Bye Bye, Pie!

'N

I have several odds and ends to clear up today, both on this blog and in real life. Or odds 'n ends, cause you know how I like that. Especially how the apostrophe goes just at the front, like it is short for "an." Or "in." Like "and" is such a big word, you have to abbreviate it in the first place.

Have I already told you about how I used to work for a newspaper, and I wrote up all the wedding announcements? While I was 22 and had NO POTENTIAL FOR MARRIAGE in sight? I didn't even WANT to get married when I was 22, but every girl in my hometown was giddily rushing in to that paper to turn in her announcement, and you just know they felt sorry for me for being single single single, and they probably blamed it on the spiral perm.

The POINT of my story is someone once wrote "mother-n-law" and "father-n-law," etc. throughout the entire little announcement. You have no idea how badly I wanted to call her fiance and talk him out of that marriage.

So, first of all, Faithful Reader Leah is the comment of the week. Yeah, I KNOW I usually award it on Saturday. Shut up. Go click on This Week's Special if you want to see it.

Also, WHAT are we gonna read for book club? When we pick a book, should we set our meeting date for the first week in January, lest people be overwhelmed with holiday-related things?

Okay, I know there was something else I was gonna tell you, but Henry is driving me BERSERK and I have to leave this room before I snap his little kitten neck. I got him a dangly toy and he is obsessed with it. When we are not dangling and leaping, it has to go in the closet so Lula won't eat it. So Henry is in that closet right now, chirping and trying to climb to his toy. Poor Henry.

If I think of whatever I was gonna say, I will come in and update this. I have to go to the grocery store and get all the Thanksgiving food now.

Hey, how do you cook a turkey?
 

Mr. Potter

Yesterday, I schlepped out to a pottery festival because my friend-since-seventh-grade, Peppy Whitemore, told me to meet him there.

Peppy Whitemore? In 1980? Told me to look at a girl from our high school when she was in the shower after gym? I had to report back to him every detail.

And I did it. For free. So you can see the odd hold my friend-since-seventh-grade Peppy Whitemore has over me.

Peppy lives sort of close to me now, and this pottery festival was a good meeting point. Plus also, he has a girlfriend I wanted to meet.

His girlfriend is a purse. Isn't that sad?

No. As usual, I went out with someone who didn't want to be photographed. But she let me take a picture of her cool purse, and apparently she collects these. This purse is encrusted with gems, can you tell that? Oh, it rocked.

Anyway, hearted the girlfriend. I think this is the first time I have met a girlfriend of Peppy's, because normally he just hit on all my friends for his dating needs.

Peppy and his purse wanted to find a butter dish, and seeing as there were 9295750210385759394.05 pieces of pottery spread out over 900 miles of tents, one might assume you'd find a slew of butter dishes.

But could my pal Peppy Whitemore have been any more fussy about which butter dish would suit his highfalutin' I-can't-believe-it's-not-the-right-butter-dish butter needs? This one was too weird. This one was too small. He was like Goldilocks.

I would like to point out that my mother is breaking out in hives thinking of Peppy at a pottery show. Peppy Whitemore broke ev.ry.thing. in our house from 1979-1984, although to his credit, he fixed all of it. I know my mother thinks he is still...energetic...but I assure you, mom, Peppy did not break one single thing. Including the bank, since he never did find a butter dish.

I told this potter I'd link to her website if she let me pose. So click here!

The best part was that they had pottery painting in the back, which if you think about it is just like going to Color Me Mimes or whatever those pottery-painting stores are that I have never gone to. Nevertheless, it was exciting. Peppy's girlfriend The Purse and I each painted some pottery.

See how I am using purple paint, there? Yeah. I painted that whole ding-dang thing that color and it came out white. I hate everything.

Were they also having a pickup truck convention?

And by the way, it was like 50 degrees out. Who has become light in her loafers about remotely cold weather? You'd think I didn't grow up in Michigan.

