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


I could not wait to get home and fix my bra straps. All day my left strap kept visiting my elbow, like they were long-lost friends who couldn't wait for a coffee klatch. Like they were Celie and Nettie in The Color Purple. You and me, us never part. Makidada.

Stupid effing strap. I'm certain I looked professional dipping down my shirt all day.

Also, human resources had me take this ethics thingie online, and one of the things it talked about was you aren't supposed to blog about the workplace, so I guess I will shut up about work on this blog now. Before I stop talking about it, I discovered next to the Starbucks machine today a cappuccino maker.

Okay, I am done. No more talking about my cool workplace. Oh, and I noticed a big bowl of candy at the receptionist's desk. And did I tell you Fridays we get beer? Okay, really done now.

So, what's new with everyone? I feel like I haven't talked to anyone, so wrapped up am I with my dramatic change of life. Tallulah is depressed, by the way. This morning she was lying on the bed, and usually no matter how tired she is, if she sees you coming toward her, she will at least flump her tail when you approach. Today when I said goodbye there was no flumping. I feel bad for her.

Marvin is taking her on a walk as we speak. You know, he is home all day with her, still. But she likes him about 1/100th as much as she likes me. What can I tell you? I'm the one who plucked her off the street. Plus I just have a more charming personality. And I'm not deaf.

Marvin must have used my GPS, because I have been using it to get to work this week, and is it loud at all? You know I set it to the male British voice, so I can pretend I am riding in the car with Barry Gibb, except now it's like Barry Gibb is screaming at me. "TURN LEFT! TAKE THE MOTORWAY!" Except it's British, so it's "TAKE THE MOTAWAY!"


Really, things should be beautiful around here by the time we're in our 80s. Maybe by then they will have invented some kind of pill to cure deafness. Of course, Marvin will not have heard about it. BAH!

I should go. As luck would have it, I was sent ANOTHER EFFING BOOK by someone I forgot to tell I got a real job. So now I have to proofread that, although I did send her an email saying THIS IS THE LAST ONE. LEAVE ME ALONE.


So now I'm back up to three books again, which is not good. Except for the part where we will be rich. RICH! I tell you!

Oh, yeah, here's what I was gonna tell you, then I'm gonna go. My birthday's coming up, and I told Marvin I didn't want anything stupid this year. "What do you mean by stupid?" he asked.

"I mean anything that you are buying me because YOU secretly want it," I said. "I want something girly and pretty, not something, for example, mechanical, like a Kindle."

"Okay," said Marvin. Then after a minute, he said, "I'll return your Kindle."

He actually got me a Kindle! I totally nailed it! And no, I don't want one. And you know what he did? He didn't return it. He kept it. What did I tell you? Something he secretly wanted. I know all. One year he's gonna get me hearing aids.

Okay, really going.

Oh! One more thing!

How much do you hate my guts? How many times have you hovered your mouse over the red X, up there? Okay, here's the one more thing. I have tried coconut M&Ms. And we are going to have a problem. And issue, as it were. Have you tried these snacks of the devil? Be prepared to pawn your Kindle. They are that good.

Done! Hit the red X! You bloody slut!

June's stupid life · Proofreading/Copy editing

Home from my first day. Well, not on the planet. Just my new job, I mean.

At my new job, there are not one but two elaborate coffee machines. They make multiple flavors, brands and strengths of coffee, including Starbucks.

Also too, the people in my department got pastries to celebrate my first day. So I am sorry to tell you I had real coffee today and also a chocolate croissant.

Oh, also? At lunchtime? A different restaurant comes in each day of the week with box lunches, that you don't even have to pay cash for; they take it out of your check. If you don't want to eat that, there is a restaurant on the ground floor, with an atrium with a piano, and also an outdoor part with benches and trees and so forth.

Oh, and a gym.

Plus not to mention, we get Friday off this week. And next Monday.

I think I like my new job.

There was one person there whose cubicle was decorated in Hello Kitty and also Edward from Twilight theme. She may become my best friend. The person who sits next to me has a Mastiff, a terrier, and a bunny named Frank.

So far everything is good.

Tomorrow is bagel day. I am going to weigh 659,000 pounds by the end of July.

Oh! And I caught an error today! They told me, "Good catch." They told me I did not find something in the proofreading test, though. "Piece of mind." Kill me. Even when they told me I sat there for a second thinking, "What's wrong with piece of mind?"

Hate self. Stampeded back to Starbucks machine to make self feel better.

Okay, am going now. By the way I was totally overdressed. Every single person had on shorts or jeans and flip-flops. Marvin would have died, what with his vast love of seeing people's feet parts. Nevertheless, I have planned and ironed these outfits for this week, so I am wearing them. Next week I will flip-flop out. With my tones out. Much to the ire of Marvin. And yes, I said "tones" on purpose. Piece of mind.

Talk at you. Did you vote for me today? See what I did? I was just gonna leave that thing at the top of my page. But no. I had to bring it up again. And I wasn't even really funny today. More brag-a-licious. Less amusing. At least you have piece of mind that my day was pretty good.

Oh one more thing! They have hair spray and lotion and mouthwash in the bathroom. How cool is this place?

June's stupid life · Marvin

Marvin and the middle

Last night, I was watching The Last American Virgin, which was a stupid high school movie that was originally in theaters when I was in high school, and at the time I thought it was a great movie, which just goes to show you that people in high school are idiots. I also have a memory book from high school that asks you to write your future plans, and in it I say I don't want to get married until my future husband and I are making a combined income of at least $36,000 a year.

I was quite the financial wizard. Suze Moron.

Anyway. I was enjoying said movie for its terribleness and for its scenes from Los Angeles when Marvin walked in with a carrot. He is good about eating his vegetables, which, you know, that makes one of us.

For some reason I glanced over at him a minute later, and he was holding the carrot like corn on the cob, and eating it that way, too.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't like the middle," said Marvin.

The middle. Do any of you, ANY OF YOU, taste the difference in the middle of the carrot? I need to know.

In other less disturbing news, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life and also my new job. It is upciting. I'll have to go around and meet people and have to listen to them make inside jokes with each other. "Oh, don't say hi to that one! Heh-heh! He'll make you work till midnight! Heh!"

I hate that. You always have to laugh weakly because you have no idea what people are talking about yet.

Then on day two I have someone saying, "She came back!" to look forward to.

Did I tell you I will be working in a cubicle for the first time since 1997? Not did I tell you that in 1997, I mean this is the first time I've worked in one since then. I have always had an office. I think I will wait till the second or third day to decorate it, but I enjoy decorating my work space. Everything just ends up looking pink no matter what theme I go for.

