I forgot a damn title

In case anyone was worried sick, my presentation went fine. I had to present to the rest of the creatives–that’s what they call us: “creatives.” I had to show the rest of the CREATIVES why copy editing is necessary and why it takes so damn long.

We copy editors get a lot of, “Can you look at this real quick?” which is just exactly the opposite of what we do, so no. We can’t.

For the presentation, I wrote The World’s Worst Paragraph, with every error, every fact you have to research, every is-this-written-in-the-client’s-voice issue, and all the first person/third person woes you can imagine, to show how just one paragraph might take us two hours to complete.

“Can you look at this real fast? Just do a quick read.” Madre de Dios.

Anyway, it went well, and people laughed, which was my goal. I even used Oprah’s “A new day is ON THE HORIZON” line, so yay. Everyone needs more Oprah impreshes.

IMG_3593.jpgI also forced all the other copy editors, or CEs, and we’re called amongst the CREATIVES, to wear black and red, the official colors of copy editing. Behold The Poet, who even threw in her bunny socks.

I’ve fatted out of the red shirt I’d planned to wear, which was unwelcome news. But you see I made up for it in accessories.

The Poet is going to the opera, as opposed to the Oprah, this Friday. They stream New York operas to the movie theater, and you can buy a ticket for nine hundred dollars and watch at the movies. I’d expressed interest in it, but in a stunning display of How We Both Are, I can’t join The Fancy Cello-Playing Poet this weekend, because that day I have drag queen bingo.


In other news, I have this one cat named Steely Dan.

IMG_3558.jpgHave you heard about him? For he is ridiculous.

So far this year, it’s been damn cold. Un-The-South-y cold. And the only good part of that is that my wandering Jew stays home.

Steely Dan is not, in fact, a Jew. I always thought Francis might be. Edsel sure is. Steely Dan is all Presbyterian. Maybe working-class Catholic. With zero guilt.

Anyway, he’s been home a lot due to the cold, playing with that giant computer box that he enjoys so much that I’m loath to put it away, and fetching his mice till they all disappear and I have to go buy new ones. It’s lovely having him here, like a wayward husband who has a broken collarbone and has to stay in or something.

The point is, he chews. He chews clothes. He’s a clothes chewer. I’ve never had a cat who did this, but I’ve had other cats who left their mother too soon (See: Jewish Francis) and developed other odd allegedly soothing habits. Fran liked to chew plastic, and also paw euphorically at it while swinging his head from side to side like Stevie Wonder. He’d even eat plastic.

You’ve no idea how many times that cat swished into a room with dry cleaner bags half out his ass. Well. Like, twice. After that we got rid of all dry cleaner bags as soon as they got to the house. Remember when we all had to dry clean everything?

Have I ever told you the “Hello, Garden?” story? It involves doing an impression of an Asian accent, after all that yesterday.

…Actually, there used to be a punchline to this story, but now so many years have passed that I can’t remember it. Still, I used to live in Seattle near this place called Ace Cleaner, which was technically Ace Cleaners but they’d always call themselves Ace Cleaner when they called. And called they did, as I was never getting my clothes once they were ready. Because cost.

As a busy important receptionist at the time, a welcome addition to my wealthy existence was having to dry clean business clothes, which I had to wear every day. I can wear jeans to work now, and it’s funny to think of the long purple blazers over long black skirts because hello ’90s, and also the black hose hose hose out my ass like Fran’s dry cleaner bags. So many pair of hose. We MAY have had casual Friday, but I don’t think so.

Anyway, I was forever taking stuff to Ace Cleaner and then getting the fairly annoyed call. “Hello, Garden. This Ace Cleaner. Your clothes are ready” answering machine message. Because hello ’90s.

They always called me by my last name, but slightly mispronounced. And then I’d go there and just pick up one item, as it was all I could afford. I’m certain I wasn’t annoying at all.

I think they paid me $21,000 a year at that job, and insisted I wear fancy clothes that needed to be dry cleaned. What a rip. They DID pay for my bus card every month, though, so that’s good.

Oh my god, anyway.

So of course we don’t KNOW what tragedy befell Steely Dan’s motherless self, but we DO know that those two adorable gay college students saw a teensy, barely able to walk yet, barely legal all nude Steely Dan was toddling up the sidewalk in the rain two summers ago. So he left mom at a young age for sure, and thank heavens those boys took him in and cared for him, not knowing he’d grow up to be a panther with commitment issues.

steeeelee heer now. just enjoy momint.

So, whether it’s because his mom left too soon or he’s just a dick, Steely Dan eats clothes, a realization it took me awhile to have. I was all Ace Cleaner with my “just one” item of clothing suddenly having holes a’plenty, and I’d be all, that damn dryer.

