...friend/Ned · June's stupid life

Man’s headaches stop after ax is removed from his head

I saw that headline once in the Weekly World News and I spit up.

Migraine today. Talk like Indian. Sorry. Talk like Native American.

Ned and I made up. We made up about four hours after I blogged yesterday, but I enjoyed reading all your theories. Could you have all been more dramatic? HE'S CHEATING! HE'S A WOMAN! HE BEAT HERRRRRR! He beat her with IRIS!!!!!!!!

It was 1/3030304004th that exciting, really.

Okay, going. Dragged self to work and there is nothing to do so am so glad did so. Indian talk again. Ungowa.

Hair Big as Mountain make up with He Who Beat Woman with Cat. Hair Big as Mountain offend entire community of Native peoples. Hair Big as Mountain Suck Ass. Hair Big as Mountain fire for blog at fake work. Hair Big as Mountain seem to segue into pet speak.

Oh, my head.

Beauty products · Hair · June's stupid life

How many of them hormones you been takin’, honey?

I just thought of that line from Fried Green Tomatoes and I like it. In reality I am taking zero hormones. In the immortal words of my grandfather, "How do you make a hormone? Don't pay her."

Hello! I plan to make no sense today whatsoever. It's the hormones.

My grandfather also used to say, "Wish in one hand, shit in the other. See which gets filled up first." Basically he said a lot of things that I completely did not understand until I got older and sat there and parsed them.

My GRANDMOTHER, who was the QUEEN of stuff that made no sense, said, "You tell him your ass would make him a Sunday face," which I have told you all before and I believe it flummoxed you as well. See. My ass, which let's all sit around and think about that disaster for a minute. Okay. My ass, which apparently is not great, would make someone else a Sunday face. A Sunday face being as good as you can look. So the best you can look is to look like my ass.

Do you get it now? Good. Go take a hormone.

I got my hair colored last night. Ned paid for it. He didn't inTENtionally pay for it. For my birthday he got me a certificate to a spa, and since then I have gone there for a manicure and then for a massage, but I just found out from TinaDoris they do good hair there, so I got my color done and used his certificate. My colorist looks exactly like Maria Shriver only not devoid of fat in her face. I mean, my colorist looks like a young, fresh Maria Shriver.

Don't get me wrong. We all age and become less than fresh, I know. But those Kennedy women seem to do it so dramatically. BOOM! I'm an apple doll! They're kind of like Asian women. I look great! I look great! I'm 60 and I still look great! I'm–BOOM! Apple doll.

At least we white women fall apart spectacularly obviously with each year. I should do a photo essay of me each year from 20 to the present so we can see the decline. That sounds cheerful.

Anyway, here's my hair.

IMG_2884Here's old Puff Daddy in the bathroom at work, before I left for my hair appointment. I don't know why I'm even bothering to show you this, because you can't really even see the color.

Photo on 11-27-12 at 9.12 PM #2And yay! Here are my NEW HIGHLIGHTS and base color. I am the one who is kind of dark blonde. The gray and white one is my cat. The gray and white one would be me if I didn't use Ned's gift cards to color my hair.

I like to, you know, NOT TALK at the hairdresser. I enjoy looking at an Elle (God, I love E. Jean, the advice columnist), drinking the water they give you like it's luxurious, and just all-around mellowing out. You know? But hairdressers, and I think particularly SOUTHERN hairdressers, think it's crucial to CHAT YOU UP while they're working.

What I was kind of hoping is she'd, you know, surmise that I wanted quiet time while I was there. I mean, I know some women will chat your ear off while you're working on them, but I am not that person. Shouldn't a hairdresser be able to glean, once your client grabs her an Elle, that she's not a chatter?

"So, you go anywhere for the holiday?"

"Yes." {flip, flip, flip pages.}

"…You going anywhere for Christmas?"

"Nope. {smile at E. Jean's brilliance}

I don't know. Maybe I should just say, "You are free to spend the next two hours thinking your thoughts while I read about why clashing eye shadow and lipstick are in."

Have you seen this? Have you seen the weird middle-of-your-eyelid eyeliner crap they're doing and so on? I am not choosing to embrace. When I was 20 I would have. I embraced everything. Thank heavens for penicillin.

See. I am kidding there. Am allergic to penicillin.

Tonight, even though I have another statistics book to proofread and I started it last night, I am going to make chicken soup for Ned. I already announced it to him heroically so now I can't back out. Am hoping it goes better than the pie I made for Ned. Oh, that was a disaster. Soup's not that hard, right? And stop throwing the word "stock" at me.

I guess that's all I have to tell you, other than Ned sounds like Harvey Fierstein, and I use that example EVERY time someone has a cold and I need new lines desperately. He keeps saying his cold is not that bad, and I had to talk him into not going for a bike ride in the cold rain last night. The cold November rain.

 

You are completely welcome.

June's stupid life · Not Grace Kelly

In which all four pets are shown. You’re welcome.

I thought I'd tell you about my day yesterday, as supposedly that's what this blog is about and I really don't often just recap a day. Mostly because that sounds boring. As opposed to The Riveting that is this blog.

I hadn't had time to get the dogs at daycare on Sunday because they close at 5:00, which, hello dog daycare. Could you STAY OPEN on Sunday so people GETTING IN don't have to rush? God. What about my needs?

Anyway I woke up with Lily on me, as she often is, but I really expected to find Iris taking advantage of the No Dog Moment–and apparently I am way into capital letters for emphasis today, and Yay. But there was no Iris, I was Iris-Free, and it turns out she was stuck in the computer room all night. Poor blindy Iris.

IMG_2876it be suk, mom.

This happens to her a LOT. Fortunately a litterbox is in there, but I really don't get how that door closes. It occurs to me that Lily might close it and walk away giggling.

Anyway I stampeded to work and as soon as I got there I realized I had my underwear in my purse. We'd been leaving the hotel on Sunday, see, and I saw it lying there at the last minute after I was packed and out the door. So I just crammed it in my purse and go, me. Naturally I don't discover it till I'm AT WORK.

I work not in a cubicle but just in this big open room with some art people and some other editor types. So when I ONCE AGAIN forgot I had underwear in my purse and I pulled them out to blow my nose on them, you can imagine my joy. Do you remember when the same thing happened to Grace Kelly in–yeah, no. That never happened to Grace Kelly anywhere.

I got that sore-shoulder thing from working so intently, and finally at lunch I got the dogs, who were not berserk at all about seeing me. Edsel wept and prayed and even stoic Talu was awfully tail flappy. As usual, they acted the fools till daycare was out of sight, then they both went, "Hphpmmmmmmmmmm" and fell asleep in the car. They've basically been asleep ever since and man is that lovely. I wish I always had quiet exhausted dogs.

Maybe I should be one of those people who gets up at 5:00 and takes them for a big run in the park. Oh, and also, did you see the wild monkeys flying out my ass? Also, did you see where 1990 called and wants it joke back?

At any rate, the good news is I got two checks yesterday from two places I've been freelancing, so with my rich self I went to the grocery store after work to deposit my cash. Not that I deposit them in the canned goods or anything. "I go to the store and shove my checks in the meat and I never seem to have any money." There is a BANK there, see, with a really lovely funny gay man who is my teller every time, and I went there. Is the thing.

After I was done I moseyed to the salad bar to make dinner, and sadly that is as hard as I ever make dinner, when I heard, "Hey!"

It was Ned! I guess I should have known, anywhere a salad goes, Ned follows.

"HEYYY!" I screeched, and leaped across the salad bar to kiss him.

"I'm sick," he said. Which, you know, there's my luck. I use a javelin to sproing across something in order to stick my tongue down someone's throat, and it turns out they have Lasa Fever.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked nervously, headed for the iodine like Lucy. Turns out he's getting a cold, which you KNOW I'll get, because I just spent every second of the last five days with Ned. I dragged him over to the saline and made him buy some, because more than once I thought a cold was imminent and once I shot the saline up my nose parts I felt infinitely better.

Ned, too, was (sit down) making a salad, but he also got the "free sample" cups down and got us both soup. "I do this every day," he said, eating chicken and dumplings from a teensy spoon. "You aren't supposed to do that," I said, getting all Gallant-y.

"Why not? It's a sample." He headed off for free samples of brown pretentious bread.

If you have a Harris Teeter near you and you wonder why it's so costly, look no further than Free Sample Ned, over here.

As we headed home he said he'd call later and I never heard from him. He has never said he'd call and then didn't, so now I worry he's delirious with fever or something. Further reports as developments warrant.

When I got home I did my Tracy Anderson workout for the first time in over a month, and I'm annoyed to report my heel hurts today. GodDAMMIT. I also unpacked, put away laundry, swept the floors and FINISHED MY POLISH WORK that I've been doing.

Which, yay.

Finally I made popcorn and read a book.
IMG_2874Except you know what? I was done sooner than I thought.

IMG_2880Talu was so exhausted she didn't even CARE about popcorn. Dear Dog Daycare, Thank you for making my dogs entirely different people. Love, June.

IMG_2868I took a picture of Lily sitting on my shoulder like a parrot, too. We were doing this on the planet Mercury, which is why it was so bright.

I guess that's all I have for you. Got your Thanksgiving photos. Now I have to worry about getting them on here and the inevitable person I will forget and the eventual frowny-face emoticon.

Will let you know if Ned survived the night as soon as I hear from him. Will let you know when I get sick, as well. In fact, if I do get sick, I can pretty much guarantee you will hear little else.

Nasally, June

...friend/Ned · Family · Friends · June's stupid life · Photo essays

June captures her trip on film. Story at 11:00.

I just got home from Michigan, and man, what a short, fun ride THAT is, but the good news is Ned and I still like each other. Which, you know. Twenty-six hours in the car with somebody, plus the whole meeting-the-family thing, it was touch and go. But we're still a go.

