Yesterday we had a contest to name the disgusting nail polish color I got during this past unfortunate manicure.
Maybe I could have named it Focus.
Anyway, the winner is...
Silly Putty Fuddy Duddy, thought up by Deb, Who is Back to Being Deb. I have no idea who she used to be, but there it is.
Honorable mention goes to the suggestions...
- Cockblocker
- Marvin Made His Mauve
- Talk to the Bland
- Unexcited Labia
- Sandra Dee O A
- Cadaver Grabber
- Oh My Liverwurtz
Really, so many of them killed me that Ned and I had to come up here and read them all and take a little vote.
Look at June, making lemons out of lemonade. Getting three blog posts and a contest out of one bad nail color. Anyway, Deb who has returned to being Deb from god knows what, send me your address and you will get your prize of Finger Hands.
You know. One day.
In the meantime, last night Ned had some kind of conference or meeting or job thing he had to go to, and I had my student. I left work, screamed home, fed everyone and let the dogs out, only to discover that flowers had bloomed in our yard. That was exciting.
Crocusesses! Is that the correct way to pluralize it?
These...purple-y flowers behind the bird house!
Daffodils with St. Francis!
I also talked with the neighbor behind me, who has a dog named Fewoosoqwqz. I can never remember that dog's name. Name your dog something people will fucking remember, folks. And if you're too stupid to know what an Edsel is in the course of history, that's your problem.
Anyway, their dog, Fzwzzywg, and the other dog in the other yard back there, Ozzy (see? Easy to remember) and MY dogs are all friends, or maybe enemies. I can't tell. They bark bark bark and run up and down the fence line together, so it SEEMS like they're friends, and it's not at all annoying when all four are talking at once. Jesus.
Anyway, the neighbor's name is Brandy, she's a fine girl, and I'm sure she's not sick of that song. I have a coworker, Molly, who by the way I've been going to lunch with a lot lately, and could she be more popular? Dudes, I am not kidding, everywhere we go, EVERYWHERE WE GO, more than one person will be all, "MOLLY!" like it's made their whole day that they've run into her. She knows everyone.
The point is, when the product Molly McButter came out, she said her life was miserable for awhile. My coworker Austin said his life was similarly hellish when those Austin Powers movies came out, and he wished he could have had, "Yeah, baby!" yelled at him just a little more often.
So, after all that, I screamed to meet my student, and she's usually there before me, but yesterday she wasn't. I got me another Shamrock Shake (shut up) and got my laptop going, not my literal lap, because weird, but my computer. At 6:08, I thought, wow, she's really late, then I decided to check my phone, and there were four messages from her.
And right then I knew, she wasn't going to make it. It must be something to behold my genius.
Fortunately for me, they were showing Top Hat, starring Ginger Rogers and similarly Fred Astaire, at the old theater I like. Ned had really wanted to go, but of course he had his work thing. I texted him to let him know I was headed there.
Son of a bitch, he texted back.
Just like Molly, I ran into people I know, but they didn't act like seeing me was the second coming. They didn't even breathe hard.
I like to sit in the balcony there, so I did, but this time they had an organ player, so I sneaked in a shot of him playing Your Cheatin' Heart. I am not even kidding. It's the South.
I sent this shot to Ned.
Son of a BITCH, he texted back.
I also sneaked in a shot of my own self, about to have popcorn for dinner. I guess my Shamrock Shake was an appetizer.
You'll never guess the plot. At first, Ginger Rogers hates Fred Astaire. Then there's a case of (wait for it) mistaken identity. Then it gets all farcical and they fall in love.
Spoiler alert.
Also, there is dancing and singing. Ginger Rogers wore this dress that was to die for.
It had, like, this sparkly thing in the front, too, and I just feel like it was a pale pink. Oh, the depression was a lovely time for dresses no one could afford.
After the movie, I went home and got to sit on my porch swing, till Ned got home and got on there with me and made it swing and made me feel barfy. The end.
Why can't boys just sway gently on the porch swing? Why they gotta make it fly around like they're 12? All men are still 12.
Okay, I must go put on my top hat and brush some tails or something.
Theatrically,
June
