The peppermint tea prossy

When we left off, it was only effing Friday afternoon of my Easter weekend and I decided not to torment you with more detail, so here I am tormenting you with more detail today instead.

You’re welcome.

After I bought my new bat house Friday morning, I headed to another bat house—therapy. Bah! Am on fire today, clearly. My Hairapist, like the rest of America and possibly the entire Milky Way, also wishes I’d stop speaking to Ned. I told her how we’d gone to the country to get a bat house, and really, say bat house one more time.

“What are you getting out of this relationship, at this point?” the Hairapist asked, and in case you don’t recall because you skimmed that day and expect me to fill you in now, because hoo care that I already wrote it, she often changes her hair color. Like, sometimes there’s a purple streak. That sort of thing.

That’s why I call her the Hairapist. Ned started it, really. She was our Hairapist, our second in a line of therapists we saw.

So I mulled that over because it was an interesting Q. Not sex, as we aren’t having any. Not feeling secure, because I don’t. “I guess what I get out of it is the hope that one day it will miraculously be okay,” I said.

Hairapist stared at me, the way therapists do. Her current streak is just sort of white on otherwise black hair.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right.” That’s a line from When Harry Met Sally. Fortunately, Hairapist enjoys jokes like that.

So when I got home, I got the neighbor kid, the son of the people who rescued Iris, to put up my bat house for me. He and his dad came by, and where to hang it is a very big deal. It has to be facing east or south, and so I had to spend 47 years figuring out where that was, and it can’t be well-lit with artificial lights, but it has to get sun during the day, and basically it’s a whole thing.

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They hung it from my chimney, and no I don’t have a fireplace and there’s a thing on top of my chimney so calm down. “There’s cat poop up here!” the dad called down to me. Yeah, I’m sure there is. “I have a weird cat,” I told them.

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After, they stayed and talked and refused water (really, I felt bad. I’d even traipsed down to what we in Michigan call the party store while they were house of bat-ting for me, to get water, and the guy at the “party” store gave them to me for free cause I’m down there all the time and I know how he’s moving back to Morocco soon cause his kids are grown and let’s just stick to the story at hand) till finally the wife came down, too. “How’s Iris?” she wondered, and right then Iris sauntered over.

“Is it okay to pick her up?” the neighbor woman asked, and right then I knew she was our people when it came to the animals. “Sure, she’ll let you.” Look at Iris’s little appalled spready toes. But she didn’t wriggle or anything.

Anyway, Google bat houses. There are all kinds you can buy and one bat eats 600 mosquitoes an hour. Which means all bats are my friends.

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This picture has nothing to do with anything, it was just there on my desktop and I thought it was cute. Have you met my dog, Edsel, and my cat, Steely Dan?  Edsel loves a cat.

Anyway. So after they left, which by the way was like two hours later (told me lots of neighborhood gossip), I phoned Ned and told him we really shouldn’t be, you know, hanging out. “Okay,” he said, with so little fuss that I was almost insulted. Shouldn’t he be gnashing his teeth and holding up a boom box and carrying on? He was almost cheerful. “Okay!”

I think he just enjoys my, you know, friendship, and I am really not that removed yet to just be pals with Ned, and punch him on the arm and play video games.

The only dramatic thing to happen Saturday was that I came home from the grocery store and smelled gas. I’d thought maybe I’d smelled it before I left, but when I got home, hello gas. So I waited outside for the gas people to come, and decided to Facebook Live it, a thing I’d never done before and for those of you held hostage on FB while we waited for the gas people, I apologize, but it did make the time go faster. It was like you were all stuck there on the porch with me, which would be curious given my porch can’t hold three Jehovah’s Witnesses, much less all of you.

Anyway, pilot light. Thta’s what was wrong. It was out. And the gas man told me that (a), it’s really tough to blow up from a pilot light being out, and (2) my pets wouldn’t asphyxiate from it, either. So forcing them all outside with me was for naught.

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%@@$#&, mom.

Yesterday I celebrated Easter by buying an instant lottery ticket and winning $10, and by going on a date that is another non-love match. I almost always win when I buy instant lottery tickets, and I think to do so once a year, at best.

The date was with a guy I’d been talking with on OK Cupid maybe a year ago or something. He’s all the way in Raleigh, but he had to come here anyway last night, so he asked if I wanted to get a beer.

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I said yes, but then he got annoyed that I drank peppermint tea. Hey, I’ve had a lot of migraines lately. Alcohol is not your friend when you have the heads.

I went the same place I’d been to last weekend, when I had that afternoon date that lasted three hours. And unfortunately, I’d ordered peppermint tea then from…the same waiter. A waiter who clearly recognized me but who was being professional about it, but he met my eye and I knew. Right then I knew. So I said to him, “I was here last week!” I mean, might as well acknowledge the elephant.

