andPatty (that’s only funny if you read yesterday’s comments)

I know you've all been pacing the waiting room, drinking bad coffee, and saying things to each other like, "Go home. Get your rest. You'll need your strength" and then "NO! I want to BE here for JUNE!" but the wait is over. I seem to be on the mend from my cold.

I was thinking NEXT time I get a cold, Ima try making a big deal out of it. See if it helps. I have to stop suffering in silence.

Anyway, how are all y'all? Does anyone have a cold? Was it as bad as mine?

Since I'm home for lunch and having some leftover delicious ginger chicken from my Thai dinner last night with Ned (guess who backed out of cooking? Cause I'm, you know, ill) (did you know I've been ill?), I thought I'd blog and catch you up on every little thing.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017ee8197e8a970d-800wiI never did tell you about my friend and coworker TinaDoris and me de-ghosting her house. With sage. We used it wisely. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

100_2406On Saturday, TinaDoris and I headed to the crystal psychic devil worship store in our town. Here is a black cat who lives there. I love him. On a new and different note.

100_2407TinaDoris shoplifted some tea and then went in search of the ghostbusting sage.

100_2409I fooled around.

IMG_3225We got to TinaDoris' haunted abode and her cynical husband watched us light the stuff and chant through the house. He laughs now, but wait till there's a ghost right behind him, like on Scooby Doo. Who's gonna rattle his teeth THEN?

100_2423We had to go into each room, and open all the drawers and closets and so forth, so no spirits could hide. Damn hidey spirits.

IMG_3229There's this one secret room she has? Behind a bookcase? And yes, I do hate her and her cool house. Anyway, in that room the sage kept going out. OooooWEEEEEooooooo…

100_2421After we saged every room, we came back downstairs and I swear to you I felt lighter. Maybe I was high on sage. The only dramatic thing that happened was halfway through, my camera broke. See above re OooooWEEEEEooooo….

It started working again, by the way. OoooWEEE–okay, I'll stop.

I'll let you know if TD reports any more ghosts in her house, or if we WIPED 'EM OUT with our sagey ways.

100_2420And if YOUR house is haunted, who you gonna call?

I hope not me. I got stuff to do. Plus I just got over a cold. Did you know I've been sick?

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I think I’m dumb. Maybe just happy.

Last night, after leaving work an hour early and heading to Ned's to look at his cat, who was perfectly fine without me and who wonders why the HELL I bother her, I went home and got into some sexy pajamas and turned on my fixed TV.

That was the longest, most convoluted sentence ever.

I ended up renting a documentary (shut up) called Happy. It looked at people from the slums of India to the fanciest places in America and saw who was happy and why. I was riveted to the whole thing when my phone rang and it was an old friend from high school, and hearing from him made me…happy.

Anyway, since I still ache and hurt and cannot stop effing coughing and have the energy of a heroin-addled sloth with anemia, I will ask you another question today in lieu of actually, you know, blogging.

Are you happy? Why? Why not? What do you think it takes to be happy?

[insert smiley-face emoticon here]

Say, did I mention I feel under the weather?

Officially calling in sick to own blog today. Feel dreadful.

Since I can't work up the energy to write, I say we make today Unsolicited Advice Day. You know how I write stuff? About my life? And don't ask for any advice? Yet I GET it all the time? And sometimes I'll reply to your comment with something sort of snide like, "Oh, look. Unsolicited advice. Yay!"

Today, since I am sick and weak and vulnerable, go ahead. What help do you want to give me? Have you held back up till now? Is there a way you want to fix my life and just haven't told me?

Hair assistance? Cold advice? Career (or lack thereof) guidance? Dog tips? Hey-June-have-you-tried-Excedrin-for-Migraine advice?

Go ahead. Lay it on me.

June reports from her cold. She never drones on when she has a cold. Fortunately.

At least, as a single childless person, when I'm sick like this I really don't have to function. It's not like I have to get up to get some kid off to school. So there's that.

Hey, how're y'all? I have a cold. I know that when I have a cold, I do not carry on dramatically or anything. Are the lights going out? Is that a tunnel?

Yesterday I slept and splayed histrionically on the couch and blew my nose. It is amazing how many Kleenexes I plowed through, but I have them in droves because my Aunt Mary sent me a bunch, thinking she was hilarious. I have always had the theory that only rich people have Kleenex. I mean, you need a tissue? Why can't you just use toilet paper? You don't need a whole FANCY DIFFERENT form. I said this once when Aunt Mary was visiting, or maybe it was my father and he reported it to her, but anyway neither of them have stopped making fun of me since and for Christmas Aunt Mary sent me, like, six boxes of Kleenex.

I feel so rich. And, truthfully, glad to have all this goddamn Kleenex.

I read an entire book yesterday, in my convalescence: Girl in Translation. I highly recommend it. It's the book my book club pal Hibiscus Wilson recommended for February, and I borrowed it from her this weekend. Hibiscus Wilson lives so close to me that if she were choking on something, I could get over there and Heimlich her on time. How she'd let me KNOW she needed Heimliching is beyond me, cause you only need it when you can't talk anymore. Dear Hibiscus: We need some kind of ringing-me-and-hanging-up sign for if this ever happens. Also, am nervous person and will probably flap hands around helplessly for first three minutes once I get there. Hope this is not a problem.

Are the lights going out for Hibiscus?

In the book, which did I mention I liked? Except for at the end. She pissed me off at the end. Anyway, in the book she mentions a song from an opera, and I've always kind of wanted to know more about opera, because some of it's beautiful and I know people enjoy the SHIT out of opera–I mean, look at Nicolas Cage in Moonstruck. He loved him the opera. And he was hot. With his wooden Pinocchio hand–and I feel like if I knew more about it I'd enjoy it.

The point is, she mentions in the book the piece E lucivan le stelle, which means "When the starts were brightly shining," God, who doesn't know that (thanks, Bing), and I got on trusty YouTube and watched some dude sing it. And I was all, okay, eh. Then they also had Pavarotti singing it. You know, that Pavarotti. He can sing. Not as well as me, but…

Plus, Pavarotti kind of looks like if Barry Gibb enjoyed too many carbs. So I like that about him.

Anyway, since I'm just sitting here expiring from a rare and unusual cold, I thought I'd show more pictures of you.

100_2436Oh, wait. These two dicks never read my blog.

100_2441eyeriss CANT reed, mom, she blynd. thanks for bringeeng up.

Image(3)Oh, great. Let's just START OFF with another cute reader. This is Ezra Pound's Mama, who tells me she is receiving a mix tape in this photo. No, it is not 1988. Has anyone seen my Salon Selectives hairspray?

-1

Faithful Reader Amish Annie sent in a picture of Barry Gibb's wife, thinking she was hye-larious.

KimKimberly Hope wants to emphasize she is on the left. Also, HELLLLOO DOGGGIEEEEEE. Wif your tuff Christmas collar on. I LOVE YOUUUUUUUU.

-2Here's Lauren, whose daughter had just done her hair and why is my hair never cute like this?

CulpepperHottie hot Culpepper. Many CLAIM to have read me forever, but Culpepper really has. She was with me back when no one read me on Saturdays.

Wait…

I'd asked Culpepper, "Is your HAIR longer?" and she said yes, her husband likes it longer, and I said, "All men like longer hair. Why is that? If it were up to them we'd all
have long straight stripper hair. Which with my face would make me look
like Mr. Ed."

In shocking news, I heart me.

Image(4)Here is Amanda with her husband. Also?

You know what'd be great? Is Pavarotti singing Amanda. Also, I am sorry to report that the first concert Ned saw was Boston. Hulk is over there all, "What's wrong with that?" You know who's probably sick of that song? Amanda, up there. I like the Fancy Feast "ting" they do in that song. Is anyone listening and totally hanging their lighter high right now?

Photo(22)Here's Christyd4, who fortunately I have no YouTube song for. I hear Christyd4 is a real wheat. BAH!!! It's ingrained.

Blog Photo
This is Tami in NV, and see? This is why I did this arduous project. I was all, OHMYGOD! I remember her comments! It's exciting to SEE people.

BlogHere's Helen at the White House. Seriously. I mean, my HOUSE is WHITE, but…

IMG_3338I was so busy being amuuuuuused by this reader's funny email and by her dog, Fisher, that I didn't notice till now that she did not tell me her name. I been through the desert on a reader with no name.

Hulk, I was never actually on this reader. But if it gets you through the day…

-3This is my best friend, Pal from MA. When I suggested we all send our pictures in and 95859339494939 of you listened, I said, "When you send, tell me your commentor name. If you sign in as Depressed Girl, don't send me a pic and sign it Beth." Anyway, Pal from MA wants the moniker Depressed Girl now. She's going through some shit, folks. Send good thoughts to Depressed Girl. Let's get Obnoxious Screechy Older-than-June-by-Six-Weeks-and-Therefore-Cooler Girl back, with her need for tonic soon.

