Last night I worked late, and I got Ned drunk even though I wasn't there, and I took another 45-minute walk with the dogs and my foot is KILLING me, and now I have to go to work. If you want, you can leave now, as Ive just summed up this stupid post.
Remember last fall, when Ned went to a funeral, and he called me at work after all loud? "I'M NOT GONNA LIE TO YOU. I'VE BEEN DRINKING." Yeah, really? Cause I thought maybe you'd just bought a bullhorn, or perhaps you'd taken up projecting to the back of the room. A guy Ned went to college with lost his wife, and she was 46 and really pretty and they had children it just SUCKS, is what it does. At the funeral, Ned saw a bunch of people he hadn't seen in awhile, and might could have gone for a drink (or 88939493) with everyone after.
That was the night I dragged his drunk ass to Twilight, and I think sobriety hit him about halfway through when he came to and said, "Why am I watching men with glittery skin?"
Last week we ran into the guy whose wife died, and he told Ned that every Thursday from 5:15 till 6:15, a bunch of men meet at this bar. "You should come," he told Ned. "It's only till 6:15, so she won't get mad."
"Oh, she wouldn't get mad anyway," said Ned, and I appreciated the she's-not-a-battle-axe credit. Had he gone drinking with men till 2 a.m, I wouldn't be mad. What do I care?
So at 5:00 yesterday, I called Ned. "Did you remember you're supposed to drink with that guy?" He hadn't. "I'm going to go over there right now," he said. Several minutes later, he texted me.
This is what I don't miss about LA, because if this were taking place in LA, it'd be "an hour later, he texted me."
And have you noticed people don't say "texted," rather they say "text"? You know how few things bug me. But this is one of the few. "And he text me and said, 'What you doing tonight?'" Have you noticed that? Cause, irks.
"No one is here yet," he wrote. He text. "I got the veggies," he text. Okay, skin crawling.
After the next "no one is STILL here" text, I looked Ned's friend up on Facebook. "Oh, hell. I think he's on vacation," I wrote, looking at pictures of him ziplining. As you do. You guys are probably so sick of my ziplining photos. Sorry. I cannot resist zipping across a line.
The POINT is, Ned had two beers waiting for anyone to show, and because he'd had a (sit down) salad for lunch, he was drunkeldy drunk. Fortunately he lives right there where the bar is. Well. He doesn't live AT the bar. Maybe he'll start doing so, and become like Norm on Cheers. "NED!"
So that's how I got Ned drunk without being there. In the meantime, I very virtuously worked till 6-ish, then came home and turned on the TV for a minute, where there was a Behind the Music: The Pussycat Dolls special on. You can imagine how hard THAT was to tear myself away from.
I mean, do the Pussycat Dolls actually count as "music" to be behind? Remember when they had the E! True Hollywood Story? I mean, maybe they still do. But they used to have this theme music they'd play constantly, it went do-do-do-do-dododo. Remember?
Would seriously marry YouTube if it'd just ask. "YouTube text me and proposed!"
My POINT is, Marvin used to follow me around the house and play that theme music, as though I were living a True Hollywood Story. "Sometimes, June would do dishes. do-do-do-do-dododo...." "It was then that June came out of the bathroom. do-do-do-do-dododo..."
OHMYGOD ANYWAY. This whole post was gonna be eight words, where I ask you to delurk, and FORTY MINUTES LATER HERE I STILL AM. WHAT I MEANT TO TELL YOU REALLY FAST WAS I SAW PAUL.
Paul is my neighbor, whose birthday is four days (and 50 years) from mine. Often when I walk the dogs, he asks me to sit with him awhile and talk, and I always do. I hadn't seen him on his glider this spring and it worried me.
But here he is. He looks a little more frail this year, but you'd look frail, too, if you were in your 90s. I asked how he was, and he said, "Oh, I got FAP--falling apart." It seemed rude to mention "apart" was one word. Do you think a lot of people like me? Do you? Me too.
Even though my poor dogs act like they like these giant walks that are crippling me, you can see Talu drank Paul's cat's water and floomped down as soon as humanly possible. With Edsel's head like that, they look like some weird push-me-pull-me dog.
I'd LIKE to say they were too tired to mess with Paul's cat, but really that cat puts out such a "Oh, really? Go ahead. Go ahead and fuck with me, buddy. No, really. Do it" vibe that I think they just thought, neber mynd.
So thanks for slogging through all that nonsense, and NOW WILL YOU DELURK? I mean, if you are a regular commenter, go ahead and leave whatever comment you always do (you know, the one where you point out an error I've made, or tell me how crappy my photos are, or guide everyone with a link to a funnier blog. Those. Don't ever stop with THOSE), but if you don't comment, go ahead. I will not look at your ding-dang spelling and grammar. She says, after spending a whole post complaining about grammar and "apart" being one word.
Otherwise, leave a text. "So many readers text me!"
Sigh. FAP-ly, June.
