Bye Bye, Pie!

A funny thing happened on my way to quitting this blog. And if you have to hear that original phrase "a funny thing happened on my way to…" one more time will you stab yourself in the head? Because I just provided it for you. Here's your drink sword.

I was going to stop blogging because (1) I've been doing it for five and a half years and (vii) I felt like my life was more private now and plus (c) I felt like this blog wasn't as good without Marvin in it. I mean, let's face it. Me being annoyed with Marvin was funny. Go look at this post. Or this one.

Or this conversation:

"God, I wish I had a Bud Light," I said. Because I am from Michigan. Our first instinct is for a domestic beer. Sue us.

"You want to be a firefly?" asked Marvin, who have I mentioned 20 times is hard of the hearing?

"Not a BUTT LIGHT. A BUD LIGHT. BUD LIGHT ," I told him.

Really looking forward to when we're 80.

I mean, come on. Marvin annoyingness was good stuff.

And I feel like now I have so much I CAN'T say, out of respect for the privacy of the 20 men I'm banging. Okay. I am not banging 20 men. But there was a whole boy I saw for awhile that you never heard one word about, because telling about it would have been scandalous.

I know!

My point is, I felt like this blog was losing something. Because I couldn't be as transparent. And 50% of my funny had moved out, gotten itself a girlfriend and sent me divorce papers.

So I decided to quit. And I meant it! As much as I ever mean things. I mean, I always make decisions and then say, "Oh, man. I should have gone the other way." And I was doing that as soon as I told all y'all all about not blogging.

"I'm nervous about you not blogging anymore," said …friend, who does not annoy me the way Marvin did and therefore does not provide hilarious blog fodder. Which I just typed "doffer" and what the hell is "doffer"?

"Your blog is so much a part of who you are." he said. "And besides, it kind of seems like you like having an audience."

…!

Does that–well–does that…seem good? I need an audience? I mean, I totally do, but geez, how did I make that obvious in the four and a half months I've known …friend? You often hear men describing their ideal woman: "Well, she has to be slender, large hoots, blonde hair, and really crave an audience."

Just because my dream job is go-go dancer.

Anyway, if HE was nervous, so was I. The closer I got to this day, the more sort of despondent I got. And then you sent me such nice emails, and comments, and told me not to go and I will tell you what. By yesterday I was standing there beside myself. Which was really annoying, because then Gertrude had to feed two of me at that funeral luncheon.

Really, I didn't know what I was going to do. I was feeling like maybe I really DIDN'T want to quit my blog. Because …friend is right. At this point it's so much a part of who I am. And maybe I still DO have things to say. And maybe it still IS funny. I'll just have to adjust this blog to be sans Marvin like I adjusted my life to be sans Marvin. Which would be a lot easier to do if you TOOK HIS PHOTOS DOWN AT YOUR HOUSE, MOM.

So there I was, waffling, when I got an email yesterday. "Dear June, My name is Whoo-de-Bloo and I am a columnist for the Greensboro News & Record. I wanted to do a story on your blog, but are you really quitting?"

…! And yes, I have now had TWO annoying "…!"s in my post, but it's kind of a dramatic day.

So the next thing you know old Jed's a millionaire, and also I had written her, "No. I'm not quitting."

And the decision was made. And you know what? I woke up this morning 20 times lighter than I have been for a week. I was so gleeful, getting on here to tell you. And yes, I do realize I am annoying, being the Clash, not knowing whether to stay or go. Sue me. Then get me a Bud Light.

I have no idea what Ima do. Am I gonna post all the time? Am I gonna post about every date I go on, screw the privacy of the 20 men I'm banging? I do not know.

(Dear …friend. I swear to god I am not–oh, forget it. You know it's just for my much-needed audience that I say these things.)

I just know that this blog, with all of you as a part of it, might be the love of my life.

And in conclusion, I spent over SEVEN HOURS making this end-of-my-blog video. And I realize now it's kind of a middle-of-my-blog video, but dudes. SEVEN+ HOURS. Could you watch it anyway? Thanks.

And thanks for being a part of my dumb blog.

 

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If I leave here tomorrow would you still remember me?

I am in my hometown, on mom's super-fast, really extra speedy computer that by the way–wow!–is a quick one. Honest engine, I typed in "iGoogle" to her search bar and the computer went, "ZZZZZZZZ…wut? Dude. …Wait, wut? It's only 1:30 p.m., man. It's too early."

Anyway, the funeral was really nice, as funerals go. It really was. The minister talked about Gertrude's dad in such a good way. They talked about how much her dad loved nature; when he put in a pool, he made it go all the way around the trees so he wouldn't have to take any down. He sounds like he was a cool guy–I only met him a few times in all these years of being Gertrude's friend, which is odd.

My point is, my mother seems to have a cold, or allergies, or just really wanted to stick in my craw today, because here's how the funeral went:

Pastor: Rich was a generous man…

Mom: COUGH! coughcoughcoughcough. COUGH!

Pastor: He loved nature and–

Mom: HACK! coughcoughcoughcough.

Pastor: –and he was loved by so many–

Mom: coughcoughcoughcoughcoughcough–HAIRBALL–cough.

Jesus Katie Christ. I was never so distracted in all my days. Finally she got up and got a lozenge, which the funeral home actually has in a bowl for just such funeral-ruiners.

At the end of the funeral, once mom had entered the Halls of Medicine, they played Warron Zevon's Keep Me in Your Heart, which, wow. Good song.

 

Then they played a special rendition of everyone's favorite, Would June's Mom Please Stop Fucking Coughing.

Oh! Photo
I saw Hulk. Here is what he wore on his date last night, which he went on before he came to see me for sloppy seconds or whatever. Let's all help Hulk with the shoe issue, shall we? Please?

Anyway. So, I guess tomorrow is it. I have to be honest with you. I don't know if I can do this. I really don't. The closer I get to being done with my blog the more sad I feel. I really don't know if I want to give it up. Is that ludicrous? I did, but then so many of you wrote me nice things, and the reality is hitting me and ack. I really don't know.

