June in June

Yesterday, I got an overwhelming pudding craving.

I was at the store, because I was out of everything. I was, for example, clean outta batteries, and the kitchen clock had said five minutes to 3:00 all weekend. I even saw it die, the clock, and how often does that ever happen? I’d been doing my horrific high-intensity interval training, and I’d been staring longingly at the second hand, willing it to move through my one minute of jumping jacks more quickly, when boop. Froze. On five minutes and five seconds to 3:00. Then all weekend, I kept saying,

Hey, what time is it? Oh, it’s five minutes and five seconds to 3:00.

Hey, what time is it? Oh, it’s about five minutes and five seconds to 3:00.

Hey, why did I wake up at five minutes and five seconds to 3:00?

You can’t eat yet, Edsel, it’s only five minutes and five seconds to 3:00.

Hey, what time is it? It’s…


I was also clean out of pet food other than cans of kittens. Edsel had had a can of kitten food for breakfast, as had all the cats, which pleased most of them mightily.

Not Lily.

That big-ass cat does not like a can of food. Iris acts like it’s Christmas morning when I get out a can, and Steely Dan. Well, you can imagine. But Lily?

lilleee not fan. extreeeemlee pickee eeter. obvs.

Whenever I take a photo, I see things on the floor that I don’t see with my naked ashamed eye. I STILL don’t see that object on the floor in real life that I see in this photo.


Oh, and the reason I was out of everything, clean out of everything, is on Friday I had my identity stolen, and who would want to be me? Go pretend to be someone else.

This stolen moment was a thing the bank was apparently not gonna tell me about till I called them, or maybe they’d planned to call me at 3:00.

I noticed a charge for 99 cents, to Spotify, and if there’s anything y’all are sick of hearing about, it’s my endless Spotify purchases. So I called the bank and they said sure enough, they’d already noted my account had been compromised, and they’d frozen my card, a thing they thought maybe I just wouldn’t notice or whatever.

“We’re sending you a new card. In five to seven business days.”

This they tell me on a Friday evening of a holiday weekend.

And you know, I’d had trouble that day already, trying to purchase my exciting meds, and I just ended up writing a check. Which OH MY GOD, now that I’m thinking about it, this entire live-off-the-land weekend I just had, where I went with the clock frozen in time and the dog eating cat food all unnatural-like, I COULD HAVE GONE TO THE STORE AND WRITTEN A CHECK.

Jesus. I never thought of it. You have no idea how I metered out that pet food this weekend. I was like a drug dealer, with the scale and the baggies and the propensity to wear a robe at all hours.

So, finally, yesterday I went to the bank and got real cash, then schlepped to the grocery store so my poor pets could eat their proper food. I tugged giant food bags into the cart, stampeded over to the batteries, although I’m certain at this point that big hand had fallen deeply for number 11 back in my kitchen, and as I was headed out, I saw the pudding.

Do you like how it’s taken me 87 paragraphs to get back to the pudding?

It was there, glistening jiggily, in the salad bar, and what I like about myself is how my eyes glaze over the carrots, blanche at the idea of peas, and lovingly land on pudding. That stubborn scale. I think it’s broken. The springs, I think.

So I got some. I got some goddamn pudding. Put it in the clear salad container WITH NO SHAME, and I really shoulda at least had shame. Then I schlepped everything home, and the whole drive home I kept thinking, Man, I wish I could eat the pudding right now. Why didn’t I get a spoon so I could eat it right away?

I live a mile from the grocery store.

Finally, finally, I was home, and I lugged in those giant bags, threw the pudding in the refridge, opened the giant stupid bags and poured cat food in the cat food bin, dog food in the dog food bin, fed everyone, recycled the bags, opened the goddamn batteries and got the clock working and


it was time for pudding. Pudding time! And the livin’s easy.

So I got a spoon, opened the refridge door, and?

The pudding fell out of the fridge and plopped onto the floor upside-down.

And that about sums up my past few weeks. Oh, and also, I’m back. Heyyyyyy.

Don’t even ask.



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At one point, I was sort of hot, in a "she's 27 and probably a 7" kind of a way. Now I'm old and have to develop a charming personality. Guess how that's going.

149 thoughts on “June in June”

  1. So, I’m a stalker, but have been quietly doing that for years and I’m very glad you’re back. I think you look fabulous, so carry on making us all live vicariously in the south!


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