Today's another Astonishing June-Hair Day.
Iris can't even look at me. See what I did, there? I really need a new back door. The bottom's all rotted off, and have I mentioned how broke? What unexpected car purchase? What two trips to Michigan in one month? What vacation to the beach that I can't really afford? Oy.
I realize you don't feel a bit sorry for me.
Anyway, the weekend. What'd you do? One of you wrote me, I think it was on Pie on the Face, to say you had big hair, and tried to tell your husband you had June Hair, and he was all, "?"
People just don't understand. You know what we all need to stop saying now? "The struggle is real." Let's all stop. Let's also stop saying, "I'll just leave this here" when you post something on Facebook.
Maybe it's not that my hair is big. Maybe it's just cranky.
Anyway, my weekend.
On Saturday I woke up with nary a plan, and I gotta tell you something: I love living alone. I think I even kind of love being single. There is nothing more wonderful than waking up and realizing that, as long as you don't spend much of the $156 you have till Friday, the world is your oyster.
Okay, that sounded depressing. But still. So I had plans to vote, to make America great again, pfft, and get cat food, and once again I promise you I woke up happy even though I'm just a poverty-stricken old maid cat lady. THE POINT IS I got online and realized there was a Pit Bull Awareness Day walk downtown. I got right on the horn with Bitchy Resting Face Alex and we went down there.
WOOF! WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!
RRRRWOOOF! RRRR! WOOF!
Here's BRF Alex doing her impression of the mom in Cat in the Hat, with big black Harper. Anyway, we walked a three-mile loop downtown, for what reason I don't know, and I was thinking we should have been singin' songs and carryin' signs, mostly say hooray for our side. Stop, now, what's that pit.
I admired our tableau of drinks: sparkling rosé, because someone can never blend in, beer, and a water dish for dogs.
I was not at all obsessed with this five-month-old pitty puppy with pawses, whose name was Chunk. They think he's a pit/mastiff mix. "I hate Edsel," I announced to BRF Alex, slugging back my manly sparkling rosé.
Afterward, I walked around downtown, and in your Big Book of June Events, you may recall that Ned used to live downtown, drivin' all the old men crazy, so I spent an hour strolling around half-drunkenly after my one wine, walking to bars and restaurants that Ned and I had been to, and then past his apartment, which was two inches from the railroad tracks. We had a lot of train sex when he lived there, because trains would go by every 14 minutes or something. I was just remembering that when...
Goddammit. I considered hurling myself in front of said train, but did not.
On Sunday, one of the Alexes who doesn't work at work anymore came by for a few hours, and I took zero pictures of her, so you're just gonna have to believe me and not think I'm just a sad old woman making stuff up. I cleaned the damn house, so it'd be tidy while I'm out of town this week, which makes no sense, and then a lot of this happened while I watched the Mary Tyler Moore Show for hours on end:
Also occurring was this:
Not to mention:
Act-shun, I wanna live! Act-shun I got so much to give. I wanna give it, I wanna get some too.
It's been awhile since we enjoyed that video together. Let's do so now.
I want you to know this never gets old for me. Never. Her hair, her fine outfit, hearing someone actually sing, "act-shun," the excited audience, and mostly her fine dance moves.
Whenever you read me, I want you to picture disco balls glimmering at you from now on.
I gotta go. It's time for my horn-solo dance part.
Lovin' the nightlife-ly,