I finally slept last night, thank GOD. You have no idea how grateful you can be for the mere act of sleeping, if you haven't slept. Or maybe you do. I note a lot of middle-of-the-night-I'm-not-sleeping posts on Facebook. Is this a getting-old thing?
When I was a kid, I spent every Friday night at my grandmother's, and even though she had four bedrooms and five beds, I slept with her in her bed whenever I was there. I remember barely waking up to see her get out of bed 45 times a night. Or sometimes I'd wake up and see just the light of her cigarette ash in the living room while she sat in the dark. Being, you know, six, I'd drift right back off after.
Anyway, it'd been three nights in a row I've slept badly, and I was wondering how long till it actually kills you to not sleep, and why did my coworkers have horse's heads yesterday, and then to top it all off I had my BookUp yesterday.
Here are my friends Jo and Kit at the BookUp. We were originally going last week but it got postponed due to snow and ice and also snow. And ice. Anyway, a BookUp is a thing invented by Jo, where you all get together and read. We met at the new local bookstore, that also serves wine and coffee and food, and I did not even notice what Jo got last night but in the cold light of day it looks effing delicious.
Jo had a gift for me, because she's the kind of person who has gifts for you sometimes. I am never that kind of person. I am so not a girl.
Say, middle age! How're your eyes treating you? I enjoy having to play the trombone every time I attempt to read something without my reading glasses, which if you notice are right next to me anyway. Hey, middle age, how's your mind treating you? Also, you can see better the pretty ring Ned bought me for Christmas/our anniversary of dating. I like Ned.
She got me a new Venus razor! A few weeks ago I blogged about my harrowing experience buying a Rite Aid razor. Anyway, thanks, Jo. You're the fire of my desire.
And note my heels. I decided this week that my ankle was strong enough to get back to heels, because apparently I'm Carrie Bradshaw without the svelte. On my way in to the bookstore, there was a large group of hoodlums at a convenience store right next door, and they all complimented me on my heels. Naturally I took time out to tell each Crip about my sprained ankle and my return to heels, and maybe they were Crips Light or the Light in the Loafers gang, but they listened to the whole diatribe and even seemed interested. I have no idea where my ATM card is.
Anyway, look how cute. I love Ned. He always looks like he abhors me in every picture I ever take. Maybe he does, and I'm so completely delusional that I have no idea. "Would you please stop following me. I just want to read my book and possibly hit on Jo or Kit." And I'm all, "Ned loves me!!"
Despite hating me, Ned asked if I'd like him to make dinner for me afterward, and even though I'd had a tortilla with cheese, avocado and grape tomatoes before I got there, I said yes. Please see above reference to Carrie Bradshaw. And what I am saying to you, is while he was cooking, I watched him, and just like sometimes when I'm eating something and Tallulah focuses on me and her eyes droop at the same time, because what she'd really like to do is sleep and eat simultaneously, I pretty much passed out before dinner was served.
So I was asleep by 10:30, and do not remember waking up even once. And I could go right back to bed and sleep another eight hours, I promise you, but now I must go to work like a grownup.
Oh, but by the way, my ankle is not happy with me today. I think I may have pushed it with the heels thing. When I got out of bed, my ankle was yelling, and I have no idea why my ankle would sound like Mickey from Rocky--remember? His old grizzled coach?--but that's how it sounded. "Hey what's the idea? Whattaya doin' to me, with the heels? I oughta... WIN, ROCK. WIN!"
June. Limping out.
Last week, Faithful Reader LaUral had lunch with Ned and me, and because this is such a spectacular experience, she wrote a guest post about it. Or maybe I just said, "Write a guest post." Whichever.
Last week sucked. Not just sucked but suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked. I hate last week like Just Paula with her hookers and blow hates Sack o’ Doody Judy. Maybe more.
(Yes, Joooooooon: I know this is YOUR blog and therefore not about me, but there is a point here. Just wait. GOD.) (Which I just typed DOG and made myself laugh, because, Talu.)
So last week was dark and depressing and full of angst, but I held on because I was going to lunch Friday with Joooon. And, as a special bonus surprise guest, Ned. Because he is adorable and awesome and June said she’d invite his ass. Direct quote. [Note from June: I am not the kind of person to just INCLUDE her boyfriend at every turn. LaUral specifically said, "And Ned, if he's available." GOD.] [Really, don't you hate people who just bring their people along for everything? What if I want to just see you? Do you no longer exist as a separate entity? GOD.]
