I thought I'd fill you in on my many activities so far this holiday weekend, and by "many" I mean "June is fairly pathetic."
On Friday, we got out early, so I took advantage of that extra time to come home and sleep like the dead for an hour. Oh my god, I slept hard. Propofol hard. I was listless for awhile, then got up and twirled my hair while starting at nothing, like a toddler. I know I use that line all the time, but it's a good one.
Finally, though, I rallied enough to go to dinner, only to be seated by the World's Worst People. We were outside, and it was a surprisingly quiet night at the restaurant despite it being First Friday downtown. This couple BARGED over, started scraping metal chairs across the concrete, and bellowing to each other for no reason at all. "YOU GETTING A MARTINI?" "YEAH!"
They weren't young. They were like, our age, so it wasn't that. And if that weren't bad enough, one by one their similarly loud family members joined then, until it was like The Chorus of the Loud Family.
The beleaguered waitress came. "MA'AM, WHAT'S YOUR NAME?"
"Emma."
"WHAT DID SHE SAY HER NAME WAS?"
"EMMA."
"TWO MARTINIS, EMMA."
"SHE KNOWS THAT, I ALREADY TOLD HER."
"WHAT?"
The entire family was talking, loudly, at once. Except for one kid, who was playing a video game on his phone. Zoom! Zoom! Zoom! said his video game. ZING! ZING! ZING! It also said.
The poor waitress ("The bartender knows how we want 'em," they told her, which, get over yourselves.) tried to leave the table THREE TIMES and they kept calling her back. "Oh, miss? Emma? Wait."
Everyone at my table was stabby.
The best part of the whole thing was when the WHOLE FAMILY started exchanging stories about times they'd been shushed in public by total strangers.
"I'M A GROWN MAN! A GROWN-ASS MAN! NO ONE SHUSHES ME!"
I'm about to, so...
"People don't like loud," bellowed the daughter. "It's because they're uncomfortable with themselves," she screeched smugly.
Oh.
My.
God.
IT IS NOT CAUSE WE'RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH OURSELVES, YOU THOUGHTLESS TWIT. IT'S CAUSE YOU'RE FUCKING ANNOYING.
Lemme tell you something. If your WHOLE FAMILY has similar stories about how the general public has wronged you, perhaps the entire rest of the world is not to blame. Perhaps the problem lies with you, you LOUD FUCKING ASS FUCKING LOUD ASS FUCKERS.
So that was relaxing.
Yesterday, I got up with Ned, and I know shut up. We went to Winston-Salem, for a change, where they have old cars on display every year at this time, and also a giant rockabilly show. We saw bands, a wet tank-top contest with rockabilly chicks, and best of all, two burlesque shows.
"I am so vanilla," Ned said, perusing the crowd full of sleeved-out, greased-haired, rockabilly-clothed men hither and yon. "I'm vanilla No. 6."
One time--ONE TIME--Ned said he thought of himself as a six, and without thinking I said, "Sometimes you're a seven" and he WILL NEVER LET IT DROP. EVERRR.
EVERRRRRRRRRR.
Okay, I'm sorry. You're a 10. Jude Law? Pfft. Morris Chestnut? Peedaddle.
Oh, also, we had a tintype taken. I call it, Ode to Vanilla No. 6. It did not at all make me think of...
...Laura and Almanzo. Except we took our coats off. What was with the coats? Yes, we're gonna take a total of four pictures of ourselves through 60 years of marriage, but let's leave our coats on for this one.
After we saw many, many titties, what with the burlesque and wet tank top and so on (one of the contestants was a trans person, and I so wanted her to win. But there was a totally pretty girl dressed sort of as Rosie the Riveter, so...), we had to go home and let Lottie out of prison.
Look how big she's gotten. ...Oh. Wait.
mom. schtop.
mom so boreeng. and hoo dis banilla 6 guy?
Look at my goddamn blinds. Need new ones so bad.
After awhile we realized we were FUCKING RAVENOUS, so I put the dogs in the back room, got the dog gate, put it all across the door with two chairs and weights, and we left for food.
Where we ran into friends of mine who saw far today have not texted to say, "Ned? What?" So. Good for them.
The place isn't far from my house at all, in fact you can walk there, so we were gone not long. But when we got back, Lottie had totally figured out how to get out of the goddamn gate, and was running amok around the house, and thank god pooped on the concrete floor and nowhere good.
Eyeriss could haff tell you dat going to happun
Edsel stayed behind the gate, even though it was 100% escapable.
I guess that's all my news. It's rainy and cloudy here, which makes it a perfect day to do zero point zero. I mean, as much as you can do zero with El Diablo the Puppy in your house.
wood resent but it towtlee trew
I am my demon dog's mom,
June
