Hey, ’19

Yesterday, I dragged self to work feeling not so fresh. That 36-hour migraine had done me IN.

December 31 is The Poet’s birthday, a thing I mention every year, I think, because it bothers me that no one has time to notice her, not that she’s a real ride-my-unicycle-while-I-play-my-one-man-band-instruments type, but still. Plus, this was a major birthday. Let’s say The Poet is 90 years young as of December 31.

So there we both were, two of the four people who actually went to work yesterday, and I asked her if she still wanted to go with me to The Other Copy Editor’s bed and breakfast that night, for their big New Year’s party.

“Not really,” she said. And the thing is with The Poet, you never know if she’s just being nice because you’re clearly green like the Wicked Witch of the West and you look like the last person who’s ever going to go out that night, including Stephen Hawking’s corpse, which polls indicated had a 95% more likely chance of raising the New Year’s roof than me.

We decided to get birthday tea instead, and we couldn’t find an open tea place, and I don’t want to once again refer to Dan Fogelberg’s song about buying a six-pack at the liquor store. But there we were, in the same predicament as Dan Fogelberg and his old lover at the grocery store. If we ever sleep together, and you know we will, please, I beg you, refer to me as your old lover. In fact, I want you all to be all, “Lovely post, old lover” from this moment on.

“chaptur won. milhous be born.”

After assuring The Poet I had decaf tea at my house (she’s a migraine person too), we got there and found out all I have is caf. Why buy the cow when the caf isn’t free.

That made zero sense, and I know it. Why’d you ever sleep with me?

Nevertheless, we persisted, and I gave The Poet some Vernors, which, as she is not a Michigander such as myself, she does not drink like it’s water. I had caffeinated tea, because I’m a rebel and I tore my dress. Also, my face is a mess. I’m 53. What do you want from me?

The Poet is really a dog person, but when you’re at my house you can’t help but notice cats, even though mine keep dying off at an alarming rate.

My kitchen’s got a certain Catsonality. I realize I’ve turned into Lewis Carrol at this point, with the nonsensical. Does anyone have any spare LSD?

I can’t imagine it’s remotely fun to be at my house if you’re not into cats.

Anyway, she left, The Poet did, and whatever discouraged her from staying longer, do you think? Was it my fine selection of herbal tea and cat-free zones?

When she left, I made a nutritious dinner,

That burnt one is like in Planet of the Apes, when that one girl astronaut didn’t quite make the journey so alive-ish.

And really, I felt so awful that my whole goal was to keep down those fish sticks while I lounged in a robe. But then I got a text from TinaDoris.

“You going to the B&B?”

Oh, goddammit. Once she got the idea in my head, and once I knew she was going, it sounded kind of fun. So I threw on pants, which was already way beyond my goals for ending 2018, and really looking fairly awful, I headed to the party.

It was one of those things where once you show up, you’re so glad you did.

There were all KINDS of people from work there.

And it was all festive and shit.

There was one couple there who wore pajamas and I LOVED THEM.

The great thing about parties at The Other Copy Editor’s B&B is you can wander into all the rooms.

I just splayed there on the bed and sang Love For Sale. Disclaimer: No one bought.

Hey! There’s TinaDoris!
And The Other June from work!

And what party would be complete without Ned, who lives on the same street as the B&B and came over after some stupid sporting event, an event TinaDoris’s spouse (“You’re not going to blog me, are you?” he asked) and Ned discussed ad nauseam all night.

Speaking of nauseam, I wasn’t feeling all that great. But I blew my noisemaker instead of chunks, because I’m a tough, no-nonsense brunette now.

Don’t fuck with me, fella. I keep my fish sticks DOWN.

I was outside on the balcony during this one.

Oh! And also?

There was a proposal at the party! I cut their heads off to protect the not-remotely-knowing-they-were-getting-blogged.

How exciting!

So that was my year end, and this is my rear end.


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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.

46 thoughts on “Hey, ’19”

  1. Lovely post, old lover!
    We stayed home and I was nodding off but then the forty-five minute fireworks birage began and I had to comfort my poor, sad, trembly dogs who want ME when they are scared. I secretly love that, they want the mama. Hey, it’s as close as I’ll ever get. The cat didn’t care too much this year.


