I saw a meme that read, “The time between Christmas and New Year’s, when you aren’t sure what day of the week it is and you’re full of cheese.”
That sums it up.
I did stick with my plan to try to go to new places all week.
First, I headed to a coffee shop downtown that’s always looked cute.
So then Ned and I bowled. Technically, I’ve been there once, in January 2012, but it was the best I could do after my coffee-shop visit was thwarted.
The bowling experience was 100% stupid Ned. We walked in at 4, and the guy with the shoes–I don’t mean he wore shoes. He did. But he rented us bowling shoes. In case you’re unfamiliar with the exotic rules of bowling.
Anyway, the guy with the shoes said, “We’re having a special today: $10 per person unlimited bowling till the leagues get here at 5:30.”
Ned looked concernedly at the clock. “It’s an hour and a half, Ned. I think we can squeeze in a game.”
And squeeze in a game we did. We had (delicious) fries from the bar and Cokes from Columbian drug dealers. “Wow, it goes a lot faster with just two people,” said Ned, who bowls with his family, all 600 members, each year at Christmas in a tradition they call O Bowly Night, which you have to admit is clever.
Once our first stellar game (see below) was done,
we bowled another. I’d bowled an impressive 77 and 96. Yes, I AM available to join your league. Then it was 5:00. I started taking off my bowling shoes to put on m’Uggs.
“What’re you DOING?” asked Ned, incredulous. “We still have half an hour!!”
And, see, I knew. You know how you know a person, and you know their annoying quirks and foibles and you anticipate them and get irked before they even do the thing? You know how that is? Ned has to
every ounce of life out of every situation. He doesn’t have fear of missing out. He has HORROR of missing out. No party will end without Ned still there, raising the roof. No animal at the zoo will go unwatched till said animal clocks out in exhaustion. No the-outcome-is-obvious sporting event will be left until the Zamboni machine glides past to clean the ice and the arena is cleared. Doesn’t every sports event end in a Zamboni? Asked the person from Michigan.
“Goddammit, Ned,” I said. “I’ve hauled 8 pounds of ball down an alley 40 times now.”
We bowled a third goddamn game. Sometimes I want to punch Ned. Then he’d be the very last one to leave the emergency room.
Yesterday, after I took down Christmas, removed every single last thing out of the old bins (found a pizza receipt from 2009. I musta ordered pizza to keep up m’decorating strength that year), cleaned them out, then categorized each bin’s contents. One has all the linens and so forth. One has all the breakable ornaments. There was one bin that was almost entirely reindeer statues. I do love a reindeer statue. Sparkly ones. You know me.
After I did all that and hated self and life and hauled each damn tub to the garage and hated self and life more, after that, I went to the mill.
As you know, from your Big Book of June’s Cats, I recently purchased a mill house for $4. Because I am a financial genius, I decided this was a smart move. This hood is right near two mills that had been closed for decades, putting the mill houses near them in decline, but now they’re both being renovated with apartments and shops and restaurants, and my theory is the property around it will begin to shine again.
Meanwhile, crack is so convenient! No more traipsing to the edge of town, you’re ON the edge of town!
My neighborhood is on the national register of historic places, as is my vagina.
Anyway, I fell in love with the house cause it’s so cute and was in great shape and I knew the owner–a thing I hadn’t known till I’d made my first offer, but still. It helped solidify my obsession with it. I mean, I literally fell in love. I got all tingly and my-blood-is-carbonated-y.
The point is, the mill that’s already done is less than a mile from me and it’s lovely. It has shops I’ve never visited and so that was my trip to someplace I’d never been yesterday.
The shop I sought out, a place where you get to create your own scented soaps and candles (“Yes, I’d like ‘Mask the multiple animals scent,’ please.”) was closed.
Stupid inconvenient Christmas.
OH MY GOD!
I cozied up to the security guard, as I’d been walking about looking at all the other shops and workplaces and art.
The security guard showed me THE MILL HISTORY MUSEUM in the building and oh my god, it was so cool!!!
Anyway, they also had phones you could pick up to hear recordings of folks who used to live near and work in the mill. IT WAS SO COOL.
Anyway, they had a map on the wall, and the lights shining through it made it impossible to photograph, but THERE WAS MY LITTLE STREET. “June Gardens lives here.”
Oh, I want to see a whole mill house in photos. These are all built just the same, so if I see one, it’d be just like seeing mine. Also, I want that Hoosier cabinet so bad, I do.
Also, on display? They had this…
In all, it was a fruitful trip to the mill. I milled around.
Hey, did you get my text[ile]?