June's stupid life · Marvin · Photo essays

Old paint

We had to leave the windows open last night, so we wouldn't die of paint asphyxiation.


Thanks, world, for not coming in and murdering us.

However, the windows being open gave Tallulah's super extra hear-y ears extra super powers, and was she obsessed all night?


That was when she heard a squirrel flossing a mile and a half away at 2 a.m.


That was then she heard a bunny in his den, changing channels from a Carrot Top special to the Magician's Hat and Gardens Network. At 4 a.m.


That was every time anyone in the neighborhood turned over in bed, all night.

So that was restful.

Empty shelves

Yesterday, Marvin taped everything off around the room while I took all the crap off our bookshelves. I am thinking that I might paint these white, and paint the inside the same blue as the walls. But in the meantime, taking all those books off? Was a pleasure.


Why we gotta have so many books?




No, seriously.



After that sweaty experience, we moved the bookshelves away from the wall. And sadly, we found Superman.

Two Christmases ago, my mother was helping me decorate, much to Marvin's ire, and I tried to place my Superman in the corner of the bookshelves, forgetting there WAS no corner. The thing crashed to earth with a terrible shatter.

That Superman was my father's. I think my great-grandfather made it or something. I had it when I was a kid, and the last time I was at my father's house I asked if I could have it back. Because clearly I would take such good care of it.


I am kryptonite.

Finally, it was time to paint. I kept saying, "Is it time to paint yet?" and Marvin would say no, we had to tape this or that or move this or he had to change into his pajams, I am not even kidding (I guess he didn't care if he got paint on his pajams) and I was getting so ANTSY to paint.



Naturally, as soon as the spilly paint was out, the animals got rambunctious and started playing all near us and such.

I was convinced our hardwood floors would have blue paw prints for life.

Anyway, we did all the walls up to the ceiling, which Marvin says we have to do with a brush. Whatever. It is darker blue today, this blue. And we didn't even bicker much, Marvin and me! We just kind of peacefully painted. Up till the part where  I mentioned I want to paint the bookshelf.

Also, I asked him why he'd taped the door, and he HAD planned to paint it, but I pointed out to him this is not Mr. Kotter's apartment in Welcome Back, Kotter, so we are no longer painting the door. You'll be glad to hear.

So that's the story of our painting weekend. Did Michelangelo take his wife along to the Sistine Chapel to help? Is what I want to know. Because I am thinking he didn't.

June's stupid life · Marvin

Am I blue

Marvin and I are painting the living room today. How long do you give us before we file for divorce?

We do not do projects together well. I am very by the book. I like to follow the rules. Marvin? Is kind of loosey-goosey. "Good enough," he'll say.

See. I'm German. Is the thing. Good enough is not good enough for me. I'm a PROOFREADER, for God's sake. I like things to be all perfect.

I say one of us is flying to Reno by 6 p.m.

Anyway, yesterday we went to Lowe's — no, wait — Home Depot to buy paint. And why don't those stores just merge? They are exactly the same. Here in Greensboro, they're even on the same street, and you know what's disturbing? They are set up exactly opposite from each other. So at Lowe's, the gardening stuff is at the far left, and at Home Depot it's at the far right. And of course once you're inside those stupid places you forget which one you're in, then you get all screwed up when the gardening stuff isn't on the left.

So, I had a paint color in mind. Remember when I asked all y'all all all about what colors we should paint the living room, and so many of you wrote in with suggestions? I think one person said, "How about blue?" and then everyone else shot her down because our couch is blue.

I went with blue.

I didn't even intend to, but I went to the Nester's a few weeks ago, and her blue wall was so pretty I had to Single White Female her.


So I emailed her, and I said, "What is the paint color you used in that room with the plates?" and of course she knew. It was a Sherwin-Williams color.

"We have to go to Home Depot," Marvin said. "They're having a sale on paint." The Home Depot is way farther than stupid identical Lowe's, but okay. We went.

"Ooooo! Grills!" Marvin said when we got there. I steered him toward the paint. There were 870,432 kinds of paint, but guess what. GUESS WHAT. No Sherwin-Williams. Oh, I was sad. I had thought this was gonna be so easy. Now we had to look at paint samples and try to match the Nester's color. Crap. Because you know Marvin was not gonna go find not-on-sale Sherwin-Williams.

I am happy to report, however, that I quickly found a brand by someone called Behr that was pretty:


"I like this one," I told Marvin. "Okay," he said, not caring as long as the walls weren't pink. Which I also suggested. (As an aside, Marvin is taping off the doorbell right now and it keeps ringing and the dog's head is spinning backwards. Poor Talu.)

Then we went back to get the grizzly Behr paint, and it cost nine thousand dollars a can. "This kind is really expensive," he said. "I thought paint was on sale!" I moaned. "Not this kind, apparently," said Marvin, who owns 72 guitars that all cost a fortune.

So then I had to go back and look at stupid Martha Stewart colors, and Glidden colors, and I'm telling you, nothing compared to that paint sample above. It's been seven hours and sixteen days. Nothing compares to you. Behr paint.

Finally I said, "Let's go, then, and try to find Sherwin-Williams paint and see how much that is. Because now I am hooked on that Behr color and I don't want a second-choice color on my wall for the rest of my life."

As we were leaving the paint section of wherever the hell we were, Home Lowe's, there was a big display of Behr paint "REBATE ON BEHR! GRRR!" Okay, I added the "GRRR" part.

"Marvin. Which paint is on sale?"

"I have no idea," he said.

"You mean you dragged me all the way out here and wouldn't let me get the paint I wanted and you didn't even know THE PAINT I LIKED WAS THE SALE PAINT?"

So we schlepped back and got the Behr, and it would have been funny had we gotten brown paint, cause see, I could have said the brown Behr, and have you ever had them mix up color for you at the paint department at Lowe's Depot? Oh, it's so cool! They go up to the computer and scan your color and then put a bucket of white paint under a gun and colors just shoot out!

I spent an hour and a half discussing this process with the paint guy, and Marvin was so completely done with both of us he could have barfed. He was picking up paint stirrers and can openers and even looking at the Disney paints, he was so over us. I thought it was fascinating! They can color match any color at all. You bring in a color, and the computer shines pure white light on the color and picks up all the pigment and gets the color correct to like 24 thousandths or something.

I have fun wherever I go.

By the time we got home, Marvin said, "Could we start painting in the morning?" I said okay, and when I got up today here is what I found so far.

Tapey door

Stuff's gettin' taped up.


The curtains are down.

And Marvin is crank-crank-cranky. Think of a swear and I have already heard it today. And don't forget we have to take down three enormous bookshelves. Who enjoys me and my plans? Is it Marv?

I may be advertising for a roommate tomorrow. Must love half-painted blue walls.

Gardening · June's stupid life · Photo essays

June Gardens’ almost-June garden

Here it is. Memorial Day weekend. Are you barbecuing out? Are you beer bonging? Are you hitting that beach?

Me neither.

I told Marvin we could (a) paint the living room, (b) clean up the back yard foliage, or (12) adopt the puppy I saw yesterday at the shelter. Yes, I do just go to the shelter for fun. What do you want from me?

Marvin opted for painting the living room. I like how it never occurs to Marvin to tell me to go eff myself, we are doing none of the options above. He acted like he really had to do one of the three.


He is also removing our broken dishwasher and throwing it out, as is evidenced by this crystal-clear photograph.

