Bye Bye, Pie!

The dark side of June

I know I've told you before that my friend Saundra hates it when people talk about the dream they had. She thinks it's boring, and they always say things like, "Well, I was in my house, but it wasn't really my house."

I am not nearly as curmudgeonly as Saundra--which if you know me you know is completely untrue. I am exactly as curmudgeonly as Saundra, I am just more phony.

I was going to tell you the dream I had where I lived next door to Bill Gates, but now I am inspired to tell you all the horrid things about me that make me a bad person.

First thing? I just started the last three paragraphs with "I."

Also? Oftentimes? I am just waiting for you to finish talking so I can say the next witty thing I got prepared in my head. Because of this, I missed a friend telling me she was pregnant, and I missed a woman saying something funny at the dog park (I only know she said something funny because everyone else started cracking up and I had no idea why).

And just yesterday Marvin told me something and I kept talking and he said, "That is the second time this weekend I've told you this important thing and you've ignored me and kept talking both times."

Okay, and here's one that is just awful. I shouldn't even tell you. Here it is.

Not only do I expect you to call me on my birthday, like you don't have your own life and job and family and everything and you should be doing nothing else but remembering my birthday? Not only do I expect it, but I actually rate in my mind how much you like me based on how early you call.

Like, to me? It should be the very first thought on your mind. 

(A misconception about me, though? I do not expect presents, nor do I get mad when I don't get one. People think I am really into presents because I am an only child/grandchild/niece, and I GET a lot of presents, but truthfully if you didn't get me one I'm fine.)

Now, in my defense? I have two good friends who never, ever remember my birthday ever but I still like them. I figure they are good friends but bad date-rememberers. Not everyone can be an idiot savant about dates, as I am. But for the rest of you? It's 9 a.m. July 16. Why haven't you called?

(Thanks to Nancy at My Crafty Little Page.)

Okay, here's another one. At night? If Marvin is already asleep? I have to talk myself into brushing my teeth. I figure, who's gonna know?

And, I get annoyed when people tell me their pet thinks it's something else. "He's 200 pounds, but he thinks he's a lap dog!" Oh, shut up. He doesn't think he's anything. He's just being a dog. Who wants on your lap.

Really, I am horrid. Not as horrid as that blogger who doesn't give to starving people because he figures it's nature's way of weeding people out. Did you ever read about that guy?

I am trying to make you think about him and not the time you told me your cat thinks it's an ox.

Three completely unrelated topics

TOPIC ONE

It was the first of the month the other day. It was dcrmom's birthday, as well as Ruby's and Princess Diana's. It was a big day. However, I forgot to weigh and measure.

Everything is exactly the same. I weigh 142, and my pretty measurements are 36-30-37. What fireplug? I mean, I have been running all year (not continuously, smarty) and I am JUST THE SAME. Whatever.

TOPIC DEUX

Do they make loveseats that come specifically with the idea that you can put slipcovers on them? Or do they just sell loveseats and you have to find slipcovers that fit that particular loveseat? We might buy loveseats. Sherlock.

TOPICO NUMERO THREE-O

Do you enjoy my grasp of the Spanish language? So, do you have a favorite bath soap, or do you just get what's on sale? Marvin enjoys him the Ivory, but to me it smells like bleach. My grandmother always used Dove, and my cousin and I have both had total Gramma flashbacks when we smell cigarette smoke and Dove.

I kind of like Yardley lavender, but it's hard to find. I used to love those glycerin soaps at Bath & Body Works, but I am allergic to them now, as I am to everything. I am so the crone in the plastic bubble.

Okay. That's all. Gotta go proofread about the standard deviation. You know you envy me. Wish I were throwing horseshoes and eating deviled eggs somewhere. Hey, look! I craved a nonmeat item! Yay.

I've got wild, staring eyes. I've got a strong urge to fly.

Gramma called. Wants her cataracts back.

I had to get my eyes dilated today after work, so I had the absolutely valid excuse that I COULD NOT SEE ANYTHING and could not proofread, therefore all I had to do was run on treadmill and go to the dog park. Sometimes the universe just steps in.

Do you have any idea how frustrating it was to not be able to read your comments when I got home today? I know you all have funny bad-English things you are saying, and Marvin wouldn't read them to me. As it is, I am typing in a dream world even now. Everything is fuzzy, kind of like how they used to film Angie Dickinson or Jennifer Hart on Hart to Hart.

Therefore, I will do a photo essay.

About four times a week, Lula has her driver take her to the dog park. It's only about a mile away.

We wait till it's dusk, so it's cooler. It's quite a walk to the dog park part. Lots of people call it the bark park, but that irks me.

It's a lovely, large park, and someone champs at the bit to get to the dog portion of the evening. That's another one. It's not CHOMP at the bit. It's CHAMP.

