Well, here we all are again. Our metal chairs in a circle, with our styrofoam cups of coffee. Hiiii, June.
This was a social weekend, or a sosh weekend if you’re going for World’s Most Annoying. It’s also a time that I note that even though I paid for extra Botox, I see I have a bunny wrinkle up near my nose. Annoy.
On Friday night, we had a special pop-up concert in the studio space at our work, and I am with you on pop-up anything being annoying. The only thing I want to see pop up is your man parts. Anyway, I didn’t go, but then I saw videos of it on Instagram and it looked pretty great and I had the regretsies. Hey, where’d that World’s Most Annoying award go?
I also had my weekly dinner with the people in my neighborhood. In my neighborhood. In my neigh-bor-hood, and? I didn’t go. Also, too, it was First Friday downtown, and you know I like going to First Friday downtown, and yet? I also didn’t go to that, either.
Instead, I took time out to lie on my couch and stare angrily into space for about three hours.
On Saturday, though, I got up and did my weekly cleaning, after last week’s orange-on-the-side-table humiliation, and then The Poet came over for tarot cards and tea.
I’d show you a picture of The Poet’s visit, but what I didn’t realize is my 1099 from Amazon is in the foreground, with all my important info on it like my real name, my address, my sosh security number. That minor stuff.
Okay, there. I’ve managed to crop the shit out of it. I forget what we were eating. Oh! Gluten-free chips. They were delicious.
On Saturday night I got together with a friend I’ve gotten together with a few times and never mentioned, a thing he pointed out Saturday. “I notice you said YOU went to see the Laurel & Hardy movie and you didn’t mention me,” he said.
“Well, for one, I don’t have a blog name for you yet,” I pointed out, and after much deliberation, including a terrible discussion about the option of Ray-Ray, we have landed on Twin B. His blog name is Twin B. I wish to never hear the word Ray-Ray ever again.
Anyway, as you know, from your Big Book of June Events, I can’t drink anymore because it always gives me a migraine, and then I go out and say, Well, maybe I can have a drink, so Saturday night, I had ONE and fell drunk as a lord because I’m out of practice. It was a very manly sparkling rosé. Which is exactly what John Wayne knocked back at the saloon.
Fortunately, we sat there from like 7 to 11, so I sobered up. Then I went home and got a migraine.
Yesterday I did my grocery shopping and I was all, WHY IS EVERYONE HERE and realized, when I asked a grocer where the canned pumpkin was, that it was fekking Super Bowl Sunday and I literally had no idea.
It was over in the baking, not the canned vegetables. Don’t throw me off like that. I never darken the baking aisle. I kind of forget that aisle is there. Also? I adore it when people spell it “isle.”
Afterward, my friend The Other Copy Editor came over for tarot cards and tea. Yes, I know. It was a very Groundhog’s Day weekend. Literally.
I forgot to take pictures of my kitchen table and my sosh security number yesterday when TOCE was here. I guess I was busy living my life and not photographing it. After she left, I did my taxes, and because I didn’t do any freelancing last year and the only extra income I got was from Amazon, I get money BACK this year for the first time since 2011, which, yay!
Oh, and finally. In summation. While I was at my kitchen table this weekend, which I seemed to be for 26 hours of it, I noted this…
Iris was over there staring at me in personal growth, which is only funny if you’ve memorized When Harry Met Sally and why haven’t you.
She’d convinced herself it was dinnertime, I think, and she was off by a mere three hours. But she kept boring into my soul, over there, till finally I looked over at her and she’d turned, and was pointedly staring at the wall. Oh, she was giving the wall the ol’ “IT DINNER TIMES” stare. Then she rotated to stare out the window intensely, then finally back to staring in my general direction again.
It was like she was on some sort of rotisserie. Poor blind Iris. Why didn’t she just look at her watch?
Talk at you.