Health · June's stupid life

“Hey! How you doin’? That’s me in the corner.”

Yesterday was a dumb day.

Oh, and boo. In case I forget later. Did I just scare you to death? Oh, oh, and good voting yesterday! Obama won, and I'm certain my poll was completely scientific. But back to my stupid day.

I had to get up early yesterday, and by "early" I mean 8:15. Look. Being unemployed has its advantages. I had to get going to the podiatrist, because my stupid plantar fasciitis was not getting any better. My regular doctor said, "If it doesn't improve, we're gonna have to give you a shot of steroids in your heel. And that hurts, I can tell you that."


If you ever want me to AVOID something, just tell me a horrible fact like that. Doctors NEVER admit something hurts. They say, "You might have some discomfort" when they put a speculum in your nostrils or whatever. So for MONTHS now I've been rolling my stupid foot on a tennis ball like some kind of twisted Labrador retriever or Martina Navratilova. Neither of whom actually rolls their feet on a tennis ball, but I never said I was accurate.

I've also been sleeping in a sexy splint, which I take off and very neatly place on my nightstand while I am DEAD ASLEEP, and I just kind of wonder what else I'm doing in the night. Making bad investments? REM e-mailing people? Not that I'm emailing "Hey! What up! I'm losing my religion!" "Hey, long time! Stand in the place where you live!"

When Ned and I went to the fair earlier this month and I liked to've DIED from the foot pain, he said, "You gotta go in and get that shot."

"Easy for YOU to say," I said. "YOU don't have to have a GIANT NEEDLE in your parts."

"June, I've had the same kind of shot in my knee. I was scared, too, but it didn't hurt at ALL. This is ridiculous. Go get the shot."

Guess who I ignored? But finally I Googled "Greensboro Podiatrists" because I'm fascinating, and I found one that had a website and they talked all about plantar fasciitis and NOWHERE in their treatment plan did they mention shots. This worked for me.

So I minced in there yesterday morning and they have a little bed/chair thing you sit on, and you place your feet on a very lovely doily and they ask you questions and before long the PA said, "Sounds like a classic case. Let's get an ultrasound and see what's up." She splooged the ultrasound gel on me.

Is "splooged" a dirty word? Because you know what I mean. She splatted it on my arch. I wonder if that one foot fetish person still reads me, the one who kept asking for more pics of me in my Dr. Scholl's? Because, RED-LETTER DAY for that person.

Soon she was looking at her little screen. "Is my plantar fasciitis a boy or a girl?" I asked, gazing fondly at myself in my mind.

"Heh," said the PA.

"Does…everybody make that joke?" I asked. "yyyyyep," she said, seeming beleaguered.

At any rate, the good news is I have pretty bad swelling and so on, which is exciting for me because I like my illnesses to be dramatic. No "slight case" crap for yours truly, over here. Give me the full-on Lassa Fever or whatev.

The PA starts telling me about what "plantar" means and what "fasciitis" means and if Tallulah had been there she would've said, "Hooo care," which is what I was thinking until I started to get…concerned about why I was tipping backward in the chair bed.

"What am I doing?" I asked, as the doctor snapped on gloves. Was she gonna do a strip tease? Get my mind off the pain?

"Have you had a steroid shot before?" she asked, spraying some COLD-ASS SHIT on my heel.

"No, and I–"

"All done," she said. Honest to god. All DONE? Dawgs, I didn't feel a THING. But just knowing she'd DONE it made me all queasy.

"I feel lightheaded. Is that normal?" I asked, the entire back of me all sweaty and Shroud of Turin-y on the chair bed. By the way, I totally want a chair bed. Gee, this show is good. But I'm getting logy. Maybe I'll just–bzzrrrrrp–HEY! I'm lying down!

I guess I could get a La-Z-Boy, right? Brooke Shields likes them, and she did NOT steer me wrong on Latisse.

The point is, in the end I was fine, and they gave me three sheets to the wind of paperwork so I can remember what time I do exercises, and what time I roll some OTHER thing on me, and they gave me an insert thing to wear and another night splint and also? ALSO? A list of the unsexiest shoes from all time, that I have to wear CONSTANTLY, even at HOME, until they say so.

Seriously, you guys, these SHOES. They're from the Granny on Beverly Hillbillies Collection. Holy god. They're Manohnoyoudidn't Blahhhniks.

So I left, and had to scream to work, and once I got there I told everyone who'd listen the whole story I just told you, and finally I decided to review my paperwork, because good being an employee!, and it was then I realized I'd left the DING-DANG papers back at the doctor.

I had to get BACK in the car, drive BACK to the doctor, disturb the PA's lunch (she had a big thing of cottage cheese. She was pretty heavy, so I wonder if she's trying to diet. If I ate a big thing of cottage cheese at lunch I would be so starved I'd STAMPEDE to Chick-Fil-A on the drive home) and get the dang papers.

I got back to work and did my, you know, work. Finally it was time to go, and I had my new foot brace and my box of numbing gel and the stretchy thing they gave me and my purse and also two avocados that Jane West had given me. They'd been on sale and she got really excited about them and "I got avocado goggles and bought too many," she told me. So I was excited to get those home.

When I got here? I realized?



So I'm doing what I can remember to do, which is wear the effing night brace and not walk around without shoes and pop Aleve like I'm starring in Valley of the Dolls. Also, I am completely forbidden to do Tracy Ullman for the time being, so Ima get fat fat fat and have to eat big things of cottage cheese for lunch. In two weeks we'll see how I'm progressing.

…Should I totally use my ultrasound picture for my Christmas card?

Current Affairs · June's stupid life

Pick Flick

Ask me how that statistics textbook is going.

NOT WELL. NOT WELL AT ALL. Have you SEEN the index on this thing? They'll list one word and give you 84929492949395 pages where that word appears. And because this is a reprint, it's not on the page they say. Which means I have to FIND it in all that riveting statistics text.

This means I have to go now and look at that stupid thing till it's time to go to fake work. So I will be brief.

Here is what I want to know today. I asked this four years ago, too.

Who are you voting for? For president. Not for America Idol.

And BE NICE. If there is a not-nice comment, I will DELETE your ass. DELETE. I know you're scared now.

Okay. Tell.

I hate everything · June's stupid life

Don’t ask

I got up early because I have several chapters left to proofread of that Polish document (don't ask), and I now also have a 350-page statistics textbook to proofread, so I was gonna try to get ahead of either of those tasks before I went to fake work, and instead I stampeded in here and started blerging.

June's blog. June's blerg. Come for the short, concise sentences. Stay to get your name made fun of in the comments.

(Don't ask.)

We're doing a lot of don't-ask-don't-tell today so far.

At any rate, despite the fact that I am in here wasting time talking to YO AZZ, I am glad to have the freelance work to supplement my 25 hours at fake work. Because broke? Broke? Does not begin to describe it. I'm gonna pay my house payment late this month, and I need three new tires and can't afford to get new ones, so now whenever I drive I MINCE down the road, convinced this will be the moment I blow up and careen to my death.

It's relaxing. Is what it is.

So, yeah. Glad to have the work. The Polish thing I'm working on and I SAID DON'T ASK. GOD. is actually coming to me from Poland, and the person who is emailing me with said documents talks just like Natasha, who I realize is Russian.

Thank you for to do the document so quickly, June. Moose and squirrel. Love, Polish Place Who Is Sending You Work.

But that is not why I gathered you all here today. I was gonna tell you about my weekend. Spent with Ned. Funded by Ned. Starting with that $175 towing fee. Oh, and I'll tell you what. I drove over to his place on Friday night and there was a security guy walking around the lot. Ned's parking area being all Fort Knox n' shit is a new development, and I am unsure why it's become a thing. There's ALWAYS parking in that lot. The whole arrangement seems unnecessary.

