Bye Bye, Pie!

In which people are nice to June. Heaven knows why. I guess cause I'm a PRINCE of a gal. A PRINCE! You don't have to watch Dynasty to have an attitude.

I am eating a piece of toast, my dear 16%, and on said toast is chocolate hazelnut peanut butter. To say I am enjoying it would be an understatement. The neighbors are probably about to call the police. "Someone is too joyous over at the white house near the corner."

I didn't mean to buy the chocolate hazelnut peanut butter. It was on special, as Marvin would say, and it was right near the front door. When you walk in. Don't you hate it when someone is describing a house or something and they start, "Well, you walk in, and..." Really? Do I? Do I walk in? I thought I'd use my x-ray vision. Need I walk in, really?

Speaking of Marvin and his x-ray vision, I got up with him yesterday to sign some more notarized documents. This divorce stuff requires a lot of notaries. I was wondering if Tom and Katie will have to schelp to the UPS store to see a notary, too.

Here is Marvin, showing his empty wallet, because this particular trip may have involved me bilking him for his millions. I was in it for the money this whole time. Mmmm-hmmm! Wrangled me a fifth-grade teacher. SCORE! I am not so much a gold-digger as a Gold Bond Medicated Powder-digger. A Tracy Gold-digger. Although she might have some money, but really? Does she? (Insert obvious "She doesn't spent it on food!" joke here.)

Also, Iris is peeing in this computer room and someone please tell me what to do other than snap her neck. I realize that came from nowhere but it just wafted at me again and I am PISSED. So to speak.

When Marvin wasn't handing me over his riches, I was busy getting lovely gifts from readers.

God, I can crop with the best of them, can't I? Centered? Indeed. Anyway, isn't this pretty? Faithful Reader Pam sent it, along with an Eastern Star hankie, cause you know how I am about the Eastern Star. What a nice surprise! I told ...friend about my gifts, and he said, "Oh, it's just like the song I recently wrote: "June Bought the Ruse."

I don't even want to know.

Oh, and who sent me the Nars pencil sharpener off my Amazon Wish List? Tell me so I can thank you.

Then finally, under the category of Peoples Are Nice to June (Have I ever told you that story, about the guy saying to my Uncle Jim, "Peoples is funny, Jim. Peoples is funny."), last night I went out with ...friend,

(...friend looks just like a fountain.) (We sat NEXT to a FOUNTAIN. Smarty-pants.)

and afterward, we went back to his apartment, and guess what. GUESS! He RECORDED the season finale of Real Housewives for me, because I had missed it in order to celebrate his birthday. And there at 1:00  in the morning, ...friend sat there with his vagina and watched that stupid show with me.

I can assure you he is not Netflixing the first seasons.

But wasn't that nice? What a nice boy. Here I am. Being happy at ...friend's.

Tonight, oddly, we are going out to see...Marvin. I KNOW. Marvin is going to be singing at this place in (wait! waaaaiiiit!) Winston-Salem, and he mentioned it to me yesterday as he was trying on a barrel, and I said, "Would it be weird if ...friend and I came to see you?" and he said "No! Show up!" So we are.

This is all very European or something, isn't it? Maybe ...friend and Marvin will beat each other up. Oooo, I kind of hope so. Wouldn't that be sort of exciting? Who do you think would win? Plaid vs. Plaid! Tonight! Winston! LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLLLLLLLLLE!

Going now, because I have to read as much statistics as possible before tonight. Note how my looming deadline does not interfere with my nightlife. Because I love the nightlife.

 

By the way, I cut and dyed my hair just like that. AcSHUN.

Bless her watermelon

Last night, ...friend cooked for me, and one of us is better at cooking than the other. One of us makes poison pies. The other makes delicious chicken things.

And by the way, that was my plate. What am I, a linebacker? I have pretty much half of that to eat for lunch today.