6a00e54f9367fb8834010536997336970c-piHere is Faithful Reader Mother, who also serves as my mother. I was making her point out her Christmas pin, which she had on with a…nother Christmas pin under this jacket. Dying. Who enjoys her the Christmas?

Aimee1I have met Faithful Reader Mary in real life. I have not met her kitty, who looks DEEEEEElighted to be in a blanket.

DanaFaithful Reader D-Lou says she calls herself that because her resemblance to JLo is astonishing. I like D-Lou. And I'm not fooled by the rocks that she's got.

IMG_20120507_180411Kim in Columbus. Another one where I was all, "I remember that name!" It's exciting to be me.

Kim in Columbus looks like some kind of 19th-century painting. Am I the only one who sees that?

Me xmas 2010 yeti heathersRinaldi, who I can tell I'd like, not only sent this photo, but a fine childhood one, as well.

Fashion iconYyyyyep.

Did she tell her mom that day, "Do my hair like Sally from Davey and Goliath"?

13427413_2


Photo(23)Here's CliffClaven. Another total, "I remember that name!!" moment. I mean, of course I remember that name, from Cheers. You know what I mean. Stop it.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017ee7fba0df970d-800wi"Faithful Reader But Not Faithful Commenter Rebekah with your newest reader, Faithful Fetus Madeline." That's what Rebekah wrote, and it killed me. Faithful Fetus. Probably Madeline is all, "I can't WAIT to get out of here and read Dooce instead."

-4Whitley. Being cute. Sigh. EVERYONE STOP BEING CUTE. Have you SEEN me today? In no world am I passing for cute.

-5This reader had one name for her email and another naming this picture, so let's just call her Xeropthalmia. As you do.

ChiefYAY!!! Here's Faithful Reader The Chief, who was editor of our hard-hitting high school newspaper. She was the boss of Hulk and me. I was features editor and Hulk was (sit down) sports editor. Chief rules. In every way. Love her.

Photo(25)We will end with Sully, who looks like she's drinking that kind of beer Ned likes. As in, it has a flavor. Which, blech. But Sully looks fun, don't you think? Now I'm kind of hungry for pub food. Why is no one bringing me pub food? I'm in my final hours on this planet, and NOT ONE OF YOU–

–okay, fine. Don't feel sorry for ME. I'll just go to my grave wanting beef stew or fish and chips. No, I DON'T want to tell you how Project Emiciated is going in prep for my high school reunion.

Talk at you tomorrow. IF I'M STILL HERE.

Mucuously,

June

 

In which June discusses open floor plans and the tuna taco. Tune in, won’t you? Tuna in, won’t you? BAH!

Currently I have the personality of a MOP because GUESS WHAT, another MIGRAINE and I basically hate self and wish to die. I finished that Prednisone I was taking, which, hooray, I can sleep again and speak at a regular slow-ish pace and not raise the roof, literally, and so forth, but now, yay. Migraines are back. Holy CATS, it makes me mad.

So, yeah. Thank heavens you went to all the trouble to be one of the 16% checking in on a Saturday, cause WOW, what a personality on June. Look at the big personality on June.

It is a shame I can't say "personality" one more time. You know what else I have a lot of today? Wessonality.

Some idiot sat there and thought of that ad campaign. Then pitched it to his coworkers. "Say! Why don't we say the chicken's got Wessonality?" And his coworkers were all, "Yeah! That's the ticket!"

How late at night do you think that was?

So, in other news, we had us an ice kind of a thing here in North Carolina. I got up yesterday morning, as I am wont to do, and as I headed to fake work I noted MOTHER OF GOD IT'S COLD, which really, it usually isn't here. Oh, it'll be in the 30s sometimes, but that's spring where I grew up. Yesterday? 24. TWENTY-FOUR.

Then after maybe an hour at work, people got all excited cause it was…something-ing out there. Kind of snowing, kind of raining. Kind of FREEZING, is what it was doing. When I went home for lunch, I had to pull over twice to scrape my windshield, because it kept icing over while I drove. That wasn't jarring or anything.

The good news is they let us out at 2:30, because The South. Where we panic over every weather incident. So I went home with the zinc drops and Emergen-C my boss gave me, which by the way SEEM TO HAVE WORKED LIKE DEMONS, and I watched house-buying shows on HGTV and napped on and off all afternoon.*

People have the worst taste in houses. I have no desire to look at everyone watching TV in some great room while I slave away in a kitchen with granite countertops. "Oh, I like how it's open to the other rooms," people always say. Why is this a good thing? We used to have this concept. It was called "rooms." Why don't we all just live in a big dome, we're so dying to see what everyone else is up to in the rest of the house.

Am I alone in this? I also have no desire to have an entryway that is 90 feet tall. Hi, come on in. I live in a lobby.

You know what I would like to have one day? Other than an actual job? Is a Cape Cod type of house. Back when I was young, so, so long ago, I just wanted my own apartment, with no roommates. Something small, but with character. Then I got that, and I met Marvin and all we wanted was a house. Nothing fancy, maybe just something from the '50s, with, you know, character.

Character is a big thing with me and my dwellings.

It took us TEN YEARS of marriage, but we finally got it, after realizing you cannot HAVE a small cute house in LA without being a small cute millionaire.

Now five years I been living here and I'm all, Wouldn't a Cape Cod be nice. Is it always going to be like this? Will I ever be satisfied? When I get my Cape Cod am I gonna wish for a house built in 1997 with an open floor plan?

With character?

What HAPPENED to character in houses? I think it went the way of "big." All of a sudden everyone needs big. And why? So you can all be in different rooms checking your smartphones?

Am cynical today. Migraine makes me cynical.

Anyway. Despite the icy conditions and general cold icy coldness, I still got together with Ned last night, because rather crushy on Ned. Everything was closed down because The South. Where we panic over every weather incident. Have I mentioned? We did, however, mince our way through the ice to our favorite pretentious taco place, where IT IS ALL DELICIOUS, and right when we walked in, the owner said, "Oh. Guys. I'm sorry. We just decided to shut down for the night due to weather."

Either we looked completely devastated or she recognized us from the 92 times we've been in, but she said, "You know what? Come in. You'll be the last two we serve."

Ned felt terribly guilty through the whole meal. I gleefully ordered the tuna tacos I've been wanting to order since DAY ONE of going there, which I've been afraid to order because everyone in there appears to be perhaps lesbianical and I always thought I was gonna giggle when I said, "I want a tuna taco." Because am in 7th grade. However, I ordered, "The taco, with tuna, please," a thing Ned repeated 47 times because he enjoys my maturity.

And OH MY GOD, it was delicious. Totally went to the Ned School of Eating during that meal. OH! Enjoyed my tuna taco. It had Wessonality.

Then this morning, Ned left for his work trip and I hate everything. He gets back Wednesday, and is coming RIGHT HERE from the airport, and I am making salmon and yes, I did just tell you that I'm cooking something. That is how excited I will be to see Ned. Am cooking something. I know.

In a few minutes, I'm leaving to get up with my friend and coworker TinaDoris. A few months back, she and her husband bought a really really cool old house with, you know, character, and also a ghost. She has had ALL KINDS OF CREEPY SHIT happen since they moved in, including an inexplicable really violent injurious fall, a weird red liquid on her hands for no reason, and now a candle attacked her. Don't ask.

So we're headed to the nutty crystal hippie store to get sage, and we're gonna de-demonize her place this afternoon. We Googled how to de-demonize your place, which is probably what ancient woman did when her cave was haunted. Will keep you posted on if it works or if the damn thing just gets in the car with me and starts haunting THIS place.

You know what a ghost will give this place? Wessonality.

*I forgot to tell you that when I got home yesterday afternoon, Edsel did his usual thing where he BOUNDS excitedly to the back door, which I opened so he could BOUND excitedly across the yard as though bounding across that yard were exciting and new and not something he does 18 times a day, but yesterday he BURST out the door and skid skid skidded across the icy deck, and could not get his footing, and splayed his feets this way and that and skid skid skidded on to the grass, which was similarly icy, so guess what, skid, and basically Tallulah and I died laughing. The end.

Greensboro Medium, or sometimes Large, if it runs small.

You know, every workday morning, the alarm goes off, and I hit snooze, and Lily is on top of me, and I hit snooze again and my POINT is, every time I get here to blog I go, MOTHER OF GOD WHY IS IT SO LATE ALREADY?

Today I figured out my goddamn alarm clock is 10 minutes slow compared to the rest of the, you know, clocks in the house. Son of a BITCH.

Am I the only person in America these things happen to? Doesn't everybody else set their alarm clock a little fast? Did you ever see Same Time Next Year? I love that movie. Alan Alda's watch is really fast, and he never fixes it, and he tells Ellen Burstyn something like, "I knew what time I fell in love with you. It was 11:02 p.m. I know because I looked at my watch and it was 3:15."

