Bye Bye, Pie!

If I leave here tomorrow would you still remember me?

I am in my hometown, on mom's super-fast, really extra speedy computer that by the way--wow!--is a quick one. Honest engine, I typed in "iGoogle" to her search bar and the computer went, "ZZZZZZZZ...wut? Dude. ...Wait, wut? It's only 1:30 p.m., man. It's too early."

Anyway, the funeral was really nice, as funerals go. It really was. The minister talked about Gertrude's dad in such a good way. They talked about how much her dad loved nature; when he put in a pool, he made it go all the way around the trees so he wouldn't have to take any down. He sounds like he was a cool guy--I only met him a few times in all these years of being Gertrude's friend, which is odd.

My point is, my mother seems to have a cold, or allergies, or just really wanted to stick in my craw today, because here's how the funeral went:

Pastor: Rich was a generous man...

Mom: COUGH! coughcoughcoughcough. COUGH!

Pastor: He loved nature and--

Mom: HACK! coughcoughcoughcough.

Pastor: --and he was loved by so many--

Mom: coughcoughcoughcoughcoughcough--HAIRBALL--cough.

Jesus Katie Christ. I was never so distracted in all my days. Finally she got up and got a lozenge, which the funeral home actually has in a bowl for just such funeral-ruiners.

At the end of the funeral, once mom had entered the Halls of Medicine, they played Warron Zevon's Keep Me in Your Heart, which, wow. Good song.

 

Then they played a special rendition of everyone's favorite, Would June's Mom Please Stop Fucking Coughing.

Oh!
I saw Hulk. Here is what he wore on his date last night, which he went on before he came to see me for sloppy seconds or whatever. Let's all help Hulk with the shoe issue, shall we? Please?

Anyway. So, I guess tomorrow is it. I have to be honest with you. I don't know if I can do this. I really don't. The closer I get to being done with my blog the more sad I feel. I really don't know if I want to give it up. Is that ludicrous? I did, but then so many of you wrote me nice things, and the reality is hitting me and ack. I really don't know.

I mean, I DO know Hulk needs new shoes. I know that. And that mom needs an iron lung. Those things I know for sure. As Tallulah said in Taluprah Magazine: What Know For Sure. Puggles is Stupid.

Argh.

Talk at you tomorrow. I'd like to note that my mother is in the kitchen and has not coughed once while I wrote this.

Oh, thank God

We thought my Aunt Sue was really sick. It looks like everything is okay. She just got back from the doctor.

I am so glad. I honestly could not have handled one more damn-ass thing.

In which the theme song from What's Happenin' is whipped out

I wish Edsel could be any more passionately in love with his grandpappy. Last night my stepfather took a book of poetry to the dining room table (me too) to read because he didn't want to watch Real Housewives (why the rerun? You know who'd be a good addition to Real Housewives? Rerun.)

 

and anyway Edsel, for the first time ever, slept under the dining room table. That was only after he'd been gazing worshipfully at my stepfather for many moons.

Edsel has man issues, have you noticed that? He is from a broken home.

Anyway, yesterday I schlepped my mother and stepfather out to the shelter, to meet Virgin Mary Bailey Ingalls, and the stupid shelter was closed. There was no room at the inn. I mean, what the? Just because I had the day off doesn't mean the shelter workers deserved one. GOD.

So after that fruitless effort we did the next-best thing and went to a movie with Dick Whitman. It's not like we said, "Well, that's out. Let's call Dick Whitman." He had been on our agenda, anyway. He'd wanted to Southernly charm my mother, which I did not think he could do, but it turns out he totally did.

We all went to see My Week with Marilyn, not that I literally spent a really fast week with somebody named Marilyn and let them watch, it is a movie with Michelle Williams, who kind of bugs me. She always seems kind of beleaguered. And you know what I think? No one should try to play Marilyn Monroe. Because you can pad your bra and your hips and puff out your lips all you want. You are still not gonna have that thing that she and I have.

How much do you enjoy me?