I mean, I DO know Hulk needs new shoes. I know that. And that mom needs an iron lung. Those things I know for sure. As Tallulah said in Taluprah Magazine: What Know For Sure. Puggles is Stupid.

Argh.

Talk at you tomorrow. I'd like to note that my mother is in the kitchen and has not coughed once while I wrote this.

I wonder if Hulk met her when he was doily shopping…

Photo on 5-29-12 at 10.56 AMLie-by-pool-at-…friend's-apartment-get-rained-on sex hair. Honestly, my hair is insane. It is certifiably insane. It's over here with a shopping cart, babbling to itself.

Photo on 5-29-12 at 10.58 AM
Kiss Iris sex hair. Look at her bunny footie.

Do you know why I don't put that many pictures of Iris up? She's really hard to photograph. She doesn't make eye contact with the camera, cause she doesn't have so many eyes, and I guess the best time to get her is when she's sleeping but she doesn't sleep a lot. She just kind of hangs. Blindly.

I've been working on my end-of-my-blog veeedeo, and do you know who never took a bad picture? Seriously. Was Henry.

6a00e54f9367fb88340120a6c01310970b-800wi
6a00e54f9367fb883401157054d72c970b-800wi
6a00e54f9367fb88340120a56a6f90970b-pi
6a00e54f9367fb883401156f50d220970c-800wi
He was a blogger's dream cat. This photo right above, with his blue kitteny eyes, was the very first picture I ever took of him. AND LOOK AT IT. It was all uphill from there. He is a beautiful kitty. I miss me the Henry.

Thank heavens I talked about that because now I am sad.

Anyway, heyyy! Y'all back at work? How's that feeling? I am not at "work" ("DO NOT EAT") (I air-quoted "work" because hi. Don't really work there.) because I leave for my hometown in a little while. And for everyone FROM my hometown who reads this, I will be there for a funeral and I will be there for 24 hours, so. Don't get all in a wad with yer pantaloons that you don't get a glimpse of the June. The Great and Powerful June. Pay no attention to what's happening behind that curtain of hair.

I did, of course, text Hulk* that I was coming home and he has a DATE tonight! I know! Go Hulkie, it's yer date day. Gonna party like it's yer date day. Drink Bacardi like it's…any old day because you're a big drunk…

The point is, he thinks he'll be able to see me post date, and I sincerely hope he does not have sex hair.

I have not yet packed my bags, although I have IN MY MIND, which means when I do it it'll be fast. I know it makes people nervous that I do not pack till the last minute. Also, I forget something every time. "Oh, I forgot pants. Guess I'll walk around pantsless like Julienne Moore in that movie. Where we saw her goods for like 17 minutes." What movie was that?

Perhaps packing at the last minute and forgetting to pack things ("Oh, I forgot all my meds and makeup." I mean, it's always something major like that) might be related. I am not sure.

The funeral is at Snow Funeral Home, which I'm certain I told you before is where my grandfather was interred. I guess he wasn't literally interred there, but whatever. When we got there–my father, aunt, grandmother and me–Mr. Snow said, "Now, what are we doing with the body?" and at the same time, all four of us thought of my grandfather saying, "When I die, don't make a fuss. Just stick a bone up m'ass and let the dogs drag me away."

I am sorry to tell you this made us all a little giggly.

Then, several days later, my father called Mr. Snow about some technicality, and my aunt and I were there. He must've been doing some word association thing in his head because when Snow Funeral Home answered, he said, "Yes. Is this Jack Frost?"

My aunt and I went into HYSTERICS, falling all over each other and hooting and so on. What I am saying to you is, I think we impressed Mr. Snow quite a bit with our dignity. Looking forward to seeing him again.

Okay, I will get to packin'. If I die in a plane crash, there IS an end-of-my-blog veedeo. Make someone put it up. Oh! Marvin will be here dogsitting. Make him do it.

June, out. Looking forward to posting from mom's Speedy Gonzales computer tomorrow.

 

*Recent text between Hulk and me:

Hulk: Do you know where I can buy doilies?

June: Well, once you're done washing your vagina, you might try Joann's Fabrics.

“DO NOT EAT”

Photo on 5-28-12 at 11.36 AM
I totally have sex hair right now.

Hey! How are you? It's a holiday, which means it's not the 16% reading, it's the .016%. But all three of you get to see my dumb hair. Congratulations!

So my plane ticket is purchased (thanks, Bank of Mom) (yes, I AM 46 years old and still needing my mom to buy me last-minutes plane tickets); I leave tomorrow, the funeral is Wednesday, and then I leave Wednesday night. It's kind of a whirlwind funeral tour. For a while there, it looked like …friend was gonna road trip with me to Saginaw, but he had a work thing. Stupid responsibility. Funyuns still outselling Responsibilityuns.

Also, I had to search for something to wear to this shindig. I really never wear dresses, because I'm such a tomboy. Get me out there climbing trees and catching a ball. That's where I really feel at home.

So my mother (Bank of Mom) sent me a dress not long ago, and it's black (yes, mom, it is. She insisted it's blue but it isn't) and it has stripes, which seems kind of festive for a funeral, but it's all I got. The thing is, it'd be super perfect if I had some Spanx, which, dudes, for YEARS I had some in the back of my drawer, and now that I FINALLY need it, do you think it's there? I'll bet you anything I said, "Oh I never wear this Spank" and tossed it. Is the singular of Spanx "Spank"?

Speaking of quotes,

100_1341
I'd like to know who said "DO NOT EAT." Who said it? Who are we quoting, here? Or is it sarcastic and we should TOTALLY eat the delicious silica gel? Which is it?

What does desiccant mean? Are they saying something negative about Desi Arnaz? What can't he do? Or ccan't he do?

Do you know what I have? Is too much time on my hands.

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You know who doesn't, though? Is Lily. She is a wreck with all her responsibilityuns. I kind of want to read that Vermont Country Store catalog, but I guess right now it's literally a CATalog. That made no sense, really. I mean, as opposed to all that Desi Arnaz stuff I said earlier.

So I will try to blog at you tomorrow and then the next day, but I will be on the road again. Just can't wait to get on the road again. The wife I love is making music with my friends. …Who said that? One of you said you thought those were the words, and it kills me. My point is, will post when I can.