“She was probably here with another guy,” said my date, who is from the East Coast and I noted was not one for the whole, you know, polite thing.

“I serve a lot of peppermint teas,” said the waiter. “I can’t recall who’s with who,” he said, and HE RECALLED EVERYTHING, I COULD TELL.

It was right then that I sort of noticed the waiter, a handsome man of color whom I hadn’t had time to really note last weekend. I considered coming back to that bar, sitting at his bar, and explaining I’m not a prossy, but someone who’s online dating. He probably knows that, but it might be nice to clear things up. Then I wondered if he was single, and could I really, at this advanced age, fall for a waiter at an upscale bar.

Probably not. I mean, does he have a health plan? So last night I not only had a date that wasn’t a love match, I also fell for and broke up with a waiter.

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The good news about my date is that he brought me a book. He is, among other things, an antiques dealer, and he knew I read. I thought this was an absolutely lovely thing to bring someone.

We talked antiques a lot, as you can imagine, and I told him about my habit of collecting pictures of people I don’t know. “You know what we call people who do that,” he said, “Instant-family people. They’re usually pretty lonely.”

Hmph. I may be a lot of things, but I am not lonely. I spend most of my time wishing everyone would leave me alone. In fact, this weekend was the perfect combination of alone time and social time.

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Me, before my date, having spent the whole day alone, and fuck yeah.

Oh! And just one more thing. I’d planned what I was gonna wear, but didn’t put it on till it was time to go, because pet hair. So with like five minutes before I had to be there, I pulled on that cardigan. Because nothing gets a man going like a cardigan.

Anyway, holes. The whole sleeve. Holes. What the FUCK, Steely Dan? Do you have any idea how many holes he’s–just as I wrote that, I heard him leap onto the roof. Sigh. I’ve taken to putting a CHAIR, an entire CHAIR, against the closet door, but then I go into the room and that door’s ajar anyway.

He just galumphed across the whole roof. That cat, man. Whose idea was it to get another cat?

Okay, I gotta get to work. OH! And ONE MORE THING OH MY GOD YOU HATE ME. You know how I was telling you lots of changes were coming my way? This other company was courting me, courting me like an online date. They found me through Linked In, and they saw my Contently page and so on. It was a full-time copywriting position, very fancy, lots more money.

For a month they were all, come play with us, June!

I turned it down. I really love where I work now, and every time I thought about leaving, I got sick inside. And the lots more money, man, that made me pause. Cause you know how money has been with me. But just even thinking about it now, I get a headache. It was just not going to be me. I was gonna have to be Fake Corporate June all day, and that would last maybe six months, and then Regular June would rear up and all hell would break loose.

So, here I stay. At my regularly scheduled job, which let’s face it, I really like.

Speaking of my job, I should go to it.

Lufff,

Joooooon

38 thoughts on “The peppermint tea prossy

  1. What a weekend! Here’s mine – ate ham and too many Reese’s peanut butter eggs. The end.
    Love this lovely post lovely June!

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  2. “There’s cat poop up here!” It’s like a new kiddie Christmas jingle. Up on the house top reindeer pause. Out jumps good ole Sandy Claws, singing: Ho Ho ho! Who wouldn’t go? Ho ho ho! Who wouldn’t go?

    Rooftop pooping. Isn’t that a bit exhibitionist? Drafty?

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  3. It was a dreadful 3 days without you, June. Or 2 days. Whichever.

    You are very lucky to have a job where you can be you, I don’t blame you for turning down the offer. Nice to know you’re wanted though, right?

    Sounds like you made a smart decision about Ned. We’ll see how long that lasts… just kidding.

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  4. Just read your Purple Clover article “Heartbreak Has No Expiration Date” explains a lot of the Ned issues. I think you made the right decision. On another note, SD poops on the roof?!?!?!?!

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  5. Forget the mens. When I saw that book I took a long slow deep breath, held it for 4 seconds, and then exhaled slowly for a count of a long time. Then I sat and stared at that cover with googly eyes. There’s probably a Sanskrit word for that pose.

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  6. My Big Book of June Events must be missing a page, because even though I read this blog every day, I thought your Hairapist was your hairdresser that you spill your guts to about your life. So glad to have that all straightened out. Bah! She had an interesting perspective about Ned, which I guess is exactly what you pay her for.
    Oooo- an antiques dealer would be a fascinating date. How nice of him to bring you a book! Too bad it’s not a love connection. Just think how spectacular your house would look with him involved!
    Best wishes in your new venture as Bat Landlord!

