This morning I was peeing, and Lottie ran in, took the toilet paper off the holder, and ran off. You know how all your life you've said, How can anyone beat a puppy? I have your answer.
Numbers sign TeamLottieAbandoners. Did you know if you type a hashtag and write something right next to it now, it immediately turns into some kind of bold link? I could get all types of people coming over here right now with my stupid hashtags.
(I've heard that used to be a popular search term. Marvin told me. Marvin, that social media expert.)
Well, why didn't that last one work? Goddammit. Anyway, hello, sex and mesothelioma lovers. Welcome. This blog discusses neither, seeing as I have neither at the moment. Life could turn on a dime, though. Why, just tonight I could have sex and catch mesothelioma all at the same time. I know you're kind of hoping for the latter, if you have mesothelioma and came looking for answers. Incidentally I'm something of a dick. Welcome, again.
Wouldn't it be funny if I had sex with Taylor Swift tonight? I wonder if she'd leave me any Thunderstruck? Do you like how I subtly linked to my Amazon wish list, right there? I'm learning about this sort of subtle linkage in my writing. Marvin taught me. Bah.
I'm still looking through every damn piece of paper I own to find that damn blueprint for my yard that that garden store made for me in 2008. I've looked through all my papers (see mom being hilarious, above), and then just this morning I woke up and said, "I'll bet I put it with the big buying-my-house folder." And I'll bet I did.
Oh, and I forgot to say, note the time. I put the time at the top of this post, and I like that idea. To note the time I'm writing. Of course, I'll forget tomorrow.
Anyway, speaking of forgetting, I couldn't blog yesterday because I had one guy over named Mike who was looking at my deck, and then we had to dicker and deal and talk on the phone 50 times. Then I had a guy named Mike who came over to look at my grandmother's chair to tell me about recovering it, and he left his Reptile Collection II book here, and who on this earth selects orange reptile Naugahyde? Who? Anyway, I gotta call him but I'm riveted by this book and loath to return it. I've been poring over it when I'm not meeting Mikes.
Because there's a guy named Mike who came over to measure my door to put a new screen door in, a gift from my mother for my birthday.
Do you see what I did, there? I'm linked in. I imagine always talking about it detracts from the subtlety just a titch. It's like how any time Marvin and I ever Did It OVER THE COURSE OF SIXTEEN YEARS, he had to mention the next day that we Did It. "That kind of reminds me of last night. Heh."
Then he invented Facebook, because social media guru. "I should call it sit-on-my-Facebook. Kinda reminds me of last night. Heh."
Dear Mike Zuckerman or whatever your name is: Do not sue me. I was being hilarious and in no way did Marvin invent Facebook. Can I introduce you to my lover, Taylor Swift?
I couldn't help myself. I just perused Mike's Reptile II Electric Boogaloo book one more time.
Yes, I wonder if you could sign me up for the aubergine bi-crock fabric. Thanks.
I wonder what riveting reptiles, what scintillating snake fabrics were featured in Reptile I? Coral Cobra? Bluest Black Snake?
Anyway, it's been a time, getting all kinds of phone calls that start out, "June? Mike." and then I have to wait to see if he's gonna talk about doors or chairs or decks. So that's why I couldn't write, because I got Mikes. Which would be exciting except Taylor Swift is a jealous lover. So much for being bi-crock with Taylor and all the Mikes.
I really abhor when people say "lover." Stop. If you say "lover," do you know what I will never be?
So it turns out I'm getting the deck, which will cost my every last dime but the one I have is literally falling apart, and as a result I can't afford the chair. And I'm gettin' the door because mom.
In the meantime, while I was doing all that, I asked you to tell me what to blog about, which you will see I mostly ignored, but Becky BadHair wrote in and sent us a link to a personality test that is just grand. Almost as grand as Lime Emu fabric, which I hate to tell Reptile II is not a reptile. Here: 16personalities.com.
Go take it! I did, and I am a campaigner. Which makes no sense at all if you think about how often I've linked to my wish list today. This last link, here, really is to my personality profile, though. Oh, it's great. And so detailed!
The ENFP personality is a true free spirit. They are often the life of the party, but unlike Explorers, they are less interested in the sheer excitement and pleasure of the moment than they are in enjoying the social and emotional connections they make with others. Charming, independent, energetic and compassionate, the 7% of the population that they comprise can certainly be felt in any crowd.
Don't I sound magnificent? I know I think so.
Aw, hell, I gotta get in the shower and go. But here are some photos and things I found while looking for that damn blueprint, which better be effing worth it when I do find it.
Paula's Christmas letter where she details her Heart fascination. It never stops amusing me, her look of pure Edsel joy when she's watching Heart for the 93424056th time. Also, both her boobs are featured back then! It's good we captured them on film. We didn't know we'd be missing one. I wouldn't say I've been missing it, Bob.
Article–hard-hitting article–about my Aunt Kathy being in Paul McCartney's DVD. Apparently I know a lot of people featured in concert DVDs. I have said DVD, and Aunt Kathy has signed it, "All my lovin', Aunt Kathy."
Me with a boot on my car in 1992. That goddamn place. They gave you a ticket every four minutes. I remember that dress cost $110, which was unheard of at the time. Except by me, who gladly shelled out $110. To be fair, I wore it for about 10 years, and then I wore the cardigan portion for even longer.
I was adorable. I would say I didn't appreciate it, but I kind of feel like I went around thinking, "I am adorable." So.
Cousin Katie and me, circa 2003. I loved that purse. Not that Katie was a purse. The purse I'm holding. Garment district, LA. Was a regular there.
And here's the piece of resistance. Heh.
The list of my ideal man, created after Marvin left me to pursue his social media passion. Hey, did I want to find a rich man, Daidle deedle daidle daidle daidle deedle daidle dumb, at all?
Dear Bald Steve: Yes, I just quoted a musical. Shut up. Love, June.
I need to make a new list.