Before I begin today’s hard-hitting post, I know I asked everyone to send me photos of their favorite cup, and that I’d show all of them, but those “we sent a picture” things take a really long time to set up and I haven’t had the time and no one mention that I watched King Kong Skull Island followed by Godzilla this weekend.
Man, I’ll tell you what. I know I made the decision to not date for a while, till everything is good in my Ned-filled head, which may take the rest of my days, but let me tell you the truth: I pulled up to my house Friday night and could not make myself go in for the longest time. I stared at the front of my house and thought of all the hours I would try to fill all weekend and was sort of paralyzed.
Finally, I thought, “Oh, forge ahead, sister” and got inside, mostly because of Edsel, who I am convinced was twisting his doily at the window wondering when I’d come in. Every time I wander in it’s as though I’ve returned from a long bout at sea.
I didn’t stay home long, though. I went to First Friday, which is this thing they do in my town and probably yours, where the first, you know, Friday of every month all the galleries stay open late and they serve wine, which I didn’t have, and you can wander about looking snooty.
My work friend Frapdorp had a piece in this particular show (not the button star shown above) and when I got there it had already sold. “YOU’RE RICH!” I texted him.
I thought I’d run into a few people I knew at that thing, as last time I went it was a June-knowing extravaganza. But instead, it was just a bunch of fancy people I didn’t know. I got some appreciative looks from men who are 60, which seems to be my new demographic. Oh, sure, they’re allowed to ogle someone 7 years younger, but if I glance at a 46-year-old I get arrested. What the hell, society?
I also noticed a type that goes to these shows: the very skinny older art woman. There were several of them. I think they do pilates and wear natural fibers and eat once a week or something, and don’t get me wrong, I’d love to be the skinny older art woman. But maybe the 60-year-old-man, to whom I am apparently a dream girl, enjoys a woman with, I don’t know, more than flesh and sinew.
Anyway, it was all sort of fascinating and I went home when it looked like one man was going to home in on me, with his Jerry from The Bob Newhart Show perm.
On the way out, I noted this little studio that records your podcast for you, and sent a photo of this tout suite to my pal Wedding Alex, as we are thinking of making a podcast even though I hate them.
Do you know what else I hate? [Giant thud heard throughout the land as everyone gets out Volumes I–XIX of Things June Hates] Those homemade videos on Facebook, where some regular person is selling something. First of all, they always always always have to start out, “Hey, guys!”
Then they are never prepared. There’s one for a hair curler I keep seeing where she literally says, “Hey guys! …Hang on a minute.”
YOU JUST GOT HERE. You just started. Can you not have your props at the ready immediately? Did you just spontaneously decide to start recording and hold us all captive and THEN gather the things you want to sell?
There’s another one who keeps LOOKING for shit through her whole presentation, and she also gets a bobby pin, puts it in her mouth, which is disgusting, takes it out to look for something, then puts it back in, takes it out to ruffle around her desk and then finally says my most favorite thing:
“I’m a hot mess right now.”
Would you like to know what I hate?
[Thump. Volume XIX complete. Please begin Volume XX.]
Anyway, our podcast. We’ve yet to actually get together and make any plans, but Wedding Alex is organized and three seconds after I sent her the picture above she wrote back with the prices and the particulars. Meanwhile, I’ve had your cup photos since the Truman administration.
On Saturday, I got up and cleaned, a new thing I do each weekend. I used to sort of haphazardly clean just whenever at my old house, but this one started OUT so pristine that I felt I had to keep it that way. I set my Google Home for an hour, and clean for at least that long but keep going if I feel like it.
Please tell me what cleaning products and tools you like thank you goodbye.
Then the mail came with the arrival of my Highlights Magazine that FR Paula sent me.
After my hard-hitting morning catching up on the news, and by the news I mean the latest with The Timbertoes, I shopped for nothing. I’m headed to Michigan soon and am saving my dollars for cat-sitting and gas and the dog-friendly hotel in West Virginia that’s an extra $50 a night for the dang dog. (I should have just put him in a little fedora and cape, see if I could get away with saying he’s a short man with unfortunate dental work.)
Naturally, I went to Sephora.
By the way, who would look good in any of these colors? If I showed up at your place in sparkly turquoise eye shadow, would you not discuss the state of my mental health after I left?
This is my dream hair dryer. You know how Barbie has her dream house? And frankly she shoulda dreamed bigger. Bitch had a smokin’ body. She could have scored more than a split level.
Anyway, I want this dryer so bad I do but go ahead and Google that bitch. No, go ahead. You’re gonna die of death when you see how much it costs. It has a thermistor, whatever that is. Does it conquer your hair? No, that’s a conquistador. Does it keep it fresh, like a cigar? No, that’s a humidor. Does it fight bulls? No, that’s a matador. I give up.
Anyway, I want one. I looked at it longingly like the little straw-haired girl and went empty-handed to the kitchen store.
I like going to the kitchen store. I never went in there till my Aunt Mary came to visit and insisted. And then I was riveted.
I think about being the type of person who cooks, and who has purple pots. I’d totally get the purple. I don’t know why.
At Christmas, I went to Chris and Lilly’s, and they gave me a bunch of really good soaps. Then after that there was a bar of strawberry-scented soap on the anyone-can-take-it table at work. It’s this weird soap/sponge combo. Anyway, I took it and made it my goal to not buy soap this year. I already broke it once when I went to the beach and forgot soap, but I found a bar for a dollar. So so far I’ve spent $1 on soap in 2019. I realize that’s an odd goal but it amuses me so shut up. The point is, I lusted for these so bad I did.
The store offers free coffee in these communion-size cups, so I took one and sat on a bench outside the store.
I do this about 46 times a week. I keep my camera on and take a picture of my shoe, or the sidewalk or my purse. Anyway, once I saw I’d done this, I took a real selfie right there in public.
I look high. I wasn’t. I was high on kitchen supplies.
Saturday night, I had dinner with my neighbors and afterward, we decided to see if we could all, including two large men, fit in my teensy car. We did it! We drove around like a clown car, two huge men popping out the convertible top like Dino. Getting OUT wasn’t so easy for them, as they opted for the back seat just to see if it was possible. “Let’s all drive to Michigan!” I said, but that did not happen.
Afterward, I enjoyed Milhous obsessing over the fly that was in our house. I thought of getting the flyswatter, but he had so much fun that I let him catch it, which he eventually did.
Then Sunday was sort of sad. My step-grandmother died. She was always so nice to me, and sent me a check every year on my birthday and always signed it, “Love, Grandma Agnes.” She was in her 90s and was not sick, so that’s good. Her funeral isn’t till July, and I won’t be able to go because I will be in Michigan right before that.
Death is stupid. Living far away is stupid.
Oh my god, I have droned on forever. Be sure to tell me about cleaning products. Talk at you tomorrow.