At my old job in LA, I had all Hello Kitty at my desk. A Hello Kitty water cooler, mouse pad, pens, Post-it note holder. Nothing screams "respect me" like a woman in her 40s having Hello Kitty everywhere.

It's kind of like adults who have stuffed animals in the back windows of their cars. Why do they do that?

I had a job in LA where the owner wouldn't allow any of the desks in the front room to have stuffed animals on them, and the six secretaries who worked up there were seriously angry. Okay, you're ADULTS. At WORK. I'm sorry you can't have Grover at your desk. Perhaps at break you can all stand around with your sippy cups and grouse together.

Have I just totally dated myself using Grover as an example?

Anyway, I had better go. I have to drop off yet another book to my old workplace, and I have to shred (and I have lost not one ounce, by the way. Not one. If one person writes in to tell me muscle weighs more than fat I will drive over to your house and follow you around all day with flared Jillian nostrils. ALL DAY.), and I have to fill out my W-2 or W-whatever for work. I always write in the wrong number of deductions and Marvin gets mad at me, so this time he is actually here in the house, avoiding the middle of the carrot, and he can tell me whether it's zero or one.

I'll write you tomorrow at the end of my first day. Or earlier, if they fire me by 10:00.

June's stupid life · Marvin · Music · Photo essays

Tom Saw-yer stupid documentary

Last night, Marvin forced friends of ours to come over and watch a Rush documentary.

I am not making this up.

We took Tallulah to PetSmart and walked her up and down the aisles so she could pick out something chewy to keep her amused while guests were here. In truth, in the spirit of full disclosure, to be honest, etc., this was not the original choice. The thing she picked out was the size of that bone that tipped Fred Flintstone's car over. It was bigger than she is. And frankly, when she gets one of these bones? She is a jerk to the cats. They walk by, minding their own cat business, and she TAKES OFF after them to attack them for wanting her stupid spitty disgusting pig-parts bone.

It'd be like me flying to Hollywood right now and kicking Megan Fox's ass for wanting Marvin. She does not want his spitty pig-parts self. Okay, he's not made of pig parts. But he likes him some bacon. Hi, Marvin's Jewish mom.

Do you like how our calendar above reflects the correct date like a champ?

Anyway, not only did we force them to watch Rush, but we fed them take-out food. My mother is rolling over in her…well, she's alive, so she's merely rolling over. She's sitting in front of the computer, seeing this image of me feeding people takeout salad, falling to the floor of her den, and rolling over like one of her dogs. Maybe she's even making groany sounds like dogs do. "Roooarwwwwwww raooooarrwwwwwooooo…."

Do you like our skeleton hands we used for ice tongs? Need ice tongs, anyone who wonders what to get me for my birthday. I also need more Muget de Bois, found in Vermont Country Store catalog. And yes, I know Aunt Mary and mom have already sent me my birthday gifts three weeks before my birthday. But other, non-Rain Man relatives.

While I ran around sticking skeleton hands in ice, Marvin worried himself sick.

Finally I was ready too so I just hung in the window like a giant loser and waited. Note I let my hair air dry in the humidity and yet it is smooth. SMOOTH! Who is happy with her chemical straightening process? So bad, I am.


You know what else I did while I sat in the window like a giant loser who had smooth hair? I admired our white bookshelves and blue walls. Happy with our changes.


They're here!


Wait, that food on table? Why everyone in here when there food on table?


Yes, definitely food. You going to eat? You not going to eat, Lu help out.

Winhungrytoo Winston also here. Can help with food problem.

Neither animal got to help with food problem, but you know what else they were unable to help with? Time problem. As in, they could not make it move faster than usual in order to speed that hideous documentary along.


I mean, no one in Rush has sex addiction, or nearly died of a drug overdose, or anything. They just sing in that screechy voice and try to cram too many words into each line of their songs. And that documentary was TWO HOURS LONG.

Our guests left before it was over. What does that tell you?

Marvin is making me go to a Rush concert in September.

Someone is watching ALL OF SEASON FOUR of Sex and the City with me today.

I am berserk · June's stupid life · Marvin

Esme or Wanda or Hermione

Crap. And also carp.

I was gonna take a picture of myself with flared nostrils asking if you're still doing Jillian, but my camera battery just died. And by the way, the webcam thing on here broke like six months ago and Marvin refuses to fix it. If it were on HIS computer it'd be fixed. That's all I have to say about that.

I did Jillian again yesterday and I have to say I found level one to be a little easier. I may move up to level two soon. And some of you said Esme or Wanda or Hermione or whatever the advanced girl's name is at one point in the veedeo just stops doing the exercises in the background, there, but I never see her do that. Someone tell me when she does it, cause I'm dying to see it.

What IS the advanced girl's name? I know starter girl is Anita. Because that's who I've been looking at. That W.A.S.P. Anita.

How old do you think Anita is? She has the body of a young person but if you look at her face she looks a little hagged out. You think she might be one of those healthy workout people who hangs at the bar and smokes all night?

My friend Paula once saw one of the women from one of the Firm videos poolside in Vegas. It was exciting.

And speaking of Marvin, which we were 75 minutes ago, here is where he and I differ. He is having friends over tonight and I said, "Okay, you have to clean the house." Which I just accidentally typed "horse," and why would our horse need to be clean for people to come over? I wonder if Pioneer Woman cleans her horse before people come over?

I told Marvin he has to clean because I don't know if I've mentioned 90 times that I'm proofreading every book in the world in order to not have so many to proof in the evenings once I start my full-time job. I am down to two books left, and I think I am going to take Sunday and Monday off so I am not hagged out like Anita when I start my new job.

My POINT is, if it were me? I'd be cleaning the house and the horse right now. I understand that it's 8:00 in the morning and people won't be here for 11 hours. Still. But he's in there lounging on the bed, looking at his laptop with a webcam that probably works like a champ, not a care in the world.

I'd be crying with my Shark in the bathroom, saying hysterically that there will never be enough time to get it all done. My theory is his "cleaning" of the horse will not be as, let's say, thorough as my cleaning would be.

Marvin takes this stupid earth-friendly orange cleaner that he buys, sprays it directly onto a paper towel, and half-heartedly swipes at all surfaces in the house. That is his cleaning.

If I am cleaning, the earth is going down. Full chemicals. That's what I like. Get me some Mr. Clean. Some Tilex. Some Ty-D-Bol. And yes, all those chemicals DO make my throat close up. What about it?

