Yesterday was reDONKulous and I never got a chance to write anything bloggy.
(And Dear Ned, you are very welcome for "reDONKulous." I know how you love it.)
I overslept, and what woke me up was my ludicrous Christmas clock that plays a different carol every hour. It was playing the 8:00 song, which is not a good sign as I have to be at work at 8:30. I do not recall which sadistic relative got said Xmas clock for me, but
Dear Sadistic Relative, Thanks.
Also, did you know that the first Noel the angels did sing? Did you? WELL I DO!
At any rate, I screamed over to work looking very put together and not at all hysterical. The other copy editor has been in Amsterdam and Paris with her husband for over a week now, and I currently wish to fly to Amsterdam, snap her neck like a pencil, shit down her throat and fly back. Because, busy without her?
Also? Did you know that there were angels we have heard on high? Sweetly singing o'er the plains? WELL I DO!
Then at lunch I had to answer interview questions because a friend is writing an article on Christmas clocks and by the way, oh holy night. The stars? Did you know they're brightly shining?
WELL I DO!
After I did the interview questions at lunch, I wrote next week's Purple Clover column, which will get edited till good King Wenceslas looks out on the feast of Stephen. Because in case you didn't know, that's what good King Wenceslas did. ...Did you know that?
WELL I DO.
Then I returned to work and stayed OVER AN HOUR LATE, IN CASE YOU SEE THIS, OTHER COPY EDITOR OVER THERE IN AMSTERDAM YOU.
And do you think as the day closed I returned to a silent night, holy night, over here? WELL I DIDN'T. I had freelance work to do, which means there went my evening, it went away in a manger, which by the way, had no crib for a bed. I might know a bit about this. Anyway, without taking down my Christmas decorations OR MY CLOCK, I went to bed, where my thoughts went bong-de-bong-bong-boop-doodle-ooo-boop-bop-boo-bop-jazz. Do you think I could relax or sleep? Do you?
Did you also know we wish you a merry Christmas? We wish you a merry Christmas? We wish you a merry Christmas? And also a happy new year?
WELL I DO.
So that is where I was on Monday, and I know I've now said six THOUSAND times that I will catch you up on what I did September through December when I was gone but now that I've droned on and you are over me and how I still I see thee lie, I will at this point only cover September.
My September, by June Gardens.
See You in September--NOT! by June Gardens.
Whatever.
Fortunately, my computer divides my photos up my month, so I just went back to see what I did in September, because do YOU remember the 21st night of September? Me, either.
No idea what Ned and I are up to, here, but at least we know it was in September. Why does Ned always look like he's sitting on hot pointy coals when I take his photo? Ned hates his picture being taken, is the thing. Looks like he picked the wrong girlfriend. In, you know, every way. In the grand scheme of things, Ned picked a Christmas clock.
Ah! This I remember. It was the beginning of the month, so right around Barry Gibb's birthday but that goes without saying, and it was time to plonk the flea meds on all 200,000 pets. I squished the tube on Iris, and as soon as I was done I thought, man, that seemed like a damn-ass ton of flea stuff.
And right then is when it occurred to me to check the tube, and sure enough: LARGE-DOG FLEA MEDICINE, the tube read. DO NOT SQUISH ON TEENSY BLIND CATS. Oh, I was fit to be tied. Ned was over, and he is OBSESSED with Iris, and he was worried sick. "Call poison control!" he said, snatching up Iris and trying to suck the flea meds off with his lips. Okay, he did not remotely do that, but I wanted to be dramatic. We did, you know, BLOT as much off as we could, and finally we got hold of the Bayer Corporation, makers of fine cat-killing flea medicine. They told us to bathe her right away and stay with her to make sure she didn't foam at the mouth or turn green or vote Republican.
There is nothing more relaxing than bathing a cat. It's right up there with clipping the wires on bombs, which I do often. Anyway, Iris lived, and man did she ever fight fleas that month.
No idea what was happening here, except THAT FLOOR. THAT FLOOR VEXES ME.
They moved a bunch of us into a large open room at work so they could revamp our office space. As someone moved out of her office, she gave me this mask because she thought it looked like me. Is this what I look like? Anyway, we were in there for three months (the big room, not this mask), all spread out on long tables, and our work area looked like a huge PBS fundraiser. We ended up all having the best time being together, and I got to know people at work I usually don't work with a lot, so it's all good.
Dear Ned, You are welcome for "It's all good."
Ned and I went to Orlando for a weekend, because he had to go for work and I am a gold digger who comes along on her boyfriend's glamorous trips to Orlando.
While Ned slaved, I lounged by the pool and listened to the towels tell me I'm super hot and have more talent in my eyeteeth than anyone else at school and that boys aren't asking me out because they're intimidated by my beauty. Wait, they were complimentary towels, not towels that sound like your mom.
We were also stupid enough to say, you know, let's just POP OVER to Downtown Disney. How bad could it be?
Even the towels were fed up with me at that point. We took a balloon ride, though, and that's what I'm doing, above. Ned did not just have me caged.
I may or may not have demanded this toy.
So that wraps up September, and that only took 11 hours to tell. Just think, there's THREE MORE MONTHS to cover! Won't you come back tomorrow? Oh, come, Emmanuel.
June, joyful and triumphant,
Out.