In other news, the dogs are at daycare today: http://dogdaysgreensboro.com/index.php?op=webcamfront

When I was dropping them off, I ran into TinaDoris, whose dog Penny is pals with my dogs, and please note I did not say "BFFs" because that makes me want to kill myself. Did I tell you I heard someone say, "This is my BFFeroni!" the other day? Did I tell you that person has literally become Beeferoni, as I chopped her into little pieces and mailed her to Chef Boyardee?

Chef Boyardee. There's a name. When I (finally) get my name changed, I am so going with June Boyardee. Get me some of that Beeferoni money. What are all the stupid things I have said I was gonna change my name to so far? June Dimebag Wasabi Boyardee. Pretty! Has a feminine ring to it.

What if I got totally delusional and really changed my name to June Gardens? That's when y'all should start to worry.

By the way, I don't really know what a linebacker is. I mean, I know it's football-y. Hi, Hulk.

Last night I talked to Hulk on the phone and we got on the topic of my failed pie from the other day. He said, "I have to make an apple pie each year for our Thanksgiving. Did you put tin foil on the crust?"

"I did, but it still burned," I told him.

"Listen to us, exchanging apple pie tips," said Hulk. "Are we on The Andy Griffith Show? Good talk, Sarah."

"It was, Thelma Lou."

The REASON I dropped the dogs off at daycare is because I have a crapload of statistics textbook work to do, and you don't have to remind ME how I Butterfly McQueen'd it last week, with the procrastinating and half-assedness, and now the thing is due and I'm all hysterical. You don't have to remind ME I do this every time. Why don't you shut up with the reminding?

The point is, I was getting ready to get started, and by "getting ready" I mean checking Facebook, when the phone rang. That place? Where I phone interviewed? Last week? Is sending me a test today, and it's two-and-a-half hours long--it's timed--so there go two and a half hours I would have been spending proofreading statistics textbooks. And by "proofreading statistics textbooks" I mean checking Facebook.

This is why the dogs are at daycare. Please see me, in the robe at probably 3 p.m. yesterday (I'd had a MIGRAINE, okay?) (remind me to tell you how I got the migraine at ...friend's, and he had to drive me home extra super carefully like an old lady so I wouldn't barf in his car) (at the time I thought, oh how sweet, he doesn't want me to feel worse, but in reality he just probably didn't want to deal with me barfing in his car) and please see Edsel bringing his entire arsenal of disgusting toys to me while I was trying to work. pleeze play, mama. pleeze play wif edz. just one throww. one throwww and edz leaf you alones. ...okay just one more throww.

This is why the cats don't have to go to daycare. They mind their own business. And by "their own business" I mean they check Facebook constantly.

Lilee too prettee to sit wif disgusteeng toyz.

Guess who wishes she'd never started Lily font? What a pain in the arse.

I will go now and work on statistics (see you on Facebook!) till it's time for my test. Wish me luck. I could totally screw up the whole thing. What if "foosball" is one of the test words, for example.

I leave you with this, which my father found while he was on his way to the store.

Sadly, it was cash only and dad didn't have $5 on him. So he had to go ahead and get the Satanic watermelons at the store. Maybe if I'd gotten Blessed By Jesus apples, my pie would have turned out. What say you?

In which June did not kill ...friend with her cooking, and also potato talk

In all my 92 years, I don't think I've ever met a person who was so adorably grateful for a simple (!) birthday celebration as ...friend was. He was so delighted! And I THOUGHT I had veeeedeotaped his big arrival, which would have meant you'd have had to watch us making out, but in fact I didn't turn the dang camera on at all. So that will remain a mystery, as it probably should.

I made salmon, which is my one OTHER dish besides lasagna. Oh, and new potatoes. I mean, I don't know how new they were. They could have been lying to me. "We're totally new! Just got here! So naive! This copy of Reader's Digest and the part where our phone is a Jitterbug? To ignore please!"

June's blog. Where you come for potato talk.

Anyway, here is the veedeo where the pie went completely south.

