Cheetos, Fritos or Doritos?
"It really pisses me off that Bruce Jenner is prettier than me," I said, while I was out with some friends.
"Ain't it the truth?" said my stupid coworker Vilhelm Oyster.
"You're not supposed to say that. You're supposed to say, 'That's nonsense. Of course you're prettier than Bruce Jenner,'" said The Guy Who Sits Next to Me, who is a newlywed. He married someone at work. I don't mean they had their ceremony in the office, like how everyone did everything at Arnold's on Happy Days. But he MET her there, is what I mean.
"It's Caitlyn, not Bruce," said someone else, who is politically correct. And Caitlyn IS prettier than me. Goddammit. You already got to be a really handsome man, and an Olympic gold medalist, and on the cover of Wheaties, and you got to bang Elvis's girlfriend Linda Thompson, AND Kris Kardashian in her prime. You also are rich and famous.
Now you gotta be prettier than me as a woman? You heifer. That wouldn't work for me at all. If I tried to become a man, I'd look like the least-manly, foppiest man possible. I'd look like Ashley Wilkes.
One guy said if he became a woman, he'd never leave the house till he got a repetitive stress injury. Another one pantomimed feeling his own boobs up constantly.
I'd judge these men, but my first thought was glory hole.
"Why would you automatically be gay?" someone asked me.
"I wouldn't, necessarily, but I'd want a sure thing. If I just went to a bar and tried to pick up a woman, there's no guarantee." I am extremely pragmatic.
"Don't you want something more intimate?" asked one of my sensitive men friends who is annoying.
"It's my first day with my penis. I want to show it a good time. Still, I don't even know where a glory hole IS in Greensboro," I said, and that is when we invented an app to find glory holes, and then we had to name it, and we came up with names like Hole-istic; Find-a-Hole; Glory, Glory Hole-alujah. (That was Ned's contribution.)
"Well, I'd go right out and try on clothes," said one guy, who's super metrosexual. "I'd finally get to go to Victoria's Secret without feeling like a perv." He also said he'd befriend his wife as a woman, so he'd get to know her from a different angle, as it were, which I thought was really sweet.
Ned said he'd head right to the shower at his gym, hang in the locker room after. Then he'd find a lesbian bar.
Almost every woman I asked said something about peeing, which I also found appealing. I'd write my name in the snow. I've always wanted to write my name in the snow. Maybe I'd do it after I left my glory hole, using my great new app, Hole in One.
The whole time, my ridiculous coworker Griff, who says so many ludicrious things that he gets his own Twitter page, was silent.
"What would YOU do, if you woke up and you were a woman, Griff?"
"Drive from the women's tees," he said.
Yesterday, I attended two baby showers. One for Spalex, the Alex on our Spanish team...
What I need to do is stop putting my ravaged face next to smooth, unlined women in their 20s. Let's just assume they look so good because they have the glow of pregnancy about them, whereas the only thing I was pregnant with was a pause before I ate 47 cupcakes at both events.
Spalex is having a boy, and she had a come-decorate-a-bib thing at her everything-was-so-charming event. I made this one, above. After everyone had created and hung a bib, she and her husband decided on which one they liked best, and gave out a prize.
Here's Alex, waiting maturely and calmly to see which of us would win. She's who I was set to play Ping-Pong with last year when we had a tournament at work, remember? And every single person I asked had filled out their bracket with her winning. I hate my coworkers. What a bunch of bitches. Especially the men.
The good news is, we both won the intense bib-decorating contest, probably because Spalex didn't want to hear it from either of us on Monday. I won this container so I can take vodka to work, and Alex won a Starbucks gift card so she can be even more hepped up and competitive.
Speaking of which, the menu for the shower had several springtime salads and other healthy fare, and I am the only heifer who was all, "Get me the meat loaf." And in the spirit of my pal Hulk, I got double mashed potatoes as my two sides. I have no idea why I can't keep a man. Lemme tell you something. I may be a girl version of Hulk, but that.was.delicious. It was goddammit good.
I kind of figured a ton of people at Spalex's shower would have to scream on over to TinaDoris's, but it turns out I'm the only crossover friend. The only other person invited to TinaDoris's was Spalex, who of course was, you know, attending her own shower. She gave me a really beautifully wrapped gift to take over to TinaDoris's, as opposed to the gifts I wrapped for each person, which looked like maybe I had my gifts wrapped by some charity that gives work to handless mentally disabled people.
