The other day, I was doing some crucial cosmetics shopping with my equally deep friend Alex from work. (I ended up getting a color-correcting stick that makes me look like Kabuki theater, and a brown lipstick I thought would be delightfully nude but instead looks like I'm pooping straight out my mouth.)
I had to put on reading glasses to see any of the product info, and really, when it gets to that point, shouldn't you just give up on trying to look pretty? At this point I'm just the last part of Lola the Showgirl, with faded feathers in her hair. Now it's a disco. But not for Lola.
I watched 27-year-old Alex, or however the hell old she is, I just say in my mind that they're all 27 cause what's the difference. It's all the same from 20 to 34, for me anymore. Anyway, I watched her pick up mascara tubes and read the back like it was nothing. "How the hell can you do that?" I asked, reaching in my purse.
Out of the 39494958333204 reading glasses I own, the only ones in my purse were my tinted Miss Blankenship-from-Mad-Men ones they gave me at work.
Youthful Alex was debating volumizing shampoos, a thing I could not help her with at all, but when she finally looked up at me, she interrupted herself in midsentence to say, "Wait. Why are you Bono now?"
I do not know why, but in these last few suicidal gaping maw days, that sentence creeps into my head and I giggle like an idiot.
I like how you can see a reflection of me in my Blankenspecs. It is a metaphor for my life.
In other news, Edsel is goofy.
Good job on making him sit first. I suppose most of you saw Eds's french fry face on Facebook, and hey, June, alliterate. But I wanted to be sure to share it with the masses. The tens of you who read me and aren't on Facebook. Basically any time I show you something on Facebook and then here the next day it's mostly because I know my mother hasn't seen it.
Of course, now my mother's going to say something like, "You can make french fries at home, yourself. Save money."
Yes. Let me just go purchase potatoes, purchase whatever the hell you need to make them that shape--would that be a knife?--purchase oil, salt and pepper and then boil them in said oil or whatever the hell you do. Sounds convenient.
Following is a list of things my mother has told me I could just make at home to save money:
- Those protein packs from Oscar Meyer, with the cheese, turkey cubes and nuts in it. Yes, after I've rustled up that turkey, I so could!
- Rotisserie chicken
- An ottoman
Okay, I got off track, but "ottoman" did remind me of some magnificent news. I know I've told you before I joined NextDoor (Big Book of June Events page 1337), a site where you and all your neighbors can speak electronically rather than in real life because face to face is horrifying. Anyway, you get to go on there to discuss when you all hear a siren or a scream because someone chopped off their own hand making homemade coal.
You also get to read about people "rehoming" their dogs, and I realize I rehomed one--47--of them just this year, but it was because they'd be so dead otherwise. ("You know, honey, you can make a dead dog at home. Saves money.") Anyway, despite all that, I get to sit in lofty judgment of all the "rehomers."
THE POINT IS, I saw a notice on Sunday that someone was getting rid of their ottoman because they're moving, and I got right in my car in my pajama top and got it.
Look! Look, look! Oh, see June's ottoman.
I loaded that big-ass motherfucker into my car all by myself. It was some feat. Also, the top opens so you can store stuff, but I haven't decided what needs storing. Maybe I'll just put the cats there till I need them.
Why the hell is that dog on the couch? June's Iron Fist Dog Discipline School. Branches are opening near you! Sign up now!
Anyway. Ima go. I'm wearing a skirt today. Though it might cheer me up to be able to bend over and look straight at m'cooch. You gotta get joy where you can find it these days.
Oh, before I go, I will show you this.
Every day at 3:00 at work, we take a walk in the park nearby. I took this photo yesterday and I love it. That's Austin's kid in front, there. She worked with us for awhile yesterday because Martin Luther King said she had to. I like that kid. I guess Austin can't show her she's in a world-famous blog (Serving 15 readers!) because I have just said "cooch" and "motherfucker" in the last minute and a half.
Catch you later, from down here in the Silence of the Lambs pit,