Bye Bye, Pie!

Tyre

"Have you read that poll asking women to describe their perfect man?" asked ...friend. "I'm not it."

I hadn't read that poll, and one wonders why ...friend is trying to find the perfect man, but perhaps I am jumping to conclusions. Anyway, it's a slow day here at work and so I Googled it.

It's created by British people, who enjoy them the baked beans on toast, so should we even listen to them? Then again Barry Gibb is British, so the English know from perfect men. Shut up.

THE PERFECT MAN IS...

Six feet tall

Muscly, toned and athletic

Brown eyes

Short dark hair

Smart dress sense

A beer/lager drinker

Non smoker

Wears smart jeans, shirt and a

V-neck sweater

Gets ready in 17 minutes

Stylish

Wants a family

Earns £48,000 ($77,000) a year

Loves shopping

Eats meat

Clean shaven

Smooth chest

Watches soaps

Enjoys watching football

Drives an Audi

Educated to degree level

Earns more than you

Jokes around and has a laugh

Sensitive when you are upset

Tells you he loves you only when he means it

Admits it when he looks at other women

Holds a driving licence

Can swim

Can ride a bike

Can change a tyre

Rings mum 2x/week

Okay. Why do British people go around doing things wrong all the time? "Tyre." Then they take their tyres and put them on the wrong side of the road.

Anyway, I think a grown man who calls his mother more than once a week is a little suspect. I mean, unless she's in ill health or something. And why would you want him to admit he's looked at other women? We all know he does it. Can't we pretend it doesn't really happen all the same?

I find $77,000 an odd sum. Why is that the magic number? I guess they averaged it out. I have never been much of a gold digger (see: decades of marriage to Marvin, the musician/schoolteacher), but I would like a man who made more money than me, or at least as much as me, because I am a grownup and we should be making a decent living at this point. Says the unemployed person.

If a man watches soaps he is gay. As is a man who loves shopping.

I really don't care what color hair or eyes he has. I mean, really? That matters? And I guess I'm down with the beer thing (see: decades of being married to someone who drank Cosmopolitans).

Anyway, what say you about this list? I generally look for someone who is smarter than me who makes me laugh and seems relatively stable. I like a man who enjoys a good salad. Okay, I threw that last part in as a nod to ...friend. Who right now seems kind of perfect.

Tell me what you think.

Kobayashi Maru

Last night I had drama with ...friend, but everything is okay now. I wish I could tell you all about it, but I feel like I'd need his permission to tell the story, and I similarly feel like he'd say, "You know what? No. It was bad enough living it in real life. Why rehash it on an Internet blog?" That's what he called my blog once, like he's 97 years old. My Internet blog.

The good news is, ...friend is the kind of person you can call, and you're all hysterical and possibly your hair is flying about twistily and your voice is all shaky, and five minutes later you have calmed down. Because he may or may not be the normal person in this scenario. I know that comes as a shock.

Here is an unretouched photo of my hair after my upsetty phone call to ...friend. Or, alternatively, here is a picture of my spiral perm and Persian cat in 1988. I have shown you this picture before but I feel like it bears repeating.

I loved that cat. His name was Confetti. I got him on New Year's Eve; hence the moniker. He was super floppy and slept on my head. He kind of looks like Gizmo from that one movie. What the hell was the movie? With Gizmo. That one.

WHY did no one stop me from getting a perm? Seriously. Why did no one step in?

In other news, Tallulah continues to wear her cone, and she coincidentally continues to hate me. But the second I feel bad and take that thing off, she lick lick licks her incision. Why can she not put two and two together?

I am also here at my temporary job, which I have been at for over a month now, and last pay period I did not get paid because there was some kind of waiting period, and now today I didn't get paid enough. I only got one week's worth of cash money. Fortunately they are straightening it out, which is good because I have seven dollars.

Also, the surgery center called to ask me a bunch of questions. Do I have sleep apnea? Am I a bleeder? Am I a breeder? How is my heart? Who is that guy with a sickle behind me?

So that was relaxing. Seeing as this is my THIRD operation to remove my effing fibroids, I am kind of familiar with the procedure. I could probably reach up there and do it myself. Anyway, Faithful Reader Laurie, we have to be there at 7:15 and that sounds delightful. Maybe they mean 7:15 p.m. and we can have cocktails first. What say you?

