Current Affairs · Health · June's stupid life

I’m sure Kenyans bring their cameras to their marathons

Getting ready to pack for tomorrow. I understand that there are people out there who would have packed their bags already, and to you people I say, "?"

I am bringing my extra pair of running shoes in case the one pair spontaneously combusts or something. I know what pants I'm gonna do the marathon in, but I have not decided on a shirt. Should I just wear a cone bra, like Madonna? How about coconut shells? That'd be festive. And not at all scratchy.

My camera is coming with me, since we are just walking, so I will have action shots of Sleeping Beauty and me on our athletic jaunt. I won't have a computer (no, I'm not bringing a laptop to a race. Yeesch).

Geez, when I ran a full marathon I had this liquid band-aid stuff I had to use, and Glide so I wouldn't chafe, and a fanny pack with 80 bagels in it. Half-marathons are easier.

Have you ever chafed? I wouldn't suggest starting now, if you haven't. Oh, it's not fun.

Hey! Did you hear about poor David Duchovney? You mean all this time I had a chance with him? Now I find out.

I had better take poor Tallulah to the dog park. It rained all week and she is full of the wiggles. Tomorrow is our cat Francis' 11th birthday, and I feel bad that neither Marvin or I will be home to celebrate it. (Marvin is meeting his friend who lives in Atlanta.) So I also have to go buy some Baked Lay's for Francis. They are his favorite. Hmmm. Why such a chubby cat?

Okay, everybody have a good Labor Day! are you gonna watch the Telethon? Where else can you see Tony Orlando and Dawn?

June's stupid life · My pets

My mouth is dry. My face is numb. Past the point of delirium.

I wanted to take a picture of Winston today, because he rocks. Winston is the kind of cat who purrs when you pick him up. He is the kind of cat you could dress in doll clothes, if you were seven or a completely berserk adult.


I heart him so bad.


However. SOMEbody has to be jealous of my love for the Win.


Hate purring dog. Mine lap.

But, here is the sad news. I know I have mentioned that every time I do a training run I get a headache on the left side of my head. I have hurt myself in this way before, and I know it means I have messed up my back. But lately? The last two days? My LIP and JAW are numb on the left side, too! I know that this cannot be good. I think I have wrenched my back so much that I have started to affect the nerves or something.

So, I made a doctor’s appointment for Tuesday, and in the meantime I talked it over with Sleeping Beauty, and we have decided to walk the half-marathon instead. I plan to not run another step until I see the doctor. I mean, body parts going numb is never a good sign.

I am disappointed, because I have been training for this thing since January 1, and now I can’t do it the way I want to. But Sleeping Beauty said she was kind of relieved, because she hadn’t trained that well, anyway. Now I REALLY won’t win this race. At least it has resulted in my arse being sort of cute again.

I had better go. I think perhaps Tallulah might want to go to dog park. She is so subtle about it.


Current Affairs · Food and Drink · June's stupid life

Okay, bye

Scary storm here. So scary and boomy. If I do not live through it, it was nice knowing you all. Most of you in the biblical sense!

Also? MacKenzie Phillips was arrested for drugs today. Why do I always believe people when they say they are sober?

Finally, if this really is the last time I ever write you, you need to get you some Archer Farms Blueberry Granola with Flax. It is perfect.

Health · I am berserk · June's stupid life


Oh, I'm in a foul mood. Foul.

My half marathon is THIS SUNDAY, dawg. Sunday. And you know how last time I did a long run I was Crampy Achingass. This generally means that I was devoid of electrolytes, a fact that became evident to me once my friend Kista reminded me that cramps mean you are devoid of electrolytes.

Nothing gets past me. Except, apparently, my electrolytes.

What ARE electrolytes? Doesn't that sound like something you'd see in Las Vegas? Oooohhh, the streets were all lit up with those new electrolytes. My electricity went on a diet, and now I have electrolytes.

So, Kista told me to find out what kind of electrolyte-bearing drink they are serving at the run, and then buy some and drink it beforehand. This is important, because some of that stuff can make you sick as a pooch if your body doesn't like it.

I was hoping they were gonna serve Gatorade at the run, because I have had Gatorade 800 times with no issue. But no. I went on the website, and they said, "We're serving Cytomax!"

We went to Las Vegas and we saw that Cytomax! Have you seen it? It was so exciting, and there were so many electrolytes.

Who has even ever HEARD of Cytomax? Do I really want my cytos to be at their max? Is Cytomax like some sort of future robot Jewish person? Who will do your taxes in 2137? Cytomax!

At any rate, I went on Cytomax's website and they told me where in Greensboro I could buy their futuristic product. So once my car pool dropped me off today, I got into my car in the WORST RAINSTORM HUMANLY POSSIBLE, and drove four miles down Battleground, the busiest and crowdiest street in Greensboro. And do you know the stupid GNC store I went to required me to make a left turn? Do you have any idea how long it took me to make a left turn on the busiest, crowdiest street in Greensboro at 6 p.m. in the middle of the world's worst rainstorm? About four minutes, that's how long. But it was an irksome four minutes.

I drove and drove and drove in circles until I turned to butter and finally found a parking spot that said "Reserved for Ahh-Somm Tanning." Yeah. I'm worried sick, Ahh-Somm tanning. What are you gonna do, shoot me with your UV-raygun?

I ran through the rainstorm, the wideness of my hair reaching ludicrous proportions, and slid up to the door of stupid GNC.

Closed. Closed at 6 p.m. on a Tuesday. The LIGHTS were all on. The store hours said open till 7. Then I saw a tiny note scrawled in blue ink. "Close 30 minutes" it read. Great. Thirty minutes from WHEN? Was I there at minute 29 or minute 1? And WHY were they closed?

I stood under the awning, watching the rain pour down. At this point I looked like Marie Antoinette. Several beefy young boys came up and tried the door. I guess they thought I was a mannequin or a cotton candy display or something. "Yeah, it's closed," I told them. They discussed breaking in, and I would have totally looted the store had they done it.

Then an older couple came in and I told them the bad news. The woman said, "I need my menopause stuff! Where are they?! How can they DO this!??? I REALLY REALLY NEED MY MENOPAUSE STUFF!!!"

