Books · Gardening · June's stupid life

It’s here! Wake the kids! The day June talks about her bulbs!

I worked until 11:00 last night. And what I am today? Attractive. Also? Perky. Plus? Attractive.

Also incidentally, could it be raining any harder? I know some people say the rain helps them sleep, but I just splayed there in the bed, pinned by animals, so I wasn't all that splayed really, wondering when it was going to STOP WITH THE RAIN NOISE.

One time Marvin and I stayed at a hotel right on the ocean, and after day one I was all, "Can we get that crashing waves sound effect turned off?" Irritating.

I noticed, while I lay there last night, that every time I move in the slightest, Tallulah sidles up to me in her sleep, and once she is sufficiently pressed against me again, she sighs, "Hmmmmmmmm." It's so cute. You'd never know she was this cute when someone has the nerve to walk by with a baby stroller. (strollers dive her bats. she sounds less like a cute doggie and more like a 200-pound Rottweiler. who hasn't had its rabies shots. )

Oh! And I know you are all breathless with anticipation and this is like when they keep talking at the end of Miss America without announcing the winner, and you JUST WISH I'D TALK ABOUT MY BULBS, but I did want to mention book club. Before I forget. Because have you met me?

Officially, book club is this weekend. Click on Mince Words with June for details. Which is something Faithful Reader Paula H&B REFUSED to do, and just because I said I THOUGHT book club was NEXT weekend, she has not stampeded her way through Little Womenses like she ought.

Did the rest of you do this? Were you all silly enough to think I knew for sure when book club was when I said I THOUGHT it was the 10th and not the 3rd? What I'm saying is, we can have it next weekend if we need to. Your thoughts, please.

Okay. It's finally here. Strap yourselves in.

So, in the spring, I get daffodils in droves, as does anyone who remotely plants one daffodil in the South, as it must be the ultimate place for daffodils or something. So that's good, but I wanted a little, you know, variety in my garden come spring.

So this past weekend (not the one coming up that may or may not have book club), I went shopping for bulbs. And I had NO IDEA they came packaged like this.

See. Here is where I thought it'd be pretty to hold up my packages of bulbs against the rising sun (there is. a house. in New Orleans.) (they CALLLLL the RISING SUN!) (what an irksome song that is), and yet when I got up this morning?


It rain. Forget.

That is one of my favorite of Tallulah's Facebook status updates, which yes, I know I write her status updates so once again I am amused by my own self, but in her status update, she keeps asking to go out ("Lu go out now? How 'bout now? Lu stare at you while you watch Real Housewifes. Out now?") and then she finally goes to the door and says, "Oh. It rain. Forget."

(Tallulah is listed as Tallulah Gardens on Facebook and would love to be your pal.)

Today Marvin had to literally pick her up and put her outside so she'd pee. It rain. Forget.

At any rate, did you know they make packages of bulbs that tell you when to plant them and in which order they'll bloom? So you can have hyacinths and peonies and tulips and other bulby plants all spring?

Okay, well I didn't know, Smuggie.

Here is a really good picture of my bulbs. Apparently my bulbs are ghosts.

Do you like my robe? It's Marvin's cowboy-pictures robe.


I cropped this one. It's from the agrant collection.

Obviously I am into the idea of hyacinths. And I think these might be guaranteed to bloom. I am unsure.

Anyway, I will plant them this weekend and am beside self. Now I just have to wait six months and whoo! Reward. Almost as rewarding as this post.

Okay, let me know when you want to have book club. And no matter when I happens, I look forward to the people who comment and say, "Now I wish I'd have read the book!" JUST READ THE BOOK.

Your cheerful pal,


June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Pieces of Wisdom Wednesday: Toys You Remember

It's Pieces of Wisdom Wednesday here at Bye Bye, Pie, and yesterday I asked you to tell me about toys from your childhood that now that you look back on them, you're all Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?

For example, I had a monster-making machine that heated up to the temperature of Mars, and it had all sorts of nooks and crannies to pop your vulnerable child hand into and pull out a crispy stump.

My father emailed me about the toy, by the way, because he always emails me about my blog but never leaves a comment on here, so you probably think my father is Snufalupagus, which by the way, there is another Whiskey Tango Foxtrot from our childhood.

An elephant? That no one can see? Except Big Bird? Why?

Anyway, attached please find the monster maker from my childhood, which my father went out and located online after yesterday's post:


That delightfully colored orange and green oven is where you put a cube of inevitably toxic plastic, and then somehow it melted into a bug or a lizard or whatever. So, the part where I thought it was a monster? Yeah. But I really do not enjoy bugs and crawly things, so they are included in the "monster" category for me.

While I was looking for a bigger image of the Creepy Crawlers, I found this:

HELLO! HELLO, KITTY! You can make your own molds of Hello Kitty!?!? Dad, will you come over and help me?

Also too, I found this not-at-all-sexist ad:


What is she wearing on her head? Did she mold her own gaudy headband? Is she Mother Nature? Or posing for the Green Goddess salad dressing bottle? Otherwise, her loved ones need to tell her to ix-nay on the over-the-top eadbands-hay.


So many of you mentioned the Lemon Drop, which you saw as ludicrous, but at least it made us active.


You put it around your ankle like you're Lindsay Lohan or some similarly tethered person, and them you WHIP that lemon around and around and jump over it.

Okay, it was on odd toy. Who THOUGHT of it? Did they accidentally drop one of those plastic lemons one day and have a eureka?

And of course, what trip down odd toy memory lane would be complete without a mention of those safe Jarts? Nothing is better for kids than sharp pointy objects that you throw. Yay!


Someone has invented a "Jarts Survivor" shirt, and this is why I love people.


Clack on! Clack off!

I totally had these. So did many of you. So the glass could have broken and gotten shards in someone's eye. DID IT? Did it happen to you? No. You clacked, you hit your brother, no one got hurt, end of story.

Clack on, clack off. The Clacker.

So if you didn't get impaled by a Jart, or burned to death with the monster maker, or get the shards from your Clacker, how about you inhale some mysterious chemical-y plastic?

I had some SuperElastic Bubble Plastic, and if you watch this TV commercial, you know you bought it thinking you'd get balls this big. So to speak. But you did not. You did not get big balls. You got maybe a peach-size ball, made from some chemical that we are all going to die from inhaling, eventually.

A slow, mysterious chemical death. From Hasbro!

Someone in my comments yesterday said they loved the smell of Play-Doh and Colorforms, and as someone who loves to open new three-ring notebooks because they smell like a new doll, let me tell you a story.

They ("they." I love it when people say that) did a survey of people who were kids in the '40s and '50s, and asked them what smells reminded them of childhood. The majority said hay or new-mown grass (is "mown" a word?) or the sidewalk after it rains.

Kids who grew up in the '60s and '70s? Play-Doh. Crayola Crayons. New dolls. ALL OUR MEMORIES ARE FROM SYNTHETIC MATERIAL!