 

I went to K&W Cafeteria and spent $8 on a pie. This is what Dick Whitman's mom told me to do in the first place, and why don't I listen to my elders? Not that I am calling you "elder," DW's mom. You are a new potato in my book.

Oh, speaking of the new potatoes, I was driving to get one of ...friend's gifts (there is this beer on tap at some of the places we go to in Winston, and every time ...friend gets it, you'd think he won a million dollars and that 11 dancing girls were performing for him, so excited is he by this beer. So I went to the brewery and got him some in these giant Laverne-and-Shirley bottles), I called my oldest friend Pal From MA, because she cooks a lot.

"How do you make new potatoes? You just boil them, right?"

"Yes, but you could also blanch them--"

"Don't say blanch. You lost me right there with blanch.'"

"It's EASY!" This is always what people who can cook say. It's EASY! Crafty people also say that. "Making a quilt is EASY! Cross-stitch is EASY! Painting the Sistine Chapel is EASY" Oh, shut up. Will that be easy? If you just shut up?

Anyway, Pal From MA said, "You just boil them briefly, then put them in your saute pan--"

"I don't have a saute pan."

"Yes you DO. I used it while I was there. It's that large, low, round pan."

"Oh, the ROUND pan! Not my triangle pan?"

It was around that time that Pal stopped giving me cooking advice. What a bitch.

But what was I talking about? Oh, ...friend's birthday. I also made a salad. With strawberries and pistachios in it. It was good. And I dragged Faithful Reader Chris out of a meeting in Atlanta to tell me how to make his fabulous salad dressing. Really I alienated everyone yesterday.

Here is the final video, since the us-making-out one didn't turn out, where I am yammering on about ...friend being late, when really he got there at 7:38. Which was totally our prescribed time. "Get here at 7:38!" Really, though, eight minutes wasn't bad. What a crab I was being and he wasn't even late yet.

I also got ...friend a giant cookbook called How to Cook Everything, which I also own, as it has really basic stuff like how to boil new potatoes. ...friend is just getting into the cooking, and often I am regaled with a story about how he burned the crap out of himself, or his pan, or his apartment, and so on.

He went on about THAT gift like it was once again a million dollars and 11 dancing girls, and he hadn't even opened the good one yet.

iPod. He has always wanted to stab an iPod with his steely knife. And he just can't kill the beast.

Seriously, you guys. When you're at ...friend's house, trying to make out on the couch, and I know you all are, you buncha tramps, he has to GET UP and CHANGE THE CD. We're gonna party like it's 1999. I COULDN'T STAND IT ANYMORE.

And oh. Delighted? Delighted with that iPod? Good gravy. I swear to you we had nothing but iPod talk the rest of the night. "Can I use it in the car?" Yes. "And I can put my existing music on it?" YES. "And iTunes lets me listen to songs before I buy them?" Good god, YES. It's like he just got to the planet or something.

(He had the knife because he opened gifts on my deck, and it was getting dark, and for two intelligent people, that iPod packaging flummoxed us. Once we got in the light and got READING GLASSES [hello, old potatoes] we could see a simple tab you pulled and BOOM, the plastic was off and you could totally open the damn thing.)

So it was a good evening. And the fake pie was delicious. Remind me to never bake again.

Oh, and one final thing. Nora Ephron. Cannot tell you how much she meant to me, really. I just have to sum it up with crap. Crap! Which is a shame, because Nora Ephron could have summed it up much better.

...friend turns 89. Also, hi, hi, pie!--Update with a news flash: June can't cook.

It's ...friend's birthday, so I got no time to talk to you, girl. Ima make the apple pie he requested.

A few of you said, "Why don't you videotape (veeedeotape) (my poor grandmother. You screw up ONE WORD...) yourself making pie," because this is like a wedding or graduation in that it is rare and celebratory. So in fact I will. I mean, you can't really veedeotape yourself MAKING something, but I will turn it on, much as I turn the world on with my smile, when I have finished various aspects of the pie-making.

Speaking of turned on, wait till you see part one of Making the Pie...