So that's my story of what happened yesterday. It's not the first time I've been around a lot of the pot with Peppy.

Oh. Hi, mom.

Romeo and Juliet. Except for the part where they like each other.

Marvin and I are meeting a friend at 10:00, so I asked him to set the alarm at 8:00 so I could get my bouffant in working order and such. When the alarm came on, Marvin made every song into something about the dog, who he was holding, and who kept looking at me with pleading eyes.

First he sang, "I'm alive! And my dog shines on me today. I'm alive!"

Then, "I will follow Lu if she'll follow me, all the days and nights that she knows will be..."

I got up during, "I never wanted, I never wanted to love a dog, the way that I want to love you."

Marvin tends to set the alarm to radio stations he doesn't want to listen to, so he'll have the impetus to get up. His ridiculous love of the dog is all I needed to bolt out of bed.

And speaking of the animals, which I'm sorry to tell you is probably all I'll ever do now that I am home with them and they are my coworkers, we had animal drama last night.

As you know, I am proofreading a statistics textbook, and I have so far worked on it for 6.25 hours and have not even read page 1. Or page i, for that matter. So I'm sitting on my pink chaise lounge, which by the way was originally owned by Loni Anderson, and I know you are impressed by my access to the big stars, and this sentence is the longest sentence in the history of time.

When I work on my pink lounge chair, Francis ALWAYS sits on it with me. That's just the way it is, Walter Cronkite, and 13 years of us doing that is not going to change just because some dreaded DOG now loves me too.

I have not really worked in that pink chair since we got Lula, so she was not abreast of the situation, see.

So I'm proofreading, Francis is on my legs, and Tallulah walks in.

Tallulah and Francis are not what you'd call pals. They are Hatfield and McCoy. They are Sarah Palin and Obama. They are Captain Kangaroo and the ping-pong balls. Remember how Bunny Rabbit would make those ping-pong balls fall from the sky? And they really went to town naming THAT character, by the way. Bunny Rabbit.

So they hate each other. Is what I'm telling you. When Lu was a puppy, Francis let that poor creature know, in VERY POINTED TERMS, that she was not to mess with Francis. Tallulah goes to great pains to look at everything in the room except Francis, just to avoid a confrontation.

But there I was, hour after hour, sitting there with that...that...enemy, and Tallulah couldn't stand it. She wouldn't come up near the top of my chair to let me pet her. She was too afraid. So instead she did this:

"Rrrrrrrrrroooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmrrrrrrrrrr"

for about an hour and 15 minutes. And every time she started a new "Rrrrrooooo," Francis would say, "Hsssssssssssssssssss! GrrrrrrOOOOOOOOORRRRrrrrrr" back.

So that was relaxing, and not at all like I was trying to proofread during an est seminar. I really have no idea if people chanted during est meetings. I kind of just wanted to say est.

Anyway, finally Tallulah's deep and abiding love for me, and also her jealousy, overrode her fear of the Fran. Which is saying something, because even I am a little afraid of the Fran. But she slowly, and not all all distractingly (which is certainly a word), got on my lap.

Looks comfy, doesn't it? And so easy to read around! And I wasn't at all nervous that there'd be a dog/cat fight eight centimeters from my face.

Believe it or not, we all worked like this for at least an hour. I worked on statistics, and Fran and Lu worked on who was coming out on top in this eternal struggle.

Okay, I am leaving now. Am done talking about my pets.

I'm too shiny to talk about.

Wicked dog

So, tomorrow I am getting a textbook to proofread, which is wonderful and everything, but of COURSE I am getting a huge, difficult TEXTBOOK on STATISTICS to proofread right before Thanksgiving, in which 394858 of my relatives are coming.

Okay, four. Four of my relatives are coming. Still.

So I have to think about cleaning this house, cooking Thanksgiving dinner--and y'all know I am Chef Tell, over here--and getting a HUGE textbook proofed, all this week.

