Every time I woke up last night, there was an ear in my face. I'd usually kiss it, because big velvety Edsel ear, and then try to, you know, sort of tuck it under my face. Then I'd wake up again. Hail, hail, the gang's all ear.
Fitbit told me I was restless 11 times last night. [Stares pointedly at Edsel.]
wut? oh, godz...
Ned used to say, "That is the letter-C-ing-est dog I've ever seen." I believe Edsel is Catholic. I wonder if he wrestles with his Catholicism and his homosexuality. He's guilty about SOMEthing, that's for shizzle. Do you wish I'd stop saying "for shizzle" like it's 1999?
Oh, which reminds me: My latest Purple Clover is right here. Not that I wrote about Edsel being a gay Catholic who says "for shizzle," which would have been DA BOMB. No, I wrote about getting 10,000 steps on Fitbit in sneaky ways. Ironic, since I did only 6,830 steps yesterday. I rarely DON'T get my steps in, but when I don't, it's like 10,000 of me are in the stands, jeering me. YOU SUCK, YOU SUCK. I'm my own opposing team. I have a big foam thumbs down about myself.
Dear Hulk: I was kind of just sportsy then. Once a year, it's interesting for you to to visit my blog. LoveJUNE.
A reader once wrote me about how someone in her family writes her these long ridiculous emails and signs off like that LoveMOM, all abruptly and on the same line as the rest of the email. I guess I was just pretty cagey there, wasn't I? "Some member of her family" and "LoveMOM." Your secrets are safe with me.
That was back in the day when I could leisurely-ly answer people's emails, because I had maybe 450 readers a day and plus there was really only email. Now there's Facebook IMing and Facebook pages and people who read my Purple Clover articles and email me from that, and some of you even text me. I know I just made myself sound incredibly popular and I didn't mean it that way. I just mean sometimes I feel bad when I have to give you a two-word answer or whatever. I curl into a letter C in my mind over it.
I read a magazine article years ago that really, really affected me. It was written by a woman named Ann Hood, and I wish I could find it again, but I don't know if I read it in Family Circle or Oui, two magazines I'm forever poring over and I didn't just pull those magazine names out of my ass or anything, which makes you wonder what's wrong with me that I picked those two, and also what else I got up there.
Hey, nice umbrella stand.
THE POINT IS, the article was about how this woman, Ann Hood, had a child who died of strep throat--I KNOW!!--and how her best friend deserted her after. I mean, she was very best friends with this woman, and the friend left something or other on the doorstep on the first day and that was it. Nothing more from her.
Can you imagine?
It bothered me for weeks, that article, and finally in whatever year that was, 2003-ish, I found the woman's info online (I probably Asked Jeeves) and emailed her to tell her that and to ask if she'd ever ended up hearing from the friend.
And nothing. I never heard back from her.
Same thing with a blogger called Crazy Aunt Purl. I was so tickled by her blog so I wrote her, and? Nothing. I stopped liking her after that. I'd see her blog and think, Why you little...
I know. Harsh. "Why you little..." Like it's 1944.
The point is, I have more empathy for both of them now, as they are 34949494594 times more read-ed than I am, so I can imagine. Maybe I need to hire someone to read my emails and answer them, like I'm Davy Jones.
Now it's 1966.
Hang on. I gotta put my tortillas in, and I will not make a Javier Bardem joke. I'm I the only one who thinks Javier Bardem is le hot-o as le fucko? Do you enjoy my Spanish? I know. I'm practically bilingual. There's a lot of "le" in Spanish.
I joined Weight Watchers yesterday, because still enormous, and today I am having two corn tortillas with 1/4 of an avocado smashed onto them, with grape tomoatoes and salt and pepper. I'll probably skip the salt and pepper part, because hard core. Really, I think something might be wrong with me, other than the obvious. I--BOOM--stopped having periods in January, and I was always regular as rain, whatever that means.
I got all of the bloating and none of the period, and the bloating has stayed there. But also lately, my hands and feet are visibly swollen. My hands felt just like two balloons. So I'll probably go to the doctor, if I have one right now. "No, I'm sorry, Dr. Thacker just shot himself clean in the liver."
Okay, I gotta bloat on over to work.
Le bueno,
LOVEJUNE
