Bye Bye, Pie!

Cubism

God, I love coffee. Don't you? I have never understood those soda-in-the-morning people. Blech.

June's blog. Getting shut off one-handedly while people hold their Diet Cokes in the other hand, since 2013.

I do, though. I love it. And I even have to have tamped-down half-caf coffee because of my migraines. Okay, technically I'm supposed to have NO coffee at ALL, not even decaf, but that's just the crazy talk. That's like Sophie's Choice or something. I just can't do it.

Anyway, before I wax on about coffee some more, I wanted to tell you the exciting news that I got moved into a cubicle yesterday. Sadly, it was my work friend Vilhelm Oyster's cube, as he got moved upstairs to another department. Nevertheless, this means I am no longer just OUT THERE, the the OPEN ROOM, like I'm Mary Richards or something.

Do you think she ever got sick to freakin' death of having to talk to Murray all day? And what if her bra strap needed adjusting or some similar quandary? There was NOTHING SHE COULD DO.

So yeah. Less Mary Richards today. More Milton from office space. I told my coworkers I was going to decorate my cube all bachelor pad-y, the way Howard did on Andy Griffith once his mom moved out, and guess who needs to watch less TV?

Howard's mom got married and moved to Mount Pilot, so Howard decorated with those bead room dividers and so forth. I totally want that, and shag carpeting, and an oil fountain with a naked couple embracing and possibly one of those funny funny "Hang in There" posters with a kitten.

What?

So that's my big news. Got me a cubicle.

Also, I'm in this fitness challenge at work, which I've told you about already but no one pays attention to me around here. I am supposed to work out for 45-minute increments, and I get a point for each time I do, with five ADDITIONAL points if I work out five times in the week.

On Monday, we turned in our points for the week, and do you know every single one of those heifers on my team did the five days? GOD. Who knew I'd be with a bunch of overachievers? I did three. Three days. So I got three points. They all got 90 points apiece or something. So last night I took the dogs on a 45-minute walk, with my plantar fasciitis, although the plantar fasciitis was feeling better. Until I walked for 45 minutes with the dogs. Usually we do, like, 20, if I can walk them at all these days. I know. My poor dogs.

At any rate, it was fun to see Edsel look actually kind of tired at the end of those shenanigans last night. His tongue tends to ROIL out once he's tired. He can't just hang it out like a regular dog. It was to ROIL dramatically to the side like he's the TIREDEST DOG ON EARTH, and I don't know where he gets this dramatic streak.

Lily seemed annoyed that her 45 minutes of peace was over when we arrived back to our abode. She was all, Oh, look. It roil tongue. Good.

I guess that sums up what's new with me, other than I rented Bridesmaids last night, which I've been wanting to see for quite some time other than the barf scene, which I screamed past with steely determination. Anyway, it really was funny and I knew it would be.

Why they gotta put barf scenes in every movie now?

I will go shower now and get ready to work on a cube. You have no idea how exciting working in a cube is once you've worked in a desk sitting in Grand Central Station all day.

Squarely, June

Upstream

I have to be at work--work work, not fake work, and yay!--in 20 minutes, so I must hurry.

I went out with Ned last night, to the salmon salad place we like. I usually eat half of that giant salad with an enormous piece of salmon on it, but I did Tracy Chapman workout first so I ate the whole damn thing. That piece of salmon must have been terribly popular in school. He was all big and substantial. He was probably big man on fish campus, like a fishy Doug Simpson. And then I ate him.

Dear Mom, Doug Simpson was the big man on campus on a Brady Bunch episode. He asked Marcia out. Hilarity ensued. No, I WON'T ever get over The Brady Bunch, mom.

Anyway, since I have to go, I bring you this.

Wait. First I bring you my nose and my new hair, as I was rushing out to meet Ned. Please note that although I have on a light sweater, it's managed to slip off to reveal that SAME DAMN PINK BRA I showed the other day. I cannot win. Am strap exhibitionist.

Anyway, one of you told me to watch this the other day and now I am obsessed.

 

Also, I love this.

 

Okay, bye.

Tyrannosaurus Ned

I meant to write sooner today, but apparently MTV feels the need to distract me with retro episodes of The Real World, in particular The Real World Las Vegas from 2002.

"Trishelle's hawt." There's this poor awkward kid from the Midwest on Real World LV, and do you like how I've become so familiar with it that I abbreviate it, kind of like when people call it "Idol," which by the way makes me wretch. "Idol." Shut up. Anyway, the poor awkward kid says that 9,000 times an episode in TRWLV. "Trishelle's hawt."