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  7. I am so impressed with your ability to figure out what you want with the job sitch. That just seems amazing to me.
    Of course, I’m job hunting. It’s possible that someone could offer me a position as “that person everyone in the office likes to punch in the face to celebrate life’s small victories” and I’d be all “Great! When do I start?”
    Glad you didn’t get killed with the gas leak.

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  8. Now I want a bat house. Not that even one friggin owl has moved into, looked at, or even made a lowball offer on my owl house. Damn owls. But I think VB Karen has a bat house and nary a bat. How RUDE.

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  9. Your Contently page (which I kept reading as “Contentedly”) is really impressive!

    This post is so rich with, er…content, but I’m still stuck on three Jehovah’s Witnesses!

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  10. Sounds like a full and busy weekend. I went to the Depot on Saturday because it’s spring and we are getting our house ready to sell. It was packed with people buying plants and flowers and a woman in front of us had a butterfly house. I was confused. The slots are too small for caterpillars so it must be a swinging single butterfly house.

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  11. Sounds like a full and busy weekend. I went to the Depot on Saturday because it’s spring and we are getting our house ready to sell. It was packed with people buying plants and flowers and a woman in front of us had a butterfly house. I was confused. The slots are too small for caterpillars so it must be a swinging single butterfly house.

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  12. Can’t get three Jehovah’s Witnessesit on your porch just cracked me up and the hairapist was news to me as well. I don’t have a clue how I missed that reference in the BBoJ. A book is a really nice gift. Wise decision about your job. If you don’t have peace about a decision it’s probably not a good one.

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  13. As a recruiter, I see people focus so much on money they make all kinds of mistakes. Good job realizing who you really are, which may sound condescending, but isn’t intended. I’d like to say they all end up miserable, but that isn’t the case. If someone is a true MONEY IS EVERYTHING person, it’s perfectly OK. However, many folks get miserable and in the end, come back to me looking for another job.

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  14. Hairapist, lovely portmanteau, and accurate, for either profession. Yesterday I entered a new decade, starts with 6, and am shocked, just shocked, at how fast that happened.

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    1. Happy belated birthday, Stav. Tomorrow I move further (farther?) into that 6 decade, moving toward the midpoint, and I have to warn you it goes even faster.

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  15. I have to break up with the lady that does my hair . I really like her and she also does my waxing, so we are very closely acquainted by now. But she had horrible time management and it keeps getting worse. She keeps canceling and rescheduling and then I still have to wait. Last time she cancelled and rescheduled my hair appointment 4 times in a week!!! And only like an hour before the appointment. When I finally got my hair done she was so rushed because there was already another customer lined up.
    Having to find another person stresses me out but I’m finally fed up enough to find someone .

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    1. I had the same hair stylist for, I dunno, 30 years. I was going to him for years before I met my husband. I had a standing appointment every 8 weeks. But over the years, it was getting obvious that our relationship had run its course but I just didn’t know how to break things off so two years ago, I did it the most cowardly way: I cancelled an appointment and just never rescheduled. I know.

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  16. I watched a Bee Gees special last evening and thought about you. We do not have a bat house but have several bats. I love that they eat those nasty mosquitoes.

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  17. I keep wondering what Ned did/said that put him in the bad books of all your readers. Of course, June, you are so prolific that there’s no chance in hell I’ll ever find where you wrote about it. I’ll have to start making things up. -Kate

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  18. We have a lot of bats here. My bat house? No takers. I put it on the right side of the tree and everything. Waiting to see how yours goes.
    Meanwhile, I’ll just fantasize about the blackberry cheesecake that Cheech mentioned in the comments yesterday. Drooling.

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    1. I still have one piece left, bettydh, if you want me to mail it to you. First time I ever made a baked cheesecake, and they turned out really well. The family loved both of them. Who knew NY style (not the jello type although I love that kind too) cheesecake was so easy to make? I did not.

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  19. I’m so excited that I can read your blog on your new site at work. You haven’t hit the filter yet. I loved the live Facebook feed. It was instantly interesting to watch and I kept watching because I enjoyed you reading and laughing at the comments.

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      1. Just don’t murder anybody while you are doing it.

        I can’t believe SD won’t come down off the roof to poop. Just like a boy….

        Lovely post as always.

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  20. I have a bat house that my son and I made together years ago when we lived in MN. I know it’s in my garage somewhere. Possibly I should hang it on a tree or something.
    I watched the Bee Gee special last night and was icked out at John Travolta and his smarminess. Stealing Barry Gibb’s thunder and camera time.

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  21. Bats freak me out – I don’t want to house them anywhere near me.

    The waiter could have a trust fund and just be a people person who likes his job.

    Liked by 1 person

  22. My day was so effd. Just now swinging by. Loved the live fb.

    I have other things to say but I’m too tired. Would you just read my mind, please?

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  23. Pingback: Book of June

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