I.look.good.

Oh. Before I go, I wanted to show you something. Yesterday Edsel never took his ludicrous eyeballs off me.

I was a little bit tempted to pretend I was gonna off myself just to see what he'd do. Anyway, I am okay. You know. Ish.

Okay off to make pie.

XO,

Divorced June

UPDATE!!!! Here are the 9349595 videos I made of the pie-making. Am certain there's a way to splice these into one but have you met me? Plus I have to go cook the rest of the dinner. Holy cats.

 

 

 

 

 

If I weighed more, I'd sing.

At 2:00 p.m. today, my marriage will be over. I mean, it's been over for some time, but, you know. Legally.

I am sad that I failed. I didn't do so badly, though, marrying Marvin. I will always be glad I married him. Even though it's done, and I accept and even welcome that it's done, I think Marvin will always be in my life.

Thank you for marrying me, Marvin.

 

XO,

The old ball and chain.

Tense, creepy and unsettling

Guess who's sick of me. Is it ...friend's cat? Did she not sign on for this being-a-blog-star thing and really wishes I'd stick that iPhone in my nethers?

The good news is I brought her fleas. She lives in an apartment, never even really sees the outdoors, and we over here at dogs-in-the-yard land are run over with fleas. The vet and I are practically pinned, so many times have we been on the phone trying to solve this flea circus I have going, over here. In the meantime, ...friend said, "Oh, and I found a flea on me the other day. I hope that was the only one."

Yeah. Denial. It's a lovely and productive thing. Last night I heard ...kitty scratching and yay! Yay, me! Nice bug-bringing! Sexy. Bringing sexy back. Bringing scratching back.

So how are y'all? Yesterday Faithful Reader Nithya got married, in London, and she totally didn't invite any of us to the wedding. Faithful Reader Davida had a birthday on Friday, and she blew us all off as well. We never get asked anywhere.

In the meantime, this is ...friend's birthday weekend, and really his birthday is Tuesday but I keep saying, "We can do whatever you want! The world is your oyester! It's your birthday week/weekend/birthday eve eve" and so forth. I am sorry to tell you that on his real birthday he has asked for an apple pie. I said I would make whatever he wanted, because the world is his oyster, and that's what he wants and I know you're all thinking, "Well, June is such a whiz in the kitchen. This should be nothing for her." Which is entirely true except for the part where I am not remotely a whiz in the kitchen.

Whatever. I have faith I will be able to pull it off, or at least drive through McDonald's for one of their apple pies at the last minute.

In the meantime, yesterday ...friend's mom came to town to take him to lunch, and I tagged along because I am a total freeloader. I had always wanted to meet his mom, because you know what? ...friend is well brought up. He's polite and opens doors and does all those things you wish boys would do. And his mother is just lovely. She has the pretty accent, you know what I mean? The lovely lilting classy kind. The women in TinyTown had the same accent, and sometimes I'd be in the church office and they'd all be setting something up in the kitchen, and I'd just close my eyes and listen to their voices.

Anyway, I also met ...friend's very nice brother and aunt and uncle, and we had a good time, although I'm certain they all feel sorry for ...friend that he couldn't get a woman with normal hair.

Because, humid yesterday? Hot? Did my hair grow larger with every second as we headed to that restaurant?

Anyway, afterward, ...friend and I got ice cream. Because the world was his oyster. And you know, we say all kinds of hilarious things when we're together and I always think Ima remember what they were so I can tell you, then I get here and blank. BLANK.  Sometimes I think, Oh, that'd be an excellent title for a post and I get here and did I mention blank? I get into some kind of ...friend trance or something.

We hung out downtown for the afternoon, and stopped into my friend Kit's store, and she told me Dick Whitman and his girlfriend had just been there. Hmph! Nice NOT CALLING ME when you're in Greensboro, Whit! I'd have blown him off anyway, as the world was ...friend's oyster.

