I know you've all been pacing the waiting room, drinking bad coffee, and saying things to each other like, "Go home. Get your rest. You'll need your strength" and then "NO! I want to BE here for JUNE!" but the wait is over. I seem to be on the mend from my cold.
I was thinking NEXT time I get a cold, Ima try making a big deal out of it. See if it helps. I have to stop suffering in silence.
Anyway, how are all y'all? Does anyone have a cold? Was it as bad as mine?
Since I'm home for lunch and having some leftover delicious ginger chicken from my Thai dinner last night with Ned (guess who backed out of cooking? Cause I'm, you know, ill) (did you know I've been ill?), I thought I'd blog and catch you up on every little thing.
I never did tell you about my friend and coworker TinaDoris and me de-ghosting her house. With sage. We used it wisely. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
On Saturday, TinaDoris and I headed to the crystal psychic devil worship store in our town. Here is a black cat who lives there. I love him. On a new and different note.
TinaDoris shoplifted some tea and then went in search of the ghostbusting sage.
I fooled around.
We got to TinaDoris' haunted abode and her cynical husband watched us light the stuff and chant through the house. He laughs now, but wait till there's a ghost right behind him, like on Scooby Doo. Who's gonna rattle his teeth THEN?
We had to go into each room, and open all the drawers and closets and so forth, so no spirits could hide. Damn hidey spirits.
There's this one secret room she has? Behind a bookcase? And yes, I do hate her and her cool house. Anyway, in that room the sage kept going out. OooooWEEEEEooooooo...
After we saged every room, we came back downstairs and I swear to you I felt lighter. Maybe I was high on sage. The only dramatic thing that happened was halfway through, my camera broke. See above re OooooWEEEEEooooo....
It started working again, by the way. OoooWEEE--okay, I'll stop.
I'll let you know if TD reports any more ghosts in her house, or if we WIPED 'EM OUT with our sagey ways.
And if YOUR house is haunted, who you gonna call?
I hope not me. I got stuff to do. Plus I just got over a cold. Did you know I've been sick?
Last night, after leaving work an hour early and heading to Ned's to look at his cat, who was perfectly fine without me and who wonders why the HELL I bother her, I went home and got into some sexy pajamas and turned on my fixed TV.
That was the longest, most convoluted sentence ever.
I ended up renting a documentary (shut up) called Happy. It looked at people from the slums of India to the fanciest places in America and saw who was happy and why. I was riveted to the whole thing when my phone rang and it was an old friend from high school, and hearing from him made me...happy.
Anyway, since I still ache and hurt and cannot stop effing coughing and have the energy of a heroin-addled sloth with anemia, I will ask you another question today in lieu of actually, you know, blogging.
Are you happy? Why? Why not? What do you think it takes to be happy?
Officially calling in sick to own blog today. Feel dreadful.
Since I can't work up the energy to write, I say we make today Unsolicited Advice Day. You know how I write stuff? About my life? And don't ask for any advice? Yet I GET it all the time? And sometimes I'll reply to your comment with something sort of snide like, "Oh, look. Unsolicited advice. Yay!"
Today, since I am sick and weak and vulnerable, go ahead. What help do you want to give me? Have you held back up till now? Is there a way you want to fix my life and just haven't told me?
Hair assistance? Cold advice? Career (or lack thereof) guidance? Dog tips? Hey-June-have-you-tried-Excedrin-for-Migraine advice?
At least, as a single childless person, when I'm sick like this I really don't have to function. It's not like I have to get up to get some kid off to school. So there's that.
Hey, how're y'all? I have a cold. I know that when I have a cold, I do not carry on dramatically or anything. Are the lights going out? Is that a tunnel?
