Since I did no less than 1003 errands on Saturday, I awoke Sunday to the blissful thought that I did not have much to do today. What a wonderful feeling. Maybe I’ll just sleep in and lounge about the house in expensive pajamas drinking tea and reading the New York Times. I imagined that Katherine Hepburn enjoyed Sunday mornings in much the same sophisticated manner. Actually she is quite dead now. So maybe that routine has changed somewhat.
Hambone sensed I was awake and started his incessant morning whining. Such a neurotic dog. Thor - who was laying like a recently shot head of cattle on the dirty laundry pile – lifted his head with much exertion. That head must weigh 12 lbs alone. It fell back to the floor with a thud and he farted.
That dog is fat.
Fine. I’m getting up. Let’s go down to the river and poke around in the woods for a bit. I don’t feel like being leashed to you idiots while you drag me around the neighborhood.
So off we went. We even guilted Bryant into coming. And it was beautiful.
The colors had started to change.
Thor was hanging on to his sanity by a thread. The happiness was melting his brain.
Bryant tried valiantly to calm the animal.
The thinning self control was painful to watch. His eyes kept bulging.
This picture was taken just before he exploded into large fleshy bits.
Hambone found it rather funny.
Gratuitous fall shot. I'll never understand how leaves turn so damn red. (Please don't try to explain it to me.) Just such a mystery (seriously, no. I don't really want to know. do not write me with an explanation. I will just judge you.)
Hambone takes the seasons very seriously.
He knows. he knows that when it starts to get cooler. And people start selling Halloween costumes. He knows that I instinctively put those together with my sarcastic sense of humor and try to find him an outfit. Something that will strike me funny. Like a sweater with dinosaur ridges down the back.
Or the pink tutu (loved that one). Or his western outfit (complete with stetson!) Or the bumble bee outfit. God I love fall.
Bless the people that make ridiculous outfits for dogs. I get no END of entertainment out of them. Of course Hambone bites me while I am trying to dress him in these - but that's really to be expected..
He still loves me. Dumb doggie. I love you too Hammie.
Later that afternoon my friend Alyssa came out to the house. Yenny attempted to fix her iPhone - though I still maintain that the problem is not the phone – but that she is the very last living being that is using Earthlink as a mail client. And most likely they just closed up shop and went back to bean farming or something.
She rejected this synopsis and decided to ignore my existence for about 10 minutes while talking to every other person in the house as well as a few potted plants.
We sat about and then decided that we should go somewhere since if we stayed sitting for any longer we would inevitably nap. So we went to Homegoods. If you do not know what that is – well then you are doing fine in life. Don’t fear. It is like the home furnishings section of Marshalls or TJ Maxx. But instead of being a section it’s the whole bloody store. We both got our own carts to serve as purse sherpas and rolled about the place acting as if we had recently gotten quite drunk.
Everything was funny. Alyssa liked to throw really ugly “throw pillows” at me (har , har) from over top of the next aisle.
I liked to point out really bad art and loudly ask her if that was the same canvas of running stallions that was above her bed. You know, the one below the mirrored ceiling and to the left of the giant wicker Adonis that also called her bedroom home.
I would act oblivious to the other women shopping who then looked Alyssa up and down judgingly.
She would then attempt to kill me with an over-sized fork and knife.
We would find some items that were .. well they were just so bad that we had to stop and look at them. Together. For a really long time. Breathless at their violent attack on our visual senses. Amazing stuff. We’d contemplate getting these items as Christmas gifts for people we didn’t like.
And then we’d go to the bathroom section.
Did we need anything from that section? No, silly.
But that is where the hand soap is.
And we are like meth addicts with the fricking soap.
No shit we spent 45 minutes in this aisle. Opening, sniffing and closing hundreds of bottles of liquid that would do little more than scent our hands. The scents besiege your olfactory organs to the point of migrane – all done in search of the ‘perfect’ powder room washup smell.
After a while everything smells horrid. We both had headaches and had to leave the store. But of course we each had to buy three different bottles of soap and misc other un-needed procurements.
We left there and found solace at the Caribou Coffee up the way.
As we sat drinking our cool, caffeinated smell-eliminating beverages with our feet up on foot stools in the cushy leather chairs… I looked at her.
“You really think I didn’t see you buy that ridiculous, fake-velvet hot pink reindeer?”
“… I don’t know what you are talking about. Shut up and drink your drink.”