I’ve come here with a view of asking you to marriage me.

In my quest to be constantly on the move like a shark, last night The Poet and I went to the movies.

We’d discussed going to the movie last week, then the weekend came and you know how she gets at the weekend, with her clubbing and binging. Or maybe her cello and church. Either way.

Yes, The Poet plays the cello. In an orchestra. I am clearly the most trashy part of Poet’s life.

She always has Mondays off, The Poet does, as many years ago she got some sort of fancy poetry fellowship and she was allowed one day a week to sit about and think poet-y thoughts.

Me too.

Anyway, she’s been a four-day-week kind of gal ever since, at least since I met her in aught 11.

But the thing is, she wasn’t at work yesterday, either. Word around the streets was she took a day off. Beretta told me. Apparently she has 147 days off left this year that if she doesn’t take, she’ll lose.

That’s all well and good, but what about my needs? Were we going to the pictures or nah?

But they’ve invented this feature called texting

so I used that to get in touch with her and it turns out we were still on.

All four men who read me are like, “None of this was germane to the story.”

“I will pick you up at 7:05,” I texted her. I text her. “But look for a bigger, darker Fiat.” See what she misses when she takes days off all willy-nilly?

She was waiting for me in the lobby, with a magazine, (but not like Darling Nikki) when I arrived at her abode at 7:06, and I guess lateness like that warrants a deep dive into a back copy of The New Yorker. “You know, you can just mindlessly scroll your phone to pass the time,” I alerted her, although what someone mindlessly looks at if they aren’t on social is beyond me. She could call up the electronic version of The New Yorker.

I do like The New Yorker. Ned subscribes to it, and when I lived with him for that one year, during my year abroad, I would peruse it. He never, on the other hand, picked up one single issue of my Star Magazine.

We headed downtown, which is all doo-dadded up for Christmas and they do a good job here. They put blue twinkle lights on the trees and it’s lovely. I guess everyone thinks blue is the religion-neutral color, although it doesn’t really address the atheists, does it?

We parked in the rape garage on the 109th floor, as all the other floors were full. “It’s a TUESDAY,” Poet kvetched, and I am glad someone else finds Christmas annoying.

Anyway, once we descended all 500 stairs and had the wind knocked out of us by the wind and I realize that’s ironic, Alannis, we walked 78 blocks to the theater, and?

There is a ticket taker there who has always loved Ned. Oh my god, any time we went in there, she’d be all, “I have your tickets, Mr. Nickerson!” She’d always joke about how she knew his name, and how she recognized him, and she’d flash this giant smile and glow up at him.

She was at the ticket booth yesterday and recognized me not one iota.

“Sold out?” I asked the future Mrs. Nickerson.

“I’m afraid so,” she said, zero hint of recognition on her face. Hi, I’m the woman who accompanied Jackie Kennedy to the movies. I mean, I was there next to him 700 times while she pranced and twisted about. Oh my god I wanted to throttle her back then.

Dejected and movieless, we headed out, but at the door I said, “Look disappointed” to The Poet, who immediately gave me this:

You know, a few years ago I took The Poet to the movies at this theater, and as we got out of the car the person in the next car said, “I have one extra ticket. Do you want it?” to The P, and she took it, and then when we went inside I entered her into the drawing to win a free pair of jeans, and SHE WON THEM.

LAST night, as we dejectedly galumphed down the sidewalk, a woman approached us. “Did you just try to get in to see Love, Actually?”

“Yes; it’s sold out,” we told her.

“I have two extra tickets,” she said, and handed them to us for free.

Is The P a good luck charm?

So we got to go anyway, and now The Poet can finally say she saw Love, Actually, and she found the Colin-goes-to-Wisconson storyline a tad far-fetched, and I just like that scene now because one of those hootchie-gootchie girls is Betty Draper.

The only thing I have to do tonight is take out the trash, and you act like that’s minor but have you met my ADD? Then tomorrow I have a party to go to and Friday I have the trainer and Saturday I’ve been invited to a party and I finally said NO. NO NO NO and plan to sit around listlessly until next week when I have 79 things to do.

Love,
June

58 thoughts on “I’ve come here with a view of asking you to marriage me.

  1. There was so much to be enjoyed in this post. I’m still savoring the line about being constantly on the move like a shark. I wish I could sing that little Jaws tune to warn people in my way when I’m having a shark on the move day.

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  2. Y’all. I laughed so hard at this post that I texted, I text my daughter and her husband (who works for a Christian publishing company) and told them they had to read your blog today. Then I texted, I text them and sent the link to save them the trouble of not looking for your blog. This was delightful, and The Poet is truly a special friend to have.

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  3. “I am clearly the most trashy part of Poet’s life.”
    Dying!!

    Here’s a little Christmas joke for everyone:
    On an Advent wreath, why is the third candle pink?

    Because Mary really wanted a girl.

    I have one more work day and then off until January 6. Hallelujah.

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    1. Ha! Last Sunday our children’s sermon was about the Advent wreath, and this candle stands for faith, and this candle, etc. Deacon: “And what do you think this white candle in the middle stands for?” Girl: “Unicorns?”

