Ooo, wait. I think I got paid last night. Hang on…
…Aw, HELL, yeah.
Last night I was the Little Match Girl. This morning I’m a rapper in the club, throwing bills on the asses of strippers. Let me get my pimp cup.
Do you like how all my versions of big spending are from 1996 music videos?
ACTUALLY, she mansplains, I ended this pay period with a respectable $236 left over. I know for some of you, a respectable $236 would make you panic and hang on to the kids and live on your own urine till you got paid, but I was all, heyyyyy! Look who’s middle class, with her comfortable cushion of TWO THIRTY SIX, over here! I was June Cleaver.
Also, while we’re still on the prickly topic of monnnayy, I got my tax refund. Now, first I was going to send it all to my mother for the fence. In case you aren’t familiar with my every move, and how is that even possible, my mother fronted me the cash for my fence and I am paying her back. Somewhere in a sidebar here is the countdown, the FINAL COUNTDOWN, of what I owe her. I’d already subtracted the tax refund and it’s at $2,000 now.
But just this morning I was looking at Iris, over there eating her sick-stomach food blindly, and remembered her recent health emergency and remembered I put that all on a card and I think I still owe on it. So maybe I’ll divide the two — fence and cat emergency. Fence and the red river valley that flowed outta my cat the other day. Straight outta colon.
I’d really prefer to $pend it in the club. Actually, a club sounds like a nightmare, doesn’t it? All that loud music and you can’t talk. Plus I’d just get a migraine after the first drink and heyyyy, hoooo, heyyyyy, hoooo, hey—fuck this. Hey, ho, I’m going home.
Oh. Happy Valentine’s Day! Are we going to have sex now? This morning I woke up to not one but TWO V-Day texts from various and sundry men, which proves I have still got it, although along with my ovaries, that is hanging by a thread.
Also, and I seem to have a lot of announcements today. This whole post is just a bullet-list newsletter on mimeographed paper. But also, you know how I drink a lot of the coffee. Recently I figured out that Seattle’s Best Coffee tastes just the same as Starbucks but for way cheaper. Which is probably how I have $236 left over. But a few days in a row now I haven’t liked the best Seattle has to offer me. I’m all, bleah. What the hell with this coffee?
And then it occurred to me. Maybe I should put fewer scoops in. So today I did, and you know what? It’s better!
Right then I knew.
I guess that’s all my news for today’s newsletter, and I really should start churning the mimeograph. As I write you all the pertinent info of the day, Eds and I are having a standoff. I have to feed Iris separately from the other cats, although some days that’s just too exhausting and I say screw it and everyone gets Iris’s $99 food, but usually not because see above re $99 food. So while Lily and Milous eat on the dryer like normal people, Iris has to eat over on the counter in the kitchen, the one my neighbor Ronda said was “classy” because I don’t have anything on it.
However, that shelf is low enough that if Edsel really really really tries, if he puts on his heels, he can get to it. And what happens more often than I’d like to admit is, I get into writing here and
roll roll roll roll
the now-empty bowl of Iris-got-99-problems-but-her-food-ain’t-one rotates across my floor and Edsel looks pleased and well-fed. HE JUST ATE. But that is always irrelevant to the Eds.
Meanwhile, Iris will be still up on the counter with her hands on her hips. ware fud go?
So today, every 45 seconds or so, I have to say, “Edsel.” Because he’s once again creeping ’round my back stairs, out of this room, and over to the bowl. As soon as I say his name, he letter-Cs and slunks back in here (slunks is a FINE word) but I have to stay alert at all times like an airport German shepherd.
It’s overwhelming, all this responsibility. I don’t know how I manage to do it all.
All right, I really am going now, and fending off my many swains on Valentine’s Day. I had more than one woman friend offer me a happy GALentine’s Day yesterday and I am no longer friends with any of them.