I’m writing to you on Sunday night so that I don’t have to scream through a post Monday morning. Despite this, I will still find a way to be late for work.
So, what’d YOU do all weekend? Here’s what I did. Prepare for greatness. Or, “Hunh. That’s …riveting, June.”
I left work about 5:30, fed and peed everyone (at home, I mean. Otherwise, wow, June. HR much?), and headed downtown to drive all the old men cra–oh my god June, with that line already.
Two people I know, but not biblically, were part of an art exhibit downtown, so I went to the opening Friday. Because it was Friday night, I had to park in the Rape-y Urine Garage® and walk to the gallery.
There was all sorts of, you know, art going on because it’s a multi-gallery kind of a place, and I sort of felt like I was on the set of Fame or something. Perhaps everyone considered my cat coat to be a kind of artistic statement.
I found the gallery I wanted, but right before I got in there, a man in a vest and twirly mustache said, “May I add free strands of fairy hair to your regularly scheduled hair?”
Damn right you can. I got to pick out my color, and I want you to sit down but I chose pink, and he weaved maybe three strands of shiny fairy hair in my head,
then he sprinkled me with what he assured me was biodegradable fairy dust, and I can tell you right now that if Marvin were still alive, he’d have hated that fairy guy.
[Disclaimer: Marvin is, as far as I know, 100% alive.]
Anyway, then I walked into that snooty art space and everyone looked at me like, Oh, look at the old lady thinking she’s cool with her pink fairy hair. I AM COOL. You just don’t understand the splendor of me. Art asses.
All of the pieces in this particular show had to have words in them. Naturally I forgot my reading glasses, but some nice man loaned me his and then he got his Boy Scout badge for helping an old person.
One of the two friends who was in the thing said, “Hey, I’m ‘the artist’ and I get free wine. I don’t want any, but do you want some?”
Of course I had to tell him the whole story of how I can’t drink anymore because every time I do I get a migraine but I keep giving it the college try, and eventually just to get the hell away from me, he got me HALF a glass of wine.
I was standing talking with my coworkers who were also there, Austin and Frapdorp, and I LITERALLY took three sips of wine and announced, “Well, I’m drunk.”
I was drunk, too.
I stood around long enough, kibitzing with people, till I sobered up again, and for a town that has a quarter of a million people in it, you seem to see the same 200 people over and over again. I was shocked at how many people popped in there who I knew.
Finally, Austin drove me to the Rape/Urine lot (I was parked on Level Pee), and I went home and wished I had any artistic talent. I can draw out all of your energy. Does that count? Sometimes I’m a little sketchy. How about that?
I’m a paint in the ass. Surely that means something artistic about me.
The next day, I had a date.
I am not interested in men, still, but my new theory is I have to pretend as if I am and maybe one day I’ll like one again. Maybe that’s a stupid theory, but it’s been an alarming number of years since I was in a romantic entanglement. Three and a half, if you want to be specific. One could blame a lot of that on how much I hung around my ex, but now we do not speak. It’s been months we’ve not hung out, and I still hate all men, but I’m going out there and trying to dredge up feelings. This might be a waste of time, but how is getting to know a new person ever a waste of time?
So I put my makeup on and schlepped back downtown, and they might as well just call it Junesboro at this point.
Said date and I got coffee, and walked around downtown, and he got to meet Kit at her store, and then we got an actual alcoholic drink and look at ol’ June, imbibing right and left. I got away with it, too! Both times!
They had a special spring drink menu and all the drinks were named for ’80s movies. I had a Save Ferris, which was whiskey, lemon simple syrup, and 7Up. It was delicious but I think there was, like, no alcohol in it, which may explain why I got away with this drink.
My date had Zed’s Dead, which had something orange in it, and that’s all — oh! It also had gin. I just remembered. I don’t cotton to gin, myself.
My Saturday date drew to a close and I went home and realized I had no desire to be home. So I got back in the car, drove to the movie theater, and saw what was on. Turns out? Pet Semetary. Which I saw, and which was a mistake.
Do you know what’s annoying? Seventy attempts to startle you. Why not write well and make it scary and suspenseful that way rather than, Oooo, something might jump put right now.
Anyway, you know what’s not really relaxing? Is seeing Pet Semetary and then coming home to your three creepy cats.
Today I took my freelance work outside and worked at the table in my yard. Seeing as they STILL HAVEN’T FINISHED MY FENCE, I brought Eds out on a leash, but he kept leaping up to eat bees and almost knocking my chair over, so eventually I took him inside to think about what he’d done.
Once I did enough Fence Freelance, I took self shopping in the hopes of maybe buying some cheap spring little shirts, but I don’t know what kind of riot went though my Old Navy, maybe the New Army hazed them, but everything was such a mess that I left in disgust.
Instead, I went to Barnes & Noble, and IN MY DEFENSE, I’d been to our local bookstore on my date, so it’s absolutely okay that I went all basic and hit B&N.
I dearly wanted these notecards, even though I have all the notecards in all the land already.
Look! They’re different colors inside! Oh, aren’t they pretty? Still. I abstained.
I also looked at all the stationery and chose this one in my mind.
What I DID buy was one of these:
All the millennials at work have one, and they swing theirs around all the time, looking nubile and fresh, Meanwhile, I have this plastic cup my workplace two workplaces ago gave me in like 2007, and it has no lid and it’s no longer insulated, so yay. This bottle was half off, and I also got to use my Barnes & Not-So-Noble membership, so it came to nine dollars and something.
I wish this company would s’top using apostrophes for no reason. But s’till. New water bottle! Now with actual lid!
I guess that sums up the weekend, and I am sorry there wasn’t more torrid sex or drug use, but if you want that from a 53-year-old, go read Courtney Love’s blog or whatever.