The point is, I got out my car and the guy said, "Ma'am."

You wanna bug me? Stop me when I'm in the middle of something, in this case going up to Ned's. I was in my flow.

"I HAVE ONE," I groused at him, pointing at the parking pass hanging from my rear-view mirror. "No, ma'am…" he started. Oh, give me a hard time, Bub. GIVE ME A HARD TIME. DO ITTTTTT!

I was so ready to go off on that MF. I really was. I KNEW he was the one who towed my car in the first place. And now I have a PASS and he's gonna SLOW ME UP with his BULLSHIT?

I think I got more sweary since I met Ned.

"I just wondered what happened last time," he said. Clearly he recognized the yellow Bug, who he'd so heartlessly towed, driving in with a pass. I guess he wanted to make sure he didn't do anything wrong. His face was all kind.

Then I felt like a dick.

So I told him the story, and at that point Ned was down there to get me, and we all had a nice exchange and that was the end of it. I had been so ready to rumbllllllle.

Anyway. I like how the first five minutes of my weekend have taken 49 paragraphs. So I will stampede to the story of how Ned lives downtown, conveniently located right near crack addicts and several delightful restaurants. We had debated where to go eat, and I wanted to try the new taco place, so we traipsed down there. Closed.

It was EIGHT O'CLOCK AT NIGHT. This damn one-horse town.

So we tried the hamburger place, which would have been adventuresome for Ned because there is positively nothing healthy there.

Closed. They had a special event and closed at 8:00.


So finally we went to the Greek place, which is what we'd originally thought we'd do, but got waylaid by tacos and hamburgers.


All the wait staff were dressed up in Halloween costumes, I saw Death serving wine, and, you know, I don't want to speculate about anyone's sexual preference. It makes no difference to me other than the part where I might like you slightly better if you're a gay man, and since I just went ahead and said "gay man," this one waiter? A young cute boy? Had a mime kind of face painted on, with a teensy hat with a net and a feather. He literally pranced up and down the aisles.

I loved him. Oh, you have no idea. He mugged for everyone's iPhone (no, I didn't, other than June-has-no-flash pic, above), he ran about giggling this way and that. I mean, someone is into Halloween.

Then there was a table. Of women. And I'm just gonna go ahead and tell you the truth. Big groups of women bug the shit out of me. And I realize my entire reading audience of 14 is women, with .09 men tagging along (hello, Peter.) (hello, Steve.) (hello, Dick Whitman when I write about him.). But you are all not HERE in the ROOM with me, and if you WERE, you'd bug the SHIT out of me.

Why do women all have to talk at once? And so vociferously? And they just get louder and louder, big groups of women. Why? I am so not into all that.

The point is, this big group were all dressed as…well. First we said pirates. Then I said, "Are they psychics?" Then Ned suggested they might be gypsies. So yeah, psychic gypsies ("Or maybe they're tramps and thieves," said Ned, who loves his own self), about 15 of them, at a table. Getting louder each minute.

As luck would have it, there was also live music. Note Ned studying the menu in the foreground. Unusual.

My point is, it wasn't long before that ENTIRE TABLE of psychic pirates got up and started dancing. Oh, it was fun to watch.

At this point they'd dimmed all the lights sweet darlin', so my phone was even more uselessly taking pictures, but trust me. Dancing through the restaurant was happening.

So all in all we were glad we picked the Greek place.

Oh! And y'all! We saw David Sedaris this weekend! DAVID SEDARIS! We didn't, you know, hang out or anything. We just watched him read and be funny and such. Why can't I be David Sedaris? I mean, other than the part where I am not a funny gay man? Crap.

I guess that's all I have to tell you, except that Ned's cat continues to fascinate me with her weirdness. I think she is part vulture.

Oh! Wait! There's more! (Who is getting out her free Ginsu knife to stab me repeatedly at this point? Is it you, geez-June-finish-already-I-have-to-pee reader?) Ned and I went to the movies yesterday (Fred Won't Move Out, with Elliott Gould. The previews looked better than the movie actually was.)

After the movie, we went to eat and then Ned took me home. I am always kind of sad on Sunday night, because I always have a fun weekend with Ned and then it's over. I totally get that Wonderful-World-of-Disney-is-on-and-tomorrow's-Monday feeling. But as we drove home, we passed a sort of childcare facility and I said, "HOLY CRAP!"

"WHAT?" said Ned, assuming there was some kind of animal on the road and we'd have to turn around, as has happned 14 times already since I've known him.

"That SIGN!" Did you see it??" I was all atwitter. "I was DRIVING," old News Flash Ned said.

So we turned around, because, is it just me? Or is this logo kind of inappropriate?

Whiskey. Tango. And also Foxtrot.

Okay, that's all. Try not to tow my car away while you're out, would you? You big gaggle of women.

I hate everything · June's stupid life

And what you say about his company is WHAT YOU SAY–oh shoot me now.

Good gravy, this day has been ridiculous already and now I have to rush through this post, but I will not be playing Rush in this post.


Last night I got up with Dick Whitman, as I said I was gonna do, and we sat up at the bar, because all we did was split appetizers. Why this means "naturally we sat up at the bar for that" is beyond me.

I look like I have something in my teeth, but I didn't.

You know, I'm playing that stupid Rush song while I'm typing this and it makes me want to kill myself.

Anyway, I really liked our bartender. She was a delight. At the end of the night, the check came, and I did my thing I always do, which is sort of toss the bill in the air like the price has shocked me. Wait. Lemme do it for you now.


I enjoy how that was accompanied by Rush. And how I have on exactly what I had on last night. IT'S BEEN A DUMB MORNING!

The point is, I DO that stupid "the check is here" gesture because my dad does it at restaurants. Which is what I explained to the bartender and she said, "It's amazing, the things we get from our parents. And who knows if your dad got that from HIS dad? What are you, Irish?" she asked, which I am, among other things. I guess the angry Irish hair tipped her off.

"Maybe in the 15th century, some Irish lord was doing that with HIS bill," she said. Which led to me having to explain to her I am CERTAIN I am not descended from lords. Maybe some drunk guy at a shabby pub, Gawaine Gardens or whomever, did that, but he was no lord.


So we had a good time, and I complained about my woes and Whitman complained about his, but then it was time for me to go home and see Ned. By "home" I mean Greensboro, because Whit and I were in Winston-Salem. Does it seem like I'm always traipsing out there instead of him traipsing over here?

At any rate, it was good to see Ned, although some really important baseball event was on, which means we had to watch that, and eventually I got bored and went to bed. "Oh don't go yet!" said Ned, but it was late and, you know, sports. So I went to his room and laid down.

Next thing you know it was morning and Ned had to get to work, and as he ALWAYS does, he says, "Why don't you stay and sleep in? You can leave whenever you want." And as usual I say no, because I have to go home and let out the dogs. You can't do anything decadent when you have dogs. 

Oh, but that reminds me, yesterday after work they were playing in the yard and they were being adorable. They were running all over there like banshees, as fast as they could, so I got the camera, knowing full well as soon as they sensed me looking at them they'd stop playing and come bug me instead. Which is not nearly as photo-worthy.

100_2123This was the only one I got before they were all:

100_2126we see yuuu, mom! we seeeeeeee yuuuuuu! hullo mom! to stop playeeng and see mom!

Won't you enjoy my sisal rug, which I had to scrub the bejeezus out of after Violet left, which I then draped out there to dry and forgot about and now it's covered in leaves?


I like how I said I had to rush through this



and I keep talking. I haven't even gotten to the POINT.