I thought if you weren't busy throwing your shrimps on Barbie or whatever that you might like to take a look at my burgeoning garden. Okay, I knew that you would not really want to do that, but now you are stuck here and you have to look.


I purchased these hanging plants yesterday at the farmers market. I bought some just like them last year and they did really well until about November, so here they are again. They are succulent-like, or maybe they really are succulents. One of my best friends hates the word "succulent." I think I'm gonna call her and tell her to be sure to read my blog today. Anyway, I asked the saleswoman, the farmer, as it were, what these were called and she said they were ph-somethings.

Welcome to my gardening blog. So educational. Ph-somethings. I just remember it starts with "ph."

Or maybe "f."


I understand that my dog is not a plant. However, we have a large mulberry tree in the back yard and this time of year it is blooming, which by the way the blooms make my throat close up to the size of a pin, and it is also bearing fruit. The birds eat the fruit then poop blue on my priceless Restoration Hardware lawn furniture, and also Tallulah rolls in the fruit, causing her to look like she has Kaposi's Sarcoma. When I took pictures it barely showed up but please see evidence above.

I think this is why I started calling her Tallulah Blueberry Gardens. I had forgotten how she got her middle name. Although technically it should be Tallulah Mulberry Gardens.


Speaking of my pets, I understand that this plant is not my pet. However, underneath this plant is my dead pet, Ruby. It is a day lily–the plant, not the dead cat–and I put it on her grave last year and as you can see it keeps TEASING me with buds and will not bloom. Which is appropriate, because Ruby herself was quite shy.

Casual fran

Francis on his angry chair. No reason, just passed him while I was taking photos.


The last of my azaleas are blooming, and I like this pale pink one as opposed to those garishly bright ones I had earlier this year. It looks nice against my pink sage. Everything in my garden is pink. Have you met me?


Last year I planted a hydrangea outside my front window, and I am obsessed with the part where it might actually bloom. I thought maybe it was too hot and sunny where I put it. But look! It looks a little bloomy!

When did I become 95 years old? I didn't used to spend Saturday mornings perusing my garden. I used to spend them sleeping off a hangover. Oh, how the old me would giggle at the current me. Well, once I was awake. In like three hours.

I have to go shower because I am going to see the Sex and the City movie again. Yes, I am obsessed. No, it wasn't really that good. Comment of the week goes to Target Steve. Click on This Week's Special to see.

I am berserk · June's stupid life

A Midsummer’s Nightmare

My next-door neighbor, Peg, and I are throwing a party next month. We are calling it a Midsummer's Nightmare, and you have to come dressed as your biggest fear. It can be your current fear or whatever you were afraid of in your childhood.


You know I am afraid of everything. I don't know how to dress for my own party!

Ironically enough, there's my agoraphobia. So naturally I'm having a party. I could go dressed as that.


Of course, then there's my hypochondria.


So I could dress as a '70s pamphlet image of hypochondria.

I am also particularly horrified of spiders.


Oh! Oh! What about my huge fear of barfing?!


Do you have any idea how often, when I run into people I haven't seen in years, I get asked, "Have you barfed yet?" The answer is still no. Not since October of 1982. Thanks for asking. Could we keep it at October 1982? Thanks.

What I'm thinking is maybe I need to do a change of wardrobe, like Diana Ross or something, several times in the night. I mean, I hate to highlight one fear and ignore the others. They've all brought me such hours of obsessing.

What say you? And what would you dress as if you got invited to this exclusive affair? 

P.S. Marvin is dressing as me.

MeEveryone's a comedian. 

Film · June's stupid life

Sleep in the city

I have the most exciting possible news. I have ALREADY SEEN the Sex and the City movie! I know!

Could I be more of my demographic right now?

For months, MONTHS, I have been waiting for today so I could see this ding ding ding and also dang movie. I could not wait. I wanted to be in a coma until today so I did not have to suffer the anticipation. I had planned to see it during the day today and then tonight with my friend the Other June.

But Faithful Reader Laurie emailed me yesterday and told me there was a showing at midnight last night and did I want to go.

Okay, she has been a faithful reader for like a week. I met her at The Nester's party a few weekends ago.

Anyway, you can imagine my answer. So all night last night I kept grabbing Marvin's arm and pulling at it and screaming how many hours it was till my movie. Who was completely over me? "You aren't gonna come home at 2 a.m. screaming, are you?" he wondered. "No," I huffed. "The movie is two and a half hours. I will come home screaming at 2:30."

Anyway, there they all were. The four women I consider friends even though they are not real. And it was good to see them and their outfits. Okay, it was no Citizen Kane, but there is one part where the whole theater gasped at the same time. I will not ruin it for you.

Oh, also, she brought candy. Laurie did, I mean. Huge boxes of Red Hots and Dots and so forth. Who couldn't like a movie partner who did that?

Anyway, I did not fall asleep till after 4:00 because I was so wound up. I am going back to bed. I am in a daze. And in just six or seven more hours I get to see it again!

And could someone explain to me again why I did not end up living on Park Avenue and being a size two?

Family · June's stupid life · Uncle Jim

This time will be the last time

Francis is up here, paying me a cheerful visit.


It took him an hour and 45 minutes to waddle into the room, and then another seven years to crawl up to the desk. I really wish I'd have paid attention, actually, to how he got up here, because usually I have to lift him. Now he is up here hissing down at Tallulah, who is barking up at him. They can't stand each other. It's like I have FOX News and MSNBC together, here.


In the meantime, Winston just strolled in and effortlessly leaped into the window. It was kind of sad, thinking of when Francis used to be able to do stuff like that. I wonder when the last time was that Francis could just leap up like a normal cat, before he got arthritis and all fat and old and such?

Do you ever think about stuff like that? The last time stuff happened?

Two summers ago, Marvin and I went back to Michigan because it was our 10-year wedding anniversary. We decided to spend the night at the bed-and-breakfast where we got married.


Here I am, on our 10-year anniversary, reenacting my wedding pose.

The real picture doesn't have a line through it; it's just the ding-dang scanner.

Anyway. So we went to my mother's house before we went to the bed and breakfast, because said B&B is in my hometown. My Uncle Jim dropped in, and we went in the back yard and sat, and then my Aunt Kathy came, and so did my Aunt Sue, and finally my stepfather came home from work. We were all just sitting around laughing and talking while my mother ran back and forth with 2937749235 items of food as she always does. Tallulah was there, too. She was just a puppy.

I remember my Uncle Jim laughing while Tallulah ran around my mother's back yard. I knew from the way he laughed that he thought my dog was cute, and I was proud of Talu.

I really didn't want to get up and go to our romantic dinner and evening, because I was having so much fun. But I think we had reservations, so we finally left.

That was the last time everything was normal with my family. The next time I saw my uncle, he was in the hospital with cancer. We all sat around and laughed again, but we all knew he was really sick. That day of our anniversary, July 18, 2008, was the last time everyone was healthy.

Am I the only one who thinks of stuff like that? The last time stuff happened? The last date you had with anyone else before you met your spouse, the last normal phone call you had with your best friend before you broke up with her, the last weekend to yourself you had before you had kids.

I was thinking about Francis the other night. He slept with us every single night without fail until the day we got Tallulah, and he's never slept with us since. Tallulah slept in a crate for her first year, so Francis could have kept on in the bed, but he was too mad. I think about that last night in February 2008, when poor Fran had his last night sleeping with people. Since then he sleeps alone on his angry chair.

Do you ever do this? Think of the last time something happened? Or am I just Sylvia Plath?

