Faithful Readers · Film · Friends · June's stupid life

Head and shoulders on the beach

Ima tell you now, I'm all over the place today. I am like that horrible joke about the astronaut whose rocket exploded and the punchline is "They found her Head & Shoulders on the beach."

I can't remember how the joke goes, but obviously it had something to do with shampoo and the explosion and don't get me to try to tell jokes. The only joke I like is:

"Ask me if I'm a train."

"Are you a train?"


I have many, many things to cover today. All of them crucial. So let us begin.

1. For those of you who read the comments, there was much hue and cry to see the tiles that Faithful Reader Furry Godmother made for Faithful Reader Paula H&B. Furry Godmother is an artiste, and yes, she needs the "e" at the end, so artitse-y is she, and one of the things she will do is paint portraits of your pets. Here is a link to a page on her site, showing you happy people hanging Furry's art.

So, Paula H&B–which if you do not read the comments or if you are new, "H&B" stands for hookers and blow, and I am sorry, you are just gonna have to imagine why. The comments here? They get ridiculous–has two cats, and Furry Godmother immortalized them on tile:

Eddie tile
Here's Eddie, who I have the feeling is the good cat.

Simon tile
And here is Simon, who I never hear about unless he has done something dickly. And I hear about Simon often. Is what I'm saying.

2. Am I the only person on planet Earth who thought Cate Blanchett's dress was pretty last night? My mother called to say it was the ugliest dress she'd ever seen. My stepfather, who was raised on a dairy farm and wears gray cardigans but yesterday suddenly became Mr. Blackwell, said it looked like some kind of building.

I think it's unusual, kind of retro, it was pretty colors, and I just all around thought it was swell.

Gwyneth Paltrow, however, looked like 2001: A Space Odyssey. And I wish someone would shoot her off into space. Have I mentioned I can't even say her name without my nethers puckering up? Oh, how I cannot stand that lemony woman. She has always reminded me of a lemon. Or an egg.

3. Snowflake's brother died. Did I TELL you I'd be all over the place today? I did. I WARNED you.

Snowflake is the white dog who lives a few blocks from me, and a couple of months ago, the family got a puppy from Snowflake's mother. He has grown up since I berserkly took my camera with me when I was walking my own dog and shot this photo, and he looked exactly like Snowflake, except brown. Because genetics. They aren't just a good idea. They're the law.

At any rate, the family named him Coco, and it is my theory that this family spends approximately .027 seconds thinking of names for their dogs.

Yesterday I was walking Edsel, because I cannot walk both dogs at once and sometimes I see people idly strolling with their two big dogs and I think, "Who ARE you? What kind of PACT have you made with SATAN that you can just walk with your two big dogs and not just be a corpse being dragged behind these creatures?"

But I digress.

As I passed the Snowflake house, all the little girls who live there were in the front yard with their dad and they were busy running back and forth.

"COCO DIED!" they all screamed at me, as soon as they saw me. "CAN WE PET YER DAWG?"

Since I got Edsel, they have given up trying to guess which one I have with me. I have never said these children were the brightest bulbs, and they ARE all extremely blonde-headed. They will catch rich husbands, so it'll be fine.

I took beleagured Edsel with me to the yard, and although he is a friendly fellow, he always looks a tad…drained when we see those kids. He wags his tail and cowers at the same time.

"WE'RE PUTTIN' FLOWERS ON COCO'S GRAVE!" they screeched. I have no idea if they use these voices indoors, but I tend to think they do. "HELP US PUT FLOWERS ON COCO'S GRAVE!"

So with one hand I held Edsel, who looked like he could use a Mickey's Big Mouth, and with the other I picked the teeny white wildflowers they had in their grass. The dad told me that yesterday Coco just started breathing hard, and then he started drooling, and next thing you know he fell over dead.

"That sounds like poison," I said, over the din.

"I know," he told me, twirling his nipple rings. I wish I were making that part up. "But I got nothin' back there to poison the dogs. That stuff is all in m'shed."

"WE'RE MAKING A CROSS TO PUT ON THE GRAVE!" the oldest towhead bullhorned. And then the littlest one, who is so adorable you would die, she looks like a Cabbage Patch doll, pulled me down and said, "I miss Coco."

Oh, I felt terrible. And I am worried sick. What the hell happened? Did someone poison him? And why did they spare Snowflake? This neighborhood has more mysterious deaths. I feel like Angela Lansbury.

4. Marvin has been out of town since Thursday and I didn't want to tell you, in case any of you were crazy and wanted to come murder me to ribbons. Of course, little did I know the grim reaper was right here in my own neighborhood. At any rate, he was in Chicago, surprising his father for his birthday, which was another reason I could not say anything, as his dad checks in with this blog from time to time, and nice way to ruin a surprise.


Anyway, my point is, could I have been more frightened at night while he was gone? I was convinced I'd close my medicine cabinet and Glenn Close would be behind me, wondering why I was there.

I was certain Linda Blair would be levitating above my bed.

I just knew the Mansons were creepy-crawling my house whenever I went out and I'd be the next Sharon Tate.

I was so IRRITATED with myself. I was a swinging single gal until I was 33 years old, and I lived alone plenty. I was never scared to be alone that whole time. Then I get left alone for three nights and I fall apart. Plus when I was single I only had Mr. Horkheimer to protect me, with his cat self. Now I have a vicious Pit Bull and a mean, mean German shepherd machine.

What gives? Hate me.

5. And finally, some of you have heard me speak of my friend Sleeping Beauty, and she is finally letting me tell you SHE IS PREGNANT! And the exciting thing is, she must have conceived right when I visited her in D.C. back at the end of October, so we think I might be the father!

Oddly, she is due on my birthday, and she knows it's a girl, so I suggested she name it after me and her dog Puck. June Puck or Puck June.

She did not go for this suggestion, and I do not know why I am having a child with this woman.

Anyway, congrats to Sleeping Beauty and her boyfriend Nate, who is the only man of Sleeping B's I have ever liked.

By the way, the Beaut had to fly to China in the early stages of her pregnancy, and I can tell you right now, that is not such a good idea, queasiness-wise. She did not give me permission to tell about how she barfed in her own hair, so I will not tell that part.

And that is all I have to cover today. I know. If only I'd have changed subjects more. And how is it that I know after the first 10 comments we'll be on a whole different topic altogether?

June's stupid life · My pets

Three years ago today

Some mornings you wake up, and you have no idea that particular day is going to change your whole life forever.

