Last night I ended up going out with about 14 of the people I work with who are all named Alex.
How my day went, my shingle-y damn day, was that I went to work yesterday and made everyone hear all about my shingles, because you know I like to suffer in silence, and because I'm so appealing, some people from work said, "Hey, appealing June, why don't you come join us for lunch today?"
So I put on my Ask Me About My Shingles t-shirt and went. To the Mellow Mushroom, which in our where-we-going-for-lunch emails became known as The Mush, to which I said if we keep calling it that I'm not going.
TinaDoris was also there, and I took time out from shingles talk to note her glasses totally matched her plate. We ordered slices that were bigger than our heads, and had a good discussion about The One Who Got Away, which is an excellent blog topic, but you know what else is a good blog topic?
Did you know I have them?
Anyway, last night was First Friday, which starts right after work, and Ned had asked me the night before if he should ride his bike Friday night or Saturday afternoon. "Well, if you ride your bike Friday, we won't even head out till eight o'clock," I said, "so probably Saturday."
Ned emailed me at work yesterday and said, "Since you won't let me ride my bike tonight, do you want to get together right after work, or what?"
Won't LET him ride his bike. Won't LET him. Whatever with Ned. "Now you make me sound like a fishwife or a harpy," I wrote. "I sound like a fish girlfriend. Write back this minute and tell me I'm not a harpy or a fish girlfriend."
"You are the least-fishy girlfriend, ever, June. What time already?" Ned likes to plan.
So I got downtown as soon as I could and of course it was already packed with goddamn people enjoying the goddamn night and I'd really like it if everyone could get the fuck out of my way. Ned wanted to go to Lesbian Taco to eat, which we did, and the wait was 470 minutes, which is less time than it takes for lesbians to meet and marry.
We ran into one of my coworkers at the restaurant, and while we were eating, 17 more texted me ("They text me") to say, "Are you downtown? Come join us!"
"I might as well have just stayed at work," I told Ned. But join the coworkers I did, and guess where we ended up going? Guess. Was it the damn Mush again?
You know, First Friday is supposed to be this time when everything downtown stays open, with an emphasis on the galleries and so on, and Ned and I noted that we always go to First Friday, but all we ever seem to do is go to some restaurant or bar. Cultured. We're the Scott and Zelda of Greensboro. Scott and Zelda Abromowitz.
The point is, there I was at The Mush for the second time in one day like I'm Norm on Cheers with shingles, and there was an absolutely beautiful blonde young girl up at the bar. "That girl is lovely," I said to everyone, shaking my bottle of shingles meds her way for emphasis.
"She is, but she has Bitchy Resting Face," said one of the Alexes, which is what prompted all of us to adopt BRFaces, and then we all got the brilliant idea that I could photograph everyone doing their BRF and post the pictures on this blog, and you could all vote for who has the best BRF and the winner would get a big prize. Like, maybe I won't give my shingles to that particular Alex or something.
So without further ado, who has the best BRF? Is it...
Apparently my idea of Bitchy Resting Face is to flare my nostrils. Nice technique for someone who is bitchy on the inside all the time, and who should probably think of a more effective expression beyond doing a Beyonce's mom impression.
Oh, and finally,
So get your votes in and I will announce the big winner whenever I, you know, get to it. I like how the other day I wrote in here about how much my head hurt and how I was writing anyway because y'all are relentless and someone left the comment, "Hey, when you gonna put up our selfies, June?"
Okay, vote. Do it for our country.