Several people have told me to look out for copperheads, which, thanks. Am I completely obsessed now? Does every stick and leaf scare the crap out of me?

What's cruel? Finally getting there and insisting that we wait for another picture. And did you know someone must have said "B"? I mean, that's why it's in quotes, right?

Lula has no fear. Not even of demon-eyed dogs.

Do you see that odd shack thing there? One night we were leaving and Marvin said to Cooper's mom, ""We don't have far to go, we live in that thing. It's great; it's near the water." For some reason, his "it's near the water" line absolutely killed me. I was weak with laughter all the way home. Near the water. Still killing me.

As we were leaving, I was dying to show you the fireflies. Here they are. Aren't you blown away by my photography skills? Dooce would show a fabulous closeup of the actual lit fly butt. You get holes poked in black paper.

Okay, goodnight, then. Have a good 4th. Don't play with firecrackers. My enormous pupils will see you doing it!

Intensive care about this subject

No, no, it IS "For all intents and purposes"!

What I was saying was I hate it when people say, "For all intensive purposes" thinking that's what the phrase is.

I would hate to start a trend of people saying f"or all intensive purposes." Would that be my just desserts.

Which, what does that mean?

Mental floss

The other night, I came in through the back door -- and I do not mean that in any dirty sort of a way -- and saw all my animals in the back room together. I was so excited about this rare occurrence that I got the camera.

I was so involved in getting them all in one shot that it wasn't till I opened this on the computer (remember film? Remember going to One-Hour Photo in the mall to get your pictures developed? Doesn't that seem like 700 years ago? Doesn't it seem like we must have gotten to the mall in our chariot, with our giant club to kill pterodactyls and our hoop skirt? I know I just lept around about 2,500 centuries just then) that I did not notice what Tallulah was doing.

Look at that ill-behaved dog! She has that entire cat head in her mouth! Poor Winston.

The rest of this picture cracks me up, too. There is my enormous statistics textbook on the box it came in, with my bag of veggie chips, cause I'm a vegetarian and can't eat potato chips. I know that made no sense. Plus also too is a Daniel Steel novel, which you have every right to make fun of me for. When I am working on something cerebral I have to take a break by reading something totally stupid. I know it is weird that I take a break from proofreading by reading.

I also like the "I am an invalid" pillow thing I got going on my proofreading chaise. I spend so many hours in that chair right now; I need the back support.

Similarly killing me? Francis' "You eat my head and your snout will be smacked into the next room" look that he is shooting at Lula. Oh! And I just noticed the dental floss next to Ruby, because I floss 800 times a day and also because cats love to play with dental floss. So it is a dual-purpose kind of a thing for me. Hygienic habit and cat toy. And no, I never use the floss after I have played with the cats, or vice versa.

Don't you hate it when people say visa-versa? Or YING and yang? Or "for all intensive purposes"?

Okay, I am done talking to you now. I have to go back to that book. I am on page 157, in case anyone is worried sick. 157 out of 468 pages. I have worked on it over 30 hours already. Could someone just come here and eat my head?

Snaphappy Fishsuit

You know how people write those birthday letters to their kids on their blogs? Wouldn't I be annoying if I wrote one to my cat today?

I do not know if I could have peeved Ruby DeLuna -- blackest of black kitties, who is 12 today -- any more by making her pose for the webcam. If I were a really nice cat mom I would have let her do what she wanted today. Usually when my cats have birthdays, I let them sit where they want, even if they are sitting where I wish to be, and I do not pick them up or kiss them all day.

Look how irritated. Who can resist irritating this cat? Gee, I wonder why she's pooping on the carpet? She reminds me of the perpetually beleaguered cat in Pepe LePew.

Pepe LePew is a funny name. Whoever thought of it was brilliant.

You know another name that's brilliant? Snaphappy Fishsuit. There is a guy who changed his name to that, and I am so naming my next cat Snaphappy Fishsuit. Don't think I won't.

Anyway, Marvin is out getting the birthday yogurt, as my girl likes her some vanilla yogurt. We got one of those plug-ins, to see if it'll make her less inclined to poop on the floor. I really do think it's emotional and not physical.

Hey, did you notice how many people wrote in poop phrases their husbands liked to use? Am I totally the least feminine person ever that these things crack me up?

Oh, and thank you all for writing to say you are reading. Y'all slay me. I was less disturbed that I had fewer numbers than I was that I was such a narcissist. But, I have a blog, so how not narcissistic can I be?

TEN MINUTES LATER...

Marvin came back with the birthday yogurt...

And who made Ruby's birthday all about her? No, I don't mean me.

Geez!

ICUP

I see you! Do you see me?

I got contacts this weekend. I used to have them, then I ran out of them in my year of not spending, and didn't get around to replacing my contacts until this weekend. Everyone at work kept saying, "Are you wearing makeup today?" Okay, yeah, I wear makeup every day. I guess you couldn't tell with the Coke-bottle spectacles.

