Your "What I would title my memoir" comments yesterday were priceless. PRICELESS. That'll be $17, please.
Yesterday was another harrowing day at work, and it left me drained. Normally, I love it there, and I know I'm lucky to say that. Ned comes home from work looking alabaster all the time. He'll flop down and be listless for awhile, like someone has died. Then he'll look at his phone and do work things again.
I'm hardly ever like that. Usually I leave there giggling about something someone has said or written. It's a good place. But yesterday I left and promptly went to Burger King.
Say one word about it going to my cankles and I'll cut a bitch.
Then I went home and did Tracy Chapman, and Ned came home and rode his bike. Then he flopped listlessly in our back yard looking sweaty, like someone had died after he'd wrestled them for half an hour. Finally, he came inside.
"Want to take the dogs for a walk?"
I was screaming at Tracy Chapman like I always do.
"Oh, come ON, you fucking bitch. How many of these can we possibly DO?"
"Fuck off, you skinny little smug blonde heifer."
"Oh, keep that I-could-do-this-all-night look on your face, fire-eating hag."
That sort of thing.
"Okay," I said. So I finished my workout, changed clothes and took the dogs on a long walk, the kind of walk where Tallulah floomps herself on the cooling grate when we get home. "Have you eaten?" asked Ned, who thinks normal people come home from work, sit listlessly, work out, sit listlessly again, walk dogs all over yonder and THEN think about dinner.
"Yes, of course I have," I told him, knowing he'd ask but hoping he wouldn't.
"What did you have?" What I've eaten and how I enjoyed it is a big thing with Ned. I have always said food is his sex.
"I went to Burger King. I got a Whopper."
Ned paused to digest this. Literally.
"A Whopper JUNIOR?" he asked.
"No, Ned, the whole thing. A whole, entire Whopper, and it was delicious, and I had a bad day, so stop."
A Whopper Junior. Geez.
Ned right this minute wants you to know he didn't ask, "A Whopper JUNIOR?" like that. That he was just asking. He wants you all to know he thinks I'm a dick for telling that story that way. "I was just laughing WITH you," said Ned. "Whoppers are delicious," said Ned.
Who had probably not had a Whopper in two decades.
Any second now, Ima hear, "I got your Whopper, right here."
I had a point to this whole story, but not I've forgotten it. Aren't you glad you came here? At any rate, Louis C.K. was on last night so at least the night ended with a bang. So to speak. I love that show and it's ALREADY OVER for the season. What the hell? I feel like it just came on again.
I'm not sure if I'll have time to write you tomorrow, and after today's riveting post I know that leaves a big hole in your heart, but I have TWO baby showers to attend. I've known about them for months and of course waited till this week to clammily order things at the last minute. Now I have to pray to the god of baby showers that these gifts actually arrive today, otherwise Ima show up to both with a bag of weed and a copy of Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti.*
I also have some panicked wrapping paper to purchase. And of course one is having a girl and the other is having a boy, so Dear TinaDoris and Spalex: You're both getting coal black wrapping paper. Happy shower!
Before I go, I wanted to hip you to Lily's new hobby, which is sitting in Ned's room chittering at birds. NedKitty will sit there, too, and do the same thing, but we both noted Iris never does. eyeriss do not see poynt of sitting in chayr. it overrate.
Last night, after our walk, we sat on the front porch and saw bats. I love a good bat. There was one in particular that kept flying past. I mean, I guess it was the same one. It wasn't wearing a medallion or a fright wig or anything that distinguished it from the other bats. The point is I named him Bat Lauer. Is there a way to attract bats? I want more bats. Do I put on a sexy bat girl outfit or something, like Bugs Bunny? Not that he ever put on a sexy bat costume. You know what I mean.
Oh my god, I have to go. Talk at you.
*(Joke copyright 2012, Faithful Reader Karla. All rights reserved.)