In the meantime, I am off to buy a Spank, and coincidentally the second Shades of Grey book (I KNOW. But now I can't help myself), and some tanning lotion so if I DO wear that dress I do not look like I got bowling pins up under there.

Y'all enjoy the hell out of your Memorial Day. See? I am doing my part to remember what this day means. I am fighting the Battle of the Bulge, with my Spanx. (June. Completely not hilarious since 5.28.12.)

Where was Sunday? It was all suspicious (Thanks, Paula.)

Y'all.

576928_459567530739372_205344452828349_100707896_1368983794_n

I was gonna blog today about how bad this slays me, and also

IMG_1251how I was JUST TELLING …friend about my beloved Tinkerbell doll (you know what I must be? Is fascinating on a date) and then I walked into Jo's house yesterday and THERE IT WAS. (I sent this photo to …friend and he said, "That's Tinkerbell? I thought it was the JonBenet Ramsey doll.")

But instead a good friend's father died. Not sure how many of you know who Gertrude is; she used to comment a lot but she has a daughter and a job and 20 pets and anyway, this morning I've helped her write her dad's obituary, and it looks like I might be on my way to Saginaw for the funeral. 

I will write more tomorrow if I can. Stupid death.

Last Saturday with the 16%

100_1330edzul cryeeng about 16 pur sent.

He really IS crying. He looks like a miraculous Virgin Mary statue or something. I guess it's allergies, or maybe that floor is breaking his heart. Concrete floor advice, please.

I must dash; having lunch with Jo in an hour and (surprise!) not showered. Last night …friend drove me all around town and showed me the houses he grew up in, and places he fished and played sports and did all those things I never once did because I was (a) a girl who (2) stayed inside and read books my entire childhood.

Do you know who I cannot identify with whatsoever? Tomboys.

Anyway, it was cool. It was my idea, because he grew up here and I was all, yeah but where? Because he lives downtown now and I figured he hadn't done THAT his whole life. Anyway, he moved away from here to go to college and never came back till two years ago, for work.

"Greensboro is my Saginaw," he said, when I said I liked Greensboro and it seemed like a good place to grow up. I guess returning is weird, no matter where you're from. Unless you're from Milan. But maybe even THAT'S weird. "Damn Milan. Can't believe I'm back here, driving past my old high school. Home of the Milan Musketeers. Jesus Christ."

Anyway, as much as I would like to sit here and write Farmer Boy, the point of my story is afterward we went to dinner at Proximity, and then I got a horrific migraine and that was the end of that evening.

You know what I am? Fun.

Oh, and before I get in the shower, and I know you wish I'd have June Blogs From the Shower, a very special hot 'n naked Bye Bye Pie, I want to say that a lot of you have written to me via email or Facebook and I WILL write you back, I just haven't had the fortitude, frankly. This is hard. Math is hard. Especially for Edsel.

The FINAL COUNTDOWN! You’re welcome.

"I told them," I emailed …friend, after giving all y'all all my big news yesterday. I sent him the link, too.

"I don't even read your blog that often and I'm even sad," said …friend, after looking at yesterday's post. And it IS sad, isn't it? I like the beginnings of things, and I dwell sadly on the end. I've done this for so long I won't even know what to do with myself at first.

IMG_1233
"You should take a picture of me NOT eating a salad," …friend said later that day when we were having dinner. How much are you going to miss my crystal-clear photography? I'm not gonna miss all the queries from people who're into photography. "How do you DO it, June? What camera do you use?" I mean, it's exhausting. I have a gift, okay?

IMG_1232
Big pile of fried green tomatoes. God, I love the South.

So I took pictures of us not eating salads ("us." Like I am just MADE of salad.) but then I said, "I have to get used to this. I don't need to document my every move anymore."

"You sure you want to do this?"

"No."

And I'm not. Now that I've heard from so many of you, and you were so nice, and some of you even emailed me personally to tell me how much you read me or times my dumb blog got you through stuff, I feel totally torn. I do.

IMG_1230Lu tore too. Liturlee. We getteeng stittchis out soon?

Look at her little shavey leg, where they put an IV. Get away from my dog. With your needles and your knives and so on. We go in an hour and no more cone for Lu. Truthfully I've had it off her for a few days now. She mostly leaves her injury alone. And who needs to maybe trim that foliage in the back yard?

Geez, Lu. Get on it.

Oh, and at my neverending freelance job, I am down to working noon to 5:30, because the guy who had surgery is back half time, and anyway I said, "Tallulah has a vet appointment at 10:30 but I think I'll still be on time." And they were all, "…the office is closed tomorrow."

It IS? I totally would've shown up to an empty office had Lu not had a vet appointment.

100_1329Mom dizapoynt lillee. could be more orrganize?

Geez Louise, is that fur by the door, there, in the Lily picture? I shouldn't take pet shots; it just makes me see stuff that needs to get done around here.

Oh! But I asked if there was anything you wanted me to blog about and you said pet psychic. So okay.

When I lived in LA and had the fabulous cat Mr. Horkheimer,

IMG_1238hooo? you know, lillee fabyouluss too.

(somebody asked about Lily, too. Hence the all-Lily, all-the-time-except-for-when-I'm-showing-fried-green-tomatoesness of this post)

ANYWAY, when I lived in LA and had the wonderful Mr. Horkheimer, he got a mysterious illness. I took him to the vet 17 times and they were like, well, it could be his KIDNEY, it might be his LIVER….

Thanks. In the meantime he's spraying blood and losing weight. So, my friend Karina had a horse, and let me tell you something. No woman who has a horse just, oh, has a horse. Every friend I have who owns a horse can never be found anywhere but with that horse. Horses are to women what golfing is to men. Addictive. Is what I mean.

So Karina told me that some pet psychic came to the stables and read all the horses. She said, "Maybe she can tell you what's going on with Horkie."

See. When you live in LA? After awhile people say stuff like that to you and you just go, "Oh, thanks! Good idea!" Like she'd just recommended a plumber. "Yeah, call this guy to snake your pipes. Oh, and this woman here will give you a past-life aura reading and cleanse your toxins!"