Beauty products · Books · June's stupid life · Weblogs

A hodgepodge. A cornucopia. A crazy quilt. And other annoying phrases to indicate that I have 80 topics today.

I have had many odds and ends, or odds 'n' ends, because you know how I like that, to tell you. This time to mark them all off I will use background-singer noises.

Mmmmmmm! Yesterday I threw caution to the wind and spent eight dollars on Jergens Natural Glow Express tanning lotion. It is supposed to fake tan you in a hurry, because I am a busy executive. I put some on last night and really expected to look like Billie Holiday this morning and I think I look exactly the same. Perhaps I am being American about it, and having no patience, but they did use the word "Express" in their title. I am so gonna put a flower behind my ear and shoot up now.

Ahhhhhhhhhh! I have found a new site with which I am obsessed. It's called Your Status is Annoying, and people send in other people's irksome Facebook status updates, and then we all look at said updates and laugh at them and poke fun at them. As if all of our own Facebook status updates were not self-centered and assy. Oh, but wait till you get to the guy who keeps announcing that he's purging people on Sunday. What a tool.

Woahhhhhhhhh…I just totally found a typo on the back of my Jergens Natural Glow Express tanning lotion. There is an extra space in "natural-looking" so it reads "natural- looking." And I am sitting here starving to death because I can't find enough proofreading work. Yes, I will email them, don't worry.

Yeahhhhhhhhhh. Speaking of Facebook, I know I have said this 20 times, but if you are a reader of this blog and wish to Facebook friend me, please tell me you are a reader of my blog rather than just randomly being a stranger friending me. Some guy just tried to friend me and it said he was mutual friends with everyone I went to high school with, and believe me, I remember every ludicrous moment of high school other than that time I drank the half-pint of Southern Comfort by myself (hi, mom), and none of us from high school know this guy. And his mustache.

Word. Okay, I really never listen to songs where the background singer says "Word." I have been on this new medication for my migraines, and it is giving me very vivid dreams and also making me feel kind of nauseated. It's fun! The other night I had a dream I was sleeping. Now, how depressing has my life become that I had a dream that I was sleeping? At any rate, I also had a dream where I was telling someone all of my favorite things, and I said I loved chocolate-covered espresso beans and ice-cold chardonnay in a tall glass. Right there are three things (chocolate, coffee, and alcohol) that I cannot have. My poor subconscious is jonesing.

Ooooooooo. We have had several suggestions for the next book club. What say you? The suggestions are: Eat, Pray, Love (which I have read but would read again); Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson; and Breakfast with Buddha by Roland Merullo. Please look them up and let me know what you think.

Wooo! Wooo! Okay, the only background singers to sing, "Wooo! Wooo!" are the Pips, but whatever. Now I can't remember what I was gonna say. Oh! Yes! The Sex and the City 2 movie is coming this week, and I wish I could just be passed out in a coma until Thursday. I am standing here beside myself with excitement. My friend the Other June and I are going the day it opens, but I am going by myself at like 10 a.m. at the very first showing. Because I have no patience. Meet my tanning lotion.

I guess that's all I have to tell you. It was all of pressing importance. I have real-life book club today so I have to actually put on clothes and leave the house. Too bad I will NOT BE TAN. Stupid extra-space Jergens.

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

Sunny days and Mondays always make me feel the same as ever

It's Monday morning. Everything is as it should be. My phone has already rung 293772 times, because the phrase "works" from home apparently eludes everyone.


Talu got up from sleeping with me to go rest on her blanket on the couch. It is like she is 147 years old. How much sleep do dogs NEED?


Henry is busy destroying my favorite chair. Note the scratching post RIGHT NEXT to his ass.


Francis looks berserk.

I'll bet Winston is being good, though. He always…HEY!


In the meantime, let me tell you about my exciting vending machine experience. I know! I really know how to set up a story. Make you die for more.

On Saturday, Marvin and I went to Winston-Salem. Exotic! Oh, the foreign lands we traverse. Anyway, there is yet another mansion built from the black lungs of cigarette smokers that we visited, called Reynolda House, which was the house and grounds of R.J. Reynolds and his sort of gold-digger wife. I mean, she was a small-town girl who set out to have a mansion one day, then boom, the next part of the story is she marries R.J. Reynolds. They fail to tell us how she scored him.

At any rate, there is not only a big ol' house, but also gardens, and many many smaller houses which used to house the workers and now are magically ice cream shops and jewelry stores, where ironically no smoking is allowed.

The first thing we did was go to the rose gardens, which were spectacular, and we noted that as per usual, it was us and 470 old people. Marvin and I are always finding things to do that old people similarly like to do. I have no idea where the people our age are. Are they doing dreadful things with their kids, like seeing G-rated movies? Then trying to tell me said G-rated movies are good, they have things for adults, too? My friends with kids are always trying to tell me that when they are attempting to convince me to go see, say, Shrek when I don't have to because I have no kids.

So we're looking at every color rose you can think of, and I am busy deciding which one is my favorite, because I'm exciting that way, and Marvin says, "But where are the guns?"

Get it? Cause…guns…and…roses? Oh. Help me.

Then we go into the mansion itself, which cost 10 dollars per person, except they had teacher and AAA discounts, so when all was said and done they owed Marvin, and oh, there was lots to see in that mansion and I tried not to think of my Uncle Jim and his lung cancer. Or my grandmother. Or my grandfather. Or all my various great aunts and so forth who had esophageal cancer and mouth cancer, who all smoked. Because you know what I am? Fun.

We got to tour the master bedroom and master bath, and for some reason old-timey bathrooms fascinate me. I love the old tiles and porcelain and this one had a big old scale. I look over, and who is unbuttoning his pants at the toilet, thinking he's hilarious? While OTHER TOURISTS were about?

Also too, we were admiring the various paintings and furniture and doo-dads, and Marvin gasped and said, "Ohhh! Look at this!"

He was admiring the fire extinguisher.

Who loves himself?

Anyway. In the basement of said mansion, where there is a swimming pool, a shooting gallery, a bowling alley, a bar, and all kinds of stuff you don't have because you didn't invent cigarettes, there is also a gallery that has different exhibits. Because did I mention Reynolda house is technically a museum?

In said gallery is a vending machine that used to be a cigarette machine, but now instead of a picture of cigarettes there is an image of the guy from Operation, do not ask me why. It was called an Artomat.


Here is a similar one I found online, except this one doesn't have the guy from Operation. I was never allowed to have the game Operation because my mother said I would get the pieces everywhere. In case you are keeping track, there is a lot of stuff I was not allowed to have because my mother was obsessed with me getting pieces everywhere. For a loosey sit-on-the-floor-and-discuss-our-feelings hippie, she was awfully tidy.

At any rate, could YOU have been able to resist this vending machine? For five dollars, you got a small piece of original art. HOW COOL!

Naturally I put Mr. Abraham Lincoln right in there.


This was the one I chose. An original piece by Nikki Wheeler. Yes, I do already have her blog address. The box was the size of a cigarette package, except I think the one package of cigarettes I ever smoked in my life, Virginia Slims in 9th grade, was larger.


When I opened it up, I got this. It is sort of a quilty material and I love the colors. I hope celebrated artist Nikki Wheeler comes over here and sees how nicely I cropped these photos.

So I want to hang up my art. Where should I put it? Also, I wish to go back to the machine and buy 75,000 more. Marvin said there's a bar in Winston-Salem called The Garage that also has an art vending machine. I am so hittin' the bar. With my big-drinking self. Hi, just here to buy some $5 art.