Oh! And before I go, I do have to tell you one more thing. Before I called ...friend with my upsettyness, I talked to my friend Sandy's husband. He is a genuinely nice guy, and I wanted a guy opinion that was not Hulk's. For once.

So I told him the story and he said, "What you've got here, June, is the Kobayashi Maru," he said.

The what, now?

"Yeah. It's a no-win situation. In Star Trek II and then Star Trek VI, Khan blooo de blooo bloo. And he bleep de beeee dee deeee, and he had Kobayahsi Maru. A no-win situation."

Will you remind me to stop asking men things?

Come to think of it, it was a man who gave me that spiral perm, too. June. Sensing a pattern. A swirly brown puffy pattern.

Do chipmunks technically HAVE nests?

First of all, GOOD JOB, North Carolina. Yesterday we got to vote on this amendment, and it wouldn't outlaw gay marriage because it's already illegal to get married here if you're gay. This amendment further restricts the rights of gay people, and I voted against it, but apparently I was the only one because the stupid amendment passed.

Am annoyed. Wanted the gay people to, oh, I don't know, be a part of that "all men are created equal" thing. Silly me.

Second, my gay dogs went out and caught a chipmunk this morning, and if I were a chipmunk I would seriously think of relocating from my yard. I don't care HOW upside-down they are on their nest or whatever. It isn't safe out there, if you are a small rodent. The bunnies in my yard have regularly been toast, too. Well. Not literally. I have never seen either dog take the time to pop any creature in the toaster.

In other news, I got asked to stay at my freelance job even longer. That was a poorly constructed sentence. How's that editing career gong, June? When they first called me, I was just gonna be there for a few days in April. Then I got here and they said, "Can you stay through the end of April?"

Then they said, "How about through the beginning of May?" Then it was May 8, which you notice has come and gone, and then it was just finish out this week, and now they have asked if I can come next week, too.

It's the Everlasting Gobstopper of freelance assignments. I mean, it's great cause I'm, you know, unemployed, but it's in another city and the hours are crazy and the problem is my poor gay dogs--and I don't know why I keep calling them my gay dogs--are being woefully neglected.

If they ask me to stay longer Ima have to get the Tea Partier back to walk them. Remember her? She was good, actually. I guess I'll abstain from calling them my gay dogs in front of her.

I mean, Edsel IS gay. There is no denying that. But Talu? Does she really strike you as a lez? Do you enjoy me saying, "Lez"?

Okay, I must go. Oh, but before I do, did I tell y'all that Marvin sent me divorce papers at work the other day? They were certified mail, and had to be signed for, and the receptionist called me down there and lo and behold, I'm divorced.

Except I'm not. Yesterday my phone rang, and caller ID said it was Evelyn B. Davis calling, and although I do not know an Evelyn B. Davis, the number was Marvin's, so I picked up.

"WELL THAT DIDN'T WORK," Marvin fumed, in his "I have spoken" voice. I just knew if I could see him he'd be flaring his ridiculous nostrils. "The receptionist at your work signed for the mail, so now I'm divorced from the receptionist, not you."

heeeeee.

It's a shame. I really thought those two had a chance, you know? 

Anyway, I couldn't help but ask, "Who's Evelyn B. Davis?"

"What?" asked annoyed Marvin, who's finding that getting rid of me is as easy as getting a taffy wrapper off your hands.

"My caller ID. It says you're Evelyn B. Davis," I said. "Are you changing from your married name?"

Anyway, one of us found that funnier than the other of us, who seems HELL-BENT on getting a divorce as quickly as possible. Maybe Evelyn Marvin Davis is pregnant or something. I don't know.

I'm just saying. Thank heavens we preserved the sanctity of marriage yesterday, all of us here in North Carolina, including my ex-husband Evelyn.

In which June becomes an adult. hah!

Your gal, June, here,  just woke up. Am I 17? I was out till quite late with ...friend, and let's discuss what a grownup I am. I mean other than the part where I got home after 2:00 and just woke up.