[I have not changed my name to God.]
So Friday I fled down to The Workspace o’ June, and together we screamed over to the restaurant to meet Ned. (Note: Said restaurant was approximately 0.00006734 milliseconds from work, so the screaming was brief.) Despite the fact that three days before, a blizzard raged through the South and shut us all the hell down, we elected to sit outside in the sunshine for lunch. (Crowded restaurant, y’all.) (And it was decently warm.) As a concession to their age the weather, though, June and Ned ordered hot tea. Did y’all know they are the same age as the Super Bowl? You’re welcome.
We perused the menu. We discussed the menu. Ned, of course, had taken note of the specials for the day, to boot. June inspected my rings (“Were they a set?” “No; he wanted something that really represented me, so he bought the stones loose.” BAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!) and my lipstick (“I couldn’t wear that.” “Yes, you could.” “No, I couldn’t. We have totally different coloring, so I’d look like a freak.” “Here. Put some on your hand.” “Huh. It doesn’t look bad.” “Told you.”) [Note from June: I'd have looked like Bonnie Franklin in that ginger color. Bonnie Franklin as a bag lady.] [God.]
Ned – much like Hulk at this exact moment – was nearly comatose with interest in our conversation. Fortunately, at that exact moment, testosterone showed up in the form of a yellow SS El Camino. Or El Camino SS. Whatever. It was loud, it was old, and it parked veryvery near us. And Ned liked him that El Camino.
(Ned is much cuter than the dog, though. And less hairy.)
June and I carried on discussing topics of grave import, such as what possessed her to purchase lipstick in a radiant orchid shade (not lying, y’all), until our food arrived. Ironically, after all the menu perusal, all three of us ordered the exact same thing: the ding and dang special, which was black bean chili and which was pretty effing awesome. It did NOT get a “GodDAMMIT” good from Ned, but still. It was scrumptious. Is what it was. Not that anyone could tell as Ned and I licked our bowls and sucked on the rims in an attempt to find some last molecule of chili. (June Eatslikeafrigginbird over there, meanwhile, didn’t even finish hers.) (But she did eat my deviled egg.) (And half of my grilled cheese sandwich, because it was better than hers.)
My god – I am annoying my own self with all this recapping. I can only imagine what faces our Serene June is making while reading this. OH! Speaking of making faces… June Who Gets Not At All Annoyed With Anyone Ever seethed at our waitress’s “cockblocking.” Some might see it as she was making conversation with the crazy people sitting outside while there was still ice on the ground, but no. Cockblocking. After sharing that tidbit with me and Ned (yes, that is grammatically correct), it was pretty funny to watch the faces o’ June every time the waitress came by. Not that I get any kicks out of watching people get irked. Nope. Not at all. Why do I find such delight in being with June, again? Hmm.
Meanwhile, dude with the El Camino had not yet come out of the convenience store. Apparently it takes a while to buy Doritos and such. We discussed hot wiring the car so Ned could “borrow” it, but then he and June would have to go on the lam from such a crime spree, and since “Bonnie and Clyde” is already taken, they would have to come up with other cool monikers. Ned suggested June’s handle could be “Raggedy.” (She had mentioned, in passing, her upcoming hair appointment for the weekend.) June icily suggested Ned’s new name could be “Notgettinany.”
Honestly, being around these two is one of the best things ever. They make me laugh. And they are still so gushy-in-love but it’s sweet and happy and not nauseating. And Ned? Is just adorable.
You know, I wonder how much June is going to edit this. Just sayin’. It will be my own version of Purple Cloveritis.
[NOTE: At this point, LaUral fell asleep on the couch while writing. She is certain that this will not annoy June at all, since she promised the post … a while before now.]
Dude with El Camino never did come out, so maybe there was a variety of Lance crackers to choose from. His radiant yellow beacon of manliness, however, shone brightly in the tepid sun, warming Ned’s heart and saving him from boredom as June modeled her radiant orchid lipstick and instructed me to never, ever let her cut her hair short again. (The lipstick is bright. As in, bubble-gum-Barbie-pink bright. It would probably work with SJP’s shoes that June covets.)
Sadly, enough time now has passed that other funny details have slipped my mind. I’m sure June will not be at all irked to fill some in and to correct me. But now I must return to the salt mines and put my nose to the grindstone so I can make hay while the sun shines. And, you know, keep my job. So I can have lunch with June and Ned again. If they’ll agree.