Oh! And a friend from LA is coming to NC, and she is driving 90 miles to see me on Tuesday. So now I have to clean the house, plan for Thanksgiving dinner, and read a huge, difficult textbook MINUS ONE DAY.

I decided to gather my proofreading supplies so that I can be all ready tomorrow. So maybe I can spend, like, 10 hours working and get ahead of myself.

When I'm proofreading, I need my giant mother dictionary; the Chicago Manual of Style (heretofore known as the CMOS); my pens; a notebook so I can record any anomalies I see; the APA style guide; and my copious checklist that I have, reminding me of everything I need to do when I proofread these books.

(For example? First? I have to look at every.single.page. to make sure the pages are all there. Then I have to look at every.single.page. again to make sure none of the pictures are missing. Then I have to look at every.single.page. again to make sure the chapter headings are correct. And no, you can't do those things all at once. You're liable to miss something.)

Next time you say, "Oh, I love to read! Maybe I could be a proofreader!" please see the above paragraph. Because that's about 10% of what you have to do to proof a ding-dang book.

At any rate, I commenced to gathering, and I found everything I needed. I even found that checklist of stuff, which was miraculous, because I haven't worked for this company in a year and a half.

The only thing missing? Was the CMOS. And, you know, the CMOS is the style guide we use to proofread these books. It's kind of, oh, I don't know, INDISPENSABLE!

You know how I color coordinated my books last year, and the CMOS is red. I carefully perused each red book. Then I looked over at the orange books.

These pictures were taken with my old camera last year, and let's pause and appreciate how we do not have to tolerate blurry photos anymore.

Anyway. The stupid book was NOT on the shelf. I started looking in other rooms, in closets, in chests, in the ATTIC. By the time Marvin got home, I was livid.

"Don't even TALK to me," I said, throwing 8,459 music-related things out of a drawer. Cause you guys. Marvin has an illness. Really. He CRAMS every drawer with crap. And carp. Seriously! 

Marvin helped me look, because he knows he makes it difficult to find things, with his stuff-in-every-crevice habit.

And girl, we did not find that ding ding ding and also dang CMOS.

I even called Tank to see if I'd loaned it to him. He seemed to feel just awful that I hadn't.

Finally I said "FINE, then. I am going to Barnes and %$#%& Noble." Marvin went with me. Because what's more fun than traipsing in the rain with your furious wife when she's going to buy a style manual she KNOWS SHE ALREADY HAS?

I stomped in there, and you guys. There was some sort of Wicked convention for children at the Barnes and $^#$% Noble. I am not even making this up. There were easily 45 million children there, half of them dressed like witches, and they were CHANTING in UNISON on a stage. The entire place was packed. And not one person working there could help me find my stupid CMOS, because they were busy with the devil worship or whatever was going on over there.

FINALLY, in the very smallest corner of the store, I found the CMOfrickingS. It was FIFTY-FIVE DOLLARS!!!!!!!!!! FIFTY-FIVE! Oh, I was mad. Then we got into the world's longest line, like we were standing to get onto the teacup ride at Disneyland, because EVERY CHILD IN THE CITY OF GREENSBORO was purchasing Wicked-related objects.

I was gonna have a stroke.

After spending every dime I had and saving the bag so I could beg with it tomorrow, we just pulled into our driveway when I said, "Hey. Didn't Tallulah eat the Chicago Manual of Style?"

"Why does that sound familiar?" Marvin asked.

I stampeded to my blog.

December 4, 2008. Sighhhh.
 

Cute. And also humpy.

Am I a bad cat parent because I photographed our male cat getting humped by our female dog, rather than rescuing said male cat?

Look at the resigned expression Winston has. Another day, another violation.

And let's talk about how much I like Tallulah's new collar, courtesy of Faithful Reader Tanya. It really complements this erotic moment.

Since I am home now, I have all the time in the world to witness the ludicrous behavior of my animal companions.

Yeah. That would be Winston chomping the white butt of poor Henry. Who leaped on and baited Winston for about an hour and a half before this scene.