Depressing. Let me find Kitty Carryall and tell her my woes.

And speaking of my woes, so many of you RUBBED SALT in my WOUND, mentioning toys I was not allowed to have.

Like the Barbie head. Who you could make up and do her hair. Look, she was the first person to have extensions. Anyway, MOM said I'd get the pieces everywhere.

Dnd 4 lite brite
I also could not have a Lite-Brite. Because MOM said I'd get the pieces everywhere.

My cousins had Operation. I never did. Guess why. Pieces. Whenever I went to their house, I was not good at getting the wish bone out or whatever because I had no practice.

Had you not been so CONCERNED about getting your zigzag carpet messy, MOM, I'd be a top surgeon now! Do you hear me?

For a hippie, you were awfully tidy.

And yes, we really did have zigzag carpet. Black and white zigzag. Some day I will find you a photo.


Oddly, I was allowed to have Barbies and Skippers and Malibu Melanoma Barbie and so on. I say "oddly" because you'd think Free-to-Be-You-and-Me-Unless-Being-You-Involves-Toys-with-Lots-of-Parts mom would have objected to objectified Barbie. I wish I could have had bustin' out Skipper. Maybe mom was worried I'd leave her little white platforms everywhere.

But I'm not bitter.

At any rate, it's been a fun week of Pieces (but don't get the pieces everywhere) of Wisdom Wednesdays.

I have to go, because the timer just dinged and my Shrinky-Dinks are ready.

June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Don’t be a nicker. Answer my Pieces of Wisdom Q.

I was having a deep email discussion with someone who reads this blog, and somehow we got on the subject of Flickr razors.

Well, no. First we were talking about Flickr accounts, and how I would like to get one because I need to look at MORE pictures of myself and my stupid life, and then I said, "Wasn't there a razor called Flickr?"

Yeah, no. They were called Flicker. As in my friend Flicker. See how the stupid Internet is ruining us? I PURPOSELY misspelled it thinking it was right.

Oh, English. Where have you gone?


This model was Jayne Modean. I remember her being in every ad on earth in the late '70s. She also did Noxema ads. I think we were supposed to find her accessible. But she was never my type. I always liked Karen Graham. If I am looking at a model, I want her to be impossibly prettier than me.


Karen Graham was the Estee Lauder model in the '70s and oh, I wanted to look just like her. Look at her perfect nose. Why does my nose look like someone globbed a mashed potato on it?

Anyway. I have, stunningly, digressed, and models of the '70s were not why I gathered you all here today.

Because if you recall, this post started with me talking about the Flicker razor, which I said reminded me of a McDonald's toy I had when I was a kid. Similar in shape to the round Flicker razor, it was in the shape of a cheeseburger with a bite taken out of it. But it wasn't a cheeseburger (it wasn't a rock. Was a rock LOBSTER!), it was a whistle. A McDonald's brand whistle shaped like a cheeseburger with a bite taken out of it.


Would you not think that SOMEWHERE, somewhere, on this vast Internet of ours, I could find a photo of that ding-dang whistle? Everyone I asked who is my age (479) does not recall the cheeseburger whistle. But I SWEAR I had one! I swear it!

And that is what led me to today's Pieces of Wisdom Wednesday question. Which isn't so much about gleaning wisdom this week and just getting a charge out of everything. I guess it's Pieces of Whimsy Wednesday. See what I did there?

Is there some odd toy you recall from your childhood? A toy that in retrospect, you say, "Shut the front door. How the foxtrot was that even a toy I had that I went around and played with like it was normal?"

I remember this guy from my old job said his wife had this weird trippy doll that was clearly invented by someone addled by drugs in the '60s, because it — well, you know what? I can no longer remember what it did. Maybe it went from a girl to a monster, or it turned into an animal or a mushroom or something from Lidsville. I can no longer recall. But I'm saying, do you have a toy like that?

Because who went around thinking, "Oh! I have a good marketing idea! What say we make a whistle that looks like a cheeseburger with a bite taken out of it, and incidentally it also looks like this popular razor, so really dumb kids will get in the bathtub and try to blow their mom's razor!"

Similarly odd? I THINK this was my toy, but every time I played with it my father did all the work because it was so dangerous, and so maybe I am wrong and it was his toy, even though he was a grownup with a kid. I mean, as grown up as you can be when you're TWENTY-ONE and have a three-year-old already.

I'm pretty sure this was it. The POINT is, you plugged in that metal box, there, and put those plastic pieces in the molds, and then that monster-maker would get HOT ENOUGH TO MELT CHEMICAL-LADEN PLASTIC, and oh, was that a cool toy. And safe? Absolutely.

Parents won't even let their kids play in the FRONT YARD anymore. Even with helmets. And cell phones. And knee pads. And contracts saying, "I will never ever do anything dangerous or bad in the front yard." And yet we were given these MOLTEN CHEMICALS to play with.

Hells yeah.

Okay, you go. What odd toy do you recall?

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


Yesterday I was at a red light and Sex Machine came on. Now, when Sex Machine comes on, how can you not dance?

I dare you to listen to this and not dance a little.

Sadly for me, for the 2585038638th time in my life, I amuuuuuuuused the family next to me at the red light.

Can I help it I'm white? And from the Midwest?

GET UP-a! Get on up.

Speaking of sex machines, I finished Little Womenses yesterday. I realize none of them were exactly sex machines. Well, maybe the parents, with the four kids and all. Anyway, don't forget we have book club in October. When did I say? October 10? Click on Mince Words with June, get on up-a, to see. Because I can't remember my ass.

Sadly, my ass remembers me and follows right along.

In another sad note, even sadder than my ass, I talked to Snowflake's dad and GUESS WHAT. (get on the scene! get on up) His sister gave away the last puppy on Friday. I hate everything. The good news is that group of dogs is forever mating (and yes, Juice, I too want to go give all the girl dogs Depo shots or something), so he promises to call me when a new litter is available.

And I like how I say "I talked to Snowflake's dad" like it was all casual. I walked and drove past there seven million times yesterday while doing my errands. Don't forget that I have to show you my new bulbs, speaking of my errands. And if that doesn't make you stampede back here tomorrow, I don't know what will.

"Zzzzzz–oh! Good morning! Get out my way!  I have to see June's bulbs!"

GET UP! Get on up.

Okay, must get over that song. How much will you pay me to sing and dance to Sex Machine and put it on YouTube?

ANYWAY, one time yesterday in my stalky obsessedness I just HAPPENED to have my iPone with me, and I just HAPPENED to get a picture of Snowflake and her little brother.

Okay, totally selected the wrong photo. I am Snowflake. Talu as a puppy is playing the part of the little brother.  Let's try again.

LOOK HOW CUTE! Look at the puppyyyyyy! "i nowflake brother! i little. i gonna be big, tho! maybee you should steel me, aunt joon!"

"Snooflake say do not steel my brutha! I declare!"