So I did. I called Lydia Hibey, pet psychic. And oh! It was so great! She said often animals come into our lives to teach us something. Not Hork. He was there to be admired and pampered. That was it. "How'm I doing on that?" I asked. "Horkie tells me you're an A+!" she said.

The pet psychic even told me that Hork said he hated it when we lived with "those girls." In Seattle, Hork and I lived in a house with Stacy and Paula, and they had a Sheltie. Do you know from Shelties? They are not what you'd call mellow dogs. And Hork? ABHORRED that creature. Oh. Hated. He'd hide on a dining room chair and swat that animal when it trotted by high-strungly.

Anyway, the pet psychic recommended I get these bovine pills from the store and mix them with turkey baby food, and do you know Horkie improved for about a year before he finally just up and died? So I got an extra year of Mr. Horkheimer. And that is good. Because he was magnificent.

IMG_1143we getteeng kind of sik of heereeng about that cat. currint pets magnifsint too. ..not edsel. but rest of us.

Anyway, that's that story. I'd hate to leave you hanging with any untold story. So let me know if there's anything else you want to hear.

I guess I better shower and get all good-looking for the vet's office. Which means I'll be getting to the vet in 1992.

Sigh. June. Kind of sad.

Stick a fork in it

So, I've decided to stop blogging.

I know!

The only people I've told are …friend and Marvin, who both said, "Oh, you are not." I mean, for five years, five months, and nine days, I have blogged constantly. I posted from LA, then TinyTown, then here. I posted on vacations from ludicrous hotel business centers. I have written to you from my mother's Jurassic Park stone computer with molasses on it. I've posted while still out of it from surgery and divorce.

I've even snuck in a few posts from various jobs. Why can't I hold down employment, again?

From the time I started this till now, I am a different person. I've gotten other viewpoints, been assured of the goodness of most people (most), watched while you guys became friends in the comments, gotten attached to readers and lost them anyway. I even got gifts and cards and people's grandma's Eastern Star tchotchkes!

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You can't beat an Eastern Star tchotchke.

But I'm ready. I think. To not document my whole ding-dang life anymore. I mean, my life is 100% different than it was when I started this. Well. Not 100%. I'm not suddenly a cilantro-loving male Eskimo who loves hunting and abhors cats.

(I don't know why I picked "Eskimo" as the 100% different me. Do I strike you as absolutely different from an Eskimo? I guess probably. First of all, not such a fan of rubbing noses.)

I just feel like I've done this for a long time and I want to go live my life rather than write about it. I could be totally wrong. I could feel like I have no anchor if I have no audience. Because you're more than just readers, you're friends. But I hope you're friends who understand.

So I will end with the end of this month. No June in June, as it were. I'm paid up through November, so this blog will be here till then, and who knows? Maybe I won't be able to stand just living my life and not taking pictures of my strawberries before I buy them, in order to show you on my blog. Or whatever.

IMG_1228Ride me, big Sheldon.

So, I'll post until June, and I wondered: is there anything you wished I'd blogged about that I never did? Or maybe I did and it was before your time and you don't want to slog through the 39494949 posts to find it. Anything you wish I'd cover between now and June 1? Or do you just hope the door doesn't hit me?

And of course I'll be saying this a lot over the next six days, but thank you. Thank you for reading, even if you never commented. Thank you for commenting, even if it was mean–which in the grand scheme of things, people rarely were. Thanks for linking me to ludicrous things and for sending me things and for, you know, flying me first class to Hawaii. Thanks for the tips in the tip jar. Thanks for loving my pets as I do and for getting me through my low times.

Just thanks.

I will not forget this experience.

Random shots and a dirty book. Am totally tired of the phrase “random.” “That’s random!” Oh, shut up.

So I'm reading that dirty book 50 Shades of Grey's Anatomy or whatever, and man is it dumb. And can I put it down? Why do some dumb books suck us in (see: Twilight)?

I mean, I consider myself above average in intelligence. Does everyone think they're above average in intelligence, just like everyone thinks they're a good driver and that they have a sense of humor? But despite the fact I think I am relatively smart (I mean, not compared to Stephen Hawking, okay?) (or even Tim Gunn. Tim Gunn seems kind of smart. Or maybe he's just snooty, is all), I must know what happens to these stupid, not-remotely-realistic people in stupid 50 Shades and Lamps Too.

What is wrong with me?

I even took said dirty book to the BookUp last night, which my friend Jo has every month in a restaurant. I've explained it before, but everyone just comes and brings a book and orders a drink or appetizer and reads. I know that sounds silly, but she was sick and tired of people saying, "I don't have time to read" (and she's written a book, so she's particularly persnickety about this phrase) (how do we get to the e-version of your book, Jo? Tell us in the comments), so she set up an evening where we MAKE time.

 

And what did I read? Right there in front of …friend and everybody? Stupid 50 Shades of Earl Grey.

Anyway, that's my latest humiliation. In other news, I have a bunch of pictures on my desktop that I keep meaning to put up here, so without further adieu–did you ever see that Naked Gun? Where the guy says to Leslie Neilsen, "I bid you adieu" and Leslie Neilsen says, "Thanks. But I…like my hair the way it is." Anyway, without further hair, here are the photos on my desktop.

WatermelonThis is from Peg's party, which by the way was a potluck and guess who forgot that, with her empty-handed self? Nice. Guess who went to the food table three times anyway? Nice, also. Up here is a watermelon piece with, I don't know, feta, maybe? And Austin, who is the most super-great wonderful party guest possible and I love it when he comes to Peg's parties, stuck hat pins in each piece, because it was, you know, Mad Hatter. Oh, they were plastic. You couldn't imPALE yourself.

IMG_1214Here is Austin. He is a fancy designer and has really good decorating-for-rich-people stories. I heart him. And his teensy hat.

IMG_1179I mean, really? We have to be told this, now?

IMG_1187…friend lives right near my pal Kit's store, and it's exciting to see what her windows are doing whenever I stroll by. In case anyone was wondering, yes, I DO want that pink polka-dotted dress and also the leopard purse. What are you, new?

IMG_1195After my surgery, my mother sent me chocolate-covered strawberries. Oh.Hell.Yes.

