I hate to burst in and destroy your 2018, like Godzilla stomping through your city, but I have a cold.
My throat hurts, I’m all achy, my ears have that thing where they itch way on the inside and you can’t scratch them cause it’s really your brain that itches or whatever.
You’d think my cats would be holding an eternal vigil, but they are not.
You know, sitting here, the floor and the washer don’t LOOK dirty, but I take a photo and I’m all, wow, that washer needs to be, like, wiped down or whatever.
Plus, there’s a spot on that linoleum that’s just forever stained. See it, the second blue square in from Jodie Foster? It’s just permanently sort of brown. I blame Lottie.
Good lord, this house has hosted the animals.
Anyway, despite my raging cold, I schlepped into work yesterday and the first person I saw was the mailroom guy. “Oh, I have a package for you,” he said, and handed me a box. It’s this great clock from a faithful reader! Isn’t it magnificent?! It was on my wish list, my Amazon Wish List. Oooo, I should link to Amazon.
“I want a clock just like Hune’s! If I click on this green clock, I can be on Amazon and buy just anything, and Hune gets rich! Maybe if she gets rich enough, she’ll stop saying ‘Hune.'”
Do you know anyone worse at remembering she’s an Amazon Associate? Anyone?
Bueller? You know what that is? ‘Nother link.
Oh my god anyway, I love my clock, and I put it in the living room because I never ever know what time it is in there, like it’s Las Vegas.
Then at night, despite my killing-me throat and my general aches and pains of having a major cold, I —
Just now, Lily, whom I’ve already let out and back in again today, asked to go out again. I opened the main door, then stood at the screen while Lily pondered the meaning of going outside, and considered if she really meant it and so forth, when
Steely Dan burst past us, got on his hind legs and pushed the door open, and ran out, all in one smooth gesture.
Lily kind of waddled after him.
Anyway, because trouper, last night I drove to this restaurant I’d never been to to get up with Kit and Jo. Ko.
On the way there, my friend Beige called me. Her name isn’t actually Beige, but I’ve always called her that and that’s how she’s in my phone. “I’m right near this restaurant, but I can’t find it,” I told her. “I’ll call you later.”
As soon as I sat down, Faithful Reader Happy texted me with a video of that white cat she has, that Ned might like. Then after the video she sent two more texts. “Boop!” said my phone, then “boop!” followed by “boop!”
“At dinner, talk later,” I wrote hurriedly, as gifts were exchanged among us. Jo is a real gifty type.
Then my father called.
Then Miss Doxie texted.
Then Fay texted.
Not to mention my blog comments were blowing up last night.
Then TinaDoris answered my earlier text about how I was feeling ill and wasn’t going to Pure Barrrrre Thursday morning. She texted three times.
Then Ned called.
Then I got the World’s Longest Email from a new reader, which, Dear New Reader: I haven’t read yet.
Then I SWEAR TO YOU, someone I went to school with in fourth grade wrote me to say she had an old photo of us, and where should she send it.
Seriously, that all happened within the first 30 minutes I was there. It was like all of a sudden everyone I’d ever known wanted to speak with me between 7 and 8 p.m. on a Wednesday. I like how I said “30 minutes” then “7 and 8.” Maths.
Okay, this is the greatest thing ever. The “R” is for “Redeemer.” There’s religious June, gettin’ her Redeemer on. (I went to a Lutheran elementary school. Yes, I did.)
I am the top girl (I sure am) on the right, in the pigtails. I was able to name everyone else in this photo except I can’t remember the girl in the middle’s first name. Doreece? Dorrena? I know her last name was Hopeck. Her mom was our Brownie leader. Her name was…Mrs. Hopeck. You’re welcome.
Hell. Or, Redeemer. I wish I could recall that girl’s name.
Anyway, after my Hour of Popularity, and after Ko and I discussed everything from talking dirty to Dick Whitman’s mom–fortunately we did not combine those subjects–it was time for me to go. Jit, over there, the Kit and Jo combo, were gonna move on to a bar, but I was in need of an IV drip, so ill was I, and plus also it was 9:30 already, so.
As I drove home, I told my phone to call Beige back.
“Calling Beee-aaage,” said my phone, who can’t speak fucking English. If you’re gonna be in this country, man. English is our language, man. (I love people.)
My phone also tells me to take the exit toward the airport sometimes? But it pronounces it “Peedmont Inter-na-seeeee-on-all.” Kills me every time. Why doesn’t it know “international”?
I realize it’s, like, miraculous that I can take my phone with me and not have to drag the cord onto the stairway like I did circa 1982. I realize that the fact that my phone can TALK to me and CALL PEOPLE FOR ME is also, you know, exciting.
Still. Get it right. Beeee-age. Pfft.
Actually, while I’m thinking of it, you know that cool photo my old schoolmate wanted to send me? She’s not the first person to email me via the “Contact me” feature on my blog to wonder how to get in contact with me, so let me just say now that the contact me feature is just an email address, so anything you want to email me, that’s where to do it.
I think if you’re gonna attach a photo, you might have to write me once, then I write back, and THEN it becomes just a regular email between us and you can attach a photo.
I’d better go back to work and martyr through my day. Probably I should be certain to bring a giant box of Kleenex to really drive the point home. Perhaps I could even arrive in slippers, for added effect.
Here is our Clinique Chubby Stick of the day in Plumped-Up Pink. This will look good when I’m in my casket.