So it was early ludicrous morning and Ned was walking me to my car in his parking lot. Not that he owns a parking lot. Would that he DID, because then this wouldn't have happened.

We were chattering like magpies about something, and we could see the lot as we approached it. "Where the hell's your car?" asked Ned. "Oh, probably stolen. You know how popular 2008 Bugs are."

We got all the way INTO the parking lot before we realized my car? It was not there.

"Did you…no. You didn't park in the other thing, did you?" No, I hadn't parked in the other thing.

"MY POOR CAR!" I said. "I didn't even get to say goodbye to it!" Oh, I was sad. WHY WOULD SOMEONE STEAL A BUG?

"You know, remember I told you a few weeks ago they were gonna hand out guest passes pretty soon? I wonder if I didn't read that announcement carefully enough." But Ned isn't the kind of person who'd read something uncarefully. Have you met his menus?

We had to traipse back up to his house, and he had to call in late to work. "This is Ned. I'm a tramp. Now I'm a tramp having to deal with a woman's stolen car." I had to call MARVIN, because he pays for my car insurance, and thank god I got his voice mail. Because there was someone I wanted to deal with. I could hear his flared nostrils all the way over at Ned's.

Finally he got ahold of the company that runs his building. Turns out? They'd put guest passes on everyone's door while Ned was, yes, out of town. And some idiot STOLE his.


What we had, then, was a lovely drive to a beautiful part of Greensboro, and it turns out there must be a new trend in window treatments: boards. We got to the world's warmest, most cheerful car-towing place, and Ned had to pay $175.

"I didn't even put out!" I exclaimed, which probably delighted the guy at the towing place, who looked like he found his job totally rewarding. He was no bartender from last night, lemme tell you.

Here is Ned ponying up. So when I say MY ludicrous morning I guess I sorta mean NED'S ludicrous morning. Ned pointed out, "What if for once you HAD stayed late at my house? You'd go down there and there'd be no car. And you wouldn't be able to get back into my place," which has gates and key codes and you'd think everyone who lived there collected gold bullion. I mean, Ned does, but everyone? Come on.

I had totally bought a Nissan Cube in my mind, with that insurance money. Crap.

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

Pie Society

Ohmyho, your comments yesterday were DA BOMB. And "ohmyho" is only funny if you READ the comments. Which, really? Really? You don't read the COMMENTS? You have no idea what you are missing. That's like not squeezing the white frostingy stuff on your Danish-Go-Round.

Was it Danish-Go-Rounds that came with the kind of vanilla-orangey super-good-for-you frosting, or was it some kind of Pillsbury product? Also, if your dough came to life and started giggling at you manically, would you not phone your physician rather than gleefully continue making crescent rolls?

At any rate, thanks for the comments, and I DID end up feeling not as tragic before the day was through. So, that worked.

Today Ned is home, although before I see him I am having dinner with Dick Whitman, as he is having some kind of crisis du jour. I mean, I am too, so we can be verklempt together. What a fun duo we'll be. Hope we get one of those long-booth situations so the people next to us can listen in on our hilarity.

But then, THEN, I get to see Ned, who seems to ALWAYS BE OUT OF TOWN lately, and I am likely going to have 11 million dollars in text costs this month. And no, we did not sext. I have never sexted and do not plan to. How can that even be fun? Oh, look, my phone wants to hump me!


At any rate, Ned was not anywhere nearly as fun as Las Vegas this time, which means instead of interviewing prostitutes he was just in his boring hotel room. So I scanned a bunch of pictures of myself that are ridiculous and sent them to him. I mean, what's more fun than looking at pictures of me? Now I will share them with you. Congratulations. After this, maybe we can sext.

Scan 1
Here is my 22nd birthday, with my best friend Donna. I remember four women chipped in to buy me those earrings and that six-pack of Moosehead. The earrings had turquoise polka-dots on them and I wore them constantly. Also, I look super extra sober.

Scan 8
My mom jeans and my stepsister Mil at Griffith Park Observatory. I lived right near that observatory, because I'm a huge fan of James Dean. You know how often I mention him. I remember liking that haircut at the time, and now I'm all: Really, June?

Scan 9
I put this on Facebook, so if you're my Facebook friend you're all smug right now. SEEN IT! BEEN THERE! Be sure to say, Been there, done that, bought the tshirt, cause that's hilarious.

Anyway, my friend Renee and I were training for a marathon, hence the part where we are both so effing hot here. If she didn't live in Hawaii, I'd totally make her re-pose for this in these same clothes, with our 12-years-and-two-kids-later selves. Note all I have to blame it on is the years. At least she created human life.

Do you have any idea how fun it was to live in the same town as Renee? Because it was.

Scan 12
Totally went to my regular bar on my wedding night after the reception. Classy. This is one of my 394994 old boyfriends and my friend Gertrude, who, yes, IS hot. Note there isn't even a band playing. What were we dancing to? The music in our minds? Also, I once again look super extra sober.

This was also already on Facebook, Smuggy. Have you bought the tshirt? Anyway, it was 1985, which means I was 20, and it was 1985, which means I had a perm. A mullet perm. Let's all go get mullet perms like we're our own little society. The Pie Society. You guys go first. I'll catch up with you.

At any rate, I love this picture. I continue to find myself amusing after all these years. Also, I like to look at this and wonder just how many inches larger my thighs are now. Ten? Eighty? Really, that sculpture and me are sort of the before and after of my actual body. Sad.

At least I don't look drunk in that one.

So that sums it up. My pictures of me. I have to get in the shower and get all pretty for seeing Ned. After work. And after Whitman. Hell. I'll get in the shower, look regular, then reshower for the Ned sighting, seeing as it'll be a good 10 hours from now.

And now you know my every detail. Koodles to you.

June's stupid life · Tracy Quartermaine

Ugh. And no, I have not turned into a Native American. Don’t throw your litter, though. That would bring a tear.

Had a dreadful day yesterday, which unfortunately I cannot tell you about. Not every tidbit makes its way onto my blog.

And dear person who thinks, Oh! I'm June's Special Reader! I'll email her and ask!

Yeah, no. Thanks. Thanks so much. (No, Ned and I did not remotely break up. No, seeing Daniel Boone did not result in tragedy. None of the above.)

Everything's going to be okay, probably, but I really feel not at all like blogging today. So could you do me a solid? Could you not kill me for saying "a solid" and could you also send me some kind of cheer-me-up comment?


You so pretty, June.

Here is a million dollars, June.

Attached please find a link to something funny.

Here is an Eleanor Roosevelt quote, June. (I do like me some Eleanor Roosevelt. With her lesbianical sensible shoes and her plain-but-good face.)

Thank you in advance for your prompt attention to this matter. I'll try to pull it together and post tomorrow. I also have a guest post from Jo that I should publish at some point. It's about her adventures in Internet dating. Which I know something about.

Okay, talk at you.

(Oh, god. I just remembered the last time I felt sad and not bloggy was when Carin picked on me. Remember that? Dear Carin or Carinesque person: Please not today. Do me a solid, Carinesque person. Thanks.)

Friends · June's stupid life

Corinthian leather. Wait. That wasn’t the Volare, was it? I don’t care. I like to say, “Corinthian leather.” Cause it’s a thing. Is what it is.

Lately, there has been a bird outside my window in the morning who whistles Volare. I am not making that up.


I wonder if the bird has a perm?

Apparently it's autumn here in North Carolina, finally, which is good, because the summer here is like the winter where I grew up, in Michigan. Let me be sure to tell you all about what Great Lakes were near me when I lived there. The point is, in the summer in the South and in the winter in Michigan you just stay inside and wait for it to be over.