Yesterday I slept and splayed histrionically on the couch and blew my nose. It is amazing how many Kleenexes I plowed through, but I have them in droves because my Aunt Mary sent me a bunch, thinking she was hilarious. I have always had the theory that only rich people have Kleenex. I mean, you need a tissue? Why can't you just use toilet paper? You don't need a whole FANCY DIFFERENT form. I said this once when Aunt Mary was visiting, or maybe it was my father and he reported it to her, but anyway neither of them have stopped making fun of me since and for Christmas Aunt Mary sent me, like, six boxes of Kleenex.
I feel so rich. And, truthfully, glad to have all this goddamn Kleenex.
I read an entire book yesterday, in my convalescence: Girl in Translation. I highly recommend it. It's the book my book club pal Hibiscus Wilson recommended for February, and I borrowed it from her this weekend. Hibiscus Wilson lives so close to me that if she were choking on something, I could get over there and Heimlich her on time. How she'd let me KNOW she needed Heimliching is beyond me, cause you only need it when you can't talk anymore. Dear Hibiscus: We need some kind of ringing-me-and-hanging-up sign for if this ever happens. Also, am nervous person and will probably flap hands around helplessly for first three minutes once I get there. Hope this is not a problem.
Are the lights going out for Hibiscus?
In the book, which did I mention I liked? Except for at the end. She pissed me off at the end. Anyway, in the book she mentions a song from an opera, and I've always kind of wanted to know more about opera, because some of it's beautiful and I know people enjoy the SHIT out of opera--I mean, look at Nicolas Cage in Moonstruck. He loved him the opera. And he was hot. With his wooden Pinocchio hand--and I feel like if I knew more about it I'd enjoy it.
The point is, she mentions in the book the piece E lucivan le stelle, which means "When the starts were brightly shining," God, who doesn't know that (thanks, Bing), and I got on trusty YouTube and watched some dude sing it. And I was all, okay, eh. Then they also had Pavarotti singing it. You know, that Pavarotti. He can sing. Not as well as me, but...
Plus, Pavarotti kind of looks like if Barry Gibb enjoyed too many carbs. So I like that about him.
Anyway, since I'm just sitting here expiring from a rare and unusual cold, I thought I'd show more pictures of you.
Oh, wait. These two dicks never read my blog.
eyeriss CANT reed, mom, she blynd. thanks for bringeeng up.
Oh, great. Let's just START OFF with another cute reader. This is Ezra Pound's Mama, who tells me she is receiving a mix tape in this photo. No, it is not 1988. Has anyone seen my Salon Selectives hairspray?
Faithful Reader Amish Annie sent in a picture of Barry Gibb's wife, thinking she was hye-larious.
Kimberly Hope wants to emphasize she is on the left. Also, HELLLLOO DOGGGIEEEEEE. Wif your tuff Christmas collar on. I LOVE YOUUUUUUUU.
Here's Lauren, whose daughter had just done her hair and why is my hair never cute like this?
Hottie hot Culpepper. Many CLAIM to have read me forever, but Culpepper really has. She was with me back when no one read me on Saturdays.
Wait...
I'd asked Culpepper, "Is your HAIR longer?" and she said yes, her husband likes it longer, and I said, "All men like longer hair. Why is that? If it were up to them we'd all
have long straight stripper hair. Which with my face would make me look
like Mr. Ed."
In shocking news, I heart me.
Here is Amanda with her husband. Also?
You know what'd be great? Is Pavarotti singing Amanda. Also, I am sorry to report that the first concert Ned saw was Boston. Hulk is over there all, "What's wrong with that?" You know who's probably sick of that song? Amanda, up there. I like the Fancy Feast "ting" they do in that song. Is anyone listening and totally hanging their lighter high right now?
Here's Christyd4, who fortunately I have no YouTube song for. I hear Christyd4 is a real wheat. BAH!!! It's ingrained.
This is Tami in NV, and see? This is why I did this arduous project. I was all, OHMYGOD! I remember her comments! It's exciting to SEE people.
Here's Helen at the White House. Seriously. I mean, my HOUSE is WHITE, but...
