So far this Easter weekend I’ve had to call the emergency number for the gas company so that I wouldn’t blow up, told Ned we have to not talk for a few months, put up a bat house, heard from two men from my past, and ordered two new bras. 36D in the howse! Actually, 36D in the mail.
By the way, I wanted to title this, “I’ve risen just THINKING about you,” but I didn’t want to offend the Team God people on their day. See how incredibly sensitive I am?
On Thursday, Maundy Thursday, I first of all called Marvin’s voicemail to bellow Go To Dark Gethsemane to him, as I did every year he was stuck being married to me, and if you’ll get out your Big Book of June Events, you will see on page 79 that Marvin hated my singing.
He never returned the call.
We got out of work early Thursday, so I schlepped over to the pedicure place, as the last time I had a pedicure was when I went with Brenda and Kelly so we’d look cute for The Peach Pit.
Fortunately for all of humanity, Hello Kitty now makes nail color, and they make a GLITTER PINK nail color, so I think our work here, our “You pick color” work here, is done. I saw a woman give me a judgmental stare when I selected it, and I told her to sit on it.
After my nails, I took my car to get washed for, well, I pretty much think that was the first time since I got this car. Also, that place always scams me. They charge more than the sign says, or I ask, “Did you do blah blah blah, seeing as your list of services says you do?” and the answer is always no. I decided Thursday that I am breaking up with this place. I only go to it because it’s an inch from my front door, but seriously they scam me every time.
I do like watching my car get washed, though. It’s like that part of The Wizard of Oz where they all get scrubbed and the Scarecrow gets stuffed.
Speaking of not getting stuffed, Ned called me to see if I wanted to have dinner, so I we went to the Italian place I like and he hates and I had spaghetti because I am remarkably adventurous.
Then the next morning I got up to drive to Chris and Lilly’s store, because I wanted a bat house, and I SWEAR I read you need to put them up in April, and I’ve been dying for April to come and now it’s here and when I read more on putting up bat houses, it said put them up in the fall.
Goddammit. “One brown bat can eat up to 600 mosquitoes in an hour,” Lilly told me. That is why I’m installing one, plus also I just like bats. Am considering dressing up in sexy girl-bat costume to lure them here.
Anyway, I love C&L’s store. Everything about it is so cute, even how they display their planters, peanut.
Ned had said at dinner, “I want to go to their store!” so I drove to his house Friday a.m., where for once he was waiting outside on the lawn, and not late, which trust me is as miraculous as him rising from the dead. The reason he wasn’t late is because his gaylord is redoing the house, possibly to sell it, and his place was crawling with the workers at 11:00 in the morning, so Ned had no choice but to wake up anyway.
I insisted we take country roads, because it’s prettier, and naturally this meant it took more time to get there, which means I of course had to stop and pee. Somewhere Marvin has a video of us taking a road trip from LA to Seattle, and we have this big sendoff at our house, saying goodbye to it and so on, and the next scene is the odometer showing 30 miles. “Well, we got 30 miles out of town and somebody hadda pee.”
The point is, for the first time in my life, I went into a Sheetz. I’ve gotten gas at Sheetz before, but never had reason to stop in. “I’m going to get water,” Ned announced, after he gave the incredulous speech about how I’d peed at his house before we left, and why 20 minutes later did I have to pee again, and basically I ignored him because
WHY HAS NO ONE TOLD ME HOW WONDERFUL SHEETZ IS?
Dudes, they have Twinkie-flavored coffee. They have, in fact, every iteration of coffee, ever. Now that I’m decaf I had to get that, but they have, like, a cream bar, with every iteration of cream! Iteration is big with me today.
I was admiring all of it when this man my age approached. “Where is the actual, you know, coffee?” I asked him, because the cream bar had thrown me. He took me over to the 11,000 kinds of coffee, and that is when I saw
TO-GO INDIVIDUAL GLASSES OF WINE.
“You can get your liquor TO GO?” I asked him, then told this guy all about how I just came in because I had to pee, and had no idea I was entering such mecca.
I was buying two kinds of fruit pie and decaf with Twinkie creme when Ned approached with water and a container of fruit.
I know. I’m shaking my damn head, too, as they say.
“That guy wants to get in your pants,” said Ned, and I couldn’t help but agree. I mean, he was so delighted with me, and who wouldn’t be? Ned sauntered off to see if there was a gym in Sheetz or something, or to check if the fruit was organic and free range, I don’t know, when there was my boyfriend behind me in line.
“Did you find everything?” he asked, and who could help but flirt shamelessly when you’re in a stellar establishment such as Sheetz? We ended up at different counters to buy our stuff, and the guy who rang up my health-food purchases said, “I see you met the priest.”
Now, what now?
Turns out he’s a town minister, and there I was extolling the booze and letting him know all about my urinary tract, not to mention thinking he wanted to break himself off a piece of the June when really he’s dating God.
Chris and Lilly’s store is DA BOMB, and they already had the bat house waiting for me behind the counter, because I have an in. Chris was there, and he was excellent at not saying, “Why the hell are you with Ned right now?”
Also, Dear Chris: I petted the baby chicks. You can’t just splay baby chicks out in front of me and expect me to be a decent human being.
I can see I’ve droned on forever and I’m only on Friday morning, so I will stop now and write you more tomorrow. Tune in later for me telling Ned we can’t speak, for the news of my bat house, for the gas-leak-June-Blows-Up-Live-on-Facebook scenario, my alleged date today with someone I haven’t talked to in six months, the story of another man who popped up out of nowhere yesterday, whom I haven’t talked to since fall of 2015. You might say he rose again.
June’s life of chaos. It’s stupid!
Happy Easter. Someone send me a dark-chocolate Russel Stover egg. Actually, don’t. Am dieting, allegedly.
Talk at you,