That damn moth.

That damn hole punch I got stuck in and forgot.

Eventually I figured it out. I may have actually seen him ecstatically chewing chonies or whatever, but in general he tends to do his clothes chaw when I’m not around. It’s a private moment for The Dan.

So at this point, I’ve Anne Franked my clothes to the Nth degree. I hide the laundry baskets in the spare-room closet with the real door. Yes, he can open doors, but he hasn’t figured out that particular door contains a clothing smorgasbord yet.

I also keep my bedroom door shut AND a spare medicine cabinet–something we all have–shoved against the doors to the closet in there, as they are swingy, hello-I’m-in-a-Western double doors with no knob, for some reason.

Every once in awhile I’ll nap with the bedroom door open and I’ve heard from time to time a soft shove, and there SD will be, just starting to move the damn medicine cabinet to get to his closet.

Because the thing is, see, he loves my bedroom. It’s his home. It’s where he spent his childhood.

When he was a kitten, I kept him back in that room a lot. His canned kitten food was presented to him there, and while he ate, I had to shut the door so Edsel wouldn’t burst over and eat all the kitten food.

Then, unlike other kittens who’ve resided in my room, he was content to leap onto the rocking chair and just hang out alone rather than find a way to get back to all of us in the rest of the house. We matter little to SD, in the grand scheme. And now his goal in life is to reside in his old room, maybe casually meander to the food fest that is behind my swinging Western door closet.

So I’ve been careful to not let him have more clothes to eat, and I’ve even given him a whole SD Chewing Shirt that he’d already ruined. One month my Stitch Fix came, and I left it all in the box, and he got in there and helped himself to a whole shirt that I had to then buy already ruined.

So after I fed him poison razor blades and ran him over repeatedly with the car and he sprang back to life like the Friday the 13th guy, I gave him the damn shirt to chew at his leisure.

News flash: All the time, every moment, is Steely Dan’s leisure.

THE POINT IS, somehow this week, I left out ONE SOCK, one of my new soft Christmas socks with the rubbery stuff on the bottom so I don’t slide, and I discovered SD’s assigned shirt that he’d LEFT ALONE, next to my NEW SOCK chewed to bits.

fuk yew

And that is why I drink.


Sockless June

P.S. My new computer has new effects on its webcam, a feature I’ve been wanting to show you and forget to show you. You know how I am. See above.

Photo on 1-6-18 at 8.55 PM #2.jpg
Comic-book effect
Photo on 1-6-18 at 8.51 PM #7.jpg
Andy Warhol effect
Photo on 1-6-18 at 8.56 PM #4
Steely Dan is evil effect

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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.

32 thoughts on “I forgot a damn title”

  1. What is it about pets and clothes? My big dopey lab mix carries my dirty socks around the house. She doesn’t eat them but carries a single sock. I frequently find one sock at the top of the stairs and another in the living room. She leaves my husband’s socks alone but mine are loving plucked out of the laundry basket.
    Go figure.


  2. You know that even if you put a padlock on that closet, you’re going to come home one night and find it picked with SD sitting in the corner staring at his paws with thread hanging from his teeth?

    Glad the presentation went well!


  3. How nice that SD is sticking around a bit more. Makes the cold more bearable, I bet. I had a dog that liked dirty socks and undies, and, of course, kleenex. Dogs are gross. But still squishy and love-y. Here’s where I laughed right out loud:
    “I’d expressed interest in it, but in a stunning display of How We Both Are, I can’t join The Fancy Cello-Playing Poet this weekend, because that day I have drag queen bingo.


    Oh, my goodness!

    Lovely post, lovely June!


  4. My dog likes a used tissue. She’ll shred it with her front paws and then eat all of the boogery goodness in the middle. She barely ate any dog food last week when my husband had the flu. She ate her weight in boogers. Sometimes she has little tissue dingleberries stuck to her rump.

    She’s quite the lady.


  5. No experience with thermage or ultra therapy. Sorry. But “chonies” ! I haven’t heard that since high school from my Cholla friends. Thanks for the flashback.


  6. Between your post, pictures and comments, I’m silently giggling at work. Well, maybe not silently. Thanks for the laughs. Glad your presentation went well.

    Every time I see the lady in the header, I think she is showing the manicure on her favorite finger to the obnoxious woman at your nail place.


  7. I’ve somehow managed to be able to wear jeans at every job I’ve had with the exception of my first office job. Which is good because I really dislike the whole dress-up-suit-heels-hose thing.

    I love SD so bad.