Do you know anyone with more annoying dog voices than me? And they all have different tones, too. You should hang at our house someday. You will think I am Sybil, with all my pet voices.

Heh! Take it to the bridge!

See? Right there was a James Brown voice. OHMYGOD! JAMES BROWN! If I get a Snowflake relative who is brown, like our puppy above, I am so naming him James Brown.

Okay, my arse, Jo March the sex machine, my dog voices and James Brown and I are gonna go shake our money makers. GET UP!

June's stupid life · My pets

Looks like Snow

I have the best best best best best news ever. Maybe.

Last night Marvin and I were walking the cur, as we are wont to do every night of our lives, and you know I enjoy strolling past Snowflake.

In case you are just tuning in, Snowflake is a beautiful mixed breed doggie who lives a few blocks down.

There are three little girls who also live where Snowflake does, and they are always playing outside, which is nice to see for a change, and anyway you have no idea what this dog endures. They roll on her, chase after her, kick dirt in her direction without noticing it, and all sorts of things that would send Tallulah into a fit of the vapors. Snowflake just stays cheerful.

They got her as a puppy last Christmas, and I am sorry to tell you that I covet her. I have wanted Snowflake since minute one. She is SO calm, and so BEAUTIFUL, and so smiley.

So there they all were last evening: Snowflake; the rambunctious girls; and even their dad, whom I have never spoken to. I guess he has figured out by now that I'm a perv for his dog, not his kids, so he's fine with me.

Well. The Snowflake family got a new PUPPY! A round, fluffy, wriggly chocolate brown thing that you an imagine I was delighted with, even as I petted Snowflake.

"YOU WANT TO HOLD HER?" Oldest Towhead asked. They never speak in indoor voices.

You know my answer. Oh, no. No puppy holding for me. I am a busy professional.

That puppy lick lick licked me and nuzzled in my neck and I was so smitten.

"THAT 'NOFLAKE BROTHER!" screeched Youngest Towhead. They have told me their names 487 times but I never remember. Snowflake's name I retained. Them? Blond chicks. 

That annoying, overused screeching-of-the-needle-on-the-record sound effect literally happened. It just scratched across the sky.

"'Noflake's BROTHER?" I asked, forgetting her S.

That was when the dad came over. "Eeeeeyep," he said. I asked Marvin later if we thought perhaps Dad was born and raised here. "I been havin' the same family of dogs since I wus 10. We jus' keep gettin' puppies from 'em, and they's good dawgs."

He might as well have been shucking something. And yet? Would have soul kissed him for this information.

"You mean, that puppy has the same parents Snowflake has? Are there…more puppies available?"

I was getting my screechy high voice. And probably sounding sort of Michigan-y, because when I get twittered I get my Michigan voice back. Dad probably went inside and told his wife some Yankee wanted his dog.

"Well, ma'am, I can call my sister. There may be some left. You want you a girl, so's Tallulah don't get pregnant? Or is she spaded?"

I am hoping Snowflake learns her grammar from my brief visits.

Anyway, he TOOK DOWN my name and number so he could call his sister to ask if any SNOWFLAKE PUPPIES WERE AVAILABLE! And Marvin said I CAN HAVE ONE because we know how cool Snowflake is!


In fact, I told Dad, over there, "Oh, I would love to get a puppy just like Snowflake, with that disposition."

And he said, "Well, now I don't know if they have their shots like Snowflake does."

Do you think he thought "disposition" meant "inoculation"? That has been bothering me all day. Not as much as the part where it has been THIRTEEN HOURS and why hasn't anyone called me about my new puppy snickerdoodle?

I mean, why didn't he call her right away? What if someone is out there taking the last puppy? MY PUPPY?

"You know, Snowflake prob'ly won't care that that's her brother. We'll prob'ly have puppies, too."

I guess spaded-ing is not a priority for this family. But the thought of getting a CHILD of Snowflake is almost too much for me to bear. Even though the new puppy is maybe three months old, I am so going over there with candles and Marvin Gaye on the boom box later. Set the mood.

So what do we name him when we get him? Marvin so far has thought of Three Me Night (instead of Three Dog Night) and Dog Stevens (instead of Cat Stevens) (then in a few years he wants to change Dog Stevens to a Muslim name), and Person the Bounty Hunter.

Marvin is not allowed to participate in a real way in this discussion.

I was thinking that since the dog family keeps interbreeding we could name him Charles, like Prince Charles. Even though he screwed over my favorite person on earth. And I hate to say it, but the NAME Camilla is pretty as long as you don't think about that royal homewrecker. Tallulah and Camilla. That'd be lovely.


I am berserk · June's stupid life

Remembering Meadow. Also, I am a stalker.


Marvin took this photo of Tallulah's and my buttockal regions without our knowing it. Talu thinks her butt looks enormous and she is PISSED at daddy.


And does anyone remember that sweet doggie I had for one day, Meadow? I just found the post where I wrote about her. I deleted it, but it remains in Google Reader. Yes, I subscribe to myself. Would marry self if it were legal. Anyway, I had forgotten that her full name was Meadowlark Lemon, and I am even more in love with self than before. Also too also plus, I can totally see that she was a Beagle, can't you? Probably a Beagle/Jack Russel. God help us, having our first dog be that combo. It is hard enough having a stubborn Tallulah. But look at her. It was her ear that did me in.

In the meantime, I have large plans this weekend. I am going to clean up our yard! I know! I was expecting a house guest but she canceled, because everyone hates us and we suck, also she is in med school and her life is unpredictable, but mostly we suck. Anyway, now that I have a guest-free, Rush-free weekend, I cannot wait to get out there and pull weeds and put down wood chips and maybe even try to plant grass in the shady part of our back yard that is bare and depressing. Yes, I KNOW they made grass seed for shade. I wish one more person would tell me that.

My friend the Other June may stop by to keep me company while I pull and tug and grunt and sweat. Also while I work in the yard. BAH!

My other plan for the weekend is I am sorry to tell you that I had to take an Ex-Lax last night. If I emailed Marvin at work about my hard, angry pellets one more time he was gonna block my address. So I think I will be seeking the Oval Office quite a bit, if you know what I'm saying.

June's blog. Where you come for elegance.

Oh! Also too, today is the wedding day of my favorite blogger, and I do not wish to mention her name in case anyone should take this information and go to her wedding and kill her or give her a swirly in the Oval Office or whatever. But I am sorry to tell you that I looked up the weather for her city to make sure today would be lovely, and there is a 30% chance of rain. I actually sat here and felt worried sick about the 30% chance of rain.

You guys. I have never met this blogger in my life. We had one email exchange in 2007 back before I realized how huge she was in blogging, and I thought you just, you know EMAILED huge important bloggers. And she WROTE ME BACK. That, my friends, is the difference between a nice blogger and a snooty one.

Now everyone who has ever emailed me and I haven't written back is calling me a snoot. I get a LOT of EMAILS from all y'all! I answer you in my mind, but I get busy.

