Friends · June's stupid life · Photo essays

Am I still 45?

What if now that I'm 45 I'll be all mature and deep and stuff?

What did Mr. Spock find in the toilet? The Captain's log.

See. Still funny to me. I guess I have not matured yet.

So my birthday was excellent. Did you know that every year I take a picture of myself on my birthday, because I could not possibly be more self-involved, and I have a photo album dedicated to just me-on-my-birthday pictures? I went back to old blog posts from birthdays past and cannot find incidences of me in old birthdays, but I know I have showed you those pictures before. Irks me. Anyway, I took yesterday's birthday photo.

Jugs
I thought it'd be nice to include some of my family members, but as you can see, Tallulah told me to tell it to the hiney. Plus also, hello jugulars. Am I a milkmaid? What's with those breasticulars?

Also, that bowl on the porch might be from a cat I might be feeding in the neighborhood, who might look just like Henry only beefy and big. One night he was staring at me through our window, and I thought, Why is Henry looking at me through the window? Why is Henry really big? And finally I figured it out. Said doppelganger cat is really friendly and the other night he tried to walk right into our house, only to see Tallulah in there, who was in the middle of eating Marvin's Rice Krispy Treat wrapper.

They both froze in place–the cat in the doorway, Talu with the wrapper hanging out her mouth. It was not her intimidatingest moment. Nevertheless, the orange Henry doppleganger left in a hurry. I think he belongs somewhere because he's huge, but just in case…

Luroof

I tried for another shot of Lu and me, and welcome to the roof of my dog's mouth. Checking for stalactites!

This'lldo

I am using this one, despite the 87 eye wrinkles. Girlfriend is 45. Who are we kidding? Of course I have 87 eye wrinkles.

Fleurs

In other birthday news, Marvin brought me breakfast in bed and sent me flowers at work. He is a nice boy.

Apron

My cousin Katie made me this sunny apron with her very own hands. I have no idea why the stupid picture has stripes in it. Maybe it's Fruit Stripe film.

Hateself
My Pal From MA, who is a faithful reader and also my oldest pal, sent me this nicely wrapped gift and I photographed the niceness, but see, I am so blind that this looked IN FOCUS when I looked in the little square on my camera. Then when I put it on the computer, hello. Have I mentioned I'm 45?

Oink

Inside the nicely wrapped package were these cute pig soaps. And I am totally being my grandmother now, because I put them in my etigerre/shelf/egg salad thingie in the bathroom, thinking, These are too nice to use. Get me my Emeraude, I'm going to my Eastern Star meeting now.

I passed one of those terrible trucks the other day, where they are carrying live animals to go to some slaughterhouse, and this truck had BABY PIGS on it. BABY PIGS. Why? What were they doing with baby pigs? And when I looked in at them? One of them squealed at me. It was everything I could do to not jacknife that truck and somehow unlatch that thing and let them all free. Onto the highway. That would have been a sensible solution.

Eiffel

From my stepsister, I got this notepad with a sparkly Eiffel Tower on it. Everyone knows that with me, if you give me something Eiffel Tower-y, you cannot go wrong. If it sparkles? Even better.

Jar

She also found me this cool old container at an antique shop. Also in the etigerre/bathroom shelf/egg salad thingie.

Tonsils
Every gift my friend Paula gives me elicits this reaction, where you are forced to look at my tonsils. LOOK AT THIS BRACELET! Love.It. Love. lovelovelovelove.

I got many other gifts, but this was all I photographed. Also, I forgot to listen for the click. AGAIN. 45th year in a row. Or almost. When I was just a little kid, my grandmother told me that if I was really quiet, at the exact minute I was born on my birthday, you can hear the number click over in your head. In retrospect, she probably just wanted me to shut.the.eff.up because I was probably being screechy on my birthday, but do you know I have had EVERY INTENTION of listening for the click every year, and EVERY YEAR I forget? This year at work I even said, "In eight minutes it's time for me to listen for the click" and then I forgot. Because they had a cocktail party yesterday afternoon. At work. I am not making that up.

