Book of June

Last night I had a ridiculous dream. (Oh, good. Someone’s gonna describe their dream.) I dreamt I met a man and didn’t care for him at first, so when we first were introduced, I gave him my most sarcastic of smiles.

But then, somehow, I realized I really liked him, so then I had to go the rest of our lives pretending that was my real smile. So then when he asked me out, I had to smile like this…

When he proposed…

On our wedding day, coming down the aisle…

When we had our first child…

I have no idea why I dreamt that, or what the hell is wrong with me. Yes, I do realize I cannot bear children at my advanced age. What a shame. Been clamorin’.

Other than that it’s been a fairly uneventful weekend. Remember when I said I had freelance? Yeah. Didn’t. Now I have to freelance my ass clean off all week, and speaking of which, I did a new high-intensity interval training this weekend and now I cannot exactly what you call sit down. Exactly.

On Saturday, I ended up going to see some live music, as opposed to dead music, at this farm I like to go to that has, you know, live music sometimes. Mostly I like it there cause you can bring food, and there are always dogs running loose.

I wish I had the kind of dog where you could just say, Hey, jump in the car, there, Bandana, and let’s go to a concert, where you will galumph around mellowly and eventually sit in front of me while the music plays.

If I took Edsel, he’d have to leave halfway through with the vapors.

Also, yesterday, I had planned to take myself to the lavender festival nearby, and just as I was getting ready, Ned called.

I really have to stop hanging around with Ned.

“What are you doing today?”

“I’m headed to the lavender festival,” I announced, then invited him, thinking in a million years Ned would never go to a lavender festival. Lavender festivals are not invented for men. There’s not a straight man in America who’d wake up and say, “I’m gonna take in that lav fest today.” Men would shorten it to something awful  like lav fest, seeing as they always have to nickname each other and so on. Just ask Hulk.

Naturally, Ned wasn’t, you know, showered yet or anything, as he is what you’d call a sleep-in type. And by the time he got here, I remembered I’d promised Faithful Reader Laurie that I’d take all her paint off her hands. She’s moving and has all kinds of spray paint and real paint and so on, and felt guilty taking them to the HAZ-MAT recycle place, I guess. I mean, I glean this cause she said, “I feel guilty throwing them out.”

As you may know, as I’ve alluded to it a few, like 903, times, I am painting my front door and its hardware, and also I’d like to paint back here, like you know just where I am when I say that. Oh, back there. Now everyone’s picturing me painting my nethers.

So we got the paint, and at that point I realized I was hangry, as it was early afternoon and I’d eaten precisely one cracker all day. Don’t ask. I was running about.

Oh, and also I’d been talking to Peg. She still isn’t back next door to me, she’s in Virginia, still. She’s not doing great, but she sounded like Peg. I told her I’d park my car in her drive occasionally, and she’s gonna mail me her key so I can turn lights on now and again. I tried to tell her you could get smart lights and an app, but she was having none of that, with her flip Wilson phone.

Anyway, we ended up eating breakfast at, you know, 1:45, and by the time we were done it was nearly 3:00 and the festival, which was 38 minutes away, ended at 4:00, and why things gotta end so fucking early?

And that is how Ned and I ended up at the movies, seeing some small independent thing, which means in general Ned got his way, as that is always what he wants to do on a Sunday. Of course, since it was a last-minute decision and all, we got there with five minutes to spare, and Ned would never go to a movie without purchasing popcorn, ever, and

Dear People in Line at the Concession Stand at the Movies:

Oh my fucking god, ORDER AND MOVE ON. In one line was a woman who had her popcorn already, but who was STANDING THERE asking QUESTIONS about the REST of the compelling menu. In the OTHER line, a man was TASTE-TESTING ALL THE GODDAMN BEER.

“Just go to our theater,” said Ned. “It’s theater 14.” So I dashed down there, and walked into a fully lit theater.

Now, as you know, Ned and I have a history of attending small, weird movies. It was something I did before I met him and ruined my own life, and it’s something I’ll do long after I’ve finally bludgeoned him with a sock full or oranges. So I’m used to having the theater to ourselves, but the show was set to begin and there I was in a bright theater.

“I wonder why the lights aren’t out. I wonder where Ned is. Were those annoying in-line people taking even longer?” Eventually, and here is where you truly adore me, eventually I looked up the theater’s number and called them. “Yes,” because you know I always start those kinds of calls with “yes,” “Yes, I’m in Theater 14, and it was set to start at 4:00 and it’s now 4:10.”

“You’re calling from the theater?”

Oh, why don’t you shut up. It’s a LONG WAY back to the lobby. “What movie are you going to see, ma’am?” asked the fucking TEENAGER on the phone.

“I Love You Both,” I said.

“…ma’am, that’s in Theater 13.”

Oh!

When I got over to the RIGHT PLACE, Ned was alone with his tub of popcorn. “I knew something was happening, but I also didn’t wanna know,” he said.

It was a cute little movie.

When I got home, I decided to put FR Laurie’s paint to good use. Since I can remember, we’ve had this candlestick. We had it in my house when I was “growing up.” I used it as a microphone to sing Bette Midler songs, as I have always been a gay man. About 10 years ago, Marvin and I dismantled it and brought it to LA from Michigan in our luggage. I remember my mother had 30 years’ worth of candle wax melted at the bottom, so I put it in the California sun and let it melt off.

And yesterday, that old, red, head shop candlestick became the candlestick of the Tin Man. And yes, I DO see where it’s red at the top. This was only after the first coat, so calm down.

I was quite pleased, and then I started looking around for what else I could paint. How would Edsel look spray painted white? Or maybe a bronze metallic Lily.

I felt just like a gang member with my can of spray paint. Do you think when gang members are tagging a wall that they do the “shake for one minute” rule they tell you to do on the back of the can, or are they all rebellious because gang members? They probably don’t call themselves “gang members.” “How do you do? I’m Bill, a gang member of the Crips gang.”

I have to go, and I have to start more paragraphs with “I.” There’s a 25-page deck they just told me via email that they want me to proof before 10:30, and that’s (a) possible and (2) relaxing.

I,

June