On Sunday, I went with my coworker Alex to see the psychic, the one from 2011. I don't mean the psychic was born in 2011, which would make her something of a prodigy. I also don't mean she's from the band Prodigy.
I mean that I saw her in 2011, came home and blogged about it, read that old post the other day, realized everything she said came effing true, and stampeded to see her again on Sunday. Is what I mean. Why you gotta make everything so difficult?
I'd love to tell you that I took pictures of said time at said psychic, but I forgot to do so, so excited was I to see Miss Stay-bility again. That's how my psychic pronounces "stability." "Stay-bility." She did it again this time. She is cute. I like how now she's "my psychic." Just the other day, The Poet and I were discussing what's the most annoying thing someone can say they have: My lawyer. My agent. My life coach. My pilot. "My psychic" is right up there.
Although I forgot to photograph the psychic, I did, however, manage to capture on film this sleeping pet condo scenario. I threw new sheets and a new comforter to put on the bed, left for ONE MINUTE (or maybe several hours. Whatdaya want from me?) and came back to find Iris asleep underneath everything and Edsel asleep on top of everything. I wish everyone here would get off the heroin and stop nodding out every second.
Okay, so here's what she said. She told Alex that her current boyfriend is a keeper, and I think he probably is. Very stable, manly, marriageable guy, if you ask me. Hot, too. But that is not the issue at hand. The issue at hand is what is going to happen to JUNE, as we are all invested in JUNE, the hero of our story.
She said I might do some international traveling this year, which, really? I might drink General Foods International Coffee, but that's it.
She said my whole heartbreak with Ned is stagnant right now, but by the end of February I'll be 100% glad I'm gone from that scene. She said more will be revealed that will make me say, oh right. I really did have to go. Great. I can't wait to see what miserable thing happens that makes me say THAT.
THEN, in the spring, your studly pal June will be juggling TWO men: a younger one and an older one. Neither will be quite right for me, but that is fine, as I will be busy being creative (writing a BOOK, maybe??) and having fun and getting my dollars in order.
THEN, and do you wish I'd stop starting paragraphs with "THEN"?
THEN, in 8 to 10 months, so September through November, I WILL MEET A MAN, possibly someone from my past with whom I had a bit of an attraction, and he will be THE MAN FOR ME and we will GET MARRIED NEXT YEAR!!!!
Married! I didn't even THINK to ask if I was gettin' hitched. I was just worried I'd be obsessed with Ned for the rest of time.
I called Tall Boy on the drive home to tell him everything. "You'd better get all thin for my wedding next year," I told him. "I'm not letting you be Maid of Honor if you're a big fattie." Tall Boy lost 28 pounds this past year, so you can imagine how he adores me for this. However, since he's Tall Boy and all, he discussed what kind of dress he should wear, and how he could get thin enough to please me.
What I like about myself is I stopped off and got two (2!!!!!) celebratory chocolate croissants after, KNOWING FULL WELL MY WEDDING IS COMING UP. I have to focus on the prize, y'all.
As soon as I'm done typing you, I am so starting up a wedding Pinterest page for my own self. What's the new trend in weddings? Because Mason jars at a barn is so done. I need something new. Should I tell the man I meet in 8 to 10 months about my Pinterest page on the first date, or just wait till date number two? Play it cool?
Should I invite Marvin to my wedding? I think he should make it a point to be at all my weddings. Oh my god, maybe Marvin could be mistress of ceremonies and perform the whole thing. Or he could play the music when I walk down the aisle. I've already decided to come down the aisle to Brick House. I mean, right? What else is there?
Oh my god, I gotta get my nose done TOOT SUITE before I have wedding photos that'll last till the end of time. Or, you know, the 20 years I have left till I fall over dead. The 51-year-old bride. Fuckin'-a.
Oh, this is such exciting news. This is all so sudden!
Ooo! Oooo! And I forgot to tell you. My new husband? HAS MONEY!!! "He's not rich, but he's good with money," said the psychic. Good with money! Just like me! We can sit around and enjoy our riches together! After I show him my Pinterest page, I can tell him how I put a visit to a psychic on my credit card!
So, there it is. June is betrothed. What should I do with my hair? I don't mean till then, I mean on the big day. Perm?
Speaking of my appearance, I forgot to show you before and after asshole bathroom selfie shots I took the other night, when I got ready for my big date.
So, anyway, save the date!