Maybe I’ll sweeten the offer with an El Camino…
I am ridiculous.
Hello, everyone. It's Monday. and my blown-out hair is starting to look a little ragged.
The whole all-straight look is so foreign to my locks, it's like it's fighting to make its wavy self known again. So piece by piece, the straight parts rebel and kink.
It's like how the smart German shepherd part of Edsel every one in awhile wins over the...let's call it rollicking Irish setter part of Edsel. He'll figure something out, or understand what I said, and it's all, "HEIL! GERMAN PART OF EDS IS HEA!" That was my German impression, saying "hea" instead of "here." You're welcome. But then Edsel's Irish setter part comes right back and he continues to cut soap.
Yesterday, Ned and I went to a book thingamajig at the fancy hotel here in town. That was the official name for it: Book Thingamajig.
It was at the same fancy hotel my mother and stepfather stayed in at Christmas. I kept expecting my mother to emerge from those doors with a shopping bag. Every time I picked them up, she had another shopping bag. "I brought treats for the dogs and seven dozen cookies." "I brought all new bedding for you, and 12 cans of house paint." "I brought a donkey, so we could have Los Posadas." Honestly, I don't know how she managed to get on the plane with 79,000 shopping bags.
Anyway. It was an event celebrating local authors, and I am pleased to say it had a great turnout. And there was fancy water served, infused with berries and citrus, that I wanted to try but worried had grapefruit in it, because I'm tons of fun.
When I got my hair dyed this weekend, the smells and so on made my throat close up, which I politely did not share with my hairdresser, but I got a serious migraine after, and broke out in a rash everywhere my hair touched on my body. "I wonder if there's some kind of pill I can take for these reactions," I said to Ned.
"Yes, a chill pill," he said.
My POINT is, local author event. Up there was my important friend Jo, signing one of her books.
And here's my important friend Sarah, who just won ANOTHER award for her poetry. A Pushcart. I wonder if she gets an actual pushcart? That might be nice. Turn it into a little wet bar.
I guess this is why I never win awards.
Ned, hobnobbing with the celebs. Teabagging with the celebs. Does he look all New York now, do you think? I'll have to show you the Empire State Building he got me. I mean, he didn't actually purchase the real building for me, which might have been nice.
Empire State Building Getting Makeover. New Yorkers Appalled at New Pink Sparkly Structure.
I have to go. My jacked-up hair and I must work. Oh, but before I go, I talk about the Super Bowl this week on Purple Clover. Sports talk with June. "June."
I think I've been pretty subtle about this, but Ned has been gone all week and I was vaguely aware that he was gone.
YAY! NED IS BACK!!!
Here's a picture he sent me from the Natural History museum. Ned loves him some natural history. Nothing about my history is natural. Make no bones about it. God, I'm hilarious.
Anyway, yesterday morning I got up and schlepped downtown to get my roots done, which were 50 feet long and they are still kind of see-able and so now I have to call my poor pregnant hairdresser, who looks like a pretty Maria Shriver, to tell her we need a re-do.
Here's a photo I took yesterday afternoon for the sole purpose of complaining about my roots today, because sometimes I start writing my blog in my head as I live my life, and I'm not sure that's 100% great, but there it is. Anyway, it turned out I liked this shot, because I look like the kind of schoolmarm who's gonna rip off your clothes and throw you on the desk despite the terrible sex-on-the-desk story Faithful Reader Tee told us in the comments the other day. If you don't read the comments, suffice it to say you should keep your man parts far away from desk drawers.
Ow. And I'm not being James Brown right now.
Anyway, see? My roots? Just a little? Well, I do. And pregnant Maria Shriver hairdresser is gonna be irked. Also, I am certain my pregnant Maria Shriver hairdresser has no clue who Maria Shriver is, as it turns out PMSH has a mom my age.
Nothing makes me happier than Price is Right losing horn. It's six seconds of perfection.
After my hair, I was already downtown, so I thought maybe I'd shop a little, perhaps pop in, just POP IN, to the midcentury modern furniture store, not that I was going to look at hot midentury modern furniture guy or anything. But first I stopped in and got some teriyaki chicken that turned out to be not even good.
I decided to get new dog beds, because knock wood, Iris has allegedly stopped peeing on everything all over yonder, so we'll see if these remain pee-free. My mother told me you can sometimes get dog beds for $5 at TJMaxx, and it turned out yesterday was not one of those days, but I did get them for $14.99 apiece.