Eventually, we went to a Vietnamese restaurant, and I will abstain from my usual Agent Orange Chicken joke, but I looked at my teacup and my tea leaves were smiling at me. That has to be a good sign, right?

I have to go, as even though I just spent every iota of my weekend with ...friend, we are going to a movie in an hour. I do not know if I've told you he picks the most depressing movies, ever, and we have seen no less than 20 suicide-inducing films since I met him. We were looking at the trailer for one movie that's out today, and the reviewer wrote, "Tense, creepy and unsettling." Oh, can we? Can we stampede right out to that movie? Sounds FANTASTIC!

"I'm going to see that one," said ...friend. "Just not today."

Good. Guess whose world is no longer his oyster, so much?

We're gonna see something about French people and their sex lives, which should be a long movie because don't French people just sit around being sexy all day? When they aren't walking their poodles and smoking Gauloises?

Talk at you later, when I will bring more stereotypes to this fine blog.

Junela Davis. Your bad-ass blogger.

Dudes, I wasn't even gonna blog at you today, but this happened and we need to discuss.

Honest to GOD. With the afro already. Who am I, the white Angela Davis?
It's exciting that I'm blogging at you from this angle, isn't it? Did I tell you how moving my computer resulted in me accidentally banging my modem and hitting the reset button, which then meant I had no Internet and it took 40 minutes with AppleCare and half an hour with my cable company for us to figure that out?

Once, someone as horrible as me sent me a forwarded email. This guy's wife had died--and I KNOW I AM TERRIBLE, OKAY?--and he had sent this mass email saying he knew his wife was an angle in the sky. Over and over he said it. "She is now an angle. With God." God does a lot of trigonometry.

Okay, see? I actually don't know if trigonometry is the right math word to be using. That's how bad I am at math. Do you use angles or even angels in trigonometry?

Anyway. Oh, and here was my hair last night. JUST LAST NIGHT!
No, I didn't travel through a tornado in my sleep. It was calm when the night began!

The reason I happen to have a photo of me before I went to sleep with a paw is because I had been up listening to the rain and emailing with ...friend, and while I waited for his replies I took photos with my phone. Have I ever mentioned how if the house were burning I'd save the phone? I can get other pets.

Here are my rain pals, and as you can see Edsel is feigning interest in said rain, when really all he hopes is somehow Talu disappears so he can be right up on me.

Eventually his wish came true. i dreem of mom.

I emailed ...friend till I fell asleep, and let me assure you these were some deep, important emails. "Is it raining there?" "No." "How can that be? We're three miles apart." "I think we're four miles apart." I mean, this stuff had to be said right then and there. Anyway, I still had the phone when I woke up so I captured Talu's morning lips.

And my cats major and minor.

This morning, Iris got caught in that window leading from my kitchen to the back room. fran come bak from ded to show you window. oh and while you up, $#&#& you.

I was reading (Thorn Birds!) (our deep book club book if you didn't know) on the angry chair back there and she was pawing down at me, and I knew she wanted to leave the window, and my dilemma as a cat parent of a blind-ish kitty was, do I help her or see if she can solve it herself?

Oh, it broke your heart, her little white paw poking at the air. I know her depth perception is the worst part of her wonky eyes. Anyway after awhile she came crashing down on my shoulder, like a demented heavy parrot, scratching my clavicle to Tibet and back, but she did it. On her own.

I guess that's all I have to tell you. I have to go (wait for it) proofread statistics, but before I do, can I show you some vacation shots of a person you don't know? Good.

My friend Steve and I have known each other since, oh, 1986 or something. We met in Michigan but he moved to Seattle, so we got to be friends there, too. He is on a road trip and put up pictures on Facebook, and this made me want to get in the car and look at ludicrous things so bad I could spit on a mountain-climbing bear with good proportions.

Can you stand it? Can you stand it that you're in your cubicle right now, no windows in sight, and this is out here just for the looking at? Let's all get in the car right now. June's Spontaneous Road Trip!

