Johnny and I went into an Antique store over the weekend and in there was this cracked out meth-head holding a big plastic green M&M complete with legs and arms and everything and he was LOUDLY begging the folks to buy it from him because he needed $40 (bitch down the street is selling one for $75, yo’!) for gas to get to Crossville. I don’t think I have to tell you that it’s hard times when you’re called upon to sell your green M&M.
Mr. Cooper (my dog) is nearing the end of the road and it’s just as debilitating and miserable as you can imagine. For me, anyway. He’s comfy and safe and seems happy, just slowing waaaaaay down. Getting his medicine in him is a daily challenge and we still haven’t found a winning recipe. This dog has been known to spit out warm bacon so let’s just start there. We’ve mashed up the pills and put them in sautéed ground turkey. Nope. His once beloved chicken salad (with tarragon) is no longer palatable. Fuckety. Tried shoving them down his throat old skool style but that only ended with me getting a thumb gash when he thrashed his head. He’s stronger than you’d imagine in his old age. Much like my sweet Grandma, I’m hoping he just passes peacefully in his sleep and doesn’t make me decide for him. Fingers crossed. He’s still getting in the trash on occasion so I feel like he’s kinda like my Dad was at the end of his life. Old and slowing down, but still capable of being an asshole.
I’m really excited about the next installment of American Horror Story: Freak Show. Y’all watching this? I loved “Murder House” and “Coven” ( I skipped “Asylum” due to scheduling conflicts) but am ready to get on board on the carnie train. I’m not one of those people that are terrified of clowns, but I do indeed enjoy a good freak show, as inappropriate and politically incorrect as it seems. Remember, I lost my virginity to a Ringling Bros Barnum and Bailey Circus clown so there’s that. He was hardly a freak but I think it counts as unique anecdote. Don’t let the big shoes fool you. *rim shot*
I am so ready for Fall, it’s by far my favorite season. Screw that pumpkin spice latte, where’s the hard cider? Pumpkins. Hay bales. Gourds. Indian Corn. Cool nights and zero humidity. Football. I love all of it and plan on celebrating it’s awesomeness this weekend with a night at the cabin with my fella, my dog, Oprah (magazine) , my knitting and booze. Do you like how I clarified that it’s not Oprah herself that is attending? As if. Although Oprah should know she’s always welcome and she can totally bring Gale.
There’s this guy that I see in my neighborhood that’s, let’s say, a little eccentric. He looks like an ethnic “Napoleon Dynamite”. Same big wiry fro hair, glasses, etc. but more latino or such. Napoleon Gonzales perhaps. He wears a plaid skirt (not a kilt) every day. Like a Catholic girl’s uniform. He wears a grey sweatshirt and carries a backpack and I see him walking all over. I quite like his style, really. The other day I went into our neighborhood market and he was there in the produce section and I could barely contain my excitement at seeing him in such a close-up situation. Up until now, I’ve always been driving when I spot him. He went to the bakery and bought a big white cake and placed it in his basket. The cake had to be like $40. This surprised and delighted me. I then followed him through the store and watched him pirouette at every turn. He would stop, do a twirl and then proceed town the aisle. IT’S NOT EVEN MY BIRTHDAY, Y’ALL. I tried to get behind him in the checkout aisle because I wanted to hear his voice but some old crow beat me to it and he was out the door before I could catch up. When I got to the cashier I inquired about him. She mentioned that he comes in all the time and is quite the quirky fellow. I told her I enjoyed his dancing at the end of each aisle and she turned to me straight-faced and said, “Oh, he’s not dancing, he just doesn’t like to turn right”. WHAT. THE. HELL.
So. Upon having to turn right to go down the grocery aisle, Napoleon Gonzales would turn a 360 degree angle to the LEFT and then proceed. He wasn’t dancing after all. Needless to say this made my day and I’m thinking of incorporating it into my daily routine. But seriously, what with the cake? Was he going to party? Was he having a tea party with his dolls at home? Was he just going to eat it himself? So many questions.
Girl Corrupted doesn’t like the right either.