I was so busy being amuuuuuused by this reader's funny email and by her dog, Fisher, that I didn't notice till now that she did not tell me her name. I been through the desert on a reader with no name.
Hulk, I was never actually on this reader. But if it gets you through the day...
This is my best friend, Pal from MA. When I suggested we all send our pictures in and 95859339494939 of you listened, I said, "When you send, tell me your commentor name. If you sign in as Depressed Girl, don't send me a pic and sign it Beth." Anyway, Pal from MA wants the moniker Depressed Girl now. She's going through some shit, folks. Send good thoughts to Depressed Girl. Let's get Obnoxious Screechy Older-than-June-by-Six-Weeks-and-Therefore-Cooler Girl back, with her need for tonic soon.
Here is Faithful Reader Mother, who also serves as my mother. I was making her point out her Christmas pin, which she had on with a...nother Christmas pin under this jacket. Dying. Who enjoys her the Christmas?
I have met Faithful Reader Mary in real life. I have not met her kitty, who looks DEEEEEElighted to be in a blanket.
Faithful Reader D-Lou says she calls herself that because her resemblance to JLo is astonishing. I like D-Lou. And I'm not fooled by the rocks that she's got.
Kim in Columbus. Another one where I was all, "I remember that name!" It's exciting to be me.
Kim in Columbus looks like some kind of 19th-century painting. Am I the only one who sees that?
Rinaldi, who I can tell I'd like, not only sent this photo, but a fine childhood one, as well.
Yyyyyep.
Did she tell her mom that day, "Do my hair like Sally from Davey and Goliath"?
Here's CliffClaven. Another total, "I remember that name!!" moment. I mean, of course I remember that name, from Cheers. You know what I mean. Stop it.
"Faithful Reader But Not Faithful Commenter Rebekah with your newest reader, Faithful Fetus Madeline." That's what Rebekah wrote, and it killed me. Faithful Fetus. Probably Madeline is all, "I can't WAIT to get out of here and read Dooce instead."
Whitley. Being cute. Sigh. EVERYONE STOP BEING CUTE. Have you SEEN me today? In no world am I passing for cute.
This reader had one name for her email and another naming this picture, so let's just call her Xeropthalmia. As you do.
YAY!!! Here's Faithful Reader The Chief, who was editor of our hard-hitting high school newspaper. She was the boss of Hulk and me. I was features editor and Hulk was (sit down) sports editor. Chief rules. In every way. Love her.
We will end with Sully, who looks like she's drinking that kind of beer Ned likes. As in, it has a flavor. Which, blech. But Sully looks fun, don't you think? Now I'm kind of hungry for pub food. Why is no one bringing me pub food? I'm in my final hours on this planet, and NOT ONE OF YOU--
--okay, fine. Don't feel sorry for ME. I'll just go to my grave wanting beef stew or fish and chips. No, I DON'T want to tell you how Project Emiciated is going in prep for my high school reunion.
Currently I have the personality of a MOP because GUESS WHAT, another MIGRAINE and I basically hate self and wish to die. I finished that Prednisone I was taking, which, hooray, I can sleep again and speak at a regular slow-ish pace and not raise the roof, literally, and so forth, but now, yay. Migraines are back. Holy CATS, it makes me mad.
So, yeah. Thank heavens you went to all the trouble to be one of the 16% checking in on a Saturday, cause WOW, what a personality on June. Look at the big personality on June.
It is a shame I can't say "personality" one more time. You know what else I have a lot of today? Wessonality.
Some idiot sat there and thought of that ad campaign. Then pitched it to his coworkers. "Say! Why don't we say the chicken's got Wessonality?" And his coworkers were all, "Yeah! That's the ticket!"
How late at night do you think that was?
So, in other news, we had us an ice kind of a thing here in North Carolina. I got up yesterday morning, as I am wont to do, and as I headed to fake work I noted MOTHER OF GOD IT'S COLD, which really, it usually isn't here. Oh, it'll be in the 30s sometimes, but that's spring where I grew up. Yesterday? 24. TWENTY-FOUR.
