Migraine

Have been in bed with a migraine today, and a blind nurse. Who seems to think the only cure is more cowbell. And possibly many pets under her chin.

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Sent from my iPhone

Five wonderful years

Whenever my mother and stepfather have an anniversary, my stepfather, who is enormously sappy, says, "Twenty-eight wonderful years" or "Twelve wonderful years" or however long it's been. Marvin and I then started doing the same thing, except when it was our ninth anniversary, for instance, we'd say, "We've had five wonderful years."

Troubled marriages. They're hilarious!

Today, however, marks the five-year anniversary of the day I found Tallulah, and they really have been five wonderful years. In case you weren't here five years ago–and where were you? What could possibly have been more important than this? Where are your priorities? I was living with Marvin in TinyTown, population 3,000, and five years ago on this day, I was on my way to Raleigh to–please, God–find a job in a bigger town.

Let me interrupt this story to tell you a somewhat freakish story. I knew I had this interview in Raleigh, so the weekend before, Marvin and I drove there to check out the town. See the sights. See if we'd like living there. Of course, what I did not know is Ned was living there too, as he lived in Raleigh for 27 years.

Marvin and I were downtown, liking Raleigh quite a bit, as it turned out, when I got this overwhelming feeling. I've never felt anything like it before or since. But I thought, "The next man I fall in love with lives here. I'm going to meet another man, and fall in love with him. And he's in this town."

I remember being really disturbed by that thought, and calling my friend Renee after and telling her, and she said, "Oh, June, you HAVE to move back to LA." I guess she thought that'd save my marriage or something. Who knows? Maybe it would have. But no matter where you go, there you are, so it probably wouldn't've.

When I told that story to Ned eventually (I should have told him on the first date. That would've been unscary), he told me how he lived right near where Marvin and I were when I had that thought. Maybe he was walking right past me when I was thinking it.

Isn't that weird?

Anyway. Five years ago today I was having zero thoughts except man, do I have to get to this stupid interview. I didn't particularly WANT the job, because it was a proofreader/receptionist position, and I do not see how you can effectively proofread anything with the damn phone ringing all the time. But I was determined to get out of TinyTown, which of course now I kind of miss.

About an hour into the drive, I was on a busy two-lane country road, and there on the right was not only a bathroom (bah) (you know, how people always think the song is There's a bathroom on the r–oh, forget it), but there was also a little yellow dog. Just STANDING there right near the traffic.

"Oh, NO," I said, doing a U-turn because I'm a good driver that way. When I pulled up, I saw the dog was in fact a skinny yellow puppy, and when I opened the car door she waggled up to me. I think of how she'd bark her fool head off now if some stranger came up to her. I guess I ruined her.

Anyway, as I've told you a million times before, when I picked her up, because of COURSE I picked her up, the sun shone through her gold eyelashes and I knew right then and there I owned a dog. And I wasn't going to any interview.

Impossible_3
Here's the first picture I ever took of her. Note how in one day I managed to steal a dog, take her home and get obnoxious bowls for her. I'm a machine. I'd also screamed her over to the vet where she was diagnosed with malnutrition, worms, and fleas. I can pick 'em.

IMG_0172Here's the latest picture I took of Tallulah. I have taken 8849394950300202 photos between these times, as cranky Hulk can attest.

ChewyAnyway, I'm just saying to you. The day I found Talu was one of the best days of my whole stupid life. She's been nothing but wonderful ever since. Except for the time she ate that first edition, signed book that wasn't mine.

Winlu_3So, happy anniversary, Talu. Sorry I got you a dog. Thanks for putting up with the 39494939 cats who've come and gone. You're a good girl.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017744d492ad970d-800wiwe dun tawkeeng about dis now? lu not injoiii you telleeng ebryone about her worm.

Edsel gets a dog IQ test and is not offered a Fulbright. A half-bright, maybe.

A few years ago, back when I just had Tallulah and she was my first dog ever, I went online and found a dog IQ test. Since I'd never had a dog before, I had no idea if she was smart or dumb, so I tested her. And it turns out I was a tad more invested in her being THE SMARTEST DOG EVER than I had realized.