February 27, 2008 was one of those days for me. I was headed to a job interview (honestly, could I just GET AND KEEP a job? Please?) when I saw a little yellow dog on the side of the road.

Babylu (Is it just me, or does Marvin look 17 in this three-year-old photo? Has living with Tallulah aged him? Has North Carolina aged him? Has being a teacher aged him? How much do you think he's gonna like me for basically insinuating he's an old sea hag now?)

I know for some people, seeing a dog on the side of the road would be no big deal. Some people would drive on. Obviously a lot of people did drive on that day. I can't have been the first to speed past her on that busy road.

Others might have stopped and taken her to the pound, or moved her away from the road, or whatever.

I certainly had no intention of getting a dog when I woke up that day. I had every intention of getting a job. That was all that was on my mind. I had three cats to support. And rent to pay.

But something happened to me when I did a U-turn to check on that yellow pup.

She wriggled right over to my door, and I picked her up. The sun was shining through her gold eyelashes. I don't think I've ever told anyone this before, but I said out loud, alone in that car, "Oh!"

Because I loved her right then and there.

And you know me. I love all animals; I am berserk. But this was different. As soon as I looked at her face, and saw those eyelashes, I loved her as though I had known her my whole life.

And I knew three things from the very bottom of my heart, right then. Somehow I knew that she was a girl. I knew I was gonna keep her. And I knew this was gonna be great.

  May 2008 002
My hands were shaking as I drove her home, canceling my interview. (I know. Maybe this is why I can't get and keep a job. Could it be the prioritizing mutts off the side of the road over employment? Hmmm?) I had to buy all her supplies, get her to the vet, let Marvin know we were dog owners. February 27, 2008 was a big day.

And it hasn't always been fun. Or pretty. Dogs are not easy, like cats. You can't just pretend they aren't there. You have to train them not to eat infants or visitors, you have to train them not to free their willie here in the house, you have to train them not to pull like a freight train on their leash.

At least I hear you are supposed to train them not to pull like a freight train on their leash. When I walk that dog I look like I'm a mime doing dog-walking impressions.

But of all the things I have had to teach her, she has taught me so much more. I have had to learn how to put her needs before my own. As a childless only child with an indulgent spouse, it never really came up before.

I had to learn patience. Because she trusts me to be kind to her, and even-keeled, and not an explosive nutbar who just needs her to GO TO HER BED NOW because I'm TRYING to watch a SHOW!

I've had to learn when it's good to set limits, and not let her walk all over me just because I adore her. I have had to learn that creatures who depend on you actually need a few rules and some structure.

Having a dog has matured me. You know, not all the way. But still.

Maybe some people think I am ridiculous about my dog. I don't know how to be anything else about this smelly old thing.

Happy anniversary, Tallulah. I'm glad you were waiting for me that day. I was waiting for you, too. I just didn't know it yet.


Friends · June's stupid life

Indubitable to talk to you again

It is BEAUTIFUL outside. All sunny and springy and so forth! I cannot wait to get out there and murder some ivy.

How would you describe that blob on Henry's back? Is it a six? A gourd? An intestine? It looks like something but I cannot place it.

I am totally exhausted, however, and my brain is not working, as one of my old friends found me on Facebook yesterday and I am standing here beside myself. We exchanged hysterical, excited emails till 3 a.m. Well, SHE kept going till 3:00; she told me she fell asleep, then woke up excited and had to write again. I stopped at 1:00, but still.

Jo and I met in college, and she has ENORMOUS breasts. I am certain she wouldn't mind me telling you that, and if she has suddenly become modest about them, it was a fun 24 hours rekindling that friendship. Anyway, they are real; I mean, she didn't go out and buy them, and in a stunning piece of information that shows you I am either (a) bad at details or (2) really, really heterosexual, I never noticed them.

She and I had worked together for about three months before my boyfriend at the time pointed them out to me. I mean, we are talking size FFF breasts. I just never looked down, I guess.

Her breasts aside, which would really be physically impossible, she was the most fun fun fun fun friend you could ever have. Did you ever know someone and every time you think back on them you just giggle? I never had a single day with Jo that we did not end up in a puddle of hysterics.

But college ended and I moved to Seattle and she got married, and I remember the very last time we ever talked, I think. She had just had a baby and of all things was having trouble breast-feeding. She had to hire a lactation expert. Naturally, we giggled about this for an hour and fifteen minutes.

But then we lost each other, and I have stalked her on Facebook before, but she was never on. Then yesterday? THERE SHE WAS! Friending me!

And oh! She still has a personality. Thank GOD. Isn't it awful when your fun friends have grown up, and they're all, "Yes, it's indubitable to talk to you again. How is your 401(k)?"

Marvin owns this (sit down) documentary that takes place entirely in the parking lot before a terrible concert in the '80s. I want to say maybe it was a Def Leppard concert, or Slayer. You get my drift. Anyway, they interview everyone drinking in the parking lot.

Then he owns ANOTHER (sit down again) documentary where they FIND all the yahoos from that same parking lot 20 years later, and this one guy? Who had worn an entire outfit of zebra stripes in the '80s? I mean tight spandex zebra pants and a ripped zebra shirt. They knock on his door and he is a total suit. And he will NOT discuss that parking lot documentary for a second.

What happens to people?

Anyway, I am so tickled to find Jo I could spit, and I wish we lived in the same city so we could go to Arby's today and eat curly fries and I could blow my straw at her like the old days.

In the meantime, I guess I'll just relax.

P.S. I just remembered I was supposed to show you pictures of the cool tiles Furry Godmother made. She paints portraits of your pets on tiles. I will show you tomorrow, I promise. Also too? I will do comment of the week. The ivy is calling me! "Kill me, June! Killlll meeeee!"

Faithful Readers · June's stupid life · Money

No man is a failure who has friends. I guess that applies to skirts, too.

You guys.

After I write this, I am taking down my PayPal post, because I cannot believe how many people donated to my stupid "June should never have been honest with the unemployment office" self. I am astonished at how many good people there are in the world, and that you all actually clicked on that PayPal widget thing.

Also, is anyone remotely impressed that I even knew how to install that thingamabob? Obviously they made it really extra easy.

Anyway, I have enough. More than enough. And I thank you all. Did I mention the part where I have been in shock all day?

If you were waiting until you got home from work to donate or something, Janera over at My Garden Hat is trying to raise money to adopt a boy from an orphanage in the Ukraine. She still needs donations to get him the heck out of there. I am all set.