Oh, you get the occasional "I love winter" asshole in the Mitten State, but I never associated with those people. "Oh, I love to SKI! And I love to SKATE! And I love to ICE FISH! And I can't get ENOUGH of fornicating with icicles!!"

Shaddup. You do NOT love winter in Michigan. NO ONE could love the winter there.

Not so long ago, Ned was at the train station and apparently there was a huge map of the U.S. "I looked at Michigan. Wow. It's really…north, isn't it?" Why, yes. It is.

100_2102I don't know how I got off on this tangent when what I MEANT to say is my tree is all changey right now. All hopey changey.

100_2100I have this huge tree in my backyard, right when you walk out the door. I mean, not RIGHT there. You don't have to CRASH into it every time you open the screen door or anything. But I love that tree, and this week it is its prettiest.

100_2104Also, the leaves are all over the deck, which I like, and which I don't have to worry about, because this really nice guy who works for Peg and now for me comes over and cuts the lawn and weeds and rakes the leaves for TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. I know! Someone should tell him he undercharges. But that person is not gonna be me.

100_2107Notice how Talu actually kind of sits still for the camera, although both dogs have blur tails. What slays me is I have almost exactly the same photo I took I think four years ago.

LuisTallulah, circa 2008.

Really, she hasn't aged a bit. Bitch totally Botoxes.

I also decided to take Lily, who is 100% an indoor cat except that time she ran out the door for no reason and I couldn't find her for a horrifying hour, outside to frolic in the leaves. And by "frolic" I mean stand terrifiedly on the shelf on my deck.

100_2119pleese to take lillee back in pleese. also, pleese chaynge lillee font to fall colur. aftur you put lillee BACK IN PLEESE TO DO NOWWWW.

I propped the deck chairs against that shelf to protect them from the elements, sort of. I guess I should go to town and get those chair covers, shouldn't I?

100_2111eyeriss totlee come outside! to take eyeriss outside! no, she rully see gud! i see you! eyeriss see you totlee for sure.

Iris is DYING to be outdoor cat. Maybe it's cause when she was a kitten I'd take her out and hold her on my lap, so it's my own fault.

100_2122dis more lyke it. never to do again, mom.

In other news, because at this point Hulk has hung himself from a giant noose, I had dinner with Daniel Boone last night.

Shut up.

In case you just got here or you're from Poland or Ethiopia, I dated Daniel Boone for a brief and tragic time last year. Then we didn't talk at all, then a few months ago I heard from him, and now we are friends. FRIENDS.

I am impervious to any man but Ned. Seriously. WE ARE FRIENDS.

That photo above was me actually trying to capture that guy's Cosby sweater in the background, but DB's expression is just so DB that I love it.

Daniel Boone lives in Raleigh, and I, you know, don't, so we met in Hillsborough, which is where we had our infamous first date under the Daniel Boone statue a year and a half ago.

And you know what? Dear Hillsborough, You might want to have A FEW RESTAURANTS OPEN on Monday night. Because the glamorous bar where we met, The Wooden Nickel, was effing PACKED.

DrinkmerleIt was good to see DB again. We talked about just everything, and at some point, he said he was going to hell for something or other. "I'm IN hell," he clarified.

"Hell is the Wooden Nickel in Hillsborough," I said. And you know? It might be.

When I drove home, I called Ned on his work trip to let him know I was returning from my dinner. Ned is exceedingly not insecure, so he didn't care who I was having dinner with. Still. I wanted to do a whole, check-in-to-let-you-know-I'm-driving-home-at-9-p.m.-and-not-fornicating-with-D-Boone thing. It was good to talk to Ned, who I may or may not be berserk about.

It just goes to show you. No matter how bad you feel about something, it always gets better eventually. Do you know what'd be really hilarious right now? Is if I said: This too shall pass.

Life's a beach.

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

Do you know what’d be hilarious? Is if I said, “Life’s a beach.” HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!

6a00e54f9367fb8834017d3ce54be4970c-800wiThat guy is screwed.

This weekend, Ned and I went to Wilmington, which in case you live in Poland or Ethiopia (I am HUGE in Ethiopia) (well, I probably would be huge in Ethiopia) or are just really stupid or something, Wilmington is a town in North Carolina that happens to be right next to the ocean.

And I like how I'm judging you for not knowing where Wilmington is, seeing as this weekend Ned, who is coming to Michigan with me for Thanksgiving–or THANKSgiving, as they pronounce it here–said, "Now, which Great Lake is closest to your home town? Is it Lake Huron, or…"


"Because Lake Michigan is to the west–right?–and…"


I mean, what was this, the SATs? Am I really supposed to know which GREAT EFFING LAKE is nearest to my home? Apparently, according to aghast Ned, I was. God. Everyone's so persnickety.

It's Huron. I Googled it when I got home.

At any rate, Wilmington is a cool town, and there were a lot of shops and restaurants and so forth.

IMG_2674I don't know what this was, but I liked it. I guess it was some kind of turnkey project. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA! With that and my hilarious Life's a Beach title. I am on FIRE today. El Fuego.

IMG_2673Oh, and you know what? The apartment building from Blue Velvet was there! We drove past it a couple times and finally got out to take a picture of it, and every time we passed it, I'd say, "Hit me, Jeffrey." Sadly for me, Ned did not chip my tooth at any point this weekend. Dull.

IMG_2683Look! Even the creepy back steps are really there! If you did not see this movie, you will be as lost as I was about the Great Lakes.

Which Great Lake is closest to my house. How many atoms are floating about in this CAR right now? Ned? God.

IMG_2679Fortunately, Ned is fun to walk around and look at shops with, although I did not become that woman who left him holding my purse while I went in and tried things on. I will NEVER be the woman who makes her man hold her purse while she tries things on. If you want to seriously shop, why would you drag a straight man along?

IMG_2678"But I would hold your purse if you asked me to," said Ned, who is officially a Nice Boy. A Nice Boy who I refuse to emasculate in that fashion.

IMG_2677By the way, I WANT ALL THESE. Ned kept encouraging me to buy the lovely quilted dress behind this one. But then I'd be too sexy for my dress.

BAHAHAHAHAAH! Ohhh! Woo! The "I'm too sexy for my…" joke! Somebody STOP me!

I'm telling you. I'm funnier when I'm not this happy.

The good news for all of us is I discovered that Ned–and WHY did this not occur to me?–is the kind of person who walks up to 29,0015,3949 restaurants and looks at the menu on the window and says, "Let's keep looking." Never mind that the person you are with has turned into a skeleton with kwashiorkor clanking behind you.

"Oh, here's another one! {stroll stroll stroll} {peruse peruse peruse}. Okay, let's look at this one across the street!" {stroll stroll stroll} {clank clank clank} (those were my skeleton bones).

So we did that during dinnertime and ended up at the LAST POSSIBLE RESTAURANT. I mean, in front of us was water, to the side of us was a bridge out of town. I am not even making that up. Happily, whatever Ned got was "godDAMMIT!" good, and he mentioned it a lot the next day, as he does.

But in the morning, and by "morning" I mean 2 p.m. because neither Ned nor I bound out of bed, and thank god he's that person, we were looking for a place to have brunch. We went back to the cool part of town we'd been in the night before, got out of the car, and when Ned said, "That looks like a cool diner" I said, "LET'S GO TO IT" and started to cross the street.

Oh, he was flummoxed. "But we…" "Are we just gonna…" "How about we…"

"NO!" I screeched, because I am a fun date. "This looks good. Let's just PICK it!"

And you know what? Do you?

"GodDAMMIT, that vegetable omelet was good!"


IMG_2680In fact, yesterday was kind of the perfect day. You're on the beach with someone you like, the weather was perfect, you find an old boo store.

