It’s a foggy day here; I like foggy days. I tried to photograph it for you but by the time I went back in, fed the cats, texted a company about something they charged me for, got my phone and came back out, the fog had lifted and all that was left was Edsel holding his bunny.
Anyway, trust me, it was foggy half an hour ago and I liked it.
Last week, the fancy poet, who plays cello and whose parents got married all in French, asked me if I’d go with her for her first pedicure. I was so excited I could have spitted in French. Of COURSE I could go with her on this important journey.
Naturally I took her to my staple: Elegant Nail & Tan, where I’ve been going since aught 8 and have never seen anyone tanning, any tanning equipment or anyone tanning a hide.
She got a pedicure, a royal blue that looked magnificent on her and I was impressed with her bold choice. She’d originally wanted some pearl kind of color but very work-related emails re this included my professionally chiding her for such a foolish decision. “You won’t be able to SEE it,” I said, and that sums up my approach to life. Always do too much.
The best part is I saw her over there reading a magazine and I thought, this is great. She’s catching up on her Us Weekly and getting her toes done just like the rest of us not-smart people.
When I looked more closely, she had brought The New Yorker with her to read.
Anyway she made a good choice in nail color, whereas I went for this odd gray-purple that gives me a bit of a Frankenstein vibe.
Speaking of aught six, that’s a year less than I’ve had that sweater, a sweater I bought in TinyTown and I should really retire it. Give it its gold watch and sheet cake.
On Saturday, first thing, Eds and I went back to the vet to check on his gall bladder and liver. I brought in a video with my camcorder because it’s 1990 RN, and showed the vet how Edsel almost topples over after we play. She took him in for an EKG and an ultrasound while I eyed the many Halloween-themed cupcakes on a table that I couldn’t figure out of they were for public consumption or just for all those fekkin selfish heifers who work there. I really really wanted one bad. But I never took one.
Finally she returned.
Edsel has an enlarged heart, she told me. Well, of course he does. He has the biggest heart of anyone I know.
And his right hooo de hooo isn’t pumping correctly and that’s why his liver and gall bladder are off. Also he has
this was about when everything turned to cotton. My brain just became cotton. LAST month, when I took him originally, I had my friend Jo with me. Why wasn’t she here now? Because, what, now? Who, now?
Surely you aren’t telling me my dog has heart problems.
I took Eds over to the kitten they had for adoption just to make him feel better. I paid the six hundred thousand dollar vet bill. I took his meds. Then we drove sort of silently home.
Apparently, dogs can live for years with this. Some don’t. I’d really like MORE than this to go on, but all I have are signs to look for. She said to think of three things he gets excited about, and if those drop off, I’ll know it’s time.
What the hell?
Fortunately for me, my lawn guy came over soon after we got home. He was aerating my lawn for me, which I’m delighted I decided on given my vet bill that day. My lawn guy, Victor, is a find. He always does a little something extra: weeds the garden, evens the hedges. Each time I find a little surprise.
That day he had his kids with him, a son and a daughter. I’d estimate they are anywhere from 7 to 19 years old.
“May I use your bathroom?” asked the daughter, so I let her in to my luxurious dwelling. “Oh, books!” she said. On Friday, I’d had Goodwill come to take my armoire away. I’d bought it back during my year abroad when we needed closets and now all it did was hold about 50 books. The rest of my books are in my kitchen cabinets and two small bookshelves.
“Oh, PLEASE take some,” I said to her. “I’m planning to donate most of them anyway.”
She was delighted by this, and I put on makeup in this room while she stood in my hall looking at books. Turns out she was born in 2002, which, how is that even a thing, where someone can walk and have thoughts and stuff, if they were born that soon ago?
“Oh, wow, is this your YEARBOOK?” she asked, holding up my 1982 Legenda. What does legenda even mean? “Look at the shorts on your soccer team!”
We had a soccer team?
She marveled at the hair and the clothes and I showed her my photo in my mauve Fair Isle sweater. “You were so beautiful!” she said, and I really liked this 2002 girl.
“When you went to school, did they have, like, one person everyone knew?” she asked.
“Do you mean did we have popular people?”
She thought maybe popularity wasn’t a thing, I guess, back then, as we were so busy chasing mastadon for lunch. “Yes,” I assured her, “we did.”
She paged through my yearbook pointing out people she thought were likely popular, and she was usually right, although she did point out one burnout but of course she had no idea what burnout meant. Is this generation so earnest that there are no kids who skip school and smoke in the woods?
Anyway I was having a magnificent time with her and I should have stayed with her because instead I left for
brought to you by Kellogg. I have no idea why I said that but it must have been a tagline from some show I watched in 1972 or something.
Anyway. First of all, he had us meet in this diner I’d never even heard of, and of course I got lost going there and what’s with men picking spots that are convenient to them?
I called him to say I was lost and would be a little late. “Well, another thing about this diner. They only take cash,” he said. “Who carries cash?”
So in all my lateness I pulled into a gas station and got cash, then when I showed up he was literally waiting outside for me not 20 feet from a giant ATM.
“Pfft. Oh, that machine’s a scam,” he said, “I can tell. Why put it just here, at this diner? The diner’s just here to steal people’s identities.”
And right then, I knew. I was with conspiracy guy.
He’s cute AF, and he’s a little younger than me, which, coo coo ca choo, Mrs. Robinson.
Both this guy and I are older than Mrs. Robinson.
Anyway, he seemed smart and quirky online, but in person we’re talking fringe politics nervous manic Obama-is-the-antichrist actually says the word “feminazi” guy.
Oh my god I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And he will be my swan song. I officially give up on dating online.
This year, I’ll bet I’ve gone on at least one date a month and more like four a month. Here is what I’m finding: Men online are always, always missing one of the following:
A real job (so many “work from home” or “contract”)
A lack of addiction
An ability to form a relationship
The most promising person I dated was this German guy who has a great job, has lived all over the world, has been divorced as long as I have and was married for longer, and? Goes three weeks without contacting me. Then when he does he acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world to pick back up. Next time he calls I’m not answering.
So, I give up.
On Sunday I cleaned and grocery shopped and Googled Edsel’s medicines and got sad. My dog is sick. My cat is sick too. Not Mr. Health, up there, but Iris. I was supposed to take her back to the vet today but I had to reschedule because I can’t afford both Iris and Edsel’s huge vet bills in one pay period.
So now it’s Monday and I’m glad for the distraction of work, frankly.
I will talk to all y’all tomorrow.