Really, though. She had a kind of magic and that is why we are all fascinated by her and that is why no one can really play her. Dick Whitman pointed out that's why no one should play Elvis, either. True, that.

See. I thought this would be funny, making them stand under the "Boys" sign, but then it turns out you just can't really see them. I shoulda brought my real camera and not just my cell phone. You spend 9 million dollars on a cell phone, it should at least take good pictures.

Remember when it was just exciting to have a phone that took pictures? Now we want really good pictures. Remember when it was just exciting to have a phone outside?

Anyway, the whole drive home from Dick Whitman I had to answer a bunch of questions about why I'm not dating Dick Whitman, kind of like here on this blog. Dick Whitman, could you have been a little LESS charming? Now I gotta hear it from everyone. Fortunately, when things get really heated, I get to whip out the "allergic to cats and dogs" thing. That shuts everyone up.

"Well. That's true," everyone says. You know this leopard isn't gonna change her spots on that one.

Anyway, my mother and stepfather leave today and my best friend gets here tomorrow and June is an entertaining fool.

But you knew that.

Merry Christmas, 2011 Choking Hazard--Do Not Eat.

Do you think I have some kind of issue that I am taking time out from Christmas to blog? I think I have blogged every Christmas since I started this rather all-absorbing hobby, and for that? I am weird.

My mother and stepfather got here yesterday, and here is the part where everyone's gonna say, "Oh, your mom is so cute!" Yes. I KNOW my mother is cute, okay? And that I look nothing like her and that I am a dog. I realize that part. Did I ever tell you about my wedding day, when everyone stampeded to me to tell me, "Your mother looks beautiful." WHOSE DAY IS IT?

Anyway, I like how it looks like she is wearing a wreath on her head. Did you see my pink wreath?

June. Being a really-super-gay gay man at Christmas since, you know, birth. June. The Elton John of Christmas.

As has been the prevailing theme this year, my mother and stepfather immediately said, "Open one of your presents right away," so I did. It was a DVD player! As you may or may not know, I have not had one all year, and have lived like a cave woman, with my club and my loincloth and my pointy Wilma phone.

Mostly they had me open it so my beleaguered stepfather could put it together, and why are men always stuck with tasks such as this? And then after we all watched Its a Wonderful Life, for a new and different experience. We all said the lines before they got there, such as, "Say, brainless" and "George, why must you torture the children" and one wonders why we watch it when we could mime it in its entirety.

Also, and I hope you are holding on to your hat, but I commenced to cooking.

I KNOW!

Note my ease and naturalness in with kitchen implements. I made macaroni and cheese, and as I said in the comments, if any normal person made that for Christmas Eve dinner, people would say, "Oh, is she dying of something? That poor thing. She cobbled together what she could." But when it's ME, my family was all. WOW! Get the CAMERA! There's FOOD in the kitchen and stuff!

I know, right? Who is a chef? Low expectations, people. You gotta underachieve and then everyone appreciates you when you don't.

Nothing says yuletide like pink plates.

After dinner, we went to my neighbor Peg's church because going to TinyTown just seemed like too far to drive after my mother and stepfather had driven 558549399 miles and all. Peg is a member of the choir and I know a lot of her fellow Preses--when she has parties, her church friends drink 7&7s, which they call a "Pres," as apparently it's the Presbyterian drink of choice.

It was a really fancy church, and the pastor had on Burberry pants, I am not making that up. Eventually they handed out candles and dimmed the lights, and as I do every year, I said, "I'm having an aneurysm." Because what's more hilarious than that?

Anyway, my mother turned to me and with the wisdom of Solomon said, "We're going to sing Silent Night now."

Really? Do you think?

I do not have kids. In case you hadn't noticed that. So maybe I am wrong about this theory. But I think if you spend a few years teaching someone how to wipe their arse and to, you know, not breathe under water and not put their tongues in sockets, it's hard to turn that off.

"I was thinking we'd all break into Beer Barrel Polka," I said, loving myself for that as much as I do my annual aneurysm joke.