Anyway. I'm gettin' weird about my blog. Ever since I started blogging, at the end of every month I'd have more readers, according to my sitemeter. Which is a thing that counts your readers. Do not get it if you don't have it. You will get weird like I have.

Back when my readers went up every month, it was kind of like when I used to weigh less than 125. I just always weighed less than 125, so I never thought about it.

Then last month, I ended the month with 12, 247 readers. Which, by the way, are we not supposed to talk about how many readers we all have? Is it like money, which is another thing I never understood why you aren't supposed to talk about it? Well, here I am, bein' a rebel, talking about how many readers I have.

So, you'd think 12, 247 readers is pretty good, unless you're Dooce, or, you know, The Nester, who gets like 8 million readers a minute. But the month BEFORE last, I had 12, 275 readers.

Just like the day I got on the scale and weighed 134 all of a sudden, I started actually thinking about it. I started thinking about how many people read this blog. This ridICulous blog.

Today is the last day of June (the last day of the MONTH. Not the last day of me. I hope. Unless I have a dramatic obedience school injury tonight) and as of this writing, I have 12, 024 readers for this month.

NOW I AM OBSESSED! WHY ARE MY READERS GOING DOWN?!

Even more important, why do I care? I never started this thing to get readers. I started writing last year because Marvin kept telling me to, and I sent this blog to 15 people. So why now am I so interested that everyone be reading me and noticing me and talking about me and featuring me on TMZ.com?

Maybe I should remove the sitemeter. Sure. Maybe I'll remove barrygibb.com from my favorites page too. And then I'll get silky Asian girl hair and unicorns will mate in my patoot.

Are you reading this? Are you looking at me? 

Opine

Is it okay to let your dog chew a pine cone? Cause clearly I am letting her. And photographing her while she does it. Look how proud she is of her find.

Is someone going to send this in to Animal Services and Tallulah will be ripped from me for abuse? Somebody needs to report me to Lawn Services. LOOK at how that lawn needs help.

If I hadn't spent eight-and-a-half hours proofreading statistics yesterday, perhaps I could have turned my attention to the yard. But no.

Oh, and SAVE THE MONEY? SAVE IT? Look, I learned a lot of things from last year's no spending experiment. I still use one lipstick at a time, and only when it is cutting my lips do I buy another. I still haven't replenished the wardrobe, and I take my lunch to work a lot. And how do you think we came up with a down payment for this house with the dry lawn? From not spending, that's how.

But this freelance project. Oh, it is terrible. I have to have a reward at the end or I will die of sadness and ennui.

Save the money. Hah!

But that is not why I gathered you all here today. I did want to tell you that a faithful reader sent me some vegetarian recipes and Marvin, who has suddenly become my wife and personal secretary, is going to make one of them. Yesterday he got me three sides from Boston Market, so I could enjoy me the Market and not eat meat.

He also went to the store the other day and got me all the food I had mentioned in the past several days: strawberries, spinach calzone, salt-and-vinegar Pringles. I know Pringles aren't healthy. But I had just gotten off the treadmill and had no idea he was going to present them to me, and it was almost as good as if he had presented me a baby lion.

Okay, but here is where I need help today. Can anyone come proofread a textbook? No, no.

The problem is Ruby. My beautiful black cat, who no picture does justice. She is 12, or she will be on Tuesday, (same day as Princess Diana). But instead of Dodi being the trouble, doodie is.

I have had Ruby since she was eight weeks old, and this cat has NEVER gone outside her litter box until now. We have moved six times, other cats have come and gone, and she has had asthma, but NEVER has she screwed up.

Well. As I have mentioned, someone has been peeing on the bathroom throw rug. I suspected her, because sometimes there would be large pieces of black fur on the rug, and her asthma has been acting up, which makes her shed.

Marvin just took her to the vet for said asthma yesterday, and the vet said she's fine. Now, my suspicion is she is doing this because Tallulah is much bigger and she was away from Tallulah for two months, and last time she lived with this dog, the dog was a bitty puppy and not scary.

OR, she is sick and it's not the asthma.

So, seven minutes ago, as I sat to write this, she came in here, meowed at me, AND POOPED! She dropped Mrs. Brown off at the pool! See how handy it was to have you all send in your poop phrases yesterday? It was like Providence.

I think she could not be more obviously trying to tell me that something is up. I mean, other than cross-stitching me a sampler: "Mom! I am miserable!" this was the best she could do.

So what do I do? Do I go back to the vet? Put a diaper on her? Have a blog giveaway after all? Sign up to win a poopy 12-year-old kitty! Squeamish people need not apply!

We're going crazy, over here.

Some bloggers do giveaways. I do poop-ins.

