I’m a last-minute substitution in a wedding this weekend. The problem is, the girl whose place I’m taking is a size 8 and I am a 6’0 woman who is … not a size 8. So my dress has been Frankensteined together using the unused sashes off the dresses since that is the only way to match the fabrics. It … fits. It’s a little frightening, though.
Plus, the matching shoes are like 3-inch heels. The dresses are a spring green color. I’m going to look like Bridesmaidzilla. Perhaps there is a scale model of a city I can stomp through while I’m at it.
The 11th comment on this post about “American Idol” says, “JLo makes me puk!”
It totally reminds of some book I read in like elementary school where a girl gets in trouble for painting “school makes me puk” on a wall at school and they know it’s her because it turns out she has some kind of learning disability. Or something. I don’t know. One of those weird childhood recalls that just popped into my brain.
So … I live next to quite the white trash villa right now. The actual owner of the house is a lady in like her late 50s, early 60s. But (as far as I can see) two adult males and one other adult female, two teenage boys and four little kids all live there too. It is unclear as to how they are all related.
The only interactions I have had with them (which are perfectly nice, they’re not assholes) is when I’ve spoken with them about their dog. He’s a yellow lab named Marley and he’s chained up in the backyard all the time. The only time they even acknowledge him is when they bring out some kibble. They never play with him, they never walk him, they never come out to untangle him when he gets his tether wrapped around the clothes line pole.
We moved in several months ago and Marley would just sit back there and cry and cry all day long, so I started buying him little treats and going over to pet him. Eventually I introduced myself to the neighbors and now I walk him 1-2 times a day. He is infinitely happier.
I wish they would just give him to me. I hear some of them may be moving away and taking him with them and that would really make me sad because I know he’ll go back to being neglected.
They don’t abuse him. They don’t hit him, he has a dog house, they feed him and keep water in his water dish. But he was so lonely until I came along.
To add to the dog stuff, it has recently gotten consistently nice, weather-wise. So now it’s like all day long, one or two of the adults sit on the front porch and the four children under the age of 7 run loose in the yard and the adults take turns screaming at them when they are doing something they shouldn’t be doing.
Little Erica got a timeout for being “lippy” yesterday, which … she wasn’t being lippy. And the icing on this white trash cake is that I heard one adult male scream this morning at the youngest little boy, “Ray Ray, put yer shirt back on. You look like a red neck!”
And it’s like, if the shoe fits.
So to speak, because none of these children have shoes on.
I really wish they would just give me the dog and move away already.
This is my favorite response to Bin Laden’s death.