I had a pomegranate juice mixed with Sprite, which let me tell you is delicious, if you are looking for something tasty and pink and you don't want to get drunk. And you want to forget your click. Dammit.

Well, maybe next year. Oh, and thanks for your bday wishes! Oh! And comment of the week goes to Tracey for her Jack-and-Diane-related birthday wish yesterday, and special shout to Kerrin for her memory of every second of my blog. Killing me. Not as much as the Captain's Log, but still.

31 thoughts on “Am I still 45?

  1. My grandfather always referred to an exposed decolletage by saying, “Her lungs are hanging out.” I don’t know why that cracked me up, but you know how that stuff works.
    Happy Birthday! God, I’d give anything to be 45 again; I was awesome at 45–I just didn’t know it.

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  2. Once upon a time I was a receptionist for a company that provided for the needs of pig farmers all across Canada. I promise you that those baby pigs (called weanlings) are not going to a slaughter house.
    So be at peace, and keep having a happy birthday weekend!

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  3. 45 sounds good to me, perching as I am here at 54.
    When I was in my twenties, I remember thinking my mother was delusional when she told me she still felt about 27-30 years old, but now I know it’s true…mentally, anyway.

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  4. 45 sounds good to me, perching as I am here at 54.
    When I was in my twenties, I remember thinking my mother was delusional when she told me she still felt about 27-30 years old, but now I know it’s true…mentally, anyway.

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  5. 45 sounds good to me, perching as I am here at 54.
    When I was in my twenties, I remember thinking my mother was delusional when she told me she still felt about 27-30 years old, but now I know it’s true…mentally, anyway.

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  6. I went back to old blog posts from birthdays past and cannot find incidences of me in old birthdays, but I know I have showed you those pictures before. Irks me.
    July 11, 2008.
    Must see pic from June’s 5th birthday. 🙂

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  7. True, the baby pigs are not going to slaughter houses. Those trucks are transporting the animals to new homes, not to the slaughter houses. Kind of how those trucks loaded with new cars aren’t headed for slaughter houses. Settle.

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  8. I think if you put on your birthday apron along with your beautiful birthday sweater, you’d be a shoe-in of June Cleaverage in the remake of Leave it to Beaver.
    Thank you for sharing your birthday gifts with us.

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  9. The baby pigs are going to people that
    have adopted them, and they will all have
    great forever homes with people that
    love baby pigs .
    or not

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  10. Fabulous gifts! You are rotten!
    In one post I got to see your tonsils and Talu’s tonsils. Well done.

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  11. I don’t remember 45. Or 46. Or….well, you get the picture.
    You are one funny gal/girl/kid/woman/45 yr. old lady.
    I love reading your ramblings.
    Keep it up.

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  12. Ha! When I told my husband (the Trekkie) the beginning of your joke, he answered, “Some Klingons?” When I told him the correct answer, he looked at me and I said, “I read it on BBP.”
    And, Hulk, my birthday is the 19th, too. We can’t possibly keep up with Junie, can we?
    I’m celebrating tomorrow with my family, and on the actual day my husband will be in Knoxville. Harrumph!

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  13. June! Breast implants for the birthday? When you said “puppy” Marvin heard “puppies”? Boobalicious at 45!

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  14. I heard the click…about 9:42ish?
    Yes. Nice boob shot. You are officially a member of Courtney Cox-Arquette Club.

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  15. I didn’t visit the blogosphere or whatever yesterday so I missed it and now I’m that girl, but happy yesterday birthday! You didn’t tell us what you ate! My birthday is coming in less than a month and I have no idea what I want to eat, but I know it’s gonna be good.

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  16. Oh, June! You kill me! An yet…you give me the strength to carry on.
    I face my own #45 with fear and trembling.
    It is coming for me, June. It is coming with it’s crepe paper skin and it’s horrible eyesight and achey-brakey back. It is coming with zombie nightmares (seriously- 3 nights in a row!) and no Woody Harrelson in sight. In 10 days it comes. Beware.

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