Then after maybe an hour at work, people got all excited cause it was...something-ing out there. Kind of snowing, kind of raining. Kind of FREEZING, is what it was doing. When I went home for lunch, I had to pull over twice to scrape my windshield, because it kept icing over while I drove. That wasn't jarring or anything.
The good news is they let us out at 2:30, because The South. Where we panic over every weather incident. So I went home with the zinc drops and Emergen-C my boss gave me, which by the way SEEM TO HAVE WORKED LIKE DEMONS, and I watched house-buying shows on HGTV and napped on and off all afternoon.*
People have the worst taste in houses. I have no desire to look at everyone watching TV in some great room while I slave away in a kitchen with granite countertops. "Oh, I like how it's open to the other rooms," people always say. Why is this a good thing? We used to have this concept. It was called "rooms." Why don't we all just live in a big dome, we're so dying to see what everyone else is up to in the rest of the house.
Am I alone in this? I also have no desire to have an entryway that is 90 feet tall. Hi, come on in. I live in a lobby.
You know what I would like to have one day? Other than an actual job? Is a Cape Cod type of house. Back when I was young, so, so long ago, I just wanted my own apartment, with no roommates. Something small, but with character. Then I got that, and I met Marvin and all we wanted was a house. Nothing fancy, maybe just something from the '50s, with, you know, character.
Character is a big thing with me and my dwellings.
It took us TEN YEARS of marriage, but we finally got it, after realizing you cannot HAVE a small cute house in LA without being a small cute millionaire.
Now five years I been living here and I'm all, Wouldn't a Cape Cod be nice. Is it always going to be like this? Will I ever be satisfied? When I get my Cape Cod am I gonna wish for a house built in 1997 with an open floor plan?
With character?
What HAPPENED to character in houses? I think it went the way of "big." All of a sudden everyone needs big. And why? So you can all be in different rooms checking your smartphones?
Am cynical today. Migraine makes me cynical.
Anyway. Despite the icy conditions and general cold icy coldness, I still got together with Ned last night, because rather crushy on Ned. Everything was closed down because The South. Where we panic over every weather incident. Have I mentioned? We did, however, mince our way through the ice to our favorite pretentious taco place, where IT IS ALL DELICIOUS, and right when we walked in, the owner said, "Oh. Guys. I'm sorry. We just decided to shut down for the night due to weather."
Either we looked completely devastated or she recognized us from the 92 times we've been in, but she said, "You know what? Come in. You'll be the last two we serve."
Ned felt terribly guilty through the whole meal. I gleefully ordered the tuna tacos I've been wanting to order since DAY ONE of going there, which I've been afraid to order because everyone in there appears to be perhaps lesbianical and I always thought I was gonna giggle when I said, "I want a tuna taco." Because am in 7th grade. However, I ordered, "The taco, with tuna, please," a thing Ned repeated 47 times because he enjoys my maturity.
And OH MY GOD, it was delicious. Totally went to the Ned School of Eating during that meal. OH! Enjoyed my tuna taco. It had Wessonality.
Then this morning, Ned left for his work trip and I hate everything. He gets back Wednesday, and is coming RIGHT HERE from the airport, and I am making salmon and yes, I did just tell you that I'm cooking something. That is how excited I will be to see Ned. Am cooking something. I know.
In a few minutes, I'm leaving to get up with my friend and coworker TinaDoris. A few months back, she and her husband bought a really really cool old house with, you know, character, and also a ghost. She has had ALL KINDS OF CREEPY SHIT happen since they moved in, including an inexplicable really violent injurious fall, a weird red liquid on her hands for no reason, and now a candle attacked her. Don't ask.