I love writing my blog, and I feel like I am talking to my friends when I sit down every day to blather on about my life. I just never knew you considered me a real friend, too. I did not know I could count on you in times of need. I did not know I could even ask.

Thank you again. I would hug you all, but you know I hate the hugging. Plus I'd have to travel all over America and that would blow the money I just got from y'all all and I'd also probably catch a bug from someone and barf, so there you go.

This was one of the best days of my whole life. It was almost a Barry Gibb Gives Away Free Kittens kind of a day.



June's stupid life · Money

June wishes she could find the circle and a slash symbol so she could put it over a dollar sign. Cause that would have been a funny title.

Sorry I haven't written today. I have been extremely busy panicking. Which is productive. 

Remember last week when I got offered that job that paid very little, and was an hour and a half away, and did not offer benefits, so I turned it down?

When you are on unemployment, every week you have to go online and fill out this form saying whether you worked that week at all, or if you got alimony (hah!) or whatever, and did you turn down any work.

Oh, I had an angel and a devil on me. Do I TELL about the job offer, or not? How would they ever know, I wondered. But my problem is, I have a terrible time with lying. Oh, sure, I can exaggerate a story to make it better. I have no issue with that. That's for entertainment purposes. But basic lying? I cannot do.

So I told. I checked off "yes," I did turn down work.

And instead of, I don't know, CONTACTING me in any way, stupid unemployment just stopped paying me. Which I found out when I discovered I had $30 in checking on Monday. I called them, and have you ever noticed that when you call ANY place with menu options, they ALWAYS tell you to listen carefully as their menu options have recently changed?

Why are they always changing their menu options? They never meet my needs, anyway, and I'm always on hold for 87 hours. It's just their way of making sure you don't just stampede for 3 because you know you NEED 3. They want you to sit there in further misery, listening to ALL the options, finally pressing 3 anyway.

I talked to a very nice woman at unemployment yesterday, who is on a diet called the 28-day diet, and she has lost 10 pounds so far. Someone was making sausage at the office, though, and it was tempting her greatly. I do not know why I get so much info out of complete strangers, but I always do.

The point is, she asked all about the job I turned down, and said they'd review my case in the next twelve weeks.



I have 30 dollars. If it were 1842 I'd be all set. TWELVE WEEKS. My car payment is due in five days. My half of the mortgage is due in six. I hate to make you privy to my finances and all, but 30 dollars isn't gonna cover it.

What Ima do? I called them again today and pleaded my case. I talked to another very nice woman today who said she understood and to call in two weeks if the problem hadn't been solved. Then she said, "I understand two weeks sound like a very long time, ma'am." Yes, she said "sound," singular. She has a job and I don't.

In the meanwhile, I have assessed the food sityashun.

Naturally, the pets are in good shape. That container of what were cheese balls from Edsel's party now contains dog food. The blue container is cat food, but remember we also have Fancy Feast and canned rabbit. I wonder how either of those taste?

I guess if I crave corn, I am all set. Also, I technically cannot eat canned soup because it gives me migraines (MSG), but there is no time to trifle over things like that now.

The freezer? Pathetic. Maybe this weekend I could hunt and freeze some game. I like Monopoly. BAH!

Soy milk, half a jar of spaghetti sauce and another jar of spaghetti sauce. Let the good times roll. Also, apparently I will not dehydrate. What water collection?

So people still sell matches? I wonder if we have any matches. I mean, do they only sell them on This new technology today.

I figure I can make a game of this–seeing how little I can spend this weekend. What sort of outfit should I buy for this? …Oh.


Health · June's stupid life

My hideous medical experience. Written by June. Experienced by June.

Because what's more exciting than hearing about someone's hideous medical experience?

On the first day I went to my migraine doctor last May, he did a range-of-motion test on me and I, you know, HAD no motion in my neck and he recommended these occipital nerve block shots.

Your occipital nerve runs from your neck to your temple, and apparently in migraine people it is often jacked up. It is just sitting there, tense and mad all the time, wanting to be migraine-y. "I'M JUST WAITING! JUST WAITING TO GET ALL SWOLLEN AND PAINFUL! YOU'RE PISSING ME OFF!" says your occipital nerve.

So when you get these nerve block shots, it calms it down and then you don't get so many migraines for awhile. "Heyyyy, man. Thass cool." Basically once you get the shot, your occipital nerve goes from being Francis to being Winston.

Is it sad that I bring everything around to being about my pets like that?

At any rate, for some reason I was ooky about the nerve block. I am not afraid of needles. In my giant Santa's List of fears, needles are not in there. I have had tattoos, Botox, collagen in my lips, acupuncture. Go ahead. Poke away at me. Sometimes I just like to stick pins in myself and go around doing a porcupine impression.

But I don't know. I was resistant to the nerve block. Now I know it was SELF-PRESERVATION.

Anyway, yesterday I finally agreed to do one. I had to be there at 8:00, which for the rest of you would be like being somewhere at 2 a.m., so foreign is it for me to be up and dressed by ridiculous 8:00 anymore.

There was a giant traffic jam on the way in, so I was late, and then stupid unemployment didn't pay me this week (another post) so my copay didn't go through and I had to pay for this charming experience with a credit card, and I said to the receptionist, "It's not even 8:30 and I am already having a dumb day." She said, "Well, it's bound to get better after this."

I said, "Well. I AM about to get, like, 30 shots in my neck."

"Ohhhh, that's right," she said, looking sad.

So I go in the doctor's office and it is effing freezing in there. I mean, I could have hung meat. Hulk was in there ice fishing. Huskies ran by pulling Santa. That made no sense.

I opened the door, hoping it was warmer in the hall, and a nurse came bustling over. "We have to keep the door closed for patient confidentiality," she said.

Patient confidentiality. It's a MIGRAINE CLINIC. Who needs to be confidential about their MIGRAINES?

"You know, my migraines really kick in when I dress up as a sexy girl horse and hit the stables looking for stallions. Could hay fever be a trigger? So to speak? Har har har…"

"Let's try the meds not covered by insurance. Since I've been embezzling from my company I have all kinds of spending money!"

Patient confidentiality. Whatever.

Finally, after I had icicles hanging off me like the time Lucille Ball got caught in the meat locker, the doctor came in.

"Okay, June, are we ready for your nerve blocks?"

"I am," I said, being Neil Diamond. "But I wanted to ask you, that preventive medication you gave me. Could it be causing weight gain? Because I've never weighed this much in my life."