I am going to try with all the self-control I can muster, and I don't know if you've met my self-control but I never have, not to start cleaning for him. Because I am seeing toast crumbs that need removing, hairs that need sweeping, gunk that needs Magic Erasing, and oh, hell, where's the Shark?

(Comment of the Week goes to Paula H&B and her Poppycock story.) (Click of This Week's Special to see it.)

Hair · I am berserk · June's stupid life · My pets

An update on the hair. Since y’all are obsessed.

Apparently, you are all still interested in my hair, which just goes to show you there is no telling what will fascinate you people.

We're coming up on hour 72 since I had said chemical straightening treatment, which means I can (a) wash it with the $9,000 shampoo they want me to use and (b) do the 30-Day Shred. Or do Shrek for 30 days. What is it we all agreed to do together, again?

Anyway, here is my hair, in an unretouched photo from this very morning. I have not even brushed it yet.


Love it! I also love how you can see my glasses are seven feet thick. But isn't it cute how they're light blue on the inside? How much extra did I spend for that feature that no one sees but me?

The word "unretouched" has always bugged me. Why not just "untouched"? If it's unREtouched, it must have been touched at some point. Seems deceitful. I didn't cheat on you a second time!

Also joining me at the computer this morning, by the way, is my now constant co-writer, Francis Carport.

Did you know his last name was Carport? That's because when we found him, as a two-week-old screeching kitten, he was hanging off a vine–upside down–on top of a carport. So now that you know his last name you can Google him and so forth.

He has definitely moved from always being on his pink chair to always being next to the computer, which is a pain in the arse, frankly. He is forever planting his lug-ish self on the keyboard, and accidentally Googling 111111111111111… until the computer freezes, or turning the screen off altogether, or setting caps lock without me knowing it and in general I wish to behead him.

Poor Fran.

In other news, I start my job in four days. Eeek! Mr. X, my new boss, called yesterday to make sure I got the employee manual and such that they sent, which gave me an opportunity to say, "The offer letter said to ask for the HR person at 9:00, but should I just ask for you at 8:30?" and he said yes. Crap. So I guess I do go in at 8:30.

I have picked out my ensembles for the first three days. Because there is something seriously wrong with me.


First day, white shirt, black pants. Maybe after I can wait tables. And yes, I was thinking maybe I'd iron it first.

Second day, coral shirt, turquoise necklace, brown pants. Splash of color! Woo!


Day three, might as well break them in early with the "most of my clothes are pink" thing.

Wearing with black pants and pink kitten heels.

I really don't have to get this dressed up at this job, but I figured at the beginning I would, then start wearing this blue robe every day on week two. Then week three is when Francis can come lie next to my work computer.

What say you?

Faithful Readers · Gardening · June's stupid life

June stalks a reader

Every once in awhile, a faithful reader will email me to tell me they had a dream about me, and they always offer the caveat that they are not a stalker. I do not know why they have to assure me of that, because it’s not their fault what their subconscious does.

Last night I had a dream I spent the night at Faithful Reader Paula H&B’s house, and her cat Simon slept in the bed with me. With his cross-eyed Siamese self.

This is only the second time I have had a blog dream. The other one was when I dreamed you all wanted me to wear a onesie and put a picture of it up and I did it. I preferred the one where I got to sleep with Simon.

How overly involved with my faithful readers am I that I know the breeds of their cats?

Of course, I know the breeds of the pets of everyone at my grocery store, gas station, doctor’s office, FEDEX! office, and so forth. The names of their kids? Pfft.

Speaking of pets, my dead pet Ruby’s lilies bloomed!


Not that Ruby rose from the dead and did a little gardening. Which would be nice because that back yard is a mess. Rather, this is where she is buried and I planted a lily there to commemorate her black fuzzy self. And the lily finally bloomed.


I found one that had red in it for Ruby. And it’s pretty, like she was. And it took awhile to open up, like she did. Perhaps this flower will come in and pee on the carpet, too.

And speaking of our back yard, the guy next door used to rent his house, and we kind of had a parade of fools living there since we moved in. First there was the single mom who had two kind of bizarre kids. They were super-intelligent and I liked them, but they said the weirdest, most not-kid things. Of course now that I am telling you about them I can’t think of a single example. Let’s just say there was never an “I’m rubber you’re glue” emanating from either kids’ lips.

This woman also had two kittens who she let run hither and yon, and they were forever in my yard.


This is Edna, who I named after one of my great-grandmothers. You have no idea how much I wanted to steal her. In fact, my overzealous dog walker DID steal both kittens, and the neighbor immediately put up signs all over the neighborhood, so I called ODW and told her she had to bring them back.

I did not mean to ramble on about this person for 48 years.

The next person who moved in talked on her phone in the side yard all the time, making her side security light go on and shine in our bedroom and forcing us to listen to her annoying voice at all hours. It was a shame when she left.

Anyway, Paul, our neighbor, couldn’t rent out the place any longer due to the economy, so he moved in himself and has been making really stupendous changes to the house and yard, including cutting down 3934829504934 weed trees in the back.

Just yesterday I was noticing one of our old trees looks like it’s on its last legs, or limbs, and I was thinking about what kind of tree I want next, and really what I want is a mimosa tree. You wake up, go to your tree, get a champagne and orange juice right off the branch! BAH!


Okay, really. Here is a mimosa tree. And they smell so good. I know you are shocked at the color.

But I was also thinking, maybe we should get a magnolia. I mean, we’re in the South. Isn’t it kind of a prerequisite?

So this morning I was in the back yard taking pictures of Ruby’s lily and playing with Talu, when I noticed this:


We HAVE a magnolia tree! I had never noticed it because of all the thick foliage in our back yard, and my neighbor’s back yard. But now that his is gone, hey! There it is! I think it hasn’t had a chance to get big because of all the other trees.


Including the world’s hugest pine right next to it. I know “hugest” isn’t a word. But what else could you say about this tree? I’m surprised we don’t get tourists. Maybe we could cut a hole in the middle and let people drive through it, like you can at that park in the Redwoods.

I have no idea how I got off on a tree tangent. Simon and I are going down for a nap.

Hair · June's stupid life

The new June Gardens

I didn't even get dressed yet and I stampeded to the computer to show you my hair. Who's a good blogger?

I was there for FIVE HOURS AND FIFTEEN MINUTES. Seriously. I mean, I should have been coming out of that salon with new hips and the ability to speak Latin and maybe an entire race change in that amount of time. Because you want to go to a hair salon for your hip replacements. And your race changes. For that matter.

