Cutlery roasting on an open fire

My weekday mornings do not vary much: The alarm goes off and I resent it, Edsel and I open the door to 800 cats lining the halls expectantly. I trip over at least one of those solid assholes every single day. Hey. Cats are more solid than you’d think, when you’re kicking one down the hall accidentally.

I slop the hogs, make coffee/heroin for myself, then sit down to blog. Usually I open my photos from the day before in order to show you it, whatever “it” may be that day.

(Do you have to “make” heroin? I know in the movies they show someone roasting a spoon over an open flame. So maybe you do. Or maybe when you’re high on the heroin you enjoy a spoon over an open flame. I just have no idea.)

M’point is, today when I opened photos, I enjoyed the fact that almost all of them were selfies. Nice. Proud.

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There’s one sad photo of Kit, there, at the end. You can see I never did get happy with my at-the-bookstore selfie, as I took 70 of them.

IMG_1841.jpgWhat’cha doin’, June?

I went to work yesterday like a normal person, which you know isn’t true because I can’t do anything “like a normal person.”

(Do you consider yourself normal? Any time a man writes that he’s “normal” on a dating profile, I’m all NEXT. First of all, hey, judge-y. Also, hey, boring-y.)

Anyway, I went to work like the person I am, only to realize I had scheduled my Botox at 12:45 and my car repair for my accident at 1:00.

Pfft.

So the car repair got rescheduled for today. Not that I know it even NEEDS repair. Today is when they look at it. Give it the male gaze. They check it out now, funk soul brother. Right about noon, funk soul brother.

So above, there, is me going to the OTHER appointment yesterday, applying the ice to my head, there, before the needle and the damage done.

I need to stop thinking in song lyrics.

In summation, I got went to work yesterday and had Botox at noon. That would be a man’s blog entry thus far. Those two sentences.

IMG_1844.jpg
Oh, look. A selfie. This is me after work, in the waiting period. See below. Click here! You won’t BELIEVE what happens next.

At work yesterday, I had some of my delicious high-fiber oatmeal, because Mmmmmm, or Nnnnnnnn, as they say in the Pearl Drops Tooth Polish commercial when they lick their teeth.

( https://youtu.be/m2tYvxEVreI

Sadly, while I was searching for a Pearl Drops commercial, as you do, there were 97 clips from General Hospital available to me, including one with a Leslie and Monica showdown that I really wanted to take time out of my executive schedule to review, but look at June. Staying with the task at hand. If the “task at hand” is to get distracted by “Nnnnnnnnn.”)

So I had the oatmeal, June says, and you’ve already forgotten. “Jesus, WHAT oatmeal?” Then I had my important Botox at noon, so that left me no choice but to get a luncheon Dorito Taco at Taco Bell, and why everyone isn’t just knocking down the doors to get them MORE Dorito tacos is beyond me. Cause, nnnnnnnn.

Then, Kit and I had plans to go to a reading together at the local bookstore after work. We were gonna hear Mr. Write’s new book.

We were meeting at 6:45, so it was easiest to just leave from work, where there were, sadly, no snacks. What kind of workplace doesn’t have snacks?

I got to the bookstore a little early, ordered a glass of chardonnay, and meandered to the back of the store, where readers read when there’s a reading, and that was the day you stopped reading June.

I found a book. I know! At the bookstore. And I sipped my wine and read my book, which in retrospect I shoulda bought cause now I’m over here wondering what happens next. I want to click here on that book.

The point is, by the time Kit arrived, I was drunk.

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“Oh, good.”

Seriously. I guess oatmeal at 9:00 and a taco at noon were not enough to take on The Wine. Holy cats.

So I slumped drunkenly in my chair as Mr. Write wandered in, followed by an entourage of admirers. I’ve been to several readings read by writers where they read at the bookstore readingly, and, like, when The Poet was there, she had standing room only.

But Mr. Write, who happens to be good-looking, had throngs. Seriously.

IMG_1853.jpgAnd, you know, careful readers will note that we dated. Not you and me, homophobic housewife in Haverford, Mr. Write and me. We dated briefly last year. He was the most “with potential” suitor I’ve had since my 404 Error, but it didn’t work out.

And now he was seeing me for the first time in more than a year, and I’m drunk.

He saw me through the crowd and was very gracious. “Good to see you,” he said to me, while people gazed at him. He really is a Mr. Handsome.

And his reading was great. I’d link to his book or something, but he is, in fact, really private and I feel like he’d be annoyed with me for being all, HERE IS SOMEONE I DATED HERE. HERE. On m’blog.

Anyway, the good news is, he read a lot of stuff, so I had time to sober up. And I thought, What the hell was wrong with me? I could have had Mr. Write to date for awhile, and I was all oh no. Break me off some more of that guy who’s hurt my feelings 400 times instead.

After, I got his book, Mr. Write’s, I mean, and stood in the endless line for him to sign it. I caught up with Kit’s life, which has taken an exciting turn lately, and I similarly feel like she would kick my ass if I splayed that all over yonder, so let’s just say her life is going well now.

Mr. Write and I exchanged pleasantries once I got up to him, but the woman behind me cockblocked our conversation by including herself in our talk, and I wish you all could have been there to see the daggers coming right out my half-drunk eyes.

Kit and I then sat in the window of the store, as that’s the place where you can sit at tables in the window and have yourself a time. “I’ve never sat up here before,” said Kit, who works 11 feet from that store, and how she hasn’t taken advantage of that table window table is beyond me.