See?

And speaking of animal pictures, I read an absolutely fascinating article in Vanity Fair this month. Does anybody else read Vanity Fair? Anyway, it was this whole theory on why we are a culture of cute all of a sudden.

In Japan, they have been into the cute for many, many years--it's called kawaii--and they theorize it's a response to WWII. And since 9/11, we have gotten into it too. The Mini Cooper is wildly popular, as is the Volkswagon Bug (which I own). The most popular websites are those cute animal sites, like Lolcats. And even animated movies meant for kids, like Up, are getting made a lot more frequently, because so many adults go to them. And you don't need to tell me how grownups are into the Hello Kitty.

The article even pointed out how when someone dies, people now leave teddy bears and balloons at the site. 

Isn't that interesting? We really are getting all cute obsessed.

Can you think of other examples? I am riveted by stuff like this.

At any rate, my good news is I am going to get a book to proofread tomorrow. So you'll be able to hear me complain about that soon. In a cute way.

Today is a birthday. They're smoking cigars.

Whenever Marvin gets ahold of my iPod, which sounds like it might be dirty but isn't, he puts the following song on:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tf79oyWWtkQ

In case you are at work and can't jam out to my tune, there, some of the lyrics are:

I am drowning
There is no sign of land
You are coming down with me
Hand in unlovable hand
And I hope you die
I hope we both die

You know, I read other women's blogs and they talk about how romantic their husbands are.

Yeah.

At any rate, 43 years ago today Marvin was born. His grandmother used to tell me that they brought him out and he looked right at her with his blue eyes and it was love at first sight. She told me that 2390583060294 times, and now here I am telling all of you.

But that's kind of how I felt the first time I saw Marvin, except he wasn't pooping himself.

As far as I know.

When Marvin and I first started dating, he was 29. Well, that's not true. When Marvin and I first FIRST started dating, he was 19. But you know what I mean. Unless this is your first time reading this blog, in which case you probably hate me by now and you're all, "Who's Marvin?"

For Marv's 40th birthday, we had a Mt. Everest theme party, because he always said he'd climb Mt. Everest by the time he was 40. He...didn't.

I hung up a Tibetan flag, not knowing we'd be the proud owners of a part Tibetan spaniel some day, and I also found icicle decorations and fake snow, and I served Swiss Miss, Mountain Dew, Arrowhead water, and a big cake shaped like a mountain, that my friend Renee made. Oh, and snow cones. Heavens, I loved myself.

Oh! And in the back yard, because it was LA so it was hot out, we had a tent with Mt. Everest documentaries playing inside (where'd we get those?), and also a dummy lying face down dressed in climbing clothes. Because do you have any idea how many dead climbers you have to schlep around when you climb Mt. Everest?

This year I am making a big dinner in honor of this special day--because you know what a chef I am--but that's what Marvin wanted me to do so I am. See, if you go around not cooking all the time, then you can get away with turning cooking into someone's birthday gift.

So, happy birthday, Marvin! I am happy to spend another birthday with you. I don't hope you die. I don't hope we both die. You still look young, and I am totally Barbara Bush, over here.

You blue-eyed bastard.

 

 

You ain't nothin' but a hound dog. With gas.

I would have slept in later, but Tallulah had gas. You know how they sell those alarm clocks that just flash brighter and brighter light at you? They could totally make a Tallulah-ate-part-of-my-barbecue-last-night alarm.

So I never did get any work yesterday, which naturally makes me think I will NEVER get any work and we will die impoverished and have to eat the cats. Someone I am Facebook friends with asked me to proof some of her stuff and then balked when I actually wanted to charge her for it. "Oh, no, that's okay. I can just do it."

I mean really, what are people thinking? Oh, she's jobless now! She has time to take her 12 years of experience and work for me for free!