I won't go into details, but let's just say I had issues with friend. Issues. Basically he was being a boy and I was being a girl. And I was King Kamehameha being a girl. My POINT is, even though Hulk told me there was NO WAY I could go to ...friend and calmly discuss what was going on, and he said he saw me as a cartoon character with tears flying off her face instead of a normal person,

I WANT YOU TO KNOW I DID NOT ACT THE FOOL. I really was calm. You know, for me. And we talked at length, and I think things are pretty okay with ...friend and me now.

I know! Aren't you proud of me? I was kind of an adult and also I am not having to get on here today and be all, "...friend is no more." Which if I had to get on here and do that today I would have been a mess.

And I actually kind of have to credit Daniel Boone for that, just a little. You have no idea how many times in the four months I knew him he'd say, "Why don't you just TALK to the person?" "For God's sake, June, did you TALK to him?" until finally all on my own I hear myself thinking, Why don't you just TALK to him?

So I dredged a good habit out of that bad relationship. See? It wasn't all bad, that Daniel Boone thing. Okay, it was mostly bad. Still.

I must go now and get ready to see a movie with ...friend. Ellipses. Dot dot dot. Oh, but before I go, I do want to talk to all of you, too. I have been thinking that I don't want to blog every day anymore. I've been doing this every day for five years and I am kind of burnt out. I was thinking I'd just come on here when there was something to, you know, say.

The reason I've hesitated to do so is because you all have created such a community in the comments, and I feel bad about not providing a new place for y'all to get together every day. But if you guys wanted to chat, you could just do so in whatever post is up, right? I mean, I'm being silly.

So that's all my news for today. I guess I have to get all cute now to go to the movie, so I'm getting in my WayBack Machine to 1990.

Witness my hand

Yesterday Marvin came over with our official separation agreement, and we had to go to a notary so no one would say, "She was COERCED into signing those papers! She was totally drugged."

So I shot up and off we went, to the UPS store, where they have a notary.

By the way our papers are hilarious.

Husband gets blue couch. Wife gets brown couch. Husband gets two cats. HOW MUCH ARE WE LOSERS? No, "Wife gets Maui home and husband gets Rolex." I shall be entitled to one cat, two dogs, 80 pounds of fur...

Oh. That's not part of my divorce papers. That's from the poop test I have to take.

I cannot even begin to describe for you the level of excitement the dogs had when Marvin merely pulled up in his car. WHINNNE! WHIIIIINNNNNNEEEEE! That was Edsel. Who has tons of dignity. He kept running in a circle around the dining room table because he was too excited to stand there.

I feel bad that my dogs are from a broken home. I was, and now they are.

The CIRCLE of LIFE!

Boom.

You knew I had to do it. Look how totally over me Edsel is.

Anyway, off we went, Marvin and me, not Edsel and me, to the UPS store, where all marriages end. Special delivery! It's the end of your dreams of not dying alone!

So Mr. McFeeley or whoever witnessed my hand--and that is literally what it said, "Witness my hand," and to be funny I waved mine around a little for the guy--and stamped our paper.

Here's Marvin paying the guy to take me off his hands. WITNESS MY HAND.

Then we each got a dollar. I am not kidding you. For some reason we both got a dollar for dissolving our marriage. Had I known I was in for THAT windfall I'd have done this years ago!

When Marvin and I got our marriage certificate at the court house, for some reason they handed us this bag with a teensy travel-size deodorant, a small box of Tide, and a comb. The dollar was just as weird.

Here is dad in 1998, looking at my Newlywed Sampler. He wasn't super-short then, I took a picture from my little wedding album I made. Thank God I went to the trouble to make THAT thing. Nice spelling of "deodorant" on my part.

Afterward, Marvin and I went to lunch, as you do when you stop being married to a person. I had a BLT. He got french dip. I kept eating his, and it did not occur to him to say, "Stop eating my food, you're not my wife anymore."

Here I am at lunch. I look a little puffy. Unsure why. BLTs are famous for their antioxidant, make-you-slim qualities. Also, don't let me forget I can go back to this place to see some Nascar. You know I'm always on the lookout for a place to get my Nascar "fixin's."

Thank heavens. I abhor those super-complex napkins.

So that was it. After lunch I went home and did some proofreading. Getting married was way more fun because there was dancing and gifts. And, you know, hope. But what're you gonna do?