And she was kinda hawt.

Back when this was a real show, Marvin and I would go around saying, "Trishelle's hawt" in that poor Midwestern kid's voice, and guess who needed lives so bad? Was it Marvin and me?

Also, I love how on this show they fight over use of the phone, because no one had cell phones. That was only 11 years ago. I'm telling you, styles are kind of the same, music is kind of the same, TV IS KIND OF THE SAME, but technology? All over the place. It's the only thing that seems dated from then: the lack of technology.

OHMYGOD none of this is why I GATHERED you here today, though. I GATHERED you here to update you on Ned's condition, and to tell you about Chris and Lilly's baby, and all I can think about is Trishelle and her cell phone.

What kind of bullshit name is Trishelle, anyway?

So Ned, who seems to have no opinion on Trishelle, but maybe that's because I've never asked him about his feelings on Trishelle, went to get his dang wisdom teeth out yesterday, and I took him. When you go to Ned's--and why are you at Ned's? What are you doing with Ned? I could kick your ass, you know, you giant tramp--you have to call him so he can let you in to the Fort Knox Gelatin that is his apartment. You'd think he was storing gold or Trishelle up there, so secure is that building. The point is, I was just gonna call and he was gonna come down and then we were gonna schlep to the dentist to remove his parts. But when I called, his "Hello?" sounded so scared and beleaguered that I just felt terrible for him.

Ned. Looking forward to having his teefs out since never.

When we got there, I planted myself in the lobby, where I'm delighted to tell you a sporting event was taking place on the lobby TV.

The dentist really went in for the "we're in a cabin somewhere" scheme, by the way. To the left, there, is a canoe book shelf. I am not making that up.

Here I am, thoroughly enjoying said game. Note also the canoe lamp behind me. My ex-best-friend Esmerelda (the first person to ask gets impaled with a pine cone. I've told the story 40 times. Google ByeByePie + lost my best friend. You're welcome) used to sell Precious Moments figurines, and they had an anniversary figurine of two Native Americans, "injuns" as Hulk and his offensive Indian tattoo would call them, and the figurine read "Many moons in same canoe. Blessum you."

I am also not making that up.

Fortunately, Ned's appointment went quickly, and I was never so glad to see someone's cute face as I was when he came out of that room. I'd been trying to read but really the whole time I'd just been nauseated for him. Really, I was nervous as a cat, because he was. But he was at the desk paying and I mouthed, "You okay?" and he nodded yes, because of course he was clamping down on 50 yards of gauze. Really, dental procedures are barbaric.

We had to go fill his prescription for pain meds, and even though he was clamping, he managed to chatter like a magpie the whole way. "Aaat rully wonn't so ad," he said.

"You should probably try not to talk," I said.

"O ay." [Eight-second pause.]

"Eally, o. It wonn't at ad."

"Okay, good. But TRY NOT TO TALK. Just clamp."

"Oot ooo you aaant oo oo now?"

"OHMYGOD, CLAMP. We aren't gonna do anything now but get you home. Geez."

Eventually, we got home and Ned changed his disgusting awful gauze and got all woozy about it and asked for a chocolate shake. Ned never wants bad things like chocolate shakes, and I was glad to go get him one. But right when I was leaving, I got a text that Lilly had had her baby! And they wanted me to visit right then!

Ned said he'd watch his riveting sports and sleep and to go ahead, and I was kind of worried he'd expire from tooth removal, but I also really wanted to see Lilly for the FOURTEEN SECONDS they keep you at the hospital anymore, so I said I'd scream over there, stay for 15 minutes so as not to be the rude overstaying visitor, then get Ned his shake.

On my way to see Lilly, I remembered I forgot to sign that contract for the Exciting Thing Ima tell you about eventually, so I stopped at home, let the dogs out who were totally confused by me being home at 4 p.m., signed and scanned and emailed said Exciting Contract, then scream scream screamed over to the hospital that is eight inches from my front door, and also where I left my fibroids last year. And the year before.

Clearly I have boomerang fibroids.

And oh! Lilly's baby is cute! And thank heavens, because Lilly had SAID she had a cute baby, but she's the MOM. If that thing had come out looking like Marty Feldman she'd have thought it was cute.