In other news, I am pretty sure I am getting a cold. This whole season, with everyone hacking and dying and aching and it sounding like a TB WARD in my office, I have escaped illness. I was just thinking, Maybe this year I have some kind of magical power that wards off colds, even though I have no spleen, which makes me more susceptible to illness, and even though I never got a flu shot this year.

That was some logical thinking. Yeah, that's it. A magical power. And now my throat distinctly hurts.

Which is fine. Ned leaves for ANOTHER GODDAMN BUSINESS TRIP tomorrow morning–I know. A Saturday. That isn't even fair–so as long as I can slog through tonight I can spend the rest of the weekend on the couch with my fixed TV.

I do have plans to see the tsunami movie tomorrow night with a friend but if I get ill those plans will be a wash. I'll be bowled over by the wave of this cold. I'll be drowning in NyQuil.

Tsunami jokes. Why did god see fit to punish me with a cold, do you think?

Ned and I don't really know what we're doing tonight, although what Ned does NOT know is he has a whole night of hearing about my cold up ahead of him, but last night when we were on the phone he said, "We can do whatever you want to do tomorrow, June."

"Makeovers! Long Island Medium marathon on TV and makeovers!" I said.

Since my TV got fixed earlier this week, I've been making up for lost time. Have not sat around looking at television since at least September. And oh! That Long Island Medium! That there is a good show. I've also continued to catch up on my Brady Bunch and my Andy Griffith.

Last night I saw the one where Marcia runs for class hostess at Filmore Junior High. The winner of class hostess gets to escort an astronaut to dinner at school or something. I mean, bitch ALREADY gets to take Davy Jones to the prom. Does she ALSO need to score her an astronaut?

Anyway, just to throw an unpopular girl a bone, Marcia helps this mousy chick run for the position, too, and under her fine tutelage, old Molly the Unpopular gets all pretty and shit and WINS THE COMPETITION.

I mean, the Brady Bunch had some hard-hitting issues. After her loss, Marcia OD and we see the whole family watch her get her stomach pumped. Alice makes some great wisecracks in the emergency room. Oh, Alice.

You know what's sad? Alice probably plays my age in that show. Sam is her Ned. God, that's depressing.

Oh, crap, I have to go. Thank heavens I stopped to write this important post. Talk to you tomorrow, when I will surely be stoic and brave about my cold, as I am wont to be.

Ex files

A few days ago, my ex-husband Marvin had a dentist appointment in our neighborhood. Marvin doesn't even live in Greensboro anymore, and I don't know why he doesn't switch from our old dentist, but who am I to nag him? I have handed the baton of nagging duties to his next wife.

The point is, we decided to meet for lunch after the dentist. He had really wanted to see the dogs, so I said, "Just come to my house after and hang with them. In fact, why don't you pick up stuff from the place and we can eat at my house?"

What's nice about having been married to someone for 39494939 years is you can say "stuff from the place" and he knows what you mean.

"I'm having lunch with Marvin," I told Ned, who as usual has no issue with Marvin or with the part where almost all my friends are men or with anything, really. Ned is what you'd call self-assured. Plus there's the part where I am a giant moon of mooniness around Ned, so it's not like he ever has to ask himself, " I wonder if June likes me?" That'd be like me wondering if Edsel liked me.

"Marvin is bringing lunch over so he can hang with Edsel and Tallulah. He'll screw up my order."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I told him what I wanted from the place, and he'll get me the wrong thing. Fifteen years of marriage. He always picked up the wrong thing."

Always, you guys. Always. Once it was Christmas Eve, and I think I had a cold or maybe we were having people over or something. I forget what. The point is, I sent Marvin to the store for tomato paste and he came home with tomatoes. "It's the SAME THING," he kept insisting.

Since it was Christmas Eve, I couldn't just GO BACK to the store, and I cried, and from that moment on we always referred to The Great Tomato Incident of 2003 when I'd GO GET STUFF MY OWN DAMN SELF.

So I got home from work Monday and Marvin had just gotten there with the food from the thing. "What'd you get me?" I asked.

"A gyro and a Cheerwine."

…!

It was all I could do not to text Ned right then and there. "But I wanted a Pepsi," I said.

"They didn't HAVE Pepsi. So I got you a Cheerwine."

See. Now, if it were YOU, and someone asked you to get them a PEPSI, would you not then get them a Coke if they had no Pepsi? I mean, unless you were getting soda for one of those rabid PEPSI ONLY or JUST COKE FOR MEEEEE freaks, which I am not.

I don't know how it is Marvin and I got divorced.

Anyway, I filmed for you Marvin's entrance into my house, because I was kind of excited to see how the dogs would react to him.

They didn't.

 

He'd already been there that day, since his dentist appointment got out early, and I'd SAID he could come over (he fixed the TV!), but he also said they weren't excited to see him the FIRST time he walked in.

I mean, maybe the dogs seem excited to you, but trust me. I've seen the Ashley-comes-home-from-the-war greeting they do with people they're excited to see. Yes, I DID pull that tired example out again.

And Edsel always, ALWAYS has something in his mouth when he comes to the door. Usually one of my shoes. But if I've actually tidied up, he'll pull a dish cloth out the laundry. Would anyone like a dog?

So that was pretty much it. Marvin and I gossiped about our families and TinyTown and I asked him about his wedding plans (so far, no official date set) and that was it. I went back to work and he went back to his regularly scheduled life.

Maybe the dogs were pissed off about the Cheerwine.

Thirty effing ith

I wish I could begin to tell you how happy it makes me to announce I am DONE WITH ALL FREELANCE WORK as of 10 minutes ago. Aaaaand I finally got the certificates and stuff from our fine U.S. government that will allow that Polish company to finally pay me.

Does anyone remember all fall, when I did freelance work for a company out of Poland? Yeah. Still haven't gotten paid yet. It's not their fault–I had to do some stuff so I wouldn't get taxed there as well as here, and my, what efficient, unfrustrating dealings I had with the IRS and so on.

Anyway it all got straightened out and yay. Insert Polish joke here.

So now that THAT'S finally ended and all I have to do is sit here and wait for the cash money to roll in, I get to obsess about my weight. I just found out my class reunion, my

THIRTY EFFING ITH REUNION

is happening in July. Because I am youthful, is what I am. The bloom is so totally on this rose. Mmm-hmm. My point is, I must FIGHT TIME and show up at that thing looking 18 and healthy and lovely and painfully, scarily thin. My goal weight is, "Has June been ill?"

So what say you to good diet plans? Ned said, "Why don't you try the eat less/exercise more diet?" I asked Ned why he doesn't try to go-fuck-yourself diet.

I was thinking of getting that Fitness Pal app, only because Richard on the Howard Stern Show lost weight with it, and it is sad, really, how often Howard Stern and his people affect my decision-making.

…I just spent 80 hours trying to find you the YouTube clip from Arthur, where a guy says, "I never drink. I think drinking affects your decision-making." And Arthur says, "You could be right. I can't decide."

Really, way too much of my life is spent quoting Arthur.

Okay, so yeah. Diet suggestions, please. I mean, no matter what I do to lose weight will probably work, given my current strict regime of fat, salt, caffeine and cuticles.

Before I go, and I know it makes you sad to see the back of my interesting head out THIS doorway, let's look at some more readers who sent in their photos, shall we? Cause we only have 90,000 to go.

387600_2990999022276_1270466657_nHere is a small but intense photo of CBA. No one ever calls me small. But they WILL when I get on that DIET you recommend to me.

Photo(19)Funny in My Mind, who's been reading me forever. I helped her come up with that name. Because I love me. I like how I can take a picture of someone else and make it about me. Who can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem about her?

-1Becky, right, lives in my old neighborhood in LA. Envy. Have the envy.

Me(1)Hazel has a blind cat named Lily. I KNOW. We are the same person.

JulieHere's the Girl in the Red Shoes, who is not living up to her name, but who falls under the Disgustingly Pretty category of readers. Maybe all these hot chicks read me cause they identify. Maybe hot lava and Halloween candy are gonna fly out my ass, too.

Red Shoes mentioned her baby is 4 months because she knew I'd be all, "And here's her 17-year-old son." You know how I am. Four months. Ten years old. I can't tell.

DonnaHere's Donna in Australia. If you read me in 2008, and did not kill sell from boredom yet, you may recall she sent in a family portrait with her mom's floating head, and I was nice enough to superimpose self in said portrait. Cause love self. So bad. Oh, look. Another picture of someone else that I made about me.

6a00e54f9367fb883401053617105f970c-800wiSay, look what I found. heeeeee…..

P6150009Mostly Lurking Elizabeth is my people. Obvs.

2013-01-07_18-31-36_494Cash claims to love my blog, but I think Cash is full of shit.

Katie & JakeKatie near Cleveland loves her dog, and I want you to know I am obsessed. LOOK AT HIMMMMMM.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017ee7cc143d970d-800wiOkay, you have no idea how many times I tried to make Alizabeth not sideways. Give up. She is in Seattle. Have also sat on that pig. Insert June-in-high-school joke here.

