Pet store kitty pictures are here.
So Tuesday, as I was having my hair done, I chatted with the hairdresser. We were talking about the spud, and how she was out in California, but leaving on Sunday for Rhode Island and then a week later, Maine.
“Does it ever get warm in Maine?” Ev asked. “Because you don’t think of it being warm up there, ever.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It gets very hot and humid and sticky up there during the summer, and no one ever has air conditioning.”
She nodded, and a few minutes later asked “Is there anything to do up there? Won’t she get bored? You never hear about people going to Maine on vacation.”
My eyes bulged out of my head. “Well, yeah, there’s lots to do,” I said. “It is, after all,
Vacationland.” She gave me a blank look. “That’s what it says on the license plate. Vacationland.”
“Oh, really? Do they get many tourists up there?”
“Uh, yeah. You could say that.” Especially considering how many times the words “Fucking tourists!” came out of my mouth when I was living up there.
I guess it’s funny – she’s from this area, and can’t imagine why anyone would want to go to Maine on vacation. I’m from Maine and can’t imagine why on earth ANYONE would come to this part of the country on vacation.
Tell me again how it is that I ended up living a zillion miles from the ocean?
Oh yeah.
About five minutes after I put up yesterday’s entry, I glanced out the front window, and saw an ugly, dark, scary-ass bank of clouds in the sky. The clouds were moving faster than I’d ever seen them, and it was extremely windy. I half expected to see a funnel cloud drop down at any second, but when I turned the TV on, none of the local channels had anything but a thunderstorm warning, and the tornado sirens weren’t going.
Since I decided I wasn’t in immediate danger of dying, I did the natural thing. I took a picture.
This is at 3 in the afternoon, by the way.
A few weeks ago, I taped the premiere of the new Showtime series (or is it a mini-series?)
Out of Order. I’ve loved Eric Stoltz since
Some Kind of Wonderful (although he was a TAD creepy in
Once and Again), and I’ve loved Felicity Huffman since
Sports Night.
Anyway, we were watching it, and after Eric Stoltz has been propositioned by Justine Bateman (don’t act like you don’t remember her from
Family Ties. And if your response is “Family what?”, then shut up you little whippersnapper.), he picks up the phone.
“All riiiight,” Fred said approvingly. “He’s going to call the one who wanted to sleep with him!” (Fred likes to pretend he’s a DAWG to get on my nerves. It works well, especially when I have PMS.)
Only, Eric Stoltz didn’t call the one who wanted to sleep with
him. He called the other one, the one
he wanted to sleep with.
“Why?” Fred said in disgust. “Why would he call HER when he’s got a sure thing with the other one!”
“Because!” I snapped (PMS? Hi.). “He doesn’t WANT TO SLEEP WITH MALLORY, HE WANTS TO SLEEP WITH THE OTHER ONE!”
Five minutes later, Justine Bateman’s boobs gave Eric Stoltz the eye.
Fred squinted. “Is that Justine Bateman?!”
As I smacked him soundly about the face and neck I yelled “WHY DO YOU THINK I CALLED HER MALLORY?!”
Luckily for him, two days into my period the PMS is almost gone.
For the first time in, like, forever, I cleaned the upstairs – INCLUDING DUSTING – and the downstairs – ALSO DUSTED – in the same week. Frankly, that never happens, and I’m starting to suspect they’ve replaced my Diet Coke with liquid speed or something. Not only did I clean upstairs and down, I also cleaned out the closet in the kitchen (damn did it get nasty), went to Wal-Mart for new litter boxes, and – are you ready for this? – cleaned out my car. Which, if I can go by the receipt for March of 2002, hasn’t been cleaned in a long, long time. It’s clean now, by god, and if I get a bug up my butt one of these days, I very well might actually take it to the car wash and even vacuum it out.
Hell, I’ll probably even end up cleaning Fred’s Jeep before we go on vacation for the 4th of July weekend!
Somebody stop me!
Such a fancy thang.]]>