Okay, here's the story. Lilly said I could put the baby's picture on here, and I KNOW Lilly HATES her own picture, yet I ASSURE you she looks REALLY VERY LOVELY in this one, but I cut as much of her out as I could so I wouldn't piss her off and yet still include the baby. Whose name is Zella Grace. It's a family name. Isn't that a cool name?

Also, Lilly got a beautiful diamond necklace from Chris, for, you know, passing a huge baby head out her parts and so on. Which by the way Lilly did not exactly enjoy. Wasn't what you'd call a relaxed evening, her evening of giving birth. Am thinking surrogate motherhood will not be on L's list of hobbies anytime soon.

Childbirth. Apparently it hurts.

Naturally when I got back to Ned's I showed him this photo of me holding a newborn necklace. "You deserve a diamond necklace too," said Ned, who I doubt is out getting me one because he clearly said that while under the influence of morphine or whatever he took for his teeth. "When you have my children, I will get you a diamond necklace."

See. Someone just got away with murder, there.

The point is, after I did all those things like sign contracts and visit babies and covet diamonds, I schlepped to the shake store and got Ned's treat, only to DROP IT LIKE IT WAS HOT when I got to his house.

Best.girlfriend.ever. And yes, I DID go get another one. And yes, I DID swear like a madwoman. I'd like to take this moment to thank my dad for teaching me all the really good swears, because man did they come in handy when I dropped that @&%# shake.

So there it was. Ned survived. Lilly birthed. It was a big day. Other than the part where I didn't get any diamond necklace.

The rest of the evening we spent quietly, because Ned was told he couldn't eat anything but mushy stuff, and he couldn't drink alcohol, and he couldn't have...raucous activity, so that pretty much ruled out anything we WOULD have done on a Friday. Usually Fridays find us eating a whole mess of peanut brittle then slam dancing in a mosh pit.

Generally on Fridays we have a who-can-chew-the-biggest-piece-of-ice contest and then we head to the bumper cars.

Fridays? That's our eat gravel and box each other night.

Okay I'm done. So what we DID end up doing was eating split pea soup and talking.

"If you be named after something, what would it be?" I asked Ned.

"A beer. No, wait. Beers are too transient; they come and they go." Tell that to Mr. Bud Light.

"A comet," he amended. "But not one that hardly ever appears. A comet that shows up every four years, like the Olympics. ...Or a dinosaur. I'd like to have a dinosaur named after me. What about you?"

"Lipstick or a sex act. Except with my luck, it'd end up being one of those sex acts involving poop. 'I'm never seeing him again. He wanted to June Gardens me! These are Egyptian cotton sheets!'"

I finally settled on a rose. I want a rose named after me. Wouldn't that be nice? The June Gardens pale pink rose. With sparkles. Maybe you could plant it and add a little glitter to the soil and it'd grow all sparkly. Do you think?

Anyway. He feels sore today and a little tired, but I think Ned will live. And Lilly is home already, of course, because WHAT IS WITH HOSPITALS TODAY? Lilly mentioned that Zella hated her first bath, and I suggested she might be French.

With that, I bid you adieu. June and her rose, out.

I wonder what we'd name after Trishelle? A hot plate. The Trishelle Hawt Plate.

P.S. Chris and Lilly just sent this picture. thurtee-ate hourz of lyfe all it take to be totlee sik of ant joon blog.

The Diary of June Gardens

I just kind of feel like I'm the only one who cares when The Real Housewives comes on. These animals don't understand that it's the most important show of our lifetime. And SEASON FINALE AND REUNION SHOW NEXT WEEK!!!! dyingdyingdying!

You notice how I can't direct any attention to Edsel without him perking right up? she look at me? most excelint gurl look at edz? love edz? kizz edz? oh most excelint girl, pleeeeese love edz.

We could also accuse Iris of looking at me, but she can't look at anything, smartie. Just just over there swinging her head and singing Isn't She Lovely.

Before I start getting concerned emails and comments, she was right above me, Lily was. Far from the maddening crowd. Similarly ignoring The Most Important Show of Our Lifetime.

Speaking of shows, tonight Ned and I are going to see the guy who invented Post Secret. Every Sunday I get excited because it's another week of post secrets, where people mail in post cards with their deepest, you know, secrets. They should also have Post Sucrets, where you mail in about your cold. I'd have sent $12 worth of post cards this winter. And you'd have all known it was my cold, because my cold was The Most Important Cold of Our Lifetime.

