I want you to know that as I type this to you, I am also touching up my white roots. June Gardens, multitasker. June Gardens, white-haired old geez. I guess "old geez" is redundant. You'll have to accommodate me. I'm ancient. I'm like that great aunt who says incredibly racist things that you have to just let go by.
I don't want to cheat you out of a post about my weekend like I'm some kind of gypsy, so I will begin with Friday, a night in which Ned came over right after work to start helping me with m'damn house. Again. My goal for the weekend was to wash all the outside windows, which in case you were not expecting this was a PAIN in the ASS.
The good news is, I discovered the living room and back room windows open in, all modern-y. Yes, I HAVE lived here six and a half years. What?
So by the time Ned got here, I'd cleaned all those windows, at least. "Oh, let's blow the rest of this off till tomorrow," I told him, because work ethic. So we packed a few more boxes and headed to Tex & Shirley's, a ridiculous restaurant he hates, that consists of all white-haired people and Ned. See what I did, there? Because white hair, right here. White hair and work ethic.
That was one poor old guy who was brought to you by the letter C. He was completely hunched over. I whispered to Ned, "I am really not kidding you, Is that C-shaped guy dead?" Dudes, he was just hunched lifelessly over his applesauce. But then he creaked a little, and we were all, Whew.
I do not know why I was in the mood to go there, but I was, and Ned had already said we could go wherever I wanted, so he was stuck with that and a bill of $15 for dinner, so.
As usual, we drove past our new house, like obsessive lovers, saying, "GET OUT" to the current tenants as we drove by. Seriously, would they get out already? We've already decorated the whole place in our minds. As we passed it and did our Amityville Horror impresh, I said, "Let's go to the dive bar!" There's a dive bar right near our new house that we've been wanting to try, to see if it's filled with sad old men on their way to becoming letter Cs or annoying hipsters or what.
We walked in, as opposed to dancing in as we sometimes do to make an entrance, and the bartender was very friendly. He asked what brought us in, and when we told him we're moving to the neighborhood, a bunch of people said. "WELCOME TO OUR NEIGHBORHOOD!" and they had pretentious beer like Ned likes and it was a great bar, is what I'm telling you.
On Saturday morning we had to get up early, which I just love. Man, am I a morning person. There's nothing better, except for maybe a shrimp cilantro dish while watching a frenetic jazz band.
Anyway, I had to get my eyes checked, and $104 later they are exactly the same prescription as last year. Then Ned drove my PUPILS HELLO PUPILS home and a handyman came. I needed him to fix some damn light fixtures and fix the fact that the electric outlet in my bathroom hasn't worked in more than three years and I've been drying my hair in the computer room, and I needed him to fix the squeaky dryer, too.
In the meantime, Ned started cleaning out my shed, which I attempted to help him with, but after four times of screeching directly into his ear because BUG!!!!, he said, "Why don't you just leave this to me." So for a change I packed some more, till I ran out of damn boxes, and then I cut weeds, which is also delightful and relaxing. At this point back there I have actual weed TREES, that I was trying to pull up, and every time I was pulling hard I'd hear my Uncle Jim say, "Put your weight behind it, Tina." My Uncle Jim had a horrific theory that all women named Tina have a weight problem.
June's blog. Driving away readers named Tina since 2014. Look, I didn't say it. I can't help who pops into my head while I'm pulling a weed. God, Tina.
My point is, and there is a point, that handyman did everything on my list and then some, and he's coming back next weekend because the dryer needs more done, and after FOUR HOURS of being here and doing everything, how much do you think that man charged me? How much?
FIFTY DOLLARS. Y'all, if you're local (and he will travel all over yonder, so you don't have to be THAT local), his name is Keith and his phone is 336.362.6011. He is amazing. Tell him you read it on a blog–he'll have no CLUE who June Gardens is.
After encountering 3949493 bugs and a mouse nest (SCREEEEEEEECH!), Ned got that shed looking pristine. Seriously, I wish Ida taken a before and after. "I'd like to SLEEP in here some night," said Ned, who can quickly forget that he was exposed to the hantavirus because he's normal.
Ned and I rallied enough to go to lesbian taco on Saturday night, which was delicious and full of your cute lesbians.
Then on Sunday we finally did those goddamn windows. You see that drawing of the guy falling off the ladder? He had a better time than we did. Oh my good god on a Tuesday. Each damn window had two damn storm windows, and a screen, and do you think any of those windows said, "Oh, yes! Hi! Please pinch my pinchy parts and we'll pop right up and down! We're flexible!" Do you think that happened? Because it did not. I broke two nails (Ned did a whole I'm disgusted jig each time I broke a nail, that once again I wish I'd captured on film) and had to use W-D 40 and also swear. What does the W-D stand for? Will Do 40? Washer Dryer 40? Willem Dafoe 40?
We cleaned windows for I think 17 hours. Or maybe three. Somewhere in there. But man, do they look nice now. I can't believe I have to move out of this house.
Last night, at like 8:30 because hello calm weekend, I went to bed and Ned was getting ready to leave, and I noticed you could see the reflection of us in my vanity mirror, over on the clean window. I'm talking clean.
So that sums everything up and now I have to go to work and write another Purple Clover column and teach my student, followed by coming home and packing and could you just kill me now?