So we're headed to the nutty crystal hippie store to get sage, and we're gonna de-demonize her place this afternoon. We Googled how to de-demonize your place, which is probably what ancient woman did when her cave was haunted. Will keep you posted on if it works or if the damn thing just gets in the car with me and starts haunting THIS place.
You know what a ghost will give this place? Wessonality.
*I forgot to tell you that when I got home yesterday afternoon, Edsel did his usual thing where he BOUNDS excitedly to the back door, which I opened so he could BOUND excitedly across the yard as though bounding across that yard were exciting and new and not something he does 18 times a day, but yesterday he BURST out the door and skid skid skidded across the icy deck, and could not get his footing, and splayed his feets this way and that and skid skid skidded on to the grass, which was similarly icy, so guess what, skid, and basically Tallulah and I died laughing. The end.
You know, every workday morning, the alarm goes off, and I hit snooze, and Lily is on top of me, and I hit snooze again and my POINT is, every time I get here to blog I go, MOTHER OF GOD WHY IS IT SO LATE ALREADY?
Today I figured out my goddamn alarm clock is 10 minutes slow compared to the rest of the, you know, clocks in the house. Son of a BITCH.
Am I the only person in America these things happen to? Doesn't everybody else set their alarm clock a little fast? Did you ever see Same Time Next Year? I love that movie. Alan Alda's watch is really fast, and he never fixes it, and he tells Ellen Burstyn something like, "I knew what time I fell in love with you. It was 11:02 p.m. I know because I looked at my watch and it was 3:15."
In other news, I am pretty sure I am getting a cold. This whole season, with everyone hacking and dying and aching and it sounding like a TB WARD in my office, I have escaped illness. I was just thinking, Maybe this year I have some kind of magical power that wards off colds, even though I have no spleen, which makes me more susceptible to illness, and even though I never got a flu shot this year.
That was some logical thinking. Yeah, that's it. A magical power. And now my throat distinctly hurts.
Which is fine. Ned leaves for ANOTHER GODDAMN BUSINESS TRIP tomorrow morning--I know. A Saturday. That isn't even fair--so as long as I can slog through tonight I can spend the rest of the weekend on the couch with my fixed TV.
I do have plans to see the tsunami movie tomorrow night with a friend but if I get ill those plans will be a wash. I'll be bowled over by the wave of this cold. I'll be drowning in NyQuil.
Tsunami jokes. Why did god see fit to punish me with a cold, do you think?
Ned and I don't really know what we're doing tonight, although what Ned does NOT know is he has a whole night of hearing about my cold up ahead of him, but last night when we were on the phone he said, "We can do whatever you want to do tomorrow, June."
"Makeovers! Long Island Medium marathon on TV and makeovers!" I said.
Since my TV got fixed earlier this week, I've been making up for lost time. Have not sat around looking at television since at least September. And oh! That Long Island Medium! That there is a good show. I've also continued to catch up on my Brady Bunch and my Andy Griffith.
Last night I saw the one where Marcia runs for class hostess at Filmore Junior High. The winner of class hostess gets to escort an astronaut to dinner at school or something. I mean, bitch ALREADY gets to take Davy Jones to the prom. Does she ALSO need to score her an astronaut?
Anyway, just to throw an unpopular girl a bone, Marcia helps this mousy chick run for the position, too, and under her fine tutelage, old Molly the Unpopular gets all pretty and shit and WINS THE COMPETITION.
I mean, the Brady Bunch had some hard-hitting issues. After her loss, Marcia OD and we see the whole family watch her get her stomach pumped. Alice makes some great wisecracks in the emergency room. Oh, Alice.
You know what's sad? Alice probably plays my age in that show. Sam is her Ned. God, that's depressing.
Oh, crap, I have to go. Thank heavens I stopped to write this important post. Talk to you tomorrow, when I will surely be stoic and brave about my cold, as I am wont to be.
A few days ago, my ex-husband Marvin had a dentist appointment in our neighborhood. Marvin doesn't even live in Greensboro anymore, and I don't know why he doesn't switch from our old dentist, but who am I to nag him? I have handed the baton of nagging duties to his next wife.