I put my memory card in just now, so allow me to just slap photos up here hither and yon so's you can see what you missed. I totally invited you. Why didn't you join us?

100_2192Look who is cute. Is it us? I like Ned. Also too, so did my family. At least that's what they told me. Maybe in reality they're all, "God, what a nightmare THAT guy was." But I doubt it. How can you not love you The Ned? Yes, I just totally called him The Ned.

100_2193Dude, I don't know what to tell you about my mom. Old Walk Like an Egyptian, there, is doing dishes with my stepfather and stepsister. Note the part where I recorded everything for posterity and did not help with the dishes.

FakesmilemomIt is my fault that my stepsister married her husband. They met at a Thanksgiving I had, then I forced them together when I saw sparks. They have been married 10 years now, though, so I am just saying. Go, June.

100_2200I blame Sue. Here is my saintly Aunt Sue, who looks hot, and when I told her, she said, "I AM hot," then fanned herself with her sweater. See above re: Saintly.

100_2206My mom's dog Gus, who is smiling as though he would NEVER attack puppy Tallulah. wut? guz bite ennosent pupee? you haff wrong dug.

100_2218Gus, moments later, after he has been struck down by God.

100_2221Ned, his purse, and gansta mom. I shudder to think about what conversation I walked in on, here. "Are you sleeping with my daughter, Ned? Boy oh boy. That's real rude."

100_2229I tried, God knows I did, to take Ned to the Pub, my local hang when I lived in Saginaw, but it was closed. Here he is, though, in the door, and if you look carefully you can see snow flying.

100_2230My not-at-all-gorgeous friend Gertrude at the Scottish ridiculous Inn. Would I LIE to you about the plaid carpeting on the walls? I would not. Clearly.

100_2244Here's my high school boyfriend Giovanni Leftwich with his so so so cool wife. Did I bond with Wife at all? Do I love her? Am I gonna snatch her away from Giovanni Leftwich? That'd be an interesting addendum to our history.

BermudatriangleMe, ex-best-friend Esmerelda, and Gertrude.  Whenever I am with them I feel like The Unfortunatel Friend. Why I gotta have hot friends while I have Kenny G hair?

100_2236HULLLLLK.

In the days since Ned and Hulk met, every once in awhile, some boring sports thing would come up and Ned'd say, "Hulk and I talked about that." Am so glad I could ignore them and let them play amongst themselves.

100_2247Here we are having breakfast before Ned and I hit the road again. Note mom has STAMPEDED to Christmas already, as she is pratically Mrs. Claus. Ned had eggs, toast, Canadian bacon, fruit, pie and apple crisp. Then two hours later we ate the little lunch mom packed for us. Ned is going to be big as a house. As opposed to old Mrs. Timbertoes, over here.

Does anyone even know who The Timbertoes are, or am I the only Highlights Magazine fan? I HATE those find-the-object-in-the-picture things. Can never do it. Also, Gallant is a puss.

Anyway. Mrs. Timbertoes. She is kind of a wooden Olive Oyl.

100_2250I am sorry to tell you that on the way out of town, Ned and I went, two days after Thanksgiving, to The World's Largest Christmas Store, which conveniently is located outside my home town. Guess what was deserted and void of all people? Anyway if I ever get married again my dress is selected. Look how happy she is.

100_2251The World's Largest Christmas Store has SIXTEEN different sections with their own themes, including, apparently, Sexual Santa.

100_2248Honest engine. The look of sheer agony on Ned's face sends me into hysterics every time I look at this photo. Look at him. Portrait of Misery.

But he will be the FIRST TO TELL YOU, I found what I needed very fast, and said, "Okay, we can go," and IT WAS NED who said, "No, wait. Maybe I can find something for this relative. Or that relative. Oh, you know what? Also this relative." It was NED who kept us there. Swear!

100_2252Did not threaten him with glittery rendeer up his nethers to make him stay there at all. AT ALL!

100_2255Here's the lobby of the swank hotel we stayed in both on our way to and also from Michigan. Oh, we enjoyed that place.

100_2253In the restaurant, over by the bar, was this painting, and I wish I could tell you how much I obsessed over this terrible work of art. Have threatened Ned that this will be his Christmas present. "She kind of looks like you," he said, right before I finally stuck those glittery antlers in his parts.

Really, what sad lonely man painted this? "Hellooooo. My droopy breasts and I love you. Get me another Reunite on Ice."

100_2257I'm sorry to tell you that's all I have when it comes to photos of my trip. I know you're sad. Oh! But both on the way there and back, we passed Southern "X" Posure, which is apparently some kind of titty bar, which I'd have totally gone to, except I cannot frequent a place that has an "X" like that in its title. I told Ned I was going to demand that you all use "X" in your comments today.

"X"cellent post, June.

Glad you saw your "X" best friend.

Okay, go.

"X"O, June

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

Great Scot

Sadly for Ned, what he mostly saw of my home town yesterday was the inside of a bar. And that bar was the Scottish ridiculous Inn. I am unsure if they've officially added the "ridiculous" portion to their name, but trust me, it needs doing.

When Ned agreed to come home with me for THANKSgiving, he said, "We get to see The Pub, right?" The Pub was this bar I was in, oh, every single night from 1987 through 1990-ish, and Ned's heard some stories. I had gone there as a kid, too, because my father played darts and there were always these dart tournaments at The Pub. I'd bring my latchhook rug, because it was 1977, drink Cokes and watch my dad win on snowy afternoons.

The Pub is also where my Aunt Mary met her husband, and also also where I went on my wedding night. Isn't it romantic.

So I set up a big meet and greet at The Pub with Hulk, my old pals Gertrude and Donna, my high school boyfriend Giovanni Leftwich, and my ex-best-friend Esmeralda. "Two o'clock at The Pub!" I kept saying. Yes. We were meeting at two in the afternoon, because we're old and because apparently going there at night now gets you shot by your rival gang or something. "Oh, you don't wanna go there at night anymore" everyone keeps telling me, pursing their lips.

I schlepped poor Ned hither and yon, trying to show him all the places I lived in this town, except (a) I've lived 800 places here and (9) I can't remember how to GET anywhere anymore. We'd be driving and I'd be all, "Now I have to find Gratiot street. I just have to turn down–crap. Maybe if I go–crap."

Dudes. I went back to Ohio. And my city was gone. Seriously, everything looks different. I was so lost.

My point is, eventually we stopped for lunch and while Ned was actually NOT having a salad, Hulk texted. "Is The Pub even open?"

See. I'd Googled it and they said open in the afternoon, but I hadn't considered the holiday thing. We couldn't have been the only people in town to visit, right? I'm sure others wanted to get their drink on at two in the afternoon, right?

Okay, maybe not.

We drove down there and guess what. Closed. CLOSED! I called Gertrude, heartbroken, and she said, "Let's all go to the Scottish Inn." "Will it be open?" "Pfft. It's ALWAYS open," she said.

The Scottish Inn has plaid carpeting ON THE WALLS, no windows whatsoever and hard liquor for people who like to get drunk fast. That's Ned's favorite line from It's a Wonderful Life and I am so glad I could throw it in right now. Because MAN, you guys.

We walked in there at 2 p.m. and the place was BOOMING. I am not kidding. We were lucky to get a table.

And sober? Enjoying their first cocktail and planning to sip it? That sums up the crowd in there. Holy cats.

I took 489 photos, which I still can't show you cause I'm here and queer and get used to me, but there was a table tent that read, "Shot of the month: Cinnamon Toast Crunch." It was Jager and some kind of rum, which, Mmmmmm. Break me off a piece of that.

Soon all my friends came, and it was good to see Esmeralda for the first time in THIRTEEN YEARS, and Hulk and Ned stamPEEEEDed to sports talk, and a good time was being had by all.

"It's ESMERALDA!" Some guy burst in from the snowy afternoon. "AND…WHATSHERNAME!" he exclaimed gleefully, pointing at me.

"And whatshername," said Hulk, peeing his own self. "Whatshername." He loved that. It tickled Hulk, is what it did. It was like he was sittin' on a feather, so giggly was he over this.

The guy, about whom Ned and I keep saying, "Was he drunk? Had he had a drink that day? Was he under the influence? It wasn't clear" was a guy from high school. "YOU LIVE IN CALIFORNIA!" he screeched at me, buying a round for the table, which was nice and which I'm certain he recalls distinctly today.

"No, I…" I started, but he was onto something else. Mostly a drink.

"YOU LIVE IN CALIFORNIA!" he said, a while later.

"I really don't, though. I–"

"WHY'RE YOU HERE ALL THE WAY FROM CALIFORNIA!??"

I was feeling like maybe actual conversation was not gonna happen with Drunk Guy from High School.

Eventually, it became, you know, the dinner hour, and I noticed a beleaguered family actually eating next to us. Because it was 5 p.m. and usually you, you know, eat dinner at that time. You don't have your fourth round.

"I feel bad for that family, having to sit next to this subtle table," I said to Ned.

"I'm thinking the family that comes here for dinner is not looking for nutrition or ambience," Ned noted.

At the other table, Drunk Guy From High School was speaking animatedly to everyone. "Gertrude's here. Did you guys see Gertrude?" It was like Gertrude was a unicorn.

"Do you think that guy from high school started off his day with the Cinnamon Toast Crunch shot?" wondered Ned. "Maybe he thought it was a breakfast drink."

People from high school kept coming up to our table. It was amazing. They should rename it "The Scottish ridiculous Inn, the Bar for Class of '83. And That's Not Sad at All." But it'd be hard to fit on softball jerseys.

Are they called softball "jerseys"? Hulk?

Oh, and speaking of Hulk, at some point he was just gone. Ned said he had somewhere else to be, like maybe reality, but the point is eventually it was us minus Hulk. With plaid wall carpeting.