At the end of church, they gave us all angel ornaments.

Isn't that the most beautiful sentiment?

Anyway, today we, you know, opened our gifts, as one is wont to do on Christmas morning. And if you read this blog and sent me a gift, could you email me your address? I got so many lovely things, and some of you said, "Open it right away" and some didn't, and I am just telling you I need everyone's address to write thank-you notes and I don't wanna leave anyone out. So could you just do me that large favor, please? Thank you. Otherwise I will feel guilty for the rest of time.

What would have been lovely is being able to put my gifts under the tree all this time, then anticipate what they could be, like, you know, normal people do. People who don't have Edsels.

However, I am a person who has an Edsel, so everything had to be traditionally piled on the piano and corner cabinet. Just like in the days of yore.

Oh, and this is apropos of nothing, but my mother brought a chair that belonged to my grandmother. When Grammy owned it, it was kind of a burgundy naugahyde, and if my friend Iain is reading, he may recall making out with Beth on it circa 1980.

Santa came to the dogs' stockings, and I wonder if this picture could be more violently all-Christmas-all-the-time. I took this about three hours ago and Talu is at my feet now, STILL CHEWING, and she managed to steal poor Edsel's bone and has that under her foot, too. Because she is full of the Christmas spirit.

Santa also came to my stocking, via me getting something for me and putting it in there. Oh! Was I surprised. As are all of you, I'm certain. Wait, it's pink? It's vintage-y? It has a cat on it? And girly flowers? Who would have KNOWN?

I also got myself this, because I adore me and I adored this cup. Both items I got at my friend Kit's store (Design Archives, because the three Greensboro readers who read this are going to STAMPEDE there and make her a millionaire, thanks to me and my plugging).

Other people other than beloved me got me gifts. Seriously. I am so easy to buy for. Is it pink? Does it sparkle? DONE! The bracelet is from Aunt Mary. The rings are from my stepsister.

And remember in the fall, when I so blatantly guilted my mother into giving me a mud-trapping rug? Got it. Note the destroyed candy cane already mussing it. No idea where Talu is and why she is not viciously guarding it. She is probably in the other room castrating Edsel over the other bone.

Okay, I must go shower now and continue with Christmas. I hope yours is going swimmingly, unless you do not celebrate Christmas, in which case I hope your Sunday is easy like Sunday morning.

XO,

June

 

 

 

 

Miracle of Christmas

I am still sad. A few days back, maybe even a week ago, I said I was gonna take a blog break, because I was sad, and then apparently because I can never shut up, I continued blogging. But sad I still am.

I am like Sam, I am. But I am sad, I am. If I had ham and any colored eggs I might feel better.

It is probably the stupid time of the year, when we're supposed to be remembering what we have and all I can do is think of what I have not, and appreciating our families, and all I can concentrate on is how mine has been torn asunder. Because I don't like to be dramatic and use phrases like "torn asunder" when I'm sad or anything.

And yes, I DO consider my cats my "family." Shut up. In the past year, I lost Francis, Winston, Henry and now Anderson. June can't keep a cat.

I did cheer up a little yesterday when Faithful Reader Letha sent jingle bell collars for the pets I did manage to keep, though.

wut we get?

dis not pleese lu, ant leetha.

wyyy dis hapeneeng?

&###%@.

#@@!@&@##*&&%!!!

So that helped. They are all jinglng around like a band of the unmerriest men imaginable.

Anyway, I had to go to PetSmart, which they might as well name JuneSmart. Or perhaps June-is-not-so-smart. With The Pets, Already, June. They should just name it that and let the rest of America be all, "...?"

I had to buy who-even-knows-what, and they were playing annoying Christmas music, which depresses me on a good year, but this year it is even worse. So I'm over there looking at the Martha Stewart collection because it hypnotizes me whenever I go in there, and the music is making me kind of get weepy, and I really don't want to cry in PetSmart because what kind of freak cries in PetSmart?

This one. This kind of freak.