"It's actually hurting me to watch you wrap these," said Ned, who is a straight guy and still could have done better. "Do you want me to redo these?" I have my pride, and clearly my dignity, so I took my Help For The Handless gifts to the showers with resolve. I needed Resolve to clean all the barf when people saw my wrapping skillz.
Spalex also gave me a rose corsage to take over to TinaDoris's shower along with her pretty gift. "I got corsages for all the moms," she told me, because she is the type of person who'd think of such a thing.
"Here's a rose corsage I got you, and a really prettily wrapped gift," I handed TinaDoris her things when I arrived at her shindig. "Oh, and a really shitty-looking present that Spalex wrapped for you. I am sure," I said. "Doesn't Spalex have any pride?"
"Oh, Spalex is so sweet," said TD, sniffing her rose and not for a minute falling for my charade.
I was with women from work who, A., all had the curls and B., had no kids. We decided to play the Awwwww drinking game, which I invented. Any time TD opened a gift and there was an "Awwwww!" we'd take a drink.
"I'm never having fucking kids," said Alex, slamming down her tequila-laden drink.
"I fucking love our table," I said.
I convinced TinaDoris that it would be HILARIOUS if she pretended to drink this beer. Had she not been so in demand at this thing, I'd have made her pick up the vodka and tequila bottles and photographed that, too. Let's all say it, "Awwwww!"
If you're dying to know what I got everyone, beyond the tempting wrapping, I got Spalex this whole play area thing, where the baby just sits there and lazily pecks at various bells and shiny things. Oh, god. I think I got her a parakeet toy. Crap.
I got TinaDoris a giraffe that is actually a sound machine, and of course someone else got it for her, too, because I didn't buy it off her registry and Babies Be Us said there was no way for them to remove it for me, which, Dear Babies Be Us: Seriously? Anyway, I also got her Charlotte's Web, a book about the first interesting website.
By the way, that pretty gift bag up there was not my gift. Mine were in depressing plain brown paper that looked like I'd gotten her a blowup doll or something.
Ned, in the meantime, had a lovely day doing whatever it is Ned does when I'm not around. I have the feeling sports things and salads were in his day. When I got home, I was supposed to go to the gay bar with friends, but there was no way. I was exhausted.
"Come take a picture with me, Ned." I waited on the porch.
Remember when we used to throw our heads back and forth and breathe funny to try to faint? What was wrong with us? I was just shaking my hair around, trying to dry it, and remembered doing that. My babysitter taught me, and Dear Mom: Maybe hiring 16-year-olds wasn't the best plan.
I loved that babysitter, though. She wore faded jeans, and silver rings, and she loved watching The Hudson Brothers. Who didn't?
How depressed would you be about your career if they told you, yeah, your cool band is gonna be on Saturday morning TV? Hey, there, Menudo.
Okay, I really can't stay and talk. I came to show you pictures of the little gathering we had on our porch with The Other Copy Editor, fmr., and her husband. They live on the same street as us, so we had a little partayy.
Enjoying the age spots on m'arm, by the way. They call these age spots. I call them ugly, but what's a woman to do? Does anyone remember that commercial or are you worried I had a stroke?
Also, do you like my pearl necklace, so to speak? I bought it at Jo's yard sale two weekends ago. Am proper.
But also, while we were out there, I looked across the street. "IS THAT A LOOSE DOG?!" I screamed up and was out there in a millisecond. You know I have no idea how long that is, right?
When The Other Copy Editor, fmr., and her husband and Ned came over, the dog headed TOWARD THEM into the STREET and a car was coming and I covered my eyes, because useful. When I uncovered them, TOCE,F's husband had the dog in his arms. We noted a house across the street with its door wide open.
"Is this your dog?" we called in. Someone came into the kitchen and saw us. "Oh my word!"
The whole family rushed out. "Jehoshaphat Phosphate! What are you DOING out here? How did he get out?" They all marveled amongst themselves, while the four of us noted the open door, screen and gate. Yes, however did he get out?
Anyway, they are nice people, the neighbors are, and they'd just come in from a trip so all was chaos, and it can happen to anyone. Also, you will be relieved to know I completely made that name up.
Ned also played golf with The Tall Boy this weekend. He said they did not take notes on what I look like naked, which was a relief. Actually, you know I would have adored that, if they'd taken notes. I mean, you can imagine how much good there is to say. "And those age spots! Hot!"
Okay, I have to go. I cannot wait to see what criticism I'll get today on what I've written. After 8 days in a row of someone taking issue with what I've written, now I'm writing holding up a shoe, just waiting to drop it. Oh, speaking of which, here is my latest Purple Clover for your critical eye, as well. I've already been criticized for it, but go ahead. What have I got to lose?