"…No. That medication is a lot like Topamax. Its side effect is weight loss. Have you been monitoring your calorie intake?"

That ivy-league-educated MF. My calorie intake. When I relayed this story to Marvin yesterday evening, he said, "Is that an empty pudding cup on the coffee table?"

I hate everyone.

So, the doctor had me sit in a chair facing the exam table that you usually lie on. I had to put my arms on the exam table and lie my head on the table, too. I made sure both my arms and head were on that ludicrously thin slip of paper they always phonily have there, which, do you really think that thing protects you from any germs?

I mean, yeah, they roll that paper down and rip it off between patients, but it is so thin. Can't germs, you know, SOAK THROUGH onto the bed thing itself? And the paper never covers the whole table. So old Victor Vomit, there, grabs the sides of the table and then you do and boom, you've caught his disease.

But there I was, pressing my FACE onto the germy hotbed of germ warfare, there, and he started giving me the shots. "Now, tell me if you start to feel lightheaded or nauseated," he said.

"All right," I said, not afraid of either. Did I mention shots do not bother me? He gave me shots behind my ear, and at the base of my skull, and at the back of my head, and in my neck, and in my shoulders, and yeah, sometimes they pinched a little, but it was okay.

After the fourth or fifth one, I thought, man, I do feel a little twingy in my stomach, but I said, Oh, June. That's just the power of suggestion. He said the word "nauseated" so naturally you went there.

Ten shots later?


That is the only way to describe it, and who is sick of me saying, WHOOMP? Is it Marvin? Have I said this to him 80 times since yesterday?

WHOOMP! It was like when you turn on the flame in a gas stove. WHOOMP. All of a sudden I was SO.ILL. I mean, I was twingy and then WHOOMP. There it is.

I got SO HOT. After being effing freezing five minutes before. My whole body was on fire. And nauseated? Oh! If you've read me for more than a day, you know I do not barf. I do.



And after the whoomp? Sorry, the WHOOMP? I knew there was no turning back. I was gonna barf.

"You know, I think I do feel lightheaded," I heard myself say from a million miles away.

"Okay," said the doctor, who does not know from calories. "Normal reaction. This is the whoodeglupaloo reaction, or your fight-or-flight response. It'll go away in a few minutes. We'll take a break. I'll get the nurse to bring you water and I'll continue in a bit."


And he left. I was still lying there with my face on germ central, waiting for my stomach to, you know, head north, and I thought, why are my arms slipping around? I realized then that my ENTIRE BODY was COMPLETELY COVERED in sweat. It was like I'd run 10 miles. I was soaked.

I lifted my head from that piece of paper and it looked like the Shroud of Turin. I have never been so sweaty in my life. It was like Whitney Houston in concert.

And, given that I have not thrown up since 1982, I clearly have a strong stomach. So you know someone prior to me must have gotten ill from this stupid nerve block. Why did they not give me some recepticle to get sick into?

I sat there and breathed deeply, picturing Tallulah's face to calm my nerves, and just waited for it to happen, thinking how I was gonna ruin my nice cords from Banana Republic, when after a few minutes? I realized I wasn't gonna barf.

I still felt like hell, though. I got up and at this point I was shivering because I was so sweaty in that freezing room. I shook into my coat, grabbed my purse and got into the hall, where two nurses where talking and NOT getting me my water, which at this point I desperately needed.

"Excuse me," I said.

The one nurse turned around and shouted, "Oh my WORD! Honey, you are GREEN!"

Now, see, if I'd been feeling better I could have said, "Yes, and I'm here to tell you that I'll get you, my pretty." Then I could have pointed at the other nurse and said, "And your little dog, too!" But I was too sick to make funny, funny jokes like that. Instead I told them that I just wanted to go home even though I was in the middle of my stupid shots.

They got me some water and helped me to my car, telling me I might need a muscle relaxer when the shots wore off. Yeah, that's what I want. A nice nauseating muscle relaxer. How about a roller coaster ride while I'm up, or a lovely rocky boat trip while I eat suspicious mayonnaise?

Anyway, I got home somehow and rested all day. Edsel laid on my legs, Henry laid on my head, and Tallulah kept watch over me across the top of the couch. Because she's weird. I didn't leave the house again until Edsel's manners class last night, which by the way right before we were going, he JUMPED ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER trying to break into his training treats. Glad we've spent $65 on this class, is what I am.

How the Sam Hill did he actually jump all the way up onto the counter? Did someone give him a boost? Did the cats teach him?

At any rate. I feel better today. And by the way, in case you were curious, I am NEVER GETTING NERVE BLOCK SHOTS AGAIN. Because that was fun.

Oh! But on a side note, when I drove home from the doctor, when I put the car in reverse to leave, I turned my head and I had better motion than I've had in 15 years.

Worth it! Not.

Faithful Readers · June's stupid life

My Spin on Lunch with Laundry

Yesterday I got up with Joann from Laundry Hurts My Feelings. Joann is a regular reader of my stupid blog. I mean, I have no idea how often she poops. What I'm saying is she reads this blog faithfully, because apparently she has a high tolerance for boredom.

Somehow she and I have become friends in real life, emailing and talking on the phone and so forth, so when she had a reason to come to North Carolina, we were all excited for a chance to meet and make out. We had lunch at the fancy hotel where she was staying, and then her poor husband had to take pictures of us acting the fool in the hotel lobby.

Here we are licking an expensive sculpture.

You will probably see more photos on her blog when she covers this fateful meeting, as her husband was using her camera and then every 15 minutes or so we'd say, "Oh! Take one with June's camera, too!"

I know at one point, we were making gang signs in the lobby, and some guy who was just trying to drink a glass of wine and read the paper said, "You'd better be careful. I saw a rival gang down here not long ago."

Everyone's a comedian.

Here I am at the piano, telling Joann not to go changin' to try and please me. Did I mention we loved ourselves? Did I mention my effing Justin Beiber hair?

Really, once someone strikes up the harp music, you can't help but shake your money maker.

It was about this point that security started nonchalantly strolling past us, so we struck a mature pose, finally:

Anyway. For those of you who are familiar with Joann, meeting her was as fun as you would imagine. She is a big hoot. Is what she is. And her husband tolerated us and he paid for lunch. He was a great guy, actually. And he is probably banning her from hanging out with me ever again, as we speak.

Oh! I almost forgot! She got me this!