At any rate, I did take my 12 years of experience and head on out to the Old Time Pottery yesterday, which if you live in the Greensboro area you MUST go, and I got me some apothecary jars for my eggsaladgere shelf in the bathroom. And no. I am not taking pictures of it. Because you know what? This may come as a shock, but once 67 people start commenting on all your stuff? It gets kind of irritating.

I got FOUR jars for $20. Heart me. I put soap in one, QTips in the other, and I forget what's in the other two but it's cute cute cute. Faithful Reader KW in Atlanta was the one who suggested it. What would we all do without Faithful Reader KW in Atlanta?

Then finally, I ended my day in an Elvis way. Every night when I'd drive home from work, I'd pass this little bar-and-grill-looking place:

Places like this are right up my alley. You can tell it's old and been there forever and probably has characters in it. I always wanted to stop in one day after work but was kind of nervous about being a woman alone at what could be just a bar. I didn't want to end up like Jodi Foster on the pinball machine.

Fortunately, one of my coworkers was curious about the place too, and she told me Elvis had eaten there once, in 1954! Well, then I was obsessed. I HAD to go there. The coworker and I planned three different times to meet up there after work and every time our plans got screwy. So finally last night, even though we no longer work together, we met there.

You know how I have that friend, the other June, and she hates to be photographed? So does THIS friend, and I know you think I go out and do this stuff by myself and I just pay waitresses to take my picture.

But get this. Our waitress last night? WAS THE WAITRESS WHO SERVED ELVIS IN 1954! Seriously! She has worked there for FIFTY-NINE years! And I know I am capping all the time but COME ON! She works there seven days a week, 12 hours a day. I am not making this up.

Here is the booth where Elvis sat. He ordered a hamburger with lettuce and tomato and a glass of milk. He also ordered an orange cat.

And everyone I've told so far says, "He didn't order a drink?" but you know, Elvis wasn't a big drinker. He was just a pill person.

Anyway, I'm glad we had this talk. If you're ever in the Greensboro area, after you go to Old Time Pottery, get over to the Brightwood Inn because it is way cool. I mean, knotty pine! Elvis! Milk! What more do you need?

Maybe I should start blogging for the Greensboro Chamber of Commerce.

At last

Wouldn't it be hilarious if I called in sick to my old job right now?

So, here I am. Day one of being unemployed. If anyone DOES send me work today, I won't get it until at least 11:00, because that's 8:00 in Los Angeles. So, sigh.

The first thing that happened was I heard Marvin getting ready, which usually means my alarm will go off any second, but today I burrowed further into the blankets and Tallulah flapped her lips across my calf a little more and we both went, "Hmmmmmmmmmmm."

Then I slept in...till 7:30! I know, right!?

After I got up from that long sleep, I shot off a terse email to ITT Tech. First of all, how much do you want to bet that one of the Ts in ITT already stands for "tech"? It's probably the Institute of Technological Technology Tech, right? But that is not why I wrote them. I WROTE them because I saw a commercial this weekend where one of their graduates says "theirselves."

Theirselves!

They are an EDUCATIONAL institution and they have someone saying THEIRSELVES in their ad?

You can imagine how this set me off.

You know I never hear from any of these companies that I email. They just see a bitter old school marm somewhere alone with 17 cats. In other words, they totally picture me. And they do not take me seriously. I DID hear from the Vermont Country Store when I wrote them because they said they were open "everyday."

Yes, I did tell them "I wear my everyday clothes every day." When DON'T I say that?

Anyway, they wrote me back and for that I will be forever grateful. They have not changed that "everyday," however.

My other big plan for today is to do something with our new shelf in the bathroom. It is called an etagere, and do Marvin and I go to great lengths to mispronounce it at all? The "ate a girl," the "Etta James," the "Edmund Fitzgerald." Who needs a hobby? Is it Marvin and me?

Anyway, here is what Marvin did to the shelf so far.

 
Yeah, hi. When they call it the library, they don't really mean it, Marvin. Plus, are we going to plant geraniums?