The good thing about having a friend who's paralyzed is there's no fake crap when you go see him. All the crap is genuine. None of that novelty store dog doo.
I went to see my friend Charlie yesterday, as it is his birthday. "How you doing?" I asked him, hugging him. Yes, I hate hugging, but he likes it and his desires win. That motherfucker has played the wheelchair card to death.
"You really wanna know or do you want some fake answer?" he asked me, already knowing.
"You tell me everything that's wrong with you, and I'll tell you everything that's wrong with me," I told him. So he told me his woes, and he did not say, hey! Expose my woes to the world, June! So I won't. "Now come sit on my lap and tell me yours," he said.
"I'm not sitting on your fucking lap."
"Yes, you are. It won't hurt," he said, motioning me over. I mean, you've seen my cankles. I'm hefty, hefty, hefty. Actually, I've lost five pounds lately. Which I've written off as cancer. Still. I didn't want to re-paralyze him or something. Like, what if he was on the verge of a cure, then I sat on him and now he's doomed?
I sat on him. He hugged me. Which I continue to hate. "I don't know," I began. "I don't know about anything. I feel rotten. I've had seven dramatic days in a row on Facebook, starting with the cankle debacle, and I finally just deleted my profile. I feel so exposed sometimes. Why the hell did I ever start writing about my life? I just kind of want to live my life, not hear everyone's opinion on it. I've just had so much negative reinforcement lately. I feel both completely exposed and completely alone."
This is when I started to cry like an idiot.
Charlie hugged me more. I tried not to hate it, and wriggle away like one of the cats.
"I understand," he said, "I really do. I have crippling insecurities a lot of the time."
We sat there for awhile.
"Did you get it? Crippling?"
"I did," I said. "You're paralyzed with indecision."
"The good news is," said Charlie, "my problems are still worse than yours!"
He's right. No matter what my woe du jour, he always beats me. He won't take this sitting down.
The point is, Charlie, a couple of his other friends and I walked to a nearby restaurant and ate outside. Charlie got a Bloody Mary with a giant stick of bacon in it, which looked delicious. One of his friends is 30 and was bemoaning his ancient fate, and when I mentioned my age, the 30-year-old sputtered.
"No! Really? I never would have thought you were 49. Ever," he said, and that is when I married him.
We all had things in this life that we felt kind of bad about, and we all talked about them, and by the time we were done with lunch and dessert and coffee, we were giggling like idiots. Charlie totally picked up our waitress, too. Got her digits. See, there's a hilarious paralyzed joke here but I am dignified and will not make it.
As we headed back to Charlie's pad, and yes I just said pad, we passed a wedding. The bride and all her attendants were outside in the sun. The sun was shining on the bride and she was absolutely stunning: thin, blonde, young.
We all stopped for a minute and watched her as she knelt down to talk to a flower girl wearing a giant puffy white dress.
"That is really beautiful," said Charlie. We were quiet a second.
"Let's all go down and see the giant vagina and ball sack sculpture," he said.
It's my friend Charlie's birthday, and he finally got his screw-paralysis-I'm-driving van, so he wrote me to ask if I'd hit the town with him this afternoon. He wants to get terrifically drunk, so maybe your old pal June will be driving a van. I don't know.
The point is, I'm off! To do ridiculous things with my old pal Chas. And that is a fine way to spend an afternoon. Unless we get arrested.
I have to take my mother to the airport, so I will blop at you later. Yes, I just said blop.
When I write tomorrow, remind me to tell you about all the people I ran into this weekend. Kaye, my coworker Ian's wife, Molly, Kit, Jo... Small town, wouldn't want to paint it.
Okay, mom's having 20 aneurysms re plane and getting to it on time. She has not said it out loud but I can feel it. It's 7:48, her flight leaves at 10:30, the airport is 15 minutes from here. OH MY GOD SHE'S GONNA MISS IT. So, going.
June, growing apple trees and honey bees.
P.S. Mom is going to have to wait till I link to my latest Purple Clover. It's the real thing. (If you don't like Mad Men and did not watch the series finale last night, at this point you think I have flipped my lid.)
Did you ever have one of those really good dreams, where you're told you can take a bunch of stuff for free, then you spend the rest of your dream deciding which stuff to take? I had one of those dreams last night. Some person I knew worked for a large university, and there was this huge warehouse that had party glasses of different colors and styles that they'd used once for events and never again, and I was told I could take a few.