IMG_1204I do not know why Edsel acts so weird in the car. He gets all shy and retiring. Yes, that IS a Chik-Fil-A cup. Shut up.

IMG_1196quar skare edzers

Friz13Here is Marvin drinking cough syrup in San Francisco in 2005. That's random!

IMG_1216Best hat at Peg's party. And for people who work at my old job, yes that IS your old coworker. I mean, I am your old coworker, but so is she.

Photo on 12-29-11 at 3.07 PMFrom when Pal from MA was here at Christmas. Seriously, I have to clear out this desktop.

Also, love self.

Okay, off to work, which is beginning to be like the three-hour tour on Gilligan's Island. Have totally made a tight SS Minnow dress at this point.

XO,

Jooooon

I started a joke…

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I already crossed off the "s" on my Bee Gees bumper sticker, but clearly I need a better Sharpie. Do they make waterproof ones? Also, could I be a worse person?

Poor Robin Gibb. I have gotten 4595949390405 emails re this, and you'd think I was a Gibb myself. Which I am. IN MY MIND.

Also, I probably should've just Xd off the "s" but I used the proofreader's "delete" sign just out of habit. Honestly, who can take a celebrity death and make it 100% about her? Who can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile?

In other news, I am up and navigating and going to work today. My discharge papers said, "Return to work as desired," so I was thinking next month, maybe? Despite the fact that I was (a) supposed to work there a few days and it's now been five weeks and (2) my paycheck still didn't get right, they called me yesterday morning to see if I could do some work from home. Which I did. I know.

Really, I did it at the tire store, because when I got up yesterday morning I realized my tire was flat. How does that happen? I mean, I know how it happens, but it's just so sneaky.

And you know my car tried to tell me? It showed me this light Saturday that looked like parentheses with an exclamation point in the middle. Like this: (!). I was all, yeah, car. I like parentheses, too! Totally with you on that. Then I was like, hey, car, are you trying to show me your labia? Because, come on. Inappropriate.

I guess that's why eventually it got frustrated with me and just let the tire get flat.

IMG_1219Here is …friend, at a ridiculously early hour of the morning, like 10:00, putting stuff in my tire so I could drive on it to get to, you know, the tire place.

And since I was stuck at that riveting spot for an hour, I did some proofreading. My other choices were to flirt with the 60-year-old man wearing jorts in the lobby, or to watch The Parent Trap with Linday Lohan, before she ruined herself. I guess alternatively, I could have just emailed labias to people. (!)

So now I have to shower and get dressed and go work AGAIN. Oh! But Peg had a party and Ima have to tell you about it eventually. This time I managed to go there and keep my food down.

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Peg. Managing to embrace her party themes like nobody's business. This time it was "Mad Hatter." I like how her smile is exactly like her flower on her head's smile.

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Anyway, it was a good time and I will tell you about it when I am not rushing off to my nonjob on a formerly flat tire.

Catch you later! (!)

Fascinating

I never did find the lining of my uterus, so I thought maybe I'd get shelf liner today at Target or something. What say you?

The other day I was at …friend's, and he was cooking something because he does actually cook, and Ima tell you how well in just a minute, but anyway he had a bottom cupboard open and I noticed some really spiffy brown-and-blue polka-dotted shelf liner down there, that actually looked good with the throw rug he had, and I said, "Oooo, I like your shelf liner!" Because I am a fascinating person.

"….Shelf liner?"

"The polka-dotted stuff. Did you pick it out?"

…friend looked at the cupboard. "I've never once noticed that shelf liner in all the time I've lived here. Also, do I really seem like the go-out-and-buy-shelf-liner type?"

Only a boy would live somewhere for more than two years and never notice shelf liner. There have been too many times I've had to cease unpacking because I had to run out and get shelf liner I could stand. I mean, you see that every day for the rest of time.

Or not. If you're a boy.

At any rate, …friend had offered to come assist me in my hour of need last night, and really, when am I NOT having hours of need? Nevertheless, he offered to assist in this PARTICULAR hour, the hour of no uterine lining. "Can I bring you dinner or anything? How about Thai?"

Well, that sounded absolutely delicious BEFORE my surgery, but once I had some nausea, and once I got my discharge papers that said eat bland things, I changed my mind on the Thai.

"I can have (a) a baked potato and (b) rice, according to my papers," I told him, because perhaps I have not mentioned I am the most fascinating person on earth. "Well, I can make you those things," said …friend, who recently has begun to cook in an effort to be healthier. He really is kind of healthy. That makes one of us.

"I can make this rice dish," he said. "It involves avocado, too."

I would sell my mother for avocado. I would gleefully take all four pets to the pound, stampede them right to the gas room, for avocado. Go a week without hair gel? For avocado? Sign me up.

So …friend comes over with all kinds of things, including rice, and then had the audacity to ask for stuff like a cheese grater and a cutting board. Has he met my kitchen? Fortunately I scrounged that stuff up, from deep in the pyramids, because you know how often I'm getting out the implements.

"Do you have a measuring cup?"

JESUS CHRIST! Who does he think I AM, Julia Child? "I do have a measuring cup, but I use it for the dog food," I said. "…wait! I think I have weird measuring spoon/cup things from Ikea somewhere," I put on my Indiana Jones hat and plundered the secret tombs of my kitchen.

I did find this olive-green cup that measured…2/3 of an ounce.

"How many cups are in two-thirds of an ounce?" asked …friend, who was totally over me.

My point is, he put a bunch of rice on to boil and said, "We don't have to stand in the kitchen anymore," which quite possibly could be my favorite words in my native tongue, other than "free kittens."

So we sat on the couch while the rice boiled, and the thing is, often we are over there trying to out-funny each other, and I have the feeling being around …friend and me is annoying for anyone who isn't us. Tallulah often rolls her eyes at us. Iris would, too, if she had eyes. So there we were, thinking we were funny, when I started to smell…rice burning.

"#$@&!" said …friend, dashing up.

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Yeah. Also, what a clear photo. Perhaps we could start …friend and June Cooking and Photography School.

100_1316why yu roooin rice, Uncle …friend?