Inside the box was also a note, from the artist formerly and currently known as Nikki Wheeler. The whole thing is so cool! Who got the biggest thrill of her weekend for five dollars? No holla!

Anyway, that is all. I must go proofread something. And answer the phone.

Books · June's stupid life

Mince Words with June–A Reliable Wife. I mean, I am a reliable wife, but that is the title of the book

This month's book choice, A Reliable Wife, is my favorite Mince Words with June selection thus far. Don't you agree? Weren't you constantly dying during this book? Weren't you going, "No, she di-ent!" and "He did NOT!" every 48 seconds?

I loved how everyone in this book was despicable in their own way, and yet we liked them all. At least I did. You had Ralph Truitt, who owned the whole town and underpaid everyone in it, while he was ridunkulously rich. Could you believe all the crap he bought throughout this whole book? If that weren't bad enough, you find out he beat his son. And he was kind of the GOOD GUY in the story.

Then there was Catherine, his oh-so-reliable wife. I loved what she said about how she liked the beginnings and ends of things. I feel the same way. Just the other night, I was hanging with some friends, and I thought, What if I were leaving? What if this were the last night I was gonna hang around these friends? Everything took on a new poignancy, thinking that. The middle is boring. Catherine is right.

She was my favorite character, and I know she was a pretty dreadful person, what with fooling Truitt and sleeping with his son Antonio, and, you know, the whole trying to kill Truitt and all. Even with all that, I liked her and wanted her to get whatever she wanted. I mean, she'd had a dreadful life, and had made quite a lot out of herself, you know? She could have just ended up like her sister, but she didn't. Wasn't that a powerful scene when she's with her sister as she dies?

Oh, and her secret garden. I so understood why she was obsessed with that. I think on the inside, she just wanted things to be orderly and lovely and pure, despite all the crap she had going on on the outside. And you know I liked her when she got a bird for what I assume is the same reason.

I even liked the morally bankrupt Antonio. He was hot. And talk about a dreadful life. I know. He could have straightened himself out and grown up at some point. But even Ralph says you can't escape the dreadful things that happen to you. And maybe Antonio would have straighted up had he not, you know, cracked through the thin ice he was always standing on his whole life.

Oh! What a good book! I loved the description of the other house, and I loved the idea that people back then took drugs and were debaucherous just like people now. Who knew? I loved it that Catherine fell in love with Truitt, and oh! I kind of want to try arsenic, just a little, till it stops being fun. Am I the only one?

What are we gonna read next? Suggestions, please.

June's stupid life · Marvin · My pets


"Does Oprah have to have her $%#@& picture on every $%#&% cover of her magazine?" Marvin asked me.

"Yes," I said. I had just spent the entire day with Marvin, and had just sat down to read a book. Was totally over Marvin.

"I don't know why she thinks we all want to look at her every month," he said.

Silence as I turned a page.

"I'd read a magazine with Tallulah's picture on it every month," he pressed on, kissing the dog, who was similarly over him.

That was about an hour ago, and he was supposed to be in the other room working on lesson plans for his class. Instead, he just paraded into the room with this:


Okay, now I feel we must have an issue of Taluprah every month on this blog. What I know for sure, by Tallulah Blueberry Gardens. Talu's favorite things. Talu's books I like to chew club. The possibilities are endless.

Taluprah. Dying.

P.S. Don't forget not to chew your book for Sunday night's book club. We meet here at 7 p.m. Eastern time.

Books · June's stupid life · Television

Elegance is learned, but crazy comes naturally


Henry is the type of cat who begins purring the second you pet him. I scored with Henry, and I am lucky, considering I picked him based on the part where I just kind of wanted an orange kitten.


Also, he's an excellent watch cat.

Anyway, I have much to do today so I will be brief. Have I ever told you about how my mother-in-law used to work for a clothing manufacturer, and she worked in the men's underwear division, and I was obsessed? When I'd call her at work, her voice mail would say, "You have reached Marvin's mom in Men's Underwear."

Okay, that was hilarious enough. Then I ALWAYS had to say, "Hi, I'll be brief." Oh. Loved me. So bad.

Getting out of Marvin's mom's men's underwear, DO NOT FORGET that this Sunday is book club! Seven p.m. my time. I live on East Coast time. If that gets you all confused, just Google "What time is it in Greensboro?" and then you can figure out our time change.

We read A Reliable Wife, and was that a good book or what? Cannot wait to discuss. I would like to shout out to Marvin's coworker, Ms. W, who loaned me the book. Thank you Ms. W!

And finally, for those of you who watch the Real Housewives–not that I do because I am so lofty and intellectual–wow. What is wrong with Kelly? Not that I would know anything is wrong with her, because I was over here reading Proust. And jotting down some haiku. Is she on something? Did her synapses just collapse? Can your synapses collapse? I should know but Proust didn't mention it.

Okay, off to proofread something in .05-point type. Am certain I will not get a giant headache or anything.

June's stupid life · My pets

And yet another tale about this ludicrous dog and my fine pack leader skills

Does it seem like I am constantly telling you stories about Tallulah escaping? Like, here? And also too here?

I know. Well, guess what.

So, Marvin calls me last night at 6:00, because have I mentioned the ridiculous hours he puts in as an elementary school teacher? He is out the door by 7:00 a.m., and often gets home after 6:00 p.m. Then on weekends he is at the dining-room table, grading papers.

It's all worth it, though, because he makes SCADS of money.


At any rate, I asked him last night if he wanted me to wait until he got home before Tallulah and I went on our constitutional, but he said no, he was exhausted from all that teaching or the torrid affair he is having from 3:00 to 6:00 every day.

Unfortunately for me, Tallulah knows the word "constitutional" at this point, so I do not know why I try to use it in place of "walk." As soon has she heard me say it, she got up on her hind legs and started applying lipstick in the vanity mirror, and tying on her babushka and so forth. So really there was no way I could have waited for Marvin anyway.


Attached please find a photo of Tallulah, in her "BANG!" position, which trust me, at this point I wish my finger were really a gun. But I digress. And yes, that is a dead squished fly next to her, which I assume fell off her body, as she just came in from outside. Owning animals is nothing but a treat.

So I put this creature's leash on her and off we go, on our evening stroll. If by "stroll" you mean she has shot out in front of me as far as possible, choking herself to death on her collar, pulling my arm out of its socket, and charging at every Pug, bunny, and cat that we see.

It's relaxing.

Here is the thing about my dog. She is two different people: inside dog and outdoor dog. When we are outdoors? My love for her disintegrates by about 3,000 percent.

If we walk up and down each side street in my neighborhood and curve around the cul-de-sac, which people here pronounce "cul-deeeeee-sac," the walk takes about half an hour, which is about as much as my arm can take. By the time I have gotten home, it is 50 feet longer than the other arm, and is dragging uselessly next to me, completely removed from any bones or joints from which it used to be attached.

Right at the last block before the cul-deeeee-sac there is a house on the corner, where three little towheaded girls live, who I have told you about before. They are often playing in their back yard, which I find refreshing because for some reason children do not seem to play anymore.

"HI, LALULAH!" they all scream at once, as we approach. I am bad with kids' ages, because of the whole lack of having kids thing, but I would estimate they are all under the age of seven. One still has a sippy cup, which "Lalulah" has removed from her grip more than once. They all climb their fence to lean over and pet my dog, and they often have a toy or whatever with them, and Lu always thinks it is a gift for her.

I have no idea why they like Lalulah.

