I make the same kind of joke every time I get a new design, don't I? And actually, this one isn't done yet; we're still gonna update a few things here and there. Pretty, though, right?
Remember when it was time to renew my yearly fee for stupid Typepad, and I asked if anyone could afford to chip in, please do? Well, not only did you chip in for that, but there was some left over (!!!) and I knew technically I shouldn't really just spend it willy-nilly, because your donations were for this site to remain up. So I thought, well, they've been looking at this same damn design nonstop for two years, so I got hold of Sadie Olive who always does my stuff (see her tag on the lower left) and I worked with her to get a new look going.
Also I paid my lawn guy. I figured readers would love to know my lawn work was paid for. Anyway, thanks for helping a sister out with keeping this site going, the last blog on earth. I still like writing it, and as long as 50 of you still like reading it, we'll keep going.
Sadly, though, you have to keep looking at more photos that didn't make the 10-year video cut. Last night Ned came over and I made him watch what I have so far and I kept saying, "That's not staying. That's getting switched around" till finally he shot a woman in Greensboro, just to watch her die.
Also on cutting-room floor. Look at poor beleaguered Edsel just waiting for his mom to stop gazing at self and love him. It must be like having Diana Ross as a mom. An impoverished Diana Ross.
Oh, god, speaking of impoverished, today is payday thank GOD. In my fridge are condiments, because safe flavoring, and expired tortillas. You may be wondering Why doesn't June just toss the tortillas but I felt bad for the lonely condiments.
So now I have dough and can toss the tortillas, which is good because tonight two of the Alexes are coming over to help me decorate for Christmas. Wedding Alex's new husband is putting the kibosh on some of her girlier Xmas decorations (she's the one who had the pink sparkly reindeer that I went so berserk over that she finally just gave them to me, along with a restraining order), so she's letting me have them, because single, single, single.
With a man friend. But still.
The other Alex and I were on the phone and she was kvetching about how busy she is with social engagements and feels obligated to attend just everything and as a result she can't give of herself fully anywhere because she's stretched so thin, so I said, "You wanna come help us decorate?" and she was all, "Yeah!"
So. I'm looking forward to her thin personality.
Yer OUTTA here, picture. Really, I was so busy putting in pictures of you guys and friends and THE ENDLESS PETS that I thought finally at the end, hunh. I should probably put up pictures of my own self, and then I got obsessed with putting in one each from each year, which in the end did not happen because there were zero 2006 photos of me from my blog. So. But I got close to representin' each year. This one above is clearly before my time abroad, because I still had fruit crate images that you all now have, and there is a guitar so it's pre-2011, and this hair tells me most likely 2008.
I have a giant collection of these, the at-a-restaurant-with-Ned shots. I don't even like going to restaurants that much. Ned does. So there you have it.
Oh, I meant to tell you that Lottie's people texted me yesterday to tell me she now officially weighs 50 pounds, which is more than Eds or Lu ever weighed. She's 8 months old. He said she's pretty tall, too. Oh, my Lottie. I wonder if he'd like to give her back now that she outweighs Edsel? We could have a fight to the finish.
'''''''''''''''''''' '' '
Steely Dan just walked across the keyboard so he could leap across the desk and onto the big cat's food dishes, and it looks like Woodstock just said something.
I'd better go, but before I do I have one other important piece of news to impart to you. You know how I am forever bemoaning my mascara, and how my neeeeeeeeeds aren't being met by said mascara? If my mascara had a love language, I'd need it to be the lengthening language. For all the goddamn hair I have, of course I also have to have sparse lashes.
Anyway, the other day I dashed to work late as always and didn't put on mascara. I had a meeting with the president of the company–oh, no big deal, that, JUST THE PRESIDENT IS ALL–and I felt incomplete.
"Does anyone have any mascara?" I screeched to the room at large, and I know pinkeye and all that, but the president of the company, dude. And there I was, his hollow-eyed minion.
"I have a sample," said this woman WHOM I'VE NEVER EVEN SPOKEN TO. We have a lot of new people. "Really?!" I asked, delighted. What're the chances someone would have a whole pinkeye-free sample of exactly what you needed right then? It's like the day in 2003 I said to Marvin, "What I wouldn't give for some salt and vinegar Pringles," a thing I never even craved, and he marched into the kitchen and brought out a new canister of them. He'd gotten some that day.
Best moment ever.
The point is, I loves it. I LOVES IT. It's called Arbonne It's a Long Stoey Mascara Mascara It's a Long Story, which, yeah, I didn't make up that name. But it's perfect for me.
Although I sort of pride myself on telling a brief story. Okay, yes, I never stick to the topic, but once the story is out there I don't do that goddamn, "Was it Tuesday, or was it…hunh. It musta been Thursday because I…" crap.
Anyway, mascara needs, met. Till the sample runs out.
I will catch you on von flipeth sideth.