt Mary. I hope she understands that the moment she dies, I am STAMPEDING to the store to get this.
Ohhhhhhhh. In case you just got here, and really, why do I say that? “Oh, hey, maybe I’ll see if there’re any blogs I should check out! Cause it’s 2009! I wonder if her pictures pop up when she plugs in her flip phone?” Anyway, in case you just got here, this was my kitten, Henry, whom I lost in the divorce and who is still the cutest little orange buttercup. This is also my dog, Tallulah, who died. Tallulah loved Henry at first sight.
Boy, June, this is fun.
Hey, selfie-taker. Nice insane selfie. I’m behind you in the bathroom mirror! This was in Ned’s parking lot at his old apartment. I don’t know how I can tell, but I can.
Faithful Reader Laurie at my yard sale.
I had either just woken up, just worked out, or just been raped by Cossacks.
Aw. Neither of these Alexes work with me anymore.
I remember texting this dress to Ned, asking if I should buy it, and he said no, and I think he was wrong. I look like Blondie Bumstead in this dress. Why the heck didn’t I buy it?
I’d be too fat for it now, anyway. Am currently enormous. I read Carrie Fisher autopsy report yesterday, while feeling sad for her that her autopsy report was available for me to read. As sad as the whole thing was, I noted her weight and said, Well, at least Carrie Fisher outweighed me.
Tallulah eats. NedKitty glares.
It never failed to amuse me when this happened.
My ex-boyfriend Cardinal and me in 1988. Dear Mom: What made you say, Oh! Political buttons are a great way to brighten up the kitchen area! Probably the same voice that made me say, Hey, I know. A PERM. And some White Zinfandel!
People doing yoga at work. As you do.
Helping The Poet pick out new glasses. I still like the glasses we picked out for her. Her shirt reads Paris, and I’d like to point out to you that her parents fell in love in Paris. Yeah, me too.
Oh, I still adore these shoes. I’d totally wear them today but am unpedicured. As part of my paying off my credit card mission, I’m not dyeing my hair except out of a box (sad), not getting manicures or pedicures (may cave on pedicures now that summer is here and the time is right for pedicuring in the street) and I’m not even Botoxing. It’s gonna be a sad, unattractive time.
And ask me how far I’ve gotten. This whole year, I’ve been freelancing and trying to pay off my debt (which is, like, $7,000. It’s not THAT bad, but still) and I’ve gotten it down to $1,000 less.
Marty Martin and me at Scrabble. Because nerds? No.
Hey, maybe this is what inspired me! My door muse. The paint is here, but it has stormed violently for like a week.
This was Ned’s fortune cookie once. I’m not saying a word.
Okay, I’d better go. Let’s do one more. Here I go, scrolling. This is like Wheel of Fortune. Right there lets you know how fun it is. Buy a vowel! I never know why they waste their money on vowels. In real life, vowels are free.
Goddammit. Let’s do another.
SQUEEEEEEE! Baby Steely Dan!!!! Oh, I just wanna kiss him up.