In December, these girls got a puppy, Snowflake, and it is the cutest, cutest, CUTEST puppy ever. My guess would be that she is a Samoyed/German shepherd mix, or maybe a Samoyed/Golden retriever. She is cream-colored and fluffy and her ears stick straight up like a shepherd, and when she started out she was just a big ball of fluff.

Tallulah hated her on sight.

And here is the thing about my dog. She has been going to the dog park and to dog day care since she was a pup. So she is sociable with other dogs. But when she is on her LEASH and another dog approaches? She is a dink. Our trainer–and yes we have had a trainer, and yes I have watched Ceasar and read both his books and wept and prayed and gnashed my teeth over this dog–said Tallulah feels she has to protect me when she's on the leash, and that's why she acts like Kim Jong-il when she's attached to me by a strap of leather.

At any rate, Snowflake is probably six months old now, and has gotten HUGE, and Tallulah's barks have gotten less evil because I think she understands this sweet puppy is now larger than her bully-ass self. But in case you didn't read my links up at the top, just a month ago, Tallulah was so busy lunging at Snowflake that she broke her entire collar completely off. And then of course because she was off leash, she was sweet as you please.

This must be how Ted Bundy's parents feel. Or the parents of that annoying "I want it now" girl from Willie Wonka.

And I KNOW I should just not walk past Snowflake, but it is the highlight of my day, visiting that beautiful puppy and those cute girls, who show me tricks on their swingset and tell me stories that make no sense and so forth.

Could this story be taking longer?

Last night I get down there. "HI, LALULAH!" Everything was as it always is. Snowflake started bowing and wagging at Lu, because she continues to want to befriend my dog, sort of like how I am Facebook friends with one of the Real Housewives, and keep leaving suck-up messages to her in hopes she writes me and says, "Let's have lunch soon!"

"What did you buy at Target?" one of the towheads asks me.

"Oh, that's Tallulah's poop. I pick it up after she poops in a yard," I explained.


I was getting all into dog-owner etiquette with these poor girls, and not noticing that my dog was conspicuously quiet, and that Snowflake was no longer at the fence. Do you know why Snowflake was no longer at the fence? Do you?

It was because she was at the door of the gate, SQUEEZING THROUGH. Apparently she had just figured out she could do this. And next thing you know old Jed's a millionaire, and also, THERE IS EVIL SNOWFLAKE, ON MY SIDE OF THE FENCE! And she's HEADED OUR WAY! BECAUSE SHE LOVES MY DOG AND MY DOG HATES HER SWEET SWEET PUPPY SELF!

Here is what the girls did:


Seriously, every human being in Guilford County has broken eardrums today, because you have never heard three people scream louder or in a more shrill manner. And their outward scream matched my inward one, because here comes that loping, sweet puppy and I KNOW my dog is gonna get out her machete and spin her head around and grow long fangs and speak Latin and learn Karate and build a nuclear weapon in the next eight seconds, once she realizes Snowflake is COMING OVER HERE.

I have no idea why speaking Latin would be harmful.

So I dropped the leash. I didn't know what else to do. I knew that would make her become undinklike. And guess what?

It worked.

The two of them became best friends immediately. Oh, how they jumped on their hind stupid legs and pawed playfully, how they wrestled and smiled and bowed and ran ran ran through the neighborhood like a couple of idiots.

In the meantime, the three girls were still mentioning, "SCREEEEEAAAAAAAMMMMM!" They may have also occasionally screeched: "SNOWWWWFLAAAAAAKE!"

It seemed to take a while for their mom to come out, as she was probably inside doing shots and also immune to the screeching, but finally she realized this was more urgent screeching than usual. She came out, said, "Snowflake! Come home!"

And I will be a monkey's red swollen hind end if that dog didn't turn right around and come home. She just TURNED HER SIX-MONTH-OLD PUPPY SELF HOME.

What do you think my two-and-a-half year old demon dog did? "Oh. Snowflake done? K. Smell ya, Big Hair!" And as per usual, there went the back of my dog's blonde butt, screaming through the neighborhood. And there was me, a Target bag of poop in my hand, knowing that jerk would not return until she felt like it.

The trainer we had, who we paid 8 million dollars to, had me go out and purchase liver, for WEEKS, and cook it in a pan, and take Talu in the back yard and say, "Tallulah come!" and I'll tell you what. If I have some fresh-cooked liver on me? She comes when she's called.

Who stood there next to the cul-deee-sac and contemplated reaching up and yanking out her own liver to get that dog to come? Was it me?

In the meantime, a man was on his front porch with his son, because it's the South, and I heard him say, "That the same dog who was loose awhile back?" and the son said, "Yeah."

Okay, great. So now I am famous. The man got up off his porch, and his perfect yellow Lab galumphed next to him, OFF LEASH. "Hi, I'm Bill. This here's Shady," he said. "Can we hep ya get yer dog?"

"What I want to know is how do you get Shady to just stand next to you like that?" I asked.

Bill shrugged. That's what people with perfect dogs are always doing. They always shrug like having a dog who STANDS NEXT TO YOU OFF LEASH is just easy. It's just what naturally happens.

"You can come live with Snowflake and us!" one of the little girls shouted to us, as I see Tallulah run through her neighbor's yard. Bill's son, who was a teenager, took off running after Tallulah.

FIFTY MINUTES LATER, Bill's son has given up on running and is now on his bike. "Yer dog sure has energy," the kid says, sweaty and red. In the meantime, the three girls are now completely fabricating stories. "I just saw her again!" they'd say. "She ran up a tree!"

As I stood in the road, hoarsely calling "Tallulah," I see Marvin's car come down the road.

Because meanwhile? Back at the ranch-style house? Marvin came home from work, and as he pulled up? He wondered why I had tied Tallulah to the front porch. Then when he got up there, he realized she was just hanging out up there. It did not take him long to put two and two together. He has met Talu. She had run herself out and just came home. Five blocks from where I was with Shady and the half-dead exhausted teenager.

So just as I am trying to come up with a good reason why I have Tallulah's poop but not Tallulah, I realize Marvin has her punk ass in the passenger seat, and she is smiling. The three girls, the mom, Shady, Shady's dad, and particularly the teenage kid, all say, "YAY!"

"Thank you all so much!" I said, and I realize all I ever do is thank my neighbors for helping me with this creature.

Tallulah and I sat next to each other in the passenger seat on the drive home, and I told Marvin the whole story. Marvin said I am no longer allowed to visit Snowflake if I have Tallulah. It always ends in tragedy.

I wonder if we'd be allowed to visit Shady, though?

June's stupid life · Marvin

Into this house we’re born. Into this world we’re thrown. With Marvin.

It's been very rainy here lately. The other night we had one of those storms that seemed fake. You know on TV shows, how they make it seem like it's storming outside, and there is lightning every six seconds, and you think, When is it ever like that in real life?

It was really like that here the other day.

I was just coming home from somewhere or other and it was getting way stormy. In Seattle and Los Angeles, we did not have thunderstorms, and I missed them mightily. I am so glad we have drama queen weather here.

"I'm going in the guest bedroom to watch the rain," I announced. You can lie on the guest bed and stare out the window.

"Okay, I'll go too," said Marvin. Marvin is always copy-catting my ideas.

We went in there, and naturally our Noah's Ark of pets went in, too. Tallulah is not afraid of thunderstorms, which is good since we have a lot of them here. Microwaves? Those she's horrified of. But thunder and lightning do not faze her.