You take your dollar and you move along.

In which June and Hulk jump the shark and become a couple

In case you just got here and you're looking around and thinking, "This is how she keeps her place?" Yes. Yes it is, and also if you just got here you may want to know who in the Sam Hill Hulk is, since I mention him 95 times a week.

I met Hulk in high school, where he was the editor of sports for our hard-hitting, award-winning, extremely famous high school newspaper and I was the features editor. If you remotely know Hulk and me you know that is perfect. All Hulk cares about are sports and all I care about is fluff.

I had a regular column in said famous, extremely professional newspaper--and I ought to stop making fun of it because sometimes our journalism teacher, Ms. C., actually reads this blog and I mean no disrespect to you, Ms. C., seeing as you were then and currently continue to be da bomb.

Can I digress? I know that's unusual as I am usually logical and linear and succinct.

Our high school was a really pretty old building built in probably the '30s, which I never once appreciated till my friend David and I walked right in there like we owned the place late one night when we were home for our 20th class reunion. The janitor had the back door open. He saw us, and we were all, We are so busted, but he nodded like we were someone. Suddenly we realized that just because we'd walked into high school, we weren't suddenly 15, and what that janitor saw were two relatively respectable middle-aged people who he probably thought were teachers.

That was jarring.

My point is, we wandered around and admired the windows and tile work and wood details, and I said, "We were here every day for three years. We were both heavily involved in extracurricular activity, too. We were here all the time. What else were we thinking that we couldn't take one second to appreciate the beauty of this place?"

"I was thinking about making out with John Munson," said David, who is as gay as a goose. A thing I never figured out in high school even though he was in swing choir.

How did I get off on this tangent? Oh! That our journalism room faced the front of the building, and a giant swatch of grass, and once Ms. C. said, "Look how fast that guy is mowing the lawn!"

The guy was right in front of the window. But he was standing on some mowing machine. Ms. C. couldn't see the machine and just assumed the guy was moving like the wind.

Thank heavens I took 89 paragraphs to tell that stupid story.

So HULK and I--geez--met in high school and lost touch after, except for one tragic night in 1988, which I would tell about but now I took 60 years to even get back to Hulk. Through the magic of Facebook, which if you ask me really is magic and WHO JUST UNFRIENDED ME? I just got unfriended AGAIN and I didn't even do anything wrong this time. Makes me so mad. Through the magic of Facebook Hulk and I reconnected and he jumped right on this blog and it's all beautiful.

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL! IN EVERY SINGLE WAY! WORDS.CAN'T.BRING.YOU.DOWN! (being unfriended on Facebook can, though)

I haven't even had coffee yet.

In the few years Hulk has been a faithful reader, we have giggled and cavorted and attended Indian weddings together and fought about politics because he's wrong about everything, and just generally been excellent friends.

I did love that sari. I really need a reason to wear it again. Is anyone out there planning an Indian wedding I can crash? Hulk and his tasteful shirt can come too.

So yesterday in the comments, Hulk mentioned he got a raise. Naturally I stampeded to email to discuss.

June: How big of a raise?

Hulk: (telling me how big but I will preserve this one shred of his privacy. I know. Did I mention I haven't had coffee?)

Gold-digger June: You are looking better and better to me. You know, I am liberal and you are not. I love cats and you do not. You love sports and...I still say we'd make a stunning couple.

(Hulk and I would kill each other with pickle forks in under an hour if we were ever a couple.)

Hulk: Why do I have a picture of that Lost in Space robot in my head about now...WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! I think we would make a good couple. ...you could do all the talking to people at gatherings and such. Be in charge of buying the presents and cards. I could be the provider and have all the sex...

June: That is all I ask. Providing and sex. (Hi, mom. Hi, feminist mom.) As long as you ignore the 14 cats and we never ever discuss politics, we are all set.

Hulk: I promise to never discuss politics.  I can tolerate cats as long as I don't have to clean up after them and they don't wake me up. And don't bitch at me when I hang out the boys after softball. And want sex when I get home...

June: Cool. I will be naked, then, when you get back.

Hulk: We may have an agreement in principle...

June: It's so romantic. Wait. If we got involved and you didn't email me enough, can I text you to talk about how the boy I like doesn't email enough?