Looking forward to 50. Is all I can say.

Finally, some young woman talking on her cell phone ambled up to the store. "Oh, y'all waitin' on the store to open?" she asked, never removing the cell phone. They practically had to saw the door open wider for me, I had such Marge Simpson hair.

And guess what?


THEY DIDN'T HAVE THE CYTOMAX! THEY DIDN'T HAVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Storming out of there, I dialed Marvin on my cell phone. He found me another GNC — guess where? — a half mile from our house. I hate everything. I was so annoyed that I went through Wendy's drive-thru, and ordered a salad and a heart-healthy Frosty. Sue me. Shoot me with your UV-raygun. You'll never get through my hair.

I stomped into the GNC located 17 milliseconds from my house and guess what was there, grinning maliciously at me? Was it our Jewish friend Ctyomax?

I slammed Max and his cyto on the counter, and proceeded to tell the clerk how dreadful the other GNC was. I told her I was definitely calling the Better Business Bureau, and I was emailing, as well. Oh, my frizz was flying.

When I got into the car, I though, boy, I have really scared THAT girl. I'll bet she's on the phone to the corporate office right now. I took a look in the mirror to see how much of my assertiveness was voided by my Bozo hair.

That's when I noticed the enormous Frosty stain down the front of my shirt.

Friends · June's stupid life · Times I Amused My Own Self

Hear, Hear


Do I have too much lipstick on?

Once, a long time ago, Target opened in my hometown, so my friend Saginawman and I went to the grand opening. It's Saginaw, what do you want from us? Of course we went to the Target grand opening.

For no reason that we could glean, on sale at said Target were a pair of ears. Like, really big exaggerated ears. Saginawman and I looked at each other, and we knew what we had to do. We bought the ears.

We bought the ears because our friend–whose name might be "Gertrude," and who might read this blog every day–was hopelessly beautiful and married to man who… let's just say he had no trouble with his hearing. It might have been a little EAR-y that she married him. Dumbo might have been his favorite movie.

Dude had some ears. He was living on Lake Erie. He used 350 Q-Tips a week. He was recently made an Earl. We're talking big ears.

Now, Gertrude–who have I mentioned she is beautiful?–has enormous lips (and a little teeny tiny nose and gigANtic cheekbones and eyes as big as Tweety's and really one wonders why I'd even be friends with her). So Saginawman and I bought the ears at Target and just figured we'd just go get a pair of those wax lips, and then we'd go stand on my best friend Esmerelda's porch and make her guess who we were.

Have I mentioned it was a simpler time then, in 1987, when all we had to do with ourselves was buy ears and lips just for the 20 seconds that it'd be funny to go show Esmerelda?

Well. The whole "just go get a pair of wax lips" was easier said than done. We looked EVERYWHERE for those stupid lips. Doesn't it seem like you could pick those up just anywhere? Yeah, no. I swear we drove around for like four hours trying to find wax lips. Finally, we found some that had buck teeth on them, and I chewed that part off on the way to Esmerelda's.

It was way worth it. Esmerelda opened the door and there I was in my big wax lips, and there was Saginawman in his giant ears, and we didn't have to say a thing. Esmerelda knew instantly. We hooted and hollered and carried on, and I ate the lips.

But like a week later? Gertrude was hanging out in Esmerelda's bedroom, and she said, "Esmerelda? Why do you have a giant pair of ears on your desk?"


As soon as Gertrude divorced old Earnest Lobe, we told her the real story. She said she had never noticed his ears.

The man can hear a field mouse running through a meadow. In Northern England. He can hear me change my mind. She never noticed his ears.

Anyway. I started my car pooling today and hey! Guess who forgot she gets carsick in the back seat? So I have to ride in the front, like a queen. Thanks for letting me join your carpool. Get in back. Nevertheless, I liked my new carpool people, who I will cleverly call Tank and Hammy. Cause their real names aren't Hank and Tammy or anything.

They told me that on the way to work we vent about our spouses, and on the way home we vent about work. That sounds like it'll work for me. I like Tank and Hammy.

Okay, I had better go out in the RAIN and walk the dog before she gets into my lipstick.


Crap. Too late.

June's stupid life · Photo essays

I Dream of Jeans

You'll be surprised to hear that I do not own a new pair of jeans. I tried on 15 pair at four different stores, at every corner of this DING DANG city, and I had no luck. And no Lucky's.


I left Tallulah to vigilantly guard the house as I headed out. I was so full of hope. Hard to believe it was just this morning.


I had the world by the tail. I was so ready to find my new dream pair of jeans. And perhaps some Frizz-Ease.


I started off downtown, which everyone says "they've" revitalized. Doesn't it irk you when people say "they" like that? Someone once told me that "they" are the Van Pattens, which is only funny if you remember 1976. Anyway, they really have made downtown inviting. Right here, where I was so enamored of my reflection, was a cool yoga store called Purple Lotus that I want to try. Why are all yoga places named after some sort of lotus? Don't yoga people like any other kind of flower?

I went to several boutiques, because what I really had in mind were some 7 For All Mankind jeans, or something similarly fancy. I figure I'm too old to look good in $60 Gap jeans anymore.

But all the boutiques had things like natural-fabric, I-am-kind-of-old-and-also-sorta-rich-so-here-is-my-baggy-oatmeal-colored-outfit clothes. No jeans to be had. I did try on some cool I-listen-to-public-radio Mary Janes that didn't fit. The clerk offered to call Winston-Salem to get my size, but does anyone really fall for that? You want your public radio Mary Janes NOW, you don't want to wait for Winston-Salem or Joe Camel or anyone.


I also went to a pretentious eyeglasses store that had THE BEST GLASSES I HAVE EVER SEEN EVER, like pink cat eyes with jewels on the sides. Sadly, every frame I liked made me look like Dame Edna, who, let's face it, I am dangerously close to looking like anyway.


They said they could design glasses for me, or they could call the Winston-Salem store if I wanted to try other styles.

Finally, I got tired of looking at linen tunics and $750 leopard frames, so I stopped in for some restorative cheesecake.


I had a friend from Chile, and her aunt came to the U.S. for an extended visit. This aunt was appalled at the idea of cheesecake. "A CAKE made out of CHEESE?" she used to say. At any rate, after said this-is-a-health-blog cheesecake, I utilized the facilities, and what did I see? An AD in the BATHROOM for a boutique that carried 7 For All Expensivekind jeans!!!


I didn't recognize the street mentioned in the ad, so I zipped home and Googled it. The store was less than a mile from my front door. Oh, I was thrilled.

Cake-made-out-of-cheese running through my veins, I dashed to the little pink boutique near me and told the clerk my harrowing tale of woe. I also told her to set it up somehow so that when someone Googles "Citizen of Humanity Jeans Greensboro," their store actually shows up.

You know what will happen, though? Now when people Google that, this stupid blog page will show up. THE JEANS ARE AT THAT PINK STORE NEAR MY HOUSE!

That poor pixie-haired clerk with Wilma beads must have lugged 87 pairs of expensive jeans over to my dressing room. And you know what?


Front butt. Kanga called. Wonders if I have Roo in my pouch. Which I'm sure is in no way connected to restorative cheesecake.

So I gave up and fell into…


the Gap. And guess what? The bottom of the muffin called. Wondered why I had the muffin top.

I mean, I have been RUNNING eleventy hundred miles a WEEK. I do not blame me. I blame stupid low-rise, your back sticks to the seat of the car and slooshes your waist out jeans. I HATE this trend! And also? WHY are jean legs now 75 feet long? Are we supposed to be wearing stilts? Are we all the Cat in the Hat?

One time, my cousin Katie called me and left a message. "I am sending you some Tshirts," she told me. "They aren't my color, and I have no idea why I bought them. I've never worn them. They're nice Tshirts. They're from the Gap, but they actually have sleeves, they aren't those Tshirts that look like they're made for amputees."

I got this message, and I realized she was totally right. Tshirts DON'T have real sleeves anymore. They just sort of…REST on the tops of your shoulders. Made for amputees. The more I thought about this, the funnier it seemed to me. She was SO RIGHT. By the time I called her back, I was in hysterics. Oh, I was snortling and gasping and being generally full of the giggles.

"That is the funniest thing you have ever said," I told her, "about the short sleeves."


"Yeah," she said. "I was quoting you. You said that about Tshirts like a month ago."

Again. I don't need  no one else. I just enjoy my own tasteless humor.

Finally, I did the thing I thought I would not do. I went to Belk.

I thought Belk was an old lady store! Belk is so NICE! And they have an Origins counter, and a Bobbi Brown, and an Erno Lazlo! Makeup counters mean a lot to me. I just had no idea Belk was so swanky! Why didn't y'all TELL me?

But guess what?


Now I am the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man. Wearing stilts.

Maybe they have jeans in Winston-Salem.

Family · June's stupid life · Proofreading/Copy editing

I was dreamin’ when I wrote this, forgive me if it goes astray

So, we're in agreement, then, that I should cut all my hair off? And that the curly thing won't be an issue? And that Rihanna and Prince are not at all the same person?

Frankie, who can't relax, sent me an email saying my proposed haircut would be fine, as long as I understood I would look like Kramer. Which is a look all the girls are going for.

But really, my hair does get less curly the shorter it gets.


See? Look how cute it is here, all pulled back. This is a photo of me, by the way, and not Rihanna. Or is it Rihana? I am too tired from a week of reading about diseases and also tables to care. Yes, I had to read about — and write about — tables today. It took a lot of legwork. I hope they let me chair a committee soon. I Pledge to do my best.

Okay, whatever. I will not cut the hair. Fine.

Do you wonder if I ever get up from the room with the framed orange crate labels, here? Marvin wanted to move them around to see if anyone noticed.

In other chilling events, I read a book that dcrmom told me to read, because I do everything dcrmom says to do. It is called How Not to Look Old, which strikes me as incorrect English. In the book, it lists staples you have to add to your wardrobe, which seem like they're gonna poke me quite a bit, but okay.

The first thing on my staple list is a new pair of jeans. You are also supposed to have a form-fitting black leather coat, a fun-color trench coat, brown boots and black boots, and cardigans. I do not know why. Nevertheless, I will get all these things. Because I am a lemming. Who wants to look Not Old Not No, or whatever the book is called.

So! I will probably have all sorts of chilling trying-on-jeans tales to regale you with tomorrow. It strikes me that perhaps I should not buy jeans after having spent the last eight months training for a half-marathon–because maybe after this I'll get, you know, fat–but I am going to do it anyway.

And yeah, the book did not say that getting a pixie haircut made you look young. I do not know why I have this young quest all of a sudden. It's not like I'm Dinah Shore and I just started dating Burt Reynolds. Maybe I just wanted to shake things up. Bring a new look to the table I'm writing about. That sort of thing.

I only wish my Aunt Mary were here to go shopping with me. She came with me on many clothes shopping trips when I was a kid, and once during a particularly skinny phase of my life, she came bathing suit shopping with my grandmother and me.

Seriously, I was like 10 years old, 5 feet tall, and 7 pounds. I was not a fleshy child. Each bathing suit I tried on was more ridiculous than the last. I looked like I was starving to death, the way those suits hung on me. I started doing a Save the Children ad in the dressing room, and Aunt Mary and I were in hysterics. My grandmother considered leaving us there.

She never went in for antics in public, Grammy didn't. You should have seen her the time my grandfather and I got up on a display and posed with the mannequins.

Anyway, I will be having the opposite of the Save the Children look tomorrow. I will be able to play the Sally Struthers part, I am thinking. Jeans shopping is never good. But you will probably have fun! At my expense!

And if the elevator tries to take you down, go crazy. Punch a higher floor.


I am berserk · June's stupid life · Proofreading/Copy editing

Casual Disease Day

I find Casual Friday at work harder to dress for than that phony business casual we are supposed to sport the rest of the week. It is hard to wear jeans and still look polished. Because folks? Casual day does not translate to look-like-crap day, as some seem to think.

At any rate, I think I'll wear my Lucky's and my "Owls are Assholes" Tshirt, and I'm saying casual yet pithy. I really do own said Tshirt, I got it from The Onion. Which is the funniest thing ever. We have an Onion book, and when I look through it, sometimes I have to just put it down, because I am going to vomit if I keep giggling like that. Did you ever read the story where the blues singer's girlfriend finally responds? "I did not butter my biscuits with every man in town. I say, I did not butter my biscuits with every man in town…"

I actually really like owls, but that shirt killed me. Owls do kind of always look fussy, don't they?

All yesterday I proofread about rare, deadly tropical diseases. Sometimes I had to Google them to make sure they were spelled okay, so I also got to see photos of people with rare, deadly, tropical diseases. Who do you think started coming down with Lassa Fever all afternoon?

Do you know what I would just rather not have? I'd rather not have worms coming out of any part of me, for any reason. Great googly moogly. Tropical diseases are terrifying.

And that is why I stay home.

All right, I really do have to find something to wear. Oh, but I wanted to ask you. Should I cut my hair like Rihanna? I already discussed this with Stie, who says yes. And I understand that I am not a 20-year-old hot black woman. If I cut all my hair off, will I look old? Don't be snotty.


June's stupid life · Marvin

Home Alone

Do you know what I came home to? AN EMPTY HOUSE, that's what I came home to. Today is Marvin's first full day back at work, making it the first day in 15 months that we have both had full-time jobs.


After work, Marvin had band practice or horseshoes or scrapbooking or something. He told me, but I was too busy thinking, I get the house to myself! I will not come home to a documentary on The Kinks! The computer will be mine! Mineminemine! Oh, it's exciting.

In other earth-shattering news, two people at work asked me to join them in their carpool. I will be just like Dagwood Bumstead. We will be eating large sandwiches during the drive, and Marvin will develop an unrealistically small waist and large breasts.

Really, have you ever seen anyone with a better body than Blondie Bumstead? I mean, other than me and my perfect-for-Dennis figure. Don't you think Blondie might have considered keeping her maiden name?

I figured it out today, and instead of driving more than 12,000 miles a year to work, I will only drive 4,000. I understand that there are some people who wouldn't have to "figure it out," that they could take the information that they are reducing their commute by two-thirds and not have to get out the calculator to divide 12 by 3. Shut up. Do you know the difference between AP and Chicago's hyphenation styles? Didn't think so. Math wizard.

To celebrate my emptiness tonight, I plan to buy some Polident and also run on the treadmill. The Polident cleans my mouth guard. I always feel like I have to tell the checkout clerk that I don't have dentures, because I'm sure she cares deeply. Last night I bought Marvin some Flaming Hot Cheetos, and I similarly told the checkout clerk that they weren't for me. Which probably made her think that they were for me. That I was going on a big Flaming Hot Cheetos frenzy and was ashamed. She probably pictured me passed out with orange lips, an empty bag at my feet.

Or, maybe she went on with her day and never gave me another thought.

Also on my pressing agenda tonight is my Star Magazine. Did I tell you my father got me a subscription to Star? And you can say what you want about that Angelina Jolie, who makes my arse pucker up, but that Shiloh is Cutey Cutenstein. It doesn't always happen. Sometimes two pretties can make an ugly, you know. But that kid is adorable.

I'd love to stay and cover more deep topics with you, but Herb is here to borrow the lawn mower, and Mr. Dithers wants me to get back to work.

June's stupid life · Marvin

My Interview with Marvin


At long last, your burning, itching Marvin questions will be answered. I should warn you that Marvin has never answered a question seriously in his life. My comments, because I can't ever shut up, are in parentheses and pink.

I wanted to title this Farmer Goy, but Marvin tells me "goy" means NOT Jewish. I always thought it meant Jewish.

So here are your questions. I printed out the last three posts and highlit all the queries I could find. If I skipped your question, yell at me and I will ask it next time. Here we go.

Lee wants to know:

What sign is Marvin's car?

I don't know. I'm not going to know. (Wow, this is FASCINATING so far.)

What does Marvin drive?

I drive a purple Segway with off-road tires. (You see what I'm saying?)

Does Marvin wear out the heels of his shoes before the rest of the heel is worn out?

I buy all my shoes with removable heels.

Would Marvin prefer an orange or grape Popsicle?

Either one. Do you have any?


Well. I'm sure Lee feels satisfied. Let's move on to my Pal From MA, who wonders:

Boxers or briefs or a la mode?

I wear boxers with pictures of dogs eating peanut butter sandwiches on them. (That is true. He really does. I got them for him.)

Can we get a link to hear one of Marvin's bands? And, what does he play aside from guitar?

Here. (Click on the song titles.)

As for music, I play music only dogs can hear.

With whom did he get lucky in Victorville?

Lori G.

Favorite band? Favorite song?

The Clash, and I Wish by Stevie Wonder.

Favorite Bee Gee?


Favorite movie.

Annie Hall.

Favorite food?


Favorite story about you, June!

When June thought the song "Jungle Love" was "Chug-a-Lug." (Whatever.)

Does he like his job now?


Who is he voting for for President?

Your momma. (And, Friend from MA, I know your momma. She'd make an excellent president.)


Bonnie lies awake wondering:

Is Marvin cool with your creative literary expression about him and your relationship? Anything he's gotten really bugged about?

You don't write about me, do you? Yes, I support you as long as the money keeps rolling in.

What does Marvin think about the name Gardensalad? Who chose it?

Do people really ask these questions?

Gardensalad sounds kind of unmanly to me. I don't remember who chose it; maybe Tallulah did. (I think I did. Because I'm BRILLIANT! And emasculating.)

What is his favorite salad?

You know I like one with goat cheeses in it. (Yes, he said "cheeses.")

Ice cream?

No, thanks; I'm full from my salad.


Mmmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm (he really debated this one — yeesch), I like me some Clamato. (No, he doesn't.)

What food does he hate?

Space food.

Presidential pick?

No, I use Fender picks.

Favorite pastime?

I enjoy sitting on the toilet.

Pet peeve?

When our pets peeve on the rug.

Favorite color?



Now that Bonnie feels like a fly on Marvin's wall, let's go to kitkat's queries:

What dog breed do you most resemble?

What kind of question is that?

Soft or hard mattress?

I sleep in my car.

Jay Leno or David Letterman?

Dr. Laura. (Sadly, he is serious about that. He loves him the Dr. Laura.)

Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie?

Dr. Laura.


Getting my visual of Marvin and Dr. Laura out of my head, we move on to Sharone's questions:

If Marvin could play in his dream band, who would be in it and what kind of music would you play?

Geez. Mmmmmmmm, it'd be a power trio with Tiny Tim and Meat Loaf. (You see why I ask him nothing?)

What made him realize he wanted to be a teacher?

The pay. Easy access to pencils. (Hating him right now.)

Why in the world would anyone stay in Victorville long enough to get lucky?

I was robbing a bank. Getting lucky was just a bonus. I also got lucky with Lori G. in Palmdale. (Looking forward to Lori G.'s lawsuit.)


Culpepper asks:

Did Michael Jackson's voice sound as high and quiet in person as it does on TV?

No, that's all electronics. I worked with him before his voice changed. (At this point, I got irked and made him answer for real, and he said:) Yes, he really does sound like that. But he's much taller in person. (ARGH.)

Does he really like Lula or does he tolerate her so he can get lucky in Victorville?

I'm not allowed to get lucky in Victorville anymore, so I must really love her, even though she's eating something she shouldn't right now. Eat your squirrel. (That was verbatim.)

Which of the cats is his favorite?

I can't say cause they read this blog. (Hello, it's Winston. Let's face it, everybody loves Winston. He is just a phenomenal cat. He is the Raymond of this family.)


Thank you, culpepper. Now let's move on to Mary Ellen from Napa, who burns with curiosity over:

How come he let you get away the first time? What was wrong with him?

What WAS wrong with me? I didn't know a good thing when I saw it. (Also? I threw a beer bottle at him. That brings all the boys to the yard, let me assure you.)

Why does he have this thing about feet?

Cause they're gross.


Excellent questions, MEFN. Lee, whose idea this whole thing was in the first place, asks:

What grade does Marvin teach?


What about his band? Did he move to a new area and put an ad in the paper requesting band members?


Do they have "gigs" anywhere?


What kind of music do they play?

We play early '70s soul.


Janera says:

If he [teaches] math or science, why isn't he here in Texas, where we need him?

I'm needed in Texas? I'm on my way!


Kathy Likes Pink got out her pink pen to ask Marvin:

Did you guys meet in Michigan or California?

The former. (Mr. Fancy means Michigan. We met at Michigan State.)

How did you end up in California?

Took a left at Albuquerque. (Oh, I hate hate hate him right now. He went there for a music career after college. I joined him 10 years later, after he forgave me for the whole beer bottle, which is going to reconnect with his head in 15 seconds, here.)

Why doesn't Marvin have a blog, too? Cause I think it'd be pretty funny!

Why didn't you read the last four blogs I wrote that nobody read? (Bone of contention. Marvin has tried to have blogs since about 2001, and he was after me to get one and I kept ignoring him. Now I have more readers than all of his combined, and he kind of hates me for it.)


Shana wants to know:

First thought when you first met the lovely June.

What did I think? I thought "I'm late for class." (Marvin sucks. He didn't like me when we first met. He thought I was too funny. He knew I'd blow him away in blogs one day.)

The moment you knew she was "the one."

When she put out on the second date. (How long does a divorce take? Thank you, Marvin. I'm sure your MOM is thrilled to hear I am a Slutuanian. Although he did buy the cow, didn't he?)

If you were on Friends, which friend would you be?



Our pal Tee wrote in and queried:

Where did he grow up?

Detroit rock city.

What was his major in college?

Undeclared at Michigan State. Music production and engineering at Berklee.


Nancy asks:

When did you know you were completely head over heels in glittery puffy heart love with June?

When she told me she'd become a Jew. Which I thought was strange because I'm not one. (For the record? I really did offer to become a Jew.)

(I got mad and told him he had to give a real answer and he said:)

When I came to Seattle to visit and it was raining and I was sad because I didn't want to leave Seattle because I liked you a lot. (I moved to Seattle in the early '90s. I invited Marvin to visit me. We had stayed friends despite the beer bottle. That explains that.)

Does she edit your work?

I can't afford her rates.

Is she usually right?


Favorite '80s movie?

The Sure Thing.

What is something you secretly love about her that she probably thinks you hate?

Her nose.


Oh, thank heavens we're done with that. And of course this means I can't talk him into letting me get my nose done. Crap.

Thanks for all your Qs! This is how he answers all questions. I have no idea why. He is a slippery eel.

Health · June's stupid life

Ben-Gay. How long?

I just came back from running either 12 or 10.8 miles. It had better be 12 or I will kill someone. Just as soon as I can move again.

I ran in the parking lot of the dog park, and who feels bad? I was on the phone with my mother this a.m. and told her where I was going running, and Lula sat up and tilted her head. She totally understood me. But of course I couldn't make her run 12 miles. No one should have to run 12 miles.

You know the whole way marathons were invented was by a guy who DIED running 26 miles, right? Seriously. He was this poor sap named Phidippides who had to run from one Greek town to another to give reports on the war. Why he didn't just email everyone is beyond me. Anyway, he ran 26 miles, said, "Nike," which means "victory," then he fell over dead.

That's all I'm saying.

So, the parking lot is curvy and I always thought it was .5 miles in and .5 out of there. So I ran up one side and down the other 12 times. It took three hours and 15 minutes. But then when I left? My odometer only went to .9, and changed to 1.0 as I was turning out of the lot. So now I'm annoyed.

And oh, did I have trouble today. It was cloudy and cool, thank GOD, but oh, did my legs ever start to cramp BAD. At mile 8, I called my friend Sleeping Beauty to ask her if I should give up, but she wasn't home. So I called my friend Kista instead. Kista used to do absolutely nothing but breathe and eat. She worked out not at all. And one day? For no real reason? I called her and said, "Let's start walking together in the mornings."

We'd meet at 8:00 a.m. like three times a week and walk for 20 minutes. Soon we were up to five days, and then we'd meet at 7:00, and then Kista ran a marathon. And she has been running them ever since. Seriously. She went from no exercise ever to Kenyan in less than a year.

So, she asked me if I had been drinking enough water and then she said, "What about Gatorade?" and I said, "What do you mean?" and she said, "Oh, dear." Apparently you need you the electrolytes when you're in the higher miles. I always thought that was a marketing ploy. No. No, it's not.

The good news is, Kista and I talked for half an hour and I knocked off two more miles without noticing, and then when we hung up I figured heck, only two more to go.

When I got home, my face actually had salt on it. Salt. Who am I, Lot's wife?

So that's done. I feel awful. I hope my real half-marathon is better than this!

Marvin just got home; he's been up working since 5:00. I will wait awhile to ask him his myriad questions. Stay tuned. Oh. And for whoever asked, Farmer Boy is the book Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote about her husband Almanzo. It is technically part of the Little House series, even though it isn't about any of her little houses.

Oh, the pain. Do  you think gazelles feel this awful after a big run?

I am berserk · June's stupid life

Am I buggin’ ya? I don’t mean to bug ya.

Hey! You know how I have always had a dark blue VW Bug?


Today it turned yellow! And became a 2008!


Let's also take a moment to discuss my arse, which I think is presenting itself in the same pair of jeans in both pictures, 8 months apart. Okay, maybe the running is helping. Plus, did you notice how my new lighter-color car made my hair mysteriously lighter? And also how my car matches the neighbor's house?

I do not know why I felt the need to get a new car, other than the fact that my old one was eight years old, the "Check Engine" light was on 24 hours a day, the temperature thing always said it was 109 degrees out, the beeper no longer beeped when I left my headlights on, it ran out of oil every week, and it was eight inches thick with old coffee and pet hair.

I feel bad, though, because I traded that thing in and they drove it to the wholesaler before I knew what was up, and I didn't get to say goodbye. I told this to the salesman, Darius, who already thought I was berserk.

I don't see the big deal with making him open each car door so I could see what month each one was built to know their astrological signs. And then when I couldn't decide between yellow and green, I do not see why he blanched when I made him put both keys in his hand and I closed my eyes and picked.

Darius said it had been an unforgettable afternoon. And Marvin had to go and tell him about the time when I was single and chose a car because it had the same initials as me. Why's he gotta make me look nuts in front of Darius?

In other big news, before my large purchase, I met up with a Greensboro couple who I met through their blog. They are just the cutest, blondest couple you ever did see, and they have a muffin tin of a dog, Phoebe, who is a Maltese. She is so sweet, and so mellow. We all went to the dog park, which was full of Rottweilers and Pointers, and those Budweiser horses and Bigfoot, and she was all, okay. I'm just gonna sit here and blink my cute eyes. And have fluffy feets.

So it was a fine kind of a day. And thank you all for your hilarious Marvin questions. I cannot wait to ask him everything. I will try to interview him tomorrow, so get your queries in if you have any others. This is just like when Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote Farmer Boy.

Oh, and in case you were worried sick, my new car is a Gemini.

Health · June's stupid life · Marvin · My pets

I feel pretty


I woke up with a migraine today. Can you tell? This is a picture I took just now, at 5 in the afternoon. A lot was accomplished today. My hair seems like it got a lot done.

It is a terrible migraine. As opposed to those wonderful ones we've heard so much about. When you wake up with one, your pills don't always work, because you've had it for hours. And for the pills to work you have to nip it in the bud, as Barney Fife would say. Nip it in the bud.

Anyway, I feel terrible because my whole department was off today except for me and Girl Who Doesn't…you know. I am certain she had a lovely day doing all the work herself, and doesn't at all think I scammed out of there because my boss was gone. I have such guilt.

But who was my faithful companion all day? Tallulah realized something was up when I hit that alarm and went right back to bed, so she got in there with me, pressed up against me, and buried her nose in my neck. All day. I heard Marvin come get her for her noon constitutional, but he had to drag her. What a good and faithful cur.

Maybe she'd be one of those dogs who stayed with my dead body for weeks in the woods, or who would sit on my grave after I'm dead. Did you ever hear of that little dog in Scotland who sat at his master's grave for years? Or, maybe someone would give her a Kong and she'd be off.

Speaking of Tallulah, before I was struck down so mercilessly with this sick head, I took Lula back to the dog park last night. I consulted with not one but TWO professional trainers, and I had techniques in mind. And they worked! As soon as we got there, someone came in with not only a Pomeranian in her purse, but a teeny Pit Bull puppy. Oh my painted aunt it was the cutest little thing. I stole "oh my painted aunt" from someone else's blog, and now I don't remember whose.

She ignored said tiny dogs for a long time, because Cooper was there and they had a lot to catch up on, but finally I saw her walk over to it. I called her excitedly, and it WORKED. I redirected her to Cooper. But then a while later she ran after it again, and nothing bad had happened yet, but she wouldn't come to me when I called  excitedly. So I squirted her. She was stunned that the squirter had somehow made it to the dog park. Anyway, that also worked, and she spent the rest of the time in a dog pile with the big dogs, and all was well.

I also got to squirt Marvin because someone was telling a story about Victorville, a town in California, and Marvin interrupted to say, "I got lucky in Victorville!"

I wish I always had the squirt bottle.

I have to go back to bed now and concentrate on not vomiting. But I like the person who wrote and said I should have a Marvin post, where I tell you everything you ever wanted to know about Marvin. Other than the obvious why the hell did he marry you, is there anything else you want to know? I told him we'd have an in-depth interview this weekend, once that mysterious ghoul stops stabbing me in the temple.

June's stupid life · Marvin

An aMAZEing story.

Marvin is getting things ready for his classroom.


This year's theme, apparently, is, "Platitudes."

Actually, I think his signs are cute. And full of the spongy decorations! I take issue, however, with his "There are no shortcuts." And yes, he did make it one word. See the dash after "short," there? Like I'd let him put up a sign that said "short cuts."

Let's talk about Mr. There Are No Short hyphen Cuts. When we lived in LA, there was a labyrinth I liked to go to. Now, I know I'm totally being my mother right now, but you know what a labyrinth is, right?

My mother tends to think I am a complete idiot, and is forever explaining to me things that if I didn't actually know them, I would be Forrest Gump. I think she just got used to having to tell me things like how to walk and talk and stop using a diaper, and she just never got herself out of the habit.

For instance, one time she suggested I listen to public radio, and she said, "You know, those stations up at the top of the dial? Like in the 80s and 90s?"

Okay, does she think I never venture beyond the classic rock station? That I get my dirty deeds done dirt cheap and never care about All Things Considered?

Actually, she's right. I hate All Things Considered. All that calmness and that THEME song. Ugh. But still, I KNOW where it can be found.

So, one time my mother said that she wanted to put a labyrinth in her back yard and I said what do you mean, because it seemed like an unusual thing to do. And she said, "Honey, a labyrinth is an intricate path that you walk through, and you meditate until you get to the middle."

I was so insulted that she thought I wouldn't know what a labyrinth was, and here I am doing the same thing to you.


So, a labyrinth is like kind of a circular maze that you walk through, and you meditate till you get to the middle. Also, public radio can be found at the top of your radio dial. Your radio dial is that thing next to all the numbers.

To wrap up this agonizing story, I took Marvin to said labyrinth once when he had something on his mind. He walked right up to the labyrinth, cut through the maze and sat in the middle. "Why would you waste your time walking this whole thing when you can just walk right up to the middle?" he asked me. And this is why I have trouble with, "There are no shortcuts."

Seriously, I was gonna tell you that whole story in like two sentences and I have no idea how I got off on diapers, AC/DC, and my mother's back yard. She did put up a labyrinth, by the way. Marvin enjoyed cutting through it this summer.

June's stupid life · Los Angeles

It’s Raining Maintenance Men (not THAT maintenance man)

Well now, seriously. I can't work. They are putting in new stair runners, and my office is six centimeters from the stairs. Which kind of makes you wonder if I am a professional banister.

The workers are bellowing at each other in Spanish, which I find comforting, even though it obliterates any hope of proofreading anything. It is taking me back to my LA days, where I think I heard just as much Spanish as I did English. I learned "basura," which means trash, and "chones," which means underwear. Which might tell you a little about what Spanish-speaking people were saying about me.

Oh, I also learned "gordo." I do not know why everyone considered me fat trashy underpants.

It is raining in Greensboro today, and my walking pals did not want to walk in it. What a bunch of wimps. One guy actually said, "What about my hair?" Big strapping guy. Wearing a tshirt that said Don't F With Mr. Zero. (That is only funny if you are obsessed with When Harry Met Sally. Which, why wouldn't you be?) But really. He is like 6'4" and straight. What about my hair. I am ashamed. Would whoever that swimmer guy in the Olympics is worry about his hair? Mark Spitz or whoever? No.

So I spent my breaks sitting on the front porch of our building. I have done those walks by myself in the past, and let me tell you, it is boring. We walk a mile each break, and doing that alone? With nothing to see but the same buildings you see every single day? Zzzz.

I have to run tonight, even though I am feeling a little migraine-y. I took an Imitrex earlier today and noticed I have had the same 9-pack of pills since June, which for me is pretty good. I normally go through 9 pills each month. So I know my running is helping.

And does it make me a trifle nervous that poor Issac Hayes died on his treadmill? And do I have to take every tragedy and make it about me? Next I will worry that my arches will fall, like that big arch in Utah.

I guess I had better go hold my orange pen and look like I might could be working. Everyone knows, though. They know I am gordo basura chones.

June's stupid life · My pets

Why I feel like Courtney Love’s mom

Okay, so Tallulah plays rough. What can I tell you? Fortunately, she has a friend at the dog park, Cooper, who plays just as roughly as she does. Cooper is her age, and is half Lab/half Foxhound. You don't want to mess with Cooper. I have seen him catapult over a Great Dane. He eats rawhides in one day, and he eats Frosty Paws in one swallow.

I kind of love Cooper.

So, that's the first part. Cooper is usually there every day, which is good, and if you didn't know from dog play you'd think they were killing each other. They don't show their teeth or growl or yip, but they knock each other over and bite each other's lips and just generally look like they want to disembowel each other. Dirt flying, spitting on each other's hackles, you get the idea.

And Cooper and my dog are kind of the juvenile delinquents of the park. I mean, they tear around at this breakneck pace and they run into people and sometimes, well, they gang up on little dogs.

That's the second part.

So, it's Saturday night and Cooper and Lula are both there, and there's this smaller dog who is really pretty and it looks just like Lady from Lady and the Tramp. Poor Lady-looking-dog is shy, and hiding behind her person, which of course Tallulah cannot stand. She bows (that means her front legs are on the ground but her blond buttocks are hangin' high) and bark bark bark bark barks, which guess what, did not get this dog to want to play.

Naturally, Lula gave up and found Cooper. Tallulah and Cooper remind me of me and my best friend from birth, Friend From MA who writes in sometimes. We'd play with other kids in the neighborhood, but really they were just substitutes for each other.

So Cooper's mom and I are talking and we hear, "Stop it! Cut it out!" and the Lady dog's mom is yelling at our dogs. They are nowhere near her dog, she just doesn't like how our dogs are playing, with the humping each other and grabbing each other's necks and shaking and such. "It's okay," Cooper's mom tells this old biddy, "our dogs love each other."

"You'd never know it," Fussbritches says.

Well, if that weren't humiliating enough, a little teeny poodle comes in. Just a tiny thing. And by the way, there is a separate small-dog fenced area, but no one ever uses it.

I am sorry to tell you that Tallulah went BOUNDING over for that little dog. She anTAGonizes little dogs. She doesn't bite them, but she does that bark bark bark thing that scares them half to death. The poor poodle fell  on its back and said yipyipyipyip! while Lula stood over her and barked. And maybe rolled the poodle over with her snout a few times. And maybe slapped the poodle a little.

By the time I got over there, the poodle's owner slapped Tallulah on her snout, which by the way she did not even notice, but still, I was a little taken aback. But then again, I don't blame her for being angry.

I got Lula's leash and hauled her bully self out of there. Cooper's mom followed me out. "I have to get her to stop doing that," I told Cooper's mom. "Yeah," she said. "Everyone in there was flapping their lips about how that dog doesn't know when to stop."

Okay, who was completely depressed walking out of there? I felt like Ziggy, with a big cloud over my head. It is unfair to the poor little dogs that my dog terrorizes them, and even though I feel like she wouldn't really hurt them, how do I really know that? I have only owned a dog for four months of my life.