Martha Stewart's signature blue bowls and collars are getting wavery behind my tears when I hear, "Well, isssssn't that the cutest thing."

That's what my gramma used to say about stuff. Issssssn't that the cutest thing. I tended to not agree with her about whatever it was she found cute, because she was more a human baby person and less an animal person.

I turned around, and there was an old lady who looked like my grandmother. I am not kidding. I mean, they weren't TWINS, but she had big brown eyes and curly brown hair like she'd had it set possibly with a Toni home perm, and sort of a welcoming look about her.

"These cards are so cute," she said to me. I don't know if I've mentioned I'm the world's most approachable person. I have no idea why this is, but I do have to say I never mind being approached. Of course, at this particular moment I was .0004 seconds from bursting into tears and saying things like "torn asunder," so it wasn't my best moment.

I went over to gramma-looking lady. There was an assortment of cards that I would never in a million years buy, because I consider myself too sophisticated for them.

They were actual photographs of dogs and cats, and they had cute sayings inside. But the old lady, who looked like my gramma? She could not get enough of these cards. I decided as one of my good deeds, I'd stay and let her show them all to me.

"Ohhhhh, would you look at this one," she said. It was a dog and a cat looking at a star.

"May the miracle of Christmas fill your heart with joy," said the woman, looking straight at me.

"That's nice," I said, humoring her. Did I mention my extreme sophistication?

"May the miracle of Christmas fill your heart with joy," she said again, still looking at me. "Issssn't that sweet?" She sounded so much like my grandmother.

"It is," I said. "Are you, um, gonna get the cards?"

"May the miracle of Christmas fill your heart with joy." She held my wrist a little. And looked at me. I looked at her. She had brown eyes exactly like Gramma.

After a moment she looked down. "They're $14.95. I shouldn't get them."

"Oh, get 'em," I said. I am also a financial adviser and life coach. I started to walk away to get whatever I was gonna get, but after a moment I turned back to her.

"Merry--" I started to say.

She was gone.

 

June rambles

I'm done with my statistics proofreading work! Wooooo! Bring on the cash!

I did what any hard-partying gal such as myself would do after two weeks of working like a scullery maid. Tall Boy and I stampeded to Winston-Salem to see a movie.

Ceeeeelebrate good times, come on!

There is this pretentious art theater in Winston called Apeture, and if you are into that sort of thing, aka not Hulk, I highly recommend it. We saw a movie about some young girl who was screwed up. She was really hot and sometimes she was naked.

Have I ever told you about how Tall Boy gets the most enormous bags of popcorn available to mankind? Seriously, a crane needed to be brought in to lift that thing. It must be nice to be nine feet tall and be able to eat quantities unimaginable to normally heighted people. Honestly. He will eat with gusto 96 pieces of pizza to every one I have. And he is not remotely fat. It is fascinating.

I wonder if I could get stretched somewhere. Like when a shoe is too tight.

When we were done with the girl-who-was-screwed-up movie (she never got better. It was an art film. People don't get better.), we came back here and watched Tallulah hump Roger. Tallulah. Ruining a mood since 2007.

It's almost Tallulah's birthday, by the way. She will be four! Remember when she was just a pup?

Here she is ruining a package the Nester made me.

Now she is a big adult who is over it.

why rooin pakige? something in it for lu? goin to nap now.

I don't know what we're doing for her birthday. I was thinking maybe Chuck E. Cheese. I'm sure that would go over well. Especially if I brought that rocket scientist Edsel along. What traumatized children?

Maybe I'll just have a few dogs over and hire a magician.

Do people even do that anymore for kids' birthdays or does everyone have a big production for their kids like they do on Real Housewives? The last time I was at a birthday party for a child was probably my cousin's birthday when she was 12. She is 35 now. As I recall, there was cake and all my uncles sat around out-funnying each other. Then someone suggested we go to the cemetery.

Ending a family get-together with a drive to the cemetery is big in my family. We are kind of like an art film. If we don't do that, we get ice cream. What they should do is open an ice cream stand in the cemetery. I come from Catholic people. My home town could stand to make a fortune.

