Xanadu, your neon lights will shine

Last night, there was a catfight. Just like that time Crystal and Alexis threw down.

IMG_8780 IMG_8781

Did you note the whish of Iris' tail in these shots? Action shots, by June, wildlife photographer. Lily started it, which she's been doing lately. I'll be minding my own business (porn), when I hear the hssssssss of another catfight. It makes Edsel nervous. He always runs in and sniffs everyone. Tries to get a group discussion going. Lillee, how it make you feel when Eyeriss hiss at you?


Look at Lily's tail stalking off, defeated. And Iris is all, Dat rite; keep on walkin', bish. Keep on walkin.'

Minutes later she was purring and snoring on my lap. The snore of victory. Perhaps I need to get out of the house more.

Actually, I did go out some. I was on another of my infernal dates yesterday, and I saw a Tallulah-looking dog outside the restaurant and got weepy. Hey, sex machine. Get on up.


I also saw this, and…yeah.


What hallucinations?

I don't really look at porn, by the way. Do you? Are you a girl? Innnnnnteresting. What do you look at, specifically? Sign in anon and tell me all. I want to know. Because it all seems so phony to me. So I'd be interested in hearing why someone likes it. I am not asking in a judgy way; I'm really interested.

Who was it among you who told me about that gossip site, Crazy Days and Nights? Because now I can't live without Blind Items Revealed, and I'm afraid at this point I have the CDAN app, and what else can I look at online? There's only so much Large Black Men on Tumblr you can see before you're all Zzzzzzzzz.

All right, I'd better go. It's trash day and recycle day and I have to take out my stuff and Peg's. Then I have to go to work and write things, which is exciting because I used to go to work and proofread things, which I am scheduled to do tomorrow, and it's nice to do both. Also I have to write a Purple Clover tonight, and what can I write about? I need a new topic. I've already discussed my hair, my dog, my makeup, my weight, my friends and my family. What's left? Those are all my food groups.

Suggestions, please. I guess I could write about porn. Oh my god, I could write girl porn. What girls want in their porn. Mostly they want a man to be all, You're the great love of my life. Here's a certificate to a spa. You go there while I shop for a ring. Then like on porn sites where you choose your topic, instead of Teen Lesbians or MILFs, you could pick emerald-cut diamond or cushion cut.

Oh my god goodbye. Behold a photo of me, that I took during the catfight because am desperately in love with self.


How can I be in love with self with that fucking nose?





Literally wearin’ the green

Aye! See, I want to talk Irish to you but I keep sounding like a pirate. Ahoy! It's St. Patrick's Day, matey! Arrrrrr!

As I told you yesterday, with my cliffhanger headline, my Aunt Mary sent me a box of pants. She loves to shop, see, it's kind of her hobby, see, and now she's retired. This means she has all kinds of time to peruse her closets and her tubs of clothes from other seasons–yes, she's one of those people who has to put away winter clothes and get out summer clothes and probably fall and winter clothes–and she found all kinds of pants in my size with tags still on them.

"I have all these pants. Want me to mail them to you?" she asked me. Of course I did.

The point of my story is (a) pretty much my whole life, my Aunt Mary has dressed me and (2) among all the pants was a silky tank top that's bright blue on one side and green on the other. It's reversable, see, and I don't know why I have to keep saying "see" all the time. IMG_8343
eyeriss resent.

So I now actually have a green thing to wear today, which is exciting, because in general I don't, as green is not my color, and most of the rest of the year I will wear the blue side of my tank top because I look good in blue.

People also seem to like me in brights, further proving the '80s were right about me being a winter. Plus I'm as cold as ice. I'm willing to sacrifice our love. I never take advice. Wow, that really is my theme song.

Anyway, aye! I be wearin' the green, Katie Scarlett. For land is the only thing that matters.

You should talk to me in real life. All my accents end up sounding like Rik, my idiot Italian neighbor in LA, or Ville, this Finnish guy I went to school with. Finnish-ing school.


This day gets my Irish up.

I remember my grandmother, not the one I'm turning into but the other one, the nice one, getting ready for some event on St. Patrick's Day. She had on a green rhinestone pin I was seriously wanting to single white female her on, and she was spraying on her signature Emeraude, and I thought, "St. Patrick's Day is my favorite holiday." I was forever making sweeping statements to myself like that, as opposed to now, with my I'm gonna lose 30 pounds and so on.

Actually, I've done pretty well sticking to my Weight Watchers, except for Famous Amos, who lives in the vending machine to fuck me up. This week it's double chocolate Famous Amos, and what Amos is gonna be famous for is sucking my dick, with his cookie deliciousness. Also, someone brought in delicious macaroons to work yesterday and I had almost a sexual reaction to them.


Oh, mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law.

They weren't on the "anyone can take it" table, so all day I thought about them and wished for them and looked up how many points they'd be, and at the very end of the day, the person at work WHO I DON'T KNOW offered me one, because I must have been looking at her like Tallulah. Do you think the part where I kept putting my paw insistently on her was unprofessional?

That macaroon was delicious. It was every bit as good as I thought it would be, and so what. Oprah's eating bread on Weight Watchers, and right now bread is a Nazi, but of course sugar is currently Beelzebub, so you can't win.


Anyway, spring is here in North Carolina, and I can't wait for the Facebook updates where everyone capitalizes the word "spring." On our three o'clock walks at work now, we walk through the neighborhood near work and it's lovely. All the ducks are pairing up and it's only a matter of time before I become obsessed with duck babies. Also I'd like to note ducks can find a mate and I can't.