Okay, without further ado–get it? A DO? Here is my before picture:


God, I'm funny every time I do the before pic, aren't I? I mean, this IS before. Forty-four years before, but still.

Here is today:


TAA-DAAA! I had leaves stuck to the sides of my head so I look vaguely like a moose. What do you think?

Really, why do I have such a bulbous nose? Now I have to get that changed. At the hairdresser. Put this nose next to my old hips.

Anyway, the crap they put on my head is still there, and I have to wait 72 hours before I can put an elastic in it, or get it wet, or remotely bend it in any way. Otherwise it'll stay that way. Apparently if I make a face it'll stay that way in my hair, too.

This means I cannot do Jillian Michaels till Friday! Woo-hoo! No flaring nostrils for three days! Come on, Buddy! Fight for it! We're all in the same boat!

If you're not doing 30-Day Shrek with me, the above paragraph means nothing to you.

I am excited to wash it and see what it looks like after. I don't know if it'll be stick straight or just kind of really not frizzy. Supposedly it reduces frizz my 90% or something. Which means I should have no hair left.

This is such a deep blog.

Hair · Health · June's stupid life

In which June goes with the flow

Here it is! The day we've all been waiting for! And if you have your giant "June's Beauty Treatments" calendar next to your huge "June's Illnesses" calendar, you already know THIS IS THE DAY I GET THE OVERPRICED HAIR STRAIGHTENING TREATMENT!

I barely slept all night. It was like Christmas Eve. Except under the tree was uninsane hair.

I guess "uninsane" isn't really a word. But who cares? I'm gonna have straight smooth hair like Janis the muppet!


Were they making fun of Janis Joplin with the Janis muppet? Except Janis Joplin had wavy hair.

Did I ever tell you the summer I was 16 I was obsessed with getting a scratchy voice like Janis Joplin's, so I kept drinking Southern Comfort and screaming? I am not making this up.

Hi, mom.

I thought it worked for her, it would surely work for me. Have you met my helium voice? It did not. I did get early onset cirrhosis, though.

Speaking of which, I went to my headache clinic for my several hours of medical prodding yesterday. Oh, it was the best time ever. Almost as good as getting one's hair straightened. They took FOUR TUBES of blood to test me for just everything.

If I find out I am not dying, I start the experimental drugs at my next, you know, girl time. When I check into the Red Roof Inn. When Miss Scarlett comes home to Tara. You get my drift.

And believe it or not, each month that I take this drug (I take it for six months), I have to take a PREGNANCY TEST before I start. I am going to be 45 in July, and measures have been taken. Trust me. But okay. They're being safe. This is a new drug and they don't want to muck things up. Actually it isn't a new drug. It has been used for heart patients and now they think it'll work on menstrual migraines. I mean, migraines for when I'm playing in a ragtime band.

Okay, I'll stop.

So they supplied me with a pregnancy test for this month.


Who's mature? I giggled at this for 85 minutes.

I hope I never, ever get pregnant, as my child would be more grown up than me at about 18 months.

When the nurse was questioning me, I think I scared her. "When did you first get diagnosed with migraines?" she asked.

"March 17, 1995," I said. I remember it was St. Patrick's Day. Plus I am an idiot savant about dates. I saw she just wrote down "1995."

There is a 33% chance I got placebos, and when she handed me my drugs I had this overwhelming feeling that's what I got. She does not know if they are placebos, either. It is a double-blind test. Also, she gave me a card to put in my wallet, so if I am ever in a horrid accident and incapacitated, the card gives a number to call and they will "unblind" me–that was the term she used–so they can save my life without drug interactions.

It's all so complicated!

Anyway, none of this matters because I am about to go get my hair straight. I took a before picture for you and tomorrow you will have an after picture. Gives you a reason to get out of bed, doesn't it? Maybe it you're lucky I'll put that pee picture back up, too. Maybe I'll just make it my masthead. Ooo! Tshirts!

Okay, here's my before shot.



See. You knew I'd have to do something dumb first, didn't you?

Okay. Here we go. My before shot.

For reals.




Sadly, this is not a joke. Here it is. In all its glory. Marvin said, "What if I don't like your hair straight?" I reminded him he's been dealing with THIS hair for 14 years. Could it really look worse?



While I was taking this shot, I noticed Tallulah looked sad. Perhaps she wishes I'd spend that money on something for her. Or at least make the bed. For the record, it WAS made and she messed it up making her nest like she does.

This bed was actually unmade, though, when Marvin plopped his guitar case on it and Henry flumped right in.


Cats. Going everywhere stupid to sleep that it is possible to go.


Speaking of going…

Okay! Show you my STRAIGHT HAIR tomorrow!!

Health · June's stupid life


You know what would be fantastic? Is if it didn't hurt to type.

So what hurts on you today, those of you doing this ridiculous 30-day Shrek action? For me it's the tops of my arms and my neck. Because the part where she says we don't involve our necks in the ab work is apparently a bunch of poppycock.

Have you ever had that stuff? Poppycock? With the carmel corn and the peanuts? Doesn't that sound delicious?

You know what else hurts today? My throat. It hurt yesterday, too, and I am irritated. I cannot be getting ANOTHER COLD a week before I start my new job. One of the side effects of my migraine med is sore throat, though, so I could just be dying from my meds. Let's hope so.

Speaking of which, I am having a red-letter day today, whatever that means. I get to go to the headache clinic and have TWO HOURS of medical testing and questioning and so forth, because I am part of a drug test for a new migraine med they are trying.

As part of my hypochondria, I happen to love medical tests and questions. It makes me feel more secure when someone is prodding at me and looking at my insides and such. When I was at the headache clinic six weeks ago, they did all sorts of bloodwork on me, and they called me after to say my suds or my seds or my something reading was up, which could mean I have lupus or cancer but also it could mean I have a cold. Did I have a cold when they took my bloodwork, they wondered?

If you are keeping a huge calender titled, "June's Illnesses," you already recall that in early May I did indeed have a gigantic cold going on and I felt like dung. So I'm trying to ignore the part where I might have lupus or cancer and I'm going with the cold part.

Now today they are probably going to run the same test and guess whose throat hurts. Psychosomatic illness? Me?

Anyway, for six months I am going to take this experimental medication only during my womanly cycle, and by that I mean I have a pink bike with lavender flowers on it. And the best part is, they PAY ME to do this! I get tons of medical testing and prodding every month and THEY pay ME!

It doesn't get any better than this. Unless Barry Gibb got his medical degree and has moved to Greensboro.