Okay, I have to go. It is my boss's boss's birthday and he is a very cool guy, so we decided to surprise him with doughnuts and guess who lives closest to the doughnut store? Guess who has never brought doughnuts despite her obscene proximity to said store? Guess who sucks? So it's me and some long pink boxes today walking into the building.

Maybe after we'll all go to the cemetery.

In which June references Mr. McGee. As you do.

Sorry I'm late. I had the NERVE to try to recycle 14 photos on my desktop and you can imagine the 40 dramatic fits my computer had. I'm like Mr. McGee from the Raspberry Beret song. I don't like this computer's kind, because it's a bit too leisurely.

Who is eagerly awaiting her credit card? So she can TOSS THIS COMPUTER INTO HOT FLAMES? As opposed to cold flames.

Also, I love the political correctness of having a recycle bin on your computer instead of just a trash can. You aren't RECYCLING anything. You're throwing it away. Good gravy.

Have I made utterly no sense so far in this post? Sorry.

I've lost my head.

I love how you can see my purse behind this poor headless woman. Maybe her head is in there.

I really have lost my head a little, though. This morning I knew I was out of cans of kitten food and Sterling/Cooper were gonna be PISSED, but what I also didn't realize was I was dangerously low in crunchy food. Who was setting herself up to be murdered by her own pet family? It was gonna be like that really good show about people who have dumb pets, like bears or venomous snakes, and the story always ends with the stupid person not showing up to work, and all they find are a few Hello Kitty earrings and some hair.

Fortunately I had a can of tuna.

Yoo lukky, bitz.

Do you know what I really need, now that my freelance money has come in and I do not have to live on $10 as I was doing last week? I need actual cat-and-dog-food bowls. Edsel ate both of his, and the cats knocked their cute yellow and blue flower bowls to the ground and broke them, and really why do I feed these useless animals? Maybe I'll go on Etsy and try to find unchewable, unbreakable bowls.

In other news, my uncle Bill came to town last night, and no, I am not Buffy or Jody.

I am, however, totally Sissy. Anyway, he is here for a conference, and what could be more exciting than a conference? Why do they have conferences? Does anyone ever like them? Or want to be at them? Or find them rewarding?

Nevertheless, here he is. I made him go to the Vietnamese restaurant in my neighborhood, and oddly, every single time I have been there I have sat at this same table. I was just there the other day with Daniel Boone. At this table. I in fact emailed this photo to D Boone last night, because it is necessary he be kept abreast of my every move. So to speak.

Anyway it was fun to see Uncle Bill. It's always fun to see one of my relatives NOT at a family function, because you may be surprised to hear this but my family tends to talk a lot, and all at the same time, and about 30% of what you say gets heard, and my point is we could actually speak to each other last night like normal people.

He got to meet Tallulah, who I think he's never met before. I took Edsel with me to Uncle Bill's last Thanksgiving, so he had that vastly pleasurable meet-Edsel experience already.

Uncle Bill can make many good sound effects, and he kept meowing like a cat and oh! Did my dogs ever tilt their heads when he did it. "Dis guy. He cat or man person?" They were baffled.

I never said I had genius dogs.

Oh! And finally, I put my Latisse on last night! Miss Doxie emailed me my whole bag of cosmetics, thank all that is holy and merciful, and you can imagine how I did not stampede to the Latisse at all. How do I look? Are my lashes luxurious yet? Are you having trouble reading this with my lashes in the way?

That made no sense. As opposed to the rest of this sensical post.

Okay, goodbye. Am gonna do stupid Insanity workout tonight so wish me luck. I hope my eyelashes don't bend on the floor during the push-up portion of the evening.

 

Hulk eats chick pee. A tale by June.

Do you know what people need to do right now? Is leave me alone. I have been gone a bunch of days this month, so I am behind on everything, and I have one of my statistics textbooks to work on, and I feel like it's all I can do to get to my next mission.

