It’s Monday morning, and I can’t remember what I did this weekend. Not in a John Lennon “I slept with so many Asian chicks who weren’t my wife” kind of way, although really, you can’t blame him for that. And who knows? Maybe I did sleep with Asian chicks all weekend. Let’s look at this weekend’s photos and find out.
Oh, right! On Friday morning, I met my new next-door neighbor. The New Peg. He’s got the prettiest cat you’ve ever seen, an orange fluffy girl named Oscar. She’s orange and fluffy–did I mention?–and I was a paragon of dignity, meeting her. And this is my neighbor’s friend’s dog, Rex, who was just visiting. He and Eds raised hackles at each other. It was beautiful.
Work was ridick all of Friday. There was some sort of snafu, and the copy editor who sits behind me and I officially had 30 hours’ worth of work to do in one day. We managed to delegate it and/or do it our own selves, and by 5:00, my eyeballs had fallen out and rolled to a bar.
Right after work, I went around the corner to the funeral home. Jo’s brother died last week, and I told her I’d come to either the funeral or the visitation, and the visitation (say “visitation” one more time, June) was literally around the corner from work.
As I got out of my car, another man was, too, not that I’m a man. So even though we didn’t know each other, we became Funeral Buds and stood in the receiving line and introduced each other to people we knew there. He was like my 20-minute husband.
Then I headed home, because I was so busy at work Friday that I never got to come home for lunch, so I let Eds out and fed everyone, and while I was doing that, The New Peg, my neighbor, came out and said, “Would you like to come over for a beer?”
Hell, yes, I would.
When Jo’s visitation was over, and I just made it sound like the angel of the Lord appeared to Jo, she called me and we got up with each other for snacks and moves from very old men.
We’d gone to this wine bar that apparently you must be 45 or older to attend. You know how on rides they’ll have, like, an upright alligator with a jaunty hat that says, “You must be this tall to ride”? At this place, they have a magnifying mirror. “You must have this many wrinkles to enter.”
“You must be able to recite the chorus to The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia to gain admission.”
Anyway, a man who was actually even older than Jo and me sauntered over. “You mind if I join you while I look for wine?” We happened to be near all the bottles, and I’d make some sort of drunk joke here, but Jo is the least-drinky person who actually drinks that I know. “Do they sell half-glasses?” I’ve heard her say.
In case you thought Jo and I eventually acquiesced and ended up in an old-man sandwich, a tongue-and-liverwurst on rye, we did not. We went home to our respectable abodes without incident.
On Saturday, I saw Ned.
Oh, good, June. Good.
We went out for Fruity Pebbles cupcakes, and by “we” I mean I ordered one and he looked on in horror.
Then we went to Target, where my soulmate had clearly been at some point earlier. Hashtag poop! Oh my god, hashtag poop! It’s my new favorite hashtag!
The whole point of seeing Ned was so that I could eventually pop in to see Nancy, and you can see how delighted she was about the visit.
Really, she PHOTOGRAPHS bitchy, but she’s the sweetest cat in the world. She’s always all, o hai! So happy and purry.
And she’s got her litterbox down pat!
Then I came home and some cat had pooped on the floor. I got new litter. I think it didn’t go down well. Irony.
On Sunday I had Alf over to tell me how much it would cost to fix all the things I want fixed. The only really scary cost is the one to put a real door up on my walk-in closet, aka Steely Dan’s Cafeteria Plan.
He’s telling me I need a new deck, Alf is. Edsel doesn’t give one shit. It’s falling apart, the deck is, so now I gotta save my pennies.
This is a time when I remind you that everything we discuss on Facebook of You-Know-Where is not what we necessarily discuss over here.
[June adjusts her papers meaningfully.]
Anyway, that about sums up the weekend. Now Steely Dan, who was out all night, then came in for disgusting canned breakfast and then demanded to go out again, is staring obsessively up in my tree, the one with the face on it.
I keep tryina call him in, because out-all-night kitty and he must be tired (I say that like he didn’t sleep in front of a fire with his other family, or another Asian woman like John Lennon) and he was TRYING to walk back in while never taking his eyes off the tree.
Finally, I looked up there. A cardinal family has been flitting around my house a lot, and they’re both up there, and if that cat eats cardinal babies Ima have his head. I’ll just walk around for the rest of time with that cat’s head on a stick. It’ll be my signature look.
House of June