The point of my story is, she has ceased blogging, so I shouldn't even know about her wedding anyway. I just do because I Googled her name and found her wedding website. And since I don't KNOW her, why am I worried about her rain?

Am I berserk? Do I need psychological help? About this, I mean.

Okay. I am off to clean the yard. Am totally NOT gonna go crash a wedding of a person I have never met. Nope. Even though if I got in the car RIGHT NOW, in my nightgown, I could make it to her wedding on time today. Am not going to do.

Comment of the Week is Dawn in Austin. Go, Dawn!

June's stupid life · Marvin · Television

Good evening. So nice of you to join us.

Marvin, who was delighted with the comments yesterday about his big…hands, is getting a giant charge out of his own self. He keeps putting that each day is his birthday on Facebook. There is someplace you can go and plug in your birthday on there, and it automatically alerts your friends. He is giggling over his birthday wishes on his wall today, and is going to keep saying it's his birthday until someone gets mad and/or figures it out.

No, I have no idea why no one likes Marvin. What do you mean?

And what I'd like to know is, what is going to happen in November when it's really his birthday? He will be the Facebook boy who cried birthday. And his wall will have crickets.

In the meantime, my stupid stupid stupid head hurts. I went to bed with a migraine and didn't take anything for it, thinking it'd go away while I slept, bit then I woke up today and GUESS WHAT IS STILL HERE. Poking me in the head with its sharp sharp fangs. Hate.

The good news is that I got a new badge for my ID card at work.


You see that it's not just a badge, it's a FUN badge. So all day long at work Ima have fun. How much do you like me for saying "Ima"? Could someone remind me I'm a 45-year-old white girl? 

My old badge, which I just bought three months ago, had Hello Kitty on it, with a leopard background and pink, dark pink and copper-colored gems all around it. Again, could someone alert me to my age? Which happens to be 45?

The point is, one by one the gems fell off and it already looks raggedy. So I got this gem-free one above, with its nod to multicolored Eiffel Tower. Did you know the Eiffel Tower had blue and green gingham on it? Humph. Shows what you know.

I have no idea why my tastes are so, you know, fussy. When I was a kid, I loved the beginning of Family Affair because of the inexplicable beginning, with the multi-colored gems floating around. The beginning of that show had nothing to do with the show. What did gems have to do with Uncle Bill? Was Mr. French secretly a drag queen?

Family Affair was a really good show. I say this because Marvin Netflixed episodes recently and I was obSESSed. Uncle Bill was hot. And he had terrible taste in women. It was like Mary Tyler Moore's dates. Not one was notable.

Okay, I had better get ready for work with my screaming migraine. If I didn't go to work every time my head hurt I'd miss about one day a week.

Did I mention hate? Did I mention Ima hate?

P.S. Just noticed a comment from Furry Godmother from yesterday. She sent me this link: Just so you know, if I don't get this I will die. DIE. of sadness. This is a NEED versus WANT purchase.

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

I guess if I found a dish, I’d run away with it

Recently, I was digging through my annoying picture boxes to show you something or other. And does anyone remember when I spent a weekend taking all my photos out of their albums and putting them in boxes to save space? And it took forever and I thought I was so brilliant?

Guess what. Having your pictures in boxes is #$&*$ annoying. Yes, it is pound dollar and star dollar annoying.

With my albums, I knew the blue Holly Hobbie one would have that shot of me being inappropriate with the Santa statue in 1990, and the plaid preppy album would have that shot of me being inappropriate with the cow statue in 1981. Now I can't find anything.

But the not being able to find anything thing did lead me to the following discovery. I have many photos of people balancing spoons on their noses.


Here's me and a blemish doing it in the late '90s, when it was cool to wear those teensy barrettes. Also, had I been flashing people for beads? Why was my SHIRT so open? Actually it was a pajama top. We were at a restaurant for their pajama night.

It's genetic. Here is mom doing it at some point long ago, when Bill Knapp's was still open. Mom said, "Let's get my big glasses and go!" Really. It was probably at least 15 years ago. I look at that guy in the back in the teal and white polo and I think he is probably dead by now, and I wonder if his family would like to see this stupid picture of him at Bill Knapp's, throwing down like we were.

Because I'm cheerful that way. Bill Knapp's was this family restaurant in the Midwest that was delicious. I have liked it since I was a kid, and my whole life I have been the only person under 89 in the place.


Oh, look, here's mom again. She has smallened her spectacles, yet continued to be a spectacle.

As opposed to me, the paragon of dignity. What do you think Marvin is talking about back there? And why do I always have a blemish? Perhaps me hanging a spoon and being blemish-y are related somehow.

I am pleased to report I have had some influence on my niece, Emma. She is 12 now and probably too cool to balance the spoon. Note she and I are sporting the same hairdo in this picture and my last one.

Anyway, I am just saying to you I sense a theme. June and her spoons.

June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Pieces of Wisdom Wednesday. Will you relax?

I spent all night dreaming about whether you capitalize "use" in a headline. These are the sorts of nerdy things I dream about. I said yes, you should cap it, because it is a verb and not a conjunction, and the rule is conjunctions that are less than four letters get lowercased, not verbs.

Everyone around me said no, you don't cap the word "use."

The rest of you dream about being able to fly, or being multicolored Jello, or rolling around with Colin Farrell, and I dream about whether "use" should be capitalized.

Anyway, it's Wednesday, and that means I wake up to the fact that I am boring, and also it's Pieces of Wisdom day. And Prince Spaghetti day. Does anyone remember that commercial?

Yesterday's question was not about Prince Spaghetti day, thank God, but rather about what you do to relax. Six million four hundred thousand and ten of you answered.

Here are some of the more popular answers. (When I got home last night, Marvin was trying to put something on the Kindle, and I hate to tell you this but sometimes Marvin can be awfully grouchy. I mean, it's not like he was at the computer because he was coming up with a homework assignment for his fifth-graders, or writing a heartfelt email to a long-lost friend. He was trying to put his old blog, from 2006, which four people read, all of whom he was related to, on Kindle.

"Can you help me take pictures for Pieces of Wisdom Wednesday?" I asked.

"CAN'T YOU SEE I'M DOING THIS VERY IMPORTANT TASK!" steamed Marvin, and no. No, I could NOT see that he was doing a VERY IMPORTANT task.

Anyway, my point is, he would not get up from the computer, so you will notice all our photos are from the vantage point of a giant crab apple who was sitting at the computer. Which I guess you wouldn't have noticed because you have never been here. Also, he would only take one photo apiece for each theme.

Won't you all stampede to your Kindles and IGNORE MARVIN'S 2006 blog?)


See. This would have been a more effective shot outside. N'est pas? I have no idea what n'est pas means, I just wanted to sound intellectual. Instead I sounded like kind of a tool. Anyway, a lot of you said you exercise to relax, a thing I have never understood. Exercise TIRES ME OUT, but it has never relaxed me. Not once. Usually it makes me nauseated.