Go to work, walk the dogs, post something on my blog, make lunch, work on textbook and then BOOM! I get one of those phone calls or emails: "Where ARE you? Why am I not hearing from you?"

You wanna know what stresses me out? One of those messages. All you have to do is look at my blog or Facebook to know I have not expired. I AM BUSY RIGHT NOW, PEOPLE.

DANG.

Anyway. Hulk was kind enough to take time out of his frenetic schedule (go to work, think about sports, think about naked women, put on Hawaiian shirt) to post about our evening at my cousin's wedding, so now I will do so.

The day dawned early for me, as I had to be at a hair salon to get some random gorgeous Indian woman to wrap me in my sari. And by "early" I mean I had to be there at 2:00. Whatever.

This is the undergarment portion of the sari. June. Showing her chones on her blog since 2011. Unless I have shown them before. In which case it'd be since whatever year that was.

Out of all the white chicks going to this shindig in a sari, not a one of us knew how to wrap ourselves up in it. "Can't we Google it?" I asked. I always want to turn to Google first. Often I wonder how I lived without Google. Sometimes I Google that. "How did I live without you?" I ask Google.

Anyway, I wish I had thought to take pictures of everyone emerging from the room where the hot Indian woman above wrapped everyone's sari. It was so beautiful! Magenta, yellow, violet, green--every bright color you can think of emerged from that room.

Mom took the shot above and you can see whose photography gene I inherited. Mom was all excited because the wrapper woman was Muslim, and my cousin is Catholic and she's marrying a Hindu. She got all we-are-the-world, Wee Pals about it. I just waited for my sari to be done.

Here's a picture of the wedding party, so you can see how lovely all the colors were. So cool! My cousins include the bride in white, my cousin Katie next to her in pink--and yes I DID want that pink sparkly one, but that's the dress Maria was married in in India, so I did not rate that one, my cousin Jennifer in purple third from left and my cousin Nonnie at the end in black and blue. The other womenses are Maria's many many friends.

I had to, you know, hang out in my sari all afternoon, but it was so comfy I ended up falling asleep on the couch with it on for about an hour. June. Taking advantage of every last second she had in Michigan.

Finally at 6:00 on the dot, Hulk arrived, because Midwesterners are a timely people. He had his ludicrous Indians shirt on and we all got a big charge out of his ridiculous self.
My mother had some of her friends over already before the wedding, because she's sociable that way. If I had people in and out my house all the time like my mother has, I would commit hari-kari. I am sort of an introvert in my own strange way. I like my alone time.

Hulk and I drove over there alone, although originally my mother had asked if she could ride with us, as she was getting up with my stepfather there. "You want to...ride with us?" I asked. "Yes, and maybe Hulk's mom should come too," mom said, getting a big kick out her own self. "I mean, shouldn't he bring his wife?"

The Hulk-married-his-mom joke. Being dropped by any of us since 2008. (If you just got here, a few years back Hulk witnessed his mom's wedding at the courthouse. He signed the wrong line and technically married her. The end.) (We have not let it drop for even a millisecond.)

Oooo, right away when I got there I knew everything was gonna be pretty.

A Ganesha ice sculpture! Too cool! Literally.

As Hulk told you, I got him a seat at the bar and loaded us up with delicious Indian food. There were American things too, but why eat those when you can get Indian tidbits?

You'd have thought I presented Hulk with a plate of my innards.

"What...is all this?" he asked, looking horrified. Who on this earth hasn't heard of hummus? Hulk. That's who. And you should've seen the teensy girly bites he would take, and then spit everything out like a fussy toddler. Thank heavens they were serving American light beer or he'd have been doomed.

Hulk got to meet my whole family, and he bonded with Aunt Sue over wanting cheese and crackers and fruit to eat, and I am sorry to tell you the two of them may have chanted "USA! USA!" while they headed for "real" food.

WhatEVER with the xenophobia.

The dining room itself was dark, and I took 2949403 photos and not one turned out well.

Here's a bad picture of me putting the napkin on my head.

Here's another bad picture of me balancing a spoon on my nose.