The only positive from this scenario is at least when we left it was dark. If you leave a bar like that, coming out to sunshine just makes it more debaucherous.

It was fun to have everyone in the same room again like that. I just hope next time we do it, that room is not plaid.

June, with her kilt, out.

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

June returns from standing in line at Walmart at 4 a.m. to blog. Also, pfft.

I hope you're holding on to your seats. because my mother got a NEW COMPUTER and I do not have the usual, "The 1812 Overture called. Wants its computer back" joke that I normally have for you when I am here. And for that I am sure you are saddened.

I just totally felt up this computer, so now it's met me and thinks I'm a total perv, to see if there was somewhere one could insert a memory card so I can show you the photos I have taken thus far. I think the one you really need to see is the pickup truck that was in front of us painted camoflauge with deer all over it and "The Hunter" emblazoned across the back. Clearly that guy and I had a ton in common and it's a shame we couldn't meet.

The point is, Ned and I made it here, on that short, not-at-all-trafficky, unridiculous 13-hour trek, and he didn't even bug me, except occasionally he'd whistle if the radio was off, and in my head I'm all, You gonna keep whistling, then? I did not say anything, though. You and I can keep that to ourselves.

Before Ned and I left Greensboro, we had to go to his uncle's house to drop off Ned's key, as Ned's not-at-all-weird cat needed, you know, care and feeding and so on. (I have a person coming to check on Lily and Iris today, so I will circumvent your 800 Qs about that.) Anyway, I got to see Ned's mom, who is always so nice, and his cute aunt who has already gotten out the Christmas decorations and it made me want to cancel everything and schlep up to my attic to start glittering just everything in my house.

We stayed in Parksersburg, WV on Wednesday. Ned and me, not Ned's aunt and me, although that would have made for a much more scandalous post today. JUNE RUNS OFF WITH NED'S AUNT. Story at 11:00.

We stayed at a fancy hotel, which I have been to before but I was completely alone and sat in my room with room service. This time Ned and I checked out the fireplace in the library, and we went to the fancy restaurant, and basically enjoyed the crap out of that nice hotel. And you can have DOGS there! Some woman walked right in with her schnauzer, which is not a euphemism, and also a black pitty-looking dog, and someone else had a yappy shaggy thing, and I said to Ned, "I'm thinking Edsel." We looked all around that fancy lobby, with nice vases and so on, and just thought of Eds tearing about as he does. Hi hi hi hi hi hi. I Edz. hiihihihihihi. Here my taiil. Hi.

So, we got here midafternoon and all Ned had to do was meet my stepsister and her husband and his parents, my mother and stepfather, my Aunt Kathy and Uncle Bill, my Aunt Sue, my Uncle Leo, my friend Gertrude and her daughter Emma. That's all.

"I can't belive you did this to him, making him meet everyone at once," said my Aunt Sue, who in case anyone is worried how she's been since my Uncle Jim died, she looks ABSOLUTELY HOT and is helping at her daughter-in-law's new restaurant and basically sems to be doing as well as possible. "I remember meeting all of you. It was scary."

You know.

We are a DELIGHTFUL lot But I do remember poor 19-year-old Aunt Sue, smiling nervously at us while we all talked at the same time. I was, like, eight, and I remember asking her, "Do you ALWAYS smile?"

Guess who was probably the scariest person to meet.

Today I am taking Ned to all the places I lived in this town, then we're going to a museum and THEN he gets to meet Hulk. I know! There is also The World's Largest Most Ridiculous, Chaoticist Christmas store that I have threatened to take Ned to, but sadly for him, there will probably be no time. I am not making that up, by the way. The world's largest Xmas store really is in the next town over. And it is ludicrous. I have always loved it. Does anyone need an ornament? Because perhaps on our way out of town…

I had better go before everyone gets up. Was exhausted and fell asleep at, like, 10:00. so now I am up and eating dressing and mashed potatoes. Which may or may not lead me to the part where I put my jeans on halfway through the evening and minced around here like Tom Jones, so tight and unforgiving were those jeans. It's not unusual to be loved by anyone, you know.

What the fuck does that mean?

I'll try to talk at you before I go tomorrow, but in the meantime, keep sending me your pictures from Thanksgiving. Note to Hulk: Get ready for pet pics!!! You're welcome.

June, stuffed.

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

“They know not if it’s dark outside or light.”

Can you please tell me what I forgot to pack? Because you know I forgot some such nonsense, as I always do. Usually I get to my destination and I'm all, "Oh, I forgot pants!" Then I walk around like Donald Duck for the rest of my trip.

Or I'll bring the contacts that are in my EYES, which are disposable, but no OTHER contacts or any glasses, and the rest of the vacation is like an impressionist painting.

Anyway. Leaving for Michigan in an hour and a half. Things are UNDER CONTROL. Yessir. When I talked to Ned last he hadn't even CONSIDERED packing, so I feel like things are just as unchaotic at his house.

We saw the best movie the other day, she says incongruously, called Chicken with Plums, or Poulet aux Prunes, and who knew "plums" and "prunes" were interchangeable in France–those nutty French–and the point is at one point the actress takes off her glasses and when she does everything gets blurry. It was so much like real life. She must have the same prescription as me. Which is a sad, sick prescription. I have like 20/39394939493 vision.

But that is not my point. My point is I'm a disorganized packer. Am certain this shocks you.

By the way, the title of my post is exactly what Elton John was singing on my iTunes when I opened this page to start decomposing or whatever. Now Lou Reed is singing "I. Don't Know. Just where I'm going."

And you know, I don't. Glad Lou said something, because I have to print out directions in case my GPS up and dies like Mr. Bojangles. Which incidentally is not on my iTunes.

Screen Shot 2012-11-21 at 8.11.12 AMOkay, good. Here is a map of today's route. If you're in the area, stand on the freeway and wave like I'm OJ Simpson on the 405, will ya?

Screen Shot 2012-11-21 at 8.13.44 AMHere's day two. Basically here to Michigan is a long damn-ass way.

I've printed out those directions. How much would you like to bet that I forget them here at home?

"I HAVE NO PANTS!"

In case you're worried sick, Eddie Vedder is now singing, "All five horizons revolved around her sun. As the earth to the sun."

I LOVE this song. Love.

So I guess I should go do a sweep of the house to see if I'm forgetting bras or meds or oxygen, and also I should get the dogs to daycare, and y'all always ask me every time I go to mom's if the dogs are coming and why do you always forget my mother's dog is a cold-blooded murderer? I tell you this EVERY TIME and you never listen.

Remember when that jerky dog LEAPED out the back of the hatch and RIGHT ONTO puppy Tallulah's back? Now, I assure you, ASSURE YOU, Talu would kick that speckled dog's old fat ass at this point. All that'd be left are a few Gus bones and Talu with a toothpick in.004 seconds. But who wants to start a dog fight like we're the Michael Vick family?

"The day I stop's the day you change and fly away from me." The Cure. I swear I have songs from this decade on here somewhere.

Oh, but before I go, and I know you're sad disjointed June and her song call-outs is going. Are going. Whatev. Dick Whitman and I went to the movies last night, and yes I DO see a lot of movies. We saw The Sessions, which I guess is a true-ish story of a man who was paralyzed by polio and the sex surrogate he hires, who is played by Helen Hunt.

I mean, 1995 called. Remember when Helen Hunt was in everything including your bathroom? You'd walk in and she'd be checking out her enormous forehead. Her fivehead. Oh, hey, Helen.

Anyway, there she was last night, NAKED A LOT, and you can't help but like her. She looks like she'd done a lot of situps for that role, and who wouldn't? Well. I wouldn't. I'd just let you see the front butt.

You know when I didn't like Helen Hunt? Well. I didn't like her CHARACTER. Was in Castaway. What a BITCH. She's all in love with Tom Hanks, then FOUR YEARS LATER she has met someone, married, AND had a toddler. I mean, did she hump someone on the drive home from dropping Tom Hanks at the airport?

And when poor I-can-spear-fish Tom Hanks (and have I mentioned how useless I'd be on an island? Who'd panic and die on day one, over here? And I'd totally forget pants.) comes to Helen Hunt's house, he's all "Beautiful house" and she says, "Has a nice mortgage, too." Then he compliments her I'm-a-tramp-here's-my-toddler daughter, and Helen Hunt says just, "She's a handful."

OH SHUT UP. You have EVERYTHING, you big-foreheaded ho, and all you can do is complain. Irritating.

 

 

Oh, I love this song. In February, I went on I think it was my third date with Ned. We went to this tiny dark bar, and it was so cozy and outside was so blustery, and this song came on, and I was with a boy who had potential, and we were laughing and talking and I was so happy. I mean, as opposed to now. So totally over Ned. Which is why I'm schlepping him 299494949339 miles to meet my family.

I really want to see that HBO special on The Rolling Stones. Will one of you invite me over? I might be driving right past you today or tomorrow. Thanks.

OHMYGOD I still haven't told you what I wanted to tell you, about DW and me at the movies. Jesus. So, Dick W and I meet at the theater:

IMG_2850Here's me approaching DW in front of the theater, and who needs help? Is it me?

We were early, so we got treats and sat in the theater and talked. DW was telling a story and gingerly tugging this way and that to open his bag of Reece's Pieces, which you and I both know he was gonna have three of anyway, as he does. But seriously, he kept trying to rip the top, then pull, and HE WAS BUGGING ME.

"Give me that," I snapped. I pulled the bag as hard as I could and

BOOM!

every Reece's Piece IN THE UNIVERSE BURST up like a geyser, then landed down my shirt. It was amazing. It was like Old Faithful. You have never seen so many Reece's Pieces fly through the air in your life.