At any rate, the guy who came up with the whole idea is going to speak, and we are v.v. excited to go, and we figure if we can't get in because of the crowds, we'll just go to the homes of all the people present and read their diaries.

Have you ever read anyone's diary? Once an old boyfriend read mine then had the nerve to get mad about what was in there. When Marvin came to my house a few months back, after his dentist appointment in my neighborhood, he was here for an hour or so before I came home, and knowing this would be the case I cleared my browsing history on my computer, put away cards from Ned, looked around for anything incriminating, then LEFT MY DIARY RIGHT NEXT TO MY BED. I have no idea if he read it or not, other than the part where he loves to do things like snoop through people's things, often with hilarious results. So.

I must go, as it is late AGAIN and I KNOW. I never start writing my blog until it's one minute before work anymore. Last night I was up late on Facebook, IMing with Miss Doxie AND Ned. I was bi-texting. I went both ways.

I leave you with this, which a faithful reader sent me. Apparently there are people out there with our blog names. Or they really, really like this blog and my romance with Ned. Which would be not at all creepy.

June, not needing to tell secrets to a website because she tells them all here.

P.S. I really like that new housewife, the one who thinks her husband is king. Okay, that part is luducrous but other than that she's sort of real. As real as those women get. I also continue to like Brandi despite her name.

Greensboro Medium, or sometimes Large, if it runs small.

You know, every workday morning, the alarm goes off, and I hit snooze, and Lily is on top of me, and I hit snooze again and my POINT is, every time I get here to blog I go, MOTHER OF GOD WHY IS IT SO LATE ALREADY?

Today I figured out my goddamn alarm clock is 10 minutes slow compared to the rest of the, you know, clocks in the house. Son of a BITCH.

Am I the only person in America these things happen to? Doesn't everybody else set their alarm clock a little fast? Did you ever see Same Time Next Year? I love that movie. Alan Alda's watch is really fast, and he never fixes it, and he tells Ellen Burstyn something like, "I knew what time I fell in love with you. It was 11:02 p.m. I know because I looked at my watch and it was 3:15."

In other news, I am pretty sure I am getting a cold. This whole season, with everyone hacking and dying and aching and it sounding like a TB WARD in my office, I have escaped illness. I was just thinking, Maybe this year I have some kind of magical power that wards off colds, even though I have no spleen, which makes me more susceptible to illness, and even though I never got a flu shot this year.

That was some logical thinking. Yeah, that's it. A magical power. And now my throat distinctly hurts.

Which is fine. Ned leaves for ANOTHER GODDAMN BUSINESS TRIP tomorrow morning--I know. A Saturday. That isn't even fair--so as long as I can slog through tonight I can spend the rest of the weekend on the couch with my fixed TV.

I do have plans to see the tsunami movie tomorrow night with a friend but if I get ill those plans will be a wash. I'll be bowled over by the wave of this cold. I'll be drowning in NyQuil.

Tsunami jokes. Why did god see fit to punish me with a cold, do you think?

Ned and I don't really know what we're doing tonight, although what Ned does NOT know is he has a whole night of hearing about my cold up ahead of him, but last night when we were on the phone he said, "We can do whatever you want to do tomorrow, June."

"Makeovers! Long Island Medium marathon on TV and makeovers!" I said.

Since my TV got fixed earlier this week, I've been making up for lost time. Have not sat around looking at television since at least September. And oh! That Long Island Medium! That there is a good show. I've also continued to catch up on my Brady Bunch and my Andy Griffith.

Last night I saw the one where Marcia runs for class hostess at Filmore Junior High. The winner of class hostess gets to escort an astronaut to dinner at school or something. I mean, bitch ALREADY gets to take Davy Jones to the prom. Does she ALSO need to score her an astronaut?

Anyway, just to throw an unpopular girl a bone, Marcia helps this mousy chick run for the position, too, and under her fine tutelage, old Molly the Unpopular gets all pretty and shit and WINS THE COMPETITION.

I mean, the Brady Bunch had some hard-hitting issues. After her loss, Marcia OD and we see the whole family watch her get her stomach pumped. Alice makes some great wisecracks in the emergency room. Oh, Alice.

You know what's sad? Alice probably plays my age in that show. Sam is her Ned. God, that's depressing.

Oh, crap, I have to go. Thank heavens I stopped to write this important post. Talk to you tomorrow, when I will surely be stoic and brave about my cold, as I am wont to be.

In which June rambles. Surprise!

Last night, Ned and I discussed whether Wilona on Good Times was the first female promiscuous neighbor.

