Every year, the president of my company, not that I own a company, takes everyone out for drinks on his birthday. I think it's a nice tradition, and I always go. This year we went to one of the new breweries, and last night I actually got to talk to him for awhile.
"Is today your real birthday?" I asked him. He said that it was. He's from England, and he invited us all to be there at "5.30." I am so going to dot my times rather than colon them from now on. Looks classier. Why do all British things look classier? You could be barfing Britishly and look classier.
My point is, I asked him if he knew about the song Ode to Billie Jo, which of course mentions the 3rd of June, and which all of us here seem not at all disturbingly obsessed with. He didn't think he had, and I have no idea what they play on the radio in England. Maybe they just have to listen to God Save the Queen all day. That'd be a treat. My point is, when I get in today, he wants me to send him that song, and I feel like I'm all, "This is America. I am sorry" with that ode. To Billie Jo. Pass the biscuits, please.
In other news, I went to my old house the other night.
I don't know if you remember, or if you've written it down in your Giant Book of June Facts, but my tenant works at the same place I do, which happened after she moved in, and everything is weird. She even works in my dePARTment, a lot of times with Griff, and I feel sorry for her, as well.
She and her boyfriend, who also lives there, are going to Europe to listen to God Save the Queen on the radio, and clearly I don't charge enough rent. Also, do you like how somehow I get to my old house and all of a sudden the pictures get blurry again? It's like when you revert to old behavior when you're with your family or something.
I went over there because starting Sunday, which you know I will forget, I am going to be catsitting for her two cats whom you will be shocked to hear I love. This one just crossed that back room, The Francis Room, and leaped onto that windowsill like it was nuthin'. "Is that a, you know, young cat?" I asked her, because I couldn't even see Iris doing that move. "Yes, she's two," said My Tenant.
I just turned around, and Iris is right behind me, starting at me pointedly. As pointedly as someone with no eyeballs can stare at a person. I guess she's mad I said she'd never have jumped onto that windowsill the way My Tenant's cat did, but she lived there almost three years and I never saw her do that once, so.
I'll take more photos when I'm there catsitting, if I remember to go and don't kill My Tenant's cats. I took some lavender from my yard before I left. I love my lavender. I bought one little tiny thing of it at the farmers market no apostrophe and now it's gigantic.
That's what she said.
I guess that's all I have to tell you, except that I got pedicures with my coworker Molly yesterday, and I told her to look happy and she is good at taking direction. I got a turquoise color, and she got a dusty pink.
Because it was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day.