Ned reads as much as I do, so we were in the Old Boo store for quite a long time.

IMG_2681Do you know what my dream job would be? Trophy wife. But other than that, my dream job would be to own a used bookstore, in an old building with wood floors and lots of light and a bookstore cat. Come see Iris, the blind bookstore cat! It'd be great. That's all I need.

After a long time, Ned found me nestled in the shelves, reading. "What'd you find?" he asked, his arms full of smart-people books.

"…..The unauthorized biography of Tom Cruise," I said.

"Out of all the books in this store, that's what you're reading?"

I guess he thought I'd be consulting a Geography of Michigan book or something.

Anyway, I got a very intellectual book about Wallace Simpson, and then it was time to head back home. Ned had to pack for ANOTHER WORK TRIP, and I had to do some freelance. Unfortunately for us, we drove back STRAIGHT INTO THE SUN, like we were Icarus or something. It was ridiculous. You have no idea.

"God, this is like Freewayhenge or something," said Ned, adjusting his visor fruitlessly.


IMG_2685On the way home, we used the facilities at the Sartre Rest Stop.

Have I mentioned how funny I am today? Hey, did I say Life's a Beach yet?


...friend/Ned · Food and Drink · Friends · June's stupid life

In which Ned returns. And June has a big week of naming her posts “In which.”

Last night, my friend Hibiscus Wilson had a fundraiser for animals, and she invited me. Because you may not know this, but when it comes to animals, I am kind of a fan.

She had it at her downtown office, which is coincidentally where Ned lives, and did I mention Ned has been out of town till yesterday? And that this may have been making me bereft?

He wanted to work out after work, which, really? He's one of those people who enjoys working out, which, really? So the plan was he'd go home and work out like it's fun, then he'd call and I'd leave the fundraiser and go to his house.

At quarter to seven, he called me. "I'm still at work."

Can you imagine? After a hard week in Las Vegas pricing prostitutes, and getting to town at 2:30 a.m. night before last, then he had to go work at work? I mean, again, it's nothing like my grueling 25-hour workweek. Still.

"I'm exhausted, I have a headache, and I am leaving here soon."


"Do you, you know, want to go home and go to bed? I can see you Friday." I said this like if we'd done that, I wouldn't have gone home and cried into my giant pillow. Which is only funny if you saw So I Married an Axe Murderer, which believe it or not is actually funny.


See. I put on a clip where he DOESN'T say the line about "He'll be crying himself to sleep tonight on his giant pillow" because that's the kind of efficient blogger I am.

So I offered the caveat that we could see each other another night, and he said, "Look. I feel awful. I am exhausted. But I'm GOING TO SEE YOU if it's the LAST THING I DO."

So, okay.

IMG_2646Hibiscus's office is on the second floor, right above that theater where Ned and I saw the scary play last week. As I was climbing the stairs, I ran into the woman who taught my running school a couple years ago. Remember when I did that? Anyway. we chatted about my plantar fasciitis, because I am a riveting conversationalist. She gave me some tips, and she mentioned she kept working out the whole time she had it. And, !.

IMG_2647Anyway, the office itself was fancy,

and there was cool art and stuff, and everyone was there eating and buying jewelry and so forth.

I stampeded to the food table.

"Well, hey, June!" It was Jo.

"Mrrphfmppmm!" I said. There were these crab cakes? And also huge strawberries with homemade whipped cream? And cheese? And did I mention the crab cakes? By the end of that thing I was walking sideways.

IMG_2651Do you know who's gonna like me quite a bit? Is Jo, with this picture of her eating god knows what.

The other good news is that Hibiscus had her dogs at the party.

IMG_2659Not that I am one of Hibiscus's dogs. But I WOULD be if she'd be willing to feed me those crab cakes every day. Are crab cakes fattening?

Finally, Ned called and was ready to (wait for it) go to dinner. Man, was I ever starved. Because I hadn't been over there shoving my astrological sign down my gullet all evening or anything. Nevertheless, Jo and I walked down to the restaurant to wait for Ned. She was just gonna say hi and watch us fornicate on the table for a minute before she left.

IMG_2662While we waited, we saw the Yes! Weekly magazine in which she is the cover story. Jo is selling her mom's 394949394924948493 dolls and it's quite the news story here in Greensboro, NC.

She took the magazine with her when she left, and it was after she'd gone I managed to get this:

IMG_2663The Official Ned is Sick of My Blog and Me Memorializing Every Second photo. Also the Ned Never Remembers His Reading Glasses photo. Also the Ned is Exhausted and in a Sparkling Mood photo.

I love that photo.

So that was my night. I hugged dogs and irked Ned.

Mission: Accomplished.

Friends · June's stupid life

In which June outs Lilly, and many blurry photos are taken.

Yesterday afternoon, I got an email from my pal Lilly. Not my cat Lily. My friend Lilly the person.

"So, you're sad without Ned," she wrote.

"I am. It's ridiculous," I said.

"Chris is gone, too, and I am similarly ridiculous. Want to come over for dinner? You can help me with barn chores!"

Now, see. There is NOTHING more exciting to me than the idea of doing barn chores. I totally need my own barn, except for the days when I feel like not doing any sort of chore whatsoever. I totally need a barn of animals who can clean up after their own damn selves.

"I'LL BE THERE AT 6:30!" I emailed back.

Isn't it nice that Lilly actually misses her, you know, husband when he's gone? When Marvin would be gone I'd be so gleeful to have the house to myself. Sometimes I think I'd be better served just living alone forever and dating, like Katherine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart. I mean, he had that pesky wife and that's why they weren't together, but still.

I was excited to see Lilly, because I like Lilly and also I wanted to see her progress. Because she is finally letting me reveal to you what I have known for MONTHS and had to keep under my hat, which you know I don't like doing because I like to reveal news and have drama and so forth.

Lilly is pregnant!

With child!

In a family way!

And so on.

I found out a week after my birthday party that Jo threw, because AT the party Chris and Lilly were all, "You guys wanna go to a dive bar next weekend and see a band?" and we were all, "Yeah," and what was funny about that was that going to a dive bar to see a band is something late-20s Chris and Lilly would never do, and something late-40s Ned and I would do any old weekend.

The point is, Lilly canceled the next weekend because she felt so ill, and she told me why. Because she was pregnant and I was the father.

June Gardens, you ARE the father.

So that's been exciting.

Anyway, she's due March 16, which according to my math means she's 47 months along now, and last time I saw the heifer she was still gorgeous. I was kind of hoping for a chink in the armour yesterday, but she's still hot. She said she's waiting for the two-ax-handle ass, but I'll bet she'll be that bitch who looks the same from behind with that teeny "oh, bloop! Here's my baby!" in the front.

I'd show you a picture but, remember, she doesn't like her picture on my blog. THANKS, LILLY. We all want to abhor you for being cute and look what you've done to us.

As luck would have it, I had to work late and I/AM/SURE. I already put a scathing 25 hours a week in. What do they WANT from me? Blood? God.

So I screamed home and got out of work clothes:

and put on farm clothes:

IMG_2620Do you like my boots? I LOVE my boots.

IMG_2644Here's an actual, unretouched photo of them at the real farm! I know! Faithful readers from way back (Culpepper) will recall when I got these. Talu was still a puppy.

Ohhh. Puppy Talu. I'm glad she's a grownup now and calm and so forth, but God she was a cute puppy.

PullHere's a picture I took of Lu yesterday morning:

LuI love that dog. But I digress.

IMG_2622The point is, I left late and my stupid camera battery was dead from going to the fair, so I had to use my iPhone 3, which is not stunning in low light. The last time I drove to Chris and Lilly's was in the spring, and that was a beautiful drive, and now driving there in the fall was just as pretty.

