It’s Sunday night, and I’m writing you now instead of tomorrow morning because not ONLY do I have my trainer before work in the a.m., but afterward I have to screech over to the lab, not that I am rushing to a dog, although I would.
Three months ago, I had some labs done, not that I arranged for someone to have sex with a bunch of labs. They really need to get two entirely separate words for the dog breed and for the place you have your blood drawn. Why are they the same word?
Anyway, three months ago, I found out my cholesterol was 6,893 and so I started nights with white statins and also working out with my trainer, which is why I never have time to blog in the morning and now we’re back in the full circle of life.
Nants ingonyama bagithi baba
Sithi uhm ingonyama
Nants ingonyama bagithi baba
Sithi uhhmm ingonyama
Sorry. Didn’t mean to swear or become The Exorcist. …Is that up there an actual language or did the people who wrote that song just make up words, words that have no meaning, like “narcissist” or “delayed gratification”?
…I just looked it up and it’s Zulu. If anyone up in here speaks Zulu, tell us what those lyrics mean.
ANYWAY, tomorrow after the trainer I have to zip over to the Dalmatian and have my blood drawn to see if the statin islands did me any good, and they might have done me more good if I remembered to take them, you know, every night.
So that’s exciting. And that’s what brings me here on a Sunday, despite that song telling me to never ever on a Sunday, a Sunday.
What is wrong with me tonight? Can you feel the love tonight?
I gathered you all here on this Sunday to tell you about my sex-filled weekend [disclaimer: there was no sex] but first I want to show you all the animals. Well, Edsel is in his dog bed and I can’t see him but you can at least see what all the cats’re up to. Let’s catsup with the cats!
Those really weren’t riveting photos of the cats, per se, but my captions were impeccable.
When Zelda and Lily sleep together, they’re like one gray/white lump.
Also, the fact that there is some video game called Zelda annoys me, and I’d have never gone with that name had I known. Now everyone thinks I’m over here playing Pong and shit. Do you prefer Gilda? But once again, I’m thinking of the movie character and not, say, some random Gilda from a Marvel movie or whatever lowbrow thing there is I don’t know about.
Wait. Why does no one like me? I don’t get it. It’s not at all because I’m Major Burns with my pretentiousness or anything, is it?
Oh my god, the weekend. Or as the kids spell it, weeknd.
On Friday, I feel like I worked late and then looked at fireflies till late. I can’t recall anything else that happened.
But on SATURDAY, my friend Marianne came to see me, and at this point I feel like the same people have been reading me since aught six and don’t need me to tell the whole “Who’s Marianne and how do you know her” story. Old friend who lives in Charlotte. The end.
Anyway, she and I were gonna meet in Winston-Salem, because meeting in Winston tastes good like a cigarette should, but she offered to come all the way here, as she knew I had a fairly harrowing week. As soon as she got here (she brought me a peach-colored iris plant in honor of Iris, and I planted it out front. Further reports as blooms warrant), my lounge chair also got here, and I said, “Oh! My chair! Let’s just put it together and we can go!”
She’d wanted to go to the hippie crystal store in my neighborhood. So we figured clip clap cloom, the chair would piece together and boom, we were off. I really thought that.
An hour later, we were still in my back yard, on the hot patio in the hot sun having a hot girl summer with ZERO INSTRUCTIONS for the chair. And it had bolts and nuts and washers and dryers and oh my god we did not know what we were doing. So then we texted A, my neighbor, who has come over to rescue me from other disasters, such as the time I removed my doorknob and deadbolt and was unable to fit the new one in and it was getting dark and the old one no longer fit cause I’d sanded the hole, so to speak, and anyway sadly for A, she answered my text and then came right over.
An hour after that first enjoyable hour, we were all on my hot patio in the hot son having a hot dog! good time STILL PUTTING THAT FEKKING CHAIR TOGETHER.
And I say “we” but really I stood there like a princess, like a princess she was lying there, moonlight dancing off her hair, because did I know the first thing about putting that chair together with no instructions? Am I able to look at a chair and use my spatial relations skills to piece nuts and bolts and washers and dryers together to make a chair?
I am not.
So finally, FINALLY, those two bitches finished my chair and I was able to lounge on it the way god intended. But then we had like six minutes till the hippie crystal store closed, and so we all screamed over to it.
Naturally, A. took a big shine to Marianne, as everyone does, and I announced that I wish just once, someone would be all, “Your friend Marianne kind of sucks.” But no. My whole family is always all, “Oh! How is Marianne!” or “You’re gonna see Marianne!? Aww.”
At the store, Marianne got her eye of Newt Gingrich or whatever it was she needed so she could go home and hail Satan or whatever, and then we all went to the brewery, wherein I bought everyone a drink to thank them for doing manual labor for me.
A. told me how she’s going to a tattoo party in a few weeks and is deciding what tattoo to get, and she said I could come too and now I am obsessing over what I can get. Maybe I’ll get sleeved out, or have my whole face done like that Post Toasty or whatever his name is.
When I was at the crystal store with Marianne looking into the soul of the person next to me, I signed up for a tarot reading, which careful readers will note I could just do myself, as I know how to do the tarot. But this reader was the same person who, in 2011, predicted I’d meet Ned at the beginning of 2012, and careful readers will note I got Lily and Ned on the same day: January 5, 2012. Then two days later I broke my vomit streak and Lily was probably all, “wyyy Lillee have to live in pyuke howse?”
Anyway, I’d love to go get my pages of notes from today’s (yesterday’s, for the rest of you, since I’m writing on Sunday) reading, but since I have starting penning this tome the following has happened:
Milhous was ALSO up on me but when I grabbed my phone to show you my three cat night, he left in a huff. How dare I move freely. Anyway, don’t be sad, cause two out of three ain’t bad and it’s also enough cat on me that I feel guilty about getting up to get my notes.
But I remember some predictions. She said I have money coming my way, and I always appreciate cash money. She also thinks I will be doing more with my own tarot readings in the future. Also too, she thinks I will start a romantic relationship in October and that it will lead to a commitment, or perhaps I will need to be committed, either way.
I was thinking I was done with relationships, so we’ll see. Remind me, when I’m swept up in hot heaty hot romance at Halloween that the tarot reader predicted this.
She said other things but cats prohibiting me from note-looking.
I had better go. I like to get my workout clothes all laid out so that I can jump into them like a Porky Pig cartoon, remember that one? Where he gets up in the morning and leaps into his clothes? Well. His shirt. He leaped into his shirt. He never did pull on any pants. How did he not get fired?
My 97 cats and the one dog will talk at you tomorrow. Well. Day after tomorrow, for me. Tomorrow for you. Dear June: Get over the part where you’re writing this on Sunday.