I mean, you had Mr. Bentley and you had Larry on Three's Company. They were always coming home and talking about their dates. But what other women were there?

Eventually you had the grandma on Who's the Boss, which, please. There was something WRONG with that woman.

Ned has never seen Who's the Boss. Boy, is HE missing out. Remember the son? Who was 100% gay at age 5? It was so obvious.

When I was in elementary school, I was friends with a boy who joined cheerleading in fifth grade, and who insisted on wearing a pink ribbon in his hair. It was a Lutheran school, and you kind of have to hand it to his no doubt German conservative parents for being supportive. I was really good friends with that kid, because I was the original fag hag. I later ran into him in college and he was studying to be

--wait for it--

an interior designer.

He was da bomb. We had these pallet things that we inexplicably rode on at recess, and when I think about it, nice toy. Safe. They were very low to the ground and you could totally run over your HAND if you weren't careful. The point is, he'd pallet up to you and sing you a song--often a showtune--then pallet off to another girl.

And honest to god, he never got this ass kicked, even though I feel like Hulk wants to get in a time machine and do so posthumously. Everyone was kind of, Oh him. THAT Liberace. We didn't KNOW from gay, but we were generally tolerant of his different-ness. Well. Tolerant. I was embracing him wholeheartedly because he was WAY more interesting than the snowmobiling crew-cutted boys in the REST of my class. Plus, we were in cheerleading together.

I really honestly had no idea I was going to go off on this tangent about Bud Gay, over here.

So how are y'all? Have you adjusted to the idea of four more years yet? Boy, are people ever being mature on Facebook. I was kind of avoiding it PRE-election because I was sick and tired of people's rants, but now they're being sore losers. Jesus.

Oh. And if I ever get so poor that I have to move into a cinderblock-walled apartment, just shoot me. Don't even let me move the first box in. Do me a solid.

Edsel is licking his empty dish, in there, and it makes me feel bad. I GIVE him a big PILE of dog food. Makes me feel like I'm starving the poor thing.

so hoooongree, mom. also edzul not gay. why he in gay post?...we got penk ribbun?

I had better get ready for work. I am doing editing now at work--that's why I'm there full time. I am copy editing and editing. There's a difference. Anyway, so that keeps me busy all day, then I have to rush home and work on that 350-page statistics textbook. Have worked on it 20 hours so far and ask me what page I'm on. 65. SIXTY-FIVE!

Ned was all, "We still going to dinner Friday?" and I said, "Yes, but then I have to go home and work." Fun. Fun date. And don't forget I am still also editing Polish documents. I hate everything Till the cash money rolls in.

Oh, speaking of Ned, I have our first emails, from when I picked him up online 10 months ago. I sent them to him in a folder and asked if I could publish them on my blog, and he said yes, but first he wants to delete some things so y'all don't know his every detail. Anyway, they are charming, if you ask me, and I cannot wait to publish them to the world. Then I'll tell the Steve McQueen story that made me say, "Okay. In love with Ned. Doomed."

I must go work, so I can come home and work. If I can't drive with a broken back, at least I can polish the fenders.

I think I was talking about Lulu, and how it must've sucked to be around all the other pretty Hee Haw actresses. Is how that got started.

I got no time to talk  to you, girl. I just got back from the vet, where Edsel had his stitches removed.

not to do to edz agan, mom.

He had a reaction to his sutures, they call them "sutures" there to make it all fancy and justify the part where it cost $34949494, so he has to be on pain/swelling medication now for 10 days. Between his surgery and Talu's hurt paw and her ear infection and Iris' tapeworm, I have been doling out meds for a month.

Oh, did I not TELL you about Iris' tapeworm? Yes. Mmmm!

At any rate, we have screamed home from the vet and I have to get my glasses fixed (lost a screw) (story of my life) (speaking of which, Ned is going to be gone another day on his work trip and this makes me not happy) and then I might get a pedicure because hello hooves and then I have to do some more freelance work before work.

So I can't just sit here like a lady of luxury and blog at you. Is what I am throwing down.

Before I go, tell me this. What TV show do you think was the worst TV show of all time? It can't be something that ran a few episodes and got canceled. Something that was an actual show and in retrospect it totally sucked. I ask this because Ned and I got into a discussion about Hee Haw. Enough said on that one.

Okay, tell.

Green Bean. Also, Brooks bought me a mink. Did I mention Brooks? Mink? Brooks?

