I am in something of a rush today, but fortunately not listening to Rush, so this post will be stupid, as opposed to all the times it is profound.
I went out with Ned last night--we had salads. Oh, gee, I guess I should have warned you to sit down first, with the salad unusualness. There's this place near his house that serves the best salmon salad, and when I say "near" his house, it's like a three-block walk. In fact, on New Year's Day there was a public meditation right over there across from where Salmon Salad Restaurant is, and I went with my Pal from MA and my neighbor Peg. After, I suggested we walk to a restaurant that is right next to Ned's and they both balked, so we drove.
I didn't know Ned yet, but I was totally stalking him that day. In fact, he'd had his New Year right at that restaurant. Alone. Completely alone. Poor Ned. We met five days later, though.
I have just started all my paragraphs with "I." I told you this would be a stupid post.
Oh, but my point is, it's really not a bad walk and we do it all the time, but it seems a tad lengthy IF YOU HAVE PLANTAR FASCITIS. This thing has got to stop. I mean, I can't even walk. And you can tell by the way I use my walk I'm a woman's man.
No time to talk.
Perhaps I've told you this before, but whenever I'm in my car and a Bee Gees song comes on, I always feel like me driving around in my Bug and listening to the Bee Gees is how y'all picture me on a daily basis. Like, if you think "June," and why would you, you'd picture me doing just that.
I really don't even listen to the Bee Gees that much.
Anyway. Seeing as I must rush, I thought what I'd do is get rid of all the pictures that're on my desktop for blogging about someday. Yay! Fascinating.
One of the 86 times I took Iris to the vet, they had my favorite phrase on a sign out front: KITTEN ADOPTIONS. This orangesicle pookie-poo was there, just begging, "Give me a hommmmme, Auntie Joon!" Had I not been there to SEE WHY MY CAT'S PEEING ALL OVER MY HOUSE I would have been wildly tempted by Orangie and her juice, over there.
I do love me an orange cat. I miss Henry.
Here is a sign for a movie that I assure you I will never be buying a ticket for. We really need to write our screenwriters and demand NO MORE BARF SCENES IN MOVIES. Why do they think this is necessary? And now they've made a whole MOVIE about it? Am sick of Hollywood regurgitating plots.
Get it? Do you?
Have you ever seen the blog of unneccessary quotation marks? I think some of you have sent it to me before. The person who invented this blog is my soul mate. Sorry. My "soul mate."
Oh! I couldn't figure out what this photo was when it was small on my desktop. Yeah. This is growing on the side of my house. What the hell is it? It has pretty yellow-orange flowers now. Am I growing pumpkins? Can I have a pumpkin patch and charge people and have hayrides and so forth? Or is this a weed of some kind that should alarm me?
It's POISON TO DOGS, JUNE! Just waiting to hear that. And in case anyone is worried sick, Avo and Cado, over here, are absolutely well. Jerks.
Ned, wearing my pink reading glasses because he never remembers his own, studying the menu. Studying the menu is a big thing with Ned. And every.single.time I slap my menu down 14 seconds after opening it, he always says the same thing: "Really." Like I'm lying. Like I have no idea what Ima order, I was just slapping down my menu to be impressive.
Ned. How I adore Ned.
Tallulah. How I adore Tallulah. She is an excellent dog and I want for little else. And yet? I also have Edsel. Can someone remind me why I thought an additional dog was a great plan? Dog 2.0? Because Dog 1.0 was fine. Excellent, in fact. Have I already said "excellent"?
Ned and I like going to old cemeteries, because we're ghouls. The other night we saw this cat, who was clearly not gonna let us get closer. I named him Morte-y. Because if there were a June Fan Club, I'd be not just the president, but a member. June Club for Men.
Shut up, Hulk.
Afterward, Ned came up with the idea that my tombstone could have indentations for cat food and water, thereby encouraging my own grave cat. He said he'd bring cat food along with flowers for me, although he keeps insisting he'll die first. Because Ned is a barrel of laughs.
Okay. Now I gotta go. Being at work noon to 5:00 is awkward because of the whole no-lunch thing. I should be a grownup and bring a lunch, but that would require me having food here at home. They have this new healthy vending machine at work and yesterday I got Pirate's Booty and I swear it is literally made from a pirate's booty.
Give me Hot Cheetos any day.
June, a cool dude in a loose mood.
Shut up, Hulk.