…Oh. It's right-side up now. Son of a…

IMG_1041-1Ericka says she no longer has photos of her without her children in them. They look pretty smug about that, don't they?

Photo on 2011-08-06 at 20.17This California lurker says one day she's gonna send me two dollars. I WANT MY TWO DOLLARS!

Did anyone else love Better Off Dead?

HALLOWEEN12Erin says she's NOT THE OTHER ERIN. Is anyone confused? Also, am dying over dalmatian child.

Image(2)Cig in Arizona says she is a lurker. She is one of the pretty lurkers. Getting annoyed. PRETTY READERS NEED NOT APPLY. AM FEELING INADEQUATE.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017c3628e61f970b-800wiGarden Girl! She has commented forever. Also very cute.

GODDAMMIT.

-3I mean, right? There is no need to say that Kerry from Oregon is not just my people, she just IS ME. So mad I do not own a photo of me doing just this. How shellfish of her. See what I did? See?

Yeah, I think we should end there. It will not get better than my soulmate Kerry. More pictures to come. Because wow, did ya'll all ever get into this project.

And don't forget my diet!! I have 25 weeks to lose 750 pounds. Is there a Moon Pie diet I don't know about?

BLOG PHOTO.

About 76 weeks ago, I got the brilliant idea that all y'all all should send me your photos, because YOU get to see ME, but I never get to see YOU. Which reminds me of that one Sex and the City episode where Big keeps saying, "SHE can get ahold of me, but I can never get ahold of HER."

I don't understand people who have not memorized every episode of Sex and the City.

Naturally, as soon as I came up with this plan, and what a plan it was, I got King Kamehameha busy and never had time to slog through all these. Till now.

So here are the first eleventy million people who sent me their photo. I am not putting them all on here today because you will be bored sick if I do that. And if you titled your picture "BLAWG photo" or "blog picture" or you sent it to my personal email cause we know each other in real life, you are ESSSS OHHHH ELLLLL.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017ee7bf6f70970d-800wiHere is Kristin with her daughter Cassidy.

20120809_071517 (1)Faithful Reader and Commenter Dancer.

ScottyFayLianaBlake_Xmas2012Faithful Reader turned Real-Life Friend Fay. She is the one sporting the jaunty scarf. None of these other people matter cause they don't read me. In other news, I am a huge tool.

Hayley Wyatt - longtime lurkerHayley, who is pretty, just hanging out in a white dress. Or getting married. Whichever.

Deb in maineDeb in Maine sent the world's smallest photo. Suitable for putting in our lockets.

010Karla in Spokane, who may or may not be a nutcase.

-1Long-time Reader Furry Godmother, with her dog who might have heard that.

Amy onlyHere is Amy, who IDs as a lurker.

Me and kidsSarah from Indiana is in this picture from a trip to Rwanda, and I feel like maybe we're all able to spot which one is her.

67973_10150095831877306_1413477_nHere's Kelli in Grand Rapids, wearing the shirt of my people. However, now I want to go to Yesterdog, whatever that is.

-2Here's Carrie. Every time I got a photo of someone who was hot, I was all, "Oh crap. Way to show me up, you cute bitches." See above re I am a tool.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017d404b5c67970c-800wiHere is Alamy in shoes she knew would make me envious.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017c361c7096970b-800wiThey need to fix the thing where some pictures come to you sideways, or some LOOK right-side-up till you, say, put them on your BLOG and they get all sidewaysy. The point is, finally right-side-up is Chrusty, who I can tell I'd like by her "don't eff with me even if I'm sideways" expression.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017d404b6f2c970c-800wiDebbie said I am funny. Therefore Debbie is new best friend.

-3Aw. Mary Ellen from Napa.

-1Love this picture of Whitney, who by the way Ned called hot. Dear Whitney, please come to Greensboro so I can kick your ass.

-4I love Karen's sandals. Also she kind of has the good legs. Seriously. From now on only ugly readers can participate.

-5Elizabeth in South Florida. She kind of looks like Alanah Stewart. Am I the only person who knows who that is?

IMG_0410Jeanette, who comes from New Zealand! I know!

IMG_4865 - Version 2Joann. Another faithful reader who has become a friend in real life. I love her.

-6Rachel is in the middle, and apparently does not know anyone unattractive.

Photo(17)Here's Meg in Napa Valley. She was 100% shitfaced. Okay, I have no idea if she was. But it sounds good.

BonnielolaHere is Bonnie and her son's dog, Lola. Bonnie is all, "This is what you look like" to Lola, wearing all black and so forth. Lola wrote me that she is so.over.Bonnie.

-7Jennifer says she is the one with hair and teeth.

Me3_edited-1Faithful Reader and Commenter Anita. I just accused Anita of needing to go to comedy school, but I can't remember why. Except for the part where I treat my readers like gold.

-8We also hear from Mary Lou a lot. I've no doubt abused her, as well.

Okay, let's do a few more. Then we'll come back a different day. We are, like, not even a third of the way through. I know, right?

Alaska cruiseHere's Amanda in Boise, except here she's on an Alaskan cruise, and basically Amanda is trying to throw us all off.

305624_10100482632592331_1359364120_nJoy has read for awhile, and convinced me to buy a Chi to straighten my hair. Here's what I have to say about Joy. TOO GODDAMN PRETTY. And I love her fake dog. It was probably a real dog who turned to stone after Joy showed her beauty to it. Seriously, why I gotta have so many hot readers?

6a00e54f9367fb8834017d404d6eed970c-800wiCute MeMe and her cute cute doggie.

-9Here's Sarah M., who lurks except for the time she had to tell me why they keep saying "Who dat?" in New Orleans. You know how I enjoyed that. "Who dat?" Sighhhh. Who dat with veggies? Who dat and carry on.

Okay, stopping now. Dudes, we have so many more pics to go. But this is interesting, right? I mean, all these people getting together to read this stupid-ass blog. I should go find them all and slap some sense into them. 

Tune in for more pics soon. Cause this only took 97 hours so far. Oy.

JLo without the ass

I had one of those run-aroundy weekends, so I didn't get to write you. Were you sad? Did every second feel like an hour without me?

My "Dear Ned" anniversary post, my Very Special Bye Bye Pie Dear Ned anniversary post, I wrote on one of my lunch hours at some point last week. I sent it to Ned ahead of time, just to make sure he was down with me splerking my feelings all over the world wide web.

"That is just, wow… That's the sweetest thing ever. I love you too, June," Ned told me, after he read it. And he literally called me "June," which he sometimes does just to be obnoxious.

"I'm glad you are down with it," I told him. "Dating me is kind of public. It's like dating JLo without the ass."

Really, though, with this Prednisone, he may soon get the ass. Nice moon face I got going. Tomorrow I taper down to two pills, and am hoping the love bloat soon will be making another run somewhere else.

My Puff Daddy impression. Hope it's going the way of the JLo relationship. See what I did, there?

Am on a retainer. Of water.

Looking good, is the fluid-filled message I am throwing down. Prednisone is a funny thing. A swelly, funny thing.

So, to recap, on Friday night I work work work worked, because in addition to my fake job, I have taken on two freelance projects. There is nothing more relaxing than coming home from a full workweek and getting on your computer and working for four solid hours.

After I was done, I squished over to Ned's place with my fluids and my retention and sexily went to the pub near him to get something to eat. Because also Prednisone has made me ravenous. I am like a raven. Who is hungry. Lenore! Go get me a hoagie!

We sat up at the bar and got something called Blarney Dip, which let me tell you is likely heart healthy. At the end of the bar sat a girl named Doris and oh that girl looked nice. Also at the end of the bar were some kids playing Jango or Jongo or Jingo or whatever that game is called, where you have a big tower of blocks and you pull one out and try not to knock the whole tower over. It's very Marcia and her house of cards.

The kid instigating the game had on a tshirt that read "This is what awesome looks like," and he was kind of right. He tried to get the whole bar to play, and he looked over at me. "YOU want to play. I can tell."

And I did.

I remember hearing Craig Ferguson talking about playing a lot of Jongo or Jingo or Jingle or WHATVER THE FUCK when he was in rehab. I forget why. I just know that I love everything that comes out of the mouth of fricking Craig Ferguson and I hope you are in agreement with me on that. He is da Scottish bomb.

So I got up and played the Jingman or whatever, and had a great time till I WAS THE ASS who pulled out a piece and sent the whole game flying. Into the Guinness of some innocent bystander. Seriously, dawgs, I musta knocked 10 pieces of J-i-n-g-o into his beer. Felt horrible. And also terribly amused. As am horrid person.

On Saturday I got up with Dick Whitman's mom, who in case you did not know, I love and adore more than anything on the planet. Seriously, you have no idea how cool DW's mom is.

IMG_3193WHENNNN. THE. moon hits your eye like a big bye bye pie, that's amore.