The point is, we decided to meet for lunch after the dentist. He had really wanted to see the dogs, so I said, "Just come to my house after and hang with them. In fact, why don't you pick up stuff from the place and we can eat at my house?"
What's nice about having been married to someone for 39494939 years is you can say "stuff from the place" and he knows what you mean.
"I'm having lunch with Marvin," I told Ned, who as usual has no issue with Marvin or with the part where almost all my friends are men or with anything, really. Ned is what you'd call self-assured. Plus there's the part where I am a giant moon of mooniness around Ned, so it's not like he ever has to ask himself, " I wonder if June likes me?" That'd be like me wondering if Edsel liked me.
"Marvin is bringing lunch over so he can hang with Edsel and Tallulah. He'll screw up my order."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I told him what I wanted from the place, and he'll get me the wrong thing. Fifteen years of marriage. He always picked up the wrong thing."
Always, you guys. Always. Once it was Christmas Eve, and I think I had a cold or maybe we were having people over or something. I forget what. The point is, I sent Marvin to the store for tomato paste and he came home with tomatoes. "It's the SAME THING," he kept insisting.
Since it was Christmas Eve, I couldn't just GO BACK to the store, and I cried, and from that moment on we always referred to The Great Tomato Incident of 2003 when I'd GO GET STUFF MY OWN DAMN SELF.
So I got home from work Monday and Marvin had just gotten there with the food from the thing. "What'd you get me?" I asked.
"A gyro and a Cheerwine."
...!
It was all I could do not to text Ned right then and there. "But I wanted a Pepsi," I said.
"They didn't HAVE Pepsi. So I got you a Cheerwine."
See. Now, if it were YOU, and someone asked you to get them a PEPSI, would you not then get them a Coke if they had no Pepsi? I mean, unless you were getting soda for one of those rabid PEPSI ONLY or JUST COKE FOR MEEEEE freaks, which I am not.
I don't know how it is Marvin and I got divorced.
Anyway, I filmed for you Marvin's entrance into my house, because I was kind of excited to see how the dogs would react to him.
They didn't.
He'd already been there that day, since his dentist appointment got out early, and I'd SAID he could come over (he fixed the TV!), but he also said they weren't excited to see him the FIRST time he walked in.
I mean, maybe the dogs seem excited to you, but trust me. I've seen the Ashley-comes-home-from-the-war greeting they do with people they're excited to see. Yes, I DID pull that tired example out again.
And Edsel always, ALWAYS has something in his mouth when he comes to the door. Usually one of my shoes. But if I've actually tidied up, he'll pull a dish cloth out the laundry. Would anyone like a dog?
So that was pretty much it. Marvin and I gossiped about our families and TinyTown and I asked him about his wedding plans (so far, no official date set) and that was it. I went back to work and he went back to his regularly scheduled life.
Maybe the dogs were pissed off about the Cheerwine.
I wish I could begin to tell you how happy it makes me to announce I am DONE WITH ALL FREELANCE WORK as of 10 minutes ago. Aaaaand I finally got the certificates and stuff from our fine U.S. government that will allow that Polish company to finally pay me.
Does anyone remember all fall, when I did freelance work for a company out of Poland? Yeah. Still haven't gotten paid yet. It's not their fault--I had to do some stuff so I wouldn't get taxed there as well as here, and my, what efficient, unfrustrating dealings I had with the IRS and so on.
Anyway it all got straightened out and yay. Insert Polish joke here.
So now that THAT'S finally ended and all I have to do is sit here and wait for the cash money to roll in, I get to obsess about my weight. I just found out my class reunion, my
THIRTY EFFING ITH REUNION
is happening in July. Because I am youthful, is what I am. The bloom is so totally on this rose. Mmm-hmm. My point is, I must FIGHT TIME and show up at that thing looking 18 and healthy and lovely and painfully, scarily thin. My goal weight is, "Has June been ill?"