It is impossible to take a bad picture of any outdoor plastic dinosaur. Marvin and I must have 80 of these in our photos, which I guess are probably split up now. Marvin, I better have PRECISELY 40 plastic dinosaur pictures. I'm countin'!

Your bad-ass server. Dying.

Really? Really? None of his loved ones said, "Maybe name it Eat & Run." No one? No one stepped in.

Steve has no idea I stole these, because it's like 7 a.m. in Seattle and I didn't want to be all coffee dialing him in the wee hours. So I hope he doesn't kick my ass.

And you don't need to leave the "I knew these weren't YOURS cause we could actually see the image!" comments. NO NEED. NO NEEEEEED. You know I'll get them anyway.

You are all angles in the sky, you big putzes.

Altered June at her altar

First of all, I have half a migraine, so the part where I make 20 errors and am dull as dishwater today is not my fault.

And let's talk about that anyway. I am a readist, not a typist. Sometimes I will make a typo even though I am a copy editor. OH CALL THE AUTHORITIES! JUNE MISSPELLED A WORD! Do I go on YOUR blog and tell you you made an error? Do I look at your COMMENT and tell you you made an error? I do not. If you said, "Here, June. Here's $100. Please look at my comment for spelling, punctuation or grammatical errors" I would then do so. Otherwise I don't. BECAUSE IT ISN'T NICE.

My head hurts. Did I mention that?

Today I had a phone interview for a place. Do you like how specific I am? A place. Anyway the job sounds IDEAL, and you can work from home a few days a week and oh! I want that job. But I am a long way from getting it. Plus my head hurt the whole time and I was kind of quiet. Maybe the interviewer thinks I'm the quiet nerdy type.

Which I totally am.

The other day ...friend mentioned Hemingway in an email, and the fact that he spelled "Hemingway" correctly made me like him more. God, I am boring. Some women are like, "What car does he drive?" and I'm all, "Give him a spelling test." And see if he says things like "I'm all." Because I never would.

Oh and speaking of me, and when aren't we, somehow my mother and I got into a discussion about snooping. If I asked you to come house-sit for me, or if any friend asked you to house-sit for them, would you snoop? My mother says most people wouldn't and I say most people would. Tell the truth.

Ima go put ice on my effing temple now, not that I have an altar to myself, although that's not a bad idea. Before I go, I have pictures from last night. Oh calm down. They aren't dirty.

Took dogs for their requisite walk last night, and here is an action shot of Edsel tormenting Kipper's Dick. You know what? Kipper's Dick is SO NOT SCARED of my dogs. She sidles up to me whenever I walk by without them, and when they ARE with me, she walks right up and arches her back at them. If Edsel would just BE COOL, she'd let me pet her with them right there. But guess who can't keep it in his pants? Guess.

At any rate, there we were, minding our own business (!!) when we saw my 97-year-old neighbor Paul. Whenever we see him, we go sit on his glider and talk. Well. I do. The dogs would be delighted to jump on the glider and pant pant pant with their hot stupid breath on Paul and me, but instead they sit on his deck. Paul's daughter always gives them water. They like her.

I tried to take a picture of Paul and me with my iPhone, and you can see I practically stole his soul, with the vast amount of Paul coverage I got there. How symbolic is this? ALL ME! IT'S ALL ME!!

Eventually his daughter took a photo of us, and how afraid of me must he be? HI! MY HAIR AND I ARE HERE! HI HI HIHI HIIII! HI SAYS MY HAIR! HAVE YOU MET MY HURR?

After I showed Paul my hair, and let's face it--I showed POPE JOHN Paul my hair, over in Rome. Who MISSED my hair, is more the question--I took a picture of the pretty sky.

Right after I did that, I saw one of the "HI LALOOLA, HI ETHEL!" kids, and for once she wasn't behind her cage in her yard, but rather out playing with another little girl, just like when we were kids and actually went outside and just randomly played and did not have our moms schedule an effing play date with Blackberries.