I was so sweaty and disappointed when she failed one of the tests that I stopped right there. Decided to get my priorities straight. I didn't want her killing herself because she got a B. I didn't want to end up trading her in for a Border collie. She'd passed most of the tests with flying dog colors, so I decided to get over wanting her to be the first dog MD.

When I got Edsel, it was obvious that in comparison to Tallulah, he was no genius. He does do smart-ish things occasionally, like he learned how to open the screen door…then he forgot he knew. He also knows a lot of words and phrases, and then gets incredibly excited by them and starts wiggling around here and snorting like Camilla Parker Bowles when Prince Charles comes at her with a flat handful of carrots. Sometimes I wondered if he was smart but so goofy that you couldn't tell.

The other day it occurred to me to give the old Eds the same IQ test I gave Talu some years back. There are six tests total, and I filmed four of them so as not to bore you half to death. Let's take a gander, shall we?

 

I know you're compelled now. Below is test numero one. And one thing that certainly proves MY intelligence is how I put my finger over the microphone for half this video. Go, June!

 

I threw a towel over Edsel, and according to the test, the quicker he gets out of the towel, the smarter he is. If you are at work or something and you could not see the video, let's just say that towel was not elusive. It's not like you said, "What towel? Edsel was under a towel? I barely saw that! Did that really happen?"

Let's move on to test two.

 

This riveting test of smarts and skills is the one Tallulah may have…not excelled at. You put a treat under a can and see if the dog can get to it. In Talu's case, she was all, "Lu no der treet under can. Lu screw. Der no way to get treet, mom. Treet gone." Edsel, however, solved it after I may or may not have cheated a little. Again, the quicker he figures it out, the smarter he is, and he did it in 15-30 seconds. Which, truthfully? You could have knocked me over with a dog's paw.

I'd again like to point out that this was an intelligence test for Edsel, yet I could not think of the word "cup."

Test three:

 

I was supposed to SMILE at the dog, and the dog was supposed to react in some way that let me know he appreciated the smile. I guess he was supposed to waggle and hang his tongue out and invite me for coffee.

I hesitate to point out that in THIS intelligence test, I admit I don't know how far a meter is.

We wrap it up with the refrigerator test.

 

I was supposed to call Edsel using the same tone I'd use to call his name, only replacing his name with the word "Refrigerator." If he comes to it, he's dumb. He didn't. I, however, cannot manage to hold the camera upright, or else we were filming in Australia all of a sudden or something.

When all was said and done, he ended up testing as average, which, !!.

I encourage you all to let me know how YOUR dogs tested. Here's the link again. Or, try these on your cats. I'll bet that'll go over well.

And how far is a damn meter, anyway?

Wouldn’t it be hilarious if one year they presented angry green men in trash cans rather than gold statues? Is that just me who thinks that’d be hilarious? Anyone?

I just tried to pet my silver purse, thinking it was one of the cats. What do you mean, I am not allowed to drive without my glasses? Good gravy. I used to have a black fuzzy cat named Ruby and I was constantly petting my black Uggs in the closet, too. Why do I admit these things to you people?

So, the Academy Awards (will not say Circle R) were on last night. Did you know that? Are you tired today? My theory is they should cancel work for everyone today, and Ned said he always thinks that the day after the Super Bowl. Me too.

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I saw in the comments some of you liked this dress, but I thought it was redunkulous. "She looks like a guest room," said Ned. Naturally I looked at him like, "?" but he said she looks like she pulled on a queen-size duvet cover, and I was all, yes! That's perfect. I did like the backwards necklace, though.

 

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Oh, hey, where'd I leave the Kleenex box? Oh! Jennifer Hudson's wearing it.

 

Charlize-theron-85th-oscarsI have a friend who said he wouldn't be attracted to his ex-wife even if she were naked, covered in onion rings and wearing a Charlize Theron mask. I always think of that when I see her now. And now, so will you! I thought she looked absolutely stunning. Only someone that lovely could pull off the dyke hair like this. And did you see Halle Berry looking all irked in the audience? She was so irritated that someone looked just as good in the dyke hair as she does.