To anyone who was worried I might be crappin', I'm fine. I had only given up meat for a week when I had my carnivorous extravaganza.

When I was in high school, I spent many a dinner at my best friend's house. My friend's brother Buddy and I spent an inordinate amount of dinnertime thinking up all the pooping euphemisms we knew. Why her mother didn't stop us is beyond me. At any rate, 25 years later they all still kill me: building a log cabin, laying some cable, got a turtle head poking out. And so on.

If you know any others, I beg you to mail them in. I need fun, over here.

I have begun my treacherous next few weeks of working full-time during busy season at my job, driving 40 minutes home, then working on a FOUR-HUNDRED-SIXTY-PAGE BOOK at night. I did not even realize it was that big until last night when I proofread the table of contents.

Does anyone have any of those big jugs with the XXXs on them? Send like 50 of those while you send your poop euphs, too.

Last night it occurred to me that this extra work is something I'm doing because I was too scared to say no. It is not work I have to do to pay the bills. That's what my regular job is for. So I asked Marvin, "Can I just buy myself something good with this money?" and he was too afraid of me to say no. I am a little testy as of late.

I'm gonna have at least a thousand dollars to blow, which will be a nice thing dangling in front of me when I spend sunny weekends and warm, firefly-filled nights bent over a statistics book. It will kind of be like the time I ran a marathon, and my mother promised me she'd have a bottle of champagne for me at the end. By mile 19, it was like that thing was on a stick dangling in front of my head, you know, like donkeys and carrots or dogs and rabbits or whatever.

When I finally crossed that finish line, I searched the crowd for mom and her bottle. Where was mom? Where was my champagne? WHERE!?!?! WHEEEERRREE!?!?! Then I saw her.

"Honey, I left the champagne in the car."

It is one of those things I will never get over, like the time my father had my cat put to sleep when I was six. Which I'd tell you about but for Father's Day this year my father said, "How about for my Father's Day gift I never have to hear about that %^*#@ dead cat again?"

So I am not allowed to tell you.

At any rate, I looked on the Internet for what I might buy with my torturesome freelance money. And now I wish I hadn't looked. Because of course I found the most beautiful ring you have ever seen. The most beauuuuutiful ring the world has ever created. And it's too expensive. 

Go look at it. It's lovely, isn't it? And I don't need it. I have actually bought myself two, not one but two, ruby and diamond rings over the years. But oh! It's so pretty!

Anyway, I'd have to work like 50 hours on this book to afford it, and it's only gonna take me 40, probably, and no I am not going to lie to the client and say, "It took me exactly $1700 to proof this book. Hmmm." Maybe instead of an invoice I could just send them that link.

So what I'll probably do is get something for the HOUSE, which, zzzzzzz. My mother suggested it.

But of course she is the one who deprived her only child of liquid after that child had run 26.2 miles.

But meat is so TASTY!

Someone once told me it is funnier to read my blog when I screw up, so today will be a laugh riot. You will be stitching your sides. Is what you'll be doing.

King Henry VII called. Wants me to stop eating all the meat.

Oh, you guys. They had a cookout at work. And the guy doing all the cooking works in my department. And I have the office with the sink. So all morning, he was cooking the five-bean baked beans with bacon, he was cutting giant red fat tomatoes for the burgers, he was setting out the brown mustard, RIGHT IN MY OFFICE. And the two enormous grills? RIGHT UNDER MY WINDOW. It was like The Last Temptation of June, there.

And I ran really hard last night, and didn't eat much for dinner because I am busy, and so I was STARVING. STARVING, I tell you. Those hikers who were gone 11 days? Not nearly as hungry as I was.

By the time noon rolled around I was like a pack of lions on one of those jackals in the nature shows. I was totally on my haunches, growling and pulling with my teeth.

Oh, that hamburger was good. It was clearly ground round or whatever expensive hamburger meat is. And those beans! I know I of all people should abstain from beans at work, but I snorted them, I rolled around in them, I tossed them about like Ann-Margaret with the chocolate in Tommy.

It was delicious. The coworker who doesn't get me said, "You seem awfully...happy."

You know what I said, right? Num, num, num, is what I said.

Oh.

But I am DONE now. It was a SETBACK. I had stir-fry for dinner. With nice carrots. And our good friend rice.

And by the way, it is getting to be the busy time at work, and naturally the place I freelance for sent me a 400+ page book to proof. I wrote them today and said after this, I cannot read books for you any more and for a while I can't even read flyers for you. Get over it. Go eat some meat, I told them.

They seemed relatively okay with it. They seemed like they are going to try to sneak in a book or two, but I will not fall for it. I can't work 10-hour days at my real job, then drive home and proofread, which is actually what I am going to be doing for the next 14 days, but then I am done.

I am done with meat. I am done with too much work. Done done done. Dun-dun-DUNNNN!