In a stunning display of self-centeredness, and in preparation for my move to another computer, I looked through the webcam photos I have here and came to the conclusion that my six years with (“with”) Ned have aged me.
Above, I had talked to Ned online, but not dated him yet.
On my way to a date with another dude, above, as Ned had said he “wasn’t ready” for exclusivity.
I think at first, as I got all in love and shit, I started to look better.
Our one-year anniversary, where I remember hoping he’d not bring up any ex-girlfriends all night. He did.
Even though I’m all Cell Block H here, I was really happy then.
Right around our two-year anniversary. Is this obsessive, what I’m doing?
We’d moved in together, and trouble was already brewing. We had a terrible blowout on day three. I don’t mean we both got our hair straightened at the hairdresser’s, which woulda been more fun.
I spent Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve in my room, as we fought both those holidays. I’ve no idea why I took a photo of this miserable moment, but I did. I watched Google count down the year from my computer.
My 50th birthday. Half the time I was deliriously in love and the other half I was in fekking agony.
Oh, look, I’m home. Home to Tara. Months from my beloved dog dying. Maybe that’s what aged me.
See? Lookin’ sorta old. Maybe it’s just cause I AM old and has nothing to do with emotional strain. Maybe I’m making all this up.
What’s with me and all the morose photos on St. Patrick’s Day? And why do I stampede to my webcam on that holiday? Luck o’the Apple to ya.
I don’t know. Maybe it’s just m’insides that got old and I don’t look as dreadful as I thought.
Anyway. Have you seen enough photos of me today? Or do you hope for more?
We had our team Christmas party after work yesterday; the creative team, I mean.
That up there is m’coworker Essence, and I did not just use the random name generator or anything. I like her, and I like her earrings maybe more than is healthy.
Am I going to hell for saying, “Advanced-age, curvier Jesus”? Jesus is really embracing his curves.
Advanced-age, curvier June’s plate. I’d like you to admire the plates, as I brought them, along with the matching napkins. Yep. June. Brings so much to a party.
It was nice to see everyone; some even came from our other offices and so on.
But I had to skedaddle out of there fairly early, as I had promised The Other Copy Editor I’d head back to her B&B last night for Wine Wednesday, because last week she was too busy to really talk to me. She and I got there at about the same time, and said one word to each other before…
…we noticed 14 of the Alexes were also there. So we went to one of the rooms, we got a room, as it were, and chatted and giggled and did not at all gossip or discuss sex ad nauseam, as girls do.
TinaDoris, there, second from the right, is who I’ve been going to Pure Barrrrrre with, and yes, I got up with her at 6:00 today and pured our bars already. So once again, we have a Thursday where I’ve packed a lotta living into one day.
Oh, and I almost forgot. At lunch yesterday, I schlepped Jodie Foster back to the shelter, in what is a rapid, convenient drive down the not-at-all-most-congested street in town. She had to get her shots, and I wanted that cold checked out.
She’s fine, but they did give her antibiotics just to be safe. And today I heard big old robust Steely Dan coughing, and I just felt terrible about it. I love that cat so bad.
Speaking of which, Ned called to say he got NedKitty’s remains yesterday. He walked into the vet’s, hoping to see, “Bee or Doris,” he said, like I’d know who they are.
“They’ve seen me come in for years with Murphy,” he said, and yes, that was her real name, “and I was hoping we could talk about her or something.”
Instead, a person he didn’t know handed over DeadKitty, and “no one gave me a hug or anything,” Ned said. It would appear he’s not doing well with the death of that cat.
Meanwhile, he’s still aging me, so.
I gotta get dressed. I got some StitchFix stuff I wanted to show you, but that damn Iris has been sleeping, unmoving, on my wrist this whole time and she is IRKING ME and I have a cramp.
Oh, hell, I gotta take a lipstick picture, don’t I? Okay, I have NO OTHER MAKEUP ON, so be kind. This is Roomiest Rose. What’s with all the big names lately?
Thanks, June. Helpful photo.
I added panicked mascara. And got some in my damn hair. Why do I bother?
Talk to you later. Maybe later we can get together and look at photos of me.