(You guys have no idea how many MILLIONS of times I have bugged Hulk this year about the mysteries of boys. AND HE ALWAYS TAKES THE BOY'S SIDE. Always.)

Hulk: Now that made me giggle...

So there you have it. I think Hulk and I are betrothed. Does this mean I have to move back to Saginaw? Maybe I could get a job cutting the lawn at my old high school...

Hey

I've got two things I can blog about for tomorrow. How Marvin started divorce proceedings or how Hulk and I decided to become a couple.

Which would you rather hear about? Disclaimer: Hulk and I are not really a couple. Oh, god. Are we?

Weeding the Garden

Heyyyy! Sixteen percent in the HOWSE!

Who is annoying?

Am pleased to be back home, with my always-nice-to-each-other pets. It looks like Lily is embracing Iris but really she's kicking that kitten's blind ass.

I will miss Sleeping Beauty's little family, and by the way, Sleeping Ruggedly Handsome does not like his picture taken. It's not like I secretly abhor him and refuse to include him in the pics. Again, with me saying "pics."

I plan to call a therapist this week to work out why I suddenly like babies. It must mean something. Also, Sleeping's baby is named Josie, and guess who tormented that child by screeching "JOSIE'S ON A VACATION FAR AWAY!" to her at every opportunity?

 

ant joon kind of annoy.

It was a year ago today that Marvin moved out. It was two years ago that my Uncle Jim died. Basically the end of March has sucked (see above onesie) for awhile now. It was nice to sit on the beach and feel perfectly content. I'm sure my stupid grieving is not done, and I'll have more setbacks, but I know Marvin and I had to end things. We've been friends since 1986, and I can't imagine we won't get to be friends again.

While I was sitting there soaking in the carcinogens, I wrote my initials in the sand, and I started to write my married-person initials. Then I stopped myself. And wrote the first letter of my maiden name. Because I'm a maiden. Would you like me to bring you milk in a barrel with my braids?

So there it was. My old set of initials. And it was okay. I remember being that person, and it wasn't all bad. That person got to do what she wanted without checking if it was okay with anyone. That person got to sing in the car without offending Mr. Music Ears, which makes me now picture Marvin with treble clefs for earlobes.

Oh, you. Right. I remember you. Hey.

So. I guess I will be okay. Sorry if I've been a pill this year.

Oh, and speaking of marriage, comment of the week goes to the Deliriously Happy Ex Wife. Who do I love? Is it her?

In which June is not smooth. I know! Mark your calendars.

Yesterday I announced on this very blog, as I am wont to do, that I was headed out--lookin' out at the road rushin' under my wheels, as it were--to get Dick Whitman a birthday gift. And y'all all said, "Hey, June! Are you going to that midcentury modern store to get him a gift?"

See. This is why I need to have a blog. Because I never even THOUGHT to go there, and in case you are just tuning in, the man who owns the midcentury modern furniture store is the hottest man alive. No. Really. He is like Jude Law only handsome. He is BRITISH, with a strong jaw and piercing eyes. Literally. I totally have a nose ring from him starting at my nostrils.

Way back when I was married, Marvin and I meandered in there one afternoon and I was FLOORED when I saw the guy. Then I spent the rest of the visit in the store waiting nervously for Marvin to notice Hot Store Owner, and say something to me like, "Put it back in your pants, June." Fortunately for me, he was too busy admiring '50s clocks and such to even gander at HOT MAN FROM HOT TOWN HOT HOT HOT.

Marvin also never seemed to notice how he got Christmas gifts from that store every year.

In January, Dick Whitman and I were out and we SAW THE HOT MAN at a bar. I was BESIDE MYSELF with nervousness, but DW was all, "Go say hi!" Like that's just a thing you do. You go say HI to Pierce Flawsnone, over there.

Eventually I did say a meek, "hey!" when we left, and that was it. After that I collapsed into a nervous puddle.

June. Being smoooove with the gents since 1979.

The point is yesterday I showered, deep conditioned, exfoliated, put on my expensive hair gel, brushed my teeth twice, put on full makeup like I was in a Broadway play, squeezed into something cute and wandered into the store. Oh, this is just how I look on a Thursday.

