Ask Lu · June's stupid life

cat poup delish. and other advice. (A Guest Post by Tallulah Gardens.)

100_1844lu not no if you aware that she the smart one of this operashun.

first, lu gotta live with mom. she not so dum, but there some theengs she maybe culd fix in her lifes.

Photo on 9-17-12 at 5.21 PM #2you eber seee lu hair looking like petur framton? you do not. lu keep her hair tydee all time. even when come in frum rain. and being out in rain not make lu dum. sometime gotta go in rain. sometime got to pee. it way of wurld.

oh, and you neber see lu frensh kiss wif stupit lily, eether.

Photo on 9-14-12 at 6.31 PMhonest god, mom. get brush.

IMG_2098you eber see lu pee all over howse and haf to go to vet 40 time like eye-riss? eye-riss HATE vet. she tell me. I say, stop pee on floor, then. eeedeeit.

but no. she keep doeeng it and haf to go bak in cage and go to vet. lilee never give her any advyse. just giggle when eye-riss go.

100_1846we eben need to diskuss edzul?

since no one lissen to lu heer at howse, lu have offer for you.

you got problem? you got woe? you got sorrow in lyfe?

6a00e54f9367fb8834017744d19a39970d-800wilu care deeplee.

send your kwestins and lu answer them. she tell you what to do in lyfe. she tell you how to fix all. lu solve.

you not beleef? really? look at lu lyfe. lu get to lie all day. eet cat poops. have dinnerz. get nice walk. play in yard. sometime go dog daykare. get hed skritched.

you think lu get this lyfe by accident?

go ahed. ask lu. she anser you tomorrow. unless mom not feel like it and blog about another theeng. then she anser you later.

whatev.

ask lu.

Ask Lu · June's stupid life

The Ecstasy of June’s Candy Bar

I like my view from this desk.

IMG_0013You should have seen that tree a week ago. I’ve been told it’s the prettiest tree in the entire neighborhood. It’s not our tree, it belongs to the unfriendly woman next door who’s still not made any effort to say hello. Granted, any time she’s ventured outside my damn dogs bark at her, so who can blame her?

Yesterday at lunch I went to stupid Deep Roots, this hippie grocery store in the neighborhood, where I go because it’s convenient to here and work, but the salad bar is three inches long, they’re always out of salmon and they clearly use some kind of natural chickens who weren’t pumped up with hormones, so you get a piece of baked chicken and get to eat one tiny hint of him. There’s no meat there. You, like, can’t taste him so much as you can kind of hear his thoughts a little. So I usually get an actual salad with 57 garbanzo beans so I don’t starve to death, and then more often than not I get a pretentious dessert there, too.

The total comes to about $47 a day.

Oh, and did I ever mention the part where no one there ever moves? I’ve never seen a less rushed group of people. Maybe there’s such a thing as too much meditation.

Everyone’s standing around glazed, in their Earth shoes, their flowing Guatemalan scarves unmoving because they’re admiring the chickens’ thoughts from the salad bar. Seriously, brothers and sisters, I know all you have to do all day is make hemp pouches and give peace a chance, but I have to get back to work.

I’d give up and go to Subway, also conveniently located, but they have new ownership and that owner decided one slice of turkey is enough. It used to be eight is enough to fill my bread with love. I used to spend my days at Subway like bright and shiny new dimes. But seriously, it’s like one slice of turkey and they cordially invite you to hear the turkey’s thoughts while you chew seven feet of bread surrounding it.

THE POINT IS, yesterday at Deep Roots I bought a ninety-six dollar dark chocolate candy bar with sea salt and almonds in it. I love how they call it “sea salt” now; doesn’t all salt come from the sea? Anyway, what’s so enticing about sea salt, anyway? Isn’t it just salt you swam in on your last vacation, and now it’s in your candy bar?

Still, that particular hundred-and-fifty-dollar candy bar is delicious, and I ate just a few sections from it, and by “just a few” I mean half. I put the rest in the cupboard at home.

Last night, Ned had a work function, which was fine because I have all that freelance work. I was in the living room, where I was delighted to find an author’s name misspelled in what I was proofing (Midred instead of Mildred. I KNOW!) and I kept hearing

{crinkle}.

I was very busy concentrating, and looking things up online like is there really anyone named Midred in the world, but still

{crinkle}.

You know, I’ve had dogs since 2008 and you’d think I’d be a little quicker on the uptake. It wasn’t till I headed into the kitchen for some peanuts that Ned healthfully roasts himself without salt or even sea salt that I passed Tallulah’s bed, where she was ecstatically licking the wrapper to my six hundred dollar candy bar.

Seriously, she looked like one of those old paintings that are always titled The Ecstasy of Someone-or-Other, and you always wonder what was so damn great when they hadn’t even invented batteries yet.

Rubens1

The Ecstasy of The Old-Timey Candy Bar, The Nestle Hundred-Thousand Pennies Bar or Whatev.