Fortunately, I have this ridiculous shelf of stuff that I can transfer to the edamame shelf. I was thinking I could just put pretty things in the shelf. Like that attractive bottle of eyeglass cleaner.

The Polydent is to clean my sexy night guard. I know someone's gonna stare at all this stuff and ask. I remember when I showed you my fridge.

Anyway, that's what I've got planned for today. Yoga is on FitTV at 8:30, so namaste.

Don't be tardy for Tank's party

Last night my friend Tank, the miracle angel baby, had a party. It was his birthday. So I guess you could say he had a birthday party.

See how I can put two and two together, there?

Here is me and my cleavage on the way to Tank's party. Why didn't Marvin tell me I was flashing the girls so much? And I'd like to thank him for shooting me at this angle, so you can enjoy my lack of jawline.

Anyway, the invitation said no gifts, but I ignored that. However, this bag is from Anthroplogie, and I assure you I did not get Tank a frilly blouse or perfume from Anthropologie. His gift was totally from Target.

At any rate, Tank has many interesting friends and a really cute dog named Shug and we had a good time. Except for the part where Marvin gets sleepy at around 9:30. I made him stay until 11:11. That's what time it said in my car clock.

I just wanted to brag that I had a car clock. I know you can't even stand how advanced I am.

Did I ever tell you the story about when my father was on the painkiller? We were both living in LA and he called me to say he wasn't feeling right and he dashed down to the ER. Which, you know, I go to the ER like four times a year, but for him it was really a thing.

I can't even remember what was wrong with him now, but it was not serious enough that they kept him, but they'd given him a strong painkiller and they said he had to leave his car there and I had to drive him home.

"I'm FINE," my father insisted, and he did live like a quarter of a mile from the hospital. But I said let's just do what the medical professionals say, and we could get his car later. "This is ridiculous," he grumbled. "I'm perfectly okay."

We got him checked out and into my car, and in my car is a temperature thingie and the clock.

"OH MY GOD! It's 840 degrees out!" said my father, who was getting in the car at 8:40 p.m.

Fortunately, I did not leave Tank's house in that particular state of mind, and I knew it was 11:11 and not 1,111 degrees outside.

Oh, but before I go, how on earth am I going to award a comment of the week after everyone made me pee my own self with their "Hulk married his mom" comments? So, this week's special (go click on it at right, there) is a compilation of all the beautiful things we had to say to Hulk. About marrying his mom. Cause we're all nice that way.

Gone. At 10, 2, and 3.

Well, now I'm kind of sad. Turns out? A lot of people really liked me at that job. Even the woman whose first-edition signed book was eaten by Tallulah? Came to my going-away lunch and came back again on my last day.

I walked with a group of people at that job, every day at 10 and 3. Kind of like the old Dr Pepper logo. Is anyone old enough to remember it?

Do you know what the 10, 2, and 4 stood for? It was time people most frequently drank Dr Pepper, according to their research. I have never been one of those soda-in-the-morning people. But there's always time for Dr Pepper, in my book.

Do you like how I cannot possibly remain on the topic at hand? Which was my walking group? You can imagine the joy they got dealing with my ADD twice a day.

Anyway, I told my fellow walkers that they had to call me if any kittens showed up again at work, and certainly next year when the baby geese are born, I need to find some way to sneak back there. Oh, how I loved working at a place that had geese.

They told me I had to walk every day at 10 and 3, and I will ask Tallulah how she feels about that schedule.

Believe it or not, I tried to keep working right up till 5, but people kept coming in to say farewell, which was nice. I worked with 432 people, and I  sincerely liked almost all of them.

When I left, people offered to help me carry stuff out, but I had been packing for a month and all that was left was my framed picture of dogs playing poker. Because nothing says Take Me Seriously like a framed picture of the dogs playing poker in your office. (I gave back my gigantic Wicked Queen mirror to its rightful owner. Y'all are obsessed with that mirror.)

As I was putting the picture in my trunk, a huge formation of geese flew overhead, honking their goodbyes.