My friend (easily my best friend in college) (who stayed with us Tuesday night, taking a break on his move from Chicago to L.A.) was hit by a drunk driver Wednesday night/Thursday morning in Colorado. They both died on impact.
I don’t even know.
I love you, Alex.
kara marie
Last night I was supposed to pack and relax, but instead had to deal with a Major Bra Emergency (stupid dress, stupid bras, stupid me not realizing how terrible all of my bras are, stupid trying to buy a bra in a tiny town past 7:00 pm, stupid EVERYTHING). Then it stormed insanely all night (tornado warnings, excessive lightening, etc) and Monk went cuh-razy (not just normal crazy, cuh-raaaazy) and did his best to make sure we didn’t sleep at all, ever, all night. At one point he woke me up by climbing on top of me (not! allowed!), and he spent much of the night pressed against our bed, trembling so hard that it felt very earthquakish. Monk used to be scared of thunder, but we were careful to ignore him, not reinforce the behavior, blah blah blah, and he got over it.
UNTIL LAST NIGHT. Finally at four we got out of bed, came downstairs, watched some weather stuff on tv, gave the dogs some treats, threw the ball for them (Cab was so confused, because he wanted to be asleep), and then went back to bed. Monk seemed relieved that we had sufficiently checked out the situation, validated his concern, and given him treats. He passed out. And then I couldn’t sleep for a while, and I finally fell asleep, and then the alarm did not go off, and I still need to pack, and shower, and go to work, and take the dogs back to jail, and my toenails look awful, and I don’t think I charged my stupid stupid cell phone. THANK GOODNESS I WORKED ON THIS POST LAST NIGHT.
So! Running short on time this morning (gasp! that never happens!), and tonight we are driving to another city in Missouri for the weekend for a wedding. And when we get back we’ll have a house guest for a week. Also, my Important Coworker will be gone most of that week on vacation, so work should be extra super packed with busy.
So! How about some photos from last weekend?
Here are some storm clouds:
Here is a field.
Here is the dogs’ WORST ENEMY, of ALL TIME, EVER:
(Did you see how evil that bunny looks? No WONDER Monk trembles in rage whenever that bunny is in sight. We don’t blame you, Monk, because that thing is a MONSTER.)
Here are some lilies we planted. Jut picked them out. I really like them.
Another field from the drive:
Here is a photo of me tormenting my sister, which is a) easy to do and b) obviously turns my face into a frightening swollen mess. My sister and I fell asleep shortly after this on two different couches, and our respective husbands probably made fun of us.
And because I’m feeling especially self-punishing, here is a terrible photo of me that I took on accident, when we were driving through the stormy parts on Sunday and we were listening to tornado warnings on the radio. Please note my a) visible sports bra b) greasy messy hair c) the way I am mouth breathing. Jut, however, looks good, as usual. He looks good after nine hours of driving. I do not. I look ridiculous after forty minutes. Maybe because I can not stay awake, ever.
Question time!
What brand of toilet paper do you buy? Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? When it comes to clothing, what is your shame limit when it comes to going outside for quick reasons (if you have neighbors)? What are you doing this weekend?
We buy Charmin, because we got fed up with the cheaper, more painful brands. And it is true! We use less, so it evens out! I expressed my satisfaction with our toilet paper to my husband just last night (we have a good relationship), and I am very glad the days of Angel Soft are over. If the Charmin commercials didn’t have those awful bears, everything would be PERFECT.
I last talked to Jut last. I called him on the way home from the bra trip and said, “DO YOU KNOW HOW BAD THAT WAS? THAT WAS THE WORST THING EVER.” Before that I called my coworker, and said, please do not let me forget to give our bookkeeper that deposit slip for the deposit I made today, because I forgot all about it and I do not want to lose it in Missouri. And then we talked about bras.
Last night, we went into the garage to put leashes on the dogs, and Jut looked at me, started laughing, and said, “What are you wearing?” The answer is, short bright pink striped pajama shorts, a way-too-big mauve tank top, and I had just slipped my feet into my red snow boots. (The grass was wet!) My shame limit is obviously high (or low, I’m not sure which way the scale goes here), and the only time I feel uncomfortable with wearing such things in our yard is if it is still light, I am not wearing a bra but am wearing a thin-ish top, and one of our elderly neighbors comes over to visit for a while. That makes me feel scandalous.
You know what I am doing this weekend, so, go!
Kisses,
black sheeped
1. Cab is turning into an awesome dog. Still dumb, but much less annoying. And more friendly. And somehow more brawny looking, and yet cuter. And happier. My friend sent me a text message, the friend who stayed with us, and it said, “Thanks for letting me stay! It was great to see you. I love your dogs.”
2. This morning, at work, I was busy and I felt so tired. I thought it was 11:30, and I checked the time to see if I could eat lunch soon. NINE-OH-SIX. 9:06.
3. Sometimes I am startled to think about where the people I care about have ended up, what they do. I think about the people I cared about years ago, and I think about where they wanted to be. I think about where they are now. The people I grew up with, at various stages of growing up, are scattered around doing wildly different things. People I’ve met briefly, people I’ve known for years, they are everywhere doing everything. I don’t know why the few minutes I spent yelling to a stranger at a show that I got my coat on Amazon or the way an old roommate and I would meow at each other across the apartment to see if the other was awake and ready to dish on the night before seem so big and important. I don’t know why the other day I remembered pulling on short shorts with my best friend, in fifth grade, and stuffing our training bras with socks. I don’t know why I remembered that I put on blue eyeshadow and she put on brown, I don’t know why I remember how we smeared on lipstick, looked in the mirror, and laughed and laughed. Expired mascara and dirty band-aid covered knees, pushing salt grains into piles on tables at restaurants, my two best college friends cheering me up by dancing to Herb Alpert way longer than anyone should ever dance to Herb Alpert, locusts loud at evening softball games in high school that we attended just to buy a certain type of sucker offered only at that particular snack shack.
All these people! All over the place. One is a middle school special services teacher, one is a 9th grade dance coach. One is going to L.A. to write television shows. There’s a pharmacist, an accountant, a radio DJ, a few engineers, writers, a physical therapist, a to-be doctor, a police officer, a film maker, a preacher, a website designer, someone who does something at Purdue that I don’t understand, a postal carrier, a farmer, musicians, researchers, an animator, a guard at a prison, parents, editors.
And those evenings with our sandaled feet getting dirty as we sat on bleachers, eating candy with the heavy smell of hay pressing in on us, don’t go away.
Love,
black sheeped