IMG_2623As soon as I got there, we schlepped out to do barn chores. Oooo! I was so excited.

IMG_2625The dogs, who I annoyingly call The Black One and The Yellow One, came with us.

IMG_2628Barn kittyses!

IMG_2637Hello, horsie! I love you, horsie!

IMG_2630Hello, …birdses of some kind! I love you, birdses!

6a00e54f9367fb8834017ee441769f970d-800wiHello, more birdses! I love youuuuuuu!

Guess who was doing a lot of barn chores? I mean, going around kissing geeese is totally a barn chore. Also, it was around this time that Lilly started telling me who was getting ready to get eaten for what occasion, and I kept saying, "DON'T SAY THAT IN FRONT OF THEM!" but I guess when you LIVE at a farm you are more casual about the whole, "In two weeks, you'll be sausage!" thing.

Eventually, she called in one of her horses (the streetlights were totally on) and I took action shots of her coming home.

IMG_2641She went in there and did whatever it is horses do when they first get home–check their email, eat some yogurt–then she came back out and cornered me with her snout or whatever it's called. "Lilly? Is…horsie nice?" I asked. Because guess what seems big when it's cornering you. She was riveted by my cell phone.

"Dat eye fone three? Why you gots sech old phone? Hrrrrrrr!"

After that, I was pretty exhausted from all the chores I helped pregnant Lilly with–and don't you want to be my friend too?–so we headed in to eat.

Because she's got a, you know, fetus or zygote or whatever you'd call something 47 months old in your gullet, I didn't bring wine to dinner. "Oh, I have nonalcoholic Chardonnay!" she said. "It's just awful."

IMG_2645This was us drinking the nonalcoholic Chardonnay. "Wow, this is…not as bad as I thought it might be." "Yeah! It's not THAT terrible." "Maybe it had time to get less awful while it remained in your fridge." "Yeah, maybe."

Enthusiastic? Headed out for another bottle? Wooo! Were we ever.

So that's the story. Ned texted me while I was there and was very excited to say, "Leaving Las Vegas," and then he was irked I didn't see the text right away. "I've been waiting all week to say that," he wrote. Anyway, I see him tonight and as you can imagine I'm pretty indifferent to that thought. Whatever. Ned. Pfft.

Did I mention he leaves again Monday for ANOTHER $#%%&&# work trip? GOD. Between that and my insane 25-hour work week and my barn chores, it's a wonder if we're able to get together at all.

June, helpful and out.

...friend/Ned · June can't keep a man · June's stupid life

In which Ned meets Belle Watling

I can tell you now, because he's pretty much headed out of there, but Ned was in Las Vegas for work. He is a professional Celine Dion impersonator.

He was supposed to leave Tuesday afternoon (TUESSSSDAYYY AAAAAFTERNOON! Who sings that depressing old song?), and I was gonna be all CUNextTuesday and so forth (my favorite hairdresser in LA taught me that. "She was a total CUNextTuesday," he said, and I spit up, is what I did) and then he had to stay another day.

Ned is a professional Blue Man. The show was held over.

His being gone another day to fill in as a minister at the drive-thru wedding chapel dampens my spirits considerably, because even though Ned and I could easily go Monday through Wednesday not seeing each other, just the THOUGHT that I CAN'T zip over and see him makes me sad.

Damn Vegas's need for more go-go dancers in gay nightclubs.

The point of this story is that the first night he got there, he won $125 gambling and as much as he wanted to stampede over and try to buy first-row Cher tickets, he decided to have a drink at the bar and people watch. I have been to Vegas three or four times and I effing LOVE people-watching there. So feeling him on this desire.

But apparently I was not the only one feeling him, because it wasn't long before a woman he described as "actually young and pretty" approached him. "Where you from?" she wondered. He told her. "You want to go up to your room?"

See. My whole postadolescent life I been picking up mens and it never occurred to me to cut to the chase this quickly. I mean, does that work, generally?

Ned had a brief moment of panic. How was he going to diffuse the situation? He thought about saying, "I'm married" and don't fret, he isn't. This isn't a Very Special Episode of Bye Bye, Pie or anything. But he realized saying he was married would not dissuade this person, who probably wasn't all up in the morals. At any rate, he turned her down, but couldn't help but ask, "Just out of curiosity, how much is it, anyway?"


How much do you THINK a Las Vegas prostitute runs? How much? Because I was appalled.

"Three hundred," she said. "THREE HUNDRED AN HOUR?" asked Ned, whose stint as a lion tamer for Sigfried and what's left of Roy started to seem lame.

"No, for a half-hour. It's 500 for the hour," she said.


I am sorry to tell you that Vilhelm and I figured this out at work; if you prostituted a 40-hour week, you'd be almost a millionaire. And that city never sleeps, so you could put in the overtime if you felt like it.


Holy cats. I mean, what's she got that I don't? Does she have secret squirrel techniques we don't know about? Or is it like when you have to spend $12 for a sandwich at the airport because that's all that's available?

Anyway, that was exciting. I mentioned to Ned that if he won more money he might want to check out the half hour deal, just for research purposes. For my blog. You know. He seemed not so amenable to that plan, but then again he's working a LOT of hours as a pit boss, so.

I mean, there's a teensy part of me that's all GET OFF MY MAN and gouging out her eyes and pulling her hair and so on, but mostly I'm all, girlfriend has to make a living. It wasn't personal.


That's about all I have to tell you, except that I got my roots done last night and as I sat in the chair it occurred to me that I really like that old Bangles song Going Down to Liverpool and why didn't I have it on my iPod.


So I came home and PUT it on my iPod, and by the way I desperately wish I had some opportunity to just drive around and annoy Leonard Nemoy like that. I really do.

MY POINT IS, I wanted to do my Susanna Hoffs impression for you.

You're welcome. That'll be $500, please.

June's stupid life · Television

I think I was talking about Lulu, and how it must’ve sucked to be around all the other pretty Hee Haw actresses. Is how that got started.

I got no time to talk  to you, girl. I just got back from the vet, where Edsel had his stitches removed.

IMG_2603not to do to edz agan, mom.

He had a reaction to his sutures, they call them "sutures" there to make it all fancy and justify the part where it cost $34949494, so he has to be on pain/swelling medication now for 10 days. Between his surgery and Talu's hurt paw and her ear infection and Iris' tapeworm, I have been doling out meds for a month.

Oh, did I not TELL you about Iris' tapeworm? Yes. Mmmm!

At any rate, we have screamed home from the vet and I have to get my glasses fixed (lost a screw) (story of my life) (speaking of which, Ned is going to be gone another day on his work trip and this makes me not happy) and then I might get a pedicure because hello hooves and then I have to do some more freelance work before work.

So I can't just sit here like a lady of luxury and blog at you. Is what I am throwing down.

Before I go, tell me this. What TV show do you think was the worst TV show of all time? It can't be something that ran a few episodes and got canceled. Something that was an actual show and in retrospect it totally sucked. I ask this because Ned and I got into a discussion about Hee Haw. Enough said on that one.

Okay, tell.

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


I haven't wanted to haunt the fire department with 6,000 emails and calls. "How's Violet?" "How's Violet now?" "Whaddup with Vi?" so I waited until yesterday. They emailed me back.

"Violet/Sparkles is doing great. She has the bed we got her, but she also made a bed for herself in the day room. She is so smart. She's only had one accident in the fire station. Lots of people in town have come to visit!"

I can just see her with a hammer, holding nails in her little puppy mouth, making a bed for the dayroom.