  8. The cat with the dry cleaning bag made me lol! SD sounds like a toddler! My long time neighbors had a large and gorgeous dog with a sock fetish. One lovely day during their walk (on the busiest street in our small town), the dog started passing it for all to see. My proper neighbor was horrified and I was trying not to laugh when she told me.

    I never found a pair of hose that lasted much more than one wearing. I had a lovely coral suit from Kmart about 25 years ago. I wore it to the office one day and two of my co-workers also arrived wearing coral suits. We all had a good laugh.


    1. Our hat loving Lab was also a sock eater. He would swallow them whole and likewise poop them out whole. I told my kids that I just picked them up in the backyard and washed them and put them back in their drawers. They learned to keep their socks off the floor.


  9. We had a Siamese cat who would chew anything wool, lost a lot of sweaters to that cat. The vet did some research and told us it is common with the Siamese. Now our 3 cats just eat the Iams, thankfully.


  10. I live with 5 asshole cats and 1 giant asshole dog since the other 2 asshole dogs died on me. The dog wants to eat the cat shit. And the cats think they have a check list they wake up to that includes vomiting and peeing on every possible surface that they can. Oh, and 2 of the asshole cats turned 17 recently and have decided that shitting on the floor NEXT TO the clean litter box is preferred. So every single day of my life I wake up to cleaning cat poo, cat pee and cat puke.

    Unless the dog gets to it first.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Sorry, June – this was too good. What to comment on first? Wayward husband with a broken collarbone? Cat doing a Stevie Wonder impression? Anne Franking your clothes? I feel like a kitty chasing a laser point thing-y all over the room. Help!


  12. I had a dog years ago who would not poop anywhere but his own backyard and I absolutely adore the hell out of that dog for his peculiar pooping limits. Also in the age group of having to wear a suit and pumps and hose to work even though I was making $4.25 an hour in expensive Chicago. Thank goodness at the time Kmart sold suits. And thank goodness someone told me about JCPenney pantyhose because the damn things hardly ever got runs in them. I angrily and bitterly blame that bullshit on the Baby Boomers we worked for.


    1. My ex-best friend once sent her then-husband to the KMart to get her some hose, as it was a desperate situation, and he brought back Jaqueline Smith hose, and much like your discovery about Penney’s hose, she discovered that Kelly Garrett really made some quality pantyhoses. They were her go-to brand ever after.

      Liked by 1 person

  13. What I really want to know is how one gets their hands on your presentation horror paragraph?! I’d love to see it!


  14. I also had to wear the nice clothes to work in the 80’s and 90’s. Late 80’s we were able to dress in jeans once a month and we had to pay $1.00 to be donated to charity. I was paying the dry cleaning bill (purple blazer and black skirt too!) and paying to wear jeans one day a month! A friend of ours was walking her Rhodesian Ridgeback in our neighborhood and my husband was walking our dog. He said “your dog has a sock hanging out of his a**.” She replied “I know that’s why I’m continuing to walk his stupid a** around the neighborhood so it will work it’s way out.” He said it was one of the funniest things he’s seen! My niece’s dog always eats the dirty underwear – blech.


  15. SD snacking on your Stitch Fix was just too much. Why is it always something we love/need/or belongs to someone else that they choose to destroy? We had a Lab (who I still miss every damn day) who loved baseball caps. All the neighborhood kids knew to drop their hats on the porch before entering the house of No Hats because that dog would steal and chew your hat before you could blink an eye. Right off your head, like it was a sport.

    Love the polka dots, June!


    1. My dog-before-this-dog was known as “The Dog Who Stole Seth’s Baseball Cap.” He (the dog, not Seth) liked to roam around behind the soccer players at practice and run off with their caps. I always apologized, and the kids always said “That’s OK. He’s having more fun than we are.”


  16. “Fatted out.” SO stealing this. And, unfortunately, will probably be able to use the hell out of it.


  17. Our dog loves him the feminine products and living in a house with 4 women in childbearing years there is a lot of snacks available no matter how often we change the garbage. My husband has been the lucky one to pull a tampon out of said buttocks.


  18. Steely Dan is your version of the dog ate my homework. When he eats your clothes do you get to take a day off work? I’ve never had a cat who ate my clothes but I did have a cat pee on the stove once. Of course, I didn’t notice it until I turned on the burner. Have you ever smelled cooked cat piss? It’s not at all appetizing. Plus, the scouring and decontamination process was a real pain!


    1. Thanks, Cheryl. Two days of upchucking have made for some sore ribs. I managed to get through June’s post because I had a talk with myself beforehand to NOT guffaw. But your cooking the cat pee done me in!


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