I'd better duck on out of here and go to work. I hope no one fucks me up with any macaroons today. It was like the last temptation of Christ up in there yesterday.

Chubbily, and arrrrrrrr!


Lillee celebrate spring with delish uss bird in her teef.

I don’t know if you know that much about life if you think “lifeclass” is one word

Yesterday morning I had to dig in my bathroom trash for the old empty deodorant I'd thrown away, and desperately scrape what was left on myself because guess who forgot to buy more.

There goes my mother in my head: "Make a list, honey."

I was also clean out of coffee, which is always incentive for me to go to the store, because addict.

I just remembered I'm on my last roll of toilet paper, and goddammit. Hello, store again today. "A LIST, honey."

Anyway, I went to Harris Teeter, where I am wont to be 800 times a week, and have I told you about the one checkout clerk who doesn't exactly have arms that I was mean to before I looked up and saw she was armless? I try to keep my vitriol to the fully armed, generally. But that is a story for a different day because hello, already scattered.

The point of my story is I ended up buying Oprah deodorant. Yes, that really IS a thing. I would never fuck around with Oprah. Bitch could ruin your life. She's powerful. And so is her deodorant.


That's quite the tableau I've set before you. Garlic, tin of dog treats, Alyssa Milano paper towels, all backup singers for my new Oprah deodorant.

Does Oprah need cash? What would compel her to put her name on a stick of deodorant? Look. I like Oprah. I know people don't but I really do. I watch her Super Soul Sunday all the time, and I always finish with a whole, you go, Oprah. I like what you and your guest had to say. Then I leave the house and do something shallow.

Any time I see a celebrity has endorsed something absurd, I buy it. It amuses me. Can I interest you in some Paula Deen lip balm? I can't wait till I get famous and have a product. June Gardens Clementine oranges. June Gardens smartwatches. June Gardens grocery lists.

Speaking of products, for my birthday last year, my Aunt Mary sent me something called Laura Geller Balance N Brighten Color Correcting Powder. Normally I'd eschew anything that calls itself N. Are you that pressed for time, Laura Geller? You managed to name your product something that took 79 words. Oh, but "and"! You can't possibly spell THAT all out! Time's a-wastin'!

The point is, I loved n enjoyed wearing Laura Geller Yodel-a-hee-whoo N Brighten Color Shamalamading Dong Powder, now with more N than ever. I used the whole compact. I was desperately scraping it the way I scraped myself with the remains of that deodorant from my trash yesterday morning. The remains of the day. So I've finally ordered more and it'll be here in three to seven business days. I'd prefer they be up-in-my-business days but what can you do? Also, Ulta is five minutes away and yet I ordered online. Am very busy.

N. See how busy? I had to use N.

Photo on 3-4-16 at 8.27 AM
I gotta go dry my hairs and go to work. N go to work. The weekend yawns before me with nary a plan. Do you wish I'd say my weekends yawned before me more often? I've been saying that a lot lately. Why can't I meet a nice man to date and have sex with and wax on about? What gives? Am I hideous? Is it the too-many-pets thing?

I'll talk to you later.



Put a little birdhouse in your soul

As you've likely surmised, pretty much every second of my existence in this house involves an animal near me or on me. At this point, I don't even really notice. This morning I was delving through the pile of mail I'd thrown in the bowl all week when I heard chittering.

I knew right away it was chittering, and it turns out, Lily was right next to me on the arm of the couch. She was chittering out the window AT THE BIRDHOUSE.

You know how I get. Little brown birds with tan stripes up the sides of their cute heads are building a nest in my birdhouse, which is right near my living room window!! Oh, how exciting. Getting Mormon Tabernacle Choir to follow Iris around to announce her arrival from here on out. Good lord. Iris, in the meantime, is fashioning a high-jump pole and a trampoline to get up there.

Today yawns before me with only one plan. At 4:00, Tallulah and I go to Winston and get her picture made. I found a pet photographer, and no, he's not gonna dress her up as a watermelon like one of those nightmarish Anne Geddes babies or anything. Just a straight-up Lu pic. Because I don't have enough photos of this dog. But I wanted something professional.

Hang on. My keyboard looks filthy.

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Yesterday after work, a bunch of us went to the fitness room and did a dance video workout with that Daily Burn app. Mother of god. It was kind of a hip-hop class, and in case you were wondering, I am white. Man. I got to nearly 10,000 steps on my Fitbit from that workout alone, though.

Then I came home and showered and joined Mr. French for a drink. We are not dating; we're both getting over our broken hearts and decided a few weeks ago to just be friends. We sat outside in the cold while he smoked and pontificated and we had a great time.


"You look really good," he said, as I joined him up at the bar. "Oh, thanks. I got my hair blown straight," I told him. Later in the night, he said, "No, you really look good. It's not just the hair." I did not want to tell him I'd gotten my face shot up this week, as I do, and yes I DO owe money for taxes and why don't you shut the hell up? Nobody asked you.

Anyway, since I have sort of a free weekend, I have all sorts of things I WANT to get done and never have time to do. Like, invoice all the places I freelance. Hey, taxes-owing June. And get my oil changed. Do laundry, since today I have to wear my wedding dress. Find someone who will power wash this house. Start making this blog a book. You know, that sort of thing.

Are you looking forward to June's next "I ate chips and binge-watched shows all weekend" post? Me, too.