I forgot to tell you that when I was on my date with Dick Whitman the other night, I read his tarot cards. He is going to meet a Libra in October and I already hate that wench.
Anyway, he said, "I had my tarot cards read before, in 1989. My sister read them for me and we videotaped it."
You know how I am. "Ooo! I want to see that!"
"You do?"
So Dick Whitman opened the tidiest closet you have ever seen and got out a covered box neatly inscribed with the word...
...are you ready?
Seriously, are you?
Video's.
With the apostrophe.
He took the lid off that box, and inside were the tidiest collection of videos ('s) since Felix Unger organized his videos. If I have any videos left they are strewn in one drawer, then another, and maybe in the car, or in my hair, and in Edsel's jaws.
"You, um, certainly are tidy," I said, trying to ignore the apostrophe.
"Yes, I am," he said, piling a perfect pile of tapes as he looked. "And I'm NOT GAY."
See. It wasn't the gay thing I was worried about. Finally, I asked. "So, who labeled that box?"
Dick Whitman finally stopped alphabetizing the pile of videos to look at his errant " ' ". "Oh. I'm afraid I did that," he said, and WENT BACK TO SEARCHING like nothing was wrong.
I started to feel a little woozy. "Do you, um, have any White-Out or anything?"
"June, there's a Sharpie in the other room. Why don't you go get it and cross out the apostrophe."
"No, no. That would be weird," I said, desperately wanting to get the Sharpie.
Anyway. We finally watched the video ('s) and in 1989 Dick Whitman was all hot with long hair and Malcolm X glasses, and I told him I had Malcolm X glasses back then too, and this whole entire stupid story was to tell you that. Well. And to tell you about the apostrophe. I hope that Libra is ready for a lifetime of 's.
So I told Dick Whitman I'd send him a picture of me in the Malcolm X glasses:
Mom and me rockin' out with our glasses out.
And in the meantime I found a bunch of other photos to show you. But now I have taken 60 hours to tell you that story so I can only show a few.
Dad and me on New Year's Eve when it was about to be 1984. I loved that dress. And those earrings. We thought we were cool. And we kind of were.
Even before I had a blog I had to stop and photograph ludicrous things. Like that sweater.
Why was everything brown in the 70s? Why do Coke cans never change?
Okay. Must shower. Or, as Dick Whitman would write, s'hower.
Okay ONE MORE.
My friend Lisa, pretending to be my bearskin rug.
June. Loving herself since 1991. Loving her rose pants since...why did I like those rose pants?
Okay, really going.