June. Bad at photography. Good at being appropriate at weddings.

Here's kind of a cool picture of the bride and groom making their entrance, which only showed up because the real photographer's flash went off for me. I think Sachin, my new cousin-in-law, is hot. Mrs. Robinson called...

Ooo, speaking of which, I was in line for dinner and there was a cute cute cute boy behind me. Hulk and I were not in line together so I was free to hit on just everyone. We talked, and he told me I looked great in my sari, and we started discussing if we still lived in Saginaw. "I left in 1992," I told him.

"I was four in 1992," he said.

It was at that point that I impaled myself on the Ganesha sculpture.

At any rate, Hulk and I giggled and cavorted and chatted with people and had an excellent time. And I am pleased to report he was willing to dance, which is more than I can say for most dates. In fact, I kept getting up and bursting onto the dance floor without checking if he wanted to come with me, so used to undancey dates am I.

Enclosed please find a photo of my cousin Katie and me, shakin' our goove thangs. Also in the background in the black pattered dress is my other cousin Katy (yes, we have two Kat[y]ies) and my cousin Missi in the white skirt. The four of us are dancing fools at all weddings.

It occurred to me my post about this night was gonna suck, seeing as I could get no good photos, so I took this one while I was on the pot in the women's room Note the beautiful necklace Faithful Reader Furry loaned me!

And yes. Hulk did not lie. After the food, the drinks, the photo booth, the 99493040 hours of dancing and the hobnobbing with my family, he took me home and we only got to third base.

If third base is hugging. I forget.

While I've been writing this? I just got a message from the textbook place. Can I proofread a web ad, a letter, and a catalog in the next few days on top of the book I am reading?

"June, why haven't I heard from you!!?!?!" AACCCK!

Namaste.

Hulk's Story: Going with June to a Family Wedding

[Seeing as Hulk has already written his post, and I have not written mine, I will publish his now and you'll see mine on Tuesday...]

So we kissed.  Lightly at first, smiling, giggling, playfully looking into each other’s eyes, like schoolkids hoping not to get caught by our parents.  But then the kiss grew more passionate.  I held her face in my hands; she pulled her body into mine as she wrapped her arms around me. I began to reach down—

GOTCHA!!

Who loves himself? 

June informed me that we were going to write a “he said/she said” post about our date to her cousin’s wedding reception. “Um…what?” I asked helpfully.  She replied, “I asked you a month ago if you would write a guest post about tonight and you agreed.  Have it to me by Sunday.”  “Hmmm…God help you, Whitman” I thought to myself.  But I decided that since refusing was only going to hurt my chances at getting some action later, I agreed to do it.  Here is the play-by-play…

June and I attended her cousin’s wedding reception; a joyous affair to be sure.  June’s family is just as nice, and nuts, as she is.  And I mean that in a good way…

The evening began by me getting dressed in my best shirt and tie.  And my Tribe jersey.  What? It was an Indian wedding…

Okay.  Bad joke aside, June met me at the front door, and I must say, she looked absolutely stunning in her sari. I mean, I was like, “Damn.  I should really try to tap that later…” (Hi, Mother!) 

June introduced me to some family friends as “Hulk.”  I mean, really.  I HAVE a real name.  But no. To everyone June knows I am Hulk. And for some reason they are always excited to meet me. Now THAT part I understand. But really? “Hulk”? What am I, nine? But I digress…

The reception was only a few minutes away from Mother’s house, and we arrived around 6 PM.  One of the first people I met was Uncle Leo.  

Uncle Leo’s first word to me? “Hello…”  Just like on ‘Seinfeld’! I am sure it was completely unintentional, but that was it. I was dead right there. Uncle Leo was dressed in traditional Indian garb. I think. I’ve never been there. But he looked good. None the worse for wear after his throwing-up-for-days episode.