I was surprised at how many people take the pharmaceuticals. Here I am with my pharmaceuticals, which do not relax me but get rid of migraine, which I suppose is relaxing in its own way. As you can see, I was lying on the floor, thinking if I looked passed out with my pills in a Valley of the Dolls way, it'd be funny, but Winston assumed I wanted him to crawl right on me, which negated a passed-out kind of a shot. Also, maybe I'd relax more if that floor were EVER CLEAN. Have you noticed it is NEVER CLEAN? And I clean it! Like, once a week!

It's never clean. Who decided to paint it green? Also? Nice chins. Not on the floor. On me.


Many of you have sex to relax, and I crack myself up. And yes, I know my shoes totally rock.

Do you enjoy my sexy dog fur on my pants? Nothing entices a man like dog fur. Believe it or not, that is yellow Lab fur, not Talu fur, for I was cheating on Talu last night with a yellow Lab. Not in this shot. Please do not call the police.


I finally got crabby Marvin to join me in the bathroom, because there was no other way for me to show you that many of you get in the bathtub and/or read.

You can imagine how often I am cracking open that Joy of Cooking in real life. You can imagine how often I bathe in real life.

There were many other answers, if you are interested, and if you are, go look at yesterday's comments. And relax.

In the meantime, I have to go look up whether "use" gets capitalized or not. Am getting tense about it. BAH!

June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Tense and nervous, can’t relax

I am the least-relaxed person you ever met in your life.

One of my 3948502845 old boyfriends said if I were a dog, I'd be a poodle. One of those really little ones who tremble.

I was much skinnier then. I don't think the "really little" part is relevant right now, though. Just fixating on it because no one ever describes me as "really little" anymore. I hate everything.

Once I had a panic attack at a one-hour relaxation massage at a spa. Honestly.

And I get real, honest-to-God panic attacks. It irks the crap out of me when someone says, "I was over there having a panic attack because I didn't have the right shade of burgundy pumps to wear with this."

Okay, no you weren't. You weren't having a panic attack. You didn't feel like you were quite literally going to die, and that you couldn't breathe, and that your throat was closing up–which is a shame because you are going to barf at any second–and the world is tilting, over your burgundy pumps.

Do you enjoy my shoe example, by the way? 1983 called. Wants its oddly shaded pumps back.

All of my physical woes are because I am the world's tensest person. Migraines, stiff neck, panic attacks, teeth grinding.

And what do I have to be tense about? The hard-hitting world of copy editing? It isn't that stressful of a job, I hate to tell you. Ooo! Semi-colon here, or comma? THE WORLD WILL END IF I DON'T FIGURE IT OUT!

And it isn't my hundred kids and our struggles with poverty in a war-torn region of the world.

I think it is just part of my general constitution. I am just tightly wound. My grandmother used to say she would speak to my grandfather, who I don't remember because he died when I was three, and no matter when it was, she'd say, "June's Grandpa?" and he'd reply, "Whaaaaaaat?" as if her questioning him were the most annoying thing in the world.

I do that all the time. I do not like to be disturbed from my reverie, whether it's reading other people's take on Mad Men online or clipping the cats' claws or searching through the vacuum-cleaner filter for my pendant, if Marvin says, "Hey, June?" it bugs the crap out of me. "Whaaaaaaat?"

So my point is, it's Pieces of Wedges of Parts of Slices of Servings of Wisdom day, and today's question is, What do you do to relax?

Do tell.

June's stupid life · Marvin · Music

In which June thinks she’s cooler than Rush fans

Do you want to know who's pretty? People who go to Rush concerts, that's who.

I am certain the folks sashaying into that venue were the same people hitting fashion week in New York. If fashion week suddenly brought the black concert t-shirt and those knee-length jean shorts for men into style.

And when did it become okay to wear the concert t-shirt of the band you are SEEING to the concert?

Oh, looking at Rush fans was fascinating. It was like every guy from high school whose name you never quite knew because he was never at any parties or dances or football games or where the hell did he even eat lunch? all congregated in one spot.

We sat on the lawn. Because we are cheap. Here is a photo of me before the concert, looking anticipatory.

Or maybe not so much anticipatory as tolerant. Sort of. Ooo! And I just noticed the uncool black woman was captured on film! I'm so excited! See the woman right behind me in the purple and green lawn chair?

I was gonna talk about her and I had no idea we'd taken her photo. I hope she doesn't read this blog.

I could not get enough of watching her once ridiculous Rush hit the stage. Oh, she gyrated. She played air keyboards. And air bass. She was honestly the least-cool black woman you have ever seen. I was riveted.

And I am sorry to stereotype, but how many black women, or black people in general, do you know who are all up into the Rush? I'll bet she was slammin' until the day she found that first album. She probably had boyfriends and nice clothes and maybe even knew you shouldn't air bass. Ever.

At any rate, Marvin enjoyed himself. He did not air anything, thank God. He did get drunk, though. I was wandering around looking at the food because what else was I gonna do, and I noticed they sold Mike's HARDER Lemonade, which is apparently more malt-y than original Mike's Hard lemonade. And you know that is Marvin's manly drink of choice.

So I told him and he dashed over there like he was David Hasselhoff or something. They sold him a GIANT can and I knew we were in trouble. Because Marvin is quite a hardy drinker.

Some teenaged guys came by carrying a sign that read, "Free hugs" and Marvin screamed out that he wanted one. Fortunately they did not hear him. Or perhaps chose to ignore the creepy middle-aged guy with the Mike's can who wanted a free hug. Who else did they think they were gonna give free hugs to at a Rush concert?

So that is the story. All the way home yesterday I had to hear recaps of what Marvin liked at the Rush concert. He kept asking me if I liked how they did this song or that song and I kept having to reiterate to him that I had NO IDEA WHAT ANY OF THE SONGS WERE except for Tom Sawyer. Which explains why all the men were wearing those jean shorts.


June's stupid life · Marvin · Music

I don’t mean to Rush you

Today Marvin is making me go see Rush. The band, not the guy. Either one would be bad. But at least with Rush the guy I could get good and mad, so that would be interesting.

You cannot say I am not doing my best to keep this marriage going. Rush. For heaven's sake.

And every time I tell this to a guy, he says, "Cool!" Every time I tell a girl, she feels bad for me.

I have an old boyfriend who loves loves LOVES Rush, and isn't that the way it always goes with stupid Rush? No one is kind of neutral on them, like, say, REO Speedwagon. I mean, everyone's kind of okay with REO Speedwagon. "Oh, I remember them. Yeah. Heard it from a friend who, heard it from a friend who, heard it from another you been messin' around. heh-heh."

But no. With Rush, people get obsessed. And I remember my old boyfriend dragging me up to his room, thinking perhaps he was going to get the luck of the Irish up there (sorry, Gra), and once I saw all the Rush tapes, there was just no way.