I gave DW the pieces that HADN'T landed in my bosoms, and I totally ate the ones that did. Hoo care, as Tallulah would say. Then throughout the movie, any time either of us shifted in our chair, you'd hear another candy roll down the aisle. We were totally the candy-coated clowns you call the sandman. Which is also not on my iTunes.

Okay, am going now. Will let you know if Ned and I detest each other by the end of today, or if that will happen AFTER he meets all my people and Gus tries to eat him.

XO,

June.

P.S. "I know a girl who reminds me of Cher. She's always changing the color of her hair." Oh this is SUCH a good song. LOVE. The Flaming Lips. In case you don't have this one on your iTunes. Which, why?

I hate everything · June's stupid life

To top it off I’m late for work. Sssssssugar.

By the end of yesterday, I hated everything and my dogs feared me.

IMG_2847we skare

When we last left each other, kissing at the train station–and thanks for running along the length of the depot, there, while I pulled away–I was about to work before work, and work I did. So then by the time I got to actual fake work, I was already tense and snappish.

Then it was that kind of day where every time you thought you might be able to, you know, breathe or pee or something, someone ELSE would come up with more work.

I had decided that at lunchtime, I would (a) put gas in my car because I was totally Jackson Brown runnin' on empty and no, really, you're welcome.

(runnin' bliiiind! runnin' into the sun cause I'm runnin' behind) (why do I feel like that song is on Hulk's sad iPod?)

Then (B), and yes there IS a (b), for once, I thought I'd go to Target and get my prescriptions filled.

I WENT DOWN TO THE CHELSEA DRUG STORE! TO GET MY PRESCRIPTION FILLED.

Honestly, there is no one more annoying than me today. Maybe later I'll come to your house and Yoko you.

Finally, I was gonna take my car to the car wash, talkin' about the car wash yeah, because Ned and I are about to drive 26 hours round trip in that fur-filled disaster of a car, with spilled soda in the cupholders and god knows what on the floors.

Ned offered to take HIS car, as he is a normal fairly tidy person, but I have satellite radio. I am sorry. Once you go satellite, you don't go back. Although it occurs to me that Marvin is probably done spotting me the cost of my satellite radio every month, so maybe I WILL be going back if I can't scrape up that $13 a month.

Speaking of Marvin, which do you think would be nicer? If I burst into his wedding ceremony singing The Rose, seeing how he likes my voice so much, or if I just beat on the windows with:

ELAINE!

ELAINE!

ELAINE!

THE POINT IS, good gravy, I screamed off to DO those things at lunch, and while normally it'd take me less than five minutes to get to the gas station, it took 10 yesterday.

Listen. Will you people STOP SHOPPING FOR CHRISTMAS GIFTS? You get in my way, and it annoys me. Plus also, they have a THING now at my gas station, I am not making this up, where they pump the gas FOR you. I realize this is how they did it in the olden days and that they're for some reason trying to drum up business with it, but guess what's faster. Is it faster when I get out and do it myself, as opposed to the 15-minute we're-in-the-South-so-we-have-to-chat thing I got going on with Gassy Pumper, over there?

So after hearing about my gas pumper's THANKSgiving plans, as they say it here, and after hearing his thoughts on Michigan and how it seems cold there and so forth, I had THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES to get to the Chelsea drug store and so on.

Dear People. Did I NOT JUST ASK YOU to stop EFFING SHOPPING for Christmas, and did you NOT LISTEN, because WHAT WAS CROWDED? Was it Target? Holy mother of Jesus with a lemon and a little honey. It was like I was in the marketplace of some developing nation or something. There were people selling crap on blankets on the floor, and making masa and holding babies on their naked backs. I mean, give me a BREAK, Target. Is it really necessary to have a SALE right now? You've already got us. We have no choice but to shop at you. Cut us a break.

I fought my way through the crowd with my shield and sword and finally got to the pharmacy counter.

"Gardens. I called earlier."

I'll tell you what. I am at that counter constantly, because I'm old and I gots my ailments. And believe it or not, the pharmacy tech is named Anias, like Anias Nin. And yes, her parents named her for Anias Nin, which is lovely and all, but how would YOU feel when you discovered you're named after a soft-core porn writer? I mean, I understand she's French and everyone French is pornographic, but we're Puritans. It has to be horrifying.

Anais could not find my prescription. We had to call over Mr. Anemone, which is another name I am not making up, and they both searched everywhere like when I hide a treat on Edsel.

"Oh," Mr. Anemone finally said, squinching his tentacles this way and that, "You can't get that till tomorow. Your insurance."

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

The car wash at that point was out of the question, as was eating, although I scooped a little masa before I left Target. After an equally harrowing afternoon at work, I headed back to the car wash place, where they were vacuuming and cleaning up and THEY HATED ME for coming in 15 minutes before they closed.

Then I screamed to the mani/pedi place, because I haven't done my nails in literally months, and maybe if you're some sort of no-nonsense tomboy (and really? why?) this doesn't seem like a big deal, but I practically had goat hooves going in there. Am used to lovely groomed hooves.

I decided on a gel manicure and if you haven't gone gel yet, leave this post and go get one now. The only drawback is the bottles aren't see-through, something to do with the chemical makeup of gel polish, so you kind of gotta look at the handle thing–what's that called?–where they've kind of HINTED at the color with this strip of paper they wrap around, there.

So I picked gray, which is a trendy color and you know me. I'm practically Lady Gaga. Except when she started, you know, putting it on? It was green. MY NAILS ARE GREEN. Green. At least it's fitting that I will see Hulk this week.

Green.

My toes are a normal red, which is good, except when I got home I put my feet under an afghan and smeared them. So to sum it up I hate everything.

Believe it or not there's more to this stupid stupid stupid story, but now I see I am late for WORK, which means THIS day is probably going to be JUST AS FUN AS YESTERDAY, but to summarize, when Ned called me last night I had to search for the phone cause I'd thrown it across the room trying to reach Time Warner cable.

Don't even ask.

June, crankily out.

June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

In which I’ve totally become Linda Richman

Sadly, I have a deadline to meet before I go to work today (dudes, I KNOW) (can you DIE from proofreading?), so I leave you with a simple question.

Who is worse, people who think they're smart but really aren't, or people who think they're funny but really aren't?

I realize I fall into both categories, so shut up.

Discuss.

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · Not Grace Kelly

Party in my pans

This is the first chance I've had to talk to you all weekend, as I have been work work working, then Ned-ing. When he came to get me at NINE-THIRTY last night, because I wasn't done slaving till then, I was huge-haired and in a robe.

"I'm readier than I look. Want some wine while you wait?" I stomped off irritatedly, closing the electronic version of that statistics book on my computer.

"…Yes," said Ned, looking distinctly horrified. I'm unsure if he's seen Work Hair till now. I must touch it or twist it nervously or something because if I am harried (bah!), the hair gets even larger than normal. On a really bad work day, I can look like I touched one of those balls at the science museum.

Van_derr_Graaff4
Anyway, lemme catch you up on my weekend. Because what's more interesting than that??

On Thursday morning, which technically is not remotely the weekend, although you'd never know that at Party Central over here in my pants. Did you ever have some idiot guy say that to you in high school? "Hey, Dave, do you know where any parties are this weekend?" "There's a party in my pants! Everyone's comin'! Heh."

Please tell me guys said this to you and I am not the only person to garner comments like that. Tell me I am not the Party in My Pants Muse. Thank you.

MY POINT IS, and you'd better cancel your plans if I'm this far into my post and we haven't even gotten past THURSDAY MORNING yet, I took my car to get it fixed, finally. The tires have been bald for quite some time. I have Uncle Fester tires. As I drove to the fix-it place®, I drove through a school zone, and I had JUST FORMED THE THOUGHT, "I'd better slow down" when the effing effing effing blue lights came up behind me.

Is there a more disturbing feeling? Especially with that party going on in my pants. I knew I was doomed.

And here's what I have to say. Kids need to learn to SPEED UP and NOT GET HIT. This us-slowing-down thing mollycoddles them. Plus, I was only going 41 in a 25, which, come on. Forty-one would not maim anyone that bad.

When I got to work, I told this story to anyone who'd listen and several people who'd have rather not. As Ned would say, I totally had on my "Ask Me About My Ticket" t-shirt. "I used to be cute enough to get OUT of tickets," I said 900 times.

And do you know no one. Not one person. Said, "You're still cute enough to get out of a ticket." I'd say that line, and crickets. Finally I told the story to Ned and he said, "You're still cute enough to get out of a ticket" but really, he kind of has to say that. It's in the Boyfriend Guide to Not Summoning Attitude June.

The good news is, everyone helped with giving me rides to and from work, and driving me to lunch and basically catering to me like I'm Miss Piggy or something. Jane West got me Friday morning and had coffee and sweet rolls in her car, for god's sake. Also, Jane West has seat warmers, and let me tell you what. That there is a lovely sensation, the seat warmer. I mean, that seat had its work cut out for it, what with my can't-work-out girth.

On Friday, if I'd gotten enough work done, I was gonna go to drag queen bingo with Ned. I'd say "emphasis on drag," but really he seemed to think that'd be sort of fun. I like how Ned is all manly with his sports and math-y brain but then he's down with the queens.

However, we did not go to drag queen bingo. Because Ned was drunk. You know how it is. Six p.m. and you often find yourself three sheets. It's inevitable, really.

The thing is, Ned had been at a funeral. A guy he went to college with? That guy's wife died. Forty-six years old. Son of a BITCH life is unfair sometimes. So Ned attended the funeral and ended up seeing a whole bunch of people he hadn't seen since college, in aught nine or whenever he graduated.

See. That joke would have been funny had aught nine not been three years ago. I was kind of trying to pretend he graduated in 1909, see, is the thing. And, oh forget it.