And I know chocolate is poiiiiiison to dogs, but you don’t know how good that uppity dark-chocolate thing was, so at this point I hope she dies. Plus, I looked it up and she didn’t eat enough to have serious effects. She’s down there right now, curled back up on her bed, looking delighted, and a little bloaty from sea salt.

What I wanna know is, HOW DID SHE GET IT? It was in the cupboard. I remember distinctly where I put it. Did she get on Edsel’s shoulders? If she did, you know she didn’t share it after. Did she shove a chair over? How did she manage it?

Tallulah is a dick. A chocolate dick. “Oh, what kind of dog do you have?” “Oh, she’s a chocolate dick.”

So that’s that story. I think tonight I’ll finish up my freelance work, so that’s a plus, and I was considering making (wait for it) lasagna tonight.

I’ll ask Tallulah if she’s in the mood for lasagna.

...friend/Ned · Ask Lu · At Two With Nature · I hate everything · June can't keep a man

(redundant)

I don't get why people like fantasy and science fiction. It's so not interesting to me. I don't see how you can get riveted by things that don't exist. Oh! There's a curse from the Land of Dumblethworp and it's going to affect all the Kasimotos!

Who gives a fuck? I don't even know the name of the street a block over from me. I'm supposed to remember who the Kasimotos are?

My cousin Katie, who similarly teaches tolerance, sent me a text this weekend that merely read, "I don't understand gladiator sandals."

Actually, while we're on the subject of my love-everyone friends and family, I got a SERIES (a SERIES!!) of texts from my friend Paula in Seattle. She was out to dinner with her husband Saturday night, and they pretty much spent the whole evening detesting the annoying hipster woman (redundant) next to them.

First, the woman told the waiter her husband wanted "a simple wine," while she wanted "something more structured."

Dear annoying hipster woman (redundant): Yes, it's Saturday night and I'm trying to wait on 50 people and there's a line out the door. But let me sit around and decide which of our wines has more structure.

Then she regaled the waiter with all of her idiosyncrasies during her second glass, when she wanted just "something red."

I'd give her something red.

Finally, (in between those, Paula texted me that her asshole had permanently puckered. This was a nod, a structured nod, to my grandmother, who when she got mad said things made her asshole pucker up and twitch. Which reminds me, I watched a documentary on Jackie O last night, followed by one on Princess Diana, and it was pretty much my ultimate evening other than no one handed me a kitten at the end of it).
IMG_1314
Lottie. So not into Jackie O or Princess Di, since 2016. Currently she's all head, like one of those parades with all the, you know, big heads.

Oh my god, back to my sentence. So, finally, at the end of the meal, the annoying hipster woman (redundant) claimed to be too full for dessert, unless the waiter had "something that amazes me."

OH MY FUCKING GOD I'D HAVE CHOPPED HER UP AND PUT HER GIZZARD IN THE PIZZA OVEN. You know what amazes me? Is that she's still alive, and no one has seen fit to chop her face clean off.

The best part of all this is picturing my already-cantankerous friend Paula getting cantankerous-er by the minute. And her husband's such a lover of people, as well. Oscar the Grouch's character is modeled after her husband. He was five at the time.

Other than that, I pretty much photographed the whole weekend for you; scroll down to this weekend's posts if'n you don't believe me.
Junegoesout

Here's one I took with my desktop camera, wherein I must have heard something interesting. Lu was the queen of the head tilt. She did it all the time. She did it when you said "Obama." I don't know why. She never told me.

Oh, also this weekend, I woke up in the middle of the night to hear Lily having one of her Vietnam flashbacks. Ever since she ran away for those 52 days in 2014, she'll have an occasional middle-of-the-night meowfest, where she makes this noise she never makes any other time. It's awful.

Anyway, she was doing that in the night, and when I half woke up and heard it, my instinct was to call her. Not on the phone. Hallooo? You haff reeech Lilee voice mayl.

To call her into the ROOM, genius, but I didn't wanna wake Ned. I could feel him pressed up behind me and I knew if I called Lily in, he'd wake up. Just as I was thinking that I heard a dog moan, and I realized it was Edsel up against me.

And right then I knew. Ned and I broke up 11 months ago. He hasn't been in the bed since God wore the short trousers.

That was disconcerting. And sad. Which sums up my life.

I leave you with some sounds of not silence. I filmed, for your pleasure, a ribbed, six-second video of the cicadas last night.

 

It was way louder in person. And whoever that car was, I hate you. It was probably the annoying hipster woman

(redundant)

driving by. Also, I did not at all come home from walking Lottie, sweatily take her leash off her and sweatily put it on Edsel, caring not for his humiliation or anything.

Also, this morning, speaking of sounds, as I was typing you, there was some sort of crow fest outside and I recorded that. It's super Hitchcock creepy, if you ask me.

 

The most important thing to take from this video is, what the fuck kind of a name is "Tippi"? Was she the family dog?   

I guess that's all I have to tell you. Tomorrow I'm taking the afternoon off to start a headache study, and remind me to tell you about that. How many days in a row do you give me to forget before I tell you? I say the study will be over before I remember.

Go off and prosper or whatever science-fiction bullshitty thing you want me to say,

June