...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · Television

Rain hair

Girl, I got no time to talk today. I am meeting Dot Dot Dot Friend, and I like how that's become his name, for lunch at noon, and it's 10:23 and guess who just woke up 23 minutes ago? So I have to shower and put makeup on and dry my hair, which I assure you is gonna be rain hair because it's, you know, raining.

So I will dash, but not go to Dash, the Kardashians' store, but before I do I wanted to tell you I got sucked into Downton Abbey like everybody else. You know how I have Netflix on my DVD player now? Perhaps you did not see it on your CNN news feed on your home page. Well, I do. I can just turn on my TV with my smile and then say, "Netflix, please" and there it is.

They had season one of Downton Abbey, and I said what the hay.

Guess who sat there for the next seven hours, watching show after show? Then yesterday I went on SnootyPublicTelevision dot com and watched the first two episodes of season two. So now when y'all prattle on about this show in the comments I will not be bored to death.

Speaking of snooty TV, why is Vicky so religious all of a sudden on Real Housewives? It feels phony to me. Especially given that she is such a rude person. God is probably all, "Get her off my team." Wait. I should use some kind of God font. Get her off my team.

God speaks in sans serif, apparently. You know, this Typepad is really crappy when it comes to giving me good font choices. I realize that is kind of a first world problem. But really. It was hard enough finding a Lily font, much less a God font.

I wonder if there's a way to get new fonts in here, so I can have richer font choices when I am making fun of Vicky Gundelson and being sort of blasphemous?

See. This is why I'm late for things. I start worrying abou how to get a God font, then I Google it, and next thing you know I am at lunch in my pajamas.

So okay. Going. Downton Abbey is a good show, though. By the way. I need no fancy font to tell you that.



June's stupid life · My pets

For Mor Yeer. A guest post by Tallulah Blueberry Gardens


My name Lu Gardins. I live with Big Hair. She annoy Lu sometime.

Big Hair say it for yearz that Lu been living here now. Lu haf no idea what yeerz be. All Lu no is she wake up here and eet here and go to sleepz heer. All time.

6a00e54f9367fb8834014e5f8001f3970c-800wiOne day Lu just standeeng on side of rode. Not hurting no one. Yellow car come RIGHT UP to Lu. There Big Hair. hello doggie. she say. why you on side of rode? she say.

Lu have answer for her. But she get no time to tell beause Big Hair swoooop up Lu and put her in car. your name talulaa. she say. you my dog now.


so okaaa. lu live wif Big Hair and that other guy after that. it all rite. get lots of prezent.


at new howse there also lot of catz. it annoy.


so Lu annoy back.

6a00e54f9367fb88340133f216a12a970b-800wiSometime Big Hair redicuuulus about Lu. Sometime Big Hair need to get over it.

6a00e54f9367fb88340147e0d741d2970b-800wisometime think mom need to have hyuumin baby and not dog.

6a00e54f9367fb88340133ed66d5fb970b-800wisometime Lu want to go Pit Bull on mom azz.

6a00e54f9367fb88340168e5ffd3ce970c-800wiPit Bull, mom. Can eet lips off you any time Lu want, mom.


But mostlee Lu like it heer. It not so bad.


we play. we haf fun.

6a00e54f9367fb8834013487f0cf35970c-800withen one daa Big Hair bring home nother dogg.



no, realy. why?


he not bad all time. but most time he bad.


we all no who best dog be.

6a00e54f9367fb88340120a8b0f1f2970b-800wiLu best dog.

100_1124that all Lu got to say about living heer. who all you? Why you look at Lu all time? 

Reemembur, lu can go Pit Bull on all yer azzez.

...friend/Ned · Film · Friends · June's stupid life

The Blogist

My favorite thing last night was when Angelina Jolie struck that stupid pose with her leg out, and when the writers of The Descendants came on stage, the one guy posed just like her. heeeee!

Do you have any idea how hard it is to take a picture of your own leg?

Oh look. I found a picture of it. I didn't even have to photograph my own leg. That was for your viewing pleasure, though.

I watched the Oscars at a party my friend Marty Martin had.

I know. I had my phone with me and the lights were low. Here is my …friend breaking Marty's wine opener.

We got there late, because I (sit down) made brownies, and they wouldn't cook. I kept sticking spade toothpicks in there and it kept sticking. (I just linked you to the ball I had for Edsel after he got neutered. Who cracked her own self up with "Don't get testy, party pictures are here"?)

But see? Not only did I MAKE brownies, but people ATE them. Do you think Dot Dot Dot Friend thinks I'm domestic? It's only about the fourth or fifth time he's ever come over and there I was with an oven mitt on. Oh, what a tangled web we weave…

Here is Marty Martin, trying to fix the wine opener that Dot Dot Dot Friend broke. I really don't think he broke it. I mean, it's the highfalutinest, fanciest wine opener you've ever seen, and it kind of fell apart, but Marty said it always does that. Anyway now Dot Dot Dot feels terrible about it.

Also, Marty Martin was drunk. Did I mention that? He called me when we were already in the car. "WHERE ARE YOU? YOU COMING TO THE PARTY?" I was all, "Yeah, we're right at your street. My brownies wouldn't cook. Why? Do you need ice or something?"


And with that he hung up.

I have known MM for a couple years now, and have never seen him drunk. It was quite a sight.

Here he is with his adorable dog Spiro. Note that Spiro seems tired of his drunk ass, also.

You don't have to tell me how dreadful these pictures are. I should've brought the real camera. So we could have captured Marty Goes to Rehab with sparkling precision.

I thought Penelope Cruz was the prettiest one last night, Penelope_Cruz_26Feb2012A
(I took this photo with my iPhone) and I liked what's-her-name. The Swan. The young girl. Oh, hell. Red dress, beautiful necklace. NATALIE PORTMAN! Geez. She looked good.


How many of you were just up there in that paragraph yelling at me, "NATALIE PORTMAN!"?

I adore Tina Fey, but what the hell was she wearing, with that peplum action? Did she have a saber under there? An extra-value meal? What the hell?

She has a lovely figure, says June, who turned 87 last month. Why doesn't she show it off?

And I am glad The Artist won. Did I not say it should win? Did not June speak? June has speaken. And although Meryl Streep was EXCELLENT in the Margaret Thatcher movie (and perhaps it'd have been nice of her to thank Margaret Thatcher in her speech), I was rooting for The Help lady, whatever her name is. Viola. Right? Viola and Octavia are being some names you hear every day.

So that was my Oscar report. In a post-report, Marty is feeling crappy but made it to work, and DDD Friend wrote me to ask where he could get a fancy wine opener for Marty, and I am still in the brown robe from the photo at top. All is glamorous in my world.