MY POINT IS, I was still at work and my cell rang. "WHERE ARE YOU?" said Ned, a trifle enthusiastically. "I JUST SAW A BUNCH OF PEOPLE, AND IT WAS REALLY GOOD TO SEE THEM, AND I'M NOT GONNA LIE. WE WENT RIGHT FROM THE CHURCH TO A BAR. OH, IT WAS GOOD TO SEE EVERYONE." Seriously, I didn't even need my phone. I could've just turned toward his apartment, if I knew directions, and I could have heard him through the wind.

I mean. I've seen Ned have him the fancy beer or the red wine, and every once in awhile he'll say, "I'd better not have another, or you'll have me on your hands." I really never knew what he meant. Till, you know, now.

The funeral had been really sad, of course (Ned stood in line to see his friend, whose wife had just died, and he heard himself say, "Hey! How's it going!" when he got up there. He said in his mind he was all, YOU ASSHOLE. WHY DID YOU SAY THAT?, but you know. These things can be awkward) then seeing everyone was kind of bittersweet and I'm just saying to you. Had some cute drunk emo Ned on my hands.

The first thing I did was get him some food, and then it was too late for drag queen bingo, so because he was still toasty, I did the next indicated step.

I took him to the Twilight movie.

Am I absolutely the worst human ever? He was all drunk, "Yeah! I'll go!" and I think the drugs wore off somewhere around the first time we saw Dakota Fanning holding her eyes wide open, which seems to be her one acting technique in that movie. "You want me to fill you in on what's happened up till this movie?" I asked Ned, who seemed a little stunned. "No. Not at all," he said. I have asked Ned to write a guest post reviewing the fine film, and I expect we may read the F word a lot.

Look, I know. It was a cruel trick. But I got my movie in, and I never, ever have to acknowledge Twilight again or my embarrassing interest in it. Unless they come out with another book.

Yesterday I took a break from WORKING ALL DAY ALL THE TIME to see Violet. The firemen had said I could visit any time, and I finally got the nerve to do it. Because my fear was I'd get there and be all GIVE HER BACK TO ME!!!

100_2142I brought her this toy, which she seemed to enjoy quite a bit, then we went inside and she had 49595949393 other toys. "People just leave stuff on the doorknob for her. Toys, food–we got enough food to last all year," said Cute Fireman #1.

100_2146She really did look about twice the size she was when I took her there, although I don't know that one can tell from my fine photography. And man, does she look more like a Beagle now.

100_2149She kind of knows how to sit (i.e., she sits when she feels like it), but they taught her to speak before she gets a treat, and when she was bouncing OFF THE WALLS HELLO BORDER COLLIE, they said, "Do you want a time out?" which means she has to go to the kitchen by herslf, and boy, she understood that. vyelitt sit now and be gud. even tho her nayme not viylett stoopit assmuncher juune.

Can you call a girl "assmuncher"? Is it really more an insult aimed at men? Violet is young. She'll learn.

100_2150
100_2155
6a00e54f9367fb8834017d3de0c497970c-800wiNine thousand toys and her favorite seems to be an empty water bottle.

100_2157
She's going to be in the Christmas parade December 6, and Ned and I are going. Ned was supposed to come with me to see Violet, but he woke up feeling…tired. He apologized after for standing me up, and I said, "I was really okay being alone with a roomful of firemen" and he said it had occurred to him I might be okay with that.

But really I only had eyes for Violet. Not literally. I didn't bring her anyone's eyeballs, as that would be wierd.

Today I am (wait for it) working, but later now-sober Ned and I are going to a movie that sounds disturbing and weird. So all is right with the world. Tune in tomorrow and I might tell you about the party in my pans.

Pans! I meant to say "pants" but just cracked self up. Yep. Everything IS right with the world.

Faithful Readers · Family · Friends · June's stupid life · My pets · Uncle Jim

June’s list. Which isn’t nearly as heroic as Shindler’s.

Thanks, everyone, for all your what-makes-life-worth-living comments yesterday. I guess for me it'd have to include:

  • Kittens, of course.
  • Puppies, of course.
  • Adult dogs and cats and also leopards which I wish to kiss on the head not to mention llamas and really everyone in the animal kingdom except some bugs and reptiles. (One thing that does not make life worth living? People who feel the need to explain to you the difference between bugs and insects.)
  • French roast coffee
  • Towels right out of the dryer
  • The Turkey Roost in Kawkawlin, Michigan
  • Thunderstorms
  • Waking up near a lake and hearing it swoosh
  • Strawberries
  • My friends Donna, Dottie, Hulk, Lisa, Cardinal, Sandy and Paula. I can call them and in two syllables and they know the joke.
  • Being with my family when everyone talks at once
  • The Little House books
  • The smell of Vicks Vapo Rub
  • Remembering the way Mr. Horkheimer would FLUMP right next to me as soon as I sat down. He just FELT gray. I don't know how to explain it further than that. He was a solid cat in every way.
  • Ned. Even if Ned is temporary, even if Ned turns out to secretly be a woman or something. Ned.
  • When you have a funny exchange with a complete stranger
  • Inn of the Seventh Ray in Los Angeles
  • The canopy of trees as you drive to my house
  • Stories about my Uncle Jim
  • The taquitos at El Azteco in East Lansing
  • Nora Ephron
  • My Aunt Mary's laugh
  • The song Tempted by Squeeze
  • Dancing with my cousins at wedding receptions. We used to be the fun young cousins, and now we're teetering into the weird doddering old aunts.
  • When the dogwoods bloom
  • Edsel's underbite
  • Stories about my grandmother
  • The way the sun shines into my back room in the morning
  • Texts from Hulk
  • Tallulah's sigh when she gallumphs onto the other pillow at night
  • Your comments
  • Getting presents when you aren't expecting any
  • Allure's Best of Beauty issue
  • Watching It's a Wonderful Life, When Harry Met Sally, Arthur or Annie Hall for the 349493923943rd time
  • When the phone rings and it's someone you haven't talked to in years, but you're thrilled to hear from them now

So I guess offing myself is not in the cards at present. And I'm gonna turn on the radio and hear some other song and say, "OH THAT TOO! THIS MAKES LIFE WORTH LIVING.

Sadly, that song will probably be by ABBA.

June, grateful.

June's stupid life · Pieces of Wisdom

Really, Cezanne’s fruit never does it for me

Once again I gots no time to blog. Today I have to scream over to Der Vagen Haus, or maybe it's Wagen Haus, whichever, to get my car fixed. One good thing about working ALL THE TIME is I can at least afford now to get my car fixed.

So I'm off. The car repair guy is driving me to work, which is nice, and I intend to spend the whole drive telling him how annoying the name Der Vagen Haus is to me.

While I am repairing and strengthening, making split ends more manageable, tell me this:

What makes life worth living?

I was thinking of it today, and that scene from Manhattan, one of my all-time favorite movies.

And if you don't like Woody Allen I don't wanna hear it.

The first thing I thought of was the smell of Tallulah's head.
100_2140yayeh. lu do be habng gud smellz.

Also, mashed potatoes. And any time Eric the Midget calls into Howard Stern.

But I'll think of others and get back to you.

Your thoughts?

Film · June's stupid life · Music

Ho. Hey. You’ll be singing that all day.

I love this song.

 

I have to run to the doctor to see how my plantar fasciitis is doing, or Plantation Fascist, as my coworker The Poet would call it. I guess I cannot literally run there, seeing as I do have the Plantation Fascist. Ned assures me they can't give me another shot in my foot today, that they have to spread those shots out. Ned is the expert on things falling apart–he works out every day and as a result has a bad back and a knee thing. If I were him I'd just sit around.

Remember when we used to be 17 and just got up in the morning and walked around like it was normal? Nothing was achy or needed tweaking?

Yeah.

Some day I'll say, "Remember being 47 and you could just walk around being normal? Oh, things ached a little, but at least you didn't need this walker with the tennis balls on the bottom."

Can't they invent something a little more sophisticated than those tennis balls? It seems like everyone just defaulted to them. "Oh those walkers suck. Cut you a tennis ball and stick it on there." Seems like we should rage against the faultiness of the walker a little more than that.

Maybe I'll wait for that particular battle.

In the meantime, Ned and I saw 12 Angry Men last night [insert political joke here] [insert joke about all the men who don't get to have them the June here] [insert joke about the 12 readers who wish I'd move along here], and when it was over, we turned to each other and at the same time said, "That guy was totally guilty."

I guess we're over Henry Fonda. I'd really like to LIKE Henry Fonda, because he's cute and earnest and stands up for the little guy, but now I know he was a rotten father to Jane Fonda, who I kind of like, and whose veeedeos I totally worked out to in the '80s. My friends and I would do Jane Fonda and order pizza after. I was a size two.

We also used to listen to this hypnosis tape that would supposedly make us not hungry anymore, which, hello, again, hello. Size TWO. Of ourse, the whole time I listened to that tape I thought about ordering Chinese.

Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I choked to death at the movie. Got a popcorn kernel right in my throat and could NOT breathe. Finally I was able to wheeze a little and Ned said to himself, "Why is June singing during the movie?" Remind me not to die in front of Ned in the future.

I had to lift my arms over my head and stay calm and breathe through my nose. Finally I was able to sputter and cough. "Were you CHOKING?" asked Ned, who should probably be an EMT.

"Yes," I gasped.

"I could've Hemliched you," he said, heading for me like he was going to do it in retrospect.

"I'm FINE," I said, moving away.

"Of course, it would have made me nervous as hell to Heimlich you. What if I broke your ribs or something?"

Could you re-remind me not to die in front of Ned anymore?

Anyway, that was my chilling evening. I lived. Which I guess at this point is all I can ask for.

Tune in tomorrow to hear all about my foot!

….Where did those crickets come from?

June's stupid life · Photo essays

: (. LOL! (Could not hate self more.)

