I have the best possible news: I finally used up the bad toilet paper!
I think I got it in, like, December, at an Office Depot or some other chain that has no business selling TP, and they were having a sale for some enormous quantity of rolls for like a dollar ninety-nine or something, and I unashamedly carried that shit-ton, so to speak, of toilet paper out that store like I was preparin’ for a poop parade. And then of course I got home and it was terrible.
Nevertheless, I persisted, and as of now I am out of it, and of course have no backup toilet paper and must use Kleenex until I can get to the store.
And that sums up today so far, except my trainer wrote to see if I want to go to a boxing class at 5:45. If I can get to Target for wrap stuff for my hands and can get out of work on time, I am so going.
I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever. First I wrote you about Sex and the City (not in the city) and then I wrote you a very specific post about one single hour in my day, and then yesterday I didn’t have time and so we haven’t really talked, it seems like.
This weekend I went over to the really pretty church near my house. I pass it all the time, and it has a lovely graveyard, and I’ve been wanting to check it out forever. My neighborhood is called White Oak, and I HAVE a white oak in my yard, and anyway I think that’s why the acorn. Not that it’s the church of the baby acorn or anything.
And I mean because the whole neighborhood is called White Oak, not because I personally own a white oak. In 1756, they knew I’d be moving in 250 years later and that I’d have an oak, so they made that their mascot.
They’re very into telling you it was founded in 1756. We all love the ’50s. I blame Potsie.
Anyway, I sipped a cranberry limeaid from Sonic and wandered about the place, not knowing if that was forbidden or not, but who’s gonna come out and yell at the old lady drinking a Sonic? No one.
Oh, ’twas lovely there.
And the graveyard was lovely, too. Someone once told me if it’s attached to a church, it’s a graveyard. If it stands alone, it’s a cemetery. I might have that mixed up, though.
The grave-etery had the kind of tree I had growing up, with these sticks that grew. If you were a child, these sticks were magnificent. They stirred pots when you played house. They were a teacher’s pointer. They were magic wands. And if worse came to worst, you could beat someone with them as well.
I also peeked in the windows. That must be god’s office, right there.
And here’s a selfie in case you didn’t believe me that I went there, thought these were all stock photos of the church of the baby acorn. I’ve stopped Botoxing and usually I think that’s fine until a photo shows the Panama Canal on my forehead.
In other news, he does this all the time. (In other other news, need groceries, stat.)
Milhous has always enjoyed being the cat who shows up weird places so you’re kind of all, ACK! I didn’t expect to see you there!
I keep flipflops and galoshes by the back door, for traipsing in the yard despite the weather, but that other shoe is Edsel’s fault. He can’t leave my shoes alone. It is his duty to carry them around worshipfully. Then drop them with disinterest once he has a chance to go outside.
I have to go. I am going to the chiropractor this morning, as all my years of sports have finally come home to roost. Alternatively, I had a reading injury.
Speaking of reading, this is a bad screen shot, but this is the last book I read and I love it. A struggling writer gets word an editor is interested in his book, and that editor is Jackie Kennedy.
Dun dun DUNNNN.
Go read it.
Talk to you later. I’ll show up somewhere weird at your house, like Mil.
P.S. I finished this and immediately kicked Mil, who was sitting right next to me in an odd place.