So you know what we ended up doing? Going out for Thai. I KNOW. I got those leaves that Tall Boy and I got that one time. Remember I told you about them? They're some kind of, I don't know, LEAF, firmer than floppy lettuce but not like you're eating a succulent or anything. Some kind of cabbage, maybe? What do I know?

The point is, the leaves come with teensy cute bowls of the thinnest-sliced limes and peanuts and toasted coconut and some kind of hi-I'm-Asian sauce and teensy minced onions and ginger and oh! You throw all that on your rubber-tree-plant leaf or whatever and IT IS DELICIOUS.

…friend got some kind of chicken dish (the first person to say, "I thought …friend was vegetarian" gets slapped with my uterus. What's left of it. I do not know HOW this thought entered everyone's brain but he is 100% NOT VEGETARIAN. I think you must all have him confused with Tall Boy, who I dated for four weeks back in the fall, and I do not know why that stuck inside you all like a barnacle.) and guess what he got with said dish. Guess.

"Oh! I got rice! Would you like some?"

Yeah.

So, anyway, that was my evening, and I feel pretty okay today except I could go for a nap. It's 10:30 and I could go for a nap.

Perhaps I did not mention to you that I am the most fascinating person on earth.

Post Op

Photo on 5-18-12 at 1.44 PM
No wonder Tallulah hates this thing. It really does hamper your depth perception.

So I'm home. Does this lack of uterine lining make me look fat? I had to get there at 7:15, so Laurie, being what you'd call more organized than me, was at my house about 2:30 a.m. I really don't know WHEN she showed up, actually, as I opened the blind and there she was lurking in my driveway.

Remember the time I took her to the train station and we couldn't find it? Now that I know her better I'll bet that was giving her hives, even though we were still 30 minutes early. I am always that asshole running across the tarmac to jump on the plane as it's pulling away.

Anyway, everyone was very nice at the surgery place, and the anesthesiologist came and I gave him my usual speech where I grab his arm and look deeply in his eyes. "Barfing is my least-favorite emotion. Do what you can to make sure that doesn't happen."

You know who probably enjoys him the June? That anesthesiologist.

Anyway my doctor got there right on time (Laurie would probably like him) and he said, "Let's take care of these fibroids once and for all." No. No, let's not. Because this is what I want to be spending my wrinkled Georges on.

How much do you like me for saying "wrinkled Georges"?

After walking into the WORLD'S COLDEST ROOM, they said, "You may feel sleepy now" and all of a sudden it's 2012. What is this fancy thing called the Internet? Why isn't my cell phone the size of my shoe? Dylan McKay, what a dreamboat. That was all a lot like the first time I tried Jagermeister.

I am sad to report that I felt (a) a little chest pain, which hi. Not alarming, (4) a tad nauseated, which, hi, WORSE THAN CHEST PAIN and (ii) hurty. Through the miracle of modern medicine (read: ginger ale) I feel much better now and await …friend's arrival, which will probably be the last time I do so because Q: Looking? A: Sexy. And you know he's into me for my leonine good looks.

In the meantime, I was thinking 40 winks might be nice. Because I didn't just get those, or anything. Didn't just wake up, Shark the floor (I know. But it was bugging me), blog at you and now go back to bed. It's kind of like a normal day, except, does anyone know where I put my uterine lining? I just had it…

Tyre

"Have you read that poll asking women to describe their perfect man?" asked …friend. "I'm not it."

I hadn't read that poll, and one wonders why …friend is trying to find the perfect man, but perhaps I am jumping to conclusions. Anyway, it's a slow day here at work and so I Googled it.

It's created by British people, who enjoy them the baked beans on toast, so should we even listen to them? Then again Barry Gibb is British, so the English know from perfect men. Shut up.

THE PERFECT MAN IS…

Six feet tall

Muscly, toned and athletic

Brown eyes

Short dark hair

Smart dress sense

A beer/lager drinker

Non smoker

Wears smart jeans, shirt and a

V-neck sweater

Gets ready in 17 minutes

Stylish

Wants a family

Earns £48,000 ($77,000) a year

Loves shopping

Eats meat

Clean shaven

Smooth chest

Watches soaps

Enjoys watching football

Drives an Audi

Educated to degree level

Earns more than you

Jokes around and has a laugh

Sensitive when you are upset

Tells you he loves you only when he means it

Admits it when he looks at other women

Holds a driving licence

Can swim

Can ride a bike

Can change a tyre

Rings mum 2x/week

Okay. Why do British people go around doing things wrong all the time? "Tyre." Then they take their tyres and put them on the wrong side of the road.

Anyway, I think a grown man who calls his mother more than once a week is a little suspect. I mean, unless she's in ill health or something. And why would you want him to admit he's looked at other women? We all know he does it. Can't we pretend it doesn't really happen all the same?

I find $77,000 an odd sum. Why is that the magic number? I guess they averaged it out. I have never been much of a gold digger (see: decades of marriage to Marvin, the musician/schoolteacher), but I would like a man who made more money than me, or at least as much as me, because I am a grownup and we should be making a decent living at this point. Says the unemployed person.

If a man watches soaps he is gay. As is a man who loves shopping.

I really don't care what color hair or eyes he has. I mean, really? That matters? And I guess I'm down with the beer thing (see: decades of being married to someone who drank Cosmopolitans).

Anyway, what say you about this list? I generally look for someone who is smarter than me who makes me laugh and seems relatively stable. I like a man who enjoys a good salad. Okay, I threw that last part in as a nod to …friend. Who right now seems kind of perfect.

Tell me what you think.

Kobayashi Maru

Last night I had drama with …friend, but everything is okay now. I wish I could tell you all about it, but I feel like I'd need his permission to tell the story, and I similarly feel like he'd say, "You know what? No. It was bad enough living it in real life. Why rehash it on an Internet blog?" That's what he called my blog once, like he's 97 years old. My Internet blog.

The good news is, …friend is the kind of person you can call, and you're all hysterical and possibly your hair is flying about twistily and your voice is all shaky, and five minutes later you have calmed down. Because he may or may not be the normal person in this scenario. I know that comes as a shock.