Before I forget, because you know how I am and I know I STILL owe someone Abraham Lincoln band-aids and I have no idea who, I wanted to announce that we're gonna do the "send-me-a-picture-from-your-Thanksgiving" thing again, even though it liked to kill me last time.

The rules are these. Send me ONE (Joann) photo of you from Thanksgiving day, doing whatever. I mean, if you live in Canada or England you will send me a picture of you at work on a Thursday while we gorge ourselves with cranberries, over here.

Actually I never eat the cranberries. Cranberry juice? Oh, break me off a piece of that. But the actual fruit? Blech. Which kind of explains my whole relationship with real food.

Anyway, you have till MONDAY NIGHT to send it to me. If you send it after, there will be no frowny-face comment: My picture didn't get in : (. In fact, if you EVER send me a frowny face for ANY REASON–

I just died : (

— I will personally come over there and go Abraham Lincoln on your ass. I have no idea what that means. I will come over there WITH A TALL HAT and you for one will be sorry.

At any rate, when you send the picture, tell me THE NAME YOU WANT ME TO USE FOR YOU and WHERE YOU LIVE. I just screamed that because last year people sent "I'm Sally and I'm in my kitchen" with a picture of someone in the kitchen and I KNOW YOU'RE IN YOUR KITCHEN. Are you in KANSAS or ETHIOPIA?

And then when I put on my blog, "This is Sally," I'd get, "I guess June outed me with my real name. : (" because I was supposed to know that Sally is someone who, when she leaves comments, always calls herself FrownGirl and HOW'M I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT????

See. I haven't even STARTED send-me-your-picture-from-Thanksgiving project and already I am cranky about it.

: (

GodDAMMIT I hate emoticons.

Despite how cranky this is going to make me, I LIKED send-me-your-Thanksgiving-picture last year. Didn't you? Remember the woman whose boyfriend had on the smiley-face tshirt? Or the dogs? We got lots of dogs. And the person who had a cold, so she just photographed the INGREDIENTS of what she was GONNA make until she was felled by illness?

It was fun.

In other news, guess who is working a lot? Can you tell? I go to regular work and work, then come home at lunch and do some work, then after work I get caught up on my work. Tonight, though, I am going with Ned to the old movie theater we like, and we're gonna see Twelve Angry Men, which is funny because Ned will be with One Angry Woman.

I just got an email the other day from the statistics place to tell me TWO MORE BOOKS are coming right after this one. You know what I think? I think TOO MANY people said, "Oh God, send June some work" and God was all,

O, JUUUUUNE? THAT heifer? Okay, then. : )

God font.

God would NEVER use an emoticon. I also think God would not have a Facebook account. But if he did, he wouldn't annoy the rest of us with political posts. He would just keep making June-is-a-heifer jokes.

I guess I'd better go. I know I had something else to tell you, but can I remember? I cannot.
IMG_1913
I looked in my photos to see if there was anything I was gonna recap and took a picture of, but there was not. I did see this Lu-is-a-wolf photo from this summer, though, and threw it in. They both need new collars. The genuine diamonds on both of their collars have started falling off, which is inconvenient because have I mentioned priceless real diamonds? I should go on Etsy, with all my freelance dollars. Get the sparkliest, most obnoxious collars possible for both of them.

With all my spare time.

Okay, going now. Heifer June, out.

P.S. Just Paula asked a pertinent Q. When you SEND me your Thanksgiving photos, send them to the email on this blog. I think it's on the right column. It reads, "Email me : )"

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life

Emails with Ned

I told you a few days ago I'd show you the emails Ned and I exchanged when I first picked him up online early this year.

I was on a site called OK Cupid, which if you're in the market for an online dating site, I highly recommend it.

The point is, it was January 5, 2012, and I was perusing the mens on OK Cupid and I saw Ned's profile. He had recently moved back to Greensboro after many decades and didn't know anyone, so he put himself on there and his profile was funny. Under the question, "What's the first thing people notice about you?" he said, "One thing people notice is my Panera card. But probably the person who notices this the most is the waitress at Panera."

That made me snicker, so I wrote him.

 To Tufguy 45: I am
messaging you because I cannot resist a man with a Panera card. I am a
Panera-card-digger. 


To June: 
Thanks for the Panera card love. I
am messaging you back because of said card love, and because you are a very
funny woman. I am a good-writer-digger. 
[Note to y'all–Ned had looked at my profile, which if I do say so myself was effing hilarious.]

To Tufguy 45: You understand I would totally be
using you for your chicken salad connections. Are you
actually tough? Or would it have been like me naming myself mathgirl? 


To June: 
You wouldn't be the first. And define
tough.

Anyway,
tufguy is a name my friends and I used to use derogatorily for each other when
playing pool. It's not a particularly exciting story. The 45 part, however, is
an absolute lie. I'm 46. It wasn't a lie when I created this profile, back
before I realized that time did still move forward despite ill-considered
dating site nicknames. I've checked, and I have another birthday coming this
year as well.

To Tufguy 45: Nice. And this is what I like about
men. Women wouldn't be able to do that–taunt each other during a game.
"What's THAT supposed to mean? I can be tough! What about that time in
fifth grade? …You know what? I'm just gonna go."

And that
is why women are a pain in the ass.

Oh my GOD.
We're gonna be 47 this year. I hadn't even thought about that. You know what?
I'm just gonna go. Here is
the part where you have to chase me out to the car. 


To June: Yelling, Wait, wait, I didn't mean
it? And I
suppose men are okay. They're really only good for one thing though. 



To Tufguy 45: JUST LEAVE. ME. ALONE! I'M FINE
{sob!}.

What are
men good for, in your opinion? I enjoy you all for setting up my DVD player,
and I am also using men of your gender this weekend for helping me lug my giant
fake Christmas tree up the attic. I am allergic to NC trees. So I have the most
fake, glittery, white, Liberace tree on planet Earth.

By the
way, I am an annoying iPhone person, hence my odd prompt replies. Am not
sitting here like Miss Havisham in my Panera Forever T shirt waiting for you to
email me.

However,
now I am going to a party and will not be an annoying look-at-my-phone person
in public. I just want to smack people over the head with their phones when
they do that. …Do I seem hostile? 


To June: 
I was thinking pickle jars, but
your examples of men of my gender endeavors seem valid as well. I find your
hostility towards the public use of smart phones to be quite charming,
actually. So if you ever need a hand smacking rude people over the head, that
might be yet another example of something that men of my gender are good for.

My last
name, by the way, is Miss Havisham, so I'll be spending my Friday evening
reading on the couch. Until I find a good reason to turn on the TV. In any
event, I hope the party's a blast. 


 To Tufguy 45: 
Oooo, what did you read? I mean,
unless you were reading the handbook of how to molest children and/or lizards,
in which case I'd rather not know. 


To June: 
The Human Stain. I'm a big fan of
Philip Roth, though I have to admit I was a tad tired to make significant
progress. And lizards, I'll have you know, are another one of my faves. Molest
lizards, really, ick.

How was
the party?

To Tufguy 45: 
See. The phone. It is right here
next to me while I edit a statistics textbook. Like I'm not going to stampede
to it, because hello. Statistics textbook.

I have
never read that book, but loved Portnoy's Complaint. Which is super extra
original of me. I also liked ET. And Tom Hanks. I know!

Thanks for
asking–the party was fun, although dinner was not served till 10:00. Where
were we, Europe? I met a woman who had been a doctor but got MS and had to give
it up due to her health. Among other things she's blind now. This week I
discovered they've discontinued my favorite lipstick but didn't tell her that.
I didn't want her to see how petty her woes are compared to mine.

What else
have you got planned this wknd? A very short angry dog trainer is on her way
here to supposedly remove the assyness from my dogs. Assyness is a fine word.

 To June: 
I am so sorry to hear about your
lipstick, sometimes words just can’t…wow. It was strong of you to keep your
suffering to yourself without unloading on that whiny doctor.

Planned
this weekend? I've had a productive day, for me, so far. Electronic recycling
(Patterson Ave., who knew?) and a bicycle ride. As soon as my legs stop
wobbling I'm going to attempt some lunch.

Has your
dog trainer come and gone? I've found that most dog trainers tend to be angry,
though I have no evidence as to why this is so. What's on your agenda? 


To Tufguy 45: I probably shouldn't have shared
something so personal and important so soon after meeting you, Mr. Miss
Havisham. But it's heavy on my mind. I will always miss that lipstick and I'll
remember the good times.

That woman
was incredible. INCREDIBLE. Have I mentioned that? My dogs are cowering in the
living room right now. She said they're actually really submissive dogs and
eager to please (really? because…really? when?), and they were just lacking
manners. By the time she left, we had a plate of food in the middle of the room
and the dogs put their ears down and slunk away. Slinked? Slunkded?

Anyway
they ignored the food.

I see you
made me a favorite and I made you a favorite. This is very meaningful and you
should probably call your parents.

What the
Sam Hill is your name, other than Mr. Miss Havisham?

What did
you electronically recycle? A bunch of email? BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

You can
unfavorite me now. 


To June: What the…? You must have ESPN or
something, because my name is Sam Hill Miss Havisham. Uncanny, really. Odd
name, I realize, but then, you should meet my parents.

My
productivity continued today, oddly enough, and went on to include running a
vacuum (and, AND, changing the bag) and doing laundry. As a reward I think I'll
take myself out to dinner tonight.

And Ned. My name is Ned.

To Tufguy 45: 
Ned. Ned Miss Havisham. It's
nice.

My friends Chris and
Lilly just left here. Lilly had a bad cold and sounded like Harvey Fierstein, and
I am looking forward to coming down with said cold in the next day or so. But I
really like them so it was worth it. I say that now. Wait until my throat
starts hurting and I get the aches and so on. Then I will be cursing that
blonde heifer's name.

