Film · June's stupid life · Marvin

Huge Ackman

I am in here because Marvin is watching a documentary about seahorses. I am not even making that up. Really, how could I make that up?

I am surprised that Marvin would be pursuing any movie at this juncture, as we just returned from the movie Australia, which neither of us knew was 12 hours long. Seriously, if you do not know this? When you go to see the movie and you think you are at the part where it's the logical end? It is JUST BEGINNING!

And one thing Marvin is? Patient with movies that he is not enjoying. He doesn't suck the JOY out of everyone else's experience or anything. First he does the thing where he leans forward in his theater chair. Then he THROWS himself backwards with a sigh. Sometimes he does a loud, theatrical snoring sound.

In this movie, every time you thought it was over and they went on to a new plot twist? Which was about 11 different times in the movie? Marvin would say, "Oh, come on" in the world's most exasperated voice. At one point American planes flew in and Hugh Jackman said, "Those are Yanks, what are they doing here?" "Making the movie longer, that's what they're doing here," Marvin said.

Marvin needs meditation or yoga or something.

Anyway, seriously two hours and forty-five minutes later, the movie was over, and as the credits rolled, Marvin sat motionless. "I know there's more. They'll show outtakes or bloopers or something." I made him leave before all the other people in the theater stoned us.

Even thought the film took place during World War II, as we got into the car, Marvin said, "I thought for sure we'd get through the Korean War, Vietnam, then I expected Men at Work to show up in a video."

Marvin does not enjoy a bad film. I guess he is trying to cleanse his palate with the seahorses.

I thought it was sort of okay. I mean, Hugh Jackman. How bad can it be?

We also went to the Natural Science Center today, because it is important that we leave our house of pets to go look at other animals. It'd be like if you got a babysitter so you could go to Gymboree or something. We went into the room with (ALERT, TEE! SNAKE MENTION COMING UP!) snakes, and while I am not hoping to see one coiled up in my yard, I am fine with them behind glass.

So I was peacefully staring at an (BRACE YOURSELF, TEE!) anaconda, when this woman with a toddler came up and tapped on the glass.

If you want to make me happy? Be sure to come tap on the glass at some poor trapped animal's cage. Because I'm certain you're not the NINETIETH person to do that today, so rest assured it is (a) really effective at getting the animal's attention and (12) not at all annoying to the poor thing. So I basically was already irritated at this woman.

"Ugh," she said. "Look at that thing. Ugh. It's sick, disgusting, and gross. That's what it is. Ack. I can't look at these snakes." She made her way to the next tank and tap-tap-tapped.

"Um, you're really not supposed to tap on the cage. See the signs?" I told her. I can't help it. I'm sure if the snakes could TALK they would say the same thing. Only in a more hissy fashion.

"So," I said, trying to seem not like the prissy busybody I was, "you don't like snakes, then?"

"No," the woman said, "I have a real phobia. But I'm trying not to pass it on to my daughter."


Now, what part of "ack" "disgusting" and "gross" is going to give your impressionable child a POSITIVE, UNPHOBIC feeling about snakes?

I don't know why I go to science centers. I just get angry.

However, they had a lot of cool stuff there, including an infrared camera that showed my hair was much colder than Marvin's mostly because it was so much further away from my body.

And speaking of Marvin and me, there were two monkeys there, and I do not know what kind so don't even ask. They were the cute kind. Anyway, there was a blonde one and a black one, and you could walk up and see them in this big yard. Well. The black one? Sitting off to himself, happily eating an apple. He didn't care who was looking at him. He had his apple and he was all set.

The blonde? Holy crap. That monkey was swing-swing-swinging from rope to rope, TWIRLING around on the ground, literally dancing for the crowd. There were two windows on either side of its yard, and it would leap to each window and entertain each crowd separately. While the black one ate its apple.

We watched them for a long time before it hit me. They were us! I was the blonde crowd-pleaser, twirling and grabbing my rope, and Marvin was the apple-eater. Now I totally wish I had brought a camera.

Did you know that seahorses are being overfished because some cultures think that consuming seahorses makes them more virile? Also, they live on sea ranches and they can change colors. 

They are hard to ride sidesaddle.

You can start with the theatrical snoring at any time, now.

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

And how could I ever refuse? I feel like I win when I loooooooose.

Tonight I was on my way to get antidepressants for my cat (shut up) and the song Waterloo by ABBA was on. I think one of you may have mentioned that it was your least-most-favorite song back when I asked you all to write in and tell me your least-most-favorite songs. And while I understand your angst, I do love me the ABBA.

So I was at a red light, and I was doing the arm movements to the song that they did in Muriel's Wedding, which if you haven't seen it is a good movie.

Anyway, I was thoroughly enjoying my own self, with my arm movements and my singing, which let's not forget I am not allowed to do at home or in front of Marvin ever, so alone in my car is really my only singing time. So there I was, flapping my arms,

Waterloo! Couldn't escape if I wanted to! Waterloo! Knowing my fate is to be with you. Oh woah woah woah Waterloo! Finally facing my Waterloo.

And do you know right there next to me was an entire family in an SUV, just staring at me like they had nothing better to do while stopped at a red light? What were they all doing out on the day after Thanksgiving anyway? Why can't people leave me alone? With my arm movements. And my Waterloo.

And YES, my cat is depressed. That's why she wears all black, I guess. And puts on her Leonard Cohen albums. I think she might be smoking pot. Just meow no, Ruby.

Tonight she takes her first pill. I had to go to a special you-are-a-bad-cat-parent pharmacy downtown tonight to get her pills. I walked in and said, "Hello, I'm here for Ruby DeLuna's antidepressants. Because apparently you can take me out of LA, but you can't take the LA out of my cat." I mean, really, I know. First my dog is sporting Betty Grable turtlenecks and now I am mood-enhancing my cat. Francis is trying EST next week. We are going to get a redwood hot tub so we can all sit in it and share our feelings.

You really can't escape your childhood, can you?

And speaking of my unstable pets, guess who is afraid of Christmas lawn decor? Tallulah has put on her brakes and growled at (A) a large, inflatable snowman and (2) an animatronic Santa with penguins singing. Maybe she is Jewish. Or just tasteful.

There is a big contest in my neighborhood where you get a THOUSAND BUCKS for the best-decorated lawn. Who is going to have truck-sized brakes installed onto her paws? She is going to be hoarse by New Year's, from the growling. Oy.

I had better sign off now, as Winston is finishing up his scream therapy and I have to pick him up. 

June's stupid life · My pets · Television

Sans turkey

I get irritated when people say "Turkey Day." I know this makes me the crabbiest person on earth, but what else is new. It's just one of those we've-heard-it-already phrases that I am over, along with voracious reader and metrosexual. I guess metrosexual is a word, and not a phrase, per se.

Do you know what no one says anymore and I am glad about? "Get a clue." People are pretty much done with that one. Remember how funny "Beam me up, Scottie" was the first time you heard it? It really was. I don't mean when you heard it on Star Trek, I mean in the context of someone wanted to leave somewhere because there was no intelligent life…oh, forget it.

I just had to go through all my comments from yesterday to make sure nobody said "Have a happy Turkey Day" because then I would feel bad.

Anyway, my turkey day was fine, how was yours? Why is the Macy's parade so terrible? Do you remember that it used to be good when we were kids? Is it just that we were kids so we didn't know any better? Because we thought those Hanna-Barbera cartoons with the same background that appeared over and over when the characters were running were really good too. So what did we know?

All that lip synching and the floats are so low now! Did they used to have all those musical acts? Wasn't it just Snoopy and Underdog floats and then Santa showed up and that was the whole parade? Did they stop and interview the Jonas Brothers and all that when we were kids? Because I don't remember that.


I take it back. I did NOT know the parade got Rick Rolled. Did anyone see that!?! Hilarious.

Marvin and I celebrated Thanksgiving this year with just the two of us and our 800 pets.DSCF1482

I know it looks like I stabbed Tallulah in the back with a rake in this picture, but really we–and when I say "we" I mean Marvin–were staining our new bookcases this morning so we had the door open, and Lula was lounging in the doorway looking so angelic. I did note that on Marvin's Facebook page he said he was thinking of trading in his dog for a less-annoying model. But she looks unannoying here.


I didn't even bother to get dressed until noon, and because I was trying to avoid being near that varnish, I sat in the back room where the open door was, as well. Francis took full advantage of this, and made biscuits on me for many hours. He gets a ridiculous dreamy expression and swings his head from side to side in a Stevie Wonder kind of a way when he is making biscuits on me. If you do not have cats you have no idea what I'm talking about right now and you are probably terribly worried that the next time you eat at your cat friend's house that their cat will actually make the bread product, aren't you?


Finally, dinner was served. Note that we had all side dishes and no turkey. Please also note that we have skeleton hands for our salad. Marvin loves the skeleton hands. We have real salad servers for when actual grownup people come over. I asked Marvin to not pose, so I don't know what to tell you about this Kewpie Doll look he's got going.

I would like everyone to take note of my Nester tassel on our corner cabinet. Thank you.


Um. Not grateful for this. And what Thanksgiving meal would be complete without generic Windex?

Me and luWe took a large after-dinner walk, to burn off those calories. We will be walking to Tibet, then. Tallulah found a chicken bone, making her the only one of us who tried to consume an animal today, and the only one of us who did not eat generic Windex for dinner.

Health · I am berserk · June's stupid life

I know you were looking forward to replacing me with a funnier blogger, but no such luck.

I'm fine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, Lord, this has been a harrowing few days. Seriously.

I took your advice and called the mammogram place back and asked them to s-l-o-w-ly read me my test results. The woman said, "An asymmetrical speculated density. Oh, see honey, that's nothing! He's just speculating there's a density."

The 15 minutes I had spent online had already told me that "speculated" was not the word this woman was seeing. "Read that closer. Are you seeing 'spiculated,' there?"

"S-p-i-c-u-l-a-t-e-d. Oh, yeah, I guess I am."

I started to cry. "Spiculated is not good," I told the woman who, you know, WORKS AT THE MAMMOGRAM PLACE.

When they find things on your mammogram, if it's spiculated, it means it kind of looks like a starburst, and I do not mean the fruit chew. A starburst in your breast is not your friend. At all.

I had no idea I could be as terrified as I have been since Monday morning. In fact, the last thing I ATE was a bowl of oatmeal at 8 o'clock Monday morning. I have actually been shaking since then. Constantly. I haven't slept much. I had NO WAY to make myself feel better.

After the speculation/spiculation conversation yesterday, I left work. I called around and got in to have a mammogram today, instead of waiting until next week. Then yesterday I had my crown put on at the dentist, which if you have dental phobia? Go ahead and be convinced you have cancer. That will take your mind right off what they're doing to you in that chair.

So today I went to the new place, with my report from the old place in hand. They mashed me around and took a bunch of pictures. Then they told me the doctor would come talk to me. You know what's awful? Waiting in that room for the doctor, that's what's awful.

The door opened, and it was the technologist from before. "Honey, we're going to ultrasound."

"What? Why? I thought I was gonna talk to the doctor!"

"Are you shaking? Don't shake. This is just what we are gonna do, hon. Let me get you a warm blanket."

There was a bad photograph of tulips on the ceiling. I wondered who weeded that garden with all those tulips. Finally the doctor came in and asked how I was. "I am not good," I told him.

"Well, neither am I," he said. "I do not agree at all with your first report. I don't see any spiculation, and I don't see it on the pictures we took today. I'm gonna take an ultrasound to be extra sure."

I started to cry. Again. I have cried 9,659 times in 72 hours. "Are you saying everything is okay?" I asked him. "I think it is," he said. Then he did the ultrasound and the tensi0n was as thick as my hair. "Yeah, I see nothing. Come back in six months. You just have dense tissue."

My hair is dense, my brain is dense, my tissue is dense. I can so live with that.

In the meantime, thank you all for writing to me. I have been too big of a nut to post. Unfortunately, during one of my 11 million crying jags I told Marvin I would do anything for my results to be okay and he said "Including moving back to Tiny Town?" and I said yes and now I have to TOTALLY backtrack on that.

 I am dying to weigh myself; I wish my stupid scale had batteries. Oh! I can't wait for Thanksgiving now! Can you?

Health · I am berserk · June's stupid life

Wherein June is inspirational to no one.

DSCF1181Me, in September, before my WHOLE LIFE GOT CRAPPY.  And not to mention carpy.

Remember a few months ago, when I went to the doctor because my face was numb and I thought it was a pulled muscle or something and he said no no, you have some horrid brain thing and I went two or three weeks thinking I might have some sort of horrid brain thing and then it turned out to be nothing?


So, first of all, I cracked a tooth this week, which I know for the rest of normal society would be like, "Ugh. I have to go to the dentist. Yuck."

For me, in the meantime, I am half hoping to be stuck dead by lightning before my Wednesday appointment, I will have trouble sleeping until it gets here, and the day of I have to take Xanax. Just writing about it now I am starting to shake a little.

I am not pretty about the dentist.

Then, today I called home to check my messages to see if Ruby's test results came back (and for those of you who know me in real life who keep emailing me about her, she is not dying or anything. She is just old. She is going to be okay, for now). There was one message.

"Hello, June, this is the mammogram center calling."

I was all, hunh. Did I leave my coat there or something? Seriously. That is how in denial I was. My coat. Did I leave my coat there. "Please call us at your earliest convenience."

Well, guess what? My earliest convenience turned out to be right that second. And they told me they found "a density" in my test and need to do another test before they turn in their final report.

"Okay," I said. "How scared do I need to be?"

"Well," said the woman, "the results say a density of bluh de bluh bluh, with a bloobidy bloo bloo and other medical things that I am saying at 45 miles an hour because I am as sensitive as sandpaper, but it also says it doesn't look like a malignancy. I call about eight woman a day with this sort of thing."

"Um-hmm. And how many of them die of breast cancer?" I asked her.

"Your doctor, Dr. Yow? Yooo–"

"Yoo," I snapped.

"Yoo — can tell you more. He has these results too." So my hysterical you-have-a-tumor doctor has waited a WEEK and hasn't called me about my "density"?

I made an appointment for NEXT TUESDAY. Not tomorrow, NEXT DING AND ALSO DANG TUESDAY for I don't even know what test. I talked to Dr. Yow/Yooooo/Yo's nurse who said Dr. Yoo did NOT have my results, so who even knows what to believe. In the meantime I went to my boss's office to tell her I'd be missing work next ridiculous Tuesday morning.

"Cindy," I said, "they –"

And that was as far as I got before I started to cry in front of my boss. The one who doesn't like me as it is. Then I went in my office and sat on the floor for two hours, one of them my lunch hour, one of them not, and sobbed.

I cannot handle this.

I am not strong.



I cannot believe I have this AND a dentist appointment in the same week. Seriously. Next thing you'll tell me it's the all-jazz-all-cilantro Thanksgiving this year. With mimes.

My father did point out that if it is something, that at least I could get a wig that didn't, you know, frizz up. Which I guess is something. But in the meantime I am not taking it one step at a time. I am not being stoic. I am not keeping my wits about me.


Family · Film · June's stupid life · Marvin

What Smells Loud?

It is Sunday night, and I am drinking my 57th Aquapod of the night because Marvin and I had Chinese food for dinner and Mr. Salty called and wants his sodium content back. Yeesch. I feel like a salt lick.

It is going to bother my mother that I am drinking this much water before bed. "Won't you have to get up and go to the bathroom?" I can just hear her. It bugs her that I don't have to go as much as she does. It also bugs her that I fail to have wadded-up Kleenex in every pocket. Seriously, does this woman have a cocaine problem that I don't know about? Whose nose needs this much wiping?

Speaking of people who are older than me, I went to the movies today because Marvin was playing guitars with his friend Ron, which I understand has nothing to do with anyone being older than me yet and you wish I'd get to the freaking point for once. But really, who is the nicest wife ever? Certainly not me, but I am definitely up there with the pretty good wives.

DSCF1480Nearly every weekend, Marvin's friend Ron comes over and the two of them get out 11,367 pieces of musical equipment and spread it yonder. Plus, then they play loud music and sing. They usually do it at our house because Ron has two kids and two dogs. Which I guess is more chaotic than one dog and three cats. And a paparazzi wife. Hey, I just noticed you can see two small bookshelves in that photo above.

LoveAnd two small bookshelves in this photo! Ron looks  like he loves Marvin here, doesn't he? Ron is only the nicest guy on earth.  

Oh, and in  answer to all the things you asked me in my bookshelf post, we have a bunch of 8-track players and I can't believe anyone is excited about them because I personally would like to be playing 8-tracks out Marvin's hind end. We have anything that ever played music ever at any point in history in our house, and we usually have 87 examples of each genre. We have a Victrola, 950 portable radios (that's what those multicolor balls are someone asked about before, that you can just see past Ron, there), we have fancy radios, fancy stereos, we have stuff I don't even know what it is, and all I want to do is hear the same four ABBA songs on cassette that I have liked since 1979.

So, GETTING BACK TO THE PART WHERE I WAS GONNA TALK ABOUT OLD PEOPLE, when Ron came over, I made myself scarce so I went to the movies. I went to a French film called Tell No One and the only other people in there were two older couples and then two older women together.


Oh. And I did want to show you that on the back of Marvin's notebook he has a picture of Richard Carpenter. Okay, why? Should I be at all concerned?

So, before the movie starts, said older people were all talking. A lot. I mean, no one was taking the time for any companionable silence. I was thinking okay, maybe I am just noticing it because I am here alone, you know? But then? When the movie started? And there were subtitles?

You guys.

Through the whole movie.







I mean, you all know I like me the old people. And I would've thought out of any group of people at the theater, OLD people would be the most polite. I mean, weren't they taught to be quiet in the theater? I would have thought those darn kids would be the ones to talk and be annoying. And it wasn't just the subtitles. They were talking back to the screen. There was one part where the guy with the red, dead wife found pictures of his wife all beat up, and he told his friend he'd never beaten his wife. One of the women said:


I mean, this was a FOREIGN FILM! Who WERE these yahoos at my movie? I couldn't believe it! I wanted to give all six of them a good scolding after, but I didn't dare. I still love me the old people, and have signed up to be a visitor to people who apparently have no visitors. What if it's one of these magnificent six and they recognize me as the terrible woman who yelled at them at Tell No One?

Maybe they thought it was called Tell Everyone.

Faithful Readers · June's stupid life

June. Ending more marriages than Angelina Jolie.

You guys! Look what happened!

Faithful reader Tarva went out and adopted the cutest puppy you ever did see and she named it June! Her husband hates me, as does her other dog!

Oh, LOOK at that puppy! Look at Lucky's irked expression!

This whole thing has made me very exclamation pointy!

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

Shelf this

Peedaddle. Which trust me, is a euphemism for some much stronger language, over here. I just spent an HOUR writing an whole huge post, and the thing got lost. Many bad words are being said here in the house of the Gardensalad.

So let me reiterate, before I was so RUDELY interrupted by stupid stupid stoooopid computers and their technology.

The first and most important thing I was telling you was that I declared it Talk Like Fred Snyder Day, which was created precisely to annoy the bijingles out of Marvin, and that it did.

Fred Snyder is that guy from the B-52s. It's easy to talk like him. Just say lots of simple declarative sentences, but say it LIKE IT'S A PARTY!


It's also helpful to bop your head a little.


When we got home today from our many adventures, Tallulah had barfed on the couch.


Oh, Marvin hates me today.

 Also, we had depressing news. Our beautiful cat, Ruby, continues to do not so well. I do not wish to get into the particulars, but we took her to our vet today, Dr. Ho, an excellent vet whose name Marvin and I are not obsessed with in the slightest. Is she a PhD in prostitution? Is she a doctor and also a ho? Our maturity is limitless.DSCF1002

Anyway, the end result is that Ruby now gets her own room. She is in the spare bedroom with her own litter pan, food, bed, and she seems to be enjoying this tremendously, actually.

And Tallulah and Winston? OBSESSED. Obsessed with the spare room. Neither of these bozos could've given two hoots about that room until some sick cat was convalescing in there, and now there is nothing more compelling than those four walls. Winston got his easel and told me he wants to capture the room at sunset with his watercolors. Tallulah got her smudge stick and said she needs to get in there to remove the room of bad energy.

Whatever with those two and their snouts at the door.

Francis, who is similarly old and crotchety, spends most of his day glaring at all of us from his pink chair,  so he does not care where Ruby is. He has lived with Ruby for 11 years and has rarely cared where Ruby is, actually.

But the good news is this. Do you remember in June, when my next-door neighbor Peg came over? I really, sincerely hope you do not remember that, because that is just too much June trivia to have, there. Anyway, Peg is an interior designer, a fancy one, which I know not because she said, "I'm fancy!" but because I figured it out when I went to her house and saw her awards.

Anyway, way back in June she came over and suggested I ixnay all the small ookshelvesbay. For those of you not sophisticated and bilingual in pig latin such as myself, I will explain.

Front door 

As an English major, I have manymanymany books. And may I remind you I moved from Michigan to Seattle, Seattle to LA, and LA to here? You'd think I'd have PARED DOWN the books, and I have. But still, with the books already. But as an English major, I have always been poor and cheap, and therefore I have always ended up buying small bookshelves instead of investing in large ones.

Are you expanding these pictures and looking at my books? Oooo, stop! I feel so invaded.


Hunh. A smallish bookshelf. And yes, that is a painting of a pie. I am actually not that obsessed with pie.

And I know there are at least three beauty and diet books visible on this bookshelf. I want you to know I a really not that shallow.

Oh heck, I am so.

Back porchWell, have you ever? A small bookshelf! So, way back in June, my fancy neighbor took me to the unfinished furniture store, which does not mean the store is unfinished, but rather the furniture is.


Hey! Is that a small bookshelf? And also an obsessed Winston at Ruby's door? So the reason I never bought said bookshelves is because it would have cost nearly a thousand bucks to do so. But today I got a bug up my rear and I said to Marvin, LET'S GO TO THE STORE! THE UNFURNISHED STORE!

Then I bopped my head.

And do you know? They were GOING OUT OF BUSINESS. I had no idea. We got three 84" shelves for 184 bucks each, which is a savings of 11 million dollars. I am standing here beside myself.


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

This blog just keeps gettin’ weirder

Faithful reader Stephanie just made me a part of Donna's family. In the '70s.

Me and fam 

It's like I'm visiting from the future, telling Donna's mom a little secret. "Donna is gonna put this picture on mybloooooog! We are all gonna obsess over it! Don't spend your money on this phoooootoooo!"

But while you're up, what is this?


I mean, other than an empty bird feeder because I am obviously the meanest person on earth? What is this–this substance all over the ground?


My car was similarly covered in this…thing which I sort of hoped was vanilla frosting. It somehow hearkened back to my childhood. To those many years in Michigan, when I said, "MOTHER OF PEARL WHY DO WE LIVE IN A SNOWY CLIMATE?! I CANNOT WAIT TO MOVE AWAY!!"

You guys. We moved to the SOUTH. I thought it was all, you know, hot and syrupy and magnolia-y here all the time. I thought I was gonna fan myself indolently with a palm frond. What is with the SNOW action?


Marvin had to pour hot water on my windshield because we don't own any of those thingies to scrape off the car. Yes, we did both grow up in Michigan. Shut up. You honestly forget. Plus, remember the part where we thought we'd be indolent with the palm frond?

And yes, Marvin is in his pajamas. They delayed school two hours. At least if it's gonna snow in the South, they have the decency to be wimpy about it.

Do you know what I need? Warm clothing, is what I need. All I have are cotton pants and cute little flats. Do you think I own one pair of tights or any sort of foot-covering device? One of my LA friends said I could get something called Cuddle Duds, but I am sorry, I cannot bring myself to purchase anything with the name "Cuddle" in the title. I could purchase something with "Duds" in the title, but that would also involve "Milk."

Oh, and hey! Speaking of bizarre images, did you notice my blog looks a little differented up? Sadie Olive, my fine blog designer, did some Botox injections. So I revamped my description, because how often do I talk about health (oh, and by the way I did try to weigh myself like I said I was gonna, and my scale just says "Lo" when you turn it on. I figure it is saying, "Girl, don't even bother to step on here. Your weight is lo, girl. You look GOOD! Mmm!" Or perhaps it needs batteries.), and I have my cute Comment of the Week thing, not to mention I now have Disease a la Mode, where I will fill you in on what's wrong with me now. Plus I still have blogs I like, although I am telling you now that people who go more than a month without updating are gettin' kicked off that list and I am talking to you, Miss Doxie!

And finally, I am not that mean. It's just that those birds will eat a whole tube of that seed in ONE DAY, I am not even kidding you and sometimes life takes over and I forget to refill it. But I try. I am tryin', dog. Keepin' my head above water. Makin' a wave if I can. Temporary layoffs. Good times!

That's what the birds will say if I ever feed them their ding-dang seed again.

June's stupid life

Special of the Week

Poor Faithful Reader Juice thought Faithful Reader Paula was really dead, based on some stupid joke I made in a post. We are all very lucky that Juice is at least cute. Anyway, Paula checked in from hell many times…
Just Paula. said in reply to Juice (and inflatable Toast) (and Chloe)

Yes. I died. It is warm here but at least we have wifi. Gotta dash, having smores with Hitler.

Just Paula. said…

Barbecue at Jack the Ripper’s tomorrow!
(Someone wanted Paula to check if one of their enemies was in hell…)
Just Paula. said in reply to BStar…

Certainly! I’ll check with Eva Braun in Admissions.

Just Paula. said…

My favorite part? Molotov Cocktail Hour!!

Just Paula. said…

Pot luck with Pol Pot!

Just Paula. said…

Also? All the shades and blinds are always crooked.

Just Paula. said…

Book club with Oliver Cromwell.



June's stupid life

Blogs By The Slice

[Recently, this whole page broke. Because I’m good with computers. Is what I am. So if I used to link to you and no longer do, please email me. Because I didn’t forget you on purpose.] 

The Blue Hour

Chocolate Diapers

My Topography

Wide Lawns and Narrow Minds

Chatting at the Sky

Blue Poppy

The Nester

Musings of a Housewife

Mommy Wants Vodka

La Vida Dulce

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

Oh carp. I forgot to give this one a title.

Faithful reader Donna sent me her family portrait, which was taken last week.


Okay,  I really think it was taken a long time ago, because otherwise, hello, awkward! Umm, thanks, Faithful Reader Donna! Your sister has such nice, um, mushroom bangs! And that kicky scarf! (for those of you who did not grow up in the '70s, we aimed for that mushroom bang look. I mean, that was the look we were actually going for.)

Now, if you already know me in real life, you don't need to be told that I was absolutely obsessed with this picture all day. The fact that this family clearly lived at the bottom of a cup of Lipton tea with those sepia tones, the whole story I made up in my head about why they made the one guy go way in the back. In fact, I decided it was necessary for me to print this out on the color printer at work, so I could frame it and put it up at home.

Marvin and I have about 9 million photos framed of people we don't know, so the weirdness factor there is not all that high. For us. Or for Culpepper. So anyway, I sent myself this photo at work and when I went to print it, I discovered that I am not hooked up to the color printer at work.



You have never seen anyone's feathers so ruffled in all your life. I have never been so insulted. What is the MEANING of not hooking me up to the color printer? Surely the proofreader/editor, who never prints anything but Word documents about once every other week, needs full access to the color printer!?! Did they think I was somehow going to abuse the privilege, and use the color printer for personal reasons?

Of course, it was right about this time that it dawned on me that I was needing the color printer–for the first time in seven months of working at that place–to print out a family portrait of a group of people I do not know, which I guess if you want to get technical counts as a personal use of the color printer. Whatever.

But I have also decided that the floating head picture should totally come back, like the carnation. It should be cool again. This is why I, June, have a delightful offer for anyone who wants it. I am TOTALLY WILLING to go to my local Sears Portrait Studio to have a photograph of my head taken, and I do not see why they couldn't hook up with your local Sears Portrait Studio there in Lubbock or wherever, so that you could have my floating head up against your family portrait.

Think of the years of fun you'll have explaining to people who the Sam Hill that is, there, in your family picture! Think of how delighted your husband will be when you make him and all your kids get dressed up in the matching khaki pants/white shirt combo again on his one day off that week, and then how MUCH happier he'll be when the proofs come in with my big melon in the background! Oh! The giggles we'll have!

I'm certain we'll have issues with my, you know, hair taking up all that room, but that's what Photoshop is for. Surely Sears has access to Photoshop, right?


Here is a nice preview shot. Do you like this? Imagine it on your stairwell for the next 15 years.

Family · June's stupid life · Weblogs

Also, I’d like to stick with the idea that the earth is flat, thank you.

Okay, what the Sam Hill is up with my Typepad template, here? Who moved my cheese? It's all differented up. Do not like. They have added what are probably helpful geegaws and doodads. Cut it out. Do not help me. I liked things the old, complicated way. I have to go churn the butter now.

And has anyone else wanted to go to Google's offices and bludgeon whomever decided to change our homepage? Am I totally going to be arrested for just writing that? But seriously, what did they do to my homepage? They added that terrible tab on the side WHY? To make me itchy and sad? And I can't see my email without hitting eight million buttons and chanting and offering blood to the gods and whatnot. HATE THE NEW GOOGLE, GOOGLE! And I know you are reading this and everything else I do because every time I send an email you put 18 related-to-my-email ads right next to said email!

I hate change. Have I mentioned I have to go now, and hit the flint to try to get that fire started?

I thought of another thing that I forgot to tell you yesterday. I really need to keep a little tape recorder on my sun visor like my father does. He is forever telling himself things in that little pen-sized recorder like he is an underworld spy or the wife of a close friend, wife of a close friend.

Hammy and I went to lunch together recently, and when we got back to my car I said, "Okay, whatever song comes on the radio will be our theme song for the day." The song was totally Slow Ride by Foghat. Hammy and I were bangin' our heads and making the goat horns with our fingers, and do you know two women from our office got in the next car?

Okay, why?

Yes, please take us seriously a half hour from now when we are all in a meeting together. Please believe the Very Important Things we are telling you and do not recall the two middle-aged women you just saw jamming out to Foghat like they were Beavis and Butthead, back there. Nice.

Also? Have I mentioned to you that it it COLD here now? It was 26 ding and also daaaaaaang degrees when I got in my car today. Remember the part where I used to live in Los Angeles?


Carp. Who loves herself? Carp. Nice typing. I can't even COMPLAIN effectively, it's so cold. CRAP, I meant. Crap.

The last time I lived in cold weather, I was in my 20s. Well, guess what? When you live in  cold weather and you are 43? You get all DRY and SCRATCHY, and also kind of carpy. I totally need lotion, except all lotion makes my throat close up. So I will be supple, but blue. It is kind of a tossup.

You should have seen my fine self walking the dog tonight. I had on a PARKA, seriously, Marvin's knitted hat he got for climbing Mt. Everest — I am not even kidding–and a gigantic scarf, with unmatching gloves because I could not find any matching ones. Fortunately Jude Law was not out walking his dog or anything.

Oh, and can I just say one more thing about my father that doesn't have anything to do with his recording device? (He is forever reminding himself to pick up cilantro–a thing I would never remind myself to do as I would rather poke out my eyeballs and wear them as earrings than eat cilantro–or sometimes he records driving directions. It is really a handy device. But I would never remember I had it, or I would lose it, or Marvin would tape stupid things over it. I don't know why I am obsessing on the tiny tape recorder anyway.)

One time my father was in the ER, and I can no longer remember why. It wasn't for anything that bad, but they had given him a pain pill and told him I had to drive him home. He kept saying he felt fine and he lived really close, but I said why don't we listen to the, you know, medical experts on this, so into my VW he went. It was about 8 p.m.

Up near the windshield in my car is a little thing with the digital time and temp. My father got in the car and said, "Oh my God! It's 803 degrees out!" So see? It was good I drove him home.

I know I am going to hit "Save" and I will think of another dumb thing I meant to tell you, and when I get back on, Typepad will have put my cheese yet somewhere else.

Health · June's stupid life

Urine for a good post today

There are so many things I keep forgetting to tell you, what with the busyness of preparing for the Marvin birthday.

First of all, a Weimaraner peed on me, which is not something you soon forget. I am sorry to tell you that it is not the first time that something has peed on me, and every time it happens, it always takes me a few seconds of thinking, "What is warm all of a sudden?"

When you are around as many animals as I am, things like this can happen.

Anyway, the Weimaraner was at the dog park, and I was sitting in a chair, talking to someone when it happened. Weimaraners are TALL, so he did it way up on my leg. And you know I was so happy that day to be wearing the sweatpants that I was wearing?

I didn't want to ruin Tallulah's time at the park, so I sat there in cold misery for another hour, and let me tell you something. Once one dog has marked you? You are the main event, there, at the dog park. Every other dog there was fascinated by me. After, I went home, showered, changed into less-exciting pants, and even THEN was sniffed obsessively by dogs all day.

Also, I had my first mammogram yesterday. I am certain my male readers will be riveted, as was poor Tank, my carpool partner and miracle angel baby, who had to hear about it both to and from work.

The whole mammogram experience, which is not at all like the Jimi Hendrix one, is done by my work. Well, not literally. But they had limos coming to work all day to get us, and in the limos were snacks and drinks, and we women went in groups. Which made it more fun and less frightening.

When I was getting ready for work yesterday, I reminded Marvin that I was going for said mammogram and that I was scared. I have been supposed to get one for THREE YEARS now, and have put it off because everyone says it is painful and I was afraid. So here it was, the big day. He asked if I was driving right to my appointment and I told him what I just told you about the limos.

He said, "Wait. You get to miss work, ride in a limo, eat snacks and get your hoots squeezed, and you're upset?"

Anyway, I am here to tell you, as the national spokeswoman for all women afraid to get mammograms, IT DID NOT HURT ONE IOTA! Not at all! I cannot believe I was scared. I know people say it depends on your tech, but my experience? Completely fine.

I even asked the tech if she could put a little holly around the picture, cause I'm thinking Christmas cards.

And crap. I know I have some other pressing (hah!) thing to tell you, but it is 7:22 and I must go to work. What ding-dang thing did I have to tell you? Oh, don't you –Oh! I remembered! Because this blog would not be half as good without all of you, we are going to have a new feature here at Bye Bye, Pie! It is something I have blatantly stolen from the Comics Curmudgeon, who I would link to but have I mentioned it's 7:22? His site is He's great.

Anyway, we are going to have a Comment of the Week! Every Saturday, I will announce Mr. or Miss Funny (or Insightful or Mean or whatever). And no, it won't be J every week. I am even going to eventually have a little place for it on one of my side columns. Isn't it exciting? Isn't it delightful? Isn't it delicious? Aren't we a pair?

And comment anyway, even if you don't think it's "Comment of the Week" worthy. Some days, when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way your comment looks tonight. Seriously, I heart all comments. They don't have to be hilarious.

Okay, that's all. Try not to get peed on today.

June's stupid life · Los Angeles

The pity party? Table of one?

I am at lunch, and am in the middle of the WORLD'S MOST IMPOSSIBLE DEADLINE. Naturally, I decided to post.

I got an evite today, to a party in Los Angeles. Obvs, somebody forgot to take me off their party list. The dress code was "Fabulous."

Who has plummeted into depression? Who wants to hop a plane and attend the dress-code-fabulous party? Who misses LA about 740 times more than she thought she would? Who is starting every sentence with "Who" as though she is Woodsy Owl?

I know it'll take time to adjust to this more sedate life here in North Carolina, and that as you get older it takes more time to make friends, and I DID make friends in Tiny Town. In fact, I met some of my favorite people ever in life in Tiny Town. But man, am I finding it hard to make friends in Greensboro.

Marvin and I were out and about this weekend and he said, "We are our group of friends right now." And I was all, "I know. Doesn't it suck?" We enjoy each other's company a lot, a whole lot, but we have never been a "my spouse is my best friend" kind of a couple. I do not know if this means we are a terrible couple or not. When something good or bad happens, he's the first person I call, but he is not who I wanna go see the Sex and the City movie with, and I am not who he wants to see a band with, you know?

Anyway, all day I have been sad. I guess it is good that I have the WORLD'S MOST IMPOSSIBLE DEADLINE, so that I am distracted. But also, when I get like this, I know that the best thing to do is to stop thinking about myself, so as soon as I meet this ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE DEADLINE, I am going to do what I did in Tiny Town, and that is call an assisted living place and ask, "Does anyone there need a visitor?"

I think about Miss Lilly at 4 p.m. almost every Tuesday and Thursday. I read to her in Tiny Town on those days, and she and I had the best time. At least I had the best time. I think she did too, other than that time the mouse ran into her room. So I think I'll enjoy having a Greensboro Miss Lilly, as well.

Okay, back to my deadline. Deadline, fabulous.

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

My Diary. Secrets of the Gardensalad

I don't know why you all thought my Ann Landers quote was directed at you. I was really saying I was dumb, seeing as I have never once talked about ideas or things on this blog. Well, there was the Lean Cuisine Vending Machine idea, and of course the runaway dog magnet. Two fine ideas. But other than that.

Well, and I guess the men-can-stay-home-from-couples-dinners was an idea. Okay, so this blog is full of ideas. It's brilliant.

I used to always go around quoting Ann Landers like I knew her personally. Now I do that with dcrmom. You know how you guys write in and say your husbands are annoyed because you know stuff about me but you don't actually know me? That is how Marvin feels about dcrmom and me. One time I made him get English muffins at the store because they were dcrmom's brand. Who is over me? Who is over dcrmom and me as a duo?


Speaking of Marvin, here at last is my third and final diary installment.

April 18, 1986: Went to a party with D., D, and B. After, I made them all walk with me past Marvin Gardensalad's house. They all acted like they KNOW something. Like maybe Marvin doesn't like me.

I do not know why my college friends have to have the most distinctive names ever in the history of time. There is no way I could have put their real names in here and had it look vaguely anonymous. And I am too lazy to ask them if I can put their names in my blog.

Plus, I like how I assume my friends had some sinister secret about Marvin on their minds and not "Geez, I really don't want to stalk this guy. Can't we just get some chili cheese fries now and go home?"

I had met Marvin the previous fall, and had spent the entire year basically trying every trick in the book attempting to get him to like me, short of dancing in front of his window in nothing but pasties and go-go boots. And had I known where to get pasties, that would've been next.

May 16, 1986: Tonight I went to Ron & Brian's party and Marvin Gardensalad was there. I acted like an idiot. I got so flustered and embarrassed. Pretty in pink! Rich thinks he likes me, tho! Afterward, we were all outside talking and Marvin came out to the car and I was an idiot again. Pretty in pink again! Anyway, things still went well!

Remember when there were parties every weekend? Why can't life be like that now? And I think "pretty in pink" was my NOT AT ALL ANNOYING phrase for "gee, that was an uncomfortable situation." I can't imagine why Marvin didn't want to give me the time of day. Also, I apparently acted like an idiot both indoors and out, (I was kind of a versatile idiot) yet my assessment was that it went well. I guess that self-esteem was still in high gear. Wonder if he'd noted my pretty class ring yet.

May 21, 1986: When I got home tonight, there was a message on my machine and it was Marvin Gardensalad! I called him, and we talked all night! It's 2:30 now. I think he likes me! I HOPE so! He's so cute & kind & his love for music is a good sign, I think.

Oh, honey. Do you have any IDEA how many Who documentaries there are out there? Do you KNOW how bad it hurts to drop a microphone stand on your foot? Try dusting under the bed when there are seven guitar cases under it. Go ahead. Try it. Yes, it's sexy now, 20-year-old self. I know. It's sexy now.

May 27, 1986:Went to Marvin Gardensalad's tonight. We chatted all night and at 12:00 he walked me to my car. We sat in there till 2:25 and he KISSED ME! I could think about it FOREVER!

What was this, a police report? Was it necessary to report the time every second? Was I Captain Kirk? Star Date, 2:25. And when was the last time you were up at 2:25 that you or a loved one didn't have diarrhea? When was the last time MARVIN was up at 2:25? I'll tell you when. May 27, 1986, that's when.

Do you think he was practically in REM, and that's why he finally worked up the nerve to kiss me after the two-hour-and-twenty-five-minute "let me walk you to your car" scam?

Anyway, this diary ends with our painful and dreadful breakup, which I am NOT writing down here, but I want you all to know I read this diary this morning, and then all afternoon Marvin and I were downtown at antique stores, where we bought nothing because we actually had money to spend and if we had been flat broke we would have seen eleven billion things to buy. After, we went to lunch, and during a lull between chips he caught me glaring at him.

"Did you just decide to get mad at me again about our breakup?"

"YES! Why did you have to DO that?"

So you see? Really. Diaries are a bad thing. They dredge up all sorts of hideousness, things that are better off forgotten. Who needs to be reminded that they were evil in fifth grade? Who needs convincing that they were the world's largest twit in high school, or that their husband-to-be should never have gone to see Howard the Duck with THAT OTHER GIRL in the summer of '86, a painful, itching deceit that may still fester to this day if one thinks about it?

Pretty in pink.

Health · I am berserk · June's stupid life

Waylaid by pasta, tripped up by Topamax

Yeah. I'm too tired to look at my diaries tonight.

Marvin and I went to Target this evening, because we are livin' it up, livin' it up,  Friday night, that way, so I could get more of this Topamax that is not makin' me nutty in the slightest. At any rate.

For those of you who just got here, and may I say it's about time and dinner is ruined, I have been taking this new drug for my migraines, and apparently it eats away at your frontal lobe so that you no longer care if you have migraines or not.

So my point is, our local Target is in a strip mall, and really what is prettier or more enticing than a strip mall, so naturally we were drawn to some Italian restaurant at the end of the lovely strip. And what can I tell you? It was really good!

They served that thing where they give you bread and then also olive oil, but the olive oil had a bunch of spices involved and it was all I could do not to bury my face in the bowl and lick it. Which would have been sophisticated.

Marvin was getting a big kick out of my pretty brain on drugs. First, I called the former prime minister of England Tony Dow. Because gosh, Beav, it sure was goofy the way I was in charge of England. And then I was talking about that really good movie where they just show scene after scene of beautiful imagery and I kept thinking it was called Barak Obama.

For the record, the movie is called Baraka, and come on. That was pretty close. And drop everything you are doing and go get that movie. There is no dialog, and I am doing you a favor telling you now, because Marvin did not warn me and I spent the first 15 minutes thinking, "When is anyone gonna say anything?" But really, I know it sounds boring that there is no plot and no dialog? But it is the best movie you have ever seen other than, you know, Arthur, which you have to admit is just the best movie of all time.

"They recently had the whole island carpeted. We're talking small."

"When the light hits her just right, she's beautiful. Of course, you can't always depend on that light."

"I don't drink alcohol; it affects your decision-making." "You may be right; I can't decide."

I was completely fascinated by the people at the next table at our restaurant. There were two couples, and one woman would.not.shut.up. And she had one of those voices that carried over to our table as though she were perched on my shoulder like a parrot. I timed it. She went 15 seconds without talking, max. Marvin said it was because she was drinking something. He also suggested I perhaps enjoy my own meal and get over the endlessly chattering woman, but I said that WAS how I was enjoying my meal.

And really. Can you answer me this? Why do men even GO on the dinner? Men NEVER talk when they go out as part of the couple. Why do they even have to go? I mean, I know it's to pay. So why can't they just give their wives the credit card, stay home, and everyone's happy? You KNOW they don't want to be there! Those two men next to us never said one word. Of course, no one was gettin' a word in with Chatty Cathy, over there. Oh, she fascinated me.

She was mostly complaining about the people in her church. One woman kept wanting to do "weird" things at their events that sounded really cool to me. Do you have any idea how bad I wanted to chime in in support of the weird woman?'

You know, Ann Landers said smart people talk about ideas, average people talk about things, and dumb people talk about other people. I know I have spent this entire blog talking about other people. Shut up.

Anyway. I will get out my angst-ridden diaries this weekend and will appall myself anew. Really, all day I continued to astound myself at the thought of that inventory. I have an expensive stereo, I have nice hands. Good gravy. Why didn't someone just bludgeon me?

Why don't you forget the moose, Arthur?

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

Dear Diary, Part Deuxbag

For those of you who wonder if Marvin wears briefs or boxers (yes, people do write in and ask me that very thing), the answer is boxers. I should know, as I am wearing them.


My life is out of control, dawgs. Out of control. I opened my underwear drawer this morning only to see three sports bras and the straps to some long-gone strapless brassiere. And that's a khaki skirt. I know it looks like some sort of dreadful pleated khaki pant. It isn't as awful as it looks.

Really, all I do is work a full-time job and commute a bit. I mean, other people do that and have kids. And they don't have to wear their husband's underpants to work. I considered wearing his dogs-holding-peanut-butter-toast-in-their-mouths boxers, but I went for classic plaid. The Chanel of boxers.

Anyway. Can we move on to high school? I can't find junior high, and I think that's a crying shame. Because if there's anything I was in junior high, it was cool. And I'm sure my diaries reflect that mightily. Anyway, bad spelling and punctuation remain:


Monday, September 1, 1980: Happy Barry Gibb's birthday! Well, I start [high school] tomorrow. I can't make myself believe I'm really going… Kevin hasn't called all day. We've been going together 110 days today! Wow, how exciting. Kevin's mood is pretty weird. He keeps mentioning breaking up, and always hangs up from conversations so quickly. I'll die if he drops me. Well, write after 'it' is over tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Tuesday, September 2, 1980: I'm so tired! Walked all over today trying to find my rooms! I get out at 1:30! Let's hear it! Kevin and I talked till late tonite. I may break up with him because of Jeff and all the other available guys. Wish I weren't grounded…I guess school is okay, as long as I find my way around by my senior year!

What is sadder? The fact that I still remember that it is Barry Gibb's birthday every September 1st, or that I am still flaky enough to think I will die without someone one day and want to dump them the next? Also? I was grounded EVERY SINGLE DAY OF HIGH SCHOOL. Honestly, I do not know why my beleaguered mother even attempted this punishment technique. I had a deficit that extended until the year 2012.

Monday, November 3, 1980: I am madly in love with (well, I know who it is, so I will call him-)X. He had a party on Friday. He had everyone leave and I stayed. They came back soon. I REALLY love this X guy. I'll identify him if he shows he likes me. He did put his arm around me and gave other signs Friday. Sigh.

Okay, first of all, what village was clamoring for these state secrets that I had to go with the whole "X" thing? And nice punctuation with the dashes and the bad parenthetical use. Plus, what was with the crowd leaving so he could put his arm around me? Subtle. It reminds me of that scene in Bugs Bunny where he pulls the "Intermission" handle and everyone rushes out of the theater in a group and smokes in a big huddle, then he pulls the thing again and they all rush back into the theater.

Wednesday, November 5, 1980: Old Mr. 'X' still lives quite heavily in my heart. God- I'm IN LOVE WITH HIM! Sigh. Occaisonally I hate life so much.

I have no idea who Mr. X is. But it was big of me to keep him heavily in my heart for two days like that.

Tuesday, January 27, 1981: I've just been sitting around watching the hostages come back home.

Guess what?!?! Last night I was 'kidnapped' for Klub Kantagree for their sorority! Let's hear it!!! I'm going to be tortured, probably. They took me to a bunch of houses & we had dinner & everything.

If they cancel General Hospital for the hostages, I will kill someone.

The teenage years. A time for thinking of anyone but yourself ever. And I know that my home town was the only place on earth that had sororities in high school. It seemed normal to us, because all our high schools had them.

Marvin sometimes says he and I are still in Klub Kantagree. Who gets a kick out of his own self?

Thursday, November 12, 1981: I've got a lot more going for me than many other people. I'm very smart, I'm NOT ugly, I'm not shy, I'm not a social outcast, I'm not fat, I've got nice hands, a pretty class ring, a nice house, expensive stereo, leniant rules, straight teeth, thick hair, and a good voice.

I can. NOT. wait until Marvin reads the "good voice" part. I am not allowed to sing ONE NOTE in this house. And surely I was not referring to that nasal Michigan speaking voice. Really, do you know anyone more horrible than I was? Am I this awful now?

A pretty class ring. Now THERE'S an asset. Not to mention I bowl a good game.

I hope we all talk again tomorrow. I'll die if you drop me.

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

Dear Lovey Heart, I am Desperate.


I have kept a diary since fifth grade, when my Grammy got me a Holly Hobby-esque one for Christmas. She also got me a pen with Chanel No. 5-scented ink that same year, and if anyone is wondering what I would like for Christmas, I would still totally enjoy such a thing. I am serious. It was TOO COOL writing with Chanel No. 5 ink. I think I also got Arpege ink, but I really had never heard of Arpege, so that didn't have the same caché.

I had, however, heard of Caché.

Anyway, for weeks now I have wanted to post some excerpts from my lovely diaries, starting with this nice one from fifth grade, and right when I was gonna do it, Dooce posted from HER diary. This totally would have made me look like a copycat. I already have a dog who looks like Dooce's dog.

Things like this happen to me all the time. When Marvin and I got married, I asked my stepfather to read the poem somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond by ee cummings–and you'd think I'd be irritated by ee cummings and his lowercase thing but I am actually fine with it, which just shows you how deep and meaningful I am, which is soon to be revealed in this diary from 1976–and do you know like two weeks before my wedding, stupid Brandon and Kelly read that poem at their soon-to-be-defunct wedding on 90210? And I am sorry if I have ruined the plot twist for you, there, on 90210, if you have yet to catch up on your 1998 television viewing.

Also, when we got Winston, I wanted to name him Chairman Mao, and I did call him that for a day, until people started saying, "Oh! Like that cat on Friends!" Okay, crap. I thought I was soooooo clever with Chairman Mao, but no. Apparently I was upstaged by Monica Gellar or someone.

So, without further ado, here are some excerpts from my fifth-grade diary. Anything is brackets is me trying to explain the unexplanability that is me in 1976. All spelling and punctuation are original:

Monday, Janauary 5: Sorry for spelling January wrong. I'm just worried about the spelling Bee. We get in line and Mr. Brandt gives us words. I got santifacation and accelerator wrong out of 67 words.

Okay, first of all, you are clearly born with your personality. I am apologizing to myself for spelling mistakes. But I also love how I continue to misspell my misspelled spelling "Bee" words. Nice learning from one's mistakes.

Friday, January 30, 1976: Tammi said to Kim I was stuck up. Also, she has been saying things making me so mad. Tammi addmitted she lied about Kurt liking me. Tammi thinks she's TERRIFIC because she's 2nd in spelling. She's a big fat lug.

And my relationships? Not really much more mature 32 years later. Also, I love the spelling bee envy.

Saturday, January 31, 1976: Bowled an 89 and a 73. A good game. Beth's mom might have to go to the hospital and guess who has to take care of Beth again? Mom promised me we wouldn't have to again. [I] put on fingernail decals. Pies.

Oooo! Foreshadowing! Pies! Oh, and Beth was my best friend. Nice empathy. And let's discuss someone's way too high of self-esteem on the bowling scores. Good game? A 73? For the record, that'd still be a good game for me today. Anyway, we did end up taking care of my poor friend Beth. My hospitality knew no bounds…

Tuesday, Febuary 3, 1976: Beth WILL not leave me alone. She's copying me again. She told everyone she was a ballerina. She just said that because I am. Also, her favorite singer was Bette Midler last week but this week it's Elton John. If Beth messes the room up and doesn't clean it up, she'll stay in here till she does. With NO food. I'm just going to say it. SIT ON IT, BETH!

Who was I, Joan Crawford? With NO food! Yeah, I'm sure my mother would have been all for that. Let's let this poor child, whose mother is in the hospital, stay in this room with no food till she cleans it up. Couldn't they have let her stay anywhere else, an orphanage, so that she'd have been treated better than my Elton-John-loving, pie-decal-nailed self? Yeesch!

Thursday, Febuary 12, 1976: Mr. Brandt moved me in the first row first seat. We're having a Valinte party at school tomorrow. I'm mad at Kim. She pushes me around and exepects me to be nice to her. Well, I'm not a Guinea Pig. She doesn't like it she can lump it!

Yeah! I'm nobody's Guinea Pig! Especially on Valinte day!

You know, I was a good student back then. Why didn't I know how to spell "February" yet?

So, that about sums up 1976. The drama, the heartache, the seating arrangements. I hope you enjoyed this trip through time, because if you did, I can take you though the '80s and '90s too!