At any rate, I emailed said ex-boyfriend to ask if he wanted me to get him a t-shirt at today's venture to Hades.

"You're going to see Rush?" he exclaimed. "Cool!"

He went on to tell me it'd be the best concert I ever saw (mm-hmm), even better than the band we saw where I broke up with him.

Okay, had forgotten we were out seeing a band when we broke up. Nice. Perhaps he had worn his Rush t-shirt to see the band. I can't recall.

There are so many things I'd rather do than go see stupid Rush. I would rather clean this house from top to bottom, as we have a house guest next week. I would rather lie around and pet Tallulah's swoop. I would rather weed the garden and paint our gate, which looks like it has survived the Civil War. But no. We have to go see stupid Rush.

Oh, did I mention it's in Virginia? We have to TRAVEL TO VIRGINIA to see stupid Rush? And I had to turn down an invite to a party AND an invitation to meet Chatting at the Sky's puppy this weekend, SO I COULD SEE STUPID RUSH?

Last night Marvin could not sleep, he was so excited. Several times I woke up to see the lights on. "Go to bed!" I would yell.

"Can't. Too excited."

About Rush. He is excited about stupid Rush. In Virginia. And by the way, there's zero percent chance of rain. Because it's outside. I have to sit outside in Virginia to see Rush. And there is NO chance, none, that it will rain.

So, really looking forward to it. I will be sure to RUSH back (get it?) and tell you how much fun I had. If the news covers this important concert, look for the person on her husband's shoulders, with no shirt on, hanging her goat high.

It will not be me.

Faithful Readers · Giveaway · June's stupid life

And the check June picked was…


Oui, oui, mon chere. Crepe Suzette! Poodle! French toast.

Yes, I am fluent in French. Hence the French checks. And do you like how I cleverly painted over my name and account number? I am Fort Knox. But I'm French, so I'm Forte Knoxe.

So for those of you who guessed the French check, or cheque, you are correct.

And really? Puppies? Really? I mean, I know I like Tallulah and all, and I ask for a new puppy 6,385 times a day, but do I really seem like a PUPPY CHECK person to you? I never.

I did a random number pickerizer and the winner of the contest is Gra, which means I have to send a bacon tuxedo jigsaw puzzle to fricken Ireland. But I am happy to do it, Gra. This is the price you pay when you are so worldy, so welcome, like June is. Plus also, if I suck up to you enough you will invite me to visit and then I can just hop over to Paris from your house. That's easy to do, right?

So give me your address. I will also send you some nice Irish Spring. Because I know how the Irish enjoy them the Irish Spring.

My father really nailed it best, though. He emailed me and said, "I bet you picked the Eiffel Tower or else the gardening checks" and in fact I was IRKED when I went online to show you potential checks and saw that Marjoleen Bastien had garden checks, because I totally would have picked those. So dad was right. But he's not getting any tuxedo bacon puzzle.

He would never play with it, for one thing, and also he did not leave a comment. So he was not even up for selection by the random pickerizer.

Also, I do really love Bugs Bunny, and to prove it to you, here is a nine-second Porky Pig cartoon. Which I know is not Bugs, but I love the whole genre. Believe it or not this cartoon was actually shown in theaters, even though it has a shocking word in it.

Now that I have rocked your world with that, and you are crying in your morning beer over not winning the coveted bacon tuxedo jigsaw puzzle, I guess the only thing to do is tell you about my dessert night with Faithful Reader Laurie.

Faithful Reader Laurie, one of the 204850149 Lauries who comments on this blog, lives locally. We met at a party at The Nester's a few months back and since she has big hair, we bonded immediately.

Tonight we got up with each other, as they say here, and had us some desserts.

Do you think she is going to unlike me now because I said she has big hair? But look how she has pretty ringlet-y curls, whereas I always just had large puffs of frizz.


Here we are together, and do you like how I have managed to get my whole head in there, and just barely eeked hers in the corner, like a bug? Have I mentioned she is going to unlike me?

Laurie is a professional photographer, which is why she was drawn to my blog of course, and also she is a medical person. She does not specifically say on her blog what she does in the medical profession so I am not giving it away here, but suffice it to say I may hire her to just hang around me all the time.

After our hummingbird and cheesecake (yes, she got hummingbird cake. No, it was not made from real hummingbirds. I asked), we both had to go to the grocery store. I needed something for heartburn, and she needed toilet paper and plastic wrap.

God, we're glamorous.

So that was my night. Thank heavens I put on my bacon tuxedo, just in case.

Giveaway · June's stupid life

June’s blog. Where you come for the prizes that she never sends you.

I was just so NICELY napping on the couch, when someone had the nerve to stop with their DOGS, TWO of them, and let one of them poop on my lawn. The dog walker cleaned it up, but Tallulah had 47 fits about it and woke me up. She acts like she handles the lawn care at this establishment. When really all she does is leave her Kong on the lawn to get all buggy on the inside.

Obviously I am writing this on Wednesday night and I am going to publish this on Thursday a.m. Because I plan ahead that way. Don't you think "plan ahead" is redundant?

The most interesting thing that happened today is that I got my new checks. I opened a new checking account and the guy at the bank said, "You get free checks, unless of course you want pretty checks."

He said that with disdain, as if WHO in their RIGHT MIND would order pretty checks that you had to pay for when you could get free, boring checks.

"Yeah," I said. "Get me the book. I want to select the pretty checks."

So we are gonna have an exciting game here at Bye Bye, Pie. It's called How Well Do You Know June?

I am going to show you several types of pretty checks, and you guess which one I really got. Those who guess the right one will be in a drawing to win a delightful bacon tuxedo jigsaw puzzle.


This should delight the people who are still waiting for me to send their cupcake-flavored dental floss. And what else was I gonna send? And inflatable fruitcake? Do you like how I've gotten right on sending those?

Anyway, you know you want a jigsaw puzzle of someone wearing a bacon tuxedo. Who doesn't?

So here are the choices. Which check design would June choose? Hmmmm…

Would June Gardens pick a garden look?

What about puppy snickerdoodles? You know she likes her the puppies.

Eiffel Tower/Gay Paree images? I have an Eiffel Tower tattoo. I mean, June has an Eiffel Tower tattoo.

Bugs Bunny? I have shown you Bugs Bunny You Tube clips. Oh, I give up on speaking in third person.

How about girly roses? You know I like pink.

It's tough, isn't it? Hey, it's not easy to win a bacon tuxedo jigsaw puzzle. I can't just GIVE those away for NOTHING.

I would really like to get Marvin a bacon tuxedo. His niece's bat mitzvah is coming up next year. Perhaps we could emulate the outfits on this puzzle. How quickly will our invite get lost in the mail, do you think?

Okay. I look forward to your answers. You have until midnight Pacific time, Thursday, September 16 to guess.