Since you
and I know each other so well, and are favorites and I have shared with you the
secret pain of my lipstick, I will tell you the terrible awful thing that
happened tonight. You know how I just spent the $220 on dog training and the
trainer was so good and so forth? She really was, and the dogs were stellar,
mostly, except I put the lasagna together before C&L got here, so that I
could just pop it in the oven when they arrived.

I walked
into the kitchen to find stupid Edsel with his front feet on the counter,
eating the meat sauce off the top of the lasagna. I had to hurriedly spread the
remaining sauce around before anyone saw.

Never,
ever accept an invitation to eat at my house. Good gravy. 


To June: 
I have always heard, though I've
never seen any laboratory results to prove such a claim, that a dog's mouth is
much cleaner than a human's. But I must admit that if I'd walked in to find a
person, let's say Miss Havisham, with her front feet on the counter licking the
meat sauce off the top of the lasagna, I might be a bit put off as well. At
least Lilly was already sick.

But
Edsel's a great dog name, and I'm sure he's not stupid. Hey, the short, angry
dog trainer preventing him from eating food earlier. I'm sure he was hungry,
and perhaps she split her fee with him as a bribe. 


To June: 
Hope you've been able to avoid the
oncoming cold so far. I've just come from seeing Tinker Tailor et al this
afternoon. A bit confusing, but a pretty good movie overall, I think.

 And now
I'm off to Raleigh to see my alma mater play basketball with my brother. I
mean, they're not going to actually play basketball with him, I'm just going
to–oh, I think you know what I meant. In any case I hope you're feeling well
and having a good Sunday.

To Tufguy 45: Caught a
dreadful stomach virus and have been ill all night/day. I haven't been sick like
this since I was a kid. What I'm doing right now is bringing sexy back. Holy
cats.

Hope your
day is less, you know, violent.

To June: Oh man, that blows (maybe not the
best word choice there, sorry). Being up all night, nothing worse. I hope
you're feeling better. This doesn't sound like the same thing your friend Lilly
had. How is Edsel feeling? 


To Tufguy 45:
 I'm up. It's 1:00. In the morning.
This is stupid–what am I supposed to do now? I guess I could read something.

Edsel has
been deeply concerned about my well-being, except when someone walks by, then
he BOUNDS out of bed to bark, which is restful.

How was
your sporting event? Was your brother the victor? My uncle used to play
baseball and we'd go watch, and his team always won, and my mother would say,
"Wasn't that great? Jimmy won again!" and I'd think, man. He beat all
those people AGAIN. I had no concept that he was on a team. That pretty much
sums up my sports knowledge to this day. And my team-playing abilities. 


To June: 
My brother did not win, no. In many
ways it could even be said that he didn't even try, did not compete, gave less
than a half-assed effort. All quite literally true.

I'm sorry
to hear you were still not feeling well last night. That's a stubborn virus you
managed to attract. I'm hoping it's bid adieu (French!) by now. Up at 1am
though, it's rare that I am not. I'm a lousy sleeper.

Well
Monday's in the books, and that's a good thing. Do you do your editing from
home often, bring work home with you, or is that your usual protocol? I suppose
that would mean no sick days, which would sort of suck. I am going to go ahead
and assume you've rid yourself of that awful malady and are now happily
munching bag after bag of beef jerky. Good stuff. 


To Tufguy 45: 
I went to Harris Teeter and got
fried rice. This may have been a mistake.

I have a
regular full-time job. Then, to
supplement my now suddenly single income, I do freelance work as well. I always
did this, even when I had a dual income, but then it was for fun. Now it is for
necessity. Anyway, am grateful to have it even though it sometimes means
working all day and coming home and working all night. It's just editing, not
laying bricks.

Are you from here? You don't seem from
here. But if you have a brother here then you might be local. Did you get hot
dogs? If I had to go to some sports thing I'd be all up in what I could get at
the concession stand.

I can't
remember if I told you this, but Peg, the woman who had the party I attended
Friday, called to tell me almost everyone who went to her shindig got terribly
ill. She herself had been ill all day and had written it off to food poisoning.
Thanks! It's like that Monty Python where Death comes to the dinner party. 


To June: So
do you think it's a poisoning of some kind instead of a virus? Either way, I
hope you shake it before much longer.

Thank you
for thinking that I'm not from around here. Makes me feel better about being
from around here. I grew up in Greensboro and moved to Raleigh long ago with
the intent of staying there. But then (cue the violins) the economy went to hell, I had an opportunity here, and here I remain. I had (string crescendo) a job I loved with people I liked. Now I
do…something else. But like you, it's not brick laying, there are a lot of
people out there in a lot worse shape, and (diminuendo) I'm pretty fortunate.
I've been here about a year and a half, but none of the people I used to know
live here anymore. So there's my story.

To Tufguy 45:  I enjoyed
the whole concert I got to listen to while I heard your life story. 

I get my
hair done in Raleigh. Nice town. Good hairdressers. Was worried sick I'd move
here and end up having to get perms and tall bangs or something. Was sort of a
snob about LA stuff. Have gotten over it. Think I may have been insufferable at
first. Now my LA friends seem kind of insufferable. "Oh, you went to the
ballet? There are ballets there?" Like the entire state is filled only
with the cast of Hee Haw and lynchings. 


To June: 
Oy vey, LA to Greensboro, I would
have been insufferable too. We lynched the cast of Hee Haw long ago, but it
remains Greensboro. I assume you made the move with your soon-to-be ex, but
it’s still… Greensboro. How long have you been here?

Here’s
hoping you’ll be eating egg salad sandwiches comfortably before the end of the
day.

To Tufguy 45: 
God, egg salad sounds delicious.
See? I WISH to be eating, and yet? Tragedy when I do.

I got here
in late 2007 and yes, it was the ex's fault. Before I lived in LA I lived in
Seattle. So for my whole adult life I'd lived in pretty progressive places and
then I got here and all the gay men are married and play organ for their church.
It was an adjustment. Now I totally expect it. "Girlfriend, is that a
Prada? Oh, snap! You should totally come to church with my wife and me this
week–I'm playing something from Phantom!"

But, you
know. LA was trafficky. And expensive. And the person I miss the most is my
cleaning lady. Seriously. What does that tell you? Okay, (a), my cleaning lady
is hilarious, and also that there are very few real friendships to be had in
Los Angeles, although I had a few. And I like how I had an (a) but not a (b).

To June: I didn’t know gay men were big
church-goers here, much less that they played organ there, a statement from
which I’ll quickly back away. Most of the organ players I’ve seen in churches
are blue haired old women, but then, I’m not much of a church-goer. Or maybe I
watched too much Andy Griffith when I was a kid. Did people in other parts of
the country actually watch that show?

I know
that’s true about the traffic and expense in LA, but Seattle had to be nice. As
far as I know, there’s not one independent bookstore in this town at all, nor
record store. One independent movie theater, I think. But it does sound as if
you’ve managed to carve something of a social life out of this place, and as
you seem to imply, that’s worth a lot.

Is it only
Tuesday? Criminy.

Hope
things have improved on the gastrological front.

To Tufguy 45: 
I loved Seattle. Everyone loves
Seattle. Once in awhile you get some yahoo, "Oh, the weather!" Shut
up. It rains. Who cares? It's the coolest place on earth. What do you need
weather for?

When I
graduated college, I picked Seattle to move to because they read more books per
capita. "It's the weather! Who wants to go out in all that rain!"
Again, shut up. Anyway, I knew no one when I got there, and it was such a good
decision. I was back last year because my friend had cancer and thought,
"Why the hell did I leave? Oh, right, that spouse." (It was nice of
me to concentrate on myself like that and not old One-Boob.) (Anyway she's fine now and no one's
discontinued HER lipstick.)

I have
made friends here, although the majority of them come from my blog. So basically I guess I could have moved anywhere and made friends
because of my dumb blog.

Do you
ever go to Aperture in Winston? That is a very cool and also pretentious movie
theater and it's independently owned. And you can drink wine with your movie
and get all tanked. I like it there. Pretentiousness, dark art movies, drunk
people. What more could you wish for?

Technically
it's nearly Wednesday.

To June: 
Blog? You have a blog? Let me
understand this correctly. You have three domesticated animals, two jobs, and
you have a blog you keep up with as well? Man, it's all I can do to get by
having one job and one animal. Sounds like it's served you well though, if it's
allowed you to make connections. What's the blog called?

Where did
you go to school, by the way, what did you study there? Where are you
originally from?

I have
been to the aperture in Winston, and I like it there as well. Reminds me of the
old Studio theater in Raleigh. Odd screen placement, but you forget about it
once the movie's underway. Good popcorn too. Lousy ice though.

To Tufguy 45: Four. Two dogs, one normal cat and a blind
kitten. I know not what to tell you about the chaos I invite.

And I will
show you my blog one day, but I've been writing it every day for five years,
and if you read it it would be like a June explosion, and I think I am best in
small fits and starts. It would be like you were Soupy Sales and I was hitting
you with the pie of my life.

You know
what's annoying about the Relatively Acceptable Cupid app? Is it doesn't let me
see your email so I can't address what you said. Michigan State. English
degree. Of course. As opposed to that degree in nuclear physics I was
considering.

And I grew
up there, Michigan. Where everything is flat, including everyone's affect.

I walked
the dogs and the nausea returned and even I am bored with this now. At first it
was fascinating. So maybe later I will poach an egg.

To Tufguy 45: 
Wait. Lousy ice?

To June: 
Big, clunky, dense. You could crack
a tooth if you're not careful. Plus, in positioning such pieces of ice between
molars for crunching, you'll often inadvertently allow fluid unchecked into the
esophageal tube, causing a gagging reflex. Nobody wants to hear someone choke
during a film. It's distracting. Hey, could ya take it outside pal? Lousy ice.