In case you didn't know.

I have to go now, because I am taking Edsel to his first half-day of daycare, with his sister Tallulah. We have eight free visits left and so far today Edsel has eaten a slipper, a tennis shoe, a bag of seeds, and Francis. It's either day care or the glue factory. Do dogs go to the glue factory?

Anyway, thanks for meeting me, Joann! Don't go changin'!


Faithful Readers · June's stupid life · My pets

My secret lunch

Isn't it exciting? Francis feels well enough to get up on the fridge to eat! Of course, the irony is that the cat food is up on the fridge because it's the nonbunny food, and now he feels well enough to eat it, which he is not supposed to be doing. As soon as I saw him up there I filled the bowl with the 8 million dollar bunny food and now everyone is feasting on it.


Winston, who gleefully eats bunnies outside all summer long, does not like it in a can version, so I had to sneak him his dry food in the food closet, here. Could life be more chaotic?

Anyway, I can't talk to you, girl. I am driving to an undisclosed location to meet a regular blog reader and commentor for lunch! It's all so exciting. She does not live in North Carolina, but she is here this weekend and we are having a romantic get-together in a matter of hours.

I have no idea what Ima wear. Probably something that makes me look fat, as there is no choice in the matter. She'll be all, Why is Mama Cass coming through the crowd, there?

Then tonight I have book club with Faithful Reader Laura. Has my blog become my life? Is this bad?

Tomorrow I will reveal my lunch date, and all the sick details of our luncheon.

I hope they serve canned bunny.

Gardening · June's stupid life · Los Angeles

Straight outta the garden

It's Saturday. Yesterday it was 72 degrees here, and it is sunny and warmish here again. Do you feel like you are reading the diary of someone from 1912? Why did they always report the weather?

The point of me telling you this is that it gave me ample opportunity yesterday to pull ivy. And once again I'd like to THANK the person who introduced it into my yard in the first place. Really.


Anyway, as usual I could not find my gardening gloves. I have 900 pair of them and WHERE DO THEY ALL GO? I looked all in the shed, convinced I was gonna stare a family of copperheads in the face at any minute, and I found neither heads of copper nor gloves.

So I went bareback. And oh, I pulled. I yanked and I clipped and I tore and I tugged that ivy. And after filling a whole barrel, I stood up, and the tiniest section you ever saw was cleared.


Then I remembered we needed cat litter, so Edsel and I got in the car and went to PetSmart. I cannot take both dogs with me somewhere when it is just me, because are they a couple of rambunctious dicks when they're together?Are they Lenny and Squiggy?


So I got the 25-pound box of cat litter, which some A-hole in the packaging department over at Tidy Cat–and there's a job, "I'm in the packaging department at Tidy Cat"–decided a small, thin, sharp plastic handle would be good for lugging that heavy box.

Imagine spending two hours tugging ivy–and incidentally also poison ivy, which thank God doesn't affect me–for two hours with your bare hands. Then imagine having a pulling, rambunctious German shepherd puppy in one hand, and a 25-pound shard of plastic in your other hand.

Such was my joy yesterday afternoon.

"Ma'am, do you need help?" a young boy asked me as I minced to the checkout counter.

"Yes, I do, and I can't tell you how I like you Southern men," I said, looking un-insane with my red-dirt pants and my Annette Benning hair and my Ouiser jumping dog.

The nice guy, who he told me has a German shepherd as well, helped me all the way to my car, and since it was daytime and teeming with people I figured he couldn't kill me or anything. Plus I had that tough Edsel for protection. I noticed he had an LA hat on. "Are you from LA?" Nothing gets past me.

Turns out he was from Compton, which is, like, the worst neighborhood in the universe, and his parents sold their house there and bought their house here for cash. I almost said, "You can even sell a house in COMPTON and get a house for cash here," but I caught myself. However, that's exactly what Marvin said when I relayed the story.


Anyway, it was nice to be helped by a nonSouthern boy, and this kid was not black, so the part where I just said "boy" is not as awful as it sounds.

I am going to put on winter gloves today and hack at the ivy again. Once I get started on ivy I get obsessed. My hands look like Scarlett's when she visited Rhett in jail.

In the meantime, comment of the week goes to my personal friend–which kind of makes it sound like she is my vibrator but she isn't–Pal from MA, who discussed my pie panting and used the word "cooter." Click on This Week's Special if you need to see the use of the word "cooter" in a sentence. And who doesn't?

Family · June's stupid life · Uncle Jim

Blue is a color

When I was a kid, I spent an inordinate amount of time at my grandmother's.  At least half my childhood memories involve being at her house. I was the only grandkid in town; the others lived in Detroit, so who had favored status? Was it me?

And let me tell you what. The customer was always right when you were my grandmother's grandchild. I got to do whatever I wanted. All the snacks in the house were purchased per my liking, much to my Uncle Jim's ire.

(He was only 10 years older than me, so he was still there, and lived to make my life miserable, doing things like eating all my personal snacks before I got there and such. Fortunately as he got older and started bringing girls around, I was able to retaliate by thwarting his sex life dramatically. "I think I'll sit here with you guys!" I'd announce cheerily, after Gramma went to bed.)

The point is, I would sit on Gramma's lap and ask her to sing songs. It was like having a cushy juke box. "Gramma, sing about blue," I'd say. And lo and behold, she'd know a song about the color blue.

"Ohhhhh, bluuuuue is a color," she'd warble. "Ohhh, blue."

It took me years to figure out she was making songs up. I really thought she had an incredible repertoire until I was about nine. I was never the brightest bulb.

Believe it or not, this little story has a point. Not one that will change your life or anything, but still.

For the past maybe 35 years, pink has been my favorite color. Pink pink pink. Everyone knows it. I am all up in the pink. So to speak.

But recently I've begun to notice something.

The inside of my glasses are a pale blue.

I recently bought this ring, and it's kind of a sky blue. Also? I enjoy the particles of dust that we can see in that ridge of the shelf, here.

Last weekend I bought these earrings. With the, you know, blue dangle.

And I also bought this light blue bedspread.

Here is one of the two blue bowls I got for Edsel, to match his blue collar and leash. It looks good against my blue couch and cat with the blues.

Oh, blue.

Do you know blue is the most common favorite color in America? If you are familiar with my particular brand of narcissism, you know the last thing I want to be is common.

Crap. Blue crap.

And I don't like dark blue or royal blue. Just pale. Who knew you could change this way? I thought I was pink for life.