"Why did you take my picture?" she asked, as Ethel wound his leash around me 50 times to avoid her child-y hands. Oh Edsel finds children horrifying. He gets it from his mother.

And you know what? She flummoxed me. Why DID I take her picture, other than I take pictures of everything in order to report it on my blog. And could I tell her that? No. "I, um, just took a picture of the sky and..."

Really I had no answer. No answer for Awesome, up there.

You have no idea, once children figure out that Ethel is scared (and who wants to just legally change his name to Ethel? It's perfect for him.), how MUCH they want to pet him. I always tell them to leave him alone, because what if he fear bites? I mean, Ethel biting. I know. But do I want that on my hands if it happens? I do not. Why can't they be content to pet the dog who's fine with it?

Finally, I came home and moved the computer. Isn't this exciting? It's on the other side of the room now, and you can once again see the lemon labels. I like to mix it up here at House O'June. Marvin used to always tell me to move the lemon labels around to see if y'all'd notice. Maybe someday I will. See how I build the suspense?

Okay, gonna go lie down now for reals. Stupid head. Oh and answer the snooping Q. I know how you forget my Qs when they're buried in 90 feet of text. Or hurr.

Green Bean. Also, Brooks bought me a mink. Did I mention Brooks? Mink? Brooks?

You wanna know what's weird about Edsel?

Well. I mean, we'd be here all day. But you wanna know one thing that's weird about Edsel? (And YES. I CALLED THE VET about his eyes. Waiting for call back.) One thing out of the 39494949 that is weird about Edsel is that although this dog does NOTHING but CLAMOR for my love all day long, with the following and the slapping his chin on my lap and the snout snout snout nudging me CONSTANTLY? When I want to hug him or lean on him? He is appalled.

Let's say I'm on the couch watching the (riveting!) season finale of Real Housewives. And Edsel is up there with me even though dogs are not allowed on the couch and how many photos of those dogs on the couch have you seen now? Anyway, it was a special occasion because Edsel just loves Heather and wanted to see what she'd do about that bitch eating the bow off her cake.

And stop being so lofty. Just start watching the damn Real Housewives, will you? FIVE-HUNDRED and FIFTY DOLLARS Heather spent on that cake, and some heifer just COMES ALONG and eats the bow off before the cake is cut.

So there we are, watching our deep show, and I want to, say, lay my head on Eds's haunch. As soon as I do that, he jumps off the couch and falumphs to the floor with a crash. And he always has to sigh, like I put him out so tremendously. "{Flump.} HMMMMMMmmmmmmmmphhhhhh."

Whatever. Edsel is a commitmentphobe.

Yesterday I finally stopped downloading pictures of old boyfriends and finally got started on my statistics book editing. Because, fun? I kind of want to floomp onto the floor and sigh disgustedly.

I took my work to the Green Bean, which is a coffee shop downtown. Somehow I can get more work done when 11 pets aren't jumping on me. Unfortunately, the only table available was in the front, by the window, so naturally I kept watching people walk by and judging their clothes.

Eventually, ...friend came to join me, because he lives right by there. You know what I forgot to do, though? Was take a photo of ...friend. Was too busy being all smitteny and ridiculous like I always am.

After awhile, he left and I went back to my work till it was time for my deep television program. I think Gina's daughter is so terribly gorgeous. And just shut up and GO WATCH THE SHOW. Is all I'm saying to you.

Anyway, after all that time at the Green Bean yesterday, looking at young girls with fabulous bodies and that thing? Where they make every statement? A question? And I want to slap them on the backs of their heads? After all that, today on Facebook I see Marvin has written a song about the Green Bean. Sometimes he plays guitar there.

 

He took this with his hat cam. Who bugs me, with his hat cam? Do I even want to know how much that cost? Who here misses Marvin and his hat cam shenanigans? Anyone? Bueller?

Anyway, so there was my day. I hope you and your hat cams had an equally exciting one.