Oh, I was having fun. I had a little cart full of pink and gold cocktail glasses, and a pretty old ice holder thing--what are those called?--that was magenta and sled-shaped that read "Merry Christmas" in a '50s font.
And dear university in my dreams: How wasteful. Be like Kate Middleton. Reuse. Recycle.
But then I woke up and I got nuthin'. No party glasses. Still. It was fun while it lasted.
By the way, I am officially sick of the phrase "I can't unsee that." I have no idea why I just thought of it to tell you that, but it's true. It's all over the place. It's the cat/dog diary of now. It's the elaborate house made up of all Hello Kitty things on it of now. Maybe I'm the only one who gets sent that photo of the Hello Kitty house all the time.
Do you know what's hard to do? Is scroll through someone's Facebook page to see if they already have something funny on their page that you want to put up but you don't want to be annoying if someone else has already put that on their wall. It's also hard to stalk someone's every post on Facebook. They do that damn thing where they only show you the highlights.
Dear Facebook: Make it easier to stalk. Thank you, June
One of the Alexes is leaving today, for a fancy government job that she did not say I could talk about, but it looks exciting. They had a lunch for her yesterday that I did not attend, because I am a magnificent person. Today is also my work friend Slutty Pancake's birthday, and I did not rush out and get streamers and a tiara, as most women would do for me.
I'm just not that woman. I'm not the rush-out-and-get-a-card type. I'm not the make-a-casserole type. Basically I am awful. I emailed with my old friend Sandy yesterday, I forget why, and she mentioned my birthday is coming up. She is one year younger than me, and has always been way prettier than me, and sometimes she likes to point this out by mentioning things like, Oh, look. You're almost 50.
"What are you getting me?" I wrote her, and please see above where I do not get balloons or cards or really do anything for anyone else. There are people who've been friends with me for decades--lots of decades--and they must have some kind of support group or something. The One-Sided June-Friendship Support Group.
"Well, remember that Christmas I got you the leather gloves with fringe on them?" she wrote me. "You lost one of them the first week. I am loath to get you something nice."
People are forever insisting I don't deserve nice things just because I don't take care of them. I say, get me the nice thing, and let me enjoy it for the 10 minutes before I ruin it. What's wrong with that?
Anyway, I have to go. I'm getting my photo made for the company newsletter, to celebrate my being awarded King of the Employees, and since I edit the company newsletter, I am thinking both cover and maybe fold-out poster in every issue. What say you?
What would my turn-ons and turn-offs be? I guess my new turn-off would be the sentence, "I can't unsee that." Since I'm newly annoyed by it. A phrase will be fine with me until one day I hear it too much ("I need a VACATION from my VACATION! hahahahahah!") and there it sticks. In my craw.
"Your dogs are on the bed," Ned told me this morning. They completely destroyed the gate downstairs and made their escape. Again. Ned is back down there with his power tools, which is what SHE said.
Never gets old.
"Why don't you just admit defeat?" I asked him. "My dogs won't be fenced in." But Ned refuses to give up. The funny part is, when I fed the cats this morning, I told the dogs to go downstairs, and they did, and when I went downstairs they were standing at the entryway to the dining room, just like they always did when they had a gate. It's like that Laurel and Hardy, where Stan Laurel had been a prisoner of war for so long that once he was free all he WANTED was beans, as that's the sole thing he'd been given as a prisoner.
Anyway, other than the continuing saga of Gategate 2015, I had a weekend.
I asked my work husband, Ryan, to join me after work, as Ned, Naughty Pro, Slutty Pancakes and I were headed to the First Friday events downtown, but seeing as he's 26 and all, he decided to just go home and make dinner.
What the hell is wrong with his generation. I never went home once throughout my 20s. I don't know why I even paid rent, I was home so seldom. Go home and make dinner. You know what else I've never done, ever? Is go home and MAKE dinner.
Fortunately, I had people from my own generation to not make dinner with.
Before we got up with The Naughty Pro, Ned and I had gone to this low-key diner we like, to have dinner, and they were having this fancy prime rib night, with tablecloths and bottle of wine. Who even knew that place had a liquor license? They sat us right in the middle of the room, and we are both too scared to say, "Hey, this table sucks," but it was a terrible table. Waitresses kept buzzing past us and knocking my purse askew. We were inches from the people on either side of us. And it wasn't full in there. We totally should have stood up for ourselves, even if we WEREN'T getting the fancy prime rib.