Oh, and while I'm on this topic, I went to see Blue Valentine yesterday, which was a depressing movie.

Left me feeling a little…you know.

I am berserk · June's stupid life

Flakey. And weedy.

When I was in 10th grade, this boy liked me all fall. I had another boyfriend who went to a different school, so this boy would come over after school and try to be charming, until finally at around Christmastime I liked him back.

Then he stopped calling.

Finally I called him and said, "Why aren't you calling me?" and he said, "Because you're a FLAKE and I don't LIKE you anymore!"

Do you know it was only in the last few months that it dawned on me that HE was being the flake?

Nevertheless, he may have had a point.

I changed my mind about the job. I KNOW!

It's an hour and a half away, dawgs. And I know you wish I'd call you "dawgs" more often. And it's temporary. And it pays very little. I was taking it in the hopes it'd get offered to me as a good-paying real job, but what then? We'd have to move.

I was (sit down) watching a Sopranos episode last night (they killed Adriana again) and I paused it and said to Marvin, "Should I take that job?" and he said "No" and I was all, "THEN WHY WERE YOU ENCOURAGING YESTERDAY?" and he said he didn't want to tell me what to do.


So like a wimp I called and left a message.

Whatever. I made more money freelancing in December and January than I did at my actual job, so I will survive. I WILL SURVIIIIIIVE!

In other news, today I'm gonna pull ivy. Will the fun ever end? I was looking at old photos last night, including Tallulah puppy pictures.

HippogirlAre you dying?


And anyway, I found photos of our house before we bought it. And the YARD was so WEED-FREE and lovely.

Photo card 1 716 

Now. Okay, it doesn't look that different. Except it is suddenly more depressing out. Hey, it's FEBRUARY and the picture before was taken in March. There is a big difference between Feb. and March here.

But trust me. There are weeds to pull. I have big plans. Also I thought I might get a job and accept it and reject it today. How about you?

June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Pieces of Wisdom: What time is it? It’s time to get depressed.

Okay, thanks, Marvin.

In case you are just tuning in, yesterday I let Marvin come up with our weekly Pieces of Wisdom question, and he asked, "What was your worst Valentine's Day, ever?" because he has a cheery personality like that.

And you answered. There was betrayal, rejection, death, lack of carnation delivery in high school, snow storms. Good gravy.

The one that somehow affected me the most was poor Faithful Reader Emily, whose then-boyfriend set up this whole romantic evening, and she was certain he was gonna propose, and sure enough he came up with a small box, and in it?

A clock.


Where do you even GET teeny clocks that come in a ring box, and what boy in his right mind would say, "Hey! I'll bet she'd love a CLOCK that looks like it might be a ring on Valentine's Day!"

Poor Emily. She eventually did get proposed to by the guy. If I were her I'd have gone for a Flavor-Flav-themed wedding, but she did not mention that she did so.

Oh, but someone else did mention heartbreak and an Alice in Wonderland wedding.

I'm telling you, it's all too sad. Go read yesterday's comments if you want to see. I can't even get my dry erase board for this.

Plus also I have news for you.

Yesterday I hauled myself out a long damn-ass way to an interview for a big company. You have heard of this company. It's big. And the job is temporary but they told me the majority of temporary hires end up getting hired because the company is growing.

Anyway, they called to offer me the position before the day was even done. I said let me think about it, because did I mention it's a long damn-ass way away?

So I told someone at my old company where I just got laid off and he said HANG ON! They may want you back here at this place! Don't call the new company till I have called you tomorrow!

So I did what I always do in times of stress. I got ill. Oh, I had a migraine. Throb throb throb, is what my head did, all night. Then finally today my old place called and they still can't offer my job back yet, so I took the temporary job that may lead to permanent.

If it works out, Marvin and I talked about maybe eventually moving closer, so we'd both have a commute, but of course that's if I even end up really working there. For now it's a two-month assignment.

AND THERE ARE GEESE THERE! They were touring me around and I saw a big lake and I could not help but ask. "There be geetzes?"

Okay, thank all that is holy I didn't ask it like that, but still. Do you think I should negotiate to be able to work outside when the babies are born?

I go in Friday for ANOTHER DRUG TEST. Can't people just look at me and know I don't take drugs? Could I look straighter? Can't they just do this based on looks? Anyway, if I pass that (I mean, maybe they're testing for addiction to Moon Pies and/or chalupas. If so, fail.) I start Feb. 28.

I am upcited, because it's copy editing AND copy writing. It's like a step up. A temporary step up. With geetzes. Should I wear something goose-related every day, do you think? Like goose earrings or a suit with a goose pin or a lovely mock turtleneck with geese pictures on it? That'll surely convince them to hire me forthwith. Maybe I could just wear a goose butt, like those Wisconsin people and their cheese butts.

There is some sports team and the fans wear cheese hats but they also have cheese butts to sit on when the bleachers are cold. Which is always because it's Wisconsin. Yes, Hulk, I kind of knew a sports thing, but only because my father lived there and told me.

The first person who makes me a goose butt for my new job gets their choice of a bag of gladiators

or an inflatable turkey.

How much do you dare me to wear a goose butt to my new job, and not only wear it but wiggle around and ruffle before I sit down every single time?

Why I always gotta be the weird coworker?


Ryan Gosling

June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Pieces of Sodium

In case you were up all night tossing and turning, the pot roast turned out fine. NEEDED A LITTLE SALT, but otherwise fine.

Which reminds me. Attached please find the multipaged Valentine's Day card I made for Marvin, proving once again that there is no stopping me when I use the Paint program.


The salt joke never gets old.

Anyway. After our delightful salt-free dinner last night, I asked Marvin what today's Pieces of Wisdom query should be, and he said, "How about asking people what their worst Valentine's Day, ever, was?"

I do not know where he came up with a question like that, but okay. Do tell. Let me know by 10 p.m. my time (Eastern time) so I can report your results tamale. And I know you like it when I say "tamale" like that.



June's stupid life · Marvin

Love and Salt

Happy Valentine's Day! I wish I could begin to tell you how IRRITATED I am at Marvin.

I am making a romantic crock pot pot roast. Because what's more romantic than eating something with the word "crock" involved? Anyway, you know I don't cook. So the whole thing is a challenge for me as it is. For example, I didn't realize you are supposed to cook this thing for EIGHT HOURS in the crock pot, and who looked up how to do this at 11:00?

So I called my mother. Because I'm 45 years old.

