In which June hopes Ashley Wilkes does not secretly read her blog. Cause he's totally got his period right now and he's gonna get emo about this one.

Sorry I did not blop at you this weekend. I was Ned-ing. On Friday, we, um, crap. What the hell did we do Friday? OH! We went to a play. There's a theater right near Ned's house, because he lives downtown and he's near everything, including heroin dealers, no doubt, but we never go in for the heroin. The smack. The horse.

Are you impressed with my drug lingo? Do you feel like you're right in an episode of Starsky and Hutch? Do you feel like you've been hanging with Sid Vicious? Do you hope I get this monkey off my back?

Anyway, after our heroin-free play, we went to a restaurant near the theater and not one but TWO of the actors from said play showed up to eat. It was Greensboro celebrity sighting at its best.

When we got to Ned's house, I made him show me pictures from his youth, and he has, like, five pictures total of himself from the '80s and '90s. However, he looks all hot in all of them, and sometimes he is smoking in said photos, which he used to do. Smoke, I mean. He quit two years ago.

I have only dated one smoker, and I got bronchitis when I was with that guy. I don't know that I'd eliminate someone from being a dating possibility if he smoked, though, despite my brush with bronchitis death. Would you? Is that a deal-breaker for you? Also, you know what I'm sick of? The phrase "deal-breaker."

It's not as bad as "BFF," however, which makes me want to gouge my liver out with a grapefruit spoon.

Yesterday, Ned and I stampeded to Raleigh, where Ned lived and smoked for many years, because there was a Gone With the Wind exhibit at a museum. They had the dress Scarlett was wearing when she drove though Shantytown and that man ripped her bodice. Remember that? And Big Sam came and saved her ass. Anyway, they had that dress. And her hat with the green velvet ribbon that she wore with the really good green-sprigged dress in the first scene.

Ooo, and also they were showing, the whole time, scenes from filming when they were trying out other actors. They had some lame-ass Scarletts and an Ashley who wasn't nearly as foppish as the namby-pamby guy they settled on. I personally am glad they got someone all noodley and girly to play Ashley, as Ashley Wilkes was the only man with a vagina who fought in the Civil War.

Ashley Wilkes. Lightening loafers since Custer's first stand.

Ashley Wilkes. Taking the Dix out of Dixie.

Ashley Wilkes. The real belle of the ball.

Ashley Wilkes. Making Aunt Pittypat look butch since--oh, you get my drift. Ashley Wilkes chaps my hide. Get your petticoats out their knot and grow a pair. Is what I say. If only Scarlett had called me. I could have set her straight on who to like.

And because Ned was nice enough to not only TELL me there was a GWTW exhibit, but then WENT with me to the GWTW exhibit and then had to hear 29 "Ashley Wilkes has a labia" comments, we went after to a museum with dinosaurs in it. Because Ned enjoys him a dinosaur. If Ashley Wilkes were a dinosaur, he'd be a gynosaurus.

I am obsessed.

Luckily for me, it was also bug day at the museum. So it was filled with 94333848583838 children and their inevitable germs, along with GIANT HUGE ENORMOUS BUGS. Giant huge enormous bugs that various museum workers were HOLDING IN THEIR HANDS like it was normal.

"OHMYGOD, is that a BUG?" I asked, while a volunteer held an insect large enough to tip her car over like Fred Flintstone's order of ribs. "Will you go kill it?" I asked Ned.

Oftentimes, Ned seems kind of drained after we spend the day together.

We also went to a music store, and who knew they had those anymore? We drove around and Ned showed me places he lived and perhaps told me one too many old-girlfriend stories. He used to date Ashley Wilkes.

I got to see a lot of Raleigh I'd never seen before, and Ned got to see my jealous side. All in all a perfect day. We finished our trip to Raleigh by going to a book store, where I am sorry to tell you I picked up The Bloggess's book. I say I am sorry to tell you because any time any of you mention her, you might as well be telling me about Ned's old girlfriends. Oh, there's a blogger out there? Who is funny? And she wrote a book? And you want me to be happy about this why, exactly?

So I really wanted to hate her book, but I looked at the first page and peed down my leg and onto the floor of the book store and then I fell over into the pee and rolled in it gleefully, so hard was I laughing. So I was all godDAMMIT when I bought the book.

Today, after Ned glared at me over coffee, we went to the movies and saw a film about a comedian who gets stressed about being pressured to marry his girlfriend, so he starts sleepwalking. I am making it sound not at all entertaining, and that's because I am an excellent writer. Really, though, it was good, and the chick from Six Feet Under was in it.

Ashley Wilkes used to like to watch that show, but it's on the same time that he douches.

While I contemplated spending my hard-earned 50 cents on bling teeth, Ned suggested we go to (wait for it) Winston-Salem, because there is this DING-DANG restaurant we want to try and it's ALWAYS CLOSED when we go there. At this point I am ready to fire-bomb the whole building, because we did stampede out there and guess.

GUESS.

GUESS!

The #*&&%@ place was closed AGAIN, and let me tell you, people of the South. WE HAVE SUNDAYS OFF, MOST OF US. AND WE'D REALLY LIKE TO GO EAT PLACES.

God.

We contemplated heading over to Hooter's, where Ashley Wilkes works the 3-9 shift, but instead we went to the place where Brent hangs out.

Remember Brent?

There's this restaurant/bar where, if you go there EVERY DAY for 90 days, they give you a plaque and a ticket to rehab or something. So they have this chalkboard listing how many days people have been in, and the last time we were there, this guy Brent had over 500 days. FIVE HUNDRED DAYS.

At the time, Ned and I became obsessed with Brent, and it was my goal to MEET Brent, before his inevitable blood transfusion. So today I checked the board, and Brent had 603 days (!!) and you guys. There was a guy sitting alone at the bar.

"I THINK I SAW BRENT!" I screeched to Ned, who I am sorry to tell you got up and looked, too, because we desperately need lives.

"Oh, I think that's him," said Ned, as he ate his black bean cake. We really, really wanted to ask the waitress, but Ned had the feeling she was new. "She hasn't even been ALIVE 603 days," he said.

So I'm just saying to you. We may have seen the elusive Brent. Well. How elusive can he be if he's been at the same dang bar every day for the past 603 days? I mean, throw a dart. Still. I wish I'd had the nerve to ask, "Are you Brent? How drunk are you?"

That about sums up the weekend. I hope y'all had a good weekend as well. I hear Ashley Wilkes spent the whole weekend at Color Me Mine.