June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Pieces of Wisdom Wednesday: June Looks in Your Drawers

Okay, so I'm not looking in your drawers so much as I am your medicine cabinet, but "looks in your drawers" was funnier.

For this week's Pieces of Wisdom Wednesday, I asked you to send me pictures of the inside of your medicine cabinet, and I was surprised how many of you do not even HAVE medicine cabinets anymore. I guess I have always liked living in old houses, so I am used to having me a medicine cabinet. Where the Sam Hill do you keep your Band-Aids and your Campho-Phenique and so forth?

Anyway, some of you DO have medicine cabinets and were kind enough to send photos of them. I wish I could say "medicine cabinet" more often.

I told you to include a link to your blog with your photo, and I am sorry, if you didn't include a link, I am not gonna be over here going, "Now WHO is this again? One of the 10 million Lauries or Lisas who comments? Now, WHICH one is it? And does she have a blog? What IS that blog, exactly? Let me slog through my emails and figure it out."

I am sorry. No. Tired. Cranky.

But look! Here is the unbelievably anal retentive medicine cabinet of Faithful Reader Laurie No. 20384593, and she was kind enough to include her blog address. (No, seriously. If you read my comments, have you ever noticed how many Lisas/Lauries there are? Not to mention we have a Joann and an Original Joann. And a Lee and an Outcast Lee. We need some Onondagas and Gloopdelulus. Why doesn't anyone name their kid Gloopdelulu anymore?)

Okay, Laurie's medicine cabinet.

Okay, seriously. Do Laurie and her husband scare you a lottle? I said "lottle" on purpose. Who is this tidy? Look at her little pill bottles. And how her lotions get tall in the middle on the second shelf, there. And what is that instrument of torture on the right after her color-coordinated orange items on the second shelf? Is it to drill at people who aren't tidy? We won't even talk about her husband. Who I am convinced could not possibly smell or sweat ever again. Or have dry contacts.

I do like her little pill frame she sent the photo in. Really I should have saved this photo for last because it is the most shocking.

Now for Kelly's cabinet.

Medicine Cabinet
Now, here's a gal after my own heart. A little Aqua Net, a little rubbing alcohol. 'Tis all you need.

Furry Godmother has sent us four, count them four, photos of her medicine cabinets.

She is getting her vitamins. Apparently she needs more vitamin whatever-it-is to see more clearly. Cause this was a fuzzy picture, see.

Now, didn't we see Cetaphil and Barbisol in the other cabinet? Perhaps they stocked up during a sale. Isn't this fun?

Here Furry has teased us with a closed door. I like her light fixtures, don't you?

Wooo-hoo! It's open now! I wonder what that green stuff is, with the fancy oval lid. Is it from Origins?

Paula H&B sent us her cabinet, too. But not her Cabernet. Bitch.

Paula's a trifle tidy, too, isn't she? And why is there a cyclops there? Is that two different kinds of jewelry cleaner right next to each other? How many jewels do you have, Richy Rich Pants? Are you Elizabeth Taylor?

Hulk went to the Furry Godmother school of participation by similarly sending us four shots of his medicine cabinets.

Hulk is single. And a man. Can you tell?

Hulk, how many headaches do you GET?

Who loves himself?


Who knows that his heart will go on…for himself? I had an old boyfriend who wore Obsession For Men. He was also a Republican. Is that the Republican man perfume of choice?

Last but certainly not least, we have Joann's…you know, closet…thing. It's not a medicine cabinet, but it has some kind of probiotic and perhaps even a thong. She also sent me another picture.

Sadly, I have just spent 20 minutes trying to make said picture NOT be upside-down. She sent it as an iPhone picture, so when I put it on my desktop it won't open, so I can't flip it, and I can put it on here but it remains upside-down. And it has taken me almost two hours to find these photos in my email and download them on this ancient, old, worn-out, Mr. Tubman from Carol Burnett, nothing-has-ever-moved-so-slowly-in-the-history-of-time computer and I give up.

But it was funny. Because Joann has my hypochondria so she had a lot of the acoutrement. Joann, put the photos on your blog. Won't you?


Was it Mr. Tubman who was the really slow old man on Carol Burnett? I meant the old, old guy who took forever to walk anywhere. Was that Mr. Tubman?

Anyway. Thanks, everyone, for participating in my Pieces of Wisdom Wednesday. I hope I did not forget to put anyone's medicine cabinet photo up. Did I mention what a Speedy Gonzalez my computer is being and how delightfully quick this post has been? And how my shoulders do not ache from stress and this was a really good idea?

I just remembered this particular idea was Marvin's. I blame Marvin.

Hulk, can I borrow some aspirin and a can of bad domestic beer?

June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Wedgies of Wisdom–June Gets Nosy

Who is irking me?

Francis and his huge self, that's who.

He LOUNGES all over the computer, and RUBS his annoying head on the top of the screen, pushing it back so I cannot see, and he Googles SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS or 11111111111111111111 and I know he doesn't really want to look either of those up. Because I've asked him what he wants with those sites. And he didn't have an intelligent answer.

He is totally Bugging me.

Anyway, it's Tuesday, which means it's Pieces of Wisdom day. Really, you all gave me a lot of wisdom yesterday when I asked how to get soap scum off the shower door. How come no one answered, "Just leave it there" which would be my answer? Everyone stampeded in with a solution. As if you had already worked on it.

I asked Marvin if we could take the stupid shower door down and get a shower curtain, which I infinitely prefer, and he said yes, so that is how we are solving the shower door dilemma.

How to get soap scum off the shower door? Remove the door and throw it out. Problem solved.

So, seeing as we already exchanged wisdom this week, I was kind of stuck for what to ask today. Marvin was leashing up an hysterical Tallulah this morning, who was on her way to day care, where she has already bullied a Boxer puppy (Marvin called to tell me. We really have to take her back to that trainer lady. The one who made me cook liver. Tallulah is a jerk).

Anyway, I was making coffee as he was lassoing the dog, and I said, "What should I ask for Wedges of Wisdom today?"

"Ask to see people's medicine cabinets," said Marvin, who is nosy.

He really is. Marvin feels perfectly entitled to listen in to people's conversations (he used to stand on our dining room table with a glass on the ceiling to hear our upstairs neighbor), or look through their things if we are house sitting (won't you ask us soon?), or report to me any hugely personal info he happened to see that he shouldn't have.

("I saw Hoo-de-hoo and Hoe-de-Hoe's tax documents while I was in the bathroom," he'll say. "Do you know they make $800,000 a year?"

"How did you see their tax documents in the bathroom?"

"I didn't see them in the bathroom. Gross. I saw them in the den. Which was right near the bathroom. If they didn't want people to SEE that stuff they wouldn't have it right out like that.")

So, Marvin wants to see your medicine cabinets for Pieces of Wedges of Wedgies of Wisdom Wednesdays.