Bloop de Bloo Bloo

I have been very busy working on a new project. I created a folder on my desktop called, "Hi. I've slept with you." Then I went on Facebook and downloaded photos of my exes.

Do you have any idea how many people I have dated who were in bands? In fact, most of them are STILL in bands. Clearly I have a type. In my folder now are several pictures of relatively old men standing on a stage.

And what's funny is I'll be perusing my list of FB friends and stampede right over someone and then a few minutes later go, "Oh! Bloop de Bloo Bloo! You forgot you slept with him and he belongs in the folder!" Perhaps that's not so much funny as tragic. What's even more tragic is that I could be attracted to someone named Bloop de Bloo Bloo. He had a really nice car.

Obviously, not everyone I've slept with is my Facebook friend. There are some exes who hate my guts, and some whose guts I am not particularly fond of. Some of the gut-haters (Daniel Boone) are on Facebook anyway, so I can steal their souls and photos for this useful project. Others are NOT on Facebook, and this means I have to troll the Internet looking for middle-aged white men with totally common names. You think this is easy? Why didn't I go for fewer John Smiths and more Bloop de Bloo Bloos?

And oh. Yes, I DO have a statistics textbook to edit right now. What do you mean I always find stupid things to do when I have a statistics book to work on?

MY POINT IS, and at this point you need to get dinner ready, I know, I Googled an ex and found he is, well, not a celebrity but sort of known in his region. So there was a writeup about him, and his accomplishments (they didn't mention the accomplishment of "wore a beret in college and no one kicked his ass"), and it ended with "He lives with his husband and two dogs in..."

So there it is. The first official gay ex-boyfriend. I mean, we all must have them. Well. Okay. A lot of us must have them. Which leads me to an interesting thing I read on Dooce yesterday. She has a blog post from a Mormon woman who is divorcing her gay husband. She knew he was gay when she married him.

That post led to a post from a gay Mormon man who is staying in his marriage to a woman.

And you know what? Don't judge either of them till you've read their stories. Because I was all ready to embrace the divorcer and detest the stayer, and I ended up totally feeling both of them. Look, it's not my religion, you know? I am not Mormon, do not pretend to be, do not have ANY IDEA what it's like to believe the stuff they believe. But I try VERY HARD to live and let live, and guess what? This guy is hurting no one. Not even himself.

Did you know I wasn't Mormon? I mean, based on the enormous new folder on my desktop? Is it politically incorrect to say "Mormon"? Am I supposed to say LSD or whatever they call themselves? If so, why? Is it the polygamy thing? I really don't know.

Whatever. Let's look at pictures.

lillee shoot lazers at Iriss. try to fix eyeballs. dis work, you think?

Have I ever told you that ...friend's cat, who you all cleverly named ...kitty, walks around with bags on her head? Apparently she has always done this. She sheds the bag, looks around to see where she is, then puts it back on. She can even leap to the top of the fridge with a bag on her head. She is The Unknown ...Kitty.

And you know what's funny? I mean, you won't be stitching your sides because of this, but it's funny in a sort of interesting way, is ...friend's cat doesn't automatically look at the camera, as my photographed-every-day pets do. (Did you ever notice that, Hulk? That I take my pets' photos sort of often? Has that ever bugged you? You never say so in the comments.) Do you think my pets know they're microcosmically famous and that's why they look at the camera? Or do they just know by now that if they look I will leave them the Sam Hill alone, finally. Is that it?

And to conclude, in summation, finally (FINALLY), yesterday was Faithful Reader Dawn's 46th birthday--and Dawn? Hang on to 46. HANG ON TO IT. Because I will be effing 47 in less than a month.* Anyway, Dawn's sister wrote me and asked if I'd say happy birthday, and just to suck up and ensure I'd do so, she said, "You and your uvula are our heros!"

So happy birthday, Dawn. My uvula and I celebrate our love for you. And yes, it is after 10:00 and I'm not dressed yet.

*Yes, of COURSE I added to my Amazon Wish List. Because I am a horrible woman who is greedy.