Yesterday was a ridiculous day, from my series of June’s Ridiculous Days.
The newsletter went out at work yesterday, and I am the editor of it, and newsletter day is always a bit chaotic. Then, at lunch, I screamed home and finished that perpetual calendar I’ve been droning on about all week. I finished it, sent it to the client, and even invoiced her. I pretty much gave myself seven strokes for $200. Yay!
Then when I got back to work, I had a project I was working on very hard, and the second I finished it, I had to delve into something for another team, something enormous, where they did the thing that they said, “This has GOT to be done by end of day. We’ll give copy edit two hours to do it.”
I’m afraid I attached notes to two of the pages. “This page alone would take a copy editor an hour to do correctly.” It was a slew of company names, like 50 of them, that not only needed to be looked up for spelling, but now every company in the world has to DoThis to their name, and I had to make sure we didn’t have any normal-looking names that should have been NormalLookingNames.
Then two other pages were all math all the time. I had to [shiver] add things and [barf] average things. Oh, but go ahead and do that and copy edit the other 41 pages in two hours.
So I did a shabby chic job, where I worked as hard as I could as fast as I could, and I promise I missed something with my speed, but I got it in, and at 5:03 I got another email. “You still here? We need this done, too.”
So I stayed and edited another smaller thing, and rewrote some of it, and did my very best, and at about 5:35 I was finally done. My shoulders were concrete.
Finally, finally, I said, “Wow, I wonder what happened with m’blog today” not that I have a blog. So I got on my blog, and was scrolling past that picture where Steely Dan was asleep on my leg,
and THAT is when the president of the company walked past my desk.
Not all day, when I was KILLING my own self working as hard as possible. No. When I was LOOKING AT CATS ON THE INTERNET.
I have no idea if he saw or not, but, oh, how I wanted to chase him down and say I’VE BEEN KILLING MYSELF ALL DAY.
I took my defeated concrete shoulders home, and you know what? Fuck it. I did NOT freelance last night. My friend The Other Copy Editor and her husband bought a beautiful old house near Ned’s house, almost fmr., and turned it into a B&B. On Wednesdays they have Wine Wednesdays, and you know what sounded delicious?
You’ll be stunned to hear Ned was down for going to this, as he occasionally likes to have a drink.
With my Weight Watchers and so on, I haven’t had a drink in ages. Well. Last week I had a chardonnay with The Poet at The Movies. The point is, the idea that I was going to have wine was so exciting. I ate cereal for dinner so I’d have enough points, and I was like Clarence when George Bailey takes him to Martinis. “Why it’s been so long, I…FLAMING RUM PUNCH! Off with ya, my lad and be lively!”
I get to Ned’s, and I want you to sit down.
“Why don’t we walk there?”
I had cute little sandals on, a thing he refused to acknowledge. “I have on fancy shoes, too,” said Ned, in his regular work shoes. He makes you feel like lazy rabble if you DON’T walk, so with all the resentment one can hold in one’s bones and bone parts, I fucking walked to the B&B.
It’s like three blocks.
The thing I miss the most about living at Ned’s house, almost fmr., is the neighborhood. We’d take the dogs on (seven-hour) walks around it, and there are so many really cute houses.
Next thing you know, I was pointing out house features I liked, and admiring flowers, and hey, maybe Ned’s not so bad.
And that is when my purse broke.
The strap broke clean off. I just BOUGHT that purse, or rather Moneybags Ned bought me that purse, a few months ago.
“I’ll hold it for you,” said Ned, but as much as I wanted to take the contents of my bag and shove them clean up his ASS, I did not make him hold my purse.
Eventually, we got there, me holding my bag like it was a loaf of bread. Like I was one of the Wise Men bringing a pink bolted leather purse to the Baby Jesus. “This purse is so you, Jee.”
Here is their place, and I know, right? Careful readers will recall this is where I spent New Year’s Eve, and drove past Ned’s with my hand over my eye like a blinder so I wouldn’t look at his house. Almost fmr.
As soon as I got inside, I asked The Other Copy Editor if there was a place I could store my purse, and I’m certain she was delighted to have a full day at her job 35 miles away, commute home, rush over to her B&B to entertain scads of people, then have to deal with my broken purse.
Nevertheless, I persisted, and she hid it deep inside the bar, where I wanted to be, but instead I got a sparkling rosé and showed Ned around the place. I knew he’d love it, and he did, and we were sitting up in one of the rooms when we decided to definitely get married and divorced there, an idea we shared with another guest who roared over it.
He doesn’t know us.
Also, since my purse was tucked away with the Pinot, I did not have my camera, so I asked Ned to take photos, and he took pictures like this:
The WHOLE PLACE, every NUANCE of it, is absolutely no-stone-unturned lovely, and Ned captures the driveway. Anyway, if you want to see their place, or come to town for one of the Stalk June Weekend packages we’re putting together, here is a link to their place.
I had my one glass of wine and was drunk as a lord, which was fabulous, and then I waited impatiently while Ned had a second beer, and there we were, the sun setting over that old house with its 200-year-old trees, the cicadas in the distance, and I said, “I cannot wait to be home in my pajamas.”
Ned doesn’t get people like me. Ned is an introverted extrovert, meaning he never speaks when he’s out, but he loves being out, whereas I am an extroverted introvert, meaning I meet people all the time, talk to everyone, and then I want to go home and recover.
So finally we WALKED back to his house, me in my strappy sandals, and I said goodnight to Ned and drove home,
to the biggest bug ever invented on my wall. Seriously, I think my hater flew it in from Peru or something. Mother of GOD, it was enormous.
“Ned? You need to come over here.” It’s FOUR MINUTES. Like it’d kill him.
“June, you need to be independent,” said Ned, “I’ll take you through how to do it. Get a broom…” and that is when I slaughtered him, because I AM independent UNLESS IT’S A BUG SITCH.
Here’s Ned, taking care of the bug:
Bye, Ned. I think he took more time driving over here than he did actually killing the bug. IT WAS ENORMOUS.
Finally, my ludicrous day was over and I got to go to bed.
Being able to stretch your legs is so overrated.
And that was my ludicrous day.