I don't know how to ride a bike. Did you know that about me? I learned how and I forgot. Yes, I do know the saying. It is a bunch of poppycock.

Really, Poppycock was just an expensive, prize-inside-free version of Cracker Jack, wasn't it? But it was better. Plus, the prizes in Cracker Jack have gotten decidedly bad over the years. When I was a kid they used to be good.

Okay, I cannot type anymore because it hurts. And I know you wish I'd ramble on needlessly some more.

Health · June's stupid life

So, I did Jillian Michaels. So to speak.

Oh. My shattered arse.


First of all, I take issue with the box. Who works out with a huge medallion like that? Is she Barry Gibb? She's gonna bean herself in the head. Plus, if you read the back of the box, it reads "own personal" at one point, which is a phrase I hate. If it's your own, of course it's personal. And if it's personal, of course it's your own.

Also, I think there's an extra space before the word "a" at one point, and it seems like sometimes there's only one space after the period back there and sometimes two. But this could be just me and my hangups. You think?

Anyway, I got out my hand weights and my mat, like this taskmaster told me to.

(My wrists are sweating on the keyboard, by the way, while I tell this to you.)


Of course, as soon as I did that, Tallulah assumed it was some kind of pink carpet laid out for her.


So naturally I took the opportunity to torment her with a lei…


…and engage her chesty self in a dance. Who is over me? Look at her expression.

Anyway, she left. Which was the whole point.

Then I was able to get started on this Nazi's workout plan.

Mother of God. Did everyone else follow Anita or whoever she was, the "easy" person in the back? Because I like how she was supposed to be a beginner but she had 12-pack abs. Yes, they found her in some 7-Eleven parking lot, chomping on a corn dog. "Hey, beginner, would you be in our workout veedeo?"

Nevertheless, I was able to do everything, although my knee arthritis hurt like a mo' sometimes. I think I'm supposed to just keep working out, though, and it'll go away. That's what they told me at the doctor. So, okay. When I need that knee replacement surgery I'll let you know if that's true or not.

Did anyone else pee themselves a little during the jumping jacks? Or was that just me?

So how many days a week are we supposed to do this ridiculous workout? Did anyone watch the rest of the DVD to find out?


Oh, and I forgot to include my pretty after shot. Mmmm! Am attracted to self.

You know what I might do? Shower.

I think I hate Jillian Michaels.

June's stupid life · Marvin · Photo essays

Yard sale. Do you sell antiperspirant?

This morning Marvin and I went to a yard sale in our neighborhood.


You know it's a bad sign when you go outside before 9:00 and the katydids are already chirping. Girl, it was hot. But we had three dollars in our pockets and we needed to spend it.


Marvin took his new haircut. He got groomed for summer. Doesn't he look cute? He looks like a little howler monkey. You know, in a good way. And yes, that is a leash he has. God forbid we go anywhere without that dog.


Because she's brilliant, and we enjoy the intellectual stimulation.

Even though it was only three blocks away, we got all sweaty like Elvis in concert. You know. In the '70s. When he was all curvy. Embracing his curves, as it were. And embracing his downers. Sweaty like that.

When I got home I checked the temp, and it is 80 with 72% humidity. Nice. Did I mention it's before 9:00?


Anyway, we finally perspirationally got there. I do not know why Marvin is wearing a long-sleeve shirt. Remember when that guy who played Martin on the show Martin, whose name I think was actually Martin, who went jogging and wore tons of layers and had to be hauled off by an ambulance? Maybe Marvin is trying for that.

And you know who's good on her leash? And heels like a champ? Is that Tallulah.

Once we got there, I felt weird taking pictures, but I can tell you the people had a little Maltese and I am sorry to say size-ist Tallulah was not polite. So then one of us had to stand in the street with old Growly, while the other shopped. We had our eye on a little cabinet, but some old man bought it. I tried to get Tallulah to sic him, but he hadn't made a typo. BAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

In other news, I made up with two of my Thursday women. I do not know if I will go back to Thursdays, but at least I don't have to be afraid to go to, say, the grocery store and have some awkward reunion or something. I am getting together with one of said women in less than an hour, so I should go. Because, sweaty? I'll get there and she'll say, "I didn't know there was a marathon in town."

Am also going to buy my 30-Day Shred today, as so many of you have already done. It sounds like you can get it cheapest at Target, which segues nicely into announcing that Target Steve is my commenter of the week. We have an honorable mention this week, too, that goes to Anita. Click This Week's Special if you cannot stand the suspense.

Seriously, I am so tired of being sticky. And it's not even officially summer yet, is it? I understand why Mrs. Roper wore mumus. I just want to be in something flowy. Or naked. I want to be in something naked. Do you think I should show up naked for my official making-up-with-my-Thursday friend? or might that send the wrong message?

Okay. Will glisten at you later.

Health · June's stupid life

Shred. Which just kind of makes me hungry for hash browns.

Okay, since so many people have already said they are into doing the 30-Day Shred veeedeo with me, here's what we'll do. Everyone try to get it this weekend. Then sometime between Sunday and Monday night, try to do the veedeo. And I promise eventually I will stop saying veeedeo.

Also, if anyone wants to send me Before pictures, I will put them up on my blog over the weekend! Those of you who already wrote to say you are in, I am adding you as officially in.

Here is my Before picture:


Okay, not so much. First of all, who's gonna believe I am 19? Also, how mean are her parents that they named her after a candy bar? She was doomed from day one.

I tried to take a Before shot by myself but it was a bust.


Like, literally, you're just getting shots of my bustal area. Wooo-hooo!


I was floored by the shot. BAH.

Okay, I give up. 

Please send your much better Before shots and I will display them.

Okay, go get your veeeeeedeo!  

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

What’s up my bum today

My guaranteed-to-not-ride-up-underwear? Just rode up. And there is a metaphor for my whole life.

I can't get my hair done today; I had to postpone it till Tuesday. We can't afford it. Technically, the money's in the bank, because I plundered my savings, but then we'd have nothing again. I invoiced all my proofreading clients on the 15th, so if everyone PAYS UP, I'll have tons o' cash by Tuesday.

Crap. I wanted straight hair NOW. I WANT IT NOOWWWWW. Am annoyed.

I finished another book yesterday, so that means I have proofread two and have only four to go!

Crap. Did I mention crap? I mean, at least we'll have money, finally, but if you can't drive with a broken back, at least you can polish the fenders. I'm gonna be working like a pooch up through August at both my new full-time job and doing all these books I already committed to.