Here is ours. I took a better picture, where the bottom shelf is not cut off, but you have no idea how much trouble this stupid stupid stupid computer is giving me today. Anyway, there is my trusted Nair, which stops me from being a walrus, and our very minty Crest, because for me toothpaste cannot be minty and strong enough. I like it to burn like a  dragon.

Also, we have many Bath and Body Works products because someone at school gave Marvin a bunch for Christmas last year. I keep stealing the antibacterial and go ahead and tell me how antibiotics won't work on me.

Oh, also too, there is my thermometer, which I use 748 times a week.

Down below is my root touchup stick that you all thought was a vibrator, because you are all sick sick people.

Send me your medicine cabinet picture, and a link to your blog if you have one, and I will put it up tomorrow.

Also, Marvin would like to come to dinner soon. He has looked at your online calendar and knows you are free net week.

June's stupid life

In a million years

I would not be posting from work. Because that would be wrong. Even if I have had no work since 10:15. It would still be wrong.

I keep forgetting to say that Duffylou is comment of the week. Tallulah forgot to tell you, too, in her guest post.

Also, I am about halfway through Little Womens and am enjoying it again, although that goody two-shoes, Beth, gets on my last nerve. “Oh, I just have a touch of scarlett fever! It’s nothing!” There’s nothing I hate more than stoicism and bravery.

And can you believe someone just emailed me some work? Crap. Right when I was getting going. Before I go, does anyone have any good tips for getting soap scum off shower doors? My Magic Eraser did not do the trick. Merci.

June's stupid life · My pets · Photo essays

Talu guest post: My day at park

Today sleeping in sun. Curling my tones. Snore a little. Then hear mom say, "Let take Lu to garden."

Lu like garden. Lu say screw sleep in sun. Hop off bed.

Go look at mom.

"Uh-oh, Lu hear us," mom say to dad.

Lu click around after mom. Follow mom into bafroom. Follow mom into bedroom. Put foots on mom lap. Why we not go to park yet? It time to go now? How 'bout now? We go now?

Why mom so cranky?

Finely we get in car. Finely we there at park.Atpark

"Let see how long we walk Talu before she get tired out," say mom.

What this tired out?

"It one 29," say mom, who look at that pink square thing she look at all the time. "Let start walk now and see how long she can go."

Mom talk about me? Because Lu can go long time.


pullpullpullpullpullpullCOMEON! Daddy go too slowz.

We going or waat?

"It one 45," say mom. "She not slow down one eye-o-ta."

What this eye-o-ta?

We get to what mom call webbing vestabuwll or something, where peoples get marriedz. Mom make me stop and hug wif her and pretend we marryd. Mom stupit. We GIRLZ. It not even legal in this state.

Finely we done bein romantic. Lu pull pull pull through whole garden.

"It two o clok," say mom. "She still not slow down. Let go to Bog Garden."

Come ON Daddee! Comeoncomeoncomeon! BOG GARDEN!

There DUX here!

It sereen here.



Mom say it two thirty fyve and I look for trouble still. Hey! What that? That butterfly in that picker bush? COME ON!


Lu hurt eye. Get picker in eye. Mom have 48 fits. Put water in Lu eye. That worst part. Lu FINE. Lu not need water in eye. Lu not need kiss on eye. Mom talk to Lu in high squeak voice. Mom need to grab ladder and get over it.

What next?!!

More streem!

Mom say it almost three and I not tired yet.

Mom say my feets dirtee and I kind of smelly and my eye bleedee.

This best day ever.

Mom wonder why I not tyred yet. Who be tyred on good day like this?

We get in car. We go home.

"We not wear dog out," say mom. Then she fall sleep on couch.

"No we did ent," say daddy. He fall sleep too.

That why Lu blogging.

…Do anyone want to go to park again today?

June's stupid life · Marvin · My pets

Les Miserables

Today Marvin and I went shopping for a new couch.

Enough said.

And yet, I will say more.

You know, Marvin grew up in a nice, middle-class home, and his parents are tasteful people. And yet? When he goes shopping? He has the taste of a pimp. From 1972.

"How about this blue velvet couch?" he'll say.

"HOWWWW can we pass this one up?" he'll ask about the one with the loud Native American print.

I swear to you, he actually tried out the sectional couch with the drink holders and the little doors so you can store even more drinks inside your couch. The man who has one cranberry-flavored Mike's Hard Lemonade a year needs to get the On-the-Way-to-Rehab sectional.

After telling him we could not get the zigzag couch, or the couch that looked like a swirly test pattern, or the couch with recliners in them, we settled on brown. Brown.

Yes, brown.

I wanted charcoal gray. Marvin wanted something that would go with his purple sharkskin suit and his black light posters and fountains that look like they're dripping water with a naked statue in the middle, so we compromised.

On brown.

It was also important to me that we actually have a comfy couch, so there was one couch that was very elegant that an extremely pushy saleswoman named Maria tried to sell us, and we asked her to give us 24 hours to think it over, but then we found another BROWN couch at a different store that had cushy arms and it was way deeper.

Here is Marvin, sad that we are not getting the bright red velvet couch with paisley on it, that his 'hos can sit on between appointments. Marvin cannot keep his pimp hand strong on a brown couch.

Turns out? After we spent 203845301 hours at this particular furniture store and no one helped us, as opposed to Maria at the other store who practically exchanged body fluids with us on each couch? This is a store where you can pick out any couch and then any fabric and any pattern for the pillows. So that would have saved us, you know, 800 hours, had we known that. Maria needs to get a job at this store.

They had a deal where you could make payments for a year with no interest, so I signed up for it, and got TURNED DOWN! I have good credit! I have no idea why I got turned down, other than the part where I own one credit card with a $500 limit and I never use it.

So then I had to pay by check, using my new starter checks because I just opened an account at a new bank, and I know those salespeople thought I was scamming them. Anyway our BROWN couch will be ready in a month.




After that we had to stop and get a nutritious snack.

We also had Talu, because it was cool and rainy today so she could wait in the car, and I took her on a walk through the really good PetSmart, the one that has a snack bar and all kinds of fancy stuff.


Talu grabbed a pig's ear right off the shelf and kept it in her mouth the entire time we were at the store. She cost me 22 cents, and at least I didn't have to write a starter check for it.


Here she is, crunching the last of her disgusting ear. Poor pig. Some pig is going around deaf, thanks to my dog.

You know, Tallulah is very barky when she's on her leash. At PetSmart, we saw a beautiful, dignified Collie, and Tallulah said, "RRRRR RRRRR RRRRR RRR! Grrrrr, RRR!"

We saw a lovely small mixed breed. "RRRRR RRR Rrrrrrrr…," said Talu.

Then a huge black Pit Bull came around the corner.

"Oh, look at these lovely cat toys," said Talu, studiously ignoring the giant Pit, who stood stock still, daring my bully dog to utter one word.

Someone is not so tough unless her enemy is wimpy-looking or a dead ear.

At least she doesn't have pimp taste.