June and I then entered the bar area, where there was a table full of hors d'oeuvres.  Now, a little about me here.  I am a picky eater.  Like 10-year-old-girl picky. And yet I am overweight. Figure that one out. Anyway, June got us a plate to share full of all kinds of Indian food. There were green things, fried green things, and hummus.  She told me hummus is made from chick peas.  You can imagine the giggles I had over THAT. Chick pee. But I wanted to be open-minded, so I tried a few items.  I’m not sure, but I think I tasted goat balls. And I am SURE there was sliced animal penis as well.  I was Tom Hanks in Big when he tries the caviar…

And, I must say this here: June talks to EVERYBODY. EVERY.BODY. We were taking our seat at the bar and she was chatting up some dude before her fanny hit the cushion! He must have thought he hit the jackpot, what with this hot chick in a blue sari all, “What do you do? Where do you live?”…Then there was the retired doctor who was sucking down screwdrivers like someone was gonna TAKE them from him.  June was all, “Who here are you friends with?  Do you have any children?  What does your son do?”  “He’s an emergency room physician…”  (Huh.  An Indian doctor whose son is a doctor. You could have knocked me over with a feather…)

June also used this time (and it was a LOOOOONG time, as the bridal party took forever to arrive, irking June to no end) to point out hot women for me to check out.  “There’s one…the gal with the long black straight hair…”  “It’s an INDIAN wedding, June,” I replied. “Could you be a little LESS specific?? I mean, throw a dart…”  But there were some very attractive ladies there.  I was hesitant to really point any out myself, for fear of June going, “That’s my 24-year-old cousin, you perv!”  And June, I have to say, you were as gorgeous as any of them.  Now now…don’t get the wrong idea here.  I’m just saying…don’t worry about dudes not finding you attractive. Honey, you are a babe.  Nice rack, too…

Finally the happy couple arrived, and we were herded in for dinner. Except that we still couldn’t eat.  There were the introductions of the wedding party, there were the 589437768484 speeches made by every person the bride and groom ever met  and then a reading by June’s stepdad (which June and I snickered through, irking MOTHER to no end, I am sure), there was the leaning cake-cutting (I swear, the cake was LEANING; I cringed every time someone walked past that table).  Finally I had to excuse myself…I had to “break the seal,” if you know what I mean (I had three glasses of water and four beers.  My friggin’ TEETH were floating!).  When I got back, everyone at our table was gone!  Nice joke, gang.  Then I figured either someone farted, or it was our turn to eat.  Luckily I saw Mother in line, so off I went to join them.  After the goat balls, my picky self was scared at what they might serve as a main course, so I loaded up on salad.  Turns out though, that they had traditional Indian food on one side and good ol’ ‘Merican fare on the other.  Awesome prime rib and potatoes.  Whose heaping salad went virtually untouched?

After dinner and the typical dances with the parents and such, the partying began.  We danced, we drank, and we took pictures (shocked you are, I’m sure).  They even had one of those photo booths?  Like at carnivals?  With props and everything.  You get your picture taken, and then they glue it into an album for the couple.  Did June make me do this?  What do you think?  Years from now they will be looking through that book, and they’ll see our picture and go, “Why did June bring Shrek to our wedding reception?”

As the night wore on, I got to hear all the fun June’s family stories.  I got to be introduced as “Hulk” to people who had no clue what that meant.  I met Aunt Sue; I blame her.  I met Smokin’ Hot Aunt Kathy (SHOUT-OUT!!),
June’s beautiful cousin Katie that she always talks about (and she ain’t lyin’), Mother’s good friend (“Are you Hulk?? You’re so famous!!”)…all in all it was a fun night.

June and I left, and I dropped her off at Mother’s, gave her a hug (a HUG!) and said goodnight.  Sorry to disappoint you all, but we did NOT hook up. Really though…wouldn’t that kind of be the Jump The Shark moment for this blog?  Kind of like when Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepard got together on Moonlighting, no?

Unwrapping the sari and the turban

I went to the Indian wedding with Hulk.

 
Who loves himself?

Anyway, when I get home Sunday I will tell you all about it, and then Monday Hulk will tell his version of events.

In the meantime, here's a brief synopsis: