Enclosed please find one photo of my fairly absurd coworker, who Ima go ahead and call Texas Pete.
He may or may not be a fan of hot sauce. The jury's out.
Yesterday was a ridiculous day, which Ima tell you about, and apparently "Ima" is the word of the day. Remember on Pee Wee, when they'd have a word that when anyone said it, the whole room went crazy? Did actual kids watch that or was it just college students who were up smoking pot at 10 a.m.? I lived in this (so sanitary) house of six people, and I remember buzzing around the (sanitary) house one morning getting ready for my hard-hitting waitress job in which I wore a brown, zip-up-the-front waitress dress, and my three male roommates lying across our couches watching Pee Wee. I also remember when some beleaguered religious woman knocked on our door and everyone but me was high as the Himalayas. I never went in for the gange. Not my thing.
That poor religious woman. She had quite a task before her.
Anyway. So I took my car to get fixed yesterday morning, and I had to be there earlier than my usual being-up time, and I went there looking like a hell hag, not that that's a thing, but when you picture the term "hell hag," you are seeing what I looked like. Wet hair, no undereye concealer, and Latisse gives me dark circles. I never had dark circles before. Naturally the person taking my order or whatever was a hot young man of color. I mean, like he was dying to give a 50-year-old play even in full makeup, but still.
"I'm cuter than this later in the day," I told him, and he laughed at the poor old lady hell hag of the sea.
My friend Kaye took me to work, even though it was her day off, and she's one of those people who manages to look cute at 8 a.m. on her day off. She had a sassy ponytail, a cute coral sweatshirt, and she was perky. What the hell? And have you noticed she's forever loaning me her house and picking me up and I do, you know, nothing for her? I'm trying to think of one nice thing I've done for Kaye.
Yep. Zilch.
You know, I really wanted to find not the Jeopardy waiting music, but the Match Game waiting music, which is so much fantastic-er of a song.
I FOUND IT!
Am beside self.
Just danced to it and Iris did not care. Wow, look at the fur flying off me.
Oh my god I'm not past 8 a.m. yesterday.
So when I dropped my car off with hot man of color, as opposed to hot man o' war, I hesitated before leaving all my keys there. "Well, I won't be going home," I thought, in that scary Blair Witch forest that is my head. "Whadda I need my keys for?" So I left them there, drove to work with Kaye, paraded in,
and realized I couldn't get into my locked desk.
I went to the do-everything guy at work, who's been there forever and if you don't like that guy there is something wrong with you. He is thoroughly likable. You know how everyone likes that song that goes, "I gottta little change in my pocket goin' jang-a-lang-a-LANG..."? He's like that.
"I locked myself out of my desk," I told him. "Am I the first idiot to do that?"
He looked at me for a beat. "Yes, June," he drawled. "In 22 years here, this is my first experience like this." Oh my god, I love that guy.
Turns out, I had to go to HR, with my wet hair and my hell hag look, and get a key there. The women in HR always look impeccable, and there I am, dark circles like I'm minutes from hitting bottom on my heroin addiction, hair like I've just been dragged from the sea, having to admit I locked my own self out of my own drawer.
Corporate ladder. Here I come!
I walked to a restaurant at lunch, and it was a beautiful day so it was good. It was all good. Don't you wish people who said, "It's all good" would have bad things happen to them?
Oh, but I talked to a person on OK Cupid yesterday who was...not my type. Not my type at all. It was amazing how not each other's type we were. He's also a man of color, very hot--oh, the Lenny Kravitz guy. I told you about him. He wrote sporadically. But we had plans tonight. So we talked a bit yesterday, and dudes.
Like, I asked him what he did. "I work for fairness and social justice," he wrote. I mean, are you the Statue of Liberty? What do you actually do for a living, pretense?
Then he said something deep-ish, I forget what, and I said, "Listen to you! You're like a fortune cookie or something. When you say these things, do you finish them up with 'between the sheets'?"
Nothing from this guy.
"You know, like when you read a fortune cookie, how you're supposed to finish up with 'between the sheets' after?"
"Yes, I'm familiar with that, but I never do it. My academic's brain, I guess."
Oh, HOLY fucking shit. You know, I seem to be meeting almost exclusively people who work at the universities around here, and that's great, but this is not the first person who takes himself so seriously I want to force a clown nose on him. Jesus, dude. Since I'm not using this ladder to climb corporately, use it to get over yourself.
Fortunately, and this is really true, I forgot I have dinner plans with Vanessa tonight, thank god, so I had to cancel.
On the way back from getting my car, which came to $139 and I can live with that. Turns out, you offer just light sexual favors to young men of color at the car place, you get a discount! Budget tips, from June.
ANYWAY, on the way back from getting my car, I saw two, not one but two, beautiful big white dogs running out of the park and onto the busy road.
You can imagine.
I SCREAMED my car to the park, SCREAMED down the path (hit my 10,000th step!) (obsess over dogs and risk your life trying to save them. Fitness tips from June), ran all over yonder and never saw those dogs again. Am haunted by this. Haunted.
The good news is I ran into my friend Tank the Miracle Angel Baby, which was great, till I found out his dog Shug died, and then I told him about Tallulah, and we had sad, dead-dog faces. Socializing tips, from June.
I came home last night and scheduled a power wash for my house, and he's gonna paint the porch too (when he called me, he said, "June? This is Sam Sampson over at 1100 [June's street name here]" and I PANICKED, thinking a neighbor was calling to tell me my house was on fire. It wasn't. And how would a neighbor know my cell phone, anyway? It just turns out the handyman I found lives on the next block of my street.), and then I watched You've Got Mail, because I live alone and no one can make fun of me for it.
At the end, I cried like a little bitch again, and hello, zero antidepressants, and Edsel ran into the room, got on my lap and licked my face. He was very concerned. Edsel is a good boy, in his own weird Edsel way.
I gotta go. What are other things everybody likes? Tom Hanks. Everyone likes him. What else?
Hell hagly,
June
