I bought a new yogurt this weekend; it has flax and pumpkin seeds and Lionel Ritchie and I don't know what all in it.It's a very busy yogurt. This yogurt also informs me that it's gluten-free, and guess what I am sick of. Gluten-free is the fat-free of the '10s.
Remember when we were all obsessed with fat-free? My ex-best friend's husband used to unload the groceries and say, "One hundred dollars' worth of groceries, three grams of fat." Years later, after they divorced, she was at a restaurant and thought, "That looks like Dan, if Dan had gotten fat." Sure enough, it was he. You know why he'd gotten fat? His new wife probably purchased fat.
Anyway, the gluten thing pisses me off. Gluten hate will be a Wacky Wall Walker in no time, and I cannot wait.
Speaking of which, I did not at all have Fritos for dinner or anything. I think they might could have had gluten in them. And fat.
Oh, but wait! Do you know what I forgot to do yesterday?
June's Coworker's Senior Picture Poses
You see here that Wedding Alex has sobered up since Friday and offered us this lovely senior-picture pose. Nothing says I'm-almost-outta-high-school like a flower on your shoulder.
"Did you feel sick on Saturday?" I asked her. I mean, girlfriend had THREE drinks and she was on the floor when I left. "No, I felt fine," she said. My tenant, however, who I ran into at the gay bar the next night, did not fare so well. She was still feeling awful on Monday.
I'm just now realizing that I went to a bar both Friday and Saturday. I am 50 years old. I feel like single life is really good for me. Two bars, Fritos for dinner. Of course, none of you would put Fritos past me on any given day, heartbroken or not.
Speaking of drinks, here's my latest Purple Clover article, about how Halloween parties for adults officially bug me. Not that I'm not above throwing one. Speaking of which, did I tell you I'm having an I'm Gonna Die Alone party in December? It's at my new old house. I'm having it December 5, so if you're local and I haven't invited you, write me. Evites isn't very find-your-friends friendly.
December 5 also happens to be Tallulah's 8th birthday, and let's not even talk about that. I took her back to my old old home, as Ned is back from his trip. The whole time they were here, I was on pins and needles worrying they'd ruin something of Kaye's. Their flapping tails knocked down knicknacks. They tried to get on the couch and bed.
But oh, when I came back (from returning them without incident), the house was so quiet and calm. I kept wishing I'd round a corner and there'd be a flappy tail knocking over Kaye's family heirlooms. I told them over and over I'd be back in a few weeks, and then we'd be together forever again. I wish I could email them a reminder.
What do you think Tallulah's email address would be? [email protected]? [email protected]? [email protected]?
Edsul's would be LuffMom!! and he'd be on Hotmail, still.
Last night I was chatting with a friend about really inappropriate-for-me dating sites I could join, and then I am sorry to tell you we came up with absolutely horrid screen names for my new imaginary ChristianMingle account. I know several of you told me there's a site where you can meet farmers, and you know what'd I'd make? An excellent farmer's wife. "Come in from the fields! Fritos are getting cold!" Banging on the triangle.
I'd join JDate if there were more than three Jewish people in the South, one of which I already married. And I'm not going on any Cougar.com. I'm practically dead already, I don't have time to futz around with a Mrs. Robinson situation. I gotta reel in a man so he can help with my funeral arrangements.
I'd better go to work, as I am wont to do.
Singularly,
June