The point is, Kit knows everyone in town, and it was like she was on a float. We’d get one sentence out and there she was again, waving gleefully out the window and throwing butterscotch candies.

I guess homecoming queens don’t do that, do they? That’s more clowns at the Knights of Columbus parade.

Whatever. Girlfriend was waving. A lot.

So, in summation, I went to work, got Botox at lunch, then to a reading with Kit after work.

The end.

Briefly,

Juan

 

 

 

42 thoughts on “Cutlery roasting on an open fire

  1. Now, if I was any kind of stalker, I’d be able to find the bookstore & figure out who did a reading last night. My laziness is losing him a couple of quid in sales.
    Cracking non-wrinkled not-blog Coot.

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    1. Hmmm, we could do that and then click through to Amazon from June’s not-blog to buy his book. I mean, in theory, of course…

      Also, of course it didn’t work out – he’s a writer and he’s jealous. I mean, what are 6 novels and 2 collections of stories compared to your blog? Does he have loyal commenters? I think not.

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  2. As soon as I read you got yourself a glass ‘o wine, I knew you were gonna get tipsy as my mind had already calculated the food to booze ratio.

    So, Mr. Write was Mr. Wrong? But have you considered he could be Mr. Write, again? Would he consider it? Not that you like to revisit things. (Yes I do crack myself up.)

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  3. I’m glad you do not write manly, 3 sentence stories. What’s the fun in THAT?!

    Today in my walk through the early years of the Big Book of June Events, I read about your preparation for the half marathon and your efforts to track down Cytomax, an electrolye beverage, but instead you speculated it was a “future robot Jewish person”. I died.

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  4. Here’s hoping your car appointment is as successful as the Botox.
    How do you even choose the best selfie?
    They’re all good. Mine are usually hideous and require immediate deletion. Or a whole lotta touch up.
    I love your bookstore, with the Chardonnay and cozy seating. Kit needed one of her tiaras for the window waving.

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  5. You write so well, you make oatmeal for breakfast funny. Great post. Perhaps, you need to open that door again. Knock, knock. I would love that book store.

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  6. What? No DETAILS? BAH!

    I read somewhere that the average teen girl takes dozens of selfies just to get one that she likes enough to post. So you’re waaaaay ahead of the curve on that one.

    I read that as “Mr. Write had THONGS” and I thought all the ladies were there pulling off their butt flossers and tossing them on stage.

    This bookstore sounds like it would make a perfect setting for a sitcom. Or maybe a dram-com The only place I can go in my town where I can sit in the window is the oil change place. And they call it the “winder”. “You may not want to sit in the winder – gets kinda chilly”.

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  7. It took me all of 5 seconds to find out who Mr. Write is by using the skills I learned at the Nancy Drew Correspondence School of Sleuthing and yeah, he IS quite the fine-looking man. I’ll have to check out his work.

    Get it? “Check out?” As in books?

    My daughter swears my epitaph will read “She Thought She Was Funny.”

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  8. I am too dumb to figure out how to stalk that well apparently so I will take y’all’s word for it that he is extra handsome. The funk soul brother stuff cracked me right up!

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  9. Thanks for showing up here again today. It gives me a false sense of security and predictability.

    You’re more appreciated and treasured than you know, Coot.

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  10. Kit is so cute she continues your theme of only knowing good-looking people and I’ll take your word that Mr. Write is no exception.

    May you only get good news from your car’s checkup.

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  11. I know you’re busy, Coot, so I will ask the general audience – have any of you started to experience the lower half of your face dripping down? Have any of you used Dysport or whatever to try and stop the slippage? If so, did it work? I am looking down the barrel at a new decade, and bad things are happening.

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    1. OH GOD YES! And I even went to a filler/botox place and why oh why are filler’s now $1,000? Seriously. At least here they are. Help. Please reply people if you have any ideas, group discount perhaps 🙂

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  12. Lovely post. My two favorite things in life used to be: Reading & Chardonnay. So, drinking Chardonnay in a bookstore is my idea of heaven. We don’t have a place like that here and now I don’t drink anymore. You have the most exciting life and seemingly the coolest town.
    See, this is why I never post anymore because is chardonnay upper case? I really wish you weren’t so proofreaderycopyeditory Joon. I get nervous.

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    1. I actually don’t know, either, re that one. I know when the wine represents a region, it gets capped, which is why Champagne is capped. Is there a town named Chardonnay? If so, I’m going.

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    2. I did not. But I am going to keep checking prices… I feel like this just happened in the last six months and I hate it. My face is falling.

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  13. I still love that his blog name is Mr. Write. It cracks me up~as it did when you first named him. He was one of two you were trying at the time wasn’t he…

    Anyway, this sounds like a perfect night…a little buzz, a good friend, and a nice man to read to you.

    Lovely post, lovely June!

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  14. That’s what you should have said to the cockblocker behind you when you were trying to talk to Mr. Write. “I’ve had my tongue down this man’s throat! Have you? Well then BACK OFF, bitz!” I could probably say that if I had enough wine in me.

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  15. Just finished reading this post and I was curious to see Mr. Write’s face. So I did a little searching, not that I’m a stalker or anything like that… My kids would differ though. I found him and not did I find him! OMG! What a hunk! How, oh how did he get away? So attractive, so suave looking. Gosh! Reminds me of my hubby. He looked that way to me when I met him in college. He was my professor. But that’s a story for another day.

    Like

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