Don't you wish money just arrived? Like, that you were a trust fund kid or came from family money or something, and you didn't have to work hard for it? Is there anyone out there who is rich like that who would care to comment and tell us how wonderful it is?

Oh! And I have a dilemma. Okay, so technically the hours at my new job are 9-5:30. When I talked to my new boss, Mr. X, I said, "Should I come in at 9:00, then, the first day?" He kind of hemmed and hawed and said he likes to get in a little early, so I said, "Why don't I come in at 8:30 that first day?" Okay, he said.

Well, then I got the offer letter, and it said come in at 9:00 and ask for this HR person. So now what do I do? Do I go in at 8:30 and ask for Mr. X? I don't want to come at 9:00 when he said 8:30.

Did I mention my underpants are riding up? Should I go in the first day and tell my new boss and the HR person about my underpants? Have you met me? I probably will. I wonder why my old boss never liked me?

In other news, I have been wanting to tell you about my sister-in-law, whose underpants I am clueless about but whose weight loss is phenomenal. She lost THIRTY-FOUR POUNDS this year. I called her to ask if I could blog about her 30-pound weight loss, and she said, "It was 34. I want every pound accounted for."

Here's how she did it. Are you ready?

She ate right and exercised. Isn't that annoying?

Anyway, one of the things she did was use the Jillian Michaels 30-Day Shred Video, or veeedeo, as my grandmother would call it, and it's probably not even called a video, is it, because it's not 1995. She told me I could get said veeedeo for about 15 bucks at Target and I think I am gonna do it.

Does anyone want to have Shred with June? Mince Pounds with June? What the heck can we call it? Bye Bye Pounds with June? In other words, does anyone else want to do this veedeo with me? Do you wish I'd stop saying veedeo? Really, that's how my grandmother pronounced it. Veeedeeo. It was the weirdest thing.

We can all complain about it together. We can get thin together and start exposing our midriffs. We can wear short dresses like Kelly Killoren Bensimon and accuse each other of systematic bullying. Come on! Who's in?

Family · June's stupid life

No sleep till…BROOKLYN!

Today is my father's birthday. He is 84.

Catfishndad Okay, no he isn't. I mean, I know lots of women my age have dads who are 84, but to me that is redunkulous. My parents dropped out of college to get married and I was born soon after, so they have always been what you'd call young. By my calculations, dad is 64 today. If I have added it up wrong, he will surely poke fun at me. He was going to be a nuclear physicist, so the math and science thing has always been his strong suit. But dad cannot spell his way out of a paper bag. I doubt he knows "paper bag" is two words. Together we make one well-rounded brain.

Remember the post I wrote about the bad art from my childhood? I am also going to inherit this sculpture up there, although believe it or not I like this one. The dark guy is the sculpture. The white guy is dad. In case you were confused.

Seeing as dad was always pretty close in age to me, he was never scary authority figure dad. Although he would spend the greater part of the weekend in the basement, watching sports on TV and swearing up a streak. But if I could stand all the swears, I could go in there with a small glass and he'd always share his Coca-Cola with me. He also ate boxes of Brach's Chocolate Stars while down there. What sugar high? Why so aggressive about the sports?

Mendadpool Other than that, he was pretty cool. Oh, except I had these gerbils, and they kept getting loose, and he said if the gerbils got loose one.more.time I had to get rid of them. So the next time they got loose, he was in the basement tossing out the F word at some football game, and my Uncle Jim had to sneak over and rescue Snoopy and Woodstock. Hey, I was seven. I wasn't good at gerbil naming yet.

When my parents got divorced, dad moved to Dallas, and I spent every summer and some Thanksgivings there, until I was, like, 25. I remember being there at Christmas the year I was 25 and it dawned on me, I am an adult now. I guess I don't have to schlep to Dallas all the time anymore.

But I liked hanging with dad. We went to Cancun, where we got totally ill from Montezuma's revenge. We went to the Gulf of Mexico, where I broke my toe and our hotel set on fire. And once we took a road trip across the country, where I had an allergic reaction to medication and my tongue blew up and we had to rush to an ER in Cheyenne, WY.

Good times!

But somehow they all were good times.



Dad was always a big hit with my friends when he came to see me at college. Here is is with Sleeping Beauty.

I remember I worked at a restaurant in a hoity-toity department store, and once when dad was visiting I had to work the dinner shift. "Your housemates and I will come get you at the end of your shift," dad said, "and we'll go out after."

There I was, serving quiches to the ladies who lunch and also apparently dinner, and there was a piano player entertaining us all with Killing Me Softly or something, and everything was soothing and monied and quiche-y, when out in the candy department was a clatter of drunken voices and singing and such awfulness.

It was dad. And my roommates. Drunker than I'd ever seen my roommates. And this was COLLEGE. I never saw my roommates anything BUT drunk. They used to get up and crack a beer at 10:00 Saturday morning to watch Pee Wee.

"HI, JUUUUNNNEEE!" they all screamed across the low-lit restaurant. I could not serve my last Manhattan fast enough to get those drunks out of there. Go, dad.

It was that same visit that it was time for the next term of school, and when I went to get my financial aid, I couldn't get enough. I was crying, and my father said, "F*** them. Get in the car and come to Atlanta with me" (he lived there briefly).

So I did. I packed my things and moved there. Like, right then.

In the car, I had brought cassettes, but my father had only one. It was the Beastie Boys, who I had never heard. He said, "You play your tape, then when it's my turn, just put in that Beastie Boys tape."

By the time we were out of Ohio, all we were doing was flipping that Beastie Boys tape over and over. She's crafty, and she'd just my type. I still love that song.

The living-in-Atlanta didn't last long, but I do have a memory of dad wanting me to go out one night, and me not being in the mood, and him doing an interpretive hula dance with him pantomiming drinking and laughing and having a gay old time.

I went.

Had we both consumed 50 salt licks apiece? Bloaty and his daughter, Miss Bloaterson, request the honor of your presence. And bring a container of Morton's, will ya? With salt.

Dad and I both lived in LA from 2000 till 2007, and that was fun. We took many road trips together, including the one we took to Colorado to the Mike the Headless Chicken festival. I participated in the world's longest chicken dance, and I think technically I am part of a world record. You knew you were here for a reason.

Dad was mostly in it for the fried Twinkies, and also he wanted to see the firefighters and police play football with a raw chicken, which we did. I kept worrying the whole town's police and fire would have salmonella and be out of commission. Because I'm breezy and fun that way.


