What are we on? Like, day 193 of this cold? That’s my estimate.
Yesterday at work, I minced over to one of the seven people who are actually working this week, and announced, “I have a cold.” I may’ve even brought m’Kleenex box over, for dramatic effect. Which should be the title of my book: For Dramatic Effect.
“I guess I do too,” said my coworker, his Kleenex box off in the distance.
He guesses. He guesses he does too. Oh, stop being so low key.
Before we get onto other topics, like delving further into my cold, and by the way, you need to get home and get some rest. There’s no point pacing the halls worrying about me. I’ll need your strength when I regain consciousness.
Anyway, before we create a poll titled, How sorry do you feel for June, let’s look at today’s lipstick.
Today’s OFFICIAL color is Whoppin’ Watermelon, and I had to get THIS CLOSE to even show that I HAD a color on. I’m like that guy at work. I guess I have lipstick on.
So, because that was so boring, we stampeded to Pudgy Peony, and also Edsel’s undying love for me. I think he senses the end is near for me.
I don’t want you to get excited or anything, but tomorrow is Plushest Punch. If I live that long.
I saw this yesterday at the gas station, and I was all, Really? Cause I’m doubting that.
Also happening tomorrow, besides my continued silent suffering with this cold and Plushest Punch, is The Return of the Foster Kitten. She will be done with her antibiotics tomorrow, and when I take her back, on a Saturday morning, she will be the only kitten currently available.
This bodes well for her future.
Say, June, is it gonna kill you to take her to a shelter and drive away? Why, yes. Yes, it do be.
Also, she photographs big. In all pictures, she looks almost like a catten, when in fact she’s just a teensy boop. Half the time I don’t know where she is, she’s so teensy.
So that should be devoid of tears, anyway, and I’m sure I’ll handle it as stoically as I do all colds.
Today is the last day before the New Year’s holiday, so I hope we get out early, because I feel magnificent. Ironically, I was invited to a happy hour, after all that fuss last week, and I’m too sick to go. Ned once told me I want to be asked to do things just so I can say no: Attend parties, happy hours, sex. Whatever with Ned.
The point of all this is two things: One: My new computer, which I can ill afford, is on its way to work today. I’m glad I had it sent there because someone on Next Door has one of those paranoid cameras on her front porch, and she shared video of some kid stealing her package, so to speak.
So I have all weekend to figure out how to transfer all my shit from one computer to another, and it’s good Jodie Foster is leaving, because no child needs to hear that many swears.
The other point is, yesterday I was sitting there with the seven other people who came to work, and I was all, “This is the seventh Christmas I’ve worked. There is only one copy editor who’s worked here longer than me. (The first is The Poet, who has worked there since 18 aught 9.) I’M SICK, and I have FIVE vacation days I did not take this year.
“WHY THE FUCK AM I AT WORK?”
So you know what I did? I went into our little system and requested December 26, 27 and 28 off for 2018.
Before I go, two things. Didn’t we just do a “two things”? Faithful Reader Deborah, look what’s on my table!
And deux, you know I adore my banner picture at the top of this not-a-blog. I love it so hard. But I thought for New Year’s, I’d throw in a different, seasonal shot. There were SO MANY I couldn’t choose! I thought I’d share them with the crowd. Also, can someone bring me more coffee? Jodie Foster is purring on my lap and I feel bad moving her.
Okay, here are the photos I loved. And I realize I’m the only freak who loves looking at old photos of people she doesn’t know, so you can probably just close your laptop now and check back tomorrow.
Oh my god, right? In all my friendships, I’m Pudgy Peony, up there.
And although I know this, I still secretly see myself looking like this every New Year’s Eve. Blowing into a flashlight.
Oh my god, take me to this party. I’ll give my cold to everyone. That woman on the right is looking at old pictures of people she doesn’t know.
Our problem is, we don’t get drunk enough anymore. My father once told me about a party he went to with younger people, and they kept turning DOWN the music. That’s when he knew. This next generation is zero fun.
Oh, THERE’S my soulmate. Also, LEOPARD PUMPS.
Okay. That’s it. My life is FUCKING COMPLETE. The last two pictures are my perfect How I see Myself/How I Actually Am, including the cankles.
I’d better get to work, as it is important that I martyr as much as possible before the year is through. I figured it out, and I made 28% more money this year, due to the freelancing.
I also had like zero free evenings, so. I had zero free evenings to learn phrases other than the tired Damn, Daniel.
I gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow, after I drop off Jodie Foster. Someone zip over to the animal shelter here and get her.