Last night, I went to my old movie theater and saw Joe Jackson. Not that he was in an old movie.
You know Joe Jackson from this song:
But I like him for many other songs, such as this one, that I plan to play next time I walk down the aisle:
Come on. You know that’d be hilarious.
Speaking of not walking down the aisle, I went to the concert with Ned, who bought the ticket ages ago, and any time we purchase or plan something for ages from now, the assumption is we’ll somehow still be speaking, and we usually are. I think there was one concert Ned had to attend grumpily alone, as we were estranged. Estranged, I tell you.
Whatevs. I don’t know what to tell you about that whole scenario.
He was really good, Joe Jackson was. He was friendly without any of that “How’s everybody doin’ tonight!?!” crap. He’s British, so.
Here’s another song I like by Joe Jackson:
“Oh, I know that one, June.” Yeah, I know you do.
Also, I got Juned last night! Every once in awhile I run into someone who reads my…website, and they say hey and last night I peed with someone who reads me. And my website. She was cool! I mean, obvs. Look at her taste in…websites.
Also, Dear People at Work: You do not have to sit through one of my stories when you’ve already read about it online. You can say, “I read you, June.” Sometimes I see coworkers mentally hurrying me along, and I try very hard not to be one of those, “Wait, let me back up” endless storytellers. “Was it Friday? It must have been, no, Thursday…”
I try very hard not to do that.
So when I see someone kind of like, Yeah, I know this story already cause you told it on your goddamn not blog, just go ahead and tell me that. It’s not stalking. It’s here for you to read. It’s really okay. And I don’t want to be obnoxious, “Oh, did you already read this?” and have the person be all, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
But none of this is why I gathered you all here today. I gathered you so you can help me slog through all the pictures on my desktop. When I got mad and said, “I AM NEVER WRITING AGAIN,” I had all these photos on my desktop for eventual writing about, and of course then I was in a huff and didn’t show them to you. I didn’t show you it.
And they’ve been here ever since, taking up just all kinds of room.
So let’s look at them. LOOK AT IT.
What I really like about WordPress, JuicePress, is it takes 4 seconds to upload a photo. Typing on Pads took 87 years. Anyway, behold The Poet and my Boss, Fmr., and I realize I have 27 of those, kibitzing outside my desk yesterday in their purple. I just liked how good their ensembles look together. In case anyone was wondering, The Poet’s new dogs are settling in nicely, although one of them may be dropping a number two on the floor from time to time. I should play The Poet my Joe Jackson song, above.
If I talk this much after each photo we’ll be here all day.
My animal companions (how much do you abhor me?) being cute at various points. Before I go to sleep, I’m usually reading my phone, and whatever happened to a nice book? Anyway, when the animals are being cute I take photos with said phone.
Last night I woke up and Steely Dan was wrapped all around my arm. He was holding my arm and pressing his head on me. Don’t tell him I told you that. Street cred.
Also, do you enjoy the blind he ruined, above? Dear Mom: You said you were sending me your curtains. Please do, tout suite.
Me last night before the concert. I also take photos to check my appearance. Am sort of the worst. What I could have used was a phone to check my appearance when I was 22, and thought of absolutely nothing else. Sometimes I miss that…drive to look good. Now more often than not I have a touch of the hoooo care about how I look. Just a touch. I’m like 99% vain, still.
New coffee bar downtown. It’s not even coffee, it’s, like, yerba matte or yerba ho or something. I spoke to the owner, and one kind makes you alert, one kind calms you down, one kind gives you euphoria. Guess which I’ll select first?
One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small.
Things I did when we weren’t speaking. I went to a big-cat preserve, and this photo of the girl with thigh tattoos was the only photo I took. Oh, it was good there, though. I liked the Arctic Fox best, I think, but also I wish to own a jungle cat. Also, when I wasn’t at a big-cat preserve, I was at an adoption fair downtown. Basically, I leave my 45 animals, on my time off, to go look at other animals.
I think you can double-click on photos to make them bigger, should you wish to, say, stalk those puppies on the right.
Important talks with Hulk.
At work, we had a brainstorm session that they sent us downtown for. Sometimes when they want us to think of new ideas, they send us offsite so we can be loud and annoy people outside of work. Anyway, after, I wandered to the bookstore and saw this. Put it on Facebook with the caption, “I wrote this.” “You ARE this,” wrote back my jerky pal Marty Martin.
“I edited it,” my Aunt Kathy wrote. True. True dat.
When my ATM info was stolen recently (by the way, Ned was complaining last night about how dangerous “those ATMs are” when he meant ATVs, and I got over that quickly, as you can imagine), I got out $100 cash for the weekend and decided to photograph everything I bought, so that when Sunday night rolled around and I was all, What the fuck happened to that $100, I’d have my answer. I’m pleased to tell you that all I bought that weekend was carpet cleaner (someone of the dog persuasion may have barfed in the car. I always told Edsel to text me any time of night and I’ll get him from wherever, but still), coffee (see: addiction) and a tag and harness for Steely Dan.
Who do you think thoroughly enjoyed being harnessed? Who really wanted to be fenced in, do you think? Much like his collar, that cute red Day of the Dead collar I found him, the harness lasted one day. I came home and he’d Houdini’d it. Asshole. It’s still there. In the hallway on the desk. Just waiting for one more try.
I mean, that cat. I have zero control. The other night, it was raining, and he wouldn’t come in. I kittykittykittied myself hoarse. I worried all night. As soon as I got up, I went to the back door and kittykittied again, and nothing, and when I turned around, there was SD in that window between the kitchen and the back room. He was already home. His fur was damp.
WHAT THE HELL HOW DID HE GET IN.
So I’d like for him to wear his reflective harness, but he wants me to quite distinctly go fuck my own self.
The battle rages. Sort of.I flirted with having a yellow front door for awhile (“Hey, yellow door. How YOU doin’?”), and if you’re my Facebook friend you know this what-color-should-I-paint-my-door conundrum all too well,
but in the end, I’m still going with eggplant, which I have yet to purchase. What color should I spray my door hardware? They have metallic spraypaint for your hardware.
Who’s sick of me? Is it all of you?
Believe it or not, I still have a million and four photos left but I have to go. Lemme just slap a few in with zero comment.
Animals. And Alexes. Alexes lookin’ good. I said I wasn’t gonna comment, yet look at me.
Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Remind me to tell you about my headache study follow-up visit I went on yesterday. I clean forgot to tell you. I took zero photos of that, you’ll be glad to hear.