Confetti_3Here is an unretouched photo of my hair after my upsetty phone call to …friend. Or, alternatively, here is a picture of my spiral perm and Persian cat in 1988. I have shown you this picture before but I feel like it bears repeating.

I loved that cat. His name was Confetti. I got him on New Year's Eve; hence the moniker. He was super floppy and slept on my head. He kind of looks like Gizmo from that one movie. What the hell was the movie? With Gizmo. That one.

WHY did no one stop me from getting a perm? Seriously. Why did no one step in?

In other news, Tallulah continues to wear her cone, and she coincidentally continues to hate me. But the second I feel bad and take that thing off, she lick lick licks her incision. Why can she not put two and two together?

I am also here at my temporary job, which I have been at for over a month now, and last pay period I did not get paid because there was some kind of waiting period, and now today I didn't get paid enough. I only got one week's worth of cash money. Fortunately they are straightening it out, which is good because I have seven dollars.

Also, the surgery center called to ask me a bunch of questions. Do I have sleep apnea? Am I a bleeder? Am I a breeder? How is my heart? Who is that guy with a sickle behind me?

So that was relaxing. Seeing as this is my THIRD operation to remove my effing fibroids, I am kind of familiar with the procedure. I could probably reach up there and do it myself. Anyway, Faithful Reader Laurie, we have to be there at 7:15 and that sounds delightful. Maybe they mean 7:15 p.m. and we can have cocktails first. What say you?

Oh! And before I go, I do have to tell you one more thing. Before I called …friend with my upsettyness, I talked to my friend Sandy's husband. He is a genuinely nice guy, and I wanted a guy opinion that was not Hulk's. For once.

So I told him the story and he said, "What you've got here, June, is the Kobayashi Maru," he said.

The what, now?

"Yeah. It's a no-win situation. In Star Trek II and then Star Trek VI, Khan blooo de blooo bloo. And he bleep de beeee dee deeee, and he had Kobayahsi Maru. A no-win situation."

Will you remind me to stop asking men things?

Come to think of it, it was a man who gave me that spiral perm, too. June. Sensing a pattern. A swirly brown puffy pattern.

There’s a light. Certain kind of light.

Although the rest of you may still be staring at that Bee Gees video (veeedeo) from yesterday's comments, I have moved on to my stupid Monday.

Okay, here. Here is the veedeo we're all obsessed with in the comments.

 

Dudes. I can't get past Robin's fine dancing abilities. Well. And Barry's shirt.

Dear Barry Gibb, You know I love you. But that shirt was effed up. The Wolfman Jack hair was fine, though. You're Barry Gibb. Poof it out, man. It's who you are.

No, really. Every time Robin starts with the dancing I get hysterical. It's like when I was little and heard the word "hips." For some reason I couldn't hang with that word. And everyone tried not to say "hips" in front of me because the 88 minutes of giggling weren't worth it. Oh, and Spiro Agnew. The name slayed me.

I was an odd child.

Oh. And f you just got here, my grandmother always pronounced it "veeedeo." Which, you know how in your family someone says something wrong, and then you are doomed to say it wrong your whole life after that? Like, once my cousin said, "Big bone-ded." I mean, she's in her 30s now and married. And yet we all say "big bone-ded."

I have to go. Please note the time, which is godawful early, and here I am up and showered and so forth. They asked me to come in early. To the place where I don't even really work. Where I was just supposed to work for a few days in April. Where I've been working late and on weekends. Now they need me to come in early.

What I'm saying to you is it's busy there. However, when the alarm went off at 6:00 instead of the usual 7:00, Edsel bounded out of bed as usual and Tallulah was all, "rully. you rully think lu get up dis hour?" and she rolled over and went back to sleep.

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She hates me so much right now anyway. I just added to my annoyingness. Her incision continues to be disgusting, and the keep-her-quiet part is, you know, dumb. Although she doesn't do much when that cone is on. Mostly she stands eight inches from me looking forlorn. See above.

Okay, really going. Really. …Oh! Just one more thing. Who's more annoyed with me now? You guys or Tallulah?

 

I keep hearing Hot Child in the City every time I get in the car. I mean, it's getting creepy. And no, I don't own a Nick Gilder CD or anything. I think it's some kind of message from the universe, but all I can figure is I'm so young to be loose and all alone. But let's face it. In whose world am I so young?

Going downtown now, to walk like I just don't care.

Yeah.

Saturday. Horn. In the park. Horn.

I am at the car dealership, getting my headlight fixed. Marvin always took it here to get it fixed so I am too, even though …friend just told me I was going to get gouged. I guess I should ask Marvin why I am doing this.

image from https://effjune.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/c0c9c-6a00e54f9367fb88340163057f2bb7970d-pi.jpg

My car’s headlights are always on, so they burn out quickly. Go, Volkswagen. Good design.

Talu is doing fairly well. Her incision is disgusting, and she refuses to walk around with the cone on. But this morning she sat on the deck and sunned herself and left her injury alone. Talu on drugs. It’s kind of fun. “Lu dig dis sun, man. It far out.”

We need to bring back the phrase far out. What say you?

Okay, tired of typing on phone. Ima look at Mini Coopers like I can afford them.

Sent from my phone. You happy now?

Edsel has an underbite. News at 11:00.

The good news is, Tallulah is out of surgery already and I get to get her at 3:00. As soon as we got in the car this morning, she started shaking, so she knew it wasn't just a fun trip to dog day care.

They have two doors at my vet–one for white people and one for black people. It's the South. No! One for dogs and one for cats. They probably also have to have a separate door for gay people now, too. Stupid North Carolina.

My point is, I should just bring her in the cat side, because you can imagine what a charming Southern lady she was when we walked in and there were other dogs. It's so dumb. On the leash, she is an absolute dick. If I had unhooked her? "Oh heyyyyy! How you do? I Talula. You want see my canser lump?"

Anyway, the worst was the poor woman holding the little dog, but fortunately the vet tech came right away to get Lu. I wonder why. BARKBARKBARKBARK! BARK! YOU LITTLE AND STOOPID! YOU NOT ENTER THRU STOOPIT DOOR? STOP BE LITTLE! GROW! GRRRRROW!

