And speaking of my glasses, the other day my Pal from MA called me, and by the way this story has absolutely nothing to do with glasses. I was just trying to segue into a new topic.
So I was driving in my car, and no I am not The Pointer Sisters, and Pal from MA was telling me a story. "Turn left," my GPS would say as she talked, or "Take the motorway."
"What IS that?" Pal from MA groused, annoyed at being interrupted.
"It's my GPS. I have it tuned to be a British voice so it's like Barry Gibb is in the car with me, giving me driving directions," I said.
"Oh, as he's wont to do," said Pal. "You always find Barry Gibb in a VW Bug, telling someone where to go."
"Grab my medallion and keep left!" I said Britishly.
"Keep left," parroted my GPS.
"I HATE THAT THING!" screeched Pal from MA, who has always had the ability to get screechy from out of nowhere.
After about the 86th British instruction from Auto Barry, Pal said we were gonna take a road trip together to the Grand Canyon, get out of the car, throw that GPS over the edge, and drive back home.
"Except we won't know how to GET home," I pointed out.
Anyway, we decided to invent GPSes that only speak in super-annoying voices. Like Fran Drescher's or Rosie Perez's.
"OH MY GAWD, TURN LEFT! WHAT ARE YOU, STOOOPID?" it would say.
Or it could talk like Alicia, my old cleaning lady. "Mija! What kind of geeeeenius doesn't turn left in 800 yards? I call the police on your ASS, mija, you don't turn left."
Every story from Alicia involved her calling the police on some ass somewhere. Also, she was forever yelling at me about things she had to clean in my house. "What kind of GENIUS leaves a coffee cup of the wooden table, mija!?"
So that is my invention with Pal, and if you steal it it is now OFFICIALLY LISTED ON MY BLOG and I will sue you. And call the police on your ASS.
In other news, last night I was all excited because I had a date with Chatting at the Sky. We were going out for frozen custard together. But then she texted me and stood me up, and I thought about getting frozen custard by myself but it seemed pathetic somehow. We are going next week. I have custard anticipation. I have general custard anticipation.
Sometimes I love myself so much it hurts.
And tonight, as if my life could get any more exciting than a potential frozen custard date, I am going to partayyy with my friends Marty Martin and his girlfriend Kaye. With an "e."
A few days ago he emailed me. "Kaye and I found a great lounge kind of place that is totally cheesy and plays disco music. We're going back on Friday. It's awful there. You in?"
"Of COURSE I'm in!" I said, already anticipating how I Will Survive at the YMCA with my Groove Thing. Yeah yeah.
Then Marty looked it up yesterday and saw it's closed for "renovations." "Which means they probably will fix it up and it won't be a cheesy disco anymore," said Marty.
Why do people have to ruin EVERYTHING?
So they have invited me over to eat bad food and watch a movie instead. Then I suggested we all wear our pajamas and they were down with that. Marty, Kaye and me? Cool. Cool on a Friday night, is what we are.
Then after that, I am sorry to tell you you will be Juneless for a few days, as I am GOING TO THE BEACH. I know! My college roommate Sandy invited me, and going with her will be like bringing Sandy to the beach.
June's blog. Where you come for…why the hell DO you come here?
Anyway, we are thinking of replacing all the furniture in the condo she rented with wooden milk crates, so we feel more at home with each other. Also we are totally making microwave cake like we used to.
So the point is, I do have some exciting posts coming up for you. Believe it or not I have convinced Dick Whitman and Daniel Boone to each write an "I Dated June" post. And here is so how they are:
Daniel Boone was all, "Oh absolutely! I would love to!" and he hasn't written his yet.
Dick Whitman said, "Hmmm. I don't know" then eight seconds later he had written his and has contacted me 16 times to go over his typos.
So that's something to look forward to, the I Dated June from the Goofus and Gallant perspectives, and perhaps I'll dredge out some old post that I think is funny, but I promise this time it won't be my 10-grade-diary post which clearly I cannot get over.
Okay, come on. That 10-grade-diary post was the BOMB.
Talk at you. Talk at you after I get the sand out my nethers.