So we're lying there for, oh, 17 seconds and Marvin LEAPS off the bed. He has never once in his life just gotten up from the bed. He has to leap, like he is on fire or covered in ants.

"What are you doing?" I asked. He didn't answer. Seconds later, he bounded in with a lantern. He bought this ridiculous I-am-a-sea-captain lantern somewhere for who knows what reason and is forever trying to find reasons to use it.

"Honey, I don't want the lantern," I said. "The whole point was to watch the lightning, and if there's a light on I can't see as well.

Marvin went LEAPING out of the room with his lantern and PLOPPED back onto the bed.

Seventeen more seconds went by. Oh, the sky was lighting up, seriously, every 20 seconds or so, sometimes less. And the thunder! It was a good storm.

Marvin started making instrument noises with his mouth. He was doing the instrument parts of Riders on the Storm. He was doing the drum part, and the guitar part, and the bass part and finally I said:


We have a rule. Marvin cannot be the instruments when he is around me. It drives me out of my gourd when we are in the car and he starts making drum noises with his mouth.

Seventeen seconds later, Marvin LEAPS out of the bed.

All the animals gave him a tired look.

He BOUNDS back, with his laptop.


DOdodododo. Dooo do do doo do do dooo…He is PLAYING Riders on the Storm out his laptop.

"MARVIN! I am trying to look at and listen to the storm."

"But you can listen to a recording of a storm right in this song," he says.

You know, Marvin has a good friend named Bill. Bill married my stepsister. Bill's family has what sounds like an ABSOLUTELY LOVELY place in the Poconos that I have always wanted to visit. Marvin went there once, before we were married, and Bill tells me about how Marvin COULD.NOT.SIT.STILL. in the boat when they were fishing, thereby scaring all the fish away and rendering the whole trip useless.

Plus, fish really hate listening to Riders on the Storm. Particularly the all-instrument version out someone's mouth.

We have never been invited to the Poconos, and Marvin says it's because Bill can't stand me, but I say how could that be possible? I totally blame the part where Marvin could not sit still in the boat.

Eventually, Tallulah and the cats gave up on trying to sit with me to watch the storm. The bed was just too jostle-y, I think. After we enjoyed the Doors, Marvin started pointing out other things on the computer, while I kept looking longingly out the window at my storm. My storm that I could no longer hear or enjoy.

I think when we got married we should have made a contract that stated I was allowed to watch rainstorms in peace. Maybe I could get some kind of rider made now. A rider on the storms.

June's stupid life · Photo essays

June’s dumb morning

There is really not much to report over here at House of June. Once I edited a brochure that began with a huge headline: “There’s really not much to say…” and then it went on for three pages. Annoying.

At any rate, here’s what I’ve been up to so far.


I had breakfast. I went to a potluck last night and brought fruit salad and had some left over. If you are not a cook, like me, always volunteer to make a fruit salad. It’s easy and it looks pretty, like you went to some effort. Which you did not.

Francis gave Winston his morning bath.


Our stupid dishwasher broke, and we can’t afford to get it fixed, and besides it is a ridiculous “this used to be a rental house” dishwasher in the first place. It doesn’t have any settings, just “on” and “off.” So we decided to wait until we could buy a decent dishwasher, one that you don’t have to scream over when it’s running, and in the meantime we are doing dishes by hand like it’s 1959.

It’s not so bad, though, really. Your hands get all warm, and you get kind of hypnotized and forget what you’re doing.


We didn’t have a dishwasher in our old apartment in LA, either. We used to take turns doing dishes. I would do them after one meal. Marvin would wait until we were drinking out of orange peels and shoes before he did the dishes. And he could never get over what a burden it was.


Also today, I have to mail my stepsister’s birthday card and gift. Her birthday was yesterday. She lives in California. Nice. There is a time change, though. Do you think it’ll get there on time?


Tallulah wants in. There’s something new and different. I cannot tell you how much of my day is spent getting animals on whatever side of the door they currently wish to be.


It’s raining out, so she has to have her paws wiped when she comes in. Oh, she hates that part. It is necessary to run in the house dramatically after being outside, and this cramps her whole entrance.


The mail came and I got a BlogHer check! Yay. Now we can eat. You know what would have been nice, had it come? Focus.


Now I have proofreading to do, and do you like my clever disguising of my work with my subtle use of the Paint program? Every time I use Paint it is a huge success. Right up there with focusing.

What are you up to today?

Friends · June's stupid life

Really love your peaches wanna shake your tree

Before I begin today's riveting post, someone got himself caught.in.the.rain this morning. And he did not like it.

Look at his little wet head. Really all of him was wet but he refused to let me capture his humiliation on film. Henry must have gone outside when Marvin left for work, and Tallulah and Winston and I were all sleeping so nicely in the bed when I heard, "MOWMOWMOWMOW!" It was the angriest, insisting-est mow you ever heard. And both Talu and Win moved closer to me, like, "Oh ignore that. Let's stay here where it's nice."

I opened the front door and saw a wet Hen, is what I saw. Poor Henry.


So, when I was first born, my parents lived in an apartment. This is because they were nine or something, and just starting out. (In fact, when I became a teenager, my father would tell his friends that he had been an Indian prince who had gotten married and fathered me at age 11, so that he wouldn't seem like such an old geez, having such a grownup child.)

(I doubt any of his friends fell for this ruse, seeing as he is a pale Midwestern white boy, plus also there is the part where he owns nothing princely.) (Well. He has a couple Prince records.)


Here is the apartment house we lived in when I was tiny. Wasn't I big for my age? BAHAHAHA. I think I'm about 20, here, and obviously we have taken a trip down memory lane and revisited said place. We lived on the top floor. I remember it. It had really cool tropical wallpaper.

Can we jam out for a moment to my cropped jeans and my Esprit sweater? Thanks.

At any rate, finally my parents moved us into a house when I was a toddler.


Remember this house? I just showed it to you the other day. How could you forget these parental perms?

A few days after we moved in, my mother took me for a walk through the neighborhood, and we ran into a woman walking HER daughter, who was exactly my age. The story has it that said other toddler and I took one look at each other, hugged, and fell over. It is my theory we were both high as kites. Hey, it was the '60s.


My fellow high-on was Pal From MA, who became my friend that day, and who is my friend to this day. As soon as we fell over, we were hooked. Clearly she was drawn to my St. Pauli Girl sense of style.

We were both only children, and even though our neighborhood was teaming with kids (it was the kind of place where you played all day till the streetlights came on, or till your mom came out to the porch and called your name), we really stuck together. Oh, yes, we played with those other kids, but they were totally B-list.


We were total bitches.

Because of our inseparable-ness, our parents did a lot of stuff the same. Like, we had lots of matching dresses, and matching stuffed animals, and I remember we had matching sandals that later we both had sprayed silver to go with our matching Halloween costumes, which I assure you were some version of a fairy princess.

The point of this whole story is, the summer of 1971, I got to be a flower girl in my Aunt Kathy's wedding. Pal from MA and I were swinging on my swingset, which I believe was identical to hers but we'd chosen my yard that day, and I was telling her about my upcoming duties, and how I was gonna wear a long pink dress, and carry a bouquet, and it was gonna have baby's breath in it.

Up to that point I had never heard of baby's breath, and the name fascinated me. I thought it sounded so rare and delicate. Baby's breath. I kept that dang bouquet for months, and all the roses and daisies turned brown, and the only thing that stayed nice was that tacky, hello-the-70s-called baby's breath.