Is it offensive to say "dyke hair"? Come on. Who're we kidding?

Do you know what I'd make? Is a terrible dyke. I do like lipstick so much that am practically a lipstick lesbian, if lipstick is female.

No, I HAVEN'T slept enough. Why?

UnknownAlso, this totally would have happened to me. "It's because she's wearing that DUVET," Ned said.

Article-2283985-18414385000005DC-911_476x680I love her. God knows I do. But this was horrible. She looks like an astronaut's wife.

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Ned abhors Anne Hathaway. I never had a problem with her, till I watched her phony baloney interview on E!–because nothing's more sincere than E!–and she was going on about "being connected to gratitude" and "marrying my soulmate." All of a sudden I went from, "Oh, Anne Hathaway. She's pretty." To "Fuck you, Anne Hathaway." However, I loved this dress and her makeup and the jewelry, and the part where we saw EVERY NUANCE of her girls, up there. Kept thinking of my grandmother when she saw the pictures from JFK Jr,'s wedding. "They have all that money and she couldn't afford a bra?"

Kristen+Stewart+arrives+at+the+Oscars+held+at+Hollywood+&+Highland+Center+on+February+24,+2013"ugggghhhhh. oh. uggghhhhhhh. I have to go to the Oscars. Uggghhh. Everything's terrible. I'm limping cause I tripped on my ennui."

I HATE HER SO EFFING MUCH OH MY GOD WANT TO SLAP HER HARD.

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Captain's Kirk's interstellar girlfriend called. Wants her uniform back.

347674-oscars-2013-best-dressed-jennifer-lawrence-kelly-osbourne-shines-earlyRecently, I bought these awful brown paper towels because they're supposed to somehow be better for the environment. They absorb absolutely nothing. They're the worst paper towels in the history of time. They're the slower picker-uppers. Am glad to see Jessica Chastain made use of her brown paper towels and a Bedazzler.

Oscars-2013-worst-dressed-helena-bonham-carter-reese-witherspoon-halle-berry-nicole-kidman-jennifer-garner-giHelena Bonham Carter irritates me not as much as Kristen Stewart, because it's not possible for someone to irk me more than she does, but I promise you she's right up there. STOP BEING SO WEIRD. We get it. You don't want to be all pegged as a Merchant Ivory actress. Okay. Cut it out.

Reese Witherspoon's wearing a graduation gown.

I can't even. I mean, Halle Berry usually stuns all of us with her gowns. This year she looks like Cher's mom.

I can't decide whether I like Nicole Kidman's Klimt dress or not. Doesn't it look like a Klimt?

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And finally. I like Jennifer Garner. She seems like a normal person. And I love her dress. I like the bustle. I like the color. And as usual she is pretty as a picture. Not a Klimt, but a normal picture. Am down with her dress.

I guess that's all the–oh! Ned and I went to see Argo just this weekend, and we were glad we did because we liked it more than we thought we would. And then it won best picture and all. He wrote a review of it for Nedflix, and I might as well toss it on here today:

By now everybody is familiar with the story behind Argo, the movie directed by Ben Affleck: American diplomats go into hiding during the Iranian Revolution of 1979 and are freed by an unlikely plot involving Hollywood and Canada. My question coming into this movie was, why would the Iranian students who took over the American embassy be any more sympathetic to movie people than they might be to any other ordinary American who happened to be there at the time? The obvious answer is that they posed as Canadian citizens. The United States, as everybody knows, is The Great Satan. After this little stunt, Canada might have become known as The Little Satan, or Le Petit Satan, depending on, you know, where you might happen to be in Canada.