Friends · June's stupid life · Marvin

Flames, Hello Kitty, being 10 and The Artist

Do you understand JUST HOW MUCH Iris sits on me? With her blind self? I guess there isn't much more to do when you got no, you know, eyeballs.

Oh, she gets around FINE. She sees enough. I notice she has trouble really knowing how far it is from the table to the fur-covered couch. She lifts her paw out and tries to touch the couch first, and it takes her a few tries. Poor "What-depth?" girl.

She was my companion yesterday while I sat here like a moron and watched Sex and the City for 29 hours. Which by the way I saw in its entirety probably twice before I got the box set, and which I have watched all over again from start to finish at least three times. Then I rewatched it with the director's comments.

So it was productive that I watched all of season three again yesterday.

If I don't immediately pick her up when I am here at the computer (Iris, not Carrie Bradshaw), she does this poking at me thing, shown here. "MEW! MEW!" poke poke poke poke. Not at all annoying when I'm trying to work here.

When I wasn't underneath Iris and/or watching DVDs with my active family…

IMG_0576The first person to say, "I thought you weren't allowing the dogs on the couch, June" gets humped by Talu. I am sending her over to your house with an Al Green tape and some champagne-flavored kibble. And yes, I am in my purple robe in this shot. Did I mention I'm suing Justin Timberlake, because I in fact brought sexy back?

…I cat-sat for Tall Boy.

I didn't dig through his personal effects even though he told me I could, but I did notice he alphabetizes his books and DVDs. He is kind of a Tidy Tess. Also, he has six KISS DVDs.

When I got back from scooping the poop of cats who weren't mine–and honestly, how enviable is my life?–I went back home with the idea that maybe I'd do something useful, when Marvin popped over. He had borrowed my tax records for his own, and was returning them. I was here in the computer room and looked up and there was Marvin's giant pink car in my driveway, which is not a euphemism.

I haven't been what you'd call hanging with Marvin a lot. I feel worse now about us breaking up then I did when he left. So hanging is not really a great idea. Nevertheless, there he was, in my living room.

"What's this book?" he asked, getting the Jeffrey Dahmer book that I keep forgetting to return to Tall Boy, even though I have now been at his house three times since I finished it.

"That's the book Jeffrey Dahmer's dad wrote."

"Ooo! What'd he say?"

"Well, mostly that he had no idea his kid was nuts. But the dad himself admitted that he liked to set fires when he was young. He found it arousing. He was aroused by fire," I said.

"Jeffrey Dahmer's dad wanted to have sex with fire?" asked Marvin, who goes around getting a kick out of his own self more often than is healthy. "Hey, let me just have sex with–ow!"

"Yes. He can't forget about his old flame," I said, similarly loving me. It's easy cause I'm beautiful.

"He was always getting burned in his relationships," said Marvin.

"So he went on Match.com!" I said, getting onto the Zales website to buy myself an eternity band.

The good news is, Marvin set my DVD player up so now I can watch Netflix without having to order Netflix. I mean, I don't just think up a movie in my mind and it appears on the screen. I guess technically I still have to order it. You know what I mean. Shut up.

Finally, it was night and time to get up with my old flame Dick Whitman.

My friend Dot sent me a Hello Kitty mood necklace, which is THE BOMB, and which I wore last night. I kept asking Dick Whitman, "What mood am I in now?" which I'm certain was not annoying. Or anything. I wonder what color his Hello Kitty necklace was?

I got a BLT salad, and the Ts were fried green tomatoes. Do you know anyone who can take a salad and make it so desperately unhealthy?

Because I'm watching my figure, I also got pink lemonade cake. So my vegetables AND fruits were covered.

I took this from the car while we were driving, but this guy's name killed me. Because I'm 10. I mean, maybe it's not even a name. Maybe it's a sentence.

Also, who sells pickles at the movies? And $2.50 is highway robbery.

I had better go now because in a few hours my …friend will be here and we are going to an Oscar party at Marty Martin's. We all discussed dressing up but Marty Martin did not want to buy body glitter, as he just ran out. So we're wearing normal clothes.

I don't have a movie that I think desperately needs to win, do you? I do think The Artist was really cool and unusual, so maybe it should win.

June has spoken.

Friends · Gardening · June's stupid life

Throw this lifeless lifeline to the wind. Or, June does flowerspeak.

I went out for a giant Americano with Dick Whitman yesterday, at 5:00 p.m. Guess what was a stupid idea. There I was at midnight, like Bono.

"I'm wide awake! WIDE AWAKE! WIIIIDE AWAAAAKKE! I'm not sleeping."

Did he really need to throw in that last line? I think we got it when you screeched at us about being wide awake 14 times. Imagine being his wife.


Are you shocked I threw in a U2 YouTube? Please enjoy Bono's mullet. You think you're wide awake? Vidal Sassoon hasn't slept since you got that thing.

June. Using current hairdresser references since 1979.

So. Trouble falling asleep. Is what I'm telling you. Thanks to D. Whitman and his giant black coffee. He was working in Greensboro yesterday, which he does not normally do. We were celebrating this fact. Woo!

Other than that, I sat around and waited to get jobs. Which I did not get. I mean, I didn't officially NOT get any, and I didn't get any. So to speak. And I read all of that Jeffrey Dahmer's dad book, which was sad. I mean, you feel terrible for the guy. "Hey, Jeff, why'd you get a freezer?" I mean, he actually asked him that. Ack. Right there is why I never wanted kids.

Of course, then God saw fit to bring me Francis. Who given the chance would have poured acid into as many head holes as he could.

Franhateyou@#@&%*@, mom. And who the blynd cat you got there now? She a wimp.

IMG_0567eyeriss heer you, and she NOT A WIMP. ded cat. ded cat in yardd.

Iris is getting big, and every so often one of the cats will walk by and I'll think, wait. Was that Lily or Iris? I have to see if the cat in question has eyeballs or not.

Anyway, I am (wait for it) going to do freelance work now, but Ima do it outside because it is OUTSTANDING weather. I know it snowed, like, three days ago. All my daffydills are up and yes, I am annoying for calling them that.

IMG_0558We up. Now what?

Hiya, 'cynth!

Sadly, I believe I made this funny funny joke last year. I like this photo because Edsel's snout just barely made it in. We were going for a walk and I decided to take a picture first. You can imagine how this pleased him, seeing as walk time is NUMBER ONE TIME EVER! EVER! WALK BEST TIME! I'M WIDE AWAKE! WIDE AWAKE!

I'm not sleeping.

Okay. June out. Somebody tell me about anything interesting they're doing this weekend. I have Dick Whitman tomorrow night and an Oscar party on Sunday. You?