So what say you to good diet plans? Ned said, "Why don't you try the eat less/exercise more diet?" I asked Ned why he doesn't try to go-fuck-yourself diet.
I was thinking of getting that Fitness Pal app, only because Richard on the Howard Stern Show lost weight with it, and it is sad, really, how often Howard Stern and his people affect my decision-making.
...I just spent 80 hours trying to find you the YouTube clip from Arthur, where a guy says, "I never drink. I think drinking affects your decision-making." And Arthur says, "You could be right. I can't decide."
Really, way too much of my life is spent quoting Arthur.
Okay, so yeah. Diet suggestions, please. I mean, no matter what I do to lose weight will probably work, given my current strict regime of fat, salt, caffeine and cuticles.
Before I go, and I know it makes you sad to see the back of my interesting head out THIS doorway, let's look at some more readers who sent in their photos, shall we? Cause we only have 90,000 to go.
Here is a small but intense photo of CBA. No one ever calls me small. But they WILL when I get on that DIET you recommend to me.
Funny in My Mind, who's been reading me forever. I helped her come up with that name. Because I love me. I like how I can take a picture of someone else and make it about me. Who can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem about her?
Becky, right, lives in my old neighborhood in LA. Envy. Have the envy.
Hazel has a blind cat named Lily. I KNOW. We are the same person.
Here's the Girl in the Red Shoes, who is not living up to her name, but who falls under the Disgustingly Pretty category of readers. Maybe all these hot chicks read me cause they identify. Maybe hot lava and Halloween candy are gonna fly out my ass, too.
Red Shoes mentioned her baby is 4 months because she knew I'd be all, "And here's her 17-year-old son." You know how I am. Four months. Ten years old. I can't tell.
Here's Donna in Australia. If you read me in 2008, and did not kill sell from boredom yet, you may recall she sent in a family portrait with her mom's floating head, and I was nice enough to superimpose self in said portrait. Cause love self. So bad. Oh, look. Another picture of someone else that I made about me.
Say, look what I found. heeeeee.....
Mostly Lurking Elizabeth is my people. Obvs.
Cash claims to love my blog, but I think Cash is full of shit.
Katie near Cleveland loves her dog, and I want you to know I am obsessed. LOOK AT HIMMMMMM.
Okay, you have no idea how many times I tried to make Alizabeth not sideways. Give up. She is in Seattle. Have also sat on that pig. Insert June-in-high-school joke here.
...Oh. It's right-side up now. Son of a...
Ericka says she no longer has photos of her without her children in them. They look pretty smug about that, don't they?
This California lurker says one day she's gonna send me two dollars. I WANT MY TWO DOLLARS!
Did anyone else love Better Off Dead?
Erin says she's NOT THE OTHER ERIN. Is anyone confused? Also, am dying over dalmatian child.
Cig in Arizona says she is a lurker. She is one of the pretty lurkers. Getting annoyed. PRETTY READERS NEED NOT APPLY. AM FEELING INADEQUATE.
Garden Girl! She has commented forever. Also very cute.
GODDAMMIT.
I mean, right? There is no need to say that Kerry from Oregon is not just my people, she just IS ME. So mad I do not own a photo of me doing just this. How shellfish of her. See what I did? See?
Yeah, I think we should end there. It will not get better than my soulmate Kerry. More pictures to come. Because wow, did ya'll all ever get into this project.
And don't forget my diet!! I have 25 weeks to lose 750 pounds. Is there a Moon Pie diet I don't know about?
About 76 weeks ago, I got the brilliant idea that all y'all all should send me your photos, because YOU get to see ME, but I never get to see YOU. Which reminds me of that one Sex and the City episode where Big keeps saying, "SHE can get ahold of me, but I can never get ahold of HER."
I don't understand people who have not memorized every episode of Sex and the City.
