Ohmyho, your comments yesterday were DA BOMB. And "ohmyho" is only funny if you READ the comments. Which, really? Really? You don't read the COMMENTS? You have no idea what you are missing. That's like not squeezing the white frostingy stuff on your Danish-Go-Round.
Was it Danish-Go-Rounds that came with the kind of vanilla-orangey super-good-for-you frosting, or was it some kind of Pillsbury product? Also, if your dough came to life and started giggling at you manically, would you not phone your physician rather than gleefully continue making crescent rolls?
At any rate, thanks for the comments, and I DID end up feeling not as tragic before the day was through. So, that worked.
Today Ned is home, although before I see him I am having dinner with Dick Whitman, as he is having some kind of crisis du jour. I mean, I am too, so we can be verklempt together. What a fun duo we'll be. Hope we get one of those long-booth situations so the people next to us can listen in on our hilarity.
But then, THEN, I get to see Ned, who seems to ALWAYS BE OUT OF TOWN lately, and I am likely going to have 11 million dollars in text costs this month. And no, we did not sext. I have never sexted and do not plan to. How can that even be fun? Oh, look, my phone wants to hump me!
Hot.
At any rate, Ned was not anywhere nearly as fun as Las Vegas this time, which means instead of interviewing prostitutes he was just in his boring hotel room. So I scanned a bunch of pictures of myself that are ridiculous and sent them to him. I mean, what's more fun than looking at pictures of me? Now I will share them with you. Congratulations. After this, maybe we can sext.
Here is my 22nd birthday, with my best friend Donna. I remember four women chipped in to buy me those earrings and that six-pack of Moosehead. The earrings had turquoise polka-dots on them and I wore them constantly. Also, I look super extra sober.
My mom jeans and my stepsister Mil at Griffith Park Observatory. I lived right near that observatory, because I'm a huge fan of James Dean. You know how often I mention him. I remember liking that haircut at the time, and now I'm all: Really, June?
I put this on Facebook, so if you're my Facebook friend you're all smug right now. SEEN IT! BEEN THERE! Be sure to say, Been there, done that, bought the tshirt, cause that's hilarious.
Anyway, my friend Renee and I were training for a marathon, hence the part where we are both so effing hot here. If she didn't live in Hawaii, I'd totally make her re-pose for this in these same clothes, with our 12-years-and-two-kids-later selves. Note all I have to blame it on is the years. At least she created human life.
Do you have any idea how fun it was to live in the same town as Renee? Because it was.
Totally went to my regular bar on my wedding night after the reception. Classy. This is one of my 394994 old boyfriends and my friend Gertrude, who, yes, IS hot. Note there isn't even a band playing. What were we dancing to? The music in our minds? Also, I once again look super extra sober.
This was also already on Facebook, Smuggy. Have you bought the tshirt? Anyway, it was 1985, which means I was 20, and it was 1985, which means I had a perm. A mullet perm. Let's all go get mullet perms like we're our own little society. The Pie Society. You guys go first. I'll catch up with you.
At any rate, I love this picture. I continue to find myself amusing after all these years. Also, I like to look at this and wonder just how many inches larger my thighs are now. Ten? Eighty? Really, that sculpture and me are sort of the before and after of my actual body. Sad.
At least I don't look drunk in that one.
So that sums it up. My pictures of me. I have to get in the shower and get all pretty for seeing Ned. After work. And after Whitman. Hell. I'll get in the shower, look regular, then reshower for the Ned sighting, seeing as it'll be a good 10 hours from now.
And now you know my every detail. Koodles to you.