The point is, Naughty Pro told us a story about a terrible disagreement he got into with a very confrontational woman. Because she had nothing more clever up her sleeve, she tried to use the gay card to insult NP. "I'm more of a woman than you'll ever be, and more of a man than you'll ever get," he told her.
And that is why I heart Naughty Pro.
Anyway, eventually we got up with Slutty Pancakes, as well, but I already showed you 40 pictures of her yesterday.
Ooo! And when we left, Ned and me, to go home, we were headed to the car when this young boy walked past and whispered to me, "You're sexy." I mean, damn right. But still! Ned said he saw that guy looking at me for a long time as we approached. It's hard for men when you have All This.
On Saturday, I had to take the dogs to the vet for their shots, and on either side of me, people were having their pets put down. I don't mean their pets were being roasted, although in a way, they were, if they went for cremation. I could tell by my vet's voice she was delivering bad news to the people on my right, then the tech came in and told me my vet had two euthanasias to do and would it be okay if I waited a bit and I said sure, throw in Edsel while she's got the shot.
Eventually, they came to get my dogs for the vaccine/nail trim portion of my $422 visit, so I wandered around the office a bit. This time of year they often have kittens out front, and I was hoping for that, but no. I did find some Bit-O-Honey in the dish, though, which is almost as good as a kitten.
The point is, I passed the room to the left of me, and saw the woman and my vet both crying. Just seeing that made ME cry, which is stupid, so I went in my little room and sobbed and smeared my makeup and could barely enjoy my Bit-O-Honey. I mean, I don't want you to worry, I managed to enjoy it more than is decent. Still.
When my vet finally came in, I said, "I don't know how you do your job." "Well, I have to be there when they're healthy and then when they aren't." Then she and I talked about why people go too far to keep their poor animals alive when they're sick and suffering. I mean, to each their own, but if my pets are in pain and there's no cure, I'm ending it for them. I don't want to keep them around just to mollify me. You know? I mean, I did call the animal psychic and mix bovine powder into turkey baby food for Mr. Horkheimer, but he was still purring and lolling his increasingly skinny self in the sun then. God, he used to be an enormous cat. He was 20 pounds of pure Hork. Then one day he looked a little riby, and that was the beginning of the end. I think he was around 12 pounds when he died.
How did I get on this awful subject?
Anyway, last night, there was some ridiculous fight on, Mayflower vs Packing Peanuts or something, and Ned paid
ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS
to see it on Pay a Lot Per View.
I complained about it on Facebook, and TinaDoris saw it. "Oh, are you watching that?" she asked. "Can we come over?"
So, at 11:00 at night, she and Mr. TinaDoris came with treats and drinks, because you know how it is at my house, and we all watched this fight, which seemed staged and not like they were really fighting much at all.
I did not tell them both to show off their drinks, but they both did. TinaDoris was drinking coconut water, as she is knocked up, and apparently that's what you drink when you are knocked up. Note that she is one of those "I look completely the same except for this brief blip of a stomach" pregnant women, as opposed to poor Kim Kardashian, who became all three Kardashian sisters at once for awhile. You know it's a bad day when you're bigger than Khloe. I mean, even Lamar thought that. "Wow, am I getting bigger than Khloe? I better knock it off with the Frito burritos."
June's blog. Come for the euthanasia jokes. Stay for LamarSpeak.
To be fair, Taco Bell's Frito burritos are amazing. Like you know how people do that annoying hashtag and/or emoticon "SoBlessed"? We should start a new one, "SoFritoBurrito." That's how good they are.
Here's Ned, looking mean. You know, Ned brought me flowers this weekend for no reason, AND he grilled chicken wings for us yesterday, plus also he's fixing the gate, although let's face it. The only person in this house who wants a gate is Ned. If it were up to me, Tallulah'd be on my lap right now.
Apparently, when you are pregnant, you are hot, like, physically hot. I say this because Lily was obsessed with sitting on TinaDoris. Lily will gladly sit on anyone, but when she got off TD and came to me, her fur was BURNING HOT where she'd been on TinaD. Babies are hot, apparently. Who knew? I don't mean babies are the new black, and if TD's baby is the new black, she has a lot of explaining to do.
Lily was probably just waiting to that baby to come out, so she could suck the breath out of it. That's what my grandmother used to say cats did--they got in the crib and sucked the breath out of babies. Gramma was not what you'd all a huge cat fan.
Okay, I am going. Ned is done with the gate and has gone to lie down, and I am going to go poke at him and pester him.
Here's Ned, looking mean.