I took a shower and then tried to take a nap, but everyone in my family, with the exception of the Butcher needs to talk to me on the phone, apparently.
So, here’s what’s going on in my family:
–The only obvious explanation for the Butcher’s shitty driving is that he has a brain tumor and I must insist he go to the doctor immediately. This is the third time this week the recalcitrant brother has called me to tell me that the Butcher’s wrecking my car is surely a sign of his having something physiologically wrong with him.
–My parents do think it’d be a find idea for the Man from GM to come down and sleep in the camper with them. On a scale of "Hilarious" to "He’s never going to speak to me again if I do that to him" this hits dead center.
–I told my parents about the return of the summer cold and my dad lectured me about how I should be outside right now baking it out. Yes, in my family, the cure for the common summer cold is to bake it out. Still, I can sleep outside just as easily as I can sleep inside, so I’m going to try it.
–My mom and dad are on their way to Walmart. Shocking, I know.
–Also, I said ‘fuck’ while on the phone with my dad. I have such an uncouth potty mouthed way about me. I imagine that’s why they don’t read Tiny Cat Pants. Lord knows they’d love to stick their nose into my business, but the massive amounts of cussing keep them away.
The Yellow Brand Hammer Company owns a dog, Hank, who used to belong to some girl trying to make it in the country music business.
Hank came to visit last night. Apparently it went pretty well until Mrs. Wigglebottom caught Hank eyeing her bone. And then Mrs. Wigglebottom had to let Hank know a thing or two about touching a lady’s toys without her permission.
No one was hurt or eaten in the incident, of course. Because, contrary to popular belief, Mrs. Wigglebottom is not a vicious uncontrollable killer.
This morning, I think she was trying to tell me about Hank’s visit, as she stood by her bone and went all "wororororowowro" and looked at me and then at the bone. Clearly, the whole matter distressed her somewhat.
I also asked her about the distressing pitbull conversation we’ve been having all week.
Apparently, there’s no comment from the Wigglebottom camp.
Shoot, y’all, if I knew how to do video blogging, I’d video blog Mrs. Wigglebottom for you. Y’all would love her. Right now, she’s snoring the cutest little snores ever and, if I had mad video blogging skills, you could see the cute freckles on the top of her nose. And, when I did these interviews with her, you’d be able to judge her responses for yourself.
Ugh, y’all, I had the worst dream last night that I went to the dress rehearsal of Faith/Doubt only to discover that, due to recent events in the Middle East, it was no longer the play I helped write, but actually a play about Spider Man’s old age as a kind of metaphor for the Israeli-Palastinian conflict.
And I tried to stop them by tearing down the sets, which were these elaborate caves made out of paper mache, but no one seemed to care. Finally, I found the director and I was just like, “You can’t use my words. You can’t use my words in this play.” And she was like, “Whatever. We already cut all the parts you wrote.” And so I tried to leave but then I shouted, “If what I wrote wasn’t good enough, why didn’t you just tell me?”
And then I tried to leave again, but I was in a bathroom at Sears and I couldn’t find my car, because it was so dark and so I was clicking the unlock button on my key chain, but every other car in the parking lot would flash its lights, but wouldn’t be my car.
And now I have a vicious headache. I really need to clean for the arrival of all the folks who are arriving next weekend for the play, but I kind of just want to lay on the couch and try to sleep something dreamless.