Dear Faithful Reader Paula:
You know that feeling you get when you wake up during the workweek, all on your own without the aid of your alarm, and you feel rested and you know OH FUCK, something is very wrong?
That was me half an hour ago, the alarm mysteriously set for 8:00. EIGHT. Why had I set it for 8:00? So now it really IS 8:00 and I must stampede through this post and I know that upsets your natural pH balance and so on but there it is.
It was the birthday of one of my coworkers and she had a little get-together Friday. Bitchy Resting Face Alex came, and it wouldn’t have been a party without her. Actually, I told her to look miserable, but please note how beautifully she managed it. We went out to dinner after and she got the tuna plate–nudge–and we decided to go together to see Gone With the Wind (I wanted to throw in the theme song here to be annoying but I still don’t know how to upload You and your Tube, goddammit) tomorrow, as it is playing at my old movie theater I like.
I CALLED IT. I GET TO BE SCARLETT AND BRF ALEX IS MELANIE. No callbacks!
Anyway, at least you know on Wednesday I will not be full of my Melanie-directed venom or anything. Melanie. What a milquetoast.
Wow, June, back off. Harsh language.
You know what I hate? People who say, “Hate is a strong word.” Oh, fuck off.
Anyway, it was a fun party and my boss, Thousandman, came! It’s always exciting when he attends one of these things because he has kids and plus also I think he sort of prefers, you know, not us when it comes to his social time. He’s in the green shirt, above left. And in the big picture is A, my coworker I’m getting to know better now that we work on the same floor, and so far I am obsessed with her and wish to be her.
Plus, also, the hostess has a Boston terrier doggie doo named Johnny, and he sat on my lap and I love him and we’re to be married in June.
When we left each other on Friday morning, kissing and promising to write every day, I was out of power, gas, a gas line-y thing, a dryer and also patience. Yeah, yeah, a little patience. I’ve been walking the streets at night, just trying to get it right. It’s hard to see with so many around, you know I don’t like being stuck in the crowd.
[begins her Axl Rose dance, WHICH I’D SHOW YOU BUT HOW DO YOU PUT VIDEOS UP IN HERE YO]
The point is, after a cold, gasless Saturday, all that is fixed and thank god, cause crabby.
The important thing to take away from Saturday is that it appears Steely Dan is officially bigger® than the other cats. And that’s the end of that era.
Sunday was a nice day, so I drove to the country. This cute older couple comes to work each Friday morning in the summer to sell their wares. They have strawberries, with which I am obsessed, they have honey, tomatoes, beets if you’re into that sort of weird kinky shit, and so on. I decided the company newsletter would not be complete without a thorough expose on this couple who we see for 12 Fridays in a row and then not again till next year, so I drove out to their farm, which was closed (it’s open all the other days of the week, natch), but I still like driving to the country and I took pictures anyway.
Farm and farm with June. I dearly wish I lived in the country. I’d never be sad again, except for how it looks like maybe if you live in the country you have to work a lot and not just get a lawn guy you can’t really afford to come every two weeks.
Since I was already out in the country growin’ a lotta peaches, I tooled on over to the animal shelter, which is like a drug addict just tooling on over to the heroin store. By the way, I deep conditioned yesterday, hence the hair. The point is, the volunteer was in the cat room, which is what I call the comment section up in here with all you bitches in it.
See, I don’t, but that was funny and now I’m GONNA call it that.
THE POINT is that the volunteer was cleaning the little cat houses, and she was all, do you want to hold a kitten?
Do I want to hold a kitten.
You can see up there that Mr. Alarmed Ears was happy to meet me and wished I’d hold him and kiss him like that just forever. Look at the little blond M between his kitten brows. Oh my god kittens. KITTENS.
Somehow, I came home kitten-free, and also in the lobby were PUPPIES and I am stronger than Scarlett post radish-barf.
SO THEN, after I exhibited the strength of a thousand men, but not my boss Thousandman, I headed to the tattoo parlor, as I an wont to do, to get my daith pierced. Because nothing gets a man going like a bejeweled daith.
I remember Ned telling me a story about a, well, a one-night stand that he had with a young girl (he was a young-ish boy) who had piercings everywhere and he was all, Calling Tokyo, come in Tokyo with them all. Like he just had no idea what you’re supposed to do, exactly, with that hardware. Piercing people should tattoo instrux near their holes.
Anyway, Refuse to Google, the daith is the part of your ear above where, like, you know that part where if you press on it you plug your ear? It’s the horizontal ridge ABOVE that part of your ear. Allegedly, piercing that part helps with migraine, and my headache study ends in two weeks so I said fuck it.
It’s not every day an enormous man with a bejeweled hole in the space between his nose and mouth calls my name. He was nice as shit, though, and his name was Tuna, he was a showgirl.
Perhaps you’re wondering if it hurt, and dude, yes, it hurt. But it wasn’t like it was so bad I could hardly stand the pain, like that guy getting his leg chopped off in GWTW. How over me are you already and I haven’t even GONE to the movie yet. By Wednesday morning, you’ll be gone with the wind.
Anyway, I have to wait FOR MONTHS to get pretty jewelry for it, but there’s all sorts of sparkly gems you can stick in there and I cannot wait. For now, I have to clean it like 900 times a day and further reports as, you know, developments warrant.
Now it’s 8:33 and I am late for work and Paula is REALLY nervous now. Late for work is a very big thing with her, we’re learning if we happen to be her Facebook friend.
As god is my witness, I’ll talk to you tomorrow [raises fist].
In Ashley’s grip, if he didn’t clasp everything like a clammy fish,