Yesterday I tried to walk off the humiliation of my recent humiliation. (Once I was in a car accident, and my then-boyfriend rushed sort of dramatically to the ER. They thought I had just a mild concussion, but when I went to swing my legs off the table to go? My legs wouldn't move. At all.
"This happened to me in football all the time, June," said the boyfriend. "You're stiff from the impact. You just gotta WALK IT OFF. Walk it off."
My pelvis was broken in three places. But thanks for the medical tip there. Bub.)
First thing yesterday I had to take the kittens for their next round of shots. Are shots just a scam? Because I have spent $9983949 on these mutty cats so far.
After I took out a small business loan to pay for that, I had to scream on over to Raleigh to get my roots done. It's about an hour-and-a-half drive, but everyone in Greensboro turned my hair white or orange, so it's worth it. Plus, I went to the John Freida salon in LA, which took about an hour to drive to from my house, so what's the diff?
Anyway. I have satellite radio, and on Saturdays they'll replay a Kasey Kasem's American Top 40 from the current week, but from sometime in the '70s. This is usually extremely enjoyable. However THIS week they were featuring a special top 40 disco tunes, and despite my Barry Gibb propensity I do not want to listen to an hour and a half of disco.
So I flipped around and came across this song.
I was all, They are not playing Rick Springfield right now. I mean, when's the last time you heard effing Rick Springfield?
I'll tell you the last time I did. When Marvin and I would go on trips, every time we stopped for gas he'd go inside to see if they sold bad music. He'd emerge with Minnie Pearl's greatest hit, or Fiddle Favorites, and one time he came out with The Best of Rick Springfield. I sighed, and then we jammed out to the Rick Springfield all the way to wherever we were going.
"Who knew Rick Springfield had so many good songs?" I remember saying like it wasn't shameful.
Anyway, when this song came on yesterday, I totally remembered driving to an away football game with my high school friends Steve, Dave, Matt and Kevin in Steve's blue Chevette. I had a lot of friends who were boys in high school. Men are uncomplicated, generally. I remember speeding down the freeway, drinking incredibly cheap beer, and instead of singing "I've done everything for you" we sang "I've fu**ed every girl but you."
Hi, Dick Whitman's mom.
We were totally the setup for one of those don't drink-and-drive videos they show you before prom. Drinking and throwing the empties into the hatch of Steve's Chevette. And I love how I sang along to that crude line like I could.
Anyway. After my roots were rightfully covered again and my hairdresser managed to take everything I started to talk about and make it about her, I headed back home and the phone was ringing when I got in. It was a woman from my real-life book club who wondered if I wanted to go to sushi.
Sushi makes me nervous. You know how I don't like the barfing. And raw fish? Are you asking for it? But I said yes and figured I'd be one of the embarrassing people who gets chicken teriyaki.
We met in the college-y part of town, and it's college-y because it's where one of the colleges is. Had you figured that part out on your own? I like it there, in the college-y part.
Although as I was walking to the restaurant, two college kids were having coffee and one of them said, "Do you like that one song, I think it's by John Lennon. It goes 'Imagine there's no heaven'...?" And the girl said, "No, I don't."
First of all, you THINK it's by John Lennon? You think? And who doesn't like that song? Everyone I know likes that song. It's like not liking Happy Birthday to You. "No." It took everything I had not to stop and scold them both.
It occurred to me I had never talked about my book club friends on my blog, so I said, "You guys want blog names?" How annoying am I to hang out with?
Carla decided on Carla because that was the name she used when she played house, as opposed to old Helen, over here. I was always Helen. And I loved Tic-Tacs, so I used to pretend I was addicted to pills, and would greedily shake the container in my hand and gobble them. Helen needed her dolls.
My other friend hemmed and hawed and hawed and hemmed and thought of this name and that and said she just didn't want to be Hibiscus Flower, which is some character from a pretentious PBS show she watches.
Afterwards, we all retired to my house, Carla, Hibiscus Flower and me, and I read everyone's tarot cards. I am not being Rod Stewart. I really read everyone's tarot cards. Hibiscus Flower has two dogs of her own and does a lot of animal rescue, and she did a lot of trying to get Edsel not to be an ass while she was here.
Edsel is in the back yard barking maniacally at nothing as I type this. Hibiscus needs to come back.
So that's all I have to say about that. Dick Whitman will be here shortly, and yes I DID just call you shortly, as we are going to brunch at a hotel near me. I told him not to get excited about the hotel part, as this is not The Graduate.
Hi, Dick Whitman's mom.