So I'm relaying this info to Pal From MA, who is getting quieter and quieter, when suddenly she BURSTS off the swing.

"I WANT TO BE A FLOWER GIRL, TOO!" she screams.

Then she runs home. Which I watched her do in its dramatic entirety because she lived one house away.

"Hunh," I thought, smugly swinging. "I guess I am in an enviable position, here." Okay, I thought that in whatever way you'd think that when you were almost six, but still. It hadn't occurred to me she'd be jealous of my lofty assignment.

I gave her time to cool down and went over there an hour to two later. She answered the door in a 1950s netted pink gown. Her mom had been a flower girl once, had kept the dress, and had gone up to the attic to appease Little Miss Jealous. So all was well again.


Yesterday, Pal from MA called me, from her home in MA. (Do not ask me what we are doing in this photo. I shudder to think.)

"June!" she said, all excited. "I have a baby bird!"


"Yes! It's in my kitchen!"

Pal from MA told me all about how some neighbors found a baby bird hopping around, and just as she walked outside she found them about to toss it in a back yard, and just like when Fern stopped her dad from axing Wilbur in Charlotte's Web, Pal from MA said, "You can't just TOSS a flightless baby bird in a yard! A cat will get it! Or a hawk! Give me that bird."

And that is how she ended up taking it in her kitchen, then flitting around the neighborhood getting sticks and trash and weaving a nest with her mouth. Okay, she got some toilet paper and rags and a heating pad. Still. She DID go in the yard and get worms and grind them up.

See, here is where Pal from MA and I differ. You could not pay me a million dollars to touch and/or grind up a worm. This sort of thing bothers her down-to-earth self not at all.

I know I am always telling you all my friends are more down-to-earth than I am. Miss Piggy is more down-to-earth than I am.

So she is telling me all about her baby bird, and how cute he is, and about his feathers, and you know what I wanted to do? I wanted to jump off my swing and scream, "I WANT A BABY BIRD!"

I so wanted my mom to go to the attic and get me a baby bird in a '50s netted dress. But the flower girl thing happened when we were five going on six, and we are 44 going on 45 now, and I know it is important to support Pal from MA during this exciting time, so instead I said:


"Oh, you can't HAVE a baby bird," said Pal from MA. "You have 40 cats."

"Yes I could! It'd be FINE! I'm gonna go out right now and shake every tree till one falls out. Then I'm gonna call you and say, 'Oh! I found a baby bird, too!'"

Well, anyway, I didn't do that, only because it rained all afternoon. Maybe the rain shook a bird out! Do you think? I am so ending this post and going outside.

Here is Pal from MA's blog to see pictures of that bitch's baby bird.

Friends · June's stupid life


Marvin wrote a song using lines from songs from 1983. Who loves himself? Anyway, this is what he did all afternoon while I was at the Nester's.


The Nester is my friend from blogging. When I was a new blogger, way back in 2007, I noticed I had 294757283003 hits from this blog one day, so I clicked on it. She had written an entire ode to me, I am not even kidding you, and of course I loved it because I heart me so bad.

To make a long story even agonizingly longer, we ended up meeting, because we both live in North Carolina, and we fell in love and put many plates on a wall.

The Nester is an interior decorator, so when she invites you to a party at her home, I am just saying, be prepared to think that your home is an entire dumpy piece of dung doodle. I have no idea what dung doodle is, but it sounds gross, doesn't it?

Even her treats were pretty. I mean, I slap some Doritos in a paper bowl. Anyway, I would force you to look at everything stunning in Nester's house, including her CHOCOLATE LAB DOGGIE! but my stupid stupid stupid camera battery died after I got in her vestibule.


But really, the best thing about the Nester is she is a phenomenally successful blogger, and she never brags about it. I mean, I will tell you my numbers all the time (60,000 page views in March), or about being spotted in public (s0meone at the party yesterday shouted, "There's June!" across the room. Shout out to Mimi!), or about who sent me a gift (Hi. Talu's collar!), and the Nester never does this.

Basically she is likable and I am not.

The point is, she was having a sale of items that she sells on her blog. The items all have Bible verses on them, and when she invited me, she said, "I know that is so your decorating style. Bible verses. So come anyway and you are forbidden to buy anything."

But then there was a really pretty necklace that I would show you but did I mention my camera died? And it did not have a Bible verse on it but even if it had I might have wanted it because it's not like I am the devil or something, and it was $32 and Marvin and I have $100 to our name. Yes. $100.

So I knew I really could NOT buy anything at said party and this is how gracious the Nester is. After the saleslady gave her spiel, she said, "And now the Nester wants to say a few words." And the Nester said, "I will not know who here bought stuff and who didn't. If you cannot afford to buy anything, that's okay."

How much do you love her? And how much did the sales people want to slap her, do you think?

At any rate, I was standing over at the display table, and that necklace was hanging from the Nester's most elegant chandelier, that I wish I could show you, along with that CHOCOLATE LAB DOGGIE!, and out of nowhere came the Nester, who took the necklace off the chandelier and gave it to me.

She just gave it to me! She said, "Oh, they said I could give some things away off this table."


Who rocks? Is it the Nest? And is my new necklace pretty? And do I wish I could show it to you?

I really must admit that I just have to get a new camera battery. I have charged that one up since the time Laura Ingalls and I went on that road trip. Lifted our petticoats and got Mardi Gras beads.

Oh! And then when we left we all got a free bird! Not a Freebird, like the song, and not a real bird flitting around, because that poor thing would last a long time in this house o' feline action. No. Scroll back up to the top picture of Nester and me at the plates. See how that bird is flying right into my head, never to be seen again once it hits that hair? A bird like that.

So basically I ate all Nester's food, got a free necklace, a free bird, sang Freebird, and left. Without buying anything.

I do not know why I don't hear from the Nester more often.

Friends · June's stupid life · My pets

Jumping through hoops




Who is my little circus performer? Is it Lu? And how do I fix that stupid grass? It is so shady back there that it doesn't grow. Plus Tallulah runs after vermin on it all day.

Yesterday she went tearing through the yard and about 14 bunnies went running every which way. If she had caught one I never would have gotten over the trauma. I would have stuffed was remained of it and made a little bunny shrine.

So, yesterday, I piled on as much makeup as possible and headed over to the aesthetician's salon so she could check me out. I figured she'd expect me to be well-groomed.

Made up

Here I am, without lipstick yet. But let's discuss my brows. I think they have gotten ruined by years of waxing. Back in LA there was an eyebrow boot camp I could have gone to. Yes, there was. It's times like this I miss LA. And coffee.

Anyway, I went there and oh, Mother of God, do I want to work there. The salon is in a beautiful building, and it's full of MAKEUP in there and SKIN CARE PRODUCTS and all sorts of PROCEDURE machines and I was beside myself. And beside my brows. You know she must have been studying those brows. I would have been. It's like they're broken right in the middle. What has HAPPENED? They used to be nice.

The point is, the aesthetician had on not a stitch of makeup. Not a stitch. And she looked great. She does not have one wrinkle and I know she's my age. Don't you hate people like that?

In other news, I am going to The Nester's today. She is having some sort of thing. Do you read The Nester? She tells you how to decorate your house for cheap and yet still have your house look really elegant. The only thing is, you have to be good with your hands, and have you met my hands? She is forever saying things she tells you to do are easy, and I know if I tried them it would look like a parakeet made that, say, window mistreatment.

The good news is, she likes me anyway and I am going to her house today. Yay. She probably likes me because I have wrinkles.

