When Ned woke me up just now, I had been having a dream. Remember yesterday when I talked about how despicable people were who told you their dreams?
"I was having a terrible dream," I announced to Ned, who puts me to bed at night and wakes me up again the next day. I don't even know if he GOES to bed, half the time. I just know that usually when I fall asleep or wake up, he's looming over me. He's woven some lovely things.
"I had a dream I was dying," I continued to announce. "I had two kinds of cancer." It was awful, and I was so relieved to wake up with Ned looming over me. Probably he'll drop the loom and kill me with it now.
June's blog. Come to hear about her stupid dreams. Stay for the loom jokes.
"Sweetheart, that's terrible," said Ned, hugging me. "You're not really dying. Well. Any more than the rest of us." Honestly, is Ned Swedish?
"In the dream, I didn't want to be dying, and I was crying really hard, and I was worried I was going to hell."
"Oh, I'd be worried about that, if I were you. In fact, I might just be consumed with it," said Ned.
I hate Ned. When I die of my two cancers, Ima haunt him in super-scary ways. I'll be one of those ghosts who lurk in the mirror behind him all the time, or grab him from under the bed.
"Oh! And you were already thinking of taking one of my friends to my funeral!" God, that was an awful dream.
"Which friend?" asked Ned. "Whenever you talk about your death, you always throw in that I'm going to date one particular friend after, and I really don't want to date her."
"It was someone I vaguely know. I can see her. She's pretty. I can't think of who she is in real life, or how I know her. She's very quiet and smug, dark hair. Now I hate her."
"How pretty?" asked Ned.
Also, in my terrible dream that I won't stop talking about, I had to come on here and tell you all I was dying, and half of you thought I was kidding, LIKE I'D KID ABOUT THAT, and now I'm annoyed with everyone. Ned's humping someone on my coffin and you all are all, HAHAHAHAHA! June's dead but she's kidding! HAHAHAHAHA!
I hated that dream.
In other news, we rented the FILM version of the song Ode to Billy Joe last night, which I thought was spelled "Billie" with an ie because that's how the YouTube song is labeled if you YouTube Ode to Billie Joe, and who doesn't.
My point is, maybe I'd be better off dead.
I have no idea how we ended up renting such a monstrosity, but here's what I recall. Here are the bits and pieces I can dredge up after the trauma of spending two hours of my life watching Ode to Billy Joe, the movie. Which, by the way, instead of having real images during the opening credits, they just showed stills from the movie you were about to see, which is always a good sign that you're in for a quality film.
While I'm on the topic of films, you know Ned and I go to the movies every Sunday, and here's what I have to say to the people who create movie trailers.
Dear People Who Create Movie Trailers: Scene. Blackness. Scene. Blackness. Scene. Blackness. OH MY GOD IT'S BEEN DONE. Think of something else. Hey, I have an idea. How about you let us actually SEE SOMETHING FOR A FEW SECONDS rather than toss up an image and immediately show us a black screen? Goddammit.
I've really gotten swearier since I met Ned, haven't I? Maybe if I'm really dying, I could have a win-a-date-with-Ned-to-my-funeral giveaway. "How pretty." Son of a bitch.
Oh. So anyway, we were of course discussing the song Ode to Billy Joe on the 3rd of June, because apparently now I have some sort of disorder where I cannot let that song drop, and Ned insists they weren't throwing a baby off that bridge, which is ridiculous. Of COURSE they were throwing a baby off that bridge, and Ned says if you were trying to get rid of a baby, why would you toss it from somewhere high up where everyone could see.
"Well, what were they throwing off in the movie?" I asked Ned, who admitted he'd seen it before, and you know how sometimes people should just keep things under their hats?
He couldn't remember what they threw off, because he saw the movie on TV when he was 15, and next thing you know old Jed's a millionaire, and we rented that movie with plans to watch it later. Ode to Billy Joe was produced by Jethro Bodine, by the way, so this whole paragraph has come full circle. The circle of life. Boom.
"We could have a whole '70s night!" I enthused to Ned yesterday via email. "Maybe we should wait a week so I can grow out all my...hair, and you can stop shaving and we could look like the '70s version of The Joy of Sex couple!" I wrote him. "We could have Jiffy Pop in every way!"
"Ooo! We could have chop suey out of a can! With the crunchies!" I was getting excited about '70s night. In the end, I came home and did Tracy Spencer and Ned ironically got his hair cut, then rode his bike all over yonder, till finally he made us poached eggs with cheddar jalapeno toast that was delicious, and then we watched that movie and didn't eat any chop suey at all.
The movie starred Robbie Benson as Billy Joe, of course, because 1976. It also starred that girl, Glynnis O'Connor, who was in everything in the '70s including Boy in the Plastic Bubble. I hate to give away the plot, seeing as you've only had 39 years to catch it, but in this version, Billy Joe was a homo.
Is it impolite to say "homo"? He did not like him the ladies, then. Is what I mean. Which I guess we were supposed to glean ahead of time because he wore this dapper suit and shoes. He was metro but not hetro.
"The color of that suit is not a color. It's a decade," I said. It was the perfect mid-70s color: kind of brown, kind of orange, kind of peach. If they were going to draw the mid-70s, that's the crayon they'd pick. My whole childhood was literally sepia-toned.
"Why doesn't he move to San Francisco instead of killing himself in Mississippi?" I asked. "A little tart like Robbie Benson would've gotten tons of ass in San Francisco."
"Not in 1953," said Ned, who was Googling Robbie Benson and it turns out he's still pretty hot. He's got some Barry Gibb hair that even Barry Gibb doesn't have anymore, though.
I'm going to go shower now, and be glad I'm not riddled with two kinds of cancer THAT I KNOW OF, but before I go, tell me what food you miss from the '70s. Speaking of food, last time I added up your answers from yesterday afternoon's pressing Q, Cheetos were winning, with Fritos very close behind, and Doritos being almost nonexistent. I'd go for Cheetos last, myself. Especially the puffy kind. Because when I eat junk food, I'm very discriminating.
See you in hell,
P.S. I so should have dressed up as Jethrine to watch that movie. Why do all my brilliant ideas come too late, after I've got two kinds of cancer?