  2. What a lovely way to welcome 2019 with a celebratory drink with The Poet for her birthday and a New Year’s Eve party at the beautiful B&B. We happily stayed home, watched a movie and fell asleep before midnight. Yes, we are party animals.

    Nice a$$, June.


      1. The variation was my subtle way of wishing prosperity for you in 2019. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I wouldn’t want you to think my mind in going.


        1. A$$ felt kind of gansta, Sadie! Well, not June’s a$$, cause I didn’t feel that but I meant how you wrote it. Oh, who am I Kidding, you know June’s a$$ is totally gangsta too.


  3. Hey, old lover (but not as old as I am), I really didn’t feel like going to a party but I see now that I should have gone anyway, dammit. Life lessons from June Gardens.
    Anyway, thanks for blogging, thanks for the exotic ginger drink, and thanks to all of you for the birthday wishes.


  4. Happy new year, old lover. The B&B party looks like so much fun. I’m one of those people too who have to force themselves to go places and end up being so glad I did.
    My wish for you for the new year is a miraculous cure for migraines is discovered and you live migraine-free forever after.
    Happy birthday to the Poet and any other week-between-Christmas-and-New-Year birthday people who don’t get the recognition they deserve.


  5. Lovely post, old lover. I was in bed early last night, as usual. The midnight fireworks didn’t even wake me up. It was great out shopping in near-empty stores this morning while most people: A. Slept in; 6. nursed their hangovers; or IX. prepped snacks for the football games. Hoping for the best of everything for you, June, in 2019.


    1. I thought that was Steely Dan, though I love me some JB. I’ve named my grey spout of hair on the front of my head… Fountain of Sorrow.


          1. Steely Dan. “No we can’t dance together. No we can’t talk at all”. You must be on that fine Columbian.


  6. Happy new year, you old lover, you!

    So, I need to send you some herbal non-caffeinated tea, do I? And another big happy birthday wish to the Poet.

    P.S. Thanks for starting the new year with a great blog post.


  7. Nothing could have kept me from that beautiful big old house!! I’m so glad you ended up going because it looked so fun. I have never witnessed a proposal other than my own, which was NOT done on bended knee (I know now after 25 years of marriage how my husband was so NOT the bended knee kind). But, we’re still together so I guess that turned out okay. Is Milhous officially a Catten now? I spent New Year’s Eve watching the “Rock’in Eve” in New York City. Oh how I miss Dick Clark, and the ability to recognize the talent. Every other word out of my mouth was “Who is that? What do they sing?” And oh did Jenny McCarthy look hideous, I mean, I think she has had major plastic surgery on her face or copious injections. She used to be so pretty it is a shame. Great post Old Lover!


  8. Happy birthday, Poet! I’m on the 30th and always hated having a December birthday. Crammed in between Christmas and New Years. I am now the speed limit. Well, what used to be the speed limit. Arrive Alive!

    Looks like you had a lovely NYE at that big beautiful house. I thought those were French fries that you had for dinner. Then I thought, you’re only having 6 fries, what will power.


  9. “chaptur won. milhous be born.”
    I’m a sucker for pet talk. Can you even imagine how fun it is to be me?

    Happy New Year, old lover.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Very lovely NYE. That B&B is beautiful. Did she accept the proposal? We took a late afternoon walk, then watched TV. At midnight it was like a war around us with all the fireworks. Today? I cooked a big meal and now I’m watching The Office Marathon. Boring, I know.


  11. Squeeeeee, you blogged!! Great way to start the new year giggling mercilessly. This one had it all, awesome pictures, your a** (TMSadie) by the tinsel tree, a proposal and The Poet!

    Lovely post, old lover, lovely post!!

    Liked by 2 people

  12. Sounds like a fine evening to me. I went to a couple house parties, said “yay, 2019 at midnight” came home and was in bed, under the covers before my husband got into the house from the garage!

    Liked by 1 person

  13. What a lovely NYE you had at the B&B! Just the right number of people. Plenty to talk to, but not enough to brush up against you. Perfect.
    We stayed home and played Catan (not a game about cats- bah!).
    Happy 2019, everyone!!

    Liked by 1 person

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