P.S. I want a cool nickname like The Edge. I realize I just said I want you all to call me Nippy. But now I want to be "The" something. The Nippy makes no sense.

Food and Drink · Friends · June's stupid life

The point is…

Faithful Reader Mrs. ridiculous Oh made this. She is berserk.

Speaking of my dogs, and I know you are all happy I just started that way, last night we played a rousing game of where's the treat, where I hide treats around the house like it's dog Easter, because it was raining and Edsel was getting distinctly nervous about the thunder.

IMG_0554Tallulah yesterday afternoon, when the weather was getting ominous. She senses weather with her tongue. Like a snake.

All his life, which is, you know, a year and seven months but still, he has never acted nervous about thunderstorms, and then last night he kept looking at me with a concerned expression, and placing his head on my lap.

My POINT is, I started the game to distract him, and he kept finding the treats, but sometimes they fall out his mouth, because his bottom teeth don't exactly line up. I don't know if you've ever noticed this. He has a bit of an underbite.

100_1099Edzul do?

So AGAIN, getting to the POINT, and now I sound like my college roommate, who would take 96 hours to tell a story and then say, "But the point is…" and at that point you had hung yourself from a noose seven hours previous.

The TREATS kept falling out his MOUTH, and even though he found them fair and square, Talu would swoop right under him and eat the fallen food. I felt so bad for him that eventually I just GAVE him treats without making him look for them.

But you know what happened? Do you? He was lording over a treat, and Talu came over in her usual bossy way, and Edsel STOOD HIS GROUND. He got right over it and showed her his fierce fangs and he GROWLED. At TALU! No one growls at Talu.

And you know she crumpled like a house of cards? She kept looking at him out the side of her face, like, You sereeus? But he was. He was sereeus. I have never seen Eds take a stand before.

Oh, dear, I hope they don't kill each other in a turf war now.

It'll probably be okay.

In other news, I am cat-sitting for Tall Boy this weekend.

Ohmygod, I just had the best idea. I should get him a new blanket. Like, a Hello Kitty blanket or something. Replace that awful one he has.

I am linking a lot today. I am the missing link.

My POINT is, and wow, I really cannot get to any points today, he took me to lunch to thank me in advance.

Yeah, dude! We totally went to Sonic. What's poppin'? My arteries.


And yes. Tall Boy IS a vegetarian, and he got jalapeno poppers and onion rings. And I introduced him to the cranberry lime-aid, which is the best invention on God's planet.

June. Influencing the diets of healthy vegetarian people since 1965. When she eschewed formula and ordered a pizza.

Anyway, he says I can totally look through his things while I cat sit, and what say we have a total All Things From Tall Boy's House day on this blog? Fun!

I wonder what color coat he'll take on his trip?

Anyway, I guess that's all I have to tell you. TB loaned me a book written by Jeffrey Dahmer's father and it is riveting. I have work to do today and all I want to do is keep reading that book. Can you imagine? You're a normal person and you raise a serial killer who is also a cannibal and oh! Also a necrophiliac?

Dear Mom,

Things could be worse.



Okay, going. I got an email that my workout videos are on their way. Am I thin yet?

June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Pieces of Wisdom. Gone with the Febreze.

We pretty much don't need a lot of dry-erase board use for yesterday's Pieces of Wisdom question, which was how much do you enjoy socializing and how much do you enjoy staying in.

This is good, because as you can see, I had trouble finding a marker that would work on my board. I do not know what happened to the nice marker that came with it but I blame Marvin or Edsel. Perhaps they worked in cahoots. My point is, almost all of you said you were homebodies, which was coming to me as home [space] bodies and home[hyphen]bodies and finally I had to yell at you in the comments. ONE WORD! IT'S ONE WORRRRRRRRD.

June's blog. Come to get yelled at. Stay to get yelled at.

After awhile, and someone noted this in the comments, too, after your hair returned from its blown-back position from my yelling, that people who read blogs may be, you know, introverts in general. Wouldn't the annoying extroverts be out there partayying and hobnobbing and guffawing it up as we speak, with no time to sit in a room and read a blog?

Also, those trash bags that they scented with Febreze make me want to hurl. I realize that was kind of, you know, HEY! from nowhere, except I just put a new trash bag in here and blurrgh.

Febreze. What an annoying name. What is it even short for? A February breeze? Because in general those are sort of unpleasant.

Anyway, thanks for participating. June's readers. Hating people and social activities since birth. Enjoying their pajamas since middle age.

Okay, SOME people were gadabouts. But not many. You all basically said okay. I will go out on weekends, MAYBE. But weekdays? Forget it. And last-minute stuff? Bite me. Oh and whatever you do, please drop in. We all adore that. PEG.

In somewhat related news, I went out last night. 

My friend Jo, featured above, here, wearing a cool coat from my other friend Kit's vintage shop, had a book-up. I really like that coat. I wish I had a job, because I'd totally get a cool vintage coat that the pets could shed on.

A book-up is a thing I think she invented, but it's where a bunch of people get together and read. I am not making that up. We met in a restaurant, introduced ourselves, got out our books and read. We were at several different tables at the restaurant, and we varied in age from 17 (the 17-year-old brought a Kindle) (I am so plebeian) to, you know, middle-aged. In the prime of life. I like to say. I'd be wrong, but still.

I was reading a book my friend Dot sent me, called It Looked Different on the Model, and why did I have to bring a funny book to the book-up? Because everyone was over there reading normal books, and deep books, and there I was, all bent over in hysterics. She has a chapter on this woman who whipped out her breastical at a party, ostensibly to breast-feed, except there was no baby in sight, ever, the entire time her breast was out, and oh, I was dying. DYING. Like I am dying here next to the Febreze bag. And I'm certain I wasn't annoying or distracting. Like the Febreze bag.

Jo made me a certificate of excellence for my blog. I was awarded for my exceptional petspeak.

100_1118iris give you petspeek. you wash iriss. @#@% you, mom. Ther you petspeek.

Someone might have, you know, not dropped Mrs. Brown off at the sandbox in a manner that was entirely 100%. And therefore someone may have been dunked in a sink of soapy water. For a while. 'twasn't pleasant.

Look at her teensy foot. Her teensy outraged foot.


After the book-up, Jo and I had coffee across the street, and I feel the need to mention the restaurant and coffee shop were right next door to where my dot dot dot friend lives. I am afraid I sent a disclaimer email before the evening began.

Dear Dot Dot Dot Friend,

I am going to be at a restaurant 20 feet from your apartment. I am not stalking you. XO, June.

I mean, I felt like I had to clear that up. You know? Why he gotta live somewhere so centrally located? Anyway he was all, …yeah. Okay. Would not have thought that you were.