And oh, lord have mercy. There he was. Being all blue-eyed and scruffy and wide-shouldered and British. "Hello!" he said brightly to me. "Oh! Hi!" I was all casual. Gee, I had no idea you owned this store. When did that happen? Did you catch my false eyelashes and gold lipstick? And 12-inch pumps?

"How've you been?"

Oh my god, he knew who I was. Perhaps because I am the only woman who ever goes there looking like a Rockette.

"Good," I said. "Obsessed whenever I see you," I did not say. "Hey, I saw you at Proximity awhile back," I said, like it hadn't been more exciting than my wedding day.

"Right," he said, looking nervous.

Anyway, he ended up helping me find something for Dick Whitman, and you have no idea how many times I called him my FRIEND Dick Whitman. My FRIEND. Because I am available! Ish! (that guy I have been seeing, ...friend, and I have not done the exclusivity thing. And besides, if he saw this guy I think he'd have to say, oh go ahead. Every woman deserves a shot at Mr. Perfect, there.)

As he placed my things on the checkout desk, and sadly he did not place ME on the checkout desk, he said, "So you go to Proximity a lot?"

Okay, I got kind of excited.

"I do!" I said, sounding like I need a midcentury modern ride to Betty Ford, stat. "It's right near my house."

"It's pretty close to my house, too." Oh mother of God. He lives in this NEIGHBORHOOD? The only people I see in this neighborhood are 87 years old or walking to the Indian store for a 40 in the middle of the day. He's too pretty to live in this neighborhood.

I was just leaving when he said, "I'm not getting out much lately."

Okay, you guys, seriously. I was AT THE DOOR when he said this. And you know in the cartoons when someone is a blur and they zip over to another spot? That was me. I was like Edward Cullen when the van came at Bella.

"REALLY?" I said, sounding fascinated by his lack of social life. Which I was. You have a puss like that, you don't keep it INSIDE. In my NEIGHBORHOOD. You take it out and show it off.

"Well, you should...show up at Proximity more," I said. Oh ask me out ask me out ask me out.

"...yeah. I should. ...Okay, then! Good to see you!"

Crap. Why I gotta be old and hideous? Although truth be told, if he had asked me out I'd have gotten the vapors and never would have shown up. He's too lovely. He is like Lily, only a person. I wonder if he eats on top of dog crates?

So that was that. In case you were worried sick that I became June British Midcentury Jawline overnight, I did not.

Sigh.

Hey, 16%!

We had our usual routine this morning, where the dogs immediately burst outside like the house is on fire, and then when they hear me feeding the cats, through the wood and the brick and the five rooms from the back yard and the insulation, they want right back in. Then after they eat, the house is apparently aflame again.

So they were on their second trip out while I checked email--and can I just say, if you have emailed me and I have not answered? I am sorry. I am getting several hundred emails a day and I was trying to be all good and answer them (I mean, they're not all related to this blog, my email. I just mean in general) (although most are from this blog, actually. I KNOW! Who's hoity-toity all of a sudden?), but sometimes I just cannot. I know I sound like a tool.

Anyway, my point is, I was in here doing stuff when, "WOOF." It was Tallulah. It's always Tallulah. Edsel would run around like a demon in that yard for six hours, except Talu gets bored. And God forbid he let her out of his sight.

"WOOF!"

"I HEAR you!" I said, while I put dishes away and threw in some laundry.

"WOOF!"

Oh for the love of all that is holy. Except for that one NOTABLE time, I ALWAYS let her in, so do we need more than one bark? I mean, okay, if an HOUR or something has gone by, freaking remind me. But this every-19-seconds thing is obnoxious.

"WOOF!"

I go to the door and JUST when I get there, the Schnauzer and Lab behind us got let out.

"Smell Lu!" And off she went to go play with them. Oh, I was irritated.

(Once I let her out at lunchtime and went to work. I forgot about her. And she was in the back yard, in the 65-degree weather, for four hours. You'd have thought I'd thrown acid on her family. I got the silent treatment for a week.)

In other news, guess what.

Dude, I effing love Latisse. I am unsure if I have touched on this topic enough.