I have slits for eyes. What I am right now is not pretty. This did not matter to DW's mom, who I may or may not have mentioned is da not-Scottish bomb extraordinaire. We went to this restaurant that I always love, and I got the pretzel-encrusted salmon salad, which by the way would marry if that were legal. June Pretzel-Encrusted Salmon Salad. Has a poetic ring. And would make a nice monogrammed towel.

I also ran into my friend and coworker Jane West there, who was eating with her elusive husband who even though I've known Jane West for more than three years, I had never met cause he's not so much with the socializing and hanging out. But there he was at the restaurant, and I stampeded over and said how exciting it was to meet him and that all this time I thought he might be George Glass and that Jane West was a sad single with a made-up man and yay here he was, finally, and he was all, "…And you are?"

See. There's the part where I did not introduce self. There's the part where just assumed he'd know who old Moon Pie Face was when she stormed over to him and commenced the chatter.

I have already referenced The Brady Bunch twice in this sensical post.

IMG_3191Here I am moonily wearing DW's mom's glasses, because I am hilarious, although not as hilarious as Cousin Oliver. Who was a cutup.

Finally, though, the evening arrived and Ned and I had a big evening planned to celebrate our year of dating. I know you've heard this a thousand times, but like every other couple marking a year together, we went to the burlesque show.

Because what's more romantic than watching Ned look at pasties?

Really, though, it was romantic, in a way. Okay, it wasn't, but it was kind of very sexy and also (and I abhor this word) empowering. Because this particular show, called Purrlesque (and yes, I just vomited, as well. Purrlesque. Shut UP) was filled with many sexy women doing many risque things, but here's the best part. Not a one of them had a perfect body. There was every shape of woman, and some were downright fat, and yet each one was so totally sexy.

I have heard annoying people say, "It's really all about confidence," and no it isn't. Shut the front door. But after last night, and seeing that? Okay, it's a lot more about confidence than you'd think. Because those women BROUGHT IT, and man, they all seemed absolutely beautiful while they were parading around.

In unrelated news, need more pasties. Stat.

Photo on 1-19-13 at 7.15 PMI did wear something low-cut and, you know, practically here's-my-pasties myself, and a very hot lesbian in biker boots told me I was sexy. We were in the bathroom. Where all romances begin.

It was a fabulous crowd, at that thing, by the way. There were drag queens wearing wonderful '50s netted skirts, there were regular pervy couples like us, there were old gay men, and MAN, there were tons of your lesbians at that thing. Biker lesbians, no-nonsense Camilla Parker-Bowles lesbians, young lesbians, hot wearing-red-beehive-wigs-and-tiaras lesbians. I mean, if you were Lebanese, as Ned would say, you were at that event last night.

So I am telling you. If Purrlesque (gag) comes to your town, go.

After we looked at hoots, Ned and I returned to the site of our first date.

IMG_3206Where I am excited to tell you we got free dessert because I announced to everyone who would listen that it was our anniversary. We even got to sit in EXACTLY the same place we sat last year.

Oh, and Ned gave me flowers. Beautiful sunflowers with little purpley fluers as well. Which I would get up and photograph for you but see rest of my life re: effort.

IMG_3203Attached please find a photo I tried to take in the dark restaurant of us and my nose, which I would like to think is bloated due to the drugs. Ned wore exactly the same thing he wore to our first date, down to the socks, and what I would like to know is why he remembers what socks he wore.

So, good weekend. Today we saw Hyde Park on Hudson, which stars Bill Murray being FDR, and it was good in a Monica-Lewinski-in-1935 kind of a way. I was worried sick they were going to make my beloved Eleanor Roosevelt look bad, and I will CUT A BITCH–I will BLOAT A BITCH–who does anything to Eleanor, but they were good to her.

"I'm kind of thinking no movie would dare tread on Eleanor," said Ned, who I have been dating for a year, in case you didn't know.

Anyway. That sums it up. Hope your weekend was just as good. Did you see any women gyrating around with pasties? Anyone? Was that just me…?

In which June dates Ned for one year.

Dear Ned,

A year ago today I was feeling distinctly nauseated. The part where I was getting over a ridiculous stomach virus did not help matters one iota, but mostly I was nauseated because today was the day we were going to have our first date. And I already knew I was doomed.

We'd been talking via email for exactly two weeks, and you were funny,
and you had the excellent diction, and I'm sorry that that makes me not
at all cool, but nothing gets me like good diction in a man. You asked
me questions about myself, and you told self-deprecating stories about
YOURself, and you had a cat and you read a lot and oh, I was so screwed.

IMG_0841I knew I was gonna like you. Bad.

When I finally met you, I think I stayed nervous for eight seconds. We started talking and never stopped. You were polite and kind and interesting and you walked me to my car and asked me out for a second date right then and there.

We didn't plunge into heavy dating right away.

This was not my idea.

IMG_2894You're a lot more careful and methodical than I am, which I think is good because if there were two of us with personalities like mine, we'd both have quit our jobs, moved into a hovel and just made out this entire past year.

It took you longer to plunge into this relationship than it did me, and it tested my patience and my will and my maturity, which let's face it are not that high up on my list of strong suits. I remember early on talking about maturity, or my lack thereof, and you said, "You realize this is it. This is as mature as we get. I mean, when we turn 50 we don't turn into British bankers." But I HAVE matured this year, because I was in love with you as early as March, and I had to SIT here like a GROWNUP and wait for you to catch up, because I knew you were worth it.

(There was one night in March that we were emailing back and forth. I had told you that people on my blog had started asking about you, because I referred to you from time to time as a "…friend" and everyone who read me knew I was so full of crap with this "…friend" bidness. "They're asking about you and I'm not ready and it's making me tense," I emailed.

You didn't seem to react to that at all.

"How can you know that people are asking about you on my blog and you aren't STAMPEDING to see what they're saying?" I asked.

"Would Steve McQueen care what was said about him on some Internet blog?" asked Ned. "He would not."

And there, right there in my living room, looking at my stupid iPhone email, I said to no one except Edsel, "Oh crap. I love him." And I did. And I still do.)

(Also, Edsel told me he had TOTALLY SEEN IT COMING with the Ned love.)

IMG_1396I love that you don't care what's said about you on an Internet blog. I love that you don't care that I DO care what's said about me on an Internet blog. I love that every story you tell is hilarious, and that when I tell you about something bad that's happening to one of my friends, who you've never met, you really feel bad and ask me about them later.

I love how much you adore that ridiculous cat of yours. I love that you call adult people "ma'am" and "sir." I love that you open doors for me and worry about me walking in the rain. I love that you cooked for me the day I had surgery and you burned everything because we were too busy talking to notice the food.

I love that you're good to your mother. And that you make your bed. And that you eat salads. I love that you quit smoking and that you did it by reading David Sedaris. I love your house filled with books and that you don't have a St. Pauli Girl mirror anywhere in your place, but that you DO have a Manhattan poster.

I love how you are the best kisser ever. And that it takes you six weeks to look at a menu.

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So thank you, Ned, for being you. I wouldn't want you any other way. Thank you for such a happy year. And for putting up with me splaying this note all over my blog. I go around every day feeling all butterfly-y and giddy and twinkly and gross and still a little sick, to tell you the truth.

Thank you for making me nauseated, Ned. You're my favorite kind of virus.

Love, June

May 14, 1982 and also STORM WATCH! 2013!!!

We're having a big snowstorm–"big" for people in the South–and I smell a gas leak. So the gas co. very dramatically told me to EVACUATE the house and wait for them to come save me, but I've smelled this gas leak over by my stove before, and it's SNOWY out there. I.am.sure.

So I'm blogging to you and waiting to blow up. If this ends suddenly you'll know.

Am expecting warning-filled email from my father as soon as he reads this.

So, yeah. It snowed.
IMG_3184Yes, folks, THIS has caused a two-hour delay of work, and I promise you school is closed, although I don't know for a fact. But having lived with schoolteacher Marvin and his home-all-the-time-in-winter self, I feel confident. Many children watching The Price is Right today. Is that what people still do on a snow day?

They had been PREDICTING and WARNING us all day, but I had a hair appointment yesterday after work, and Las Vegas kept calling me to star in their Ludwig van Beethoven/General Custer/Albert Einstein tribute show, so no three-to-seven-inches-of-precipitation was stopping ME from fixing this mess. Sadly, my hairdresser is in another town, and why can't anything ever be easy?

"Ooo, it's starting to snow!" she said as she snipped. They were big white beautiful flakes. Less than an hour later, as I paid, I noticed everything was already covered. "Dang!" I said, kind of worrying a little.

IMG_3178My hairdresser took a picture of me leaving her salon, which in my head I just pronounced SAAAlooon, like the guy in the Tres Semme commercials. I mean, for us, this is snow.