So then I mentioned how he should not be alarmed by the cherry picker outside his window with me in it. Just happened to be there, too. Why I gotta go too far? With the jokes? (Oh, good. Now someone can leave a comment about how annoying my personality is again, and how I'll never catch a man as a result.)

Also, when I was stalking Iris to get a photo of her wet humiliation, I took a picture of my own self in the mirror, because what's unobnoxious? It's a photo in a mirror. That is what is unobnoxious. Anyway I like it.

I did finally catch that poor kitten and, you know, towel her off. I didn't just get involved with myself in the mirror and let her parade on the wood floors in all her soppiness. I forgot that long-haired cats get this delightful condition every once in awhile. And the part where I have selected short-haired cats has come rushing back to me with remarkable clarity.

Okay, I must go. I have A LUNCH DATE and yes. Another day with a social obligation in it. Perhaps I will talk about Iris' butt the entire time. This could guarantee me more down time.

Go on with ya!

June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Sadly, every Tuesday is fat Tuesday, over here. Oh, but I brought Pieces O’ Wizzdom back!

When did Monster become such a crappy site? It used to be the first place I'd go to look for jobs, and now they list nothing. What happened to it? Does anyone have any good ideas for looking for jobs? I go on Indeed and SimplyHired, those are good. Cragislist here is only a scam. In LA they listed actual jobs. I wish Craigslist would be more, you know, fussy about who advertises on there.

Not that I am not swamped. Do you know there has not been one day since I got laid off that I haven't had work to do? I guess that's good, right? Although to tell you the truth it's been kind of stressy. It's like, ohmygod I have all this work to do and ohmygod will I have work to do next week and also will I have a house next month?

So. Stressy. Is what I am. And if one more person asks if I have heard back from that company Ima come over there and dance the entire Latin hustle on your dinner table. While I am naked except for baseball cleats. It won't be pretty, I assure you. In case you were thinking, Oh! That might be pretty! What a lovely centerpiece that might make for my daughter's wedding!

And I've had a lot of social engagements, too. I think people must feel sorry for me, which, you know. Go ahead. I don't blame you. But I also have not had one day since I got laid off where I have not had the option to go somewhere.

This has all made me cranky. I know. I am a delight.

I wish I just had a day, A DAY, where I could keep to myself. You know? With no commitments or obligations or obligations that I am turning down. You'd think being single and unemployed would garner me just exactly that sitch but in fact it has garnered me the opposite.

Which leads me to a pieces of wisdom, which someone in the comments said I should bring back, and I am sorry, person in the comments, that I do not remember who that was and do not feel like combing through 8,000 Downton Abbey comments to find.

But I used to ask you a question on Tuesday, and you would answer it, and then on Wednesday there'd be a Pieces of Wisdom Wednesday, see, where I often held up a dry-erase board with your statistics. Eleven percent of you prefer rainy days. Remember that exciting Pieces of Wisdom? Half of you are on Team Francis. That sort of thing.

Today's Pieces of Wisdom Q is, do you get cranky when you have too many social obligations? I mean, you might think I am a total extrovert, and in fact I am not. I like going out and doing things, but if I had plans, say, two nights in a row, I had better have nothing to do on night three or Ima be one cranky heifer at your third-night event. I need my alone time.

On the other hand, I know someone {…dick whitman…} who does stuff pretty much every night, and who schedules me a week in advance. "You doing anything next Thursday? I thought we'd see a movie." Next THURSDAY? Who the hell even THINKS about next Thursday? Yeah. Okay, dude. Whatever.

I mean, he comes home from work, and leaves again just to go hang in coffee shops. I'm all, you're HOME. Safe in the bosom of your abode! Why would you want to LEAVE again?

So tell me. Which do you prefer? Doing something and being with people as often as possible (this sounds to me like Faithful Reader Joann)? Seeing people as little as possible (FR Siren)? Seeing people on a set schedule, like, "We have dinner with our friends every Thursday. If they dropped in on Tuesday I'd get hives"?

Tell all.

Beauty products · June's stupid life · My pets · Television

You only have one nondoughnut hand. Use it wisely.

That title comes from my Krispy Kreme cup which is currently on my desk. Let's discuss the part where I just got an effing doughnut and yet also just spent $104 on The Tracy Anderson Method after watching an infomercial at 1:00 in the morning. Okay, technically I just spent three easy payments of $29.99 plus shipping, which was $470.

Yes, this is totally a photo of me and not Tracy Anderson. I was just parading around here in my heels and enormous bikini top. And fringe.

And I KNOW I'm unemployed. That part crossed my MIND, okay? I was sitting there last night, thinking about how I should really go to bed, having watched Signs on one of those stupid movie channels that still has commercials every six minutes and why do we bother with those horrid channels when (a) there are movie channels that DON'T break for commercial every six minutes and (12) we could RENT movies such as, oh, Signs for five cents through Netflix?

I had forgotten that that was a really scary movie, by the way. Holy cats. Sometimes that M. Night Shamalamadingdong gets it right. I learned to call him Shamalamadingdong from Howard Stern.

Oh by the way, hi. I am all over the place today.

But I wasn't TIRED yet, because I have been unemployed for three weeks now and the wild boar has taken over the domesticated pig and my night-owl self has totally returned, so there I was, looking through channels, and things were a LOT EASIER back when we had to stand up and physically turn the dial and all we got were channels 12, 5 and 25.

Maybe at your house you got three different channels. But you know what I mean. Once we started to have all this crap to look at is when this whole country fell apart and we all became porn addicts and got all our exercise off the TV.

So there was Tracy Anderson, whoever that is, and they'd corrected the SHIT out her face with makeup and lighting, which was irrelevant because they kept showing real women saying, "Three months ago I looked like June." Then they'd show a lumpy person. "Now I look like this!" And they'd show a person who looks like Tracy Anderson.

And that was all it took for me to spend $104 that I do not have, but at least I have all the time in the world to do the 79 workout DVDs that are coming, right? I'd ask you all to order the Tracy Morgan DVDs and do it with me, but remember when we all got on board with Jillian Michaels and her nostrils and I gave up after day three and you poor people who actually meant it were all, "Twenty-seven days! I feel great! …anyone?"

So that was LAST night, when I was determined to not be fat anymore and to look like Hans Christian Andersen or whomever, and then today I had to take Edsel to the vet.

Even  though, as you can see, we were BURIED under a SEVERE STORM yesterday.


That's my daffodil, there, swearing like a chilly sailor. I had 20 or 30 daffodils, and am getting mixed reports about whether they'll live.

IMG_0522Also swearing was Edsel, who was getting his rabies shot and his distemper because his temper had been dissed.