Anyway, happy 84th or 64th birthday, dad. Here's to many more. Don't start eating healthfully and exercising now, it'd probably kill you.

And don't sleep till Brooklyn.

Hair · June's stupid life · Marvin · Money

It’s not Fahrenheit

Yesterday was Marvin's first day home from school. At 8:00 in the morning, he put on his shark head from our party Saturday, LEAPED onto the bed, and started biting at me.

It's going to be a long summer.

Do people have bail money? I'm just asking. For curiosity's sake.

In the meantime, am trying to proofread 7,000 books before I start my new job. I start on Tuesday, June 29. My new boss, Mr. X, suggested it, so I could give all my clients a full two-weeks' notice. Also too, I made an appointment for my hair, speaking of being June Trump. I am going to Ulta on Friday and getting their hair straightening treatment. Perhaps you are wondering how I am managing to do this seeing as yesterday I announced we had 11 dollars. Today we have nine. We went crazy with the spending.

I have a savings account at my old job, almost 30 miles away, and to get money out of it you have to physically go there and go up to the desk and ask the person there for cash. Which is what I'm going to do today. I know perhaps I could have done this before, for things like, I don't know, food. But imagine my hair being straight! And silky! And not like this:


Or this:


Or even this:

Yesterday I was proofing about thermometers, and the guy who invented Celsius, whose name, originally, was Mr. Celsius, had hair just like this:


Maybe had my hair looked like Mr. Fahrenheit's, I'd have been fine with it. That is my temperature-measuring-method of choice.

IMG000436Unless Mr. Fahrenheit's hair looked like this. 

So you can see why I was willing to let us starve to death, and hoard my meager savings like a miser, and now blow it on something stupid like a hair straightening.

Nevertheless, after this, once I start my actual job, we have so much catching UP to do. We owe Marvin's parents, and I think I owe my mother, too. And we are STILL paying for my MRI I had almost two years ago, plus Tallulah needs her shots.

Do you know Francis our insane cat has never had his shots since he got banned from the vet in LA, and he has lived longer than any cat I have ever had? What gives? He's sitting here right next to me now, almost 13, fat and grouchy. Nowhere near death. Trust me on this. Because when he, you know, expires, I am so campaigning for a second dog. So I am sorry to say I keep on eye on Fran's health. But no. Healthy. No shots.

Are those shots a scam?

Okay I must go to work. I have a good 10 hours of reading ahead of me. Somebody please do the thing where you email me saying you want to be a proofreader because you love to read. I am so in the mood to stick skewers up someone's orificles.

Do people have bail money? Again, just asking.

June's stupid life · Proofreading/Copy editing


Who had a giant piece of bruschetta in her pie hole when the call came to offer me that job, the place where they have Donkey Kong on the breakroom? Was it your gluttonous pal June?

I had to spit it out onto a paper towel so I wouldn't sound like an idiot.

"Hello?" I said smoothly, like I was sitting around writing a paper on Proust instead of sitting in front of the computer reading my blog comments, a giant loaf of bread on my lap balanced on top of a bowl of chopped tomatoes. Thank goodness that whole video phone thing from the Jetsons never really took off.

"Hello, June, it's Mr. X, your new boss from the really cool company with a giant picture of a fire hydrant on the wall at the restroom area."

Okay, he didn't say all that, but his name really is Mr. X. Okay, it isn't, but guess who has a new name on my blog without knowing it?

"So, we all loved you," he said. "What do you think, come in tomorrow? That reasonable?"

"Or how about now?" I said. It was 5:10 and there was a monsoon outside.

"Yeah! Get in the car! Good night for driving!"

Okay, I love Mr. X. Anyway, it'll be good to be employed, seeing as we currently have eleven dollars. No, really. Eleven. Drinks on me! As long as they're drinks from the puddle in my driveway.

"Do you have any questions, by the way?" he wondered. "Well, I noticed people dressed in a variety of ways," I said. "What're the rules?"

"No bare midriffs, no torn clothes. Other than that, anything is fine."

Darn. I was so gonna wear my torn Metallica tshirt that exposed my firm midriff on day one.

When you first walk into the lobby of my NEW JOB, on the wall is everyone's childhood photo. They aren't framed photos, they have somehow made it, like, part of the wall. Naturally I chose my childhood photo days ago in case they called.


I particularly enjoy my nice jacket/pants combination and the part where apparently some of my intestine is coming out, there, on the right. This is a slide, but I am hoping it'll work for however they make it part of the wall.

Do you like how I am concentrating on this and not, say, the part where they use AP Style at this job and I haven't used AP Style since we were all laughing at that funny Alf? And having to literally write "login" to get on our computers? Do you like how I'm not, say, brushing up on that? No. Instead I gotta get my picture ready.


I was also wildly tempted to use this nice shot, where apparently my parents gave me a Lemonhead or something. But I figure they'll have plenty of time to figure out my hair has always been a mystery. Why lead with it with a baby pic?

Oh, and by the way, I used the category "proofreading" for this post, but I am officially a copy editor at this job. Thank you. I know the difference means a lot to all of you. Perhaps we should all go look at my baby hairdo again. Probably makes more sense than knowing the difference between a proofreader and a copy editor.

Anyway, yay!!


Friends · June's stupid life

Girls, they wanna have fun. Just not with me.

I think I'm bad at friendships with women.

My grandmother? The one I am turning into? Was bad with women. All her friends at work were men, with the exception of one woman, Gertie, who was African American and had grown up in the projects. I have thought that maybe because they grew up so differently that Grammy didn't feel competitive with her or something. They ended up having just a fine time at work, and it was always weird to hear her talk about giggling with a woman. Because trust me. Every other woman was stupid, or a big slut, or something.

And now I'm the same way.

When we are friends with a couple, often I like the men better (my grandmother was that way, too). At work, I prefer working for men, and most of my friends end up being male. Thank heavens Marvin isn't jealous or anything, because at every job I'm always, "Oh, Jerry said this" or "Mike was so funny today…"

With women, there always ends up being something stupid and petty that happens, either on my end or theirs. And obviously, I have female friends. You've heard me talk about my Pal from MA, and the Other June and Paula and so forth. But oh! Did Paula and I have some fights when we lived together. And my friend Dottie and I didn't talk for 14 years, although now she is a marvelous pal. And if you've read this blog for awhile, you know I had an intense best-friendship that ended in tragedy.

With men? That crap never happens. We don't fight. I don't know what men do if their feelings get hurt in the relationship, but they don't pout and say "Nothing's wrong!" like my ex-best friend used to do. They don't call me crying. They don't write letters saying, "This is what you did wrong." And they don't cut me off cold with no explanation (see ex-best friend again).

