I have the best possible news.
My smoothies came.
I forgot to look in the bathroom mirror this morning and rub my (new) lips like the girl in the commercial, but I did grab a smoothie out of the freezer the way she did. I ordered a bunch of flavors, but here are the ingredients in the one I grabbed:
- Organic zucchini squash. Why can’t they just say “zucchini”?
- Organic pumpkin seeds. Organic? Was that necessary?
- Organic dates. That’s everyone my mom dated in the ’70s.
- Avocado. Oh, apparently THAT doesn’t need to be organic.
- ORGANIC coconut milk.
- ORGANIC cacao powder. Why’re we going around saying “cacao” all of a sudden? It’s like we’re saying it wrong. It’s like we’re from another planet, trying to pass. yes would like hot cacao then take me to leader.
- ORRRRGANIC coconut.
- Or–guess what–ganic coconut oil. Sounds fattening. …Twenty-one grams of fat. Jesus.
- ORRRRRRRRRGANIC pea protein. And yes, I still have no idea what pea protein is. Remember when I made Hulk eat hummus and he had 47 giggles over “chick pea”?
- Everyone’s favorite, organic cocoa nibs. Would you like some cocoa? Oh, just a nib. How was your organic date with that dude? Well, he had a cocoa nib. …Oh.
- And, finally, Himalayan pink sea salt. How obnoxious. Bitch, I’m from Saginaw. We get our salt from the girl in the raincoat.
I wish I could make it now, but I’m distinctly not hungry, as I ate a lot last night. I had dinner with Ned.
I remember when Ned and I broke up, which doesn’t narrow it down.
The big time. The time I moved out.
Anyway, when we broke up, I told him, “You know what I’ll never be? I’ll never be part of your harem of exes you keep as friends.”
Ned is friends with several people he dated. I mean, when I met him, he was 46 and never married, so you can imagine the posse of wimmin in his past. I’ve met a couple of his exes, and they were way cool. Lovely people. I would be friends with them in real life. But I wasn’t going to join them in being his pal.
Then guess what I did. I joined them. And yes, my lip IS starting to bruise.
Also, I enjoy this shot…
…as I look like some kind of villain.
Anyway, Ned-who-I-said-I’d-never-be-friends-with called me at 5:30 last night.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m at work,” I said. “Where are YOU?”
“I’m leaving work.”
Leaving work! Ned! At 5:30! You have no idea how not like him that is.
“Do you want to have dinner?” he asked. I’ve been trying to get rid of my excess of strawberries, so for lunch I’d made a smoothie of strawberries, spinach, frozen blueberries and a little almond butter.
“Yes,” I said, and what I like about myself is I’m a woman of my word.
So I had a french dip, which I can pretty much assure you no French woman would ever order. I also choked on my cranberry juice, and I choke on liquids constantly and I’m over it. I already did the thing where they went down my throat with a tube and there was nothing there SO WHY DO I KEEP CHOKING?
Anyway, I lived, and after dinner and a choke we strolled through the garden near the restaurant.
Actually, I had trouble watching the puppy play with all those big dogs. Edsel has traumatized me. Thanks, Edsel.
“Ooo, take my picture behind the ‘K,’ I commanded Ned.
“K,” he said, because he’s a dissappointed texter.
All I needed was the one photo, but you know how Ned is.
There are two kinds of people in the world: People who take one photo and people who think it’s funny to take 129239492 photos.
“You’re wasting film,” I tried.
Anyway, that’s why I’m not quite ready for a smoothie.
Now the weekend yawns before me, a holiday weekend at that, and other than preparing my white pants, I have no plans. I’m a bit tempted to do some sort of house project, like paint the bathroom. Or my bedroom. Ooooo. I could paint the spare bedroom like a pale rose color. I’ve been wanting to do that anyway.
If I paint one more thing pale blue or green Ima retch. Is pale rose too obnoxious?
I know I talked about moving, but now I’m not so sure. I like my little house, and it turns out any house out in the country costs MORE. Turns out they charge you for land. Why? It’s just grass you gotta mow.
Why can’t I meet some hot farmer? Some farmer with the delts?
I stole that line from Sex and the City.
Anyway, then I could just move myself and my 40 animals over to his pad. And maybe he’d have goaties. Or piglets. That he’d slaughter for bacon. Oh, a farm! How wonderful.
I had a dream last night that at my front door was a mom cat, a dad cat, and their kittens, which were newborn. They’d come to my house knowing it was a safe haven.
Note: I WOULD LOVE IF THAT REALLY HAPPENED.
Speaking of which, the woman who took Cora has her safely ensconced at home now. Look at her poor shavey tiddies. She had her operation, so no more kids for Cora. Seven is enough to fill our lives with love.
Is everyone waiting for me to mention spending our days like bright and shiny new dimes? What about the plate of homemade wishes on the kitchen windowsill?
I didn’t ask if she’s keeping that name, Cora’s mom, I mean. I think it’s a fitting name, but you’ll be stunned to hear it’s not my decision.
I’ll try to pop in here at some point over the weekend, to see if you’re watching the telethon.
Don’t forget to be memorial.