Crushed
ice is better, but shaved ice is the Cadillac of frozen water. It takes on the
flavor of the fluid it is meant to cool, while reducing the volume of said
fluid due to the fact that shaved ice occupies a greater volume of movie issue
beverage container, thereby reducing calories, and, AND, extending cup time vs.
popcorn bag by virtue of the fact that it involves chewing and shaking last
bits of flavor laden ice bits into salt dehydrated mouths rather than a gravity
driven fluid.

You could
avoid all that by having a glass of wine, sure. I'm just saying.

To Tufguy 45: 
God, I agree. This whole discussion
has DRIVEN me to drink, for goodness sake. Which ought to please my boss as
much as me being on Ehhh, Cupid at work.

Where did
you go to school? In Raleigh? Were you one of those drunk dorm people who was
always good for being the guy who'd get a Minor in Possession? 

To June: 
So I'm assuming from the work
message that you're feeling better? That first day back after being sick can
still suck though. Hope it went well.

School in
Raleigh, yes. NC State. Mechanical engineering. Why did I choose that major? I
haven't a clue. Fortunately I was a terrible student, and so didn't bother with
it too often. I was much too busy being in college to actually study.

So was I
that guy? No. But I did hang out with him. A lot.

To Tufguy 45: Oh, perhaps we met, then. I tutored
people in mechanical engineering across America.

Bah.

I finally
had to go to the doctor for anti-nausea meds, then I called my boss after with
a very phony, "You need me to come in?" and he said yes. Fortunately
that medication really works.

I guess
you have one of those science-y brains.

To June: 
See, 1am, and up I am. I wish I
were one of those people who could sleep.

Maybe I
had a science-y brain at one time, but like everybody else, the 18 yo me that
made the decision to study engineering is a lot different from the me now. Not
too science-y now, let me tell ya.

I sure
hope you're starting to feel better soon. For my part, I'm going to see if I
can somehow lose consciousness sometime soon. 


To Tufguy 45: The doctor said the part where my
neighbor was ill all day, prepared gazpacho which then sat in the fridge for
hours, and served it to everyone was the perfect storm of a virulent bug and a
way to expose it to just everyone at the party.

Have I MENTIONED this is the first time in 30 years I was sick this way? Thirty
years.

So do you
ever take Ambien or anything?

I can't
remember who I know who majored in what he majored in because it came first in
the alphabetical list of majors. Who was that? I also know someone who changed majors because he threw up in the mouth of the daughter of his current major's dean.

To Tufguy 45: 
P.S. Here is my real email address.
I know it is forward of me, suggesting we move from email to…email.

…So that was it. A week later Ned asked me out, which is another clever story but this is the longest post in the history of time, so I'll end. Also, how sexy was I, continuously mentioning my vomiting and nausea? Ask me out! I'm a volcano! Pretty.

Aw. Still. That was so exciting. I knew I really liked him by the time I called him Mr. Miss Havisham. I loved myself way before that, of course.

June. Out. Out of lipstick, and out.

P.S. Dear Chris and Lilly: Sorry about the Edsel incident. Love you! Come back and eat here soon!

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

In which you say, “We have to hear about ANOTHER football game June attended? We totally read about this already in her 1982 post.”

So, my friend TinaDoris had tickets to the football game, and she IMd me at work.

(Dear Work,

Usually TinaDoris and I keep our noses to the grindstone. Love, June. Worky June.)

"Would Ned want tickets to the NC State game this Saturday?" she asked, knowing that's where Ned went to school and knowing he likes him the sports things.

"I'll ask," I wrote back, then returned to work because HELLO FAKE WORK. Please hire me back full time. Thanks.

Also, how lazy are TinaDoris and me? We work in the same OFFICE. On the same FLOOR. But God forbid we get up and have a conversation directly. I'd love to make a comment now like, "No wonder TinaDoris has an ass the size of Guam," but in fact she has a cute figure and you kind of want to hate her for being all young and thin. I think she gave us the tickets because she had a metabolism convention or something.

My point is, Saturday dawned here in North Carolina and I did what I so often do–I got ready for a day of footballing. When Ned asked if I wanted to go, I said, "Sure. Now, where do we go to get someone to buy for us?"

"What?"

"Well, the LAST time I went to a football game, I was a senior in high school, and before football games you always go to 7-Eleven or whatever and stand there till someone looks nice, then ask them to buy beer for you. Where do we go here to do that?"

"Just be ready at noon, June."

Even more exciting than being able to buy our own beer was the part where we were meeting one of Ned's oldest friends there. I had heard about this guy 10,934 times and was dying to see him in personal. Did I ever tell you about the time that prisoner wrote me and said he wanted to get to know me in personal? It's a whole other STORY about a whole different DAY, so why don't you leave me alone and let me tell the story at hand?

GOD.

So we get to the restaurant where we're meeting Ned's friend, and before we walked in, this bearded, chaming guy says, "Ned!"

It was another friend of Ned's, who I have also heard about, and he starts to hug Ned but then he sees me and comes over and embraces me like I was his sweet embraceable his.

"I love the stuff you write on Facebook!" he says, still hugging me. I loved that guy. I know I am weird about the hugs, but that's just when it's some old friend who I actually KNOW hugging me. If it's some stranger who might be a trifle drunk I'm fine with it.

What do you mean, "therapy"?

Anyway, loved that guy. He thanked me for making Ned a–I can't remember. He said something like thanks for making an honest man out of Ned or thanks for humping Ned or some such thing. All I know is everyone I have met who knows Ned seems to love the shit out of Ned and really care about his well-being, which to me is a good sign about Ned. Don't you think?

Once the drunk guy left, Ned's regularly scheduled friend showed up, and he was funny and Southern and just delightful. We went in the friend's car, and his 11-year-old son was along with us, and guess who knew a lot more about football than me. Was it that 11-year-old? Was it, in fact, every human within a 10-mile radius?

Let me tell you what about football games. At Arthur Hill High School, you just pulled up in Steve Feit's Chevette, hid your beer under a jacket in the hatch, and walked right in. Not so much with the college football. It took us 11 thousand hours to get to our parking place, and yes, we had a designated parking place.

And the other thing? Seriously, dawgs. Every.human.being.there. had on red. Red. I felt my BLOOD PRESSURE go up. It was like the whole afternoon had been heavily copy edited. Red. Lots of red.

Ned, who did NOT have on red, and I got out the car and went to the back of his friend's SUV, where Doritos and Dr Pepper and Budweiser were served, and I totally watched snobby Ned drink a Budweiser like it was good.

IMG_2822
Did you know cans of Budweiser have a little crown on them now? "Why do you think that's there?" asked Ned, who has never in my presence had beer that wasn't black as night. "The King of BEERS," I said, being from Michigan.

God.

IMG_2823
Ned quickly segued to black as pitch beer and all felt right with the world. Then we went in to our sporting event.

Okay.

First of all, this team Ned likes? They are the wolfpack, one word, and every EIGHT SECONDS they had the fakest wolf cry you've ever heard coming over the speakers, there.

"That is the fakest wolf cry ever invented," I said, over the WOOOOO-HO-HO-HOOO! "Have you HEARD a lot of wolves howling?" asked Ned, who doesn't know from anything because YES, in fact I HAVE. When I still lived in my home town, the zoo had a wolf and when the noon church bells rang, he always threw his head back and howled. I worked right near there so I'd make a point of going to lunch a little before noon, and I'd STAMPEDE over to the zoo parking lot to listen. I freaking loved that wolf.

Guess who was sorry he asked.

At any rate, Ned kind of explained to me how football went.

Restroomkeys
I had seen these things before when I watched the Super Bowl with a bunch of gay guys back in LA. We were all about the food and commercials and no one there knew from football whatsoever. "What're those ORANGE things?" someone asked. We all decided those were the restroom keys, so you wouldn't take the key with you.

I had told this to Ned a long time ago, and when he explained football to me, he kept saying, "So the restroom key is over there, and…"

IMG_2825
Mostly the whole time he was talking I kept thinking, "Ned is so cute. I like Ned. How long do we have to sit here before I can get Ned into a room and make out with him?"

So, football. Learned a lot.

The good news is, there is an intermission thing and you get to go back out to your car and drink.

IMG_2826
They give you this pink card to take with you so you can get back in to your sporting event. It's a Mothers Against Drunk Driving card, and you take this with you while you drink at your car, then stumble back in to your sports and red people.

I saw a LOT of drunk college girls, is what I did. Two were crying, several were doing that "I can barely hold my eyes open and it's 3 p.m." thing while they talked loudly to boys, and ONE was being held by the arm and led to the bathroom. I feel like that wasn't gonna end pretty.

Here's the thing. I was often drunk in college. But I always maintained. Maybe that's not something to be proud of, but I am nonetheless. Drunk as hay on the inside, maintaining on the outside.

It was a really lovely day, by the way, sunny and 70. By the second part, the sun had gone down and it was chilly all of a sudden. "Wow, it's like we just crossed the equator," I said, loving myself.

Ned paused. "You know, it'd still be hot if you were crossing the equator."

"I KNOW that," I said, "I was being, you know, funny. Maybe I should have said it's like we crossed into another hemisphere."

"Or, it's like the sun went down."

Why do I like Ned?

Anyway, they won, Ned's team did, and he thanked me, like, 40 times for going. It was really fine. There were plenty of people to stare at, and I was RIVETED by the cheerleaders. First of all, you better make sure you are UP TO DATE on your waxing if you're gonna be a cheerleader. And secondly, wouldn't you be SCARED to have people TOSSING you about like that? You could break your NECK. Jesus.

I guess that's all I have to say about football, except I think when you pick a team, you should make sure you look good in whatever their colors are. Are there any pink teams? Cause I look good in pink.

Sportingly,

June