This weekend, I went to this antique shop I like--
...aaaaaand I just bit my canker sore. GODDAMMIT. I've been eating a lot of tomatoes, so naturally then I got a canker sore, and it won't go away, till finally I went to CVS after work yesterday because I COULDN'T STAND IT ANYMORE, and got this $12 medicine that's supposed to make it go away overnight, and now today here it still is plus I've bitten it while I'm eating the daily blueberry flax muffins.
Anyway, this weekend, I went to that one antiques store that I told you about before, Adelaide's, to just look at that white vanity again, and of course they were closed and Dear Businesses That Close on Sunday: Fuck you.
So to assuage my sad heart I went to a different store, where I saw a little vase that is the same pattern as my great-grandmother's china, which I have and is my most prized possession. "Oh my god!" I said, excited, then "Oh my god!" I said, crestfallen, because $68.
And then yesterday, Ned bought it for me. "Do you have a highligher?" he asked me last night over the phone, at like 8:30 p.m. He's studying for this thing at work. "I do. I have no idea why," I told him, and what would be really scary is if one of you knew why. "Jooon, don't you remember when you highlighted the world?" (Big Book of June Events) (BBoJE)
Anyway, he came over with this, the vase that looks like a labia, because I'd told him about it, and now I am much pleased. It's good to have a rich ex-boyfriend.
Those swans were also my great-grandmother's (mother to the grandmother I'm turning into), and the little bowls are her china pattern. The rosy plates are not, and I forgot where I got those but I like them and I realize I am a grandma in the '50s.
Also, I still have a kitten. He is the cat version of Lottie. Remember how Lottie was always always always a rambunctious dick?
Meet Steely Dan Silverman. Rambunctious replacement.
It's like when Alex P. Keaton liked Tracy, and then she left, and they replaced her with another smart, funny, pretty girl.
You know how I took that picture of the cats, above, all eating? SD is still over there eating. It's not even his food. He already had his canned kitten food, garnished by his dry Science Diet that he hates, and now he's onto Grownup Kitty Food For Adults Only Ex Ex Ex You Must Be 18 or Older to Enter.
Right near my hometown, there was an X-rated drive-in, which we were dying to go to. So a bunch of us got in Kevin W's car and drove there, with a bag of popcorn and inevitably some kind of teenage liquor such as sloe gin.
Have you ever, in your adult life, had sloe gin? What about Goldschlåger? It doesn't come up as often as you thought it would.
The point is, the ticket guy was all, "How old are you?"
"Eighteen," I told him, looking right at him, a practiced liar, and hello, mom.
"You?" he asked Donna.
"Oh, 18!" she said, having to be dramatic about it. Like, oh! I am so 18! You wouldn't even believe how 18 I am.
"What year were you born?" he asked Kevin W, throwing a monkey wrench into things.
"Nineteen sixty-fi--oh, shit," said Kevin.
One year. He couldn't have thought fast and taken one damn year off his birth year? ONE YEAR.
We took our popcorn and our Champale and drove home.
I did eventually get to that drive-in, and I recall one scene where the Cream of Wheat box came to life in this woman's kitchen, and instead of, say, panicking that you'd been making nutritious cereal one minute and a large fictional man with a chef's hat was in your kitchen the next, the star of our fine program enriched his farina, if you know which way my cereal steam is blowing.
Whatever hapless gent took my high school best friend Donna and me to said show was probably ruing the idea, because instead of some hot frizzy-haired three-way in his station wagon that he may have been hoping for (my high school best friend has EXACT-REPLICA JUNE HAIR), instead he got hours of Donna and me being in hysterics over the Cream of Wheat guy just appearing in your kitchen.
"Oh, hello! Love that bow tie. Where'd you get that? Hey, let me get naked and cream your wheat."
"Oh, I'm glad you're here. Poppin' Fresh left me six months ago and I've been so lonely."
I have no idea how I got on this tangent.
Anyway, I guess that's all my news, except it's finally autumnal here and you aren't Elvis in concert by 8 a.m., which is lovely. You aren't Whitney Houston face before you even roll into work.
Before I go, I'd like to just say that I know you were all pulling for me to get the Nobel Prize in physics and by now you must know I was passed over yet again. That does not mean there isn't a next year. One day, the world will see just what a physics pro I've become.
I gotta go. Juan Valdez just showed up in the kitchen. Well, helloooooo!