Yesterday was a DAY, that began with me having to read a magazine for work. I know, that sounds so relaxing, right? Like I should be in a turban with my feet in some sort of spa bath thing. What are those called? I don’t think the good inventors of the spa bath thing called it a “spa bath thing.”
Truth be told, I prefer long assignments at work. I didn’t mind getting a magazine. Ideally, I’d have had the whole day interruption-free to really concentrate on it but of course that didn’t happen.
First of all, Iris was at the vet, which careful readers already know because I took her to the vet right up in the middle of yesterday’s scintillating post. A post in which we also argued about the 10 Commandments being in the Capitol, and one reader said, “Yes, they are” and another said, “No, they aren’t” and there we have it. Hello, state of America right now.
First, the vet called to say Iris’s thyroid was OK but her white blood count was up. So then he did an ultrasound. Then he called to say she definitely is having a bad bout of irritable bowel, and we need to
for two weeks.
Dudes, I can’t. I tried last night. I tried today. It’s not that she flails. She doesn’t. She sits there and foams at the mouth, and she will do so till the end of time, and when you finally let her go, she coughs it back up. She is the worst pill-taker I have ever had. It’s her special gift.
I ordered her stomach food in canned form, to try to disguise it in there, but I know it won’t work. She’s never gonna take this pill.
So that was distracting yesterday.
So, even though I finally did read that magazine, I asked when the real deadline was and I can look at it again today, so Ima do it again today.
Let’s pause a moment and discuss “Ima.” Ima is short for “I’m gonna.” Please do not give me the angina by saying, “June, Ima gonna go here.” You don’t know how that pierces my soul.
Anyway, when I was finally done with that I did some more of your tarot readings last night and then finally, FINALLY, I got to the best part of my day. It was late, but I got to it.
As a Christmas present to my own self, I got me a 1979 Cosmopolitan magazine, the January one that contains the Cosmo Bedside Astrologer. It’s a fabulous guide to love and sex, career, finances … like I was having any of those at age 13, which is what I was in January 1979. You know, January 1979 is when I started my first period. You’re welcome. I had the last one the day we elected Donald Trump. You’re welcome again.
Anyway, it was fabulous. Just like that fabulous guide. Oh my god, I want ALL the Cosmos from the 1970s. This is my new life goal. Hang on …
Dude, do you remember these stupid ads ^^^ that were in ALL our beauty magazines back then? I had completely wiped them from my mind. I was forever wanting to send away for this collection of products, because who doesn’t want to spritz on some Anne Klein Blazer before a day of 8th grade, and I never sent away for it because I made zero money.
I also realize this is a terrible photo but Milhous was on me and I didn’t want to bug him.
Even though I could never afford to give the answers plus One Dollar to get the MakeOver (a camel humping that doesn’t bug me at all), I always took this quiz IN MY MIND. What lip color DO I use most? Corals? Cinnamons? I really didn’t know. [Update from 43 years of putting on makeup: Corals and cinnamons make me look like an anemic homeless person.]
Dammit, y’all. I always wanted the luxurious enamel butterfly pendant, as it was FREE. But no. Also, if I took this quiz now, I’d just be in that 50+ group. Like, sure, you old guys at the back. Here’s your free luxurious butterfly pendant, practically dead person. We’ll put the mixed eye shadow shades on your corpse in the open casket.
Speaking of my future, naturally I took a look at my year ahead, if my year ahead were 1979. What I was most interested in were what fashions I should wear. I was always most interested in this, even back then, and I’d like to once again point out to the crowd that I had no scratch and my entire wardrobe was dictated by Grammy, who schlepped me off to the department store semi-annually to buy me navy-blue cordoroys and kelly-green crewnecks. So.
“Zodiac” capitalized does not at all make my nethers twitch. I’ll feel better once I get some hanging ferns in an antique cage. Hang on. Wait, where does one buy an antique cage? Can I just buy Nicolas Cage? Is that close enough?
Anyway, I’m glad we could look at Cosmopolitan together and there’s more where THAT came from if you wish. I leave you with this.
Tugging on my navy drawstring pants,
P.S. Who was Carol Lawrence and why were we listening to her and her Irish sweater?