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,


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.

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?


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!

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.


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!

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.

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.

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!

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.