Humiliating.

Anyway once they put the official sad blue vet leash on her, I started to cry, and hug her neck, and humiliate her in front of stoopit little dog. One hopes she won't remember that when she gets out.

Tonight …friend is coming and bringing Thai food and we are gonna stay in, because I don't want to leave Luis the gracious dog. I want to lord over her and poke at her incision and pet her head, which she hates, and kiss her, which she also seems to kind of hate, and generally bug the crap out my own sick dog.

And eat Thai.

In other news, I got up with Dick Whitman last night. I been working in the Winston-Salem for a month now (yes. A month. It was supposed to be a three-hour tour.) and he wrote, "I had all these dreams that once you started working in Winston we'd hang out all the time after work, just talking shit. Literally. I thought we'd talk about bowel movements."

Well, once THAT opportunity was presented I got Marvin to let the dogs out (who, who who) (you're welcome) last night, and I had me the coffee with the Richard. Of Whitmans.

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I had peppermint tea. Whit and his man had a coconut latte, because he is female. It was delicious, though! I had a drink before he put his disgusting lips on it.

IMG_1168A pensive Dick Whitman.

Afterward, I made him take me to a card store, because I needed to get, you know, cards. I wanted to send his mom a Mother's Day card.

Dear Actual Mom: I sent you a very nice and rather costly thing from Etsy, but never did find time to buy you a card. I know, dude. I been busy.

Oh! But before we get to the card store, and you know how I ADORE people who say, "Let me back up" when they tell a story (do you EVER want them to back up? Ever? You do not. Most stories are just for getting through till you can tell your own), but the place where we were having coffee apparently used to be Dick Whitman's orthodontist's office.

"You had braces?" I asked, learning a new thing about Dick Whitman, seeing as we had exhausted the subject of our bowel movements.

"I did. I had a terrible underbite."

"Just like Edsel!"

"Edsel has an underbite?" he asked.

….!

Y'all. Most of you have not even MET Edsel, and how many of you are incredulous right now?

I mean,

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Photo on 9-26-11 at 8.09 PM #2 (original)

 
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you can't NOT see that underbite. YOU CAN'T NOT SEE IT. And yes, that picture of him holding hands with Roger IS killing me, thank you.

How indifferent to dogs do you have to be to not see that underbite? Dick Whitman. Irking me since whenever he started irking me, but particularly yesterday.

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At any rate, once we got to the card store, I forced Whitman to get a card for his mom. Dear Dick Whitman's mom: He thought the part where he is taking you to lunch counted as his Mother's Day gift to you. As a girl, I know how cards matter to us. You are welcome. Oh, and don't look at the photo above cause I'm pretty sure that's the one he ended up getting you and your surprise will be ruined.

Love, June.

All right. I had better go. I feel guilty that I have a whole day off and all I've done is nap and blog and email with …friend. Who probably wishes he hadn't asked, "What can I do to help the day of Talu's surgery?" because now he has to fein interest in every detail of that dog and also run hither and yon for Thai food. Southern people. Too nice for their own good.

Unless you're gay.

Dark, brooding, intense–sign me up!

It is, oddly, rather slow here today at my temporary workplace and as a result I was able to go to lunch and everything, like a normal person. Oh, and I know what I said yesterday about this place being an Everlasting Gobstopper, but guess what.

Guess.

Today they have asked me to stay another week. At this point I am slated to be here till 2015.

Anyway, I got to have lunch with a friend of mine, and we ended up on a fascinating topic. The intense, brooding, damaged man. Why do we love him?

In high school, I went back and forth between two boys: Cardinal–who I have talked about before–and Giovanni Leftwich, who I have also talked about before, and really what haven't I talked about, seeing as I have had this blog since God wore a onesie.

Oh, and before I drone on about men, can I ask for everyone to just take a moment and wish me well, whether that be through prayer, kind thoughts, good vibes or what have you? Because (you may want to sit down) I got a gel manicure yesterday and one of the nails did not cure correctly and it dried–

–seriously, brace yourself–

to a dull finish. Do you want pictures? I can provide them. Or is that too graphic? Okay, hang on.

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I just had to take a picture with my cell phone, email it to myself, access the email on my work computer, open it in Photoshop and then upload it here. The things I DO for you people. But see the one nail, there? How dreadfully dull?

I know.

This means I will be forced to return to the manicurist and have her fix it. Oh, the tribulations I endure.

Anyway, back to men. Speaking of tribulations. So in high school, I vacillated between these men, and Cardinal was all fun-loving and a laugh a minute and so on, but guess who I loved. LOVED. Giovanni, who was intense and damaged and brooding. And I went on to love him for many of my so-called adult years, too.

The friend I had lunch with has a similar story. She isn't much younger than me, and yes, we DID use our senior citizens' discounts, Shecky Greene. But way back in high school she loved a (yes) brooding intense damaged man, and although years have passed and they have supposedly moved on, she still carries a torch, and when she hears from him it's all, oooh! I.B.D. man!

Why. Why do we love them? Because the more she described this man, the more I was all, oh! Yes! I would have loved him, too. With his dark hair and his glasses and his moods and his brilliance and his romantic gestures and his despondency.

How many of you are reading that and similarly saying, Oh, he sounds good.

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH US?

Why are we not drawn to fun-loving secure healthy men? I mean, doesn't that sound more, I don't know, rewarding? And I know some of you are. When I lived in Seattle, my friend Pam and I would walk around Greenlake, and she would be drawn to the healthy athletic men running past or or rollerblading or some other stupid activity that's good for you, whereas I would be staring at the men wearing all black, sitting under a tree torturedly writing poetry.

And by the way, …friend is not tortured and damaged. In fact I tried to tell him about this lunch and he wrote back with, "Should I be brooding now?" Then he tried to complain heartily about his life and I was all, yeah. Bob Geldoff in the Pink Floyd movie you are not.

So I must be getting better about it. But still. You show me Harold from Harold & Maude, or Andrew McCarthy's character in St. Elmo's Fire, or Vincent Van Gogh or Sid Vicious or Kurt Cobain and oh! I am all about them.

You feeling me?