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  4. Hootchie-ing in severe winter is a staple in the Midwest. I mean, we don’t even button our coats until it’s in the thirties. I do not miss the mini-skirt winter hootchie-ing of my youth. But I do think Colin’s Wisconsin adventure is unlikely. Four girls to a bed and they sleep naked. No. Also, Colin and his accent just aren’t hot enough to get four girls in bed at once.

    The language in “Darling Nikki” is ambiguous…I’ve always wondered if she got paper cuts. Ouch.

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      1. That was the way I originally understood “Darling Nikki” in my innocent youth. I think the Midwest-bred half-Southern Poet is accommodating all parts of her lineage and current geography by misbuttoning her sweater with an “I don’t really need this old thing” attitude. And she is a brilliant actress.

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  5. The Poet’s disappointed look is priceless. And I know I’m a dweeb because I had to Google who Darling Nikki is and now I get it and I can’t stop laughing.

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  6. Cello and church. I love The Poet. I suggest you stay good friends with her with the good luck going.
    I giggled all the way through this post.
    Tee

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  7. Boris Johnson did a Love, Actually campaign video (with the creepy Kiera Knightly story line obviously because he’s creepy). I am fuming. Is nothing sacred any more? It’ll take some time before I can watch that scene without rage.

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  8. The thought of Darling Nikki and The Poet had me in stitches… I am pretty sure Prince meant the New Yorker Magazine too.

    I am so happy that you two got to see Love Actually on the big screen. It is my reward for when I am done with all my required tasks. It might be AFTER Christmas.

    Lovely post, lovely June!

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  9. I now have a new verb … To Hootchie (altho it sounds like a town in Louisiana). What we all learn with June!

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  10. Of course the Colin storyline is farfetched. But the aging rock star sings a miserable Christmas song isn’t? I love every part of that movie, particularly when Emma confronts Snape (don’t know their story names) about the necklace. I would have just stewed and fretted , but she was so brave.
    So the Poet is now your permanent entree to the movies. Good deal for both of you.
    Lovely post.

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  11. How are you so funny before work? Loved this post! I hope you waved your free tickets in Ned’s fiancés face as you strolled by. I have never seen Love, Actually.

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  12. Clearly The Poet needs to market herself as Good Luck With Whatever You Need.

    I am actually not a lover of Love, Actually. Am I kicked out of the not-blog now? I’m more of a White Christmas/Christmas Story/Miracle on 34th Street kind of Christmas movie girl.

    Shall we text you to remind you of the garbage take out later today? If all my neighbor’s weren’t old and retired with their trash out by 1PM, I’d never remember to put mine out. As I drive home through my ‘hood (my “everyone else uses a walker to push the trash to the curb ‘hood) I’m met with the “oh right – trash day!” thought. If I’m lucky, I retain said thought long enough to park the car in the garage and actually TAKE the trash to the curb.

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    1. For me, it’s walking the dog at 5:30 in the morning and seeing all the responsible people who set their cans out the night before. Then I go home, go inside and announce to Gumbo, “Hey, don’t forget to put the trash and recycling on the street.” That is my contribution to the trash process, besides telling the Eldest Spawn to empty all the trashcans in the house.

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  13. Lovely post Coot.

    I watched Family Stone yesterday and cried myself into a nap. I told you that because I was supposed to meet my cousin for Christmas Tamales but instead I slept puffy eyed and running nose.

    I need to take the Poet to Las Vegas. Or put her in a key chain like a rabbit’s foot.

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        1. Another great Christmas movie! I only really like Scrooge or A Christmas Carol for the old ones. FX has a new version tonight (Thursday ) at 7:30. I am psyched about it. I adore Love Actually too!

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        2. Me three….or four or eleventy-seven….Love Actually is my ‘wrap presents with a drink(s), candles lit, get in the holiday mood’ treat every year. And then The Family Stone is the cry my eyes out holiday favorite. All set to watch both this weekend.

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  14. You are on fire today! I giggled throughout the entire post.

    I am looking forward to Sunday because I do not have to work my regularly scheduled job or my second part time job and can lie around ALLLLL day long.

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  15. Also, she says, commenting on her own blog like a bag lady yammering to herself, the Wisconson storyline bugs me because as a person who spent 27 winters in Michigan, you would never wear a sleeveless top to a bar in December no matter how sexy you are.

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    1. Beg to differ, m’dear. We hootchies are known to wear the least practical of clothing when we are on the prowl, climate be damned. She has a fur or something over it, right? That’s one of my favorite movies ever. My favorite Christmas movie second only to Elf. I am sure you saw my delightful meme, but I’ll repeat – I am still mad that Alan Rickman gave that office skank a gold necklace. My poor Emma Thompson. But the kid and Liam Neeson is my favorite storyline. I hope I know when I am going to die so I can plan my whole funeral the way his wife did.

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        1. It gets pretty cold here…but I have hoochie’d in Chicago. I wouldn’t do it NOW. But at that age? It’s not out of the question.

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          1. One night for a party I hoochied across a Minnesota collage campus at about 50 below with no hat because I didn’t want hat hair. Back when I had hair.

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            1. Oh, Poet, I still usually don’t wear a hat–and I am still in Minnesota! Today, no hat, no mittens, and FIVE degrees. I do have LONG SLEEVES ON though. Hoochie be damned.

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