I had plans to see an old friend of mine, who lives in the town where I now get my hair cut. We'd worked together and had been in a book club and are both obsessed with Mad Men, and we were excited to reunite. Our plan was to meet at Starbucks, because we were in a rollicking town that wasn't gonna have much else open past 8:00. But when we got there?

Effing Starbucks. Closed. BECAUSE OF THE STORM! THE HORRID STORM!

Good gravy.

So we had decaf at his apartment, and on the drive over I called Ned to tell him about the change in plans, because somehow announcing ahead of time that I was partayying with my decaf at some guy's apartment seemed less unseemly than telling him after.

"This snow is great," said Ned. "I wish you were here." So who, like an idiot, schlepped over to Ned's after her coffee, risking life and limb just so she could watch Ned have a snow beer? ("Snow beer is the best kind of beer," Ned announced.) Oh my GOD, that drive was scary. The snow was coming at me so big-ly and dramatically that after awhile it seemed like giant spiders or fireworks were crashing at my car. Because giant spiders and fireworks hang out together a lot.

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I sneaked in a photo of Ned headed to snow beer. He also kept throwing snowballs at things, which as a girl is something it never occurs to me to do.

There were NEWS CREWS out reporting on THE BIG STORM, and many snow beer bars were closed, a thing that stuck in my craw. This snow's a night in APRIL in Michigan. Grow a snowy pair, people. Jesus.

Did you see where some wisenheimer said, "At least Lance Armstrong had the ball to tell the truth"? Bah!

Anyway. After we sat on the second story of the one bar that was open, and watched the snow fall, I made it home okay, and the dogs couldn't care less about the whole damn thing. I thought maybe they'd lift it with their snouts and prance around, but mostly they're all, "we cowld, mom. to let in now."

But none of this is why I've gathered you all here today. If you read me yesterday, and why didn't you, DICK, I told you that Ned recently showed me a picture of him and his prom date in 1982, and I told him I had a picture of ME and my wedding date from that very same day. This led me to get all excited because it was a blogging opportunity, and basically I am very uninteresting.

So without further ado, because I just got my hair done yesterday, here are Ned's and my photos:

Prom 1Have you fallen over dead yet? Are you too busy clasping your own hands to fall over dead?

Wait, here's another one of Ned from the same day. I mean, maybe it was a totally different day and they just slipped on these outfits again. I could be wrong.

Prom 2I pointed out to Ned that he never brings me a wrist corsage.

Ned thinks he looks like a muppet in these photos, which by the way kills me, but you know he's cute. Look how, you know, sixteen he is. And I know his date, they are still friends to this day, and they stand around posed like this whenever they're together, and my point is, she doesn't look that different. She really doesn't.

Okay, now me.

Scan 12The only clasping WE were doing was some hormone-filled clasping of each other. And I don't want you to get all excited, but on my hand is the infamous class ring you've heard so much about. I KNOW.

God, Cardinal looks six years old. Oh I used to think he was the shizzle.

Oh, thank god. The gas man is here. To take my blues away. Blow up at ya later.

June at 16

Awhile back, Ned showed me a picture of him at junior prom in high school. He had the same girlfriend throughout high school and even into college some, and she is still a good friend, so he basically has the same sitch with her I got going with my ex-boyfriend Cardinal.

Cardinal and I dated in 10th grade and broke up. In 11th grade I had a new boyfriend, which didn't sit well, so Cardinal swooped back in with his red feathers. Then for heaven only knows what reason, we decided hey! Let's try that again cause it was so much fun the first two times, and we dated from, say, age 19 to maybe 21 or so.

We've been friends ever since then other than when he got a wife and she decided I was the enemy so we didn't talk for years. (She's gone now. Sure do miss her.) There have been multiple times when we've both been single at the same time, including now, technically, but the Cardinal-and-me ship sailed in about 1986.

Which, by the way. If you have a problem with your current man being friends with his ex, ask yourself, Were there multiple opportunities for them to bang before I came along? And did they TAKE those opportunities? If not, WHAT IS THE PROBLEM??

At any rate, this is precisely what Ned has going on with his friend Harriet, whose real name I didn't just throw into the Random Name Generator or anything.

My POINT is, and do I ever ever ever just get to the point without eventually having to say, "My POINT is"? Ned showed me this photo of him with his old girlfriend, and oh they were so young and cute and so on, and then I looked at the back and it was dated May 14, 1982.

"I know exactly where I was on May 14, 1982!" I said, because I am a freak. "I even have PICTURES of me from that day!" That was my Aunt Mary's wedding day, and Cardinal was my date. I had this grand idea that I would put up here on this godforsaken blog the photos of Ned and Harriet and Cardinal and me all from the same day in 1982.

Brilliant!

So I get my Aunt Mary on the horn and ask her to scan me the photo I was imagining, but of course she was flummoxed about how to scan and email a picture and what's with the generational stuff re computers? She did, however, mail me the damn picture sooner than it will take for you to read this stupid post and I only just opened her letter last night. It's probably been sitting on my table for a week.

Good gravy I am sick of working all day and freelancing all night. Tonight I get my hair cut, then after I'm having coffee with one of my friends, and even though that COMPLETELY screws up my work schedule I don't even care.

Aunt Mary sent TWO pictures from that fateful day, and I was so excited to scan them and scream them off to Cardinal that I coulda spit. I also called Ned. "Send me that photo of you and Harriet. I finally got the one of Cardinal and me."

"My scanner's broken," said Ned.

Sighhhhhhhh.

It was all I could do not to drive the hell over there through the rain, in my pajamas, and bring the dang thing back home so I could SHOW YOU THESE DAMN PICTURES ALREADY. Sometimes my blog about my life turns INTO my life, and that is never good.

So, supposedly, Ned is scanning his fine prom picture at work, and TOMORROW I will have for you the famous shots of Ned/Harriet and June/Cardinal. But seeing as I have two pictures from that day, I will show you this one:

May 14, 1981Oh. Kills me.

In case you were thinking, Wow, people in high school looked so much older then, those are my grandparents. You know, attending the wedding. As you do. My grandfather was the absolute bomb and you could not do better in the grandfather department. And there is Grammy, the woman I am turning into. Next time you see me I promise I will have a rose-colored dress on.

Does anyone remember the photos of these same grandparents on my 6th birthday? Cause Grammy had the purse-on-her-lap look then, too. She must've been horrified of snatchers. And this was before my city was even that dangerous.

6a00e54f9367fb8834014e87fb477b970d-800wi
Anyway.

The picture of Cardinal and me slays me, is what it does. Here it is again:

May 14, 1981Look how unjaded by time and bad relationships I was. Grammy's over there thinking, "LOVE FADES!" but I had no clue. I just figured Cardinal and I would be happy for the rest of time. And that I'd always be that thin. And that stripy Izod belts would remain cool.

So there's your preview. Stay tuned for Ned Goes to Prom and June Continues to Look Naive photos.

Got a light?

Last night, after I came home and WENT TO SLEEP for two hours, because news flash, three hours at night is not enough, I got up and looked at your songs you listed for me yesterday, then listened to most of them on iTunes. I even bought some!

Was not at all annoyed with Faithful Reader Just Paula, who made up stupid lists of songs no one on Planet Earth would listen to, such as Afternoon Delight. I wasn't looking at who wrote what, I'd just get to the next list and be all, Who listed I'm a Little Bit Country/I'm a Little Bit Rock and Roll and it'd always be that pesky Paula.

Anyway, after that I freelanced out my ass, as my old neighbor Alicia would say. Everything with Alicia was out her ass. "Mija, I clean houses OUT MY ASS today, then I get home, and my daughter make a mess in THIS house. So I clean out my ass again."

"Mija, you hear that loud neighbor last night? I yell at heem OUT MY ASS at 4 o'clock this morning. I was PISS out my ASS, Mija."

I miss Alicia.

Stupidly, I agreed to do freelance work for this OTHER company last month, and I knew the work was coming at some point THIS month, and I just knew when I said okay to that it would happen and I'd panic when it did. Sure enough, that freelance work is coming this weekend, and guess what else is due? Is it the statistics book I've been working on? So now I have to miss that deadline, and why must everything be chaotic all the time?

So that is my life in a nutshell right now. I have a friend who abhors it when people say "in a nutshell," but he's just going to have to move past it if he reads today.

Oh! Speaking of my friends, my ridiculous friend Enormous Member Steve sent me this this week:

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It's a book on cats wearing wigs. As you do. How happy does that cat look, there? One day our pets will take over and you and I will be going around in stupid sparkly Juicy sweaters and rhinestone collars, and then we'll be sorry.

Okay, I am out of here. It was one year ago today that Ned asked me out. Hang on, I'll show you. We'd been emailing back and forth for two weeks at this point:

JuneGardens@gmail.com: I am proofreading a study where they put three young French men on the street, and the men would randomly approach French women: "Will you have a drink with me?" In 3% of cases the women said yes. Then they put the same in-my-mind-Marcel-Marceau-looking men out there and they lead with: "Do you have a light?" because everyone smokes in France. After the light was proffered, he'd say, "Have a drink with me!" and something like 36% of the women said yes. So if you are ever hitting on a woman, research shows you need to ask her a favor first. Somehow it endears you to her.

