I have work things to tell you but I can't tell you yet. There is some dramaaaaaaa! And yes, I said that like Carson Kressly or something. Further reports as appropriate developments warrant.
Speaking of Carson Kressly, I was talking to my friend David--my Official Gay Friend in LA, and also my Official Closeted Friend in high school--and I mentioned how I'd recently put an ad on Cragislist looking for a New Gay Friend.
He thought that idea was hilarious. "There MUST be gay guys there," he said, and I explained the thing where every gay guy I meet is married and plays organ for his church.
"Oh, you don't want that gay guy," he said. "You don't want pleated khakis gay."
Pleated khakis gay. He's right, though. Not looking for Richard Carpenter. Looking for, you know, Carson Kressly. David Sedaris. Truman Capote, even.
Aren't we all looking for David Sedaris? Aren't we? In every way? I know I am. Did I tell you Ned/...friend got tickets for David Sedaris and they're for the end of October? "If we still like each other in October, I got us tickets for David Sedaris," he said.
"Dude, Ima FAKE liking you till then if I have to!" I said. This was already a month or two ago. So Ned has this theory that we'll be at David Sedaris, and he'll be saying good night to the crowd, then at the last minute he'll say, "Oh, and Ned Nickerson? June doesn't like you anymore. Good night!"
Okay, it'd be hilarious if I could get that to really happen, other than the part where I'd be all, "I didn't MEAN it! It was just so funny to do!"
Really, Charles Nelson Riley would be more of the guy who'd say, "Dramaaaaaaa!" Right?
Have I ever told you the story of my cousin Maria's daughter, Anna, who has my hair, unfortunately, but so far has pulled it off? Not literally. Although you wouldn't blame her.
Here is my cousin Maria. Yes, she IS the one who had a wedding in India last year. Good catching on, there, Sparky. She must be at another wedding, because she doesn't just parade around in saris when she heads to the farmers market or anything.
My cousin Maria, along with Aunt Kathy and my cousin Katie, were all getting ready for my Uncle Jim's funeral. Which was, you know, not a good time, but Anna felt it necessary that everyone look smashing for said event.
Now, my cousin Katie is what you might call granola.
I mean, she's stunning and that is annoying, but she is more a Burt's Bees than a Lancome. She does things like camp and make her own soap. And snowshoe to work. And dye fabric. She probably has a compost heap.
So, it was the morning of the funeral and everyone had put on dresses and makeup and so forth, and Anna goes bursting into the bathroom.
"FABULOUS!" she says, checking out my Aunt Kathy's ensemble.
"FAAAAABULOUS!" she exclaims, giving my cousin Maria the once-over.
"FABBBBULOUUUUSSSS!" she says, looking at her own self in the mirror, and what do you mean, "genetics"? Even though I peck at the mirror like it's a budgie all day. Shut up.
Finally, Anna looks at Katie's simple blue sweater and khakis.
"NORMAL!" she sings.
Poor Katie. You know, she called me the other day. She used to live in Oregon, then she lived in Wyoming, and now she lives in Alaska. It's like she's saying, "How can I be more of a nature girl?" Next she'll invent a wayback machine so she can be in Alaska in 1812.
My point is, she told me she'd bought a new skirt, which for my cousin Katie is saying something, because she is not what you'd call high-maintenance. She buys a new skirt every decade.
"I was at the grocery store, but it was one of those grocery stores that also carries other things, like clothes," she began.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
"I needed sauerkraut, and there RIGHT BY the sauerkraut were the cutest denim skirts."
Was it getting hot in here? Because...groceries...clothes... I felt a little queasy.
"See, Katie, you should never purchase your clothes in the same place you purchase sauerkraut, is the thing," I began. Our whole lives I've been a little, let's say, fussier about this kind of thing.
"Oh shut up," she said, unfazed, and proceeded to list the skirt's assets: good length, excellent shade of demin, goes great on a hot dog.
The best news is her husband, who you can imagine is kind of an outdoorsy guy himself and who has probably never subscribed to Mr. Blackwell's updates on Facebook or anything, came home and said, "That skirt looks like it came from the grocery store."
I have never been more fond of that boy.
Anyway. I did not mean to go on this my-family-and-their-peccadilloes story, and was instead going to tell you about going to the DMV. However, now I must go, so you have something to look forward to for tomorrow. It's like a serial drama.