I enjoyed the grainy 70ish cinematography the movie sometimes featured, I liked the overhead zoom-in effect it occasionally utilized. The soundtrack was fun, and Alan Arkin is hard to beat. And of course the true events it is based on are so compelling. I heard an interview with one of the real-life escapees recently, and he mentioned the low-key acknowledgment they all made to one another once they'd left Iranian airspace, as opposed to the busting out the champagne celebration featured in the film. And I suspect the high-speed chase on the runway as they raced to liftoff was also artistic license. But that's what movies do, and this one was good enough to get away with it.

A fun bit as the credits rolled was the comparison the movie made with its actors and the real-life people they portrayed. The filmmakers obviously went to great length to match their appearances. The exception to this was Affleck, who portrayed Hispanic CIA agent Tony Menedez. One might think the amount of time Affleck spent inside a Hispanic early in his career might have helped him relate to the role, but such an association does not a Hispanic Affleck make.

My Hollywood inside sources tell me that this movie's portrayal of Hollywood coming to the rescue of an America in crisis might help give it a nudge towards Best Picture, so don't be surprised if that happens. And if you don't believe me, you can Argo fuck yourselves.

Nedflix: The Oscar Edition

Ima try to scream out this post before we go to a, yes, movie and then go home and watch four hours of a show about…movies.

Some of you had wondered what Ned's picks for the Oscars Circle R are, and who cracks herself up every time she writes "Circle R"? The award for most amused by nothing goes to…

So, here was a smart idea. Me deciding YOUR stupid idea to ask Ned to DECIDE something would be fun and brief. "Say, Ned, my readers want to know who you're picking for the Oscars tonight." "Oh, sure, I'll do that. Let's go to my computer room FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE so I can look online and see who's nominated." Two hundred minutes later, I was thinking of being interred in said room, or at least marrying it, so familiar was I with its every nuance. The couch I was sitting on actually proposed to me, since we'd been spending so much time together.

I mean, you guys. HAVE I NOT SEEN THE MAN LOOK AT A MENU? Fast decisions are not Ned's strong suit. You have no idea how rabidly I was hating everyone who came up with this suggestion.

Finally, after cobwebs grew on my skeleton over there, Ned came up with this list:

Best Picture: Lincoln

Actor: Daniel Day Lewis

Actress: Emmanuelle Riva (she was the woman in that sad Amour movie. Good gravy, she deserves the Oscar) (Circle R) (just peed self)

Supporting Actor: Alan Arkin

Supporting Actress: Sally Field (if she talks about how we really like her, Ima go on stage and cock punch her. Stay tuned!)

Director: Steven Spielberg

Cartoon or whatever it' called: Wreck-It Ralph (Cause we enjoyed the SHIT out of Wreck-It Ralph. We did not see any of these. Because we're grownups. And I know very little irritates me, but one of the rare things that does is people who have kids trying to convince me to see kids' movies. "They make it so it's entertaining for adults, too." Yeah. You know what entertains this adult? Adult movies. So to speak.) Cinematography: Anna Karenina

Costume: Les Mis (see above re how we so enjoyed Les Mis)

Documentary: Searching for Sugarman (which is the only one we saw)

Documentary Short: Mondays at Racine

Editing: Lincoln

Foreign Language Film: Amour (happy! happy movie)

Makeup: Les Mis

Original Score: Lincoln

Original Song: Les Mis

Production Design: Anna Karenina (can you imagine how long I sat there while Ned compiled this list? I mean, can you? Picture it? I sat down in that room when I was 17. Just got up.)

Animated Short: Adam & Dog (but Paperman might win. We just WANT Adam & Dog to win)

Short film (okay, this is the one where we bet $900,000.) Death of a Shadow (says Ned) Asad (says me)

Sound Editing: Zero Dark Thirty

Sound Mixing: Lincoln (we walked out of there and said, Wow, the SOUND MIXING was INCREDIBLE)

Visual Effects: Life of Pi

Adapted Screenplay: Lincoln

Original Screenplay: Zero Dark Thirty

So there you have it. What if Ned gets them all correct? Maybe he'll win some kind of cash prize or something. And be sure to come back here tonight if you want to say anything snotty about the stars. Or how well I cock punched Sally Field.