After my not-at-all depressing time at TJMaxx (does anyone else find that place depressing?), I saw a nail place in the same strip, and since I sprained my ankle in November I've not had a pedicure. I STILL can't have one, as I cannot contort my ankle enough for one, but I DID get a mani. I was livin' large yesterday.
There was this cute old woman in there, in a Christmas sweatshirt with a collar attached to it. "I really have a problem with my toenails," she said, sliding on her coat. "They just get so long. I've tried pertnear everything."
After she left, all the nail ladies starting yammering in Vietnamese (is Vietnamese a language?), and I knew they were talking about her. How could you not? "Yeah, I just can't seem to figure out this nails-growing thing. How can I address this issue? Hmph. Stumped."
Anyway, that would have been entertainment enough for one day, but then I had Dick Whitman's party.
It was fun, and I met friends of DW I had never met before whom I loved, and it was one of those nights where you talk and laugh and all of a sudden it's 11:00 and you're all, How is it so LATE already?
I brought my substitute boyfriend Naughty Professor, and he was the life of the party. We all told stories about how religion influenced us growing up, and seeing as everyone there was a Southerner they had serious stories. Naughty Pro talked about how when he was a kid he went out to the yard and couldn't find his sister or mom anywhere. He panicked.
"Oh, no!" he thought. "The Rapture happened, and my mom and sister are gone and I got left here!"
I can assure you that thought never once crossed my mind during my hippie childhood.
But then I got the text, "I'm back in town," and I dumped Naughty Pro like God during the Rapture, and screamed over to Ned's and no photos were taken because I was too busy being happy.
Ned is back. Yay.
Talk at ya, cocksucker.
Oh, and P.S. Here's what we had for dessert. I know, dude. My life is perfect.
Ned comes home today!!
Ned comes home today!!!!
Did I mention Ned will be back?
He won't be back till late late late, though, which annoys. All the work part of his trip is done, so why can't he stampede home tout suite? Maybe I'll find a way to use "tout suite" every day. That'll be fun for all of us. Anyway, Faithful Commentor and New Yorker Paula said Ned would be dead to her if he didn't get pizza AND a bagel while he was in New York, so he did. Because god forbid he be dead to someone he's never met.
"Tell Paula my pizza was goddammit good," he told me, when he called me from the street, and had to say "What?" after every single thing I said to him. He went to dinner in Brooklyn last night, because he's trendy, but while HE was doing all that, I went to the movies in Greensboro.
I know! Envy.
I went with my friend Dan, who was rocking out with his Perrier out at my house, here. We went to see Wolf of Wall Street, which I ended up liking a lot more than I thought I would. There was a lot of your debauchery in that film.
"I feel like I've missed out, having never snorted cocaine off any woman," I said, as I dutifully threw out my popcorn box at the exit.
"Or say the word 'cocksucker.' I never really say that. I'm gonna try to work it in more," said Dan. "You want to get a cocksucking drink now, or are you tired?" he asked me.
Dan and I went to the same hotel bar where Ned and I had our first date, and where we went last Sunday to celebrate our anniversary of dating. Ned and I had had a really great bartender last Sunday night, and had chatted with him. In fact, I'd told him I'd put him in my blog, but the lighting in there is so awful that my pictures never turn out. My FLASH isn't working on my iPhone. Does anyone have tips for me?
My point is, that night, our anniversary, we were not what you'd call cold to each other. I think we may have held hands occasionally, and I know we were talking to each other like no one else was in the room--saying how glad we were to have spent these past two years together--and we kissed in public, which we don't usually do. I am just saying, no one looked over at us and said, "I wonder if those two are brother and sister?"
So when I walked in less than a week later with a whole 'nother dude last night, that bartender looked... crestfallen. And I could tell he was going to be smooth as silk and be all, "Hey, how are you? What can I get you, you two-timing trollop?" A dignified woman would just order and go on with her night, but I had to be all, "I'M NOT CHEATING ON MY BOYFRIEND. THIS IS MY FRIEND, DAN, WHO I REALIZE IS HANDSOME AND HE IS PRINCE WILLIAM OF GREENSBORO AND EVERY WOMAN WANTS HIM, BUT I AM THE EXCEPTION TO THE RULE. GET ME A DRINK. GOD."
And Dan was all, "I'd like a cocksucking whiskey, please, sir."
Anyway, the bartender said he sees a lot of stuff behind that bar, where he's worked for 11 years, and has sort of lost his faith in humanity. He'll see people bring in mistresses, hookers, one woman brings a guy in each Tuesday and another every Thursday, you name it.
I am so boring. I was 100% faithful to Marvin. It never occurred to me to NOT be.
Dan and I talked about his single life, which is relatively new to him, and how every woman in town would give their EYETEETH for a little Dan action. We laughed about how he could be on 50 dates last night, "But here I am with a friend while her boyfriend's in New York. Yeah, I've got it all together."
But really, his reticence to bang every middle-aged woman in the Triad is endearing, and will just make everyone love him more. He should teach classes. How to Seem Like a Nice Guy and Get Even MORE Women Up On You.
"I guess I should call someone and ask them to a movie or something," he said. "I could text a woman. 'Hey, cocksucker, wanna see a movie?'"
"I beg you to do that. I think that's what all women just want to hear," I told him, and I, too, should teach a class.
Anyway, we had fun, and gossiped, and I giggled like an idiot, and finally it was time to go. "Thanks, cocksucker, I had fun!" we said as we parted ways.
Tonight Dick Whitman is having a partayy, and I will fill you in on all the details tomorrow. Or the deets. Do you wish I said "deets" more often?
There are many things I've been meaning to tell you, then I get here to my computer and forget. I am doing the same thing with Ned, who is finally in New York, and every time we talk or email I think, "Oh, yeah, I was saving up to tell him..."
Why does that happen?
Anyway, the FIRST thing I wanted to tell you was the other night I came home and plopped my own self on the couch tout suite. I actually have no idea what "tout suite" means, but I think it means, like, right away. I was tuckered out, and wanted to rest my eyes a minute before continuing on with my pressing evening.
The moment I am remotely still in this house, all 72 animals get on me. I am not even kidding you. It's all, oooo, she hestitate one minnit? get up on dis. I haven't peed alone in six years. So anyway, that night, Lily immediately jumped on the couch and curled up right against me, which is cute.
A minute later I felt a terrible nearness, and when I opened my eyes, there was Lu, eyes boring into both our souls. And instead of just jumping up and getting near me some other way, that dog got on her hind legs, and with her dog arm, just SWOOPED poor Lily off the couch. You know that gesture you'd make if you were to dramatically sweep everything off a desk? Like they do in movies before they have sex, and I don't know about you, but office desks never really get me in a mood. And the whole time I was doing it, I'd be thinking, Right after this we're just gonna have to clean everything up.
The other thing I've been meaning to tell you is on Friday night I am going to the movies with my hot friend Dan, who you all got so enamoured with when I showed him two other times. Y'all need to calm down. But you're not the only ones; all of my single friends are all up into him, as well. Dan is a lovely person, but he's no Ned. Y'all missed the boat when you didn't get with Ned before I got to him.
Anyway, somehow my hot friend Dan and I got on the subject of JDate, which is a dating site where you meet Jewish men. "I'm going to start my own dating site, Methodist Date," he wrote me. "All the men on there will be sort of liberal but too quiet to really take a stand. And we'll all wear cords and button-downs in our profile pictures. Our religious affiliation will tell you nothing about how we're endowed."
Who loves his own Methodist self? "We'll have banner ads for pleated khakis and frozen yogurt. Oh! But remind me to put down that I'm a playa," he wrote.
Okay, whatever with him. But I love the idea of MDate. I'm so inventing that and stealing his entrepreneurial dollars.
And speaking of loving our own selves, today my boss was talking about how his neighbors have rats. "It's really a problem," he told us, as opposed to work's new open floor plan, which is not a problem at all, because as you can see it does not encourage useless conversations. "My neighbors live in a really old house, and apparently there are all kinds of tunnels under these old houses, so that's where the rats come from."
"Wow, it's like they have HarriRAT Tubman," I said.
I wish I could tell you the amount of enjoyment I got out of myself for that one. Remember when Mr. Roper would just smile at the camera? I was like that.
I guess those are all the pressing things I had to tell you.
After work today, I got up with all of my coworkers, who are all named Alex. I would love to fill you in on what we discussed, but there was not one iota of anything appropriate to tell you. Do you enjoy my from-outside art shot? I am Diane Arbus. I am HarriRAT Tubjune.
This Alex thought today was the chili cookoff day, when in fact it's next week, so he brought his giant pot in and we all had some at lunch. Later in the day we got a company-wide email reminding us the chili cookoff is next week, so all of us forwarded the email to Alex. We are a laugh riot. A buncha funny Alexes. Is what we are. Maybe I'll change my name to Alex. Kind of fit in better. Or, HarriRAT Tubjune.
I GUESS that's all I have to tell you. Just two more sleeps and Ned is back. As I said, Friday night I have a movie with hot friend Dan, then Saturday night, Dick Whitman is having a party, and after it's over I will drive to Ned's because he will finally be getting home. If his flight gets cancelled Ima cut a bitch. Ima swoop someone off a couch.
Let's just hope it all goes well. Because I'm on edge. Having Ned withdrawal. I'm jonesing. I'm Nedsing.
I'm done now.
I just did the thing where I opened my picture file on my desktop and looked through October's pictures, and I'd like to thank the nice people at Apple or wherever who came up with the idea, Hey! Let's put the month on people's pictures so in case they blog and take a break and come back they can recap what they did while they were gone!
Am certain that was the exact scenario they dreamed up.
I almost started showing you October 2012 pictures, but quickly realized my HAIR was wrong. "That's not my 2013 hair," I thought, because some people tell time by moons, but not me.
Apparently this happened in October, and I act like my evenings don't always end this way. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I didn't have to knock 15 pets to the floor when I got up to go to bed.
Ned and I went to a football game in which many red people were involved, and I'd like to point out I abstained from showing you September's baseball picture, and I would like to take this time to mention to Ned how good he has it.
I kind of admire my ability to sit at a sporting event for hours and never pay one iota of attention to whatever sporting event is at hand. There are really so many PEOPLE to watch. At this one, a guy threw water all over this old couple and man, did the old woman get mad. Ned read her lips saying, "YOU are an idiot." Exciting.
Early October was also the anniversary of when someone left a puppy in my car, also known as The Best Day, Ever. I drove out to the fire station to see Violet in her home, and she got big big big. I think she's Tallulah-sized, meaning about 45 pounds and about knee high to me.
Ned has been making me eggs and potatoes with little onions in them, which happens to be one of my favorite things in the world. And someone mention how the handle is dangerously hanging out in 3...2...1...
And guess who has warmed up to me? That cat climbs on my pillow at night and chews my hair till her jaws fall off. I guess she had to go through several months of disdain before she said, hey. neffer notiss gurl haff hairs. nedkitee luff to chew hairs. okay. gurl okay.
Dear Ned, You are welcome for your cat's petspeak.
Ned's class reunion was in October, and it was a three-day extravaganza like no other. The Royal Wedding had less of a fuss. Ned and I were in dressing rooms across this county for three weeks, looking for outfits for the event. Here's what I got for the final evening, which was on the roof of a building downtown. I changed up the shoewear, and wore black tights. In case you were over there worried sick. And I kept the size tag on my breastual.
On Thursday there was a meetup at a pub near Ned's house, then on Friday was the football game and a meetup at the Elk's Club near MY house. Then Saturday was the formal event. By Saturday I had bonded with many people, because I told Ned to carry on without me, go mingle. Oh, I had fun. I met a guy who was newly sober and really didn't want to be there. I met a guy who'd love love LOVED this woman and was hoping she'd show up (she didn't). I met a guy who was currently having an extramarital affair with one of the women there, and he had to stand there, tortured, while she was with her husband.
I met a woman who is successful at her job but wants to meet someone. I met all of Ned's friends, one of whom pulled him aside and said I was hot.
Ned's best friend in high school was named Mike, and I've heard from Ned's mom and Ned's sister and Ned's high school girlfriend that this guy was the nicest guy, ever. I mean, people have been going on about this guy since the day I met Ned, practically. "Nice to meet you, I'm Ned. Here, my mom's on the phone. She wants to tell you how nice Mike is from high school."
So, Mike showed up the night of the football game, and OHMYGOD he's such a nice guy! He really was. He walked with Ned and me to the formal evening, as it was blocks from Ned's place, and the two of them started yammering to each other about God knows what ("High school sure was fun." "Remember our mascot?" "How 'bout that sixth hour?" Whatever.) and they were DAYS ahead of me and my heels. Days. I mean, they just plumb failed to notice me TRAILING behind them like I was Princess Diana walking behind Charles. Did you know she had to always walk behind him? Like we were noticing Charles. Please.
My point is, it was Mike who turned around and said, "Where's June?" and there I was, a bare speck in the distance, like the end of a diorama. "June! We're so sorry!" he said. "We didn't think about how you're in heels!"
He was nice, is my point. Which perhaps I have said now 14 times.
I won't even tell you about the end of one of the nights, when Ned was playing pool with his friends and I was sitting on the sidelines. Some man of color came up to me, and his color is irrelevant, I just wanted you to picture the scenario in full. He said, "Who are you?" I told him I didn't go to high school with him, but was someone's date.
"Well, where IS he?" the guy seemed incredulous. I pointed out Ned right nearby, playing pool. "If you were MY date, I wouldn't be playing any pool. I'd be fucking the SHIT out of you right now!"
So, I met some real gentlemen, too.
In fact, though, Ned did have some unhealthy things.
The fair was as fun as fairs get. The weather was good, the train was fun, and I got to look at baby pigs and so on. You really can't ask for more from your fair experience.
At some point near the end of the month, I got up with my friend Dan, who you are all obsessed with and how many of them hormones you been takin', honey? Anyway, we met at the little bar and grill where Elvis had a sandwich and a glass of milk in 1956. The waitress who waited on Elvis was OUR waitress that night, I am not making that up. Like all of you, she took a big shine to Dan and kept coming over and telling us her life story. She likes to lay her clothes out the night before. That's one thing she told us. I'm sure Dan could tell you more, because she was really only speaking to him. I could have been Elvis' corpse for all the attention she gave me.
For Halloween, I made several thousand of my coworkers come to work like this and we went as Fifty Shades of Gray. Look at me, all leading the crowd. We did not win the work contest, a fact that still makes me bitter.
That about sums it up, nine thousand words later. See you in November.
Yesterday, I ended up talking to not one but two of Ned's old girlfriends on Facebook--one of them even friended me. The other one said she could see how happy Ned was via the six hundred thousand pictures of Ned I've put on Facebook,
and lemme tell you something. When you have All This, what man wouldn't be happy? I mean, other than my husband who left me.
At any rate, I thanked Ned for banging everyone female all over yonder (or at least in Raleigh) through the years, so I could have fun on Facebook yesterday.
I also recently found a woman on Facebook, Lois, who I was friends with in Seattle, and although we weren't besties or anything--and how much do you want to smack me in the vagina for saying "besties?"--she was pivotal to my whole life. We worked together, and as I'd just moved to Seattle and knew no one, she introduced me to Marianne, who is my friend to this day.
Then we all got laid off, and Lois found me my next job. We worked together at the new place, where I met Paula, who is my friend to this day.
THEN, Lois introduced me to a guy she thought would be perfect for me, and I ended up dating that guy for two years. He's the one who got married five minutes after we broke up, and I like how every time I tell that story, the window of how long it took him to get married gets smaller.
Soon I'll be saying, "He's the one who got married in the living room while I was still sleeping." "He's the one who took me to his wedding on our first date." What I like about myself is my ability to never exaggerate.
So, yeah. I found Lois. I wonder if she'll my change my life dramatically via the Face? Do you think? Or was her magic just happening in the '90s in Seattle?
Other than my adventures with social media, I am pretty much glued to a statistics textbook, and I don't know if I've mentioned how fun and rewarding that is. Well, it IS rewarding, as I will be getting cash money for it, and then I have to give all that money to the government, but at least that stupid debt will be paid off.
Debts are annoying.
I had better go shower and get into my Garanimals, as it's casual Friday but I still like to match, but before I do I'll address more of your "Here's what you should blog about, June" requests from the other day.
What was the best meal you ever had?
See. I know several people, Ned and my best friend Pal From MA included, who concentrate on the meal. Ned will say, "Remember that restaurant we went to in Ohio, where I had the squid?" and that won't help me at all. If he said, "Where that guy was talking to a sock puppet" I'd remember which restaurant. Or, "You know, the restaurant where you really liked that woman's shoes." Then it'd all come rushing back to me. Food? Eh.
I do, though, remember having a dinner at my friend Dot's house, where she made a pork loin, and had I been able to marry said pork loin, I would have. I asked her how she made it and she did that thing good cooks always do: "Oh, I don't know. It was no big deal." So that probably counts, as does every time I ever had the taquitos at El Azteca in East Lansing, Michigan.
What was the worst wedding you ever attended?
I like going to weddings, so I don't really have a "worst." Once I went to the wedding of a woman I worked with (same job where I met the pivotal Lois from above) and the bride was poor. I think she was a secretary or something at our work and didn't have a ton of cash. The wedding was in the daytime at a church, and the reception was just us in the church basement, no band, no dinner, just punch and cake. Punch and cake.
But you know what? They stood up in front of all of us, in that basement, and each gave a little speech about how much they loved the other person. And they couldn't stop looking at each other the whole time. It was the least-elaborate wedding I ever attended, but the sun shone on them through that church basement window, and I knew it was also the most sincere wedding I've ever attended.
Okay, I'm off. To work and then work after work. I feel not at all like Cinderella. God, where did I leave the keys to the pumpkin?
June and All This, out.
How are all y'all all? At the Formica table, here, is a pack of new checks (switched to a different account. This was before my ATM-card-stealing incident of this weekend. I'm glad the criminals got a lower monthly fee when they charged stuff on my account). There's also one Pop Tart and the invitation to my friend Marque's wedding in Montana, which I will have to RSVP "no" to, just as my grandmother did to mine.
I realize that paragraph was packed with the info. Re the Pop Tart, my old friend, Sleeping Beauty, has one of those moms who look 20 years younger than she is, and she told us--when we were 25 and it didn't matter WHAT we shoved down out gullets--that just because they put two Pop Tarts in the package doesn't mean you have to eat both.
It's one of those things that hadn't occurred to me till she said it, and I've never forgotten it. I should totally get a "Never Forget" tattoo with two Pop Tarts standing upright.
So I just ate one blueberry Pop Tart and lemme go put away the second one.
...There. Fin. Did you ever know that I'm my hero? I'm everything I would like to be. Really, the more heroic thing would be to not eat effing Pop Tarts in the first place, but that's just the crazy talk.
As for my bank account, do you know what I haven't done? Is go look at it. I know they stole more than I had in there, and I could switch my savings over so I have some money right now, but if I look at that negative account I'll feel upset and anxious, even though they're replacing the money this week. So instead I've just pretended it's not there and very carefully not used my ATM card. Because obviously that would result in anguish and that terrible, "You card has been declined" moment.
So last night I came home and made spaghetti. And watched Real Housewives of Orange County. Have you noticed all the blondes on that show have EXACTLY the same shade of blonde, and all the dark-haired women are the more sensible?
Oh, and I also walked the dogs for 35 minutes, then got the brilliant idea to get in the car and measure how far we really walk, and it came to 1.7 miles, and then I was supposed to be able to do the...
and figure out how many miles per hour that came to, because I've been entering my caloric intake and output into my Lose It! app. I realize Lose It! is an annoying name for an app. Anyway, Ned and my father both told me that's 2.9 MPH and so I am believing them. Yes, I checked with both. Like it's that crucial. Just because they put your father and Ned in the same math-y package doesn't mean you have to check with them both.
Oh! And we priced the flights to Montana to go to Marque's wedding, and it's something like $691 each. So guess who is not going to Montana for a wedding? Sucks. Why must flights be so costly? Then half the time they crash on the runway.
Are you scared to fly? Do you go all, "See??" every time another plane crashes? Because I might.
Really, I hadn't planned to discuss any of this with you. What I was GOING to tell you is Ned and I have a huge month going on, here, with that old movie theater we like. I wrote down all the good movies that they're playing and you can see we will be spending a lot of the summer in a dark movie theater. But it's air conditioned, which is more than we can say for my house, and it's been the rainiest summer in something like four centuries or something. So, tonight? Bull Durham! Hulk is sad.
Tomorrow? Willie Wonka! We didn't go to To Catch a Thief on Monday only because we saw it last summer.
I'm REALLY excited to see Eye Doctor 12:15 on the 20th. I've heard it's great.
Oh, but yes. Have I never told you that my grandmother, THE ONLY ONE I STILL HAD ALIVE, just checked off "No" on the RSVP to my wedding? That was it. That was the only discussion about it. She was an odd bird, my grandmother was, and yes, she's the one I'm turning into.
Okay, I am off to shower. All of my Curly-Girl-approved products have not come yet, even though I spent $2 extra to get them expedited because, crucial! So I cannot report to you the results yet, although I do see that using a t-shirt rather than a towel makes a bit of a difference, frizzwise.
All in all, this was a profound post.
June, deep and out.