Oh, by the way, I've decided to stop being funny. How'm I doing so far?
One of the Alexes brought me flowers, and on July 3, I spilled blueberries on my desk calendar. I am a mess. My coworker Griff gave me that clock with the ostrich feathers and kitty on it, and I guess it doesn't take long to know the way of my people, does it?
My tenant, who in case you forgot also works with me and how weird is everything, told me she would get me anything I wanted from the vending machine. Have I mentioned it doesn't take long to know the way of my people?
Poochie gave me a card, and in it she said, "Name your flavor of cupcake. I will make you a dozen." So I said pink flavor. With just a whisper of frosting. I don't know why cupcakes have become these towers of frosting anymore. Remember the old days, when our moms would just swipe a small coating on top? Now it's the Leaning Tower of Frosting. The Princess and the Pea of frosting.
Anyway, I told her it was the most exciting conversation I ever had, getting to order my own custom cupcakes like that. And it's good I got to get cupcakes, because Ned didn't get my peach pie.
"I have bad news," he said, blustering in all flabbergasted. There are TWO stores here called The Pie Pit, or The Cherry Pit, or Lu Go Pit, I forget. And apparently he ordered from the wrong one, and went to a closed store to get my pie. Bye bye, pie. Poor Ned.
Despite Ned running around all flabbergasted (he also was running low on lime juice, and insisted he needed exactly the right kind so he had to leave for the store), Marty and Kayeeeee came over to celebrate with me. Marty was also running late, and then as soon as he got here I had to stir the potatoes because Ned was at the store, and I wondered if the four of us would ever be in the same room, ever, all night.
While the three of us sat on the porch waiting for old Walk the Lime to return, a good-looking UPS man jumped onto the porch with one of those shipments of chocolate-covered strawberries for me, from my friend Dot.
Dear Marty: Here is a picture of you eating a huge strawberry. And you are welcome.
Eventually, Ned cured his lime disease, and we all ate, and I realize I have zero photos of that because I was so fucking delighted to finally eat. We had steak, mashed potatoes, salad and no peach pie. Poor Ned; have I mentioned? But we all had giant chocolate-covered strawberries, and talked about how whatever genetic modification they did to make those strawberries so huge was probably killing us, and we were basically a good time.
We also talked about the 69 position and how no one really likes it. Marty said he really preferred 71.
Ned not only gave me a pretty necklace and cooked everything and made margaritas with low amounts of lime juice, and he got me pretty flowers and a blind cat.
He also got me a good card. And a few books, which I will take to the beach with me next week.
Tonight I've invited some coworkers to come over and have a drink on my porch right after work. It's a bring-your-own situation.
Nevertheless, Ned is getting more lime juice today.