The vet said he looks good, and he's filled out this year, and "He's cute because he's so goofy-looking."


So on the way home, I was starving half to death, because it was 11:00 and I hadn't eaten yet and God forbid. I stopped at Krispy Kreme, and I realize I am the only person who likes or even GETS the bagels at Krispy Kreme, but I was all excited and guess what.


They don't serve bagels anymore. So I was FORCED to get a blueberry doughnut, which is an antioxidant, and I realize Tracy Chapman has her work cut out for her, with these DVDs, and she.better.work and yes, the onus is on her, not me.

Anyway, when said DVDs get here I will be sure to let you know how it goes. And by "it" I mean the part where said DVDs sit darkly under my TV in the cabinet.

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

Did you hear Whitney Houston died?

I know this was covered ad nauseum in my comments yesterday, but maybe you're one of those people who doesn't read my comments, to which I say, "?" And also, "!" Because not reading my comments is like only eating the hard outside of the Oreo. You don't get the really bad-for-you hydrogenated deliciousness inside.

Yesterday was Whitney Houston's funeral, and even though I had seven hundred thousand four hundred and twelve pages to edit of that book I was given at the last minute, I thought I'd tune into it for a minute.

Three hours and 40 minutes later, it was still going on. Whose funeral lasts that long? I would have been ordering in a pizza had I been at that event.

There were a lot of touching things, actually. Kevin Costner said good stuff and it made you like him. As did Tyler Perry, and I KNOW. Who knew he was likable? But the part that I could not get over was the woman in the crowd with June hair.


I know you wish I'd stop blogging with You Tube already, but look at that woman next to Alicia Keyes. She totally has June hair. If you click on the image to blow it up, you can see, but the woman also makes sure to crane her neck, there, so we can all enjoy her June hair for a moment without clicking if we're patient.

We got to see that hair all during Alicia Keyes and also Stevie Wonder, who was never so glad he couldn't see anything. What gives with that woman's 'do? Oh, dear, what if that's one of the Faithful Reader Lisas or something and I have no idea? She'll be coming on here today to be all, "I was at Whitney's funeral!" and here I am, talking about her hair.

Dear Faithful Reader Whomever with the Bad White Girl Fro,

Your loved ones are not telling you that is some bad hair. Relax that shit, honey. For all our sakes.

Oh, also? If you're making a YouTube video? You do not need to SCREAM A TITLE across the screen. We searched for it already. We know what we're looking at. Thanks.

Anyway, good funeral. I had no idea a funeral could be nearly four hours long. Then they all had to traipse to the cemetery, right? I mean, didn't they? Then go have ham? In my family we always go have ham. Usually in a church hall or something.

Doesn't ham sound delicious right now? Why can't I lose the weight?

In other news, I have no other news, because other than watching that 10-hour-long funeral, I had to catch up on all my work, which I did not finish until 11:00 last night. And I didn't finish it, I just read to the page number I had set for myself and have to do it all over again today. Because my life is fun.

Oh, and I gave Faithful Reader PJ comment of the week, because look who is becoming good at assigning Comment of the Week again. Go look in This Week's Special to see. 

When I watched the funeral yesterday, I came to the conclusion that whenever I talk, I wish to have dramatic organ music playing in the background, and I want you all to yell, YES! and AMEN! and wave your arms around and so forth while you read my posts. I hope you have not forgotten this directive.

I went on YouTube (I know. Obsessed.) to find dramatic organ music so you could read my whole post again with said music playing, because I am annoying. But then I found this woman and fell passionately in love with her. How cute is she. "That's not the song I was supposed to sing!"


I get so bored with my white self I could scream. And why don't I have invisible backup singers?

...friend/Ned · I am berserk · June's stupid life

Hold on loosely

I just woke up. I know. What am I, 14?

I went out last night and partayyed with my …friend. And who is getting tired of having to call him my dot dot dot friend?

Here is my dot dot dot friend pouring honey in his tea last night. I know! Raise the roof!


Do you know who needs to get over YouTube?

Anyway, somehow last night I was telling the story of someone I know who has issues with possessiveness. Dot dot dot friend said, "Wasn't it Alabama who told us, 'Hold on loosely? But don't let go'?"


Then today he emailed me to say that was .38 Special, and it's important we get that deep message right.

So I had fun, and did not get to bed till after 2:00, which means neither did the dogs, because they wait up with rolling pins, and does anyone actually wait up with rolling pins anymore? Because if they did, wouldn't you be all, Why do you have a ROLLING PIN? You will be shocked to hear I do not own a rolling pin. Do you? If you do, everyone be sure to get all up in what you use it for in the comments, and then share rolling pin recipes with each other, and then check back and talk about how delicious your rolling pins made everything.

Because I will not come to your houses with a .38 Special or anything.

What IS a .38 Special? I mean, what makes it so special? Is it like when our parents tell us we're all special and it's just a regular gun like all the other guns, really? It's just a kind of chubby, homely gun watching Brady Bunch like everyone else?

Anyway. I have to go now because it is noon and time for Whitney's funeral live on TMZ. Later I will pick a comment of the week, so look on This Week's Special when I get back from the funeral.

When I "get back" from the funeral. I am .38 special.

I am berserk · June's stupid life

June Zipsky

I am telling you right now. If anything had been wrong with my Aunt Sue, that would've been it. I'd have been like Mr. Zipsky. I am not even kidding you.


I am on edge, dawgs. Edge.

It will just take ONE MORE THING to get me waving the choppy thing or the knife or whatever Mr. Zipsky is waving, there.

June. Knowing her cooking implements.

At any rate, it appears all Aunt Sue needs is her gall stones removed, and she has a lot of gall, and right there is an original joke. She had 4959560400 involved tests, and the doctor said, "I want you to come in," and in the way of my people, this made us all panic. Except for Hulk, who I realize I am not related to, but in whom I confided while I was terrorizedly awaiting Sue's results.

"Oh, she's fine," said Hulk. "The doctor just wants to make more money." What I need are more relatives who think the way he does. You know who thinks the way he does? Aunt Sue.

I was way too nervous to even think about posting yesterday, and there were a lot of, "We're waiting, June!" and "We're tapping our feet, June!" comments. I don't know if you saw where Hulk jumped in and told everyone to hold their horses, in the way only Hulk can do. Here is what he put in the comments.


I know it is shocking that he used sports to get his point across.

In the meantime, yesterday I got a 177-page book that is due so quickly it might as well be due back in time. It's due right after Lincoln sees that play. It's due just as soon as Pa gets done with his sugaring-off dance. Hey, finish tapping those hieroglyphics into the pyramid and then get that book done, will you?