 

In which June gets out the photo album. Oh, I know. Makes you wanna dive right in, doesn’t it?

I don't have much to blog about today, because I am uninteresting. Last night I did my Tracy Chapman workout and watched a documentary at Ned's. And yes, I know it's funny I got a divorce from Mr. Documentary, Mr. All-Documentaries-All-the-Time, and then I meet someone else and what the eff do we do with our Friday night but watch a ding-dang documentary.

 

It was good, though. Dear Marvin, In case you decide to look at my blog today, this was good. Sort of XO, June. Awkwardly punching you on the arm, June.

Anyway, that summed up our night, as we are on Project Spend Less of Ned's Money, although tonight after some riveting sports event that Ned is beside himself about, we are going to see Argo, because it's the one Best Picture nominee we haven't seen, other than Les Mis, which doesn't count. You know who'd be Les Mis? Is Ned and me at that picture.

So, because I had nothing to blog about, and because I don't have time to load more of your 800 million photos you sent in or do a makeup tutorial, because Ima pay bills and buy groceries today and WOOO! the fun never stops at House of June, I thought what I'd do instead is dig into my photo box titled 1965-1992 and see what hideous photos I can show you.

Scan 15Dad and me, in what I would estimate was 1987. I am guessing based on the perm, and yes that IS a perm. On me, not dad. We're standing on the roof of his building in Atlanta, where he used to live. Also we heart ourselves. I think this was a photo we specifically took to send to my grandmother, framed, for her birthday. See above reference to we heart ourselves.

Scan 16This was in 2002, not anywhere close to 1965-1992. You know what I have? A super-organized photo box. This was my stepsister's wedding, and I remember I specifically lost weight for it, but I still have front butt. Goddammit. I look good otherwise, though. Other than the part where I'm clearly keeping Kanga from Winnie the Pooh.

Scan 17For the love of God, June. Have a drink. This was 1992, and I know the date from the boyfriend in the picture. Some go by moons; I go by men. Sometimes you tell the days by the bottle that you drink. Sometimes when you're alone and all you do is think.

You're welcome.

A bunch of us went dancing at a gay bar in Detroit, and then got what I'm certain was heart-healthy food at this diner. And somehow my bra needed to be taken off and bitten. As you do.

If I went out dancing all night and then ate diner food, I'd be destroyed the whole next day. I'll bet you anything that 26-year-old June got up the next day, picked her bra out of her teeth, and just went on like it was nothing.

Okay, last one.

Scan 18One year, I was Madonna for Halloween. June. Continuing to love herself since 1965. June. Putting the "pre" in Madonna since 1965. I see my roommate Larry back there, who went as a Larry Krishna, and Sleeping Beauty's boyfriend who came as a TV dinner. We were hilarious. Why aren't there more Halloween parties for 47-year-olds? Of course, by the time Halloween rolls around again I will be 48.

The cones are divining rods at this point.

So I guess that's all. I leave you with these photos from years gone by, with the bras and the pouches and the paternal strangling. I will talk at you tomorrow, when Ooooo! I guess Ned and I will pick our Oscar thingamajigs.

June. Getting into the grove and out of here.

June serves lasagna. Story at 11:00.

They delayed work due to inclement weather and

Dear Friends and Family in Michigan,

You would die laughing about this "weather."

This did not stop me, of course, from going right back to bed and spooning Tallulah, who was down with the return to slumber, as well. She never judges when one wants to have a few additional winks.

IMG_0139In the meantime, my pal Marianne came over last night, as was announced in yesterday's riveting post. Note the part where Ned cannot stop eating long enough to pose for the camera. Also, it looks like I made Ned drink salad dressing, when in fact I did not. Well. Much. It was kind of an initiation thing.

I made my one dish–lasagna–and Marianne and I got together first, had a little bonding and some making out, then Ned came over later and wondered if there was any food left. I will tell you one thing about Ned, and this is a news flash. He likes him some food.

Anyway, it was fun to watch them out-Southern each other. "Hi, here's my enthusiasm at meeting you!" "Hi! Here's my polