Family · June's stupid life

I’m Talky June, and I don’t think I like cell phones

Why do I forget that my mother's computer was first used by Methuselah? I thought I'd be clever and put Tallulah's picture on as their wallpaper, which will be funny because they won't know how to change it, so I hit "Set as wallpaper" and the computer said:


for 109 minutes.

I hate it when being obnoxious backfires on you.

Anyway, I hate everyone at airports. WHY is everyone so obsessed with their cell phones? We went millions of years without them, we've gone maybe 10 with them, and now people need to be incessantly on them. They guy across from me, as I was waiting for my delayed flight? Which I was certain was delayed because there was something very, very wrong with the wing, and they were gluing it back on? Was on his laptop and a headset, like he was selling Time/Life products or something.



Thanks, Time/Life obnoxious person, for letting me in to your life involuntarily. Perhaps you should stop judging other people's software and start evaluating why you have to SCREAM INTO YOUR HEADSET.

Then he was annoyed that the airline employees had the nerve to keep announcing flights over the intercom. Don't they know he's screaming and heh-hehing into his headset?

Sitting next to me on the plane was a businessman-looking person, and he kept BREAKING THE RULES and TEXTING while they were telling us not to use any electronic equipment. Okay, really, bub, if we go down because all the pilot can hear is the boop boop of your texts, I am not pulling you from any wreckage, I can promise you that. 

At any rate, I finally got here and my entire family came bursting in the door all at the same time, like on sitcoms when someone's having a party and big groups of people walk in all at once. It's the midwest. We're a timely people.

Except for my Uncle Leo, who called and said, "What time are we supposed to get there? Six or seven?" and I said, "Six, Leo, and everyone's here." Uncle Leo said, "Well, I'm parked right outside, I'm just making sure it's at six." Perhaps he thought my mother had purchased 10 cars, all of them exactly resembling the cars of the rest of her family.

My Aunt Kathy divorced my Uncle Leo about 25 years ago (see example above) and has been married to my Uncle Bill forever. But we kept Uncle Leo anyway (see example above).

Once my Uncle Leo was wearing two watches, and we asked him why, and he said, "Well, this one's broken."

Anyway, we had dinner and then we all crammed into the den to watch two Twilight Zone episodes. I guess we were being Halloween-y. We watched the horrifying Talky Tina one, and I don't know if you remember Telly Savalas was in that episode, and he was really mean. Every time he did a mean thing, my Uncle Jim was fully supportive of him. Telly Savalas had a stepdaughter in the show, and at one point he screams at her, "I'm not your father!" and my Uncle Jim said, "Well, she's gotta know."

Really, I wish you could be here to appreciate the terribleness that is my Uncle Jim.

The other Twilight Zone we watched was the one where the guy won't go to heaven unless he can take his dog with him, which is really the best one. I highly recommend it.

I must be off now to shower and start shopping for my Halloween costume. Because yes, I am the kind of person who waits for Halloween to begin shopping for her costume. All I need, though, is a gray wig, and mom needs her blonde fright wig. You will all have to wait until I return to see photos, because if you think this King Tut computer can be hooked up to a camera, you are wearing two watches.

Family · June's stupid life

Silver bird takes me ‘cross the sky

God, I hate flying. I am a nervous wreck the entire time. I guess that's why God invented iPods. And Dramamine. And wine. And Ambien. And heroin.

I don't know why I keep getting kicked off the plane.

I have never actually been drunk on a plane, have you? It's just never come up. On my very first plane flight, when I was 10, we ran into bad weather and the stewardess screamed and fell into my father's lap. I am not making this up. I should have had a cocktail on that flight.

On my second plane flight, I went to Dallas with my grandmother when I was 12 or 13. Naturally, we got there 348593932 hours before our flight was to take off, because this was an annoying habit of my grandmother's.

Let me just digress, and I know you're shocked, to tell you a story from 2003. Getting to the LA airport was hideous. Hid.E.ous. My cousin Katie was coming to visit me and she was getting in at 10, which would mean I'd be driving through morning traffic, which, no.

Fortunately for me, my father and grandmother lived just minutes away from the airport, so I asked if I could stay over and just get up and leave to get Katie at, say, 9:45 or whatever.

SIX A.M., I am not kidding you, my grandmother is up. "June. Juuuune." If there's one thing you want to do that irks me? Drag my name out into several syllables when you're waking me. I do not know why that bugs the CRAP out of me but oh, it does. "You'd better get up, honey, and get your friend at the airport."

My friend. Grammy had the dementia, and she couldn't always remember who everybody was. But she could remember to WAKE UP TWENTY HOURS BEFORE YOU HAD TO when it came to the airport. I mean, what did she think would take four hours in the two-mile drive to the airport to PICK SOMEBODY UP?

You can tell I'm still irritated by it.

But anyway, back in 1978 when Grammy had her faculties about her and we were flying together for the first time, I was all excited about my airplane sandwich, because they fed you back then. I tore the mustard packet open with my teeth, and the entire contents shot straight up my nose.

Which, ow.

Grammy had in her purse a wet washcloth in a plastic baggie. Plastic baggies were huge with my grandmother. She'd give you cookies in a plastic baggie, which she would contain in…another plastic baggie. When she died in 2005, my father, aunt and I split up the plastic baggie collection and I think I still have some of them.

Anyway, girlfriend was prepared, is my point. And now here I am at 8 in the morning, and all the things I PLAN to pack are on the dining room table, and I am not yet showered, and my plane leaves in FIVE HOURS!!!!

Grammy is somewhere, appalled. Holding a plastic baggie.

Family · June's stupid life · My pets · Photo essays


It is 8:29 p.m. and I have just finished working. Which means technically I worked a 12-and-a-half-hour day. Well, a 12-hour and 29-minute day. But it's not so bad. I got done with my regularly scheduled job–which doesn't it seem like my last day is taking forever to get here?–and came home and did some freelance work, which I have been doing lately to prepare for my new life. Of freelancing.

Do you know who is excited that I will be freelancing again?

ShinyandfranFrancis. And also my shiny forehead. How can I have a giant wrinkle there and also have a shiny issue? How is that fair in life?

The years I proofread at home, I always proofed in this chair, and Francis always sat on me like this. When I returned to the real work world, it was weird working without trying to navigate around a huge purring creature. And I know you can't tell, but that is as happy as Francis gets, over there.

It's like an otter is sitting on me, isn't it?

After Marvin took this picture of the scene that brought us back to circa 2002-2006, he left the camera next to me. I have not told you guys this, but remember last weekend when you said that picture I took of Tallulah was really good?

This one.

Well, this picture was taken with my NEW CAMERA, which I bought before I quit my job in a huff.

Oh, it wasn't THAT expensive. I bought it used from a guy at work. At any rate, it has an automatic setting, but then it has fancy settings, too, and tonight I tried to play with them when I really should have been doing my proofreading, and hello faithful reader who sent me the proofreading job in the first place. I swear right after this I got right on your stuff.


Okay, way too close to Henry, who is acting pretty big for his nonexistent britches, if you ask me.

Um. What the Sam Hill was this button trying to achieve?

How cute would this have been if I knew HOW TO FOCUS? Tallulah was distraught that Francis was on me, and she knew if she wanted to keep snouted she could not even THINK of getting on the chair with us.

So, remember how bad my shots were when I had a simple camera? Yeah. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But soon I will have all the time in the world in which to learn about my new camera. And you can expect BRILLIANT pictures of me wearing a barrel.

In other news, I am going back to Michigan this weekend and I am just delighted that everyone will see I got fat post-Topamax. However, the last 12 times I have talked to my mother she is cramming Halloween candy down her gullet at a breakneck pace, so I may not be alone in my Rubenesque look. "Uoi, uney, aow are ouuu?" she'll say, through her Good-n-Plenty.

I am going back to bug my Uncle Jim again, who probably thinks the worst part about cancer was having to see my shiny forehead eight times in one year. He is still in remission, by the way, and his platelets are up, which is always good. My plates are up, too, in the cupboard. I guess doctors like that sort of thing.

Also, my cousins are having a Halloween bash, and my pal Gertrude and I are going, and now my mother said (we had a Snickers interpreter tell us this) that she wants to go, too. So my mother and I came up with the inspired idea that we are going to dress up as each other. We cannot get enough of ourselves.

So here's where we need your help. Obviously mom will be getting a blonde fright wig. That goes without saying. But what else can she be holding to emulate me? I thought of a red pen. And junk food. What else?

All I have to do to be mom is stuff my brassierial area and wear 3957530234740324 political buttons and I'm all set. Then I get to look over at mom disapprovingly several times during the night. "June, don't you think you're drinking too much?" "June, you're so crude, honey. No one wants to see your bra on your head."

Oh! That's IT! Mom has GOT to tie a bra to her head. I am sorry to tell you that that is kind of my signature move at a party. No, I DON'T know why I didn't get that invitation to dine with the queen.

Okay, more how-mom-can-dress-up-as-June suggestions, please.

June's stupid life

Shining star

Do you wanna know who's been bugging me lately?



I know I told you about how I wanted to tour that mansion on our anniversary, and he acted all into it until the day of, and then he said, "Yeah, we can tour that mansion. Unless you want to go somewhere else."

Okay, Manny P. Lative called. Wants his subtle moves back.

For a week now, my friend The Other June and I were planning to see Where the Wild Things Are tonight, and her fiance was also interested in seeing it, so then Marvin said he'd go too. Then as we were driving there, he said, "Why do we have to see THAT movie?"

Really? Cause you were, like, the LAST person out of the four of us who was invited. Are you really thinking we're all gonna CHANGE UP our plans now? Yeesch.

Wow. That picture is really crooked.

Plus also too, the other night I called Marvin to tell him I was on my way home from the blogger dinner I went to, which clearly was the most important evening of my whole life because this is the third time I've mentioned it in this blog.

I told him about the faithful reader I met who figured out what town TinyTown was, which is similarly the most important thing that ever happened to me in my life because it's the 89th time I have mentioned it, as well. But when I told Marvin about it on Saturday night, it was the first time I told the story and it was still exciting news to me.

"Yeah," Marvin said, after I told him ONE SENTENCE of the story. "But we don't live in Tiny Town anymore, so…"


Does your male other do that, if you have a male other, seeing as I do not want to offend the relationship-less or the persistent lesbians or any other kind of lesbian out there, and this sentence is only funny if you read my comments?

Because Marvin does this all the time. He STAMPEDES for the "clever" comment, which in reality only serves to dismiss the rest of my story BEFORE I HAVE EVEN FINISHED IT.

I pointed out to Marvin that he was killing my buzz by cutting off my stories like that and he said, "But there's always another story right behind it" and SEE WHAT I MEAN?


Exhibit 3:

I was at my vanity, putting on makeup the other day, and I said, "Uh-oh."

"What's wrong?" asked Marvin, who you'll be shocked to hear was in the room playing with a guitar.

"I guess I'm out of under-eye concealer," I reported.

"So people will be able to see your under-eyes?"


At any rate, tonight I told Marvin that YES, we were going to see Where the Wild Things Are and if he didn't want to see that movie he shouldn't have come along. It was raining cats and cats outside, and all I could think of was how large my hair was growing as we got our tickets. I hustled inside and headed, hypnotized, to the concession stand, because why so plump? As I made the crucial choice between crappy processed nachos or saturated coconut oil popcorn, I kind of noticed Marvin was not present, so I turned around.

In the lobby of the theater, there was a giant, giant star shape making up the whole carpet. In the very middle of the star was a circle. Marvin was just standing there in the circle, completely still, waiting until I finally noticed him. He looked ridiculous. It was like every tip on the star was pointing right at him. Only Marvin would notice that stupid pattern in the carpet.

I started laughing, and guffawing, and bending over in that hysterical way that makes everyone look at you, and Marvin just stayed in the star.

Sometimes I remember why I picked Marvin.

(P.S. I liked the movie, and I sat next to The Other June, so when it was over, I asked Marvin, "Did you cry at the end?"

"Yeah, I cried," he said. "I cried that I spent 20 bucks to see that shitty movie.")

Faithful Readers · June's stupid life

I won’t be IGNORED, June.

You know on Sunday, how I told you about going to that dinner of many bloggers, and how one faithful reader told me she figured out where TinyTown was based on stuff I said in my blog?

Okay, really? You can't just SCROLL DOWN two posts from this one? You really expect a link? Puleeze, sister.

Anyway, the woman I met the other night was clearly completely sane and a lovely person, and I didn't think anything of it except, "Hey! Good sleuthing!"

But then yesterday while I was at work, a faithful reader who comments all the time and who I feel like I know told me that she, too, had figured out all sorts of stuff about me based on Twitter and people I was Facebook friends with, etc. She said she felt like she had to warn me about it.

I kind of don't want to go into detail, here, because I'd rather not give a tutorial on how to stalk June. But she said to me (well, she WROTE to me), "It was really easy. I know Marvin's real name, even his middle name. I know where you work. I mean, June, it was almost TMI."

Okay, so that freaked me out. Not that this particular person knows so much about me, but, you know, that ANYONE can figure out where I work and Marvin's middle name and that sort of thing. I mean, if you're trying to find us to break into our bank account? Oh, you poor thing. You will be so disappointed if you do that. Go pick on Dooce if you want a rewarding robbery.

Anyway, here is the thing. I am deleting my Twitter account, because somehow it tells you my real name even though I signed up as June Gardens, and here is the part that kind of kills me.

If we are Facebook friends? And we do not know each other in real life? I might have to unfriend you.

I feel like a JERK. But the method my faithful reader told me about involved looking at other people's Facebook friends and oh, I know. I sound like I'm getting too big for my britches. I sound like I'm gettin' above my raisin.

But really, everyone, it is just so I can, you know, live. It's not that I think anyone who is my friend on Facebook wishes to do me in. Really.

And also too, if I ever interview for a job, I really don't want potential employers to somehow find this blog and read "I Dated June."

I feel like a giant jerk. You guys know you're my friends even if we're not Facebook friends, right? Oh, this is dreadful.

Henry and Tallulah are a little down about it, too.

Friends · June's stupid life

“I dated June. I also made her wait for this post.”

(At long last, one of my ex-boyfriends has written his scathing expose on what it was like to date me. I picked him to write this because he's an actual writer in real life, and also he is unmarried, so I figured no one would be mad if he wrote this. I mean, other than the 10,473 19-year-olds he bags on a regular basis. Seriously. You'd think he was that Twilight guy.

He has to be all artistic and write-y about dating me, so I will just give you the lowdown in plain English: we dated in the late '80s, we met at a small college newspaper where we both worked, and I drank a lot of white Zinfandel at the time.

Hey, it was the '80s. It was okay for things to be pink then.)

The Maltese June

I first laid eyes on June in the smoky offices of the weekly rag of some two-bit college that had sprouted like a weed in the middle of a mid-Michigan corn field. I was a small-time kid looking to make it in the writing racket, with a side gig selling tie-dye T-shirts to yuppie-puppies who once saw a show about hippies on TV, and thought that for 15 bucks for one of my shirts, they could join the revolution, if you get what I’m saying. Tune in, turn on – that old story. Anyway, there I was, pitching a piece on campus cop parking ticket abuse to the editor, when She walked in, dressed in Morrissey black with a heart to match, smelling of white zinfandel, and using fifty-cent words like “plethora” and “Manischewitz.” I was in love.

Turns out this dame was already on to me like white on rice (to use one of her phrases). My alarms should have gone off like a prom dress (to use another). But she was smooth. Not like the milquetoast farm girl I had been seeing for late-night study sessions in physics, chemistry and biological basket-weaving, if you catch my drift. That was June’s name  for her: “Milquetoast,” and I thought it referred to some rural custom of putting milk on toast. What did I know? I was just a kid from a place that had “ville” in its name. That’s a dead giveaway: There ain’t no such place as New Yorkville or Parisville for a reason, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down. Anyway, June knew about my tie-dye shirts and pretended she wanted one just as an excuse to meet me for dinner and drinks. Well, she had drinks: I was just an underage kid with no fake I.D. who thought that zinfandel was some type of blimp.

Anyway, she bought the shirt. I bought everything she said. We went Dutch on dinner. Before I knew it, we were embroiled in a full-blown relationship. Not just embroiled, we were embaked, emfried and emsautéed as well. In a word, our time together was … interesting. In seven words, it was volatile, educational, delusional, acrobatic, dramatic, mordant, and feverish. Wouldn’t trade it for the world, if you’re hip to my jive, as they say downtown.

Okay, that’s enough of the Dashiellese.


It’s hard to say what it was like to date June. First of all, it was a long time ago. We dated for a year and we’ve been friends for over 20, so that year in question has become something of an anomaly in the overall friendship. It’s like we were enjoying sitting near a fire and thought, “Hey, it might be nice to be in the middle of those warm and pretty flames.” We jumped in, screamed a lot, got burned, and jumped back out. I learned that this fire should be enjoyed from a distance. I’m not saying my old flame burns like a fire, just that the two of us as friends proved to be a much better and safer relationship than us as lovers. (She burns more like a rug burn to the brain).


Another thing I learned was how to solve a classic ethical dilemma: When June would have a centimeter of hair cut and ask me if I liked it, I learned never to say, “Yes.” If I did, she would fly into a blubbering rage because, clearly, that meant that I hated how she looked before. The only proper answer when faced with any question about the appearance of someone who is like June was then is, “Yes, I love it just as much as I always love everything about you. Would you like to get another kitten?”

Food and Drink · Friends · June's stupid life

An evening in which Carpool Queen touched my bra

First of all, thank you everyone who tried to make me less cranky yesterday. Who knew being a Crabby Appleton could garner so many comments? It’s kind of like when I was a waitress; if I was my normal irked self my tips were way better than when I feigned that I was helpful and kind.

Anyway, I have to post today because my old boyfriend FINALLY wrote his “I Dated June” guest post and just because he had H1N1 was no reason, in my book, that his post should have taken so long to get here. But perhaps that is better left to complain about tomorrow, when I feature his fine post, in which he makes me sound like a pill. Which could not possibly be true.

Instead I will tell you about last night. Did you ever see that movie, About Last Night? It really wasn’t a good movie but I liked what Demi Moore was wearing in every scene. At least I did in 1987 when it was a movie.

I did not spend last night with Demi Moore, though. Instead I spent it with many women who also blog, at a little dinner put together by Faithful Reader and one of my first blog friends, Coffee Gal.

Coffee My pal the Coffee Gal. She’s drinking tea. BAHAHAHAHA.

Before we all got together, Coffee Gal emailed us and sent us a link to each woman’s blog. I took a gander at everyone’s yesterday and I panicked a little. Everyone who was coming was really spiritual and I am, you know, not.

“Why do I have to be the terminally unique one?” I thought. “What if everyone there hates me because of my not-religious blog? What if they kick me out the minute I walk in?”

Do you do that to yourself? Imagine the worst-case scenario before every social event? The summer before college, I got a letter from school with the name of my new roommate, and here’s what I worried about. I worried she would not have an eye. Not only would she not have an eye, she would, inexplicably, have some sort of IV tube that went into her empty eye socket. And she would need help changing the tube every day.

I swear to you that is what I envisioned. I convinced myself it would be so. I even wanted to call the school and tell them. “I am a really nervous person, and you need to place me with someone who doesn’t need their tube changed.”

Then I got there and my roommate was totally hot and had all sorts of really good makeup and borrowable clothes and also? Both eyes.


The blogger chicks, conferring on whether to kick me the Sam Hill out.

Anyway, you will be shocked to hear that even though I walked into that room feeling like Ozzy Osbourne interrupting a worship service by chomping on a dove of peace, everyone was as nice as could be to me and I ended up having a really wonderful time.

Carpool Queen even fixed my bra straps. I am not kidding you. She regularly reads my blog, and she said, “Why am I not surprised to see your bra strap right now?” I lamented to her about how I had an issue and could NOT keep my straps in the correct spot. So she got right in there and adjusted them for me.

Bra How much do I love the Carpool/Brassiere Queen?

Oh, oh! Oh! And wait till you hear THIS. The woman sitting across from me last night? Who does not have a blog but reads all of ours? Totally figured out where TinyTown was based on stuff I said about the town. TinyTown has 3,000 people. Most North Carolinians don’t even know where I’m talking about when I say we used to live there. And this Nancy Drew figured it out.


She goes by the name K2. She climbed every mountain to figure out my deep secrets.

So anyway, did I mention it was a good time? Because it really was. We laughed, we complained, we told stories, we gave each other ideas for new posts. And we ate really, really fattening food.


At least I did.


Fortunately, carbs go straight to my hair.

June's stupid life · My pets · Photo essays

Kind of over it

Not really in a blogging mood. Go read my 3295737926t572456734903490 comments complaining about my new look and maybe you'll see why. But while I'm on the subject of comments, Hulk and Jan share the Commet of the Week honors. Go click on This Week's Special, there.

Until I once again wish to indulge in this sometimes thankless hobby, here are pictures of Henry the Great Orange and White Hunter, a naughty Winston, and also an autumnal Tallulah.




June's stupid life

Return of Doxie

Miss Doxie's back! Miss Doxie's back! Miss Doxie in the haus! Hello, Miss Doxie!

She didn't post for a YEAR, and yet every month or so I'd check, even though it seemed futile. Oh, how I heart me some Doxie. And she owns a cat now!


Really, that's all I need to type about this morning because that is all that matters.

But while we're on the subject of blogging, you know what irks me? I mean other than people who text while they're talking to you and lack of turn signal usage? Neither of which has anything to do with blogging? What irks me is this new method Typepad is using, wherein I apparently can't reply to any of your comments.

Yesterday I was replying to all of you left and right. Oh, I was funny. Oh, I was cruel — to Hulk. And when I got home and could actually look at my comments? None of mine were there. I was over there silently amusing myself all day. Which, hi, that's new.

Really, how hard is it to use your turn signal? I mean it's a little flick of a bar that weighs nothing, either up or down. Is it really that exhausting? Both on my way to work and back home again, there is a time where if people used their turn signals, I could go a lot sooner. But I have to wait because I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING because you're too busy listening to Whoot! There it is or whatever.

Did you know there's a Whoomp! There it is and a Whoot! There it is?


At any rate, I had better get ready for work. We get to wear jeans on Friday, you know. Soon wearing jeans will be getting all dressed up, for me. Cause let me tell you, my freelance wardrobe? Looks a lot like an "I am clinically depressed" wardrobe. Why shower?

I'll bet Marvin's looking forward to this.

Family · June's stupid life

No Speedo, radio

Because so many of you had so much to say about Vern–the man in my new masthead–yesterday, I thought I would delight you with a picture of said Vern in his Speedo.


You're welcome.

What says fashionable like some tighty goldies and your loafers? I don't know why I assume his…trunks…are gold, they just look gold to me.

That said, lay off Vern! I love Norma and Vern, even though I don't actually know them. And he is not the kind of uncle who makes you search his pockets for candy, whoever said that yesterday. Cut it out.

Speaking of my comments and such, now I know how to make the people who subscribe to me on Google Reader leave that danglity site and actually come on over; I have to redesign my blog!

My sitemeter doesn't count the people who are reading me from Google Reader. And I always thought, "I wonder how many people REALLY read me every day if you include those Google Reader people?"

Well, I don't always think that. Sometimes I think about the cinnamon buns in the vending machine at work, and occasionally I think about Dr. Laura. Because I listen to her on my drive home and she is just so mean.

Why so angry, Dr. Laura?

The other thing I thought about today was my grandmother and another one of her lines. We were out of soap in the women's bathroom today, so I refused to go in there. I mean, I could scurry back to my office and wash my hands in the sink there, but I really didn't want to touch the doorknobs that everyone else had touched soap-free.

Yes, I am Howard Hughes without the money. Would you like a jar of urine?

Seriously, you could almost have had one today, because my choices were (a) go to the no-soap-radio bathroom or (4), go to the other bathroom with no soundproofing whatsoever. Honestly, I can hear people rustle papers while I'm in there. I do not wish to provide sound effects.

Or, (C3PO), my last choice was to go downstairs to the first floor and use the bathroom there, which involves not only going down the steps but also walking a few paces outside. It was 74 degrees here today.

You'd think choice C3PO involved putting on my snowsuit and strapping on some GU and trail mix, so put off was I by the thought of having to go downstairs to that bathroom. Have I mentioned I have run marathons? Hence my reference to GU.

Seriously, both times I went down there today I was in such dire straits I barely made it.

Which made me think of Gramma. She had arthritis, and bad knees, and was all crippled up, and truth be told girlfriend was not that old. She died at age 68, so we're talking she was this bad off at 59 or so. At any rate, her one bathroom was allllll the way upstairs, and she'd sit there and watch her stories, and she'd say, "Oh, I have to go to the bathroom."

Then like an HOUR later, she'd say, "I know I gotta go up there but it pains me so, ya know it?" Ending her sentences in "ya know it?" was a big thing with Gramma.

Finally, TWO HOURS after her initial announcement, she struggle up. "Horse-shit sailor," she'd say, "I gotta pee so bad I can taste it." And then she'd creep creep creep up those stairs to her Dove-and-Prell-and-cigarette-scented bathroom.

You know, she had five kids and like 20 grandkids. We couldn't have pooled our money and gotten that poor woman a downstairs facility? Poor Gramma. But anyway, I thought of her pee quote and I wanted to say it but it didn't seem appropriate for work.

But for YOU guys…

June's stupid life · Weblogs

Does my new blog design make me look fat?

So yes, some of you saw yesterday that I got a new look. My designer, Sadie Olive, said yesterday that we were ready to put it up but I didn't know it'd be, you know, right then. Seconds later I got an email from Faithful Reader Sleeping Beauty and I figured out it must be up. Or that she was suddenly Psychic Beauty.

The people up there are Norma and Vern, the couple we don't know but whose photo albums we have and who we're obsessed with. They are the reason we are in a documentary about people who collect pictures. Let's link to my trailer again, shall we?

Someone's linkin' Nebraska again. Some days I link to nothing, and then other days I have to link to 945 things. You know it's dcrmom's fault that I even know how to link. Let's link to dcrmom.

Hey, did you ever read my comments when I had dinner with dcrmom a few months back? Someone yelled at me for being friends with a conservative Republican and said I wasn't open-minded for allowing her into my life. I loved that. "Be open-minded! Only talk to people who are exactly like you! That's called tolerance!"

Now, see, a link to that post would be appropriate here. Eh.

Geez Louise, I am SUPPOSED to be talking about my redesign. (I just totally linked to a random person named Louise and am so, so in love with self.)

So yeah, that couple is Norma and Vern, and of course I told her we had to throw in a pie somewhere, and when I looked at her other blogs she designed, I always liked the blogs with birds in them. So I told her to throw in some birds. So now I have not four-and-twenty blackbirds and also some swallows.

Oh, and I just like moons. Plus also 2, I am born under the sign of Cancer and we are also known as the Moon Child. Because Los Angeles called and wants its astrology facts back. Did I ever tell you my first job in LA was editing at the place they make those horoscopes in a tube? You know, the ones you can get for a dollar or two at the checkout counter at Rite-Aid? Yeah. They did my astrological chart before they hired me. Swear.

Finally, when I was telling the designer things I liked, I said I like vintage-y, sort of rural, sort of anything from Charlotte's Web kind of stuff, and she threw in the county fair look and you know Marvin proposed on a Ferris wheel so this is perfect.

So that is why I have what I have up there in my masthead. Basically it's a bunch of junk I like. We've all been staring at those cherries for nearly two years. It was time to spit out the pit and move on.

Um. I just blogged about my blog. Oy.

June's stupid life

Mince Words with June

Mince Words with June is my book club. We meet every month-ish here on my blog. I will post what I thought of the book, and then you join in the discussion with your comments.

Currently we are reading Forever by Judy Blume. Yes, we are, and calm down, Ralph. We will meet to discuss it on February 15, 2015 at 7 p.m. ET. I do not mean ET is joining our discussion. Beee gooood, Ralph.

I need to get over Ralph.

June's stupid life · My pets

The Feline-American War

I tried to capture for you my cats' dramatic fight. Who's Afraid of Virginia Woof?

Okay. Would have made sense had it been a dog fight.

BiteoneThis one looks less like a throwdown and more like a passionate embrace. Which, really, isn't that what all fights are, deep down?

What need for therapy?

Bitetwo Smell it, Henry.

And by the way, that towel is a Peter Max towel from my hippie childhood. Have no idea why I even own it because of course my mother is the one who purchased it or traded love beads for it or whatev, but it's cool and I should be doing more to preserve it. Because when you go to great museums, letting cats sleep and fight on precious artifacts is generally the preservation method of choice. Later, these cats are gonna use the Magna Carta as a scratching post.

Fightthree Why is Henry even trying? Clearly Winston is winning this round, with his grownup-cat girth.

Winnievictor "Ain't gonna be no rematch."   "Don't want one."

My action-photography skills aside, I am getting upcited for my last day at my job. I counted, and I have 16 work days before I am done. Because I scheduled a three-day vacation for the end of the month. Oops! So I only have to work two full weeks and the others are partial weeks.

Naturally I got all attached to some of my coworkers, and I'm hoping to keep up with them. I have friends, still, from every job I've ever had, so I'm pretty good at maintaining these types of things.

But I'm also thinking about how I can take my murdersome bitey dog to the dog park in the morning, and how I can cook dinner every night, once I learn how to cook. It'll be fun. You know, until we get really really broke.

Also, I can be home more for Henry's formative years. Keep him from being such a hoodlum.

Nothatintome Alternatively, I could practice my "framing your subject" photography skills.

What would you do with your day if you quit YOUR job in a huff?

June's stupid life · Photo essays

Fair weather, friends

We went to the State Fair on Sunday. It was effing cold.

Ostrich Okay, it was 48 degrees. I understand I spent the first 27 years of my life in frigid Michigan. I’m wimpy now, folks. I’ve lost my Michigan toughness. But not the nasal accent.

Horse Maybe I talk through my nose because I have a horse complex. I was in denial about it for a long time. People would say, “You have a horse complex” and I’d say nay.

Who hearts herself?

Potatoe You spell potatoe, I make fun of your booth on my blog.

Bite Naturally, Marvin had to poke fun at my misfortune. This is only funny if you read yesterday’s post about my dog viciously attacking me.


I picked up a few chicks at the fair, too. I still got it. Hey, good lookin’. Have your peeps call mine.

Punkin I know you want to know what terrible-for-us things we ate. We had every kind of heart-attack-inducing sausage, cheese, steak, pepper, etc. sandwich available, and we also had heart-healthy fries, plus everyone’s favorite nutritious snack, funnel cake.

Oh, and hot cider. Because did I mention it was effing cold?

And what trip to the fair would be complete without a flu shot? Yes, we really did get flu shots. They were free with our insurance, and I missed flu shot time at my work because I was sick when they were giving them out.

Flu I know. Partayy.

Ride What complements greasy food and a flu shot better than a ride?! Marvin and I had to ride the Ferris Wheel, because he proposed on a Ferris Wheel. In Santa Monica. Where it’s always warm.

In fact, I said if he ever wanted to tell me he wanted a divorce, he should take me back to a Ferris Wheel to do it. Kind of go full circle, so to speak.

Ferris Fortunately he didn’t bring it up today. Probably because we took my car, and his walk home would have been cold. Because did I mention the effing coldness?

Fair thee well.

June's stupid life · My pets

Bitey Dog


Lula wear pink ribbon. I nice.

Okay, so, my dog bit me yesterday.

I wasn't gonna tell you, because I knew someone out there would say, "PIT BULL! SHE'S ONE-THIRD PIT BULL! EVILLLLLL PIT BULLLLLS!"

Just like that. That's just how you'd say it.

And she's one-third American Staffordshire terrier, which technically isn't Pit, but whatever. Girlfriend bit me. She didn't CLAMP DOWN, though.

Here's what happened. There are two dogs who live on the other side of our fence, and she loves to run up and down the fence line with them. She gets really agitated about it, though, and was bowing and wagging and bark bark bark bark barking, which was obnoxious.

The trainer said to snap her collar quickly and say, "Quiet." But I was supposed to do that with a LEASH attached to the collar. I didn't HAVE a leash, though, because we were in the backyard. So I reached over while she was barking and grabbed her collar, and she turned around, growled, and put her teeth on my wrist.

And I mean really, she placed her teeth there. It didn't remotely hurt. But I was stunned. I was so stunned I turned around and went inside, which was dumb, because now she has no idea that biting me is wrong.

I spoke with two friends who have always had dogs, and they reminded me that our trainer told me Tallulah has no CLUE she isn't the pack leader, that I'm not just a Cocker spaniel who she can put in her place when she needs to.

Really, if I were a dog I'd totally be a Cocker spaniel, wouldn't I? Wavy hair, pleasantly chubby, bad with kids.

So my friends and I decided I really need to establish dominance, which means Tallulah cannot get on the couch anymore, and she can't sleep with us. When I got home from shopping yesterday I made that dog get off the couch. And she.was.baffled.

She kept trying to go over and crawl on Marvin's lap, but I would not have it. I made her a little nest of blankets on the floor and she was all, "Seriously? Have you met me? Pack Leader Lu? WTF?"

Then at bedtime, oh. We shut the door and she slumped outside the door over and over, going, "MMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" in the saddest voice you ever heard.

And do you know what Marvin did? Are you READY to hear what Marvin did? He GOT UP and slept with her in the guest bed. He SLEPT WITH THE DOG WHO BIT ME in the guest bed.

Maybe I should ban Marvin from the couch.

I was going to write "Advice, please" but that seems unnecessary. Like you aren't already stampeding for the comment box.

June's stupid life

It’s a pretty good crowd for a Saturday

In that Billy Joel song Piano Man, why does he sing, "It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday"? Wouldn't Saturday probably be the busiest night at a bar?

Anyway I just got up and I already had a lot of readers today. You all must be waiting for me to climb atop a water tower because I'm insane and unemployed.

However, I have freelance proofreading to do already, and I am going shopping with Faithful Reader Jessica. Because when you're jobless? Shopping's the answer.

The Special of the Week goes to Furry Godmother. Of course. Go click on it at the right, there.

…Oh, and one more thing. I said this on Facebook but I really am obsessed. Couldn't sleep and lay there wondering about it. Was Granny Clampett supposed to be Jed's mother? I know Jed was Ellie May's dad. Where was Elli May's mom? Anyway, why did Jed call her Granny if that was his mom?

And why was Jethro a cousin? Why didn't they just make him Ellie May's brother? Why complicate it?

Okay, that's all.

Food and Drink · Friends · June's stupid life · Proofreading/Copy editing · Television

Stirred, not shaken

Okay,  the most important part is I redid my Mad Men picture. Go do it.

It's my world. And in my world, I get to be having a martini with Don Draper.

Also, I'm thinner, and my nose is less bulbous this time. Do you think it means I have higher self-esteem today? Do you think Don will make passes at cartoons who wear glasses?

+ also 2, I know I made my dramatic chipmunk announcement yesterday that I quit my job.

Oh, just go look at the dramatic chipmunk link if you've never seen it. It is literally five seconds long.

Anyway, I feel like I can't say a lot because I am still there until next month and I don't wish for them to HATE hate me. I'm sure they mildly hate me already, for leaving. But here's how every friend and family member reacted when I told them what lead to me quitting.

"Mmm-hmm. Oh! Oh, dear! Oh no. No. You can't stay. No."

So just pretend you've heard the whole story, and trust me, you'd have the above reaction.

Also too, I have already got some freelance work lined up, which will be great when it actually, you know, GETS HERE. Because the scary part about freelance work? Is the iffy part.

Nevertheless, I love love loved freelancing. I did it for years. I'd love to make it work again. Make it work. Am I Tim Gunn?

After I gave my notice, I immediately emailed my favorite coworker Tank, the miracle angel baby. I have done nothing but make you look at links today, haven't I? I am linkin' continental.

That made no sense.

In case you are sick to death of my links, and didn't look at this last one– the missing link, as it were–Tank and I used to carpool together. Also, he weighed like .000004 ounces when he was born or something. You can imagine how many catalogs he had to sit on when it was his turn to drive. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

So I emailed Tank that I was leaving our company and he wrote back, "You did what what?" and at this juncture I'd like to point out that Tank is a professional editor. Anyway the point of my story is we had lunch at our favorite restaurant today, the one where you can get chicken fried chicken, and I told him the whole sordid tale while I also ate fried green tomatoes and Coke out of a glass bottle.

God, I love the South.

So sorry I can't be more forthcoming. I hope I don't end up homeless. And without access to chicken fried chicken. And martinis with Don Draper. Have you ever actually had a martini in your life? I mean, not a Cosmo or some other easy-to-drink martini-esque thing, but a straight–not chocolate–martini?

Me either.

Okay bye. And my ex-boyfriend says his "I dated June" post is being worked on. Okay, I take eight seconds to write these posts. How hard can it be? June was the bomb. No woman will ever compare with June. I comb the streets, knowing I won't find her replacement. The end.