Comment of the week goes to Duffylou. Click on This Week's Special.

Beauty products · June's stupid life · Photo essays

Elegance is learned, my friend


I accidentally took this photo of myself the other day when I was trying to turn off the camera. Because it is so fascinating, I thought I'd share it with all of you. Do you wonder if I ever leave the computer room? Perhaps Marvin locks me in here all day so I don't chew the furniture.

And speaking of my riveting photography, I took before and after pictures of my not-at-all narcissistic tooth-whitening venture yesterday. Did it occur to anyone how we are broke and I cannot afford this? But, see, it was on sale. So there you go.

Here is my before shot, and also all of Marvin's ties. You know, I used to be someone who bought Chanel eye shadow, or sometimes in a pinch, MAC. This here is Cover Girl, and I once knew a real live model who was a friend of my father's and she said Cover Girl was just as good as those expensive brands but here is where I beg to differ with her. Because, hello, glitter.

The tooth-whitening was kind of fun. You bit into this big mouth guard and stuck your face in this light, which I could not help but think was giving me cancer. Because you know how lighthearted I am. Also, before he began, he asked me if I was allergic to glycerin and of course how would I know, I have never eaten glycerin, and the whole time I kept waiting to go into anaphylactic shock. Did I mention my lighthearted, devil-may-care attitude?

At any rate, after a few minutes went by and I did not die, and after figuring the light wouldn't give me cancer for many years, I relaxed and tried to read a magazine despite the big light in my face. My hairdresser came back and made fun of me for awhile and then it was over.

After. Is this the most jarring picture you have ever seen in your life? Or what? First of all, welcome to my nostrils. And apparently I passed the early '90s on my way home, because what happened with my hairline, up there? I have an Elias Brothers Big Boy swoop all of a sudden.

Marvin took this less upsetting photo, but really all I can do here is concentrate on Tallulah's yeast infection in her ear, and how her medicine has made her ear part all oily. Really, won't you come over soon? We are all so sexy.

In other news, I may have scored myself a small part-time job. There is an aesthetician in town who owns a salon, and she needs a receptionist/greeter on Fridays. She needs someone on Wednesdays too, but although she had her business out of her home for eight years, has only had her salon two years and cannot afford to pay a Wednesday receptionist, and she said she would pay me in trade if I was interested, meaning I could get free services from her. I told her no but then I went on her website and saw all the peels and waxing and so forth, and oh, I am so tempted to do that now.

Anyway, we have talked on the phone twice and she said she got a ton of applicants but my cover letter was her favorite, and I am going down to meet her today.

You know I will end up working Wednesdays.

I will not wear the frosty Cover Girl to the interview.

That is all my news, except for the part where coffee sounds good. Gonna go look at my teeth now.

I am berserk · June's stupid life

Greetings from my lack of personality

Decaf June is here.

Maybe I'll have to become one of those people who puts "LOL" after everything they say so you know it was supposed to be funny. LOL.

I would like to find the person who invented LOL. And I would like to beat him or her about the head and shove toothpaste up his or her nose holes. Then you know what I would do? I would LOL.


I went to my yoga class yesterday, my free yoga, I would like to add, and it was yoga-riffic. See? See what happens when I have no caffeine? I start saying things like yoga-riffic. LOL.

Really, though, the whole class was dedicated to stretching one's back, and they had me do things to loosen up my neck and shoulders and it was unbelievable. I was hanging from the wall like a bug and lying with my neck curled back on a rolled-up yoga mat, and oh, you would not believe the things I did. Today my neck is 40 feet long.

I recognized the woman next to me and it was bugging me. I could not place her. Not that I was literally picking her up and trying to put her somewhere. Finally I asked her where I knew her from, and she said I looked familiar too, and anyway it turns out she works at dog day care. I had to tell her Tallulah was my dog and then she knew who I was.

It's a small world, but I wouldn't want to paint it. My friend Dottie loves it when I say that. Hey, Dottie! LOL!

I am trying to figure out what I hate more: LOL or when people say their kid is some age going on some age that is older. "Oh, she's three going on 19! LOL!" Do people think they are being original when they say this?

Decaf June is crabby June.

Speaking of crabby, my friend Jen, who is NOT crabby,  took a picture of Francis while she was here:


She was obsessed with Francis and his disturbed self. Fran did not know why anyone had to bother him, which is how I feel. Maybe Fran's entire issue is that he has no coffee.

I used a special photo developing process which gives us a glimpse into Francis's thoughts:

Do you wonder why I never pursued that art degree?


Francis kind of has the expression Charles Manson has in that famous photo of him with the crazy eyes, doesn't he?

Charles franson

Oooo. Okay, this is creepy. FRANCIS JUST WALKED IN. He never walks in. He so brought his family with him to creepy-crawl my computer room.

Charles Franson.

Okay, so unless Francis cuts me to ribbons and writes the lyrics to Beatles songs on the wall in my blood, I will talk at you.

Oh, wait, before I go and get murdered, I am also getting my teeth whitened today at the hair salon. I know! Sounds safe. But for some reason they have teeth whitening and I thought it would be a good incentive, having nice, white coffee-free teeth.

You know what sounds good, though? Is some coffee.


Health · June's stupid life

Hello. I’m in hell. Fortunately, there’s Internet access.


What if my entire personality is based on the part where I have been high on caffeine this whole time? My whole life, since I'm 13, I have been caffeinated. What if it turns out I am really quiet and reserved, like Adrian in Rocky or the other backup singer in Tony Orlando and Dawn who wasn't Telma?

My friend David, who has a fancy Hollywood job, spent the weekend with a famous person, and at the end of the weekend, I said, "How was your time with [insert famous person's name here]?"

"Oh, it was awful," he said. "He was really earnest and sincere."

Not only did it crack me up that David found the qualities of earnestness and sincerity to be despicable, I also totally understood. If I had to spend time with someone who was just forthright and kind, and who made no jokes, I would feel totally icked out.

Oh, dear God, what if that's the real, low-without-caffeine me? What if I start having people over for herbal tea, and we sit on the floor, and I listen to their problems and nod my head sympathetically? I am going to have to get all new friends, because the ones I have now won't know what to make of the new not-Telma me.

I have had coffee every day since I was a teen, other than perhaps the day I had stomach flu in 1979 and threw up 10 times. But even on days I was horribly hung over or had a migraine, I still made coffee. This is so weird.

I got up, let the dog out, and headed straight for that pot. I know it irks my mother that I did not mention that I peed. My mother has always thought that I do not pee enough. When I was college age and still lived with her, I used to get up early and take her to work so I could use her car all day. It used to drive her berserk that I would just roll out of bed and get in the car and not pee.

Of course, there is the part where when I rolled out of bed at 7:00 I had been in bed an hour and a half.

You know what sounds really good right now? Is some coffee.

In other news…yeah. I have no other news. You know why? Because I have lost my personality.

Oh, no wait! I WAS gonna tell you some other news. You know what might perk me up? Is if I had some coffee before I continued. Hang on…


Anyway, today I am going to get some free yoga. My friend, who I will call Yoga Friend, is a yoga instructor, and she needed a flyer proofed, and I told her about how when I stupidly went to this headache clinic and they ruined my life, they mentioned I had no range of motion in my neck.

She said, "Oh, we can fix that" and then she said, "Let's have some coffee! What say you!?" Okay, she didn't. I was fantasizing.

Anyway, I am going over to her studio today to inevitably fall asleep on the mat.

You know what would really hit the spot? Is a little of the Joe. Yessir.