Alternatively, French women are just a bunch of tramps.

NedNickerson@hotmail.com: So, do you have a light?

JuneGardens@gmail.com: Oui!

NedNickerson@hotmail.com: Would you like to have a drink with me sometime this week?

JuneGardens@gmail.com: Wow, suddenly I'm so amenable to that plan! Yes. I would. That would be lovely.

Oh, how I squealed after that exchange. Then spent three days trying to lose 20 pounds.

Okay, out of here. Thanks again for your song suggestions. I really want to like that Florence and her machines, but I just can't.

Say! You know what’ll screw you up? Prednisone.

I slept for three hours last night. BUT I'M 20 PAGES AHEAD ON MY FREELANCE WORK!!!!

Oy.

Saw Ned last night, to try to make up for lost time over this past weekend. I brought him some of my chili, which he said was good and then he did the thing he always does which is eat too much then spend the rest of the night saying he ate too much.

The point is, when I got there he had a riveting sporting event on, which is new and different for Ned. The good news is it ended quickly, and Ned said, "What channel is Bravo?" And then? For the first time all season? I got to watch an episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills!!

They were all fighting in a Moroccan restaurant. And Ned emphasized to me that he will never build me a pink swing. To which I say hmph.

The first person to tell me they don't watch the real housewives of anything gets hit with Ned's giant TV.

After that, we flipped around, and over in his high-number channels we saw that Lesbian Vag Eat Out was coming on soon. "Oh, I LOVE that movie!" I said. I mean, could they even TRY to come up with a more clever title than that? Do you think it's about some lesbian named Vag who tries different restaurants?

Lesbian Vag Eat Out. Good gravy.

I should go. Cause have personality of sloth and need to curl up in a tree or alternatively go to work. Just took my next dose so JUNE'S PERSONALITY ON PREDNISONE will probably rear its head soon. Also, when I was at Ned's last night, he got out HIS Prednisone, because we are nothing but fun, and we were discussing how we take it.

"I take all six at once," said Ned. "Five," I said.

"No. Doesn't yours come in a whole strip with six tablets per strip?"

"Yeah. I didn't understand why that was."

Ned read the back of the strip of pills. "Take two at breakfast, one at lunch and supper, and two at bedtime."

"NO!" I said. I thought you just took one at lunch and then two at bedtime. I've been taking five pills all these days. So what's scary? Is I'm not even on the prescribed dose and I am this berserk.

"Aren't you some kind of editor or something?" asked snooty Ned who I never liked in the first place. "Isn't, you know, READING CAREFULLY what you do?"

He's lucky I was on a post-Real-Housewives high. But I could fly into 'roid rage at any second. Ned should watch.his.step.

Anyway I decided to just keep taking five today instead of ramping up to six. Tomorrow I start to taper off, anyway.

Did I say oy? Did I say how yesterday at work I got stuff done that wasn't due till tonight? And how at lunch I did freelance work the whole hour then did two more hours of it after work? Did I mention when Ned called to say he'd finished his workout and let's get together I was already showered and dressed and in full makeup with his chili ready in a Tupperware container with a little side dish of sour cream sitting there, too, and approximately four seconds after we hung up I was at his door? I feel like Prednisone June might be annoying intense June.

Lord, I love this stuff.

Ima go, but why don't you entertain me today. Tell me the first five songs that pop up on your iTunes when you go look right now. I love hearing what everyone else is listening to, and sometimes when you do that I steal your songs.

Right now when I click on iTunes, the first five songs are:

Fake Plastic Trees by Radiohead (oh, I LOVE that song)

Got to be Real by Cheryl Lynn (hello, '70s. Who am I, Bianca Jagger?)

Here Comes the Sun by Richie Havens (left over from the end-of-year video I did)

The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice (joke from Hulk coming soon)

Talkin' Like an Angel by my friend Beth Thornley

Okay, go.

Has anyone seen where I put my hair glitter?


Wow. That blonde chick wearing the dress I wore to prom in 1983? Digging the mom hair. I guess this was before they insisted that actually hot girls be in videos. And what I like about Rick James is his subtle use of analogy and poetic imagery in his songs. He's so indirect.

By the way, next time we meet, I'd really like to taste you.

HEY! Guess what? I AM STILL ON PREDNISONE!

I'm sorry. I am still looking at this absurd video. Is the long-haired Asian chick the same woman who was always on Soul Train as a dancer? I realize I'm being super all-Asian-women-look-alike offensive right now. But she really looks like her.

So, I'm up!!! You up? Barbara, you up? I'm up now. I'll get the aspirin and Sucrets. Do you remember that commercial? I do! Would you like me to literally run back in time and find it for you? Cause I could!!!! OR I COULD ACT OUT ALL THE PARTS AND FILM IT AND PUT IT ON YOUTUBE!  RIGHT NOW!

Last night I was lying there WIDE AWAKE! I'm WIDE AWAKE! WIDE AWAKE! I'm not sleeping, being Bono, when I heard the "chooo!" of a text from Ned. Ned lives .09 inches from the train tracks, so it's an appropriate noise for him. Anyway, I think it was after midnight, and he was gonna let it all hang out, and also let me know he had JUST GOTTEN HOME. Now after his 39-hour work-related weekend class, he has to get up and have his regular 40-hour week.

See, this is why I have never been ambitious. That is ridiculous. What is the POINT of working that hard? If you can't drive with a broken back, at least you can polish the fenders.

There is really something wrong with my brain. Or maybe I should have turned off the radio AT SOME POINT between 1976 and 1983. Or maybe I should put down the Prednisone.

So, his text read, "Just got home." and what's a woman to do but pick up the phone and ring him, because suddenly I've turned British.

Twenty minutes later, Ned finally got to speak. "Maybe you should try taking the whole dose in the morning, so it can, you know, wear off as the day goes by." Ned has a knee thing and is the Prednisone expert. And in fact my doctor told me I could do that. You know what's gonna be fun for my coworkers? Me this morning.

100_2387In the meantime, I got so much accomplished yesterday! I cleaned everything and cooked and GOT AHEAD on my freelance and yay! Here's the table before book club got here. Those colorful bowls have the cheese and Fritos and sour cream y'all told me to put out.

100_2384Here's my chili! People said it was good and actually ate it, so, go me! Of the maybe 12 people in book club, half had to bow out due to the flu. Say, did you know there's a flu going around? And at the last minute, Hibiscus Wilson showed up WITH her flu and if I get it there is gonna be Hibiscus ass kicked all over yonder. My Prednisone says I'm more likely to catch things right now, so I'm probably doomed. Although it was good to see her even WITH her germs. She likes dogs.

100_2383My dogs, however, were confined to the back room. Those creatures and food everywhere? Yeah. And I KNOW there are people with, you know TRAINED dogs who can have them just out and mellowly wandering around, not bothering anyone. Those people are what we call freaks. Super freaks.

100_2397Everyone brought a dish to pass, although technically we didn't PASS them. We just plunked them on my table.

100_2403And lemme tell you what, dawgs. Lily found her a new person. She was all UP in fellow book clubber FancyJob. I just came up with that name. Clever.

100_2401Hope y'all all are cat people!!

100_2404Eventually, I did let Talu out, after most of the food had been consumed. Apparently I'd assigned her sniff duty, where she had to go up to everyone and snort them like she's Courtney Love or something. Talu isn't as likely to jump on her hind legs and pull things off the table as Edsel is, but she kept LOOKING at that table and saying, "I'd really like to taste you. Every time we meet."

Who needs to get over that song, do you think?

We discussed the book we read (The Language of Flowers. Good book. I picked it. One of you SENT it to me. THANKS, person who sent it to me!!) for .00002 seconds, and we picked the book for next time: Girl in Translation. I felt like running–literally–out last night to get it, cause god knew I'd be UP.

100_2390Oh! And in my mania yesterday, I came up with a brilliant idea. Faithful readers will remember my asbolute OBSESSION with my 2009 vintage Better Homes & Gardens calendar. I've saved it all this time because one day I wanted to frame the pictures. Yesterday it occured to me to put the pictures under the glass of my Nester coffee table! (This table is from The Nester. I know! Celebrity coffee table!)

Okay, I better go be frenetic at work. I am like one of those terrible modern jazz songs today. Maybe I'll scat while I proofread.

June! OWT!

In which June burns up and hits the ‘roids. Chatty description to follow. HI, EVERYONE! I’M ON ‘ROIDS!!!

I just took my first dose of Prednisone and I'm sitting here waiting to bloat up like a tick. I expect I'll have big moon Jerry Lewis face by next week, right?