"Well, you can brown the meat, that'll hurry it along," she said.

"…brown?" I asked. Why does she have to use these technical terms?

After she told me about this highfalutin' procedure called "browning," I went to the store, where I was OVERWHELMED by the eleven billion selections of red meat. Who knew there was so much? I looked around for a grandmotherly type, which is what I always do when I try to cook and I'm lost at the grocery store, but you know who was at the store today?

Men. All men. Buying grocery store flowers, which, men? Don't. Just don't. And also wine and chocolate, hoping to get their women into some kind of chemical trance.

Anyway I finally got the guy at the meat counter to tell me what part of the cow to purchase, and if one more hapless soul leaves a "I thought you went vegetarian, June!" comment on here I will weep.

So then I got home and commenced the BROWNING, which was scary, and started putting the vegetables in the crock pot, when I realized…

…are you ready for this?

We were out.of.SALT.


Who runs out of salt?

And this is ENTIRELY Marvin's fault. I eat only processed foods, which explains why I am so thin and healthy. I never NEED salt or any other condiment.

The other day when my friend The Other June was here, she had coffee and I asked the question I hate to ask people: "Do you take anything in your coffee?" I hate to ask that because we never have staple items and I always hope they say, "No, black like my moods!" as I do.

"No, not really," said The Other June. "Just a little milk and sugar." Honest to God. That is what she said. I had JUST been sighing in relief and then she said, "Just a little milk and sugar." What did "No, not really" mean? "I don't take any vodka or chicken wings or Polish immigrants in my coffee."

Anyway, we had milk, thank all that is holy and merciful, and I remembered a huge yellow tub of sugar, which was gone. I never use sugar, but Marvin does. "Marvin, are we out of sugar?" I asked, hoping that giant tub was hiding somehow.

"I don't know, maybe," he said, which is his way of saying yes but he's too scared of my wrath to come right out and say it.

"HOW CAN YOU NOT REPLACE SUGAR?" I railed at him in front of The Other June, who was putting brown sugar in her coffee, I swear to you.

So today I got a chair, and moved all the spices around. I never put salt or pepper on anything, have I mentioned that? But Marvin does. Did I mention that part? Even the salt shaker was completely empty. Oh, I was mad.

I called him at work. "Are we out of salt?" I gritted.

"I don't know. Maybe," he said. And then he said the worst part. The part where I am going to smash his head between two pans when he gets here tonight. The part where he rubbed salt in the wound, which may be why we're out of it.

"You could always get in the car, you know."

"I WAS JUST IN THE CAR!" I screeched. "I have to go to the dry cleaner and to the pet supply store for rabbit food and to the dog pound to drop off supplies and I have freelance work and I have to cook your stupid roast and it will have NO SALT ON IT because you can't be bothered to tell me when we're out of STAPLE ITEMS!"

By the time I got to "staple items," I was so incensed that Edsel had slunk out of the room with his ears back.

Marvin better come home with Lot's Wife, that is all I am telling you.

Anyway, happy Valentine's Day to you and yours! Or Valentimes. Because I'm in such a good mood already. Let's be sure to pronounce it Valentimes.

I am berserk · June's stupid life

My love is not a light switch

When I was in high school, one of my good guy friends liked this girl, and they broke up. Somehow we got ahold of the broken-hearted letter he wrote her, in which he wrote, "My love is not a light switch. I can't turn it on and off at will."

This thrilled all of us who were friends with this guy, which, you know who is a nice group of people? High schoolers. Anyway, we turned it into a punk song. MY LOVE IS NOT A LIGHT SWIIIITCH! YOU CAN'T.TURN.IT. ONANDOFFATWILLLL!

Which leads me to show you my new lamp.

I liked it because the base looked just like me!

Here we go. I took this last night with my iPhone. The bottom is much like the legs of our coffee table, and the chocolate brown goes with our couch!

I got away with purchasing it by telling Marvin he did not have to get me anything for Valentine's Day. We used to go all out for Valentine's Day. I remember one time he hid hundreds of those kid valentines all over the house. Now we go halfsies on a lamp. Romantic. Apparently my love is like a light switch.

But look how pretty! I kept looking at it all night! I love its chocolate brownness! And bumpiness! Yay! A lamp.

Anyway, I have to go, because it is a nice day so we are taking the dogseses to Blowing Rock or Hanging Rock or something where a rock is performing a verb. Which sounds safe, seeing as neither dog pulls like a mo or anything. They will rename the park Hanging OFF a Rock when we're done with it.

I hope I make it back, so I can look at my lamp some more.

Oh, and comment of the week goes to both Hulk and Siren, for a little conversation they had. See This Week's Special if you wish.

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

Where’s the lampshade?

My friend the Other June was over this morning, and she brought doughnuts, so I was busy. I had a blueberry doughnut. So I got my fruit.

Also too, now I have to go because Marvin and I are going to look at a lamp. I know! The excitement never ends over here at House of June.

Therefore, I will do comment of the week tomorrow, as I have no time to sit and read all your comments, which this week seemed to center mainly around face-eating and catching barf in your hands. Cannot wait to review those all over again!

How much do you like me for saying "review" and "all over again"? Did I mention my English degree?

Anyway, before I head off to look at a lamp, and again try not to envy my glam life, I did want to tell you a story that falls under the category of I Am a Terrible Person.

When I walk the dogs, I have noticed this sign up on all the telephone poles for a missing cat. He is brown and stripy, and the poster reads: "Cat missing since Jan. 27. His name is Toast."

Okay. Every time I read "His name is Toast" I giggle anew.

They doomed him with the name. "We just can't find our poodle Coyote Food. We let him go off leash in the canyon, but we thought he'd come right back."

"We let our cat Tire Tracks run near the busy street and we haven't seen him since!"

Poor Toast. I do wonder what happened to him. What a crummy story. See what I did there?

Okay, I am off to convince Marvin that we need this lamp in our lives. It is SO PRETTY. You will die when you see it. You will be toast.



Health · I am berserk · June's stupid life



Have you been worried sick about me all day? Are you wringing your hands and fretting? Is it "wringing"? I'd look it up but I don't want to.

This morning my old workplace called me again. "Jane West is sick. Can you come in?" my former boss wondered. I showered and had me some Life cereal and got dressed and put on makeup all at the same time. Okay, that isn't literally true, because how could I shower and apply makeup at the same time. But you know in the cartoons when someone moves in a blur? That was me.

