Since yesterday I was so busy showering you with more pictures of your own selves, I didn't get a chance to tell you the myriad things that're new, and by "myriad" I mean two.
First of all, Ned has insisted that "we" need to not spend so much money going out, and by "we" he means "Ned," since as I told you before, he mostly pays for everything because he is the boy and he is nice and oh, right, he has a job.
I know I sort of technically have a fake job, but I also not-at-all-technically am paying $3,000,000 a month on COBRA. And I don't even LIKE snakes. So what I'm saying is, Ned's usually the pay-for-er. How do you feel about that? About the boy paying? I have been out with both: boys who always pay and boys who want you to pay half the time. What say you about that?
Anyway, we go out to eat a LOT, and Ned said "we" have to be more responsible about it, and I said that's fine with me. I just like being with Ned, and HE'S the one who "goddammit"s over food. And remembers what he ordered at a restaurant eight months later. "Remember last time we came here? And I got the soup?"
"No."
The point is, on Saturday night Ned and I cooked at his house, and by "Ned and I" I mean mostly I sat in his dining area and watched him do things in the kitchen. IN MY DEFENSE, I offered to help but he had a rhythm, going, there. The rhythm was frenetic and panicked, but it was a rhythm nonetheless.
My name is June. And I'm a help in the kitchen. Hiiii, June.
We were having mahi mahi, and this butternut squash he mixed with garlic and some other tasty stuff, and asparagus and some other healthy items I can't remember right now but what I DO know is on the way to Ned's house I called my pal Hulk, who said, "There is nothing you just told me that is something I'd eat."
Recently, on a date, Hulk was given his choice of sides: green beans, broccoli (which he called, "What's the stuff that looks like little green trees?") and mashed potatoes. He got double mashed potatoes. There's nothing that tells your date "I care about my health" more than double mashed potatoes.
You know what sounds delicious right now? Mashed potatoes. Which leads me to my next subject but I'm not done about Ned and our cooking.
We grilled the mahi and its mahi outside, and why do you have to say "mahi" twice? If you just say it once does it mean something totally different? The point is, we ("we") (pfft) put in an enormous amount of work for something we consumed in eight seconds. Because we were both starving to death by the time we finally ("we") finished all that cooking. "This was okay, but it wasn't goddammit good," Ned complained. Then he said he was still hungry.
So we did what any normal people would do. We went to the dessert place, where I got that coconut sour cream cake I talked about yesterday.
WHICH LEADS ME TO MY NEXT TOPIC, finally. Remember how I said I needed to begin Project Emaciated for my high school reunion in July? Have you noticed it's February? And I'm still Lulu on Hee-Haw, and don't you wish with all the fiber in your BEING that I'd think of another, you know, curvaceous chick? I'm Susanne Sugarbaker. There we go.
So this weekend I found an app called Lose It! with an exclamation point, like it's Lose It the Musical, and you put in there any activity you do (gardening burns more calories than you think) (sex is only 64 calories every half hour, and I really need to get into treadmill sex or something if that's the case because HELLO COCONUT SOUR CREAM CAKE) and every bite you eat (turns out coconut sour cream coffee cake is caloric) and then it tells you how many calories under or over you are for the day.
You know what's annoying? Trying to enjoy popcorn at the movies (we saw a depressing French film called Rust and Bone and JUST ONCE I'd like to leave a movie with Ned where I don't feel shaky and drained) ("I like movies that make you FEEL things," said Ned. "What about feeling happy? That's a thing," I said) knowing you're gonna have to go tell it to your app after. And you can just FEEL the app's disapproval. "Boy oh BOY, June. That's real caloric {pursed lips}." Somehow, the app sounds exactly like my mother.
And that is why I am writing to you while I am starving to death, because I fear the app, and I guess I can comfort myself with the part where at least I know Ned won't suggest we go out and eat nachos, because we're being responsible.
June and her kwashiorkor, out.
NedKitty not give two chits what Joon do. Fattie.