And how bad do I suck? Because even though she went every time I took her out, she also had 49485849 accidents indoors. I guess having 25 people monitor her instead of one distracted person who's trying to watch Friday Night Lights on Netflix bodes better for her potty training.

So while I still have you in the glow of, "Isn't that Violet Goes to the Firehouse a Lovely Story," I'll tell you the tale of what a hideous friend/coworker I am.

When I still worked full time at my fake work where I freelance now, I met Poochie, who is what you'd call a fashion plate.

Here is JUST ONE of her shoe closets. Don't you kind of wish she were leaving all these to you in her will? Say, Poochie, who you leaving these to in your will? I mean, just out of curiosity. No, I don't have a giant ax behind my back. Why?

So, here we are back together again at work for five hours a day, and on Friday I popped into her office to say hello. "Sayyyyy, Poochie! How's it—ohmygod! You look just like Cathy from the comic!"

Dudes. She totally did. She totally had on a Cathy-comic shirt.

"I DO NOT LOOK LIKE CATHY!" she screeched. Then she said, "AACK."

Cathy comic
Oh, guess who hated me all day. When I came in with my camera, she said, "WHY are you taking a picture?" "Oh, Cathy. You know why. Will you part your hair down the middle for me? Come on."

Poochie is so cranky.

"I'm never wearing this shirt again," she said. But I reminded her that Irving would be super-pissed if she wasted money on a shirt she only wore once.

June. Pleasing to her work friends since 2012. We won't mention the 1998 incident where my coworker Jerry turned 50 and I replaced his office chair with a rocking chair.

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

My Weekend, by June “Tap” Gardens

Yesterday in the comments, someone linked us to an old movie called State Fair and one of the actors listed in the credits was Edward "Tap" Canutt, and for some reason this killed me. And by the way, if you ever wish to torture me, link me to several Rogers and Hammerstein musicals such as State Fair, over there. Good gravy.

Musicals. Why?

That's what I want on my tombstone. June "Tap" Gardens. 1965-2087. Musicals. Why?

I like how Ima live to be 222. Wait. One hundred twenty-two. June "Tap" Gardens. Math. Why?

At any rate, how are y'all? Did you have fine weekends? I realize Sunday is still early, but Ned had to leave today for a business trip and I am bereft in the way only people in a new relationship get bereft about these sorts of things, so anyway for me the weekend is over. OVER!

"So I get home Wednesday," said Ned. "You'll see me Wednesday night, right?"

I mean, seriously? "NOTHING BUT DEATH CAN KEEP ME FROM IT!" Which is only funny if you have watched The Color Purple 80 times.

In fact, our parting when he had to leave for the airport was a tad Nettie and Celie-ish.


Speaking of Ned, on Friday we went to a play.

It was in this little room, with little round tables instead of theater seating. The play was The Woman in Black, and holy cats! It was supposed to be scary and I thought, Oh, how scary can a PLAY be? But you know what? It scared the crap out of me. Which was awkward, but I just shoved it under my round table.

We ran into this guy I work with, who Ima call Not Wes. Even though he and I have exchanged emails and I know he's been reading my blog, we work on different floors so we'd never met. Then Friday at work we finally DID meet, and lo and behold there he was at the play. So he sat with us because his friend stood him up, and oh, did we love Not Wes, Ned and me. We all told ghost stories and scared ourselves further.

IMG_2578I took, like, 106 pictures of Ned that night and of course they all came out blurry and once again I'd like to invite you to send me an iPhone 5. I don't know why anyone isn't taking me up on that invite.

Then yesterday, we went to the fair. As you saw from yesterday's brief post and IT WAS BBQ CHICKEN, people! Jesus.

100_2048It's funny that out of the 92 photos I took yesterday that I threw in the Ferris wheel first. Because getting on that Ferris wheel? People had an easier time boarding Sputnik. No one rode Sputnik except some dog, did they? You know why? Probably because the same people running Sputnik ran this fair.

100_2030(Oh, that reminds me, I've got to call you. heeeeeeeee!)

Seriously, the place was packed, and that Ferris wheel was always off in the distance, like a mirage. We'd schlep over to where we thought it was, only to encounter a barn or a truck lot or a fence, and we could NEVER GET TO THE DAMN RIDE.

100_2034(Ned sniffing tobacco leaves. Once a smoker…)

100_2051(By the way, the fair needs one is.) (And how much are you enjoying me interrupting my own story to show you these dumb pictures?)

We even bought tickets (you needed TEN!) to GET on the damn Ferris Wheel. Finally, FINALLY, we got to it and the line was 495595-3-59554832485954045utr8*%*($4059304 feet long, and once we were reasonably close?

It broke.


100_2056(This must've been before the Ferris wheel made me want to cock-punch someone.)

So we turned around and schlepped–SCHLEPPPPPPPPED–past the crowds and the rides and the barns and the people (Tip from June "Tap" Gardens: If your child needs a stroller, your child is TOO YOUNG FOR THE FAIR.) and the crowds and the hoards (Tip from June "Tap" Gardens: Get your @#&&#$ stroller OUT MY WAY.) and we finally got to the OTHER Ferris wheel.

Guess what? Everyone ELSE in line for the first Ferris wheel had had the same thought. So the line extended to Tibet.

100_2093(Ned is totally into scary rides. I am totally not at all remotely into
scary rides at all even a bit. Guess what we did not do? I OFFERED to STAND there in the
lines with him and WATCH, but he wouldn't go.) (Ned totally wanted to go on this and shake it around and make it spin more and then vomit seven times onto the fairway. That.Spells.Fun.)

What I am trying to tell you is Ned and I did not ride the Ferris wheel yesterday, and I for one am huffy about it.

100_2059But we saw lots of good things.

100_2099You guys. Twenty-nine TINY inches SMALL.

Would you be interested in knowing where a proofreader might jab herself in the head with a corn dog stick because she is so frustrated?

100_2089The fair might frustrate a proofreader everytime one word.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017c328679ef970b-800wiFortunately, I could have a fried MUCHroom to console myself. I was so irritated with MUCHroom that I did not have my usual hives over the word "veggies."

Veggies. Stick a horse member in my eye. Jesus.

100_2090Ned said he was going to win me a prize, that he never lost at Whack-a-Mole. Ned is a dermatologist. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAHAHA. So he whacked away, so to speak, and guess what.


"I NEVER LOSE at this game. Whack-a-Mole is my game," he insisted, while I went home with bupkis.

100_2047I also dragged Ned into my favorite thing, the old church in the Yesteryear part of the fair. It'd been a Baptist church attended by a mostly black crowd, and somehow the fair got it. It's the South. They probably just marched in and carted it away.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017ee42a6671970d-800wiI love that old church. Everyone who was a member of it had to make their own pew, so each one is a little different. Can you imagine? BYOP!

100_2040Here's Ned blurrily feigning interest in the docent or whatever you'd call a guy who stands in an old church and tells you its history. I mean, maybe you'd call him "nutbag." It could be that he didn't work for the fair at all and we were all, Tell us more!

IMG_2589Worlds no apostrophe Tallest Girl. I mean, were they TRYING to give me angina?

100_2058I don't know why this cracked me up. Hot fish! Mmm! Once I was a kid and I was having a tantrum about not wanting to go somewhere. My mother was entirely fed up with me. "You cut out this crying, and get in there and wash your face with hot soap and water. We're going. Come on."

I stopped crying immediately. "Hot soap?"

100_2057As for Ned and me, we got fried green tomatoes, and he got the barbecue chicken, and we had those flavored almonds, you know the ones. They have vanilla flavor and maple and gross flavors like blueberry cheesecake. I mean, really? Who wants to eat a blueberry cheesecake almond? We have our limits.

All told, we could've eaten much worse than we did.

