Last night my neighbor had a dinner party, and I told her if she needed any help yesterday, just call, because I have no work and nothing to do because clearly I suck.
About 3 p.m., the phone rang and it was Peg, the neighbor.
"June, do you have any oregano?"
I loaned her some, but told her she would have to return every flake that wasn't used at the end of the evening. She'd have to pick it all out of the rice.
Anyway, it was delicious, the dinner, I mean, and we had some sort of Puerto Rican dish that apparently involved oregano. Also, there was an interior designer there–well, there were a bunch of them there, because that's what my neighbor Peg does, and yes she DOES think our collection of 48 guitars is a lovely accent to our home–and where was I?
Oh, right. There was one particular designer there who just moved back home from New York, and he told wonderful stories about decorating for the rich and famous, including a Saudi Arabian princess who wore a full burka with Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses and Jimmy Choo shoes.
I had 48 glasses of Coke and could not sleep, in a shocking turn of events. Not that I was trying to sleep at the party. "Could you all keep it down? I'm trying to nap on Peg's bed, in here."
Remember parties in high school where it was perfectly acceptable to just wander off to a bedroom and make out? Why aren't parties like that anymore?
In other news…
How long do you give him before he's too big to sleep in the in box? Also, I keep trying to proofread him but can't find anything wrong.
So, hey, thanks to everyone who bought my new merch yesterday! How much do you like me for saying "merch"? In a reverse turn of stalky events, when you buy something, I can see your full name. I can't see your credit card info, which is disappointing. I really wanted a new couch. But it's thrilling to see everyone's real name. I mean, thrilling in a one-has-been-sitting-around-with-no-work-for-three-days kind of thrilling.
Speaking of thrills, last weekend Marvin was going to the grocery store and asked if I needed anything. "Yes, coffee," I said.
"What do you mean, 'coffee'? Didn't I just GET coffee?"
"Perhaps you did," I said, growing antsy, "but I'm running low."
"No, I don't want to get you coffee. It's expensive."
I gave Marvin The Look. The "don't-you-go-there-buster-with-your-I'm-40-maybe-I'll-go-back-to-school-and-get-a-teaching-certificate-so-I-can-make-less-than-half-what-I-used-to-self-talking-to-me-about-my-9-dollar-bag-of-coffee-and-don't-THINK-I-don't-know-you-have-10,000-songs-on-your-iPod-which-means-you've-spent-$10,000-on-depressing-and/or-frenetic-songs" look.
You know that look.
So Marvin got the coffee, and at this point he is well-versed in what to get. Starbucks ground french roast and for HEAVEN'S sake don't get decaf.
Yesterday, I finished the old bag of coffee and I thought, "Goodness, June, you look cute today" and I also thought, "Why there art? Why there not just kibble all the time?" and eventually I thought, "You know, I could use just a titch more coffee here. I'll open the new bag."
The bag? WHOLE BEANS. Oh, Marvin is lucky I was in a "titch more" stage and not a "it's morning and I have no coffee" stage. I gave my bean grinder to my old workplace, because they needed a new one and I never use a grinder because it's messy. Especially when you place Marvin's medulla oblongata in there.
So last night when whole-bean Marv got home from work, I said, "Oh, crap! Before we go to Peg's party, I have to run to the store and buy a bean grinder. I forgot!"
And Marvin said, [Are ya sittin' down? Are ya ready for this?]
"Can't you just go one morning without coffee?"
I don't know what to tell you about Marvin.