Anyway. Hello, the 16% who read me on Saturday! What are y'all doing with your bad selves today? I am recovering from my big night out of partayying till 1:00. Woo! Twenty years ago, 1:00 would've been an early night. Sad.

Right after work, the new girl, Poochie, came over. She lives kind of outside town and has hens and goats and cats and dogs and yes, she does have EVERYTHING I WANT. Except she doesn't have a teacup pig, which I still desperately want. At any rate, like me, she was interested in meeting my pets, because it's fun to leave your 50 animals and meet new ones. I don't KNOW why. It just is.

Everyone liked her, including "WOOF!" over here. And do you know Lily just came out of her room and greeted Poochie? So far, Lily pretty much hangs out in the spare room. Sleeping on top of Iris' kitten bed and smooshing it, day afer day. But last night she was all, heyyy! I think Poochie has a way with the pets.

I'm pretty sure this is the first family shot I managed to get, and man, do I ever have bookend pets now.

So anyway, Poochie stayed a couple hours and we talked and played with the animals and I offered her no food, as I had a can of tuna and a box of flax, and yes I do understand I suck. I did have wine for her, which Lily drank.

After Poochie left I put on my iTunes, which do not contain a bunch of hits from the last time I went out, during the Clinton administration, or anything, and got all ready. Poochie told me to wear something swingy, and what I discovered is I own nothing swingy. Why? Why is that? So I wore black and pink sparkly jewelry. Because I am annoying.

Here is me guiding my coworker, The Spanish Editor, to my home. She had on lots of sparkly brown, which at least wasn't as making-June-look-boring as sparkly turquoise.

We get downtown to this club, and about 15 of her friends are set to meet us there. There's a huge line outside, and everyone in said line was about seven years old. "I donnn understannn!" she said. She is from Colombia. Do you enjoy my accent? If you were here, I'd sound Finnish. All my accents sound Finnish. "When we come here udder time it fill with people our age. Thirty, forty, not 15 like tonight!"

"Maybe they have different music on different nights," I offered.

"Jesss, that could be." At this point I'm making her sound like Speedy Gonzales. "But ebery udder time, it Saturday night, like tonight."

We both stood there in the street for a second, looking at each other in horror. "OH MY GOD! Eeets Friday night! OH MY GOD!" We giggled among the youngsters. Then we talked about how be BOTH fasted on Thursday this week, thinking they were having these insurance (INsurance) blood tests, but it turns out there was a MEETING about the INsurance and the test is Monday. I was so glad somebody else was all starving and peaked all morning and it wasn't just me.

So we ended up going to this bar right near my house. Dudes. It's RIGHT NEAR MY HOUSE, and it has multiple levels, and dancing, and a band, and outdoor seating with couches and WHO KNEW? I could walk there. Who needs to get out more?

After, she came over and I read her tarot cards, because that's apparently my trademark for getting babes back to my place.

The Spanish Editor is an interesting person. She used to be a journalist, and has been all over the world. She's one of those people who, if she has extra money, will spend it on having fun. I demonstrated for her my Botoxed forehead. Enough said.

All this socializing has exhausted the Eds. I like how a puff of fur has fallen off of him. Honestly, things don't look this filthy here till the camera flashes on them. Look at that bookshelf! Guess I'll, you know, dust today.

I have a date tonight, but in the 39495589020 emails I have exchanged with said...date, we talked about my blog and I said I didn't want him to read it, and he said (a) it feels like my private business and he won't intrude on it and (2) he doesn't want to read about how much I detest him, should I do so. I believe his exact quote was he was worried he'd see, "I've been spending time with this total rube. GOD." Which would be impossible for him to read because have you ever heard me say, "rube"?

So I will not say much about my date. Going on a date. The end. (Ohmygod he is really cool. Okay. Done.)

When I started this thing five years ago, I had no idea this dilemma would come up. I didn't ever think I'd be divorced and dating again and having to worry about my blog. I mean, obviously. How could I know all that? But it is kind of a thing, because it takes up a lot of my day, at this point, and I'll be all, "One of my commentors said..." like that's just a thing people say. But how scary to be someone walking IN to all that.

I should get up now but Iris is asleep on my arm. I will post and you 16% better say amusing things, because it looks like I'm stuck for a whole purry catnap.