I have a story that’s hilarious, or at least it would be when I told it, with my fine storytelling skills, and hey, modesty.
But as I always do before I tell someone else’s story, I asked first if it would be okay to tell, and it turns out it’s not okay to tell, which I just mistyped not Olay to tell, and I also am not allowed to tell you about any second-rate moisturizer.
Actually, I’ve read several articles where dermatologists recommend some sort of Olay product and I can never remember which one and I just go ahead and keep washing my face with whatever soap is in the shower and hey, skin-care routine.
Which reminds me, those Kiehl’s products I bought with my birthday gift card? Made me break out. So I bought shoes instead.
I got this shoe in this metallic and also in black, which I have worn all weekend. I did not purchase that piece of tissue, or even shoplift it.
THE POINT OF MY STORY is that the story I wanted to tell you resulted in someone thinking a thing she did was something just everybody does, and it isn’t, and just her family did this particular weird thing.
When I was first in college and out of the dorms, I had to go grocery shopping for the first time and felt overwhelmed and asked my mother if she’d go with me. We got the requisite peanuts in the shell, fruit punch and fish sticks, all of which sound delicious right now and hey, Weight Watchers. Anyway, when it was time to check out, I put everything on the whatever you call it, and I separated the food from the nonfood.
“What’re you doing?” asked my mother. I told her, and she looked at me sort of sadly.
“That’s just if you’re on food stamps, honey. You don’t have to do that when you’re paying with regular money.”
When my father left, my mother went back to college, and we had The Food Stamp Years. Apparently I stopped going to the store with her once those years were over.
Another person I know grew up poor, and when he got married (young), he was unpacking and putting all his clothes in a box, to shove under the bed. His new wife was all, “?”
This guy had never had a dresser. He’d just always shoved his clothes under the bed.
So, what’s the weird thing you did in life until you moved out of your house and learned your family did it wrong?
Please, to answer.
And OH MY GOD, before I forget for the hundredth day in a row, above, here, this picture of a ring that I sort of like because I just like it cause it’s gaudy, is actually a LINK TO AMAZON. Click it and you will be on Amazon. If you click it, money will come. To me.
I am an Amazon associate now, and all you have to do (hah! Hello, Sisyphean) is click the image, or the Amazon ad at the side of my not-blog. And once you’re in Amazon after clicking from here, anything you buy that visit will get credited to me and I’ll be rich. RICH!
Or I’ll make 48 cents. BUT IT ADDS UP.
Thanks! It’s been a relatively painless way to make extra cash (that won’t get here till the end of September) other than the, oh, 39494923932032 IMs that ask, “Did my order go through? Yeah, I know, but I don’t think mine went through June. I just don’t. I feel it, June. It’s a feeling I have deep in my soul. Will you check Amazon while you’re at work, June? Will you? Will you check?” Other than that it’s been easy.)
God, that ring really is pretty. Wouldn’t it look delightful flashing on my hand?
Speaking of not having a ring, Ned phoned Sunday to see if I’d like to go look at houses with him. As you know, because your Big Book of June Events is constantly open and in the way, Ned’s gaylord has moved and is selling the house. Ned really wanted to buy it but there was a lot of
“You have to fix this first”
“No, I won’t, and also here remains the high price”
sort of stuff going on, and in the end, Ned decided it was a bad investment and now he’s scrambling to rent a house or apartment.
“You could move in here,” I suggested. And then we stitched our sides and wiped our tears and peed ourselves merrily.
Ned is the first human I’ve used my new phone’s portrait effect on, a feature I have become obsessed with.
Oh my god, I need to be stopped.
This next one isn’t portrait style but I liked it anyway.I call it Awkward of Cat.
The point is, there was one house? That was on the street that a friend of mine lives on? And I have always had Street Envy over it, because it’s really tucked away on this quiet dead end. The house Ned looked at was built in 1937, with arched doorways and a working fireplace. (Dear Everyone: What the fuck with making your fireplaces not work? “Oh, we’ll just take the character and suck it right out. While we’re at it, let’s put a TV over the mantle.”)
It had three bathrooms, and this finished attic space that’s now a loft with a little windowed alcove where one could write her not blog, and guess who forgot she wasn’t looking at this house for herself ages ago?
It also had a sunroom, where the owner’s puppy Doberman was ensconced, and when I take this house, the puppy comes with it, I’m gonna have to insist. Also, both the sunroom and the finished basement lead into this
back yard that goes on forever with the flowering trees and has a
TIKI BAR on the patio.
“I’ll take it!” I said, and then basked in humiliation.
Oh my god, that cute, cute house. Front porch, too, with a stone floor. And a porch swing.
I want you all to brace yourselves. Ned wants to think about it.
What’s to think? Holy mother of god, that house was a miracle. But he’s also looking at sleek downtown apartments with huge floor-to-ceiling windows in hundred-year-old storefront buildings and so on. I wish I were a rich swinging bachelor.
I gotta go, but oh, I did one more productive thing this weekend.
When Edsel and I walk, I don’t know if a tree has been cleared or I just now noticed it or what, but lately I see this radio tower or cell tower or something off in the distance. It was so cool and lovely this weekend that I decided to chase it.
See it, in the dent in the trees?
I walked toward it as far as I could, then took this wooded path to try to get closer. I really cannot picture where it is in real life.
“How did June and Edsel get raped?” “Oh, they were chasing a radio tower.”
I reached a clearing and, damn. Not much closer. This is going to have to be an Edsel and June road trip, like Thelma and Louise. Too bad Lu isn’t alive–she could be Lu-ise.
Okay, I gotta go. I noticed last night that my very first boyfriend unfriended me on Facebook, as did his then best friend. I’ve no idea what I did wrong, and I was tempted to ask them, but then I said, FINE, then. FINE. You know how it’s always a good sign when I get to the “FINE, then” stage. But really. Facebook would be the only way I’d ever be connected to either of them ever again, and they were all, Yeah, no. So okay. There goes that.
I’ve said I’m gonna go 14 times.