I felt bad because Edsel was play play playing with Talu, and harrrr-ing and growling and bowing and having himself a time, then I had to put him in his prison cell. I KNOW they like their crates, but it isn't as fun as harrr-ing with your sister. Come on.

Anyway I got here and everyone was in the kitchen, surprisingly. "JUNE!" they all yelled. Then, "Don't go near Jane West's desk. She was barfing all night."


Nobody TOLD me I was filling in for a barfer. You know how phobic I am about this. I immediately felt gaggy. "She's…BARFING?" I asked, chewing on some pizza. I was nervous, but not crazy. Hello, free pizza. "Yeah, it's going around the office," they said.

Again. Really? You call me when there's a barf epidemic? And you expect me to concentrate?

I have used 75 gallons of hand sanitizer, and I won't even LOOK in Jane's cube. I figure germs could travel to my eyes. I didn't have a red pen, and I walked up and down till I found a red pen at an empty desk, rather than use one of Jane's.

I was sharing my fears with one of my old friends here, the person who similarly likes Hello Kitty. We'll call her Hello Coworker. "So, what do you do when a baby barfs on you?" she asked. Hello Coworker has a child. A child who wears a LOT of Hello Kitty paraphernalia. "Babies?" I asked, as though she had wondered what I do when a pirate spits into my medulla. "I never hold babies. It never comes up."

You guys. I am not kidding. TWO BABIES came to the office today. TWO OF THEM. With their GERMS and their LACK OF IMMUNITY and their fevers and their upchuckiness. I did not touch either one. Howard Hughes had more contact with people and surfaces than I have today.

Anyway, I should go. I am emailing this post from work. What are they gonna do, FIRE me? They have already done that, plus now they have brought NAUSEA to my life. And youuuuuuuu, nauseated myyy life. Created a world, where I just might barrrrrrrf. Annnd youuuuuu, nauseated my life.

Okay. Keep me in your thoughts. Pray I keep this pizza down.

Yours in phobia,

June's stupid life · Proofreading/Copy editing

It’s noon somewhere. Like, here.

I just got up. What am I, 17?

I had to work last night, at my old workplace, and I didn't get home till 1:45. I am a night owl, is what I am.

They called me, my old workplace, last Friday. Everyone was on speakerphone. "Hi, Juuune!" they all said, sounding employed. "It's gonna be crazy here next week. We'll definitely need you Monday through Thursday, but we aren't sure what time. Okay?"

"…Okay," I said, desperately wanting my job back. If they said they wanted me to come in and wipe everyone buttockal region with Baby Magic I'd have said okay. Do they still make Baby Magic? When my cousins were babies and I was constantly babysitting from 1976 till 1982, they had Baby Magic everything. Fortunately, I have not touched a baby's nether region since, so I have no idea.

Take that, Chris Hanson.

How did I get off on this tangent?

So, knowing I had to work this week, I called The Tea Partier, who dog sits my ludicrous dogs.

I should not use "dogs" in the plural when I say "ludicrous," as Tallulah has become what you'd call a good dog who does nothing but sleep and play nicely. We all know who I mean when I say ludicrous. And seeing as I am here all day and cannot go eight seconds without Edsel chewing (a) my personal delicates (not while I'm wearing them, thank God), (b) my Vanity Fair magazine, (c) the bedspread or (d) the cat, there was no way he could be out of his crate all day. I would come home to five homeless pets and a foundation.

Then of course on Monday, my old work kept calling and saying "maybe in a few hours" and then I'd have to call The Tea Partier to say the same thing, and finally they didn't need me at all, and then the same thing happened on Tuesday. I think this was driving Tea Partier berserk, as she is linear.

Finally, yesterday at 4:30 they called me. "Can you get here by 5:00?"

"No. I live 40 minutes away."

"Can you get here by 5:10?"

So I screamed down there without calling TP, seeing as it was almost Marvin time. If you've got the time, we've got the Marvin.

Anyway, as soon as I walked in, there was a casserole in the lobby. I am not making this up. It was some cheesy egg mushroomy thing. In the kitchen was a cheese plate, and chicken, and potatoes, and green beans with slivered almonds, and did I tell you how I miss it there?

I got me some Starbucks and yes I AM cutting down my caffiene, shut up. My old boss met me at my desk and brought me a fruit plate. Again, I am not making this up. "JUNE!" he said. "I know I suck and you hate me. Have some fruit. They're taking dinner orders, so be sure to get yours in."

Again. Do I miss it there? So bad?

And even though I worked till fricking ONE, I had a good time and on the drive home through the snow I heard Journey. It was exactly how I felt.



June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Pieces of Wisdom Wednesday–Now we know you at all over. I know that makes little sense.

Perhaps you're saying, Gee. I wish I knew someone as high-tech and fancy as June.

You don't. Deal with it.

Above is my fine map of the United States, showing where my readers are. If it's green, someone is reading me in that state. The greener it is, the more readers there are.

I also had 10 people reporting from Canada, one reader from Puerto Rico, one from London, one from France, one from someone's underpants.

I also had readers in Belgium, Luxemborg, Grenada, SE England, Australia and Argentina.

June. So worldly. So welcome.

The most readers came from my own state, North Carolina. I guess you like to read about your own place or something. Then after that I was big in Ohio, California and Texas. Well. I'm big everywhere, currently. What muffin top?

As of this writing, no one reported in from Wyoming, and why(oming), I wonder. Also, apparently no one likes me in Rhode Island, but it has like 14 people, so what are the chances? Maybe we should set up a campaign to get Rhode Island read. What say you?

Oh! And Vermont. No one said they were in Vermont. Cheese. I'm sure.

And finally, please note Montana. Giant Montana. Now, one of my ex-boyfriends lives there part of the time, and I know he reads me when he's there, but right now he's in our home town sleeping with all the young girls in Michigan. In spring he will return to Montana to check out the new crop of barely legals there. You so want to be this guy. Trust me on this.

I mean, Montana is a big state. Are they all out admiring moose and looking at their big sky? Buying chastity belts for their daughters for when my ex returns? Why aren't they reading this fine blog? Hmmm?

Still, this was exciting. I got most of the states and realized I could have a big North Carolina get-together if I felt like it.

Thanks for participating and representin'. How much do you like me for saying "representin'"?

Your hated-by-Montanans pal,


P.S. Mrs. Oh, who is recovering from a heart attack and needs entertainment, made me more maps! Go, Mrs. Oh and her heart! Bless her heart. Literally.