Faithful Reader Deb sent Edsel a nicer cone, so now when he runs into me it hurts less. And that is what matters.
Hang on. I have to get a Band-Aid. I seem to have some kind of hangnail or perhaps thumb cancer.
...Okay.
At any rate, how are y'all? How is the point sixteen?
Last night Ned and I had plans to have dinner with Dick Whitman and his girlfriend. His squeeze. His bitch. And so on. And by the way that is all one person. It's not like he has a posse. Anyway, I like her a lot but she is not a show-my-photo-on-your-blog kind of gal.
As opposed to hey!-is-the-camera-pointed-my-way?-well-hellOOO-there Dick Whitman.
At any rate, I called Ned and he said, "There's this sporting event, and I really have to see it" and I tried to not be SUPER EXTRA ANNOYED and went to the restaurant without his who-am-I-dating,-Hulk? sports-obsessed self.
Putting dashes in huge phrases is a thing with me today.
Here is Ned's calendar. It has vintage sports things on it. I like it because it's vintage-y, but my point is, I love a sports boy. I do not know what to tell you.
It was First Friday, which meant downtown was packed, and when I walked into the restaurant DW and his lady friend/his numero uno/his old ball and chain (and how much is she gonna like me when she reads this? Hi, DW's girlfriend!) were not there yet. There was a guy at the hostess stand busily checking his tickets, not that he's a bad driver, although maybe he is, what do I know? I asked him, "Sit anywhere?" and he was all, "What? ...uh, yeah." So I did.
Eventually even sporty Ned arrived, all concerned about his sporting event, and fortunately DW's old lady/his home slice/his sheila is into the sports, too, so she and Ned talked for an hour about said event.
DW and I discussed bras. I am not even kidding you. We talked about my bra size, and the bra size his woman/his Yoko/his boo wears, and it suddenly struck me that we had spent an hour discussing ladies undergarments like they were interesting.
This is why I like Dick Whitman.
Also, Ned has told me twice in the last 24 hours--once with props--about why that sports thing was so interesting and I zzzzzzzzzzz
...Oh! Did I doze off again?
Anyway, we were happily eating dinner when this SUPER CRABBY woman came to the table. "Did you just SIT DOWN?" she asked. I mean, sure, sometimes I like to contort into several difficult yoga moves before I sit, but last night yes. Sometimes I levitate for an hour before sitting. Sometimes I play musical chairs with myself and boy is that fun. But last night? I JUST SAT DOWN.
"There's a waiting list," she groused. "People are waiting for tables."
"Oh!" I said, being polite because that's what I do, pretend I'm polite. "The guy at the stand said to sit anywhere."
"Well, I'm not gonna make you leave," she began.
Oh, AREN'T you? Aren't you? You're not gonna make us leave, with our full dinners and drinks and appetizers already here, you giant crank? AREN'T you? We're SO GRATEFUL.
I mean, is that a way to treat customers, even customers who barreled in and took a table, which I didn't intentionally do? And by the way there were SEVERAL tables open when I went looking. So there'd be no way I'd have known I was doing anything wrong, PARTICULARLY BECAUSE THE WAITER SAID SIT ANYWHERE.
Burns me up.
After, DW wanted cheesecake, so we got some.
Dudes. Have you ever seen anyone so eagerly shoveling cheesecake into her gullet? At the zoo in my hometown is this huge concrete whale, and you can walk into its open mouth. Several tourists strolled along my molars while I ate cheesecake.
And by the way, I know this is shocking, but we just SAT DOWN when we got there.
Who was I completely tired of at that point? Was it Whitman and his camera?
Anyway, we had a good time, other than whatever that sports thing was that was bothering Ned. Yesterday marked the two-year anniversary of Ned quitting smoking, so we went out and chewed tobacco after. In fact, I am quite admiring of Ned and his ability to give up something so, you know, addicting. He'd never tried before that, and just did it after reading a David Sedaris book. Something about going up in flames. I should read it. Because you know I can't get enough of my Virginia Slims.
Is smoking Virginia Slims kind of the same as someone who drinks wine coolers? Like, get a real vice. You're obviously not that into this one.
June. Repulsing her Virginia Slims-smoking/Bartles & Jaymes-drinking readers since 2012.
Oh! And Ned put butter in his butter dish! I know! And I also know those bananas are singing their swan song.
I guess that's all I had to tell you, except that I took a photo of ....kitty today, all sunny and cute, and by the way she continues to abhor me.
This pretty much sums up our relationship.
And that about sums us up today, too, faithful .16. I must go enjoy the day, as it is sunny and in the low 70s here. It'd be a great day to get outside, call Dick Whitman and discuss bras.
June. Supported.