100_2068We also went to the bees and honey exhibit, since I'd already broken out in hives due to the errors on all the signs. I don't mean to drone on, but for some reason the bees are my favorite. I like to comb through the whole exhibit.

100_2063Okay, I'm done. Sorry, I'm kind of buzzed.

100_2072Ned took the opportunity to buy some honey next to Indiana Jones. It was an adventure.

100_2070Do you know what I don't really like? Apples. Whenever I tell someone that they act like I just said I don't like water or something. I mean, I'll eat a green apple, particularly if it's covered in caramel. Just not an apple fan. Other than my computer.

100_2097Ned is SO not into me. Where the hell is he looking, and why was he sprayed by Roy G. Biv?

100_2094Yes, we did pay to see this. And eventually we rode some rides, too. I went on those swings? The ones that spin around and go way up high? Now, see, for me that is one scary effing ride, but I know Ned thought I was being Wimpus Americanus. WhatEVER with him and his Indiana Jones honey-buying adventure self.

100_2084Eventually, we saw everything there was to see, and after walking five hours on my plantars fascitis, I was ready to call it a day. (Honestly, the pain was exquisite at that point. Exquisite. Oh my shattered arse.) (Yes, I DO have to get back to the doctor.) (Good gravy.)

We had dinner in Raleigh, since we were there already, and I saw this doggie in a store.

IMG_2598And no, I did NOT ask how much was that doggie in the window. I have the feeling she is priceless. I LOVE YOU DOGGEEEEE! Show up in my car someday, okay?

I guess that's all I have to tell you about my weekend.

IMG_2588Because I'm glad you reminded me. I DO need to call you still. heeee. again.

June can't keep a man · June's stupid life · Marvin

Step Work

If there's anything I learned from the media–or maybe I could be hilarious and call it the lamestream media–coming to my house, it's that my porch steps need to be painted. And I love the people who pointed it out to me, like I didn't notice that and the trashy fan on my deck. My attic won't open (long story) (who needs a handyman? Is it me?), so I can't store the fan in there and–oh, forget it.

Anyway, here's where I need your help. Can you send your husband over to fix my attic and paint my steps? No. No. Although that'd be great, actually.

100_2024What I need your help with is for you to tell me what color I should paint the stairs and door.

Here. Here's a whole picture of my house, and it would have been quicker for me to just go outside and take a photo but instead I googled my blog and then "+ yard" "+ ivy" "+ house" until I was ready to impale myself with a plus sign and also screech. I was ready to impale myself with Screech.

The point is, I finally found this photo of my whole house, and in this particular blog post, I'd left an Oprah magazine out thats cover read, "Oprah's battle with food is over!" Marvin looked at that and said, "Food won."

Sometimes Marvin kills me, in retrospect. He posthumously slays me. Does anyone else miss Marvin from time to time? Not like that. You know I'm all Team Ned at this point.

In fact, Ned and I were talking about how some people have a huge impact on your life, and they might not even be anyone you were close to or even liked. And here's where I desperately hope this person hasn't somehow found my blog, because you would not believe the people from my past who have found this. So far they have all been happy discoveries from people I enjoy, but if this poor sap is reading Ima feel terrible.

My point is, and I know I already said that two paragraphs ago and who rambles? Is it June? My POINT is, I worked with this woman in Seattle who I did not much care for. She was the most self-centered person you've ever met. At meetings we'd play the "I" drinking game. Every time she brought the conversation–the WORK conversation–back around to herself, we'd drink our coffee. We all had to pee like demons at the end of meetings.

You know how those demons are famous for just having pee fests.

However, we were all losing our jobs at that place because it was closing, and this woman was already scoring a new job because we actually had an economy back then, and she ended up getting me a job there too. Because of this, I met a bunch of people who are my friends to this day, and she also introduced me to a man I dated and lived with for over a year.

Meeting her lead to my marrying Marvin, which is a whole long story but trust me. (Okay, see, like I said I met a lot of friends at the job she got for me. One of those friends and I went to a strawberry festival. I know! Yayyy, seeds! At the festival was a psychic who naturally I stampeded to talk to. She said I had a curse on my love life and for $10 she'd lift it. I borrowed $10 from my friend and THAT NIGHT met Jonah, the film-student boyfriend I had who said, "I'd like to meet your old boyfriend who works on movies in Los Angeles." So I invited Marvin to visit me and boom we were married.)

If I hadn't married Marvin, I'd never have moved to Greensboro and never met Ned.

All because of that stupid woman who literally had a shrine to herself on her wall at home. She even had letters up there that spelled her name. Honest to God.

Which is my very brief way of saying some people impact your life and you never know who that's gonna be. Do you have anyone like that?

You'd all impact my life if you told me what color to paint my steps and door. Ned, of the met-him-due-to-a-strawberry-festival-in-1996 Neds, said he'd help. When you have All This, men help you paint your steps. I think the attic problem would flummox him, though. It seems like a major undertaking.

Ima go now so you can contemplate paint samples, but I managed to take pictures of my pets while I was headed out to photograph the steps.

100_2017I love Lily's little tippy toes.

100_2025why mom gots to bug lu.

Apparently someone needed discipline last night, seeing as the purple squirter is on the couch. Sadly I cannot even recall what transgression occurred.

100_2026I traded in Edsel for a paper towel roll. Seemed reasonable. Actually this is a harsh reminder of what it's like to have a puppy. You scream through a LOT of paper towels. There is much to clean.

This photo is a sad portrait of my life, actually. The brochure is from an art exhibit, which makes me seem super intellectual and you know how true that is. There's Ned's wine, back there. He likes red wine so I try to keep some on hand. Then of course there are pill pockets for dogs, which Ned likes to munch on. Behind those is a job candle. And on the window sill are two (2) kinds of dog meds. Pill pockets, wine and job candles. Now I'm sort of depressed.

Okay, I'm going now, to stick my head in the oven. Be sure to tell me about step colors. Or send paper towels. Whichev.

I hate everything · June's stupid life

The Dude Abides

100_2008I got up this morning and walked in and saw her empty crate.


I  knew I'd feel bad, but I didn't know I'd feel THIS bad. Oh, how I grew to love that little round head.

IMG_2533Yesterday I took Violet to the fire station, where she is going to live forever. I refuse to write "furever home." If I were an animal and someone told me I was going to a "furever home" I would go Pit on them. Even if I were a Persian.

IMG_2549A ton of firefighters showed up at the station to meet her. They'd already gotten her a little bed, and some chewies, and a toy pig. And the world's largest bowls, which she ate out of even though I'd just fed her on the way over.

Everyone was standing around her and one of them said, "Who's your daddy? You got 25 of them!" Everybody laughed.

IMG_2538But there did seem to be one guy she gravitated to more than the others. And lucky for her, he's the guy who lives there all the time, and her little bed is right next to his. She's gonna be PISSED about giving up her firearms.

IMG_2542It was on the news last night, the story of her going to live with the firemen, and they said they were going to teach her to stop, drop and roll so she can demonstrate it to classrooms. "And, she'll know what to do if she ever catches on fire," said helpful Ned. Who has had to watch me mope.

Screen Shot 2012-10-11 at 10.34.51 AMYou can click on this to see it better. Also, am seriously considering adding roiling flames to my blog design. What say you? Relaxing.

IMG_2556So. I know she'll be loved and cared for. By many burly men. Who seem to favor pink. I know she'll have a good life.

I just wish I didn't miss her so much. And that she hadn't watched me drive away the whole way out of the lot.

But I know I did the right thing, and that this will hurt less eventually. And I have an open invitation to stop by any time. Hang at the firehouse. Maybe they'll let me slide down the pole. So to speak.

Carry on.