Naturally, as soon as I came up with this plan, and what a plan it was, I got King Kamehameha busy and never had time to slog through all these. Till now.
So here are the first eleventy million people who sent me their photo. I am not putting them all on here today because you will be bored sick if I do that. And if you titled your picture "BLAWG photo" or "blog picture" or you sent it to my personal email cause we know each other in real life, you are ESSSSOHHHHELLLLL.
Here is Kristin with her daughter Cassidy.
Faithful Reader and Commenter Dancer.
Faithful Reader turned Real-Life Friend Fay. She is the one sporting the jaunty scarf. None of these other people matter cause they don't read me. In other news, I am a huge tool.
Hayley, who is pretty, just hanging out in a white dress. Or getting married. Whichever.
Deb in Maine sent the world's smallest photo. Suitable for putting in our lockets.
Karla in Spokane, who may or may not be a nutcase.
Long-time Reader Furry Godmother, with her dog who might have heard that.
Here is Amy, who IDs as a lurker.
Sarah from Indiana is in this picture from a trip to Rwanda, and I feel like maybe we're all able to spot which one is her.
Here's Kelli in Grand Rapids, wearing the shirt of my people. However, now I want to go to Yesterdog, whatever that is.
Here's Carrie. Every time I got a photo of someone who was hot, I was all, "Oh crap. Way to show me up, you cute bitches." See above re I am a tool.
Here is Alamy in shoes she knew would make me envious.
They need to fix the thing where some pictures come to you sideways, or some LOOK right-side-up till you, say, put them on your BLOG and they get all sidewaysy. The point is, finally right-side-up is Chrusty, who I can tell I'd like by her "don't eff with me even if I'm sideways" expression.
Debbie said I am funny. Therefore Debbie is new best friend.
Aw. Mary Ellen from Napa.
Love this picture of Whitney, who by the way Ned called hot. Dear Whitney, please come to Greensboro so I can kick your ass.
I love Karen's sandals. Also she kind of has the good legs. Seriously. From now on only ugly readers can participate.
Elizabeth in South Florida. She kind of looks like Alanah Stewart. Am I the only person who knows who that is?
Jeanette, who comes from New Zealand! I know!
Joann. Another faithful reader who has become a friend in real life. I love her.
Rachel is in the middle, and apparently does not know anyone unattractive.
Here's Meg in Napa Valley. She was 100% shitfaced. Okay, I have no idea if she was. But it sounds good.
Here is Bonnie and her son's dog, Lola. Bonnie is all, "This is what you look like" to Lola, wearing all black and so forth. Lola wrote me that she is so.over.Bonnie.
Jennifer says she is the one with hair and teeth.
Faithful Reader and Commenter Anita. I just accused Anita of needing to go to comedy school, but I can't remember why. Except for the part where I treat my readers like gold.
We also hear from Mary Lou a lot. I've no doubt abused her, as well.
Okay, let's do a few more. Then we'll come back a different day. We are, like, not even a third of the way through. I know, right?
Here's Amanda in Boise, except here she's on an Alaskan cruise, and basically Amanda is trying to throw us all off.
Joy has read for awhile, and convinced me to buy a Chi to straighten my hair. Here's what I have to say about Joy. TOO GODDAMN PRETTY. And I love her fake dog. It was probably a real dog who turned to stone after Joy showed her beauty to it. Seriously, why I gotta have so many hot readers?
Cute MeMe and her cute cute doggie.
Here's Sarah M., who lurks except for the time she had to tell me why they keep saying "Who dat?" in New Orleans. You know how I enjoyed that. "Who dat?" Sighhhh. Who dat with veggies? Who dat and carry on.
Okay, stopping now. Dudes, we have so many more pics to go. But this is interesting, right? I mean, all these people getting together to read this stupid-ass blog. I should go find them all and slap some sense into them.
Tune in for more pics soon. Cause this only took 97 hours so far. Oy.
