In which it is girls’ night out! Whoop!
Gorgeous texted me Friday night: ‘Pre-party at my house 9:pm.’
I was late, of course. Bread and I had had a fight, and after had to spend some quality time “making up,” if you catch my drift. When nine came by, we were in the shower. I got quickly dressed and as I was leaving, Gorgeous texted me to say, “Where u at?”
I texted something dirty back to her — something along the lines of ‘on my way, had to get me some’ — and hopped in the jeep and drove right to her house stopping only at Mi-T-Mart for cigs.
Gorgeous & Rockstar and Ray were chillin’ in the basement, and we started drinking Tuaca while we chatted and watched a Jamiroquai vid. (I love Jamiroquai, OMG.) TiRi came over; I haven’t seen her in forever and she looks fantastic, so skinny and tanned with her cute little belly jewelry. By eleven thirty it was decided we absolutely must at least make an appearance at the bar; we four women walked over. At the Dead Cock we socialized and had drinks.
Gorgeous, Ray, at the Red RockWhen the bar closed at two, we walked back to Gorgeous’s house, screaming loudly the whole way about sex. Particularly, the myriad of wrong ways there are to perform oral sex on a woman and about the prettiest cocks we’d seen in our various sordid careers. It was a complete and total drunken laff riot. By the time we entered Gorgeous’s neighborhood, we were hissing loudly in an attempt to be quiet, hanging off each other, cackling, and trying not to trip over the broken sidewalks.
We hung out in the basement until nearly four in the morning. A few other people were there when we arrived, hanging out with Rockstar; a few more were supposed to come for afterhours but never did.
I drove Ray and TR back to 2nd street, where they’re next door neighbors, and then crashed on the bed in Ray’s basement ’cause I wasn’t in any shape to drive all the way to B-ville.
I woke up at 10:30 this morning because my phone rang. I missed the call, but it was NLW wanting me to do something with her so she could escape having to work all day. I went upstairs but Ray wasn’t home (and she hadn’t left me a note, either, wench) and then I went back downstairs, curled up with my new best friend Miss Muffin — the friendliest, cutest little tortoise shell cat you ever did see — and called Bread.
“Hi,” I said when he answered. “I’m not dead, but I am hung over!”
He laughed and said he’d figured that. We chatted, I agreed to pick up some motor oil for him, we hung up. I called NLW at home, she didn’t answer. I got dressed, sat around a bit, then called Ray. She didn’t answer. I left, drove around a bit, called NLW’s cell. She didn’t answer.
Got coffee, got tacos, went to Wally World. Bought two cheap plastic pitchers, some cheap plastic cups, and two quarts of 10/40. I felt inordinately proud of myself that I’d remembered to get pitchers; our last two were broken and eaten by a dog, respectively.
I got home, made a pitcher of Tang and a pitcher of iced tea, poured myself a cute little lime green-colored plastic cup of Tang, and answered my phone when it rang.
It was Re-re. Her dog, Dhuma, Stella’s sister, is dying. It’s awful. She’s having horrible seizures, isn’t eating or drinking every day, hasn’t gotten out of bed at all today. Re-re’s had that dog for over a third of her life, and Stella’s the same age as Dhuma. You know when you get them that they’ll die someday, but it sucks when it happens. I sat on the porch with my Tang and had a smoke and we talked dogs and life and other stuff; I watched my beloved Bindu as she flopped down under the Little Red Wagon for a nap and realized that she’s ten this year, which is really old for her breed. (An ACD’s life expectancy is 9-10 years.) She’s getting cataracts. And Stella has arthritis and has to be lifted into the truck most days. Oh, the dog love. So deep. *sniff*
Bindu, my Australian Cattle Dog
When Bindu goes, I’ll have to be sedated. Seriously. That little Nazi Hitler of a blue thing owns me, absolutely owns me. I sing “Am I Blue?” to her and change the words so it’s about her. She’s an excellent cuddler. She’s totally velcro, which I love in a dog — I don’t like having to look for them. She’s half cat. She’s wonderful. She’s the dog of my heart.
I’ve had my beloved ACD Bindu with me for a couple of days. Bread let me take her when I saw him at BoSe’s the night before last, and I walked her over to AmmZon’s and bathed her immediately, then poisoned her with flea meds.
The point being that on the OTHER counter, not the one with the puddle of mystery internal fluid but the other one, was a single drop of blood the size of a nickel. And below that counter, half in and half ON the stainless steel dog water bowl, were the bloody internal remains of… something.