And this is why I like them. It's breezy. It's fun. There are no complications.

But what does it mean about me that I cannot get along with women?

I bring this up today because every Thursday, I get together with this group of women. We vary whose house will be the meeting place, so sometimes it's someone's cozy den or someone's grand front porch. But no matter where we met, we would talk about what was going on, and we told the truth, and it was nice. I loved Thursdays. I met with these great women, who I considered my friends, and then afterward I had the hideous Real Housewives to look at. Thursdays were perfect.

I invited these women to my party, and not one of them RSVPd, and not one of them showed up.

I mean, if they'd have all called and said they couldn't come, I would have felt bad but I could have continued the friendship. But for ALL of them to ignore my invitation and act like I don't exist?

See, this is why I'm bad with women. They pull crap like this, and then I blow up, and it ends badly. I called the person who introduced me to everyone in the first place, and actually she DID tell me she wasn't coming (after I'd called her). I let her know what happened, and how bad I felt, and that I didn't want to come to Thursdays anymore. She said she understood, and did I care if she told everyone my feelings.

Of course I didn't care. I mean, obviously I wasn't gonna be there anymore and she'd have to say why.

That was yesterday morning. It's now midday the next day. Not one of those women has called to say they were sorry.

I don't know. I hear people say, "I don't know what I'd do without my girls!" and I have never had that. I have some great friends who are female, but no group like that. Because it always ends up like I just described.

Am I too demanding? Do you have trouble with female friendships? If you do, does it mean we hate ourselves or something, that we can't get along with a pack of yentas?

Do tell.

Friends · June's stupid life · Photo essays

The after party

Man, I am hung.over. Woo!

Okay, I don't drink. At most I am Cheerwined over. Do y'all not in the South know from Cheerwine? It is kind of Dr Pepper-y, without the pepper. So it's kind of cherry cola-y. Anyway, it's delish. I told someone last night I was sad to move to the South till I found ham biscuits and Cheerwine. Then I was good with it.

So, it rained a little yesterday afternoon–not enough to ruin anything we'd hung in the back, but enough to cool it down about 10 degrees. So that was excellent. And people and their fears cracked me the Sam Hill up.


Here was my fear. Also, won't you appreciate our new blue walls and white bookshelf? Try to look beyond my sixteen unborn children. And by the way? You may not know this, but trying to navigate with a big pregnant stomach is hard. I kept spilling bruschetta on our child as I carried it to the food table.


Here is my neighbor Peg, co-party host. She is not a fan of the bee. Look at her cute shoe detail. The party was abuzz about it. BAH!



Afraid of the oil spill. Excellent! When she left, Marvin said to her, "Go home and clean up." Who finds his own every utterance hilarious?



Just when you thought it was safe to read my blog. And you know what's not tapped out? "Just when you thought it was safe" jokes about sharks.


I love everyone. I mean, they all really worked (for health insurance) on their outfits.


Everyone, that is, except my friend The Other June. We awarded prizes, and she won Most Lame.


Marty Martin came as fear of failure and his woman Kaye was The Pacific garbage patch.


Here was my favorite. My friend Tank's wife hates it when you go in the water and fish swim around your ankles. She got the Most Original prize.


My pal Hammy never wants to jump out of a plane. Despite the part where she might get to be the Bionic Woman if all went terribly wrong.


And her husband feared time.

A couple hours into the party, I decided to give birth, because that plastic beach ball from the dollar store was starting to stick to my thighs. When I pushed it out (yes, I did), Marvin yelled, "That looks nothing like me!"

Again. Hearts. Him. Self.

Anyway, it was a good TIME, despite someone's fear of it, and everyone stayed till about midnight. Well, my friends did. Peg's friends all left by 10:00. I felt bad, thinking maybe Peg was tired, but she seemed totally not tired, and she did have one friend (who dressed as fear of being a redneck) stay. We broke it up because huge flashes of lightning started zipping across the sky, so all the men quickly carried my furniture back inside, and let me tell you, that went a lot faster than when Peg and I schlepped it our own selves the other day.

I wish I always had a team of men to do things. Like a staff or Egyptian slaves or something. Is that politically incorrect of me to wish? I wish it anyway.

Today I have to (wait for it) proofread something, and also plant the zinnia my friend The Other June brought me. I am quickly realizing the best thing to give me is something to plant in my yard. I could hardly sleep I was so excited to plant my zinnia today. And again. What happened to drunk slutty June who passed out on random floors throughout her 20s?

Hi, mom!

P.S. I forgot to tell you, I have a new fear.


Marvin growing a Tallulah face.

Friends · June's stupid life · Photo essays

June prepares for her “come as your biggest fear” party

Annnnnnd the high today is 92. Because I'm having an outdoor party. In June. In the South. That's why.

I hope no one is coming dressed as a bear. Unless it's like a gay man bear with assless chaps. Because at least then there'd be a cool breeze.

We all worked like demons yesterday setting up Peg's yard, and then we commenced again this morning.


Marvin's so excited about our party he's pitchin' a tent!

My driveway, shown above, is going to be the drinks station. It's where you'll get your Cheerwine, your Corona, your coffee, which I am stupidly making even though it is going to be 92. Hell, it already IS 92. Trust me. I was just out there.

Here is Peg's yard. We thought we'd leave the ladder just like that just to watch people trip. In case that was anyone's biggest fear. Also, yes, mom, that IS your dining-room table back there. You gave it to me, remember? I am allowed to schlep it into someone's back yard if I feel like it.

Oh, by the way, Faithful Reader Tee, there's a fake snake in this picture.

We hung bugs and bats and snakes everywhere, and ironically sometimes had to knock actual real bugs off Peg's wall to make room for fake ones. Also, one of the bats fell off and it fluttered off very realistically. Cool! I like bats, personally.

Anyway, we all retreated to our air conditioning until 5:00, when we will start setting up the tables and such. I am certain it won't be hot as blazes or anything at 5:00. And also, our bookshelves aren't done being painted, so if anyone wants to come in my house to go to the bathroom, our house is a wreck. Yay.

Someone does not care that we are partaying down tonight. Someone also does not care that that window sill needs painting. Perhaps he thought he was camouflaged there. We see you, Henry. Nice try.

Comment of the week goes to Joann, who apparently I am obsessed with because she won the caption contest, too. Clearly we are having an affair.

I'll show you pictures of everyone's costumes tomorrow. You have something to live for.