What I am saying to you is I have little time. And it came to me as a PDF, which is not a euphemism for a swear word, although it beCAME one as the day wore on yesterday. I realized I didn't have Adobe on my desktop, because who wants to read mud, and so then I spent 30404033 hours trying to download a trial of Adobe Acrobat onto my Mac, which guess what, cannot be done.

After that charming time, I started printing the job, only to have my INK run out halfway through. I PROMISE you I have printed maybe 10 pages off this printer since I got it. Seriously. And it was out of ink. Is my printer participating in minstrel shows when I am not looking? When is it using all this black ink?

So I had to go out in the rain, when I was pressed for time as it was, and schlep to Office Depot, where I was in a delightful mood already. And who told the workers at Office Depot to ask customers if they need help every 28 seconds? Because Dear Office Depot. Cut it the eff out. Seriously. Was the "Thanks, I'm fine" thing not convincing the first nine times?

I found the ink right away, and just kind of wanted to, you know, decompress. Look at pens. Peruse the paper. I kind of like office supply stores.


Good GRAVY. Yes. I need help finding my serenity, which seems to have left eight years ago. Could you run out and find it?

Oh, but here is the good news.

While I was doing everything in my #@&&# power to get Adobe on my Mac, I did find the lovely Haviland plates my Aunt Mary sent me for Valentine's Day here on my computer. I put one up on the hutch. Isn't it pretty? I should have a little tea and make scones.

June. Flipping her lid since four seconds ago. Make scones. I'm lucky I have mustard. I'm lucky I have sanity.


Anyway, that is my story. Oh, and it was a year ago February 15 that Marvin told me he was leaving. So I have passed that hurdle. I have gotten through a whole year of Marvinless stuff. A Marvinless Christmas. A Marvinless birthday. No Valentine from the Marv. No Marvin to help me put Adobe on my computer.

No Marvin to eat my scones.

No Marvin to watch me run down the street like Mr. Zipsky.

Although that could still happen, if any of you YouTube it.


June's stupid life · Proofreading/Copy editing

June returns from her job interview. Not that I was there all night.

I'm really not the world's best speller. I'm not. I mean, I don't do that thing where I spell definitely "definately" or anything, and I use the right form of "there" and all that, but when it comes to always knowing when to drop an "e" off a word or whatever (I always think, "Truely or truly? Judgmental or judgemental?"), or if "i" before "e" applies here? Not that great.

Yes. I have been a proofreader for 15 years now.

What I'm good at is knowing how to fix punctuation and grammar and knowing how to LOOK UP WORDS that I have any doubt about. And this is why, when they gave me a proofreading test yesterday, with NO DICTIONARY–which is so phony because in real life you'd have your honking dictionary or m-w.com on you at least–I hemmed and hawed over whether embarrassed had two "R"s in it.

I know. And I also know you should go with your first answer, and my first answer was to leave the two "R"s in there and guess what. GUESS WHAT?

I took an "R" out.

And dad, embarrassed has two "R"s. Thanks for the bad-speller gene.

However, it was page after page of testing. Compare these documents side-by-side. Straight-read this document. Whip up a souffle. So I think in general I did pretty well. Ironic word to screw up with, though.

In the morning, before I got there and erroneously removed an "R," (oh, and erroneously I know how to spell. I just typed the PEE out that word with no issue) I was putting on my interview outfit, which I had selected the day before down to the necklace I was gonna wear.

As soon as I put it on I realized I was wearing an Edsel suit. Seriously. I don't know how I can take something out of the dryer, set it on the dining room table for two weeks, then hang it in the closet and it gets so covered in fur.

And yes it IS Edsel fur, as opposed to the 20 other pets here. His furs are long and wispy, like his brain matter, and he is sheddy.

My point is, I roll roll rolled that pick-fur-up thing and the fur would not come up. It was like a nightmare. Then I got out packing tape and tried that. Still. Most of the fur was staying put. I was considering a whole other outfit altogether when the doorbell rang.


It was Peg, my next-door neighbor. The one who doesn't know when not to have a party. "Hiiiii!" she said, all cheerful.

Could I have been less in the mood for a drop-in at that moment? "I'm getting ready for an interview," I said, exasperated.

"Oh, I'll just pop in for a minute!" she enthused. My mother has people popping in and out of her house all day. If this happened to me I'd commit hari-kari in a week.  

Anyway, she brought me a Valentine.

She also brought a dark chocolate bar filled with raspberry.


Me. At the 1:55 mark.

Anyway, she tried to help me get all the teensy balls of fur off my pants and finally said, "Oh, no one will see," which I do not believe to be the case. And ALL my black pants are like this, so it's not like I could slip on another pair.

Why do we have to have all these pets? Oh. It's just me here. Crap.

Anyway, I drove the 595403030 miles to the interview, and the buildings are beautiful, and there were geese there and you know how I like the geetzes. There was a boy goose and a girl one, and ONCE AGAIN I took a PHOTO of them with my PHONE and now it isn't showing up on my computer even though I plugged my phone in. Does anyone know why that's happening?

There. I just had to email the damn thing to myself. My point is, I thought the girl goose looked pregnant, because I am a goose gynecologist. So if I get this job I can once again get attached to goose babies at work.

It's just a contract position, you know. Not permanent. Because apparently no jobs are permanent anymore. 

So I guess we'll have to see. Oh! And I got there about 20 minutes early and ran to the impressive bathroom in the lobby, where they had hand lotion and tampons and so on, which was kind of exciting. Remember my job in Winston-Salem, where they had the huge thing of mouthwash in the bathroom?

Anyway, I washed my hands and as soon as I dried them I realized my hands smelled like grapefruit. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. Why in the Sam Holy Hill is grapefruit the trendy thing? So then I had to sit there and wait to die, which surely would not have gotten me the job. Clearly I lived through it, so if indeed the soap WAS grapefruit, it was just fake grapefruit smell or not enough to slay me. But Ima have to do BYOS to work.

I kept feeling like my hands were itching.

I guess that is all I have to tell you. I will let you know if they, you know, call me or anything. In the meantime, I have to pay bills today because I got my severance check, and also I have to clean my car, which has 39549549 pounds of Edsel fur to match my pants. In other words, I have a day of fun and frolic planned.

Maybe I'll head to the library and check out What to Expect When You're Expecting Baby Geeses while I'm out…

I hate everything · June's stupid life

Valentine’s Day. Pfft.

My mother sent me this Valentine and wrote, "I'm not sure what the one on the ground has in mind, but happy Valentine's Day anyway." Nice.

My Aunt Mary also sent me some beautiful old Haviland plates that have pink roses on them, and I took pictures of them and now I cannot find the $#%#@@& pictures anywhere up in here and am annoyed. Trust me. They are lovely.