We loved the dog park. It was the best part of our day. Poor Tallulah is already bored silly. The whole time I've been typing, she has been staring at me with a tennis ball in her mouth.

And do you think I know Cooper's mom's real name? No. Because it'd be good enough if she and I could just get together and let our dogs rip each other to shreds, as they are wont to do.

It was Marvin who suggested I take her back in disguise. If not the mustache and glasses, then maybe I could dress her up as a cleaning lady or something. Remember how Lucy used to dress up and Ricky just wouldn't recognize her? How dumb was Ricky?'


I also thought maybe I could paint spots on her and they would think an ocelot was in the dog park. And they'd be so glad it seemed relatively friendly.

Crap. Does anyone have any suggestions? Other than taking her back to the trailer park, which trust me, I thought of? I know it's not her fault, it's mine for not teaching her. WHY IS HAVING A DOG SO HARD?

June's stupid life · Marvin

The Princess and the Peaked Soap

I have to go to work, but remind me to tell you later how Dogtavius and I are kind of banned from dog park. Humiliating. I may try to put a mustache on her and take her back.

But the reason I have gathered you all here today is to ask you about soap. How long do you use it when it starts to get thin? Marvin always grabs a new bar once it looks peaked and riby, as my grandmother would say. This means that Marvin is saying, "I am a fussy prince and I am 10 times more important than you. This is why I deserve a nice fat bar of soap, and here, you can use the old dregs."

But perhaps that is just my perspective, and maybe it is incorrect.

I use it until it breaks in two, and then I try to moosh it together. Then after that, I have a deal where if it falls out of my hands three times in one shower, I get to throw it away. You?

June's stupid life · Television

The loneliness of the nonrunner

I have put off running all day, and as a result have done absolutely nothing. I read my diary from 1998, and got depressed when I realized I have exactly the same problems today. Nice advancement through life.

Also, I watched the Olympics –which is pretty of me, watching others excel athletically as a way to avoid my own athletic goals — and realized I would make a terrible Olympic volleyball player. Mostly because I don't know how to play volleyball, and also because I am afraid of balls hurtling at my face. Also, aren't they worried about leaping about in those bikinis? Aren't they concerned about Shorty and Curly showing themselves, if you know what I mean?

And the commenter who said to try calling Tallulah "Bella" was brilliant. Not because she reacted, but just because you are right, I know 8 million dogs named Bella.

Okay, sick of myself. Blogging twice in one day to avoid running. SO.OVER.SELF.

Oh, but one more thing. Do you want to know what annoys me? I mean other than frenetic jazz and BlueTooths and the word preplan? People who leave messages and that say, "Hey, call me back." We have a friend in Tiny Town whose outgoing message is "Don't just leave a message saying 'It's me, call me back.' Please actually say what you want in your message."

Love that guy. Go, Tiny Town. Go, volleyball players. Go, same problems for 10 years. Go, procrastination. Go, preplanning.

Oh! And I almost forgot!


I got an award. I am brillante. I do not know what brillante means, but I'll take it anyway. I first got this award last month from Mrs. Q right before our vacation, and then I got it again from The Hotfessional yesterday. Thank, you Q and Hot!! Maybe brillante means they think I need to use Brilliantine. Does anyone else remember Brilliantine? Am I 107? Could I put off running ANY LONGER?

Hey. Call me back.

Health · June's stupid life · My pets

May weekend

Lately, Marvin and I have been obsessed with what Tallulah's name used to be, before we stole her. We have started calling out dog names at her to see if she reacts.

We started with the obvious Max and Bailey, because 99% of the dogs in the world seem to be named Max and Bailey, and then we went on to the ever-used edible names like Cookie, Coco, Muffin, etc. No reaction.

So far, we've gotten the biggest response from Dogtavius, which, really, we were just desperate at that point, and probably so was she.

A woman has had the nerve to move in next door, speaking of Tallulah. Not that Tallulah has moved in next door, which sometimes would be nice, and not that the woman next door is named Tallulah. I am just saying, the fact that someone has the nerve to be next door, walking around the yard and going down their porch stairs and generally living, has driven Tallulah/Dogtavius out of her skull.

And it seems to drive her out of her skull right when I enter REM. I'll be just nicely asleep, only to be jolted awake by "ROW! ROW!" She has a bark like a machine gun. You'd never know she was a girl from that bark. She is totally Hitler-voiced. It's creepy how she raises her little paw like that, too.

And let me tell you. I have no control over the barking. How do you get your dog to not bark? How to you tell them not to disturb your REM? Dogs are annoying.

I can hear Marvin in the living room watching a Billy Squire concert. No, seriously.

My slightly gay, '80s husband aside, I have to run just a short run this weekend. I am thinking 6 or 8 miles. I planned to get up early and go to the park today, but REM disturber blew that plan. So I guess I'll be on the fascinating treadmill again tonight. Unless it miraculously becomes 70 degrees tonight. In August. In the South.

Next week I'll do my longest run, 11 or 12 miles, then another shortie pajama run and finally it'll be time for that ding and also dang dang dang half marathon. Did that take forever to get here, or what?

It occurs to me that this is the longest I have ever consistently exercised. My wedding was in July, and starting January of that year, I did step aerobics every day after work in a trailer with my coworker. We worked across from a park, and the Parks & Recreation offered free stuff to people who lived or worked in that city. Step aerobics in a trailer. I think Jackie Kennedy prepared for her wedding that way too.

But other than trying two steps one day and falling over splayed out like I was picking apples, the step aerobics did the trick. But as soon as my wedding hit? Pffffh. Never went back.

And the last time I trained for a marathon, the training was six months. And immediately afterward, I got the worst deep-inner-ear infection the world has ever seen, and walking from my car to my office was workout enough. Oh, that was terrible. Don't ever get anything wrong with your inner ear. Trust me on this.

Okay, I totally forgot about the Billy Squire song What Do You Want From Me? Which of course he is kind of singing as, What do you want from mayyy? Why do they always say "may" instead of "me"? Pour some sugar on mayyy. In the name of love.

I mean, if the word "me" is not gonna work, get another word. Don't just start saying "may" like it's a thing.

Whatever with Billy Squire. No wonder lonely are your nights.