On Friday–

That reminds me of a story. Who is your most annoying friend? Is it old June, here? But it does. When Marvin and I lived in TinyTown, every Sunday his principal would call with this recorded message for him and for the students and parents and so on. Since pretty much everyone in the world has kids, I guess you are familiar with this.

Anyway, the principal was a wonderful woman, with advanced degrees, but she'd say, "On Tuesday, it's class picture day. And don't forget, on tomorrow, show your school spirit with…"

She'd always say that. "On tomorrow." I think it's a Southern thing.

Now you're wondering how you can show your school spirit, aren't you? I just FAILED to finish that thought. When I ran my marathon, they had a big party for all of us that evening. Stupidly, they had it at this place where you had to walk up all these steps to get there, and Marvin heartily enjoyed watching people go up sideways like crabs. I have no idea why I keep bringing up Marvin today. The point is, this guy had run the race, and he said, "Oh! It was so wonderful to get back to my hotel room after. I took the second-most relaxing shower of my life."

You guys. That was THIRTEEN YEARS AGO, and I am STILL haunted by that. Why didn't I ask him what the MOST refreshing shower was? Because WHAT COULD BE MORE refreshing than a shower after you've run 26.2 miles?

You know what I also enjoyed? I'd tell people "I'm training for a marathon" and they'd say, "How far you gonna run?"

Sigh.

I really wish I knew you all back then, cause that was some good blogging, there, the marathon training.

OH MY GOD, AS I WAS SAYING. On Friday, I schlepped over to Raleigh to see Ned, who is stuck all weekend at a class. The class was in a hotel, so I joined him there after the first day WHICH ENDED AT NINE P.M. Still incensed about how long they make him sit there. Incensed. Put me in a gold dome you bought at the drug store and light me. I am incensed.

Is the Prednisone making me chatty, you think?

OH, it was good to see Ned. You should have seen us. Total Ashley comes back from the war moment, and every single one of you is all, "Is she .EVER. going to get another example of a passionate homecoming? Ever? Are we stuck with Melanie and Ashley for the rest of TIME?"

Answer: Yes.

After we deloused his clothes and sang Dixie, we went out to eat and the moment we walked in, someone knew Ned. He was a bartender in Raleigh for 5595930303 years in college and after, so not only did he bang everyone female, he also got to know many drunk men. Who as far as I know he abstained from banging. But I just recently put the kibosh on "people we've banged" stories cause they were starting to bother me, and maybe we hadn't yet alighted on Ned's experimental years.

Do you do that with your person? Do you tell all your stories or do you leave 'em out? At first I wanted to know just everything about Ned, then I got attached. And now I'd like to think I was his first kiss. At 47. Which would not at all be sad.

Okay, if this is what I'm like on DOSE ONE, you're in for a rocky 12 days. Adrian.

So we had a good time, Ned and I did, and he even got a burrito instead of a salad, given that HIS LAST FOOD BREAK HAD BEEN AT NOON that day.

Incensed. Changing name to Nag Champa.

So everything was wonderful, and oh I adore me the Ned, till I woke up the next day.

Migraine.

Son of a BITCH. And I'll tell you what. This is not the first time he's done this: Ned has some kind of sixth sense about when things are wrong, because my head had not hurt for DAYS, but he was getting ready for his class and he said, "How's your head?" Maybe I had a big flashing red arrow pointing at my temple or something. It FEELS like that, I can assure you.

"Not good," I told him. The plan had been I'd get up and get out of there. I had to come here, get the dogs, clean the damn house for book club, make chili and get my roots done at 2:45, then come home and do my freelance work. Instead? I lay in that bed with ice in a towel until 1:00.

Ned would return to the room on his breaks and there I'd still be. You KNOW he was wondering when that ball of hair and ice was gonna be gone. MAID SERVICE!

I literally rolled out of bed, put on the clothes I'd worn the night before, and minced to Greensboro for my hair appointment. Nothing but death could keep me from covering these roots. Because did I mention my first batch of meds didn't work? And all I had on me was a DIFFERENT kind of migraine med, and they warn you you will DIE a million DEATHS if you combine prescriptions?

I mean, the incense would be snuffed.

So I get downtown to my appointment, and I'm parallel parking, holding up traffic and so on, and when I get a spot I get out of my car to make sure I'm in the lines of my spot. As soon as I open my car door, there is a CACOPHONY of noise.

"Thou art on the lines!" "Behold, maiden! You will get a ticket!" "Movest thou car!"

Up on the second floor of a building, on the balcony, were these IDOTS, dressed in RENAISSANCE garb, directing my parking.

See.

I hate the theater more than life itself, and the REASON I hate the theater is because I FUCKING HATE THEATER PEOPLE. Now, I go to plays and I even have FRIENDS who participate in the theater, but you know what? They are not the "BEHOLD, MAIDEN!" type.

Behold, maiden. Hold this.

Whenever I complain about how much I abhor dramatic theater people, Ned kind of smirks like there's something he WANTS to say but isn't GOING to say. I cannot imagine what.

They were still up there after my hair appointment. What I wouldn't have given for a power hose filled with lava.

So now I have to go do the cleaning I didn't get to yesterday. I already made the chili using one of the recipes you guys sent, so thank you for that. And I got Fritos like you told me to! I may have…sampled them to ensure they were good. Did you know Fritos have no MSG? I already knew that. Am caught up on safe junk food.

Okay, so maybe talk to you 57 more times today, as the JUNE! ON! PREDNISONE! seems to have turned on my box o'chatter. And Hulk makes a box joke in 3….2….1…

In which Ned attends a girl parts/makeup/puppy seminar

Time is UP for sending me your picture. I have a busy weekend ahead of me, so I know I won't be able to cut and paste all eleven frillion of your photos in the next few days. Also, am super-original using "frillion."

Ned left yesterday to take this ridiculous class, which lasts today, Saturday AND Sunday and runs from 7:30 a.m. till 9:00 p.m. with only ONE BREAK, for lunch. I mean, is it a class on withstanding torture? And who could CONCENTRATE that long? After five hours of listening to someone drone on, you know you're over it.

Last night, we tried to think of what we could remain interested in for 12.5 hours. Ned stampeded to girl parts, but said his attention would wane even about that after that many hours. I said makeup and puppies. I might possibly remain interested in makeup and puppies (or kittens) for that long. Now, you put me in a room of puppies AND kittens, okay yes. Thirteen hours later I'll look up and say, "Have you set the timer yet?"

Anyway, he is staying at a hotel, and it is drivable for someone who doesn't have to be there from seven fucking thirty till nine fucking o'clock, and they DO change the names of those times to include "fucking" for people who have to do ridiculous activities like that. Go look at your clock. The point is, I am driving there tonight and we'll have dinner at 9:30 just like we're sophisticated New Yorkers who aren't fed all day.

I mean, I'm SORRY. Is that even LEGAL, making people sit there and have zero dinner? Jesus Christ.

At any rate, I also have my (wait for it) statistics textbook to proofread this weekend, and on Sunday night my book club is coming to this house of hair, so not only do I have to cook something (I know), I also have to clean.

IMG_3168Oh! And let me tell you the story of what happened at daycare yesterday! I took the curs in just for the afternoon so they could have a little fun. Shake the dew off the lily, or whatever. (Once I fixed my friend Sleeping Beauty up with this guy I knew–premed!–and in the middle of the date he got up and said, "Time to shake the dew off the lily" and stampeded to the bathroom. You can see how Sleeping B snatched him right up and has spent forever with him.)

In the afternoon, I got them, and this kid takes their leashes and comes barrelling out with my insane dogs, jumping and pulling and stealing toys from the lobby displays and so on. I had to pay and sign us out and this other woman was waiting for HER dogs. "My dogs are jerks on the leash," I told the kid, which I THOUGHT would be clear: Wait till we're out of the lobby before bringing more dogs out. But no.

He brings this woman's blue Heeler and her Basset out, and my dogs offer a very welcoming and not-at-all horrifying, "BOWWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW! Grrrrrrr WOWOWOWOWOWOW! WOW!"

Even though they'd played ALL DAY with these dogs, now that they were on a leash it was necessary to show their pimp hands. I wrestled them out the door, and they're all pulling and looking back, "WOWOWOWOW! You ded, fukker blu heeler fuk!" "Eeet edz short, bassit!"

We get in the car and that woman brings her dogs to HER car. "WROWROWORWrrrr! not eff wif us! weee yellow gang! you in trubbul nowz!"

And do you know what that woman did? That self-assured, terrible, awful woman? She made her dogs SIT right NEXT to her in the parking lot, unMOVING while we drove past, my yellow car full of yellow dogs in a rage. And she SMILED at me. All smug!

That bitch. She in trubbul now. Next time we see her, Lu's going PIT on her ass.

I guess I'll go get dressed for fake work. Casual Friday! Woooo! I was thinking those snow leopard pajamas. They're pretty casual. What say you?

Oh! And I'm making chili. Does anyone know how to do that? Cause I told book club I did. …Yeah.