Yesterday I asked you for stuff to blog about at lunchtime, but then lunchtime neared and someone I freelance for said, "Can you do this really fast?" and I said, "$ure," and who's sick of my dollar signs for Ses? S's? Sszez?
So that ruined that lunch hour, and now I can't remember what all you wanted me to blog about anyway. Aren't you glad I asked?
I'm all settled into my new space at work, and I'm hoping maybe my new space will bring me luck, and my whole life will fall into place, and no longer will I be haunted by bad relationships, bad debt and poor meal choices. Or, I could just be working one floor up and everything will stay the same. How can you know? Behold action shots of my coworker Molly headed toward me, in our new space, to go for a walk.
I realize that every photo I take looking that way is going to be a little whatever that is. Sort of too light? I don't know. On the other side of me is the office of my boss, fmr., and that's it, so she'd better be interesting up in there, because I'll be shooting that way a lot.
I also realize the best part of life is the thinner slice, and it don't count for much.
Please, god, take Air Supply out of my head. I don't ask much. But I know I love you. And that may be all I need to learn.
This creature. If you wanted to know the secret to my incredible success as a blogger, which is like incredible success as a hoop-skirt maker, so antiquated is that idea, what I do is take photos during the day, and then load the ones I like to my desktop. Then when I'm writing, I look at them to see if they jog any memories about things I wanna tell you at all, but seeing as I don't jog...
Anyway, this photo reminded me of what a court jester this cat is. Catten. He's 8 months old now. I just saw someone on social media refer to her child as 25 months, and that is when I got in my car, drove to her state, and bludgeoned her clean in the head with my dick.
AND NO ONE WOULD BLAME ME.
Anyway, during my most productive lunch, which included Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee, and see above ref to my stupid life, I was heard a galumphing noise above me. "That goddamn cat is on the roof again," I thought, and at this point it's just a regular part of my day, and probably the neighbors are all, "That panther is on June's roof again." Or maybe at this point I'm just The Cat Lady. Maybe I've graduated to being neighborhood cat lady.
Yay.
I tried to get him to come down, and he was all, Bitz, day just starteeng for Steelleee, so I left his ass up there. FINE, then, I said. You know how it goes when I do that.
As soon as I got home yesterday, he ran down the driveway and jumped in my car. The only other times he's been in my car was to go to the vet, so I've no idea why he just leaped in there like he knew it'd be a good time. But leap he did. I had to beg him to get out of there so I could go inside and revisit Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee. Why the Ar? Is that, like, a family name? "Yes-a! I-a come from-a long-a line of chefs named Ar! Enjoy-a my Beefaroni-a!"
That's kind of a Hitler mustache he's got going on, there. But I enjoy the jaunty angle of his hat. I wonder what the asterisk is for? Chef Boy-ar-dee, but were afraid to ask.
Hey, June, how about you try to make sense?
Speaking of homoerotic, the important news is that I went to the movies last night at my old theater, because of course Top Gun was playing. I'd never seen Top Gun, and before you get all, "Really?" just ask yourself, does June seem like the kind of person who schlepped out to the theater in 1984 and got herself a ticket to Top Gun?
So June schlepped to the theater in 2017 and got herself a ticket to Top Gun, and it probably cost more today than it did in 1984.
Turns out, Top Gun is a stupid movie, and Meg Ryan had herself some '80s hair, man, and also, I wish they could have played Highway to the Danger Zone maybe a little more often. No, really. And also, I didn't hear enough of Take My Breath Away.
They were all, Say, let's make a movie, spend 9 million dollars on airplane scenes, and select two songs to feature throughout.
Anyway, now I can say I've seen Top Gun. Also, I can say that they named the one pilot of color "Sundown," so. Go, 1984.
The further on the edge, the hotter the intensity,
June
P.S. I just heard a ruckus behind me and saw this out the door.
