I got up early because I have several chapters left to proofread of that Polish document (don't ask), and I now also have a 350-page statistics textbook to proofread, so I was gonna try to get ahead of either of those tasks before I went to fake work, and instead I stampeded in here and started blerging.
June's blog. June's blerg. Come for the short, concise sentences. Stay to get your name made fun of in the comments.
We're doing a lot of don't-ask-don't-tell today so far.
At any rate, despite the fact that I am in here wasting time talking to YO AZZ, I am glad to have the freelance work to supplement my 25 hours at fake work. Because broke? Broke? Does not begin to describe it. I'm gonna pay my house payment late this month, and I need three new tires and can't afford to get new ones, so now whenever I drive I MINCE down the road, convinced this will be the moment I blow up and careen to my death.
It's relaxing. Is what it is.
So, yeah. Glad to have the work. The Polish thing I'm working on and I SAID DON'T ASK. GOD. is actually coming to me from Poland, and the person who is emailing me with said documents talks just like Natasha, who I realize is Russian.
Thank you for to do the document so quickly, June. Moose and squirrel. Love, Polish Place Who Is Sending You Work.
But that is not why I gathered you all here today. I was gonna tell you about my weekend. Spent with Ned. Funded by Ned. Starting with that $175 towing fee. Oh, and I'll tell you what. I drove over to his place on Friday night and there was a security guy walking around the lot. Ned's parking area being all Fort Knox n' shit is a new development, and I am unsure why it's become a thing. There's ALWAYS parking in that lot. The whole arrangement seems unnecessary.
The point is, I got out my car and the guy said, "Ma'am."
You wanna bug me? Stop me when I'm in the middle of something, in this case going up to Ned's. I was in my flow.
"I HAVE ONE," I groused at him, pointing at the parking pass hanging from my rear-view mirror. "No, ma'am…" he started. Oh, give me a hard time, Bub. GIVE ME A HARD TIME. DO ITTTTTT!
I was so ready to go off on that MF. I really was. I KNEW he was the one who towed my car in the first place. And now I have a PASS and he's gonna SLOW ME UP with his BULLSHIT?
I think I got more sweary since I met Ned.
"I just wondered what happened last time," he said. Clearly he recognized the yellow Bug, who he'd so heartlessly towed, driving in with a pass. I guess he wanted to make sure he didn't do anything wrong. His face was all kind.
Then I felt like a dick.
So I told him the story, and at that point Ned was down there to get me, and we all had a nice exchange and that was the end of it. I had been so ready to rumbllllllle.
Anyway. I like how the first five minutes of my weekend have taken 49 paragraphs. So I will stampede to the story of how Ned lives downtown, conveniently located right near crack addicts and several delightful restaurants. We had debated where to go eat, and I wanted to try the new taco place, so we traipsed down there. Closed.
It was EIGHT O'CLOCK AT NIGHT. This damn one-horse town.
So we tried the hamburger place, which would have been adventuresome for Ned because there is positively nothing healthy there.
Closed. They had a special event and closed at 8:00.
"THIS STUPID ONE-HORSE TOWN!" I screeched.
So finally we went to the Greek place, which is what we'd originally thought we'd do, but got waylaid by tacos and hamburgers.
All the wait staff were dressed up in Halloween costumes, I saw Death serving wine, and, you know, I don't want to speculate about anyone's sexual preference. It makes no difference to me other than the part where I might like you slightly better if you're a gay man, and since I just went ahead and said "gay man," this one waiter? A young cute boy? Had a mime kind of face painted on, with a teensy hat with a net and a feather. He literally pranced up and down the aisles.
Then there was a table. Of women. And I'm just gonna go ahead and tell you the truth. Big groups of women bug the shit out of me. And I realize my entire reading audience of 14 is women, with .09 men tagging along (hello, Peter.) (hello, Steve.) (hello, Dick Whitman when I write about him.). But you are all not HERE in the ROOM with me, and if you WERE, you'd bug the SHIT out of me.
Why do women all have to talk at once? And so vociferously? And they just get louder and louder, big groups of women. Why? I am so not into all that.
The point is, this big group were all dressed as…well. First we said pirates. Then I said, "Are they psychics?" Then Ned suggested they might be gypsies. So yeah, psychic gypsies ("Or maybe they're tramps and thieves," said Ned, who loves his own self), about 15 of them, at a table. Getting louder each minute.
My point is, it wasn't long before that ENTIRE TABLE of psychic pirates got up and started dancing. Oh, it was fun to watch.
So all in all we were glad we picked the Greek place.
Oh! And y'all! We saw David Sedaris this weekend! DAVID SEDARIS! We didn't, you know, hang out or anything. We just watched him read and be funny and such. Why can't I be David Sedaris? I mean, other than the part where I am not a funny gay man? Crap.
Oh! Wait! There's more! (Who is getting out her free Ginsu knife to stab me repeatedly at this point? Is it you, geez-June-finish-already-I-have-to-pee reader?) Ned and I went to the movies yesterday (Fred Won't Move Out, with Elliott Gould. The previews looked better than the movie actually was.)
"WHAT?" said Ned, assuming there was some kind of animal on the road and we'd have to turn around, as has happned 14 times already since I've known him.
"That SIGN!" Did you see it??" I was all atwitter. "I was DRIVING," old News Flash Ned said.
So we turned around, because, is it just me? Or is this logo kind of inappropriate?
Okay, that's all. Try not to tow my car away while you're out, would you? You big gaggle of women.