You wanna know what's weird about Edsel?

Well. I mean, we'd be here all day. But you wanna know one thing that's weird about Edsel? (And YES. I CALLED THE VET about his eyes. Waiting for call back.) One thing out of the 39494949 that is weird about Edsel is that although this dog does NOTHING but CLAMOR for my love all day long, with the following and the slapping his chin on my lap and the snout snout snout nudging me CONSTANTLY? When I want to hug him or lean on him? He is appalled.

Let's say I'm on the couch watching the (riveting!) season finale of Real Housewives. And Edsel is up there with me even though dogs are not allowed on the couch and how many photos of those dogs on the couch have you seen now? Anyway, it was a special occasion because Edsel just loves Heather and wanted to see what she'd do about that bitch eating the bow off her cake.

And stop being so lofty. Just start watching the damn Real Housewives, will you? FIVE-HUNDRED and FIFTY DOLLARS Heather spent on that cake, and some heifer just COMES ALONG and eats the bow off before the cake is cut.

So there we are, watching our deep show, and I want to, say, lay my head on Eds's haunch. As soon as I do that, he jumps off the couch and falumphs to the floor with a crash. And he always has to sigh, like I put him out so tremendously. "{Flump.} HMMMMMMmmmmmmmmphhhhhh."

Whatever. Edsel is a commitmentphobe.

Yesterday I finally stopped downloading pictures of old boyfriends and finally got started on my statistics book editing. Because, fun? I kind of want to floomp onto the floor and sigh disgustedly.

I took my work to the Green Bean, which is a coffee shop downtown. Somehow I can get more work done when 11 pets aren't jumping on me. Unfortunately, the only table available was in the front, by the window, so naturally I kept watching people walk by and judging their clothes.

Eventually, ...friend came to join me, because he lives right by there. You know what I forgot to do, though? Was take a photo of ...friend. Was too busy being all smitteny and ridiculous like I always am.

After awhile, he left and I went back to my work till it was time for my deep television program. I think Gina's daughter is so terribly gorgeous. And just shut up and GO WATCH THE SHOW. Is all I'm saying to you.

Anyway, after all that time at the Green Bean yesterday, looking at young girls with fabulous bodies and that thing? Where they make every statement? A question? And I want to slap them on the backs of their heads? After all that, today on Facebook I see Marvin has written a song about the Green Bean. Sometimes he plays guitar there.

 

He took this with his hat cam. Who bugs me, with his hat cam? Do I even want to know how much that cost? Who here misses Marvin and his hat cam shenanigans? Anyone? Bueller?

Anyway, so there was my day. I hope you and your hat cams had an equally exciting one.

Rain hair

Girl, I got no time to talk today. I am meeting Dot Dot Dot Friend, and I like how that's become his name, for lunch at noon, and it's 10:23 and guess who just woke up 23 minutes ago? So I have to shower and put makeup on and dry my hair, which I assure you is gonna be rain hair because it's, you know, raining.

So I will dash, but not go to Dash, the Kardashians' store, but before I do I wanted to tell you I got sucked into Downton Abbey like everybody else. You know how I have Netflix on my DVD player now? Perhaps you did not see it on your CNN news feed on your home page. Well, I do. I can just turn on my TV with my smile and then say, "Netflix, please" and there it is.

They had season one of Downton Abbey, and I said what the hay.

Guess who sat there for the next seven hours, watching show after show? Then yesterday I went on SnootyPublicTelevision dot com and watched the first two episodes of season two. So now when y'all prattle on about this show in the comments I will not be bored to death.

Speaking of snooty TV, why is Vicky so religious all of a sudden on Real Housewives? It feels phony to me. Especially given that she is such a rude person. God is probably all, "Get her off my team." Wait. I should use some kind of God font. Get her off my team.

God speaks in sans serif, apparently. You know, this Typepad is really crappy when it comes to giving me good font choices. I realize that is kind of a first world problem. But really. It was hard enough finding a Lily font, much less a God font.

I wonder if there's a way to get new fonts in here, so I can have richer font choices when I am making fun of Vicky Gundelson and being sort of blasphemous?

See. This is why I'm late for things. I start worrying abou how to get a God font, then I Google it, and next thing you know I am at lunch in my pajamas.

So okay. Going. Downton Abbey is a good show, though. By the way. I need no fancy font to tell you that.

 

 

Totally a Katie Girl

Good gravy, I love Sex and the City so much.