This used to be my favorite holiday. Before life took a, you know, turn and my heart got smashed to bits and cupids started liking anal.

I must run to my interview now, and do you know this is my third interview on Valentine's Day? What are the chances? The first one I had on Valentine's Day was for a major floral company, where I worked in LA. It was one of my favorite jobs ever. I only left it because we moved here like eeediots.

The next year I was working at that job, happy as a clam, and one night the phone rang. It was this company where I'd interviewed the year before and never heard back. "We were so impressed with you when you were here a year ago," they said. "There's another position opening and it pays 11 million dollars a minute. Would you be interested in coming to interview?"

I really wasn't interested, but it really did pay a ton, and it was close to my house, which in LA means a lot, because I don't know if you've heard about the TRAFFIC there. There's this thing they have there with the freeways and the cars and the many many people. I was driving an hour each way to go 16 miles to the flower job.

Plus did I mention the big big pay they were offering?

So I went there, to that interview, and it was Valentine's Day, and people were getting flowers at the front desk that I recognized as "our" flowers from my current workplace, and do you know they had me meet with five or six different people, one after the other, with no breaks and no offer of coffee or water or anything?

I later heard that's what they do to kind of see how you perform in dire circumstances. Yeah, thanks.

Afterwards, I got back to my real workplace, where we all had on jeans and no one was getting flowers because we were flowered out at that place, and it was all so fun and creative and I loved everyone and I said, yeah no. No 11 million dollars is worth it. I loved that job. Did I mention that? Plus it's not like I didn't make decent money there, either.

And now here I am, jobless, having to drive an hour for an interview on Valentine's Day again. The CIRRRCLE of LIFE!

Photo on 2-14-12 at 9.13 AM #3
Boom. Again.

I tried to get Edsel to be Circle of Life this time.

Photo on 2-14-12 at 9.11 AM #2
Didn't work. He's not so easy to lift.

And no, I didn't get shoes from Zappos. Those are my tax documents. I had my taxes done yesterday, speaking of 11 million dollars.

Okay, am off. Will let you know how it goes. Happy stupid stupid stupid Valentine's Day.

Health · June's stupid life

Katy Puffy

You know, I…hate to like anything about Katy Perry. I do. She bugs. With her wide eyes and her oh, I'm so cute! thing and her cat named Kitty Purry. Oh, and she married my husband, Russel Brand. However, she seems to have given him back.

But she was on the Grammys last night and she sang a new song that I really liked. I am sorry.


I could, you know, identify.

Also, I finally got my health report from my old workplace. Remember how you got a full blood workup and they gave you a number between 1-100 re whether you were gonna live or die? I got a 92! Yay. My cholesterol is a trifle high, as it always is, but the good cholesterol is good, as it always is. I have no weird stuff in my blood.

Oh, and I'm fat. My BMI is at exactly the first number for overweight. Depressing. When did I get fat? I eat right.

…Oh. Right.

There was a whole questionnaire about how you live: do you buckle your seatbelt, chew tobacco, what do you eat?

The questionniare practially had the vapors about my diet. Oh, calm down. I had a vegetable just the other night at Poochie's. Plus, all the Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee products contain two vegetable servings. I am practically Popeye. Or Popartery.

Anyway 92 is good. I must have my father's genes, where his diet consists of Coke, beer and Pringles and yet every time he goes to the doctor they're all, "You're in perfect health!" It's obnoxious.

Pringles sound good right now. It's a potato! Come on!

Look. It says my stress is ideal.

Once again I find myself typing w/one hand. Iris is obsessed with sitting on me. She is the sittingest-on-me cat I have had since I had a Persian back in the '80s, before I knew you shouldn't buy pets in pet shops. I was 20 and sold shoes in the mall. I was good at selling shoes, by the way. I could convince people they needed every color and so forth.

Anyway, at breaks I'd (brace yourself) head down to the pet shop and look at the animals. The Persians were $300 and eventually I could not help my own self and with my riches from that lucrative shoe-selling position, I bought Confetti, my peach-colored Persian. Oh, he was a doll. He slept on my head.

I would love to get another Persian. But you know how I feel about purebreds. Damn. Why are there never any Persians and Great Danes at the shelter?

I guess I had better take my overweight self out of here and get my interview suit ready. Tomorrow is my big interview day. I hope they don't discriminate against the obese and refuse to hire me. Should I ask where the vending machines are first thing, or…?

Friends · June's stupid life

In which June pets a turkey

Yesterday, when Whitney Houston was still alive, I went to the Aphrodite festvial with my friend TinaDoris.

I know. TinaDoris is hot. She is drinking love tea. It was too sweet for me. And there, folks, is the story of my life.

There were rose-flavored cookies and red and pink candles you could light for a dollar and proceeds went to an animal shelter. There was henna painting and there were free massages.

What I like about this picture is even though there is a that huge doughnut-y thing that my face is in, my hair still POUFS out over it for your viewing pleasure.

I don't know if y'all remember me taking pictures at this store last summer, and there were two teensy baby kittenheads, but here is one of them. Yes, it is totally a Kitler kitty. And seriously? Are you seriously gonna ask me if I've seen that site? Me. Websites. About cats. What do you think? (Although someone just told me about this site, which has been slaying me.)

Anyway. After seeing TinaDoris and the cats at Aphrodite–

–there is a black kitty there, too. His name is Merlin. Natch.

I screamed off to Poochie's for dinner. Poochie is someone I used to work with. You know. Way back when I was employed.

She lives kind of out in the country, Poochie does, and I would just like to state for the record bitch stole my life. It is a big old house that she has made beautiful, with knotty pine walls and fireplaces and crystal doorknobs and goats.

See? Don't you just want to kiss them up? She also had turkeys,

and I petted a turkey for the first time in my life. Oh, and two dogs. And four cats. And…

Hello. Hello, world. She had TWO of these shoe closets. Dying. And yes, I did only have my crappy cell phone and not a real camera with me.

Poochie and I have the same taste. EXACTLY. EXACTLY THE SAME TASTE. Did I mention that?

Her house looks just like how mine would look if I had more stuff. And more room.

Who should have brought the real camera?

Oh, and by the way, it was like -939494395 degrees out last night. Could it have been colder? This whole winter we've had nothing but warm weather and now in mid-February it decides to get all icy. This seriously impeded the cute thing I was gonna wear.

This did not stop me from having an excellent time with Poochie and her husband Mr. Poochie, and from creepy-crawling their entire house and coveting everything.

Here is one of their cats. She is sideways. She came that way. She just showed up one day, all sideways. "Por que?"

I have to stop typing now, because Iris is sleeping on m'arm.

hard 2 type…



June's stupid life


I have to hurry and type this before my 6 a.m. spinning class. What if after one day at the gym I suddenly became one of those people who was always rushing off to kickboxing or one of those other things I don't know how to do? In fact I am going to type this then rush off to read a book.

That gym was fancy. They had just everything. A pool, racquetball court, various yoga rooms and spinning rooms where apparently you get really dizzy (bah) and two levels of weight rooms and 3499303030 treadmills because god forbid we run around outside, a track and all kinds of machines Kit could do and I could not.

Ooo, and there was a stretching machine! You sit on it and bend this way and that and it stretches your parts! I liked that one the most.

Naturally they gave me a schedule and tried to get me to sign up, with my job and income and cash money flowing and all. Yeah, not so much. But it would be nice if I could go there, and lift weights and run on the track and spit and so on. Maybe I could get all thin and youthful like Demi Moore. You see how happy that's making her.

While I've been typing this, Edsel has caught his football in the corner between this desk and the wall. I was hoping he could problem-solve, but the dilemma of the pointy football and the corners of the desk and such was too much for him. He just sighed and left his ball here.

Poor Edsel. German shepherds are supposed to be the third-smartest breed or something. However, Irish setters are something like 87th-smartest. So there you go. Guess he got Grandma O'Riley's genes or whatever.

Oh, he's back! Let's see if he's determined this time! …No. He's forgotten the ball was even there. He just wanted to touch me with his nose.


In other pressing news, TinaDoris and I are going to an Aphrodite festival today, and no, I really don't know what it entails, either. I hope we don't have to sleep with each other, because an Aphrodite fest sounds a trifle lesbianical, doesn't it? I will alert you to my sexual preference status tomorrow.

Also, I am hauling my possibly-still-straight self to Poochie's house tonight for dinner. She said, "If you want to see all the animals, get here before it gets dark." She has just everything, animal-wise. I really wanted to get over there, like, now, but of course I have spinning.

And it being Saturday, the day of the 16% and all (ji!) (ji. What the hell is wrong with me? Ji. All day today when I meet people I am going to say ji instead of hi. Then Ima say, "Sorry, that was a typo."), you know what I thought I should do? I thought I shoud, you know, do comment of the week. When is the last time I actually HAD comment of the week?

This week's award goes to Sagie.

...friend/Ned · Faithful Readers · June's stupid life · Travel

June Gardens, gym rat

Can't talk long–I have to get to the gym. I know. You guys have spoken to me many times about my exercise bulimia. I mean, I just SAID I was going to the gym…never. In five years of writing this blog.

I did belong to a gym in LA, but you had to in order to get your driver's license there.

Friend in Real Life Kit–not that I have a kit that you put together and boom! you get a friend, which would be convenient, wouldn't it? Gee, I want to go to that new restaurant and everyone's busy. Hey! I'll get my Friend in Real Life Kit!

Am annoying today. It's the endorphins. They are pumping from all my 'roids.

My friend in real life, whose name is Kit, has a gym membership eight inches from my front door, and perhaps you wonder how I've managed to take photos out my front door without including a giant gym eight inches away.

100_1095Sryisly mom? Could be more annoyinger?

So she got a 30-day pass for me, Kit did, and asked me to join her at said gym. I have always wanted to join that gym, actually. It was the one Marvin went to all the time. Do you remember that? How he was always traipsing off to the gym at like 9 p.m.? Maybe you got here after Marvin. [A.M.] Anyway trust me. That happened a lot.

How did I pick a grownup cat and a baby cat who look so ridiculously alike? Kills me.

And in other nice-things-people-are-doing-for-me-because-people-are-nice-and-what-gives news, someone who reads this blog, with whom I have corresponded many times and become friendly with, emailed me a few days ago. Seems she kind of added up in her mind the whole year of shingles, dead cats, gone husband, surgery, lost job, broken heart, ass of a time I have been having and she wrote me.

"You know," she said, "I get frillions of miles from my job. I will never use them all. Why don't you go somewhere? Get out of town," she said, but not in that "get out of town" way people are always saying to me.

"Miles of what?" I wondered.

Anyway, my point is, I am going to HAWAII. And LOS ANGELES. To see my friends. Can you even stand this?

CAN YOU EVEN STAND THIS? Really. Can you? Because I am still in shock. Do you have any idea how bad I need to see my friend Renee, who had to go and move to Maui like it's pretty there or something? Renee was my best friend in LA, and we moved from there at the same time. Every story about us ends in us in hysterics on my kitchen floor, on in a spa's quiet room, or on a running trail. Or in a dressing room. Or at a hospital. Twice. Still. Hysterics.

I met Renee when we were both training for a marathon, back in 2000 when I was not a lumbering pituitary case. Do you like how I've blamed the pituitary and not chilupas? We were in a running group that met desperately early on Saturdays to run ludicrous numbers of miles.

My cat, Francis, had this thing called pica, where you eat stupid stuff, and his stupid thing of choice was plastic. I barely knew my running group, but there we were, the dawn barely breaking. "Huff," we'd say. Then "huff." I couldn't stand it so I broke the silence.

"I pulled a dry cleaner bag out my cat's ass before I got here this morning," I said.

Renee was the only one who had to actually stop running because she was laughing so hard. She was all doubled over and I said, Ooo, good audience. And a friendship was born.

Anyway. I am planning to go in August, in case I get this job for which I am interviewing. It is technically a 6-month-plus contract job (yes, mom, with benefits, through the agency) and so I thought I should plan for six months from now. I know that's a long way to wait but just the THOUGHT that IMA SEE RENEE, then IMA SEE LOS ANGELES AND ALICIA AND MY FRIEND DAVE AND IN-AND-OUT BURGER AND WHY IS MY PITUITARY ACTING UP is so exciting.

Does it seem like I am a person who gets really good and really bad things? Not just, oh, I won six dollars playing Lotto. Oh! I caught a cold.

Speaking of which, and then I have to pull on my sports bra and gee I hope it's clean (bah!), as you know I have this…friend, of whom I am not speaking in order to try not to JINX it like I have done with everyone else. On Sunday, Dick Whitman and I went to a movie, and it was a French movie with subtitles so needless to say the room was not packed, in fact two people were in the theater. Guess who one of the people was? Was it my…friend?

So we all sat together. It was beautiful.

Then last night, I went to the cool Carolina Theater with said…friend. It's one of those old wonderful theaters. My point is, we get in there, and WHO IS IN THE NEXT ROW? Was it Tall Boy? I mean, can I go anywhere and not run into someone I've dated? I've hardly been Fonzie this year. I haven't dated THAT many people. And yet here they all are, like it's This is Your Stupid Slutty Life or something.

Okay, I gotta hit the gym. I am going to end every post like that from now on.