Something woke me up last night–I can’t even remember what, now, but it was something I should probably be planning or preparing for, but what I did instead was roll over, thinking, “I’ll worry about that when I get to it,” and realized that will likely be my epitaph, which, by the way, June, nice 401(K).
What do you think your epitaph will be? Will it be, “Leave my four-oh-wonk to June”? Because that would be helpful. And not at all annoying to your families. Your “Who the hell is June?” families.
Speaking of getting our bearings, or if you really wanted to make me happy, speaking of orientating ourselves, and here is where I smile painfully at you because you’re leaving me your four-oh-wonk, guess what happened. I got my DNA back! And actually, they DID tell me who my father is! It was all very Maury Povitch.
Apparently, my father did that Ancestry.com test as well, and in what I think is kind of intrusive results, not only do they tell you what countries you hail from, even though I’ve never precipitated in my life, they also tell you if you are related to anyone in the world who’s ever taken the test. They are “extremely confident” that my father is my father, which is all very dramatic, considering I pretty much look like him in drag.
Okay, I don’t here, per se, but trust me. I knew the dude was dad.Okay, here. You can tell here.You can also tell it was the ’80s.
Anyway, on to my results…
If you read all those sort of vague ones obsessively the way I did, signs point to French and German a lot. Also, the one that says I’m either Greek or Italian COULD ALSO MEAN FRENCH, which, come on, but if it DOES mean Greek or Italian, I hope it’s not Italian, because Rik, my idiot neighbor from LA, has ruined Italian things for me forever.
He hasn’t managed to put me off Italian dressing, thank god. Speaking of which, I’ve been on prednisone since Saturday to break this cycle of migraines that I’ve been in for awhile now, and AM WOLF of hunger. Wolf.
Yesterday I met one of the Alexes at the movies.
(Here she is at my home, not at the movies. I didn’t want to throw you. She’s describing the delicious, single-serving wine she purchased at Sheetz, which believe it or not was not quite up to par).
We went to see the very bad movie Mother! which my own mother, who does not capitalize or punctuate her title, told me not to see, and maybe it’s because she is so low key about her title that I ignored her and stampeded for the movie, and that was a mistake. You know what is good is the movie Mother with no exclamation point, starring Debbie Reynolds and Albert Brooks, from probably the late ’80s. From probably about the same time dad and I were hitting that cash machine, up there.
Oh my god, anyway. The point is, we met at the movies, and I got popcorn, and I wanted to get nachos after, and what I got instead was a pack of Zingers at the Sheetz, there, and I also wanted steak, and instead I had a goddamn Lean Cuisine WHICH DID NOT CUT IT and right now I am having black coffee and THIS IS ALSO NOT CUTTING IT EITHER and am wolf.
Prednisone and Weight Watchers are not two great tastes that go great together. After this I am headed to that drive-in that Fred Flintstone goes to where he gets those ribs that tip over his car.
Am wolf. Did mention?
Oh! And oh!
Yesterday before the movie, I ran some water through my hair and screamed over to Ulta to get some more of my conditioner. I mean, I know my hair didn’t even look that good, but it looked better than it used to before I embraced the curly girl method.
What I do, see, is eliminate all sulfates and silicones–in my hair, anyway. I’ll shoot silicones all over m’face. But that’s not why we’re gathered here today.
I was getting that yesterday at the Ulta, and there was a young girl in the aisle. “Oh, do you buy this regularly?” she asked me. And then she WENT ON to ask me about my curly hair, because she said it LOOKED SO GOOD, and she wanted
about MY HAIR.
I’ll give you a moment to gather yourselves.
I told her how I co-wash (that’s what you call it when you shampoo with conditioner) and that very seldomly (is that a word?) I will also really shampoo with that product above, which is cheaper but also sulfate-free, and that I also played around with cheaper deep conditioners, that I used around once a week and keep on for 15 minutes or longer when I can.
I got way into the whole thing about how that co-wash was the only real splurge, and that the cheaper stuff was even better than the expensive shampoo and deep conditioner, and that I’d played with so many brands and it was exciting to discover that.
I think I may have, you know, gotten too excited, because finally she was all, “Okay, thank you” and I realized I’d talked, oh, maybe too much.
“You’re welcome!’ said, and scurried away fast.
Still. Me! Giving hair advice! One day someone will ask how I got so thin! But not while I’m on this prednisone.
Oh, lord, I’d better go to work. Perhaps I can get special permission to not copy edit today but to instead eat everyone’s snacks and tell them about my hair routine and diet. And DNA. And ask them why the FUCK they stood me up.
Oh! Did I mention all those hair-care photos were links to Amazon, so you can click on them and shop on Amazon to your heart’s content, and buy anything you want over there, and all sorts of cash goes to me so I don’t have to worry about my four-oh-wonk when I get to it? Thanks ever so.
Oh! Oh oh! One more thing, and isn’t June on prednisone a pleasure of life for everyone?
If anyone’s in the Los Angeles-al area, can you do me a favor? I have a nice North Carolina sticker, and a cool retro Michigan refrigerator magnet, and my old Seattle magnet I got when I lived there, but I don’t have an LA refrigerator magnet. I MUST have had one when I lived there, but I don’t now. If you run across a retro-looking one and it’s cheap, will you send it to me? Also, I see Camilla’s mustache is fading and I really must go give her a new one.
And yes, that’s a jury summons. October 2. I don’t mind. I don’t know why people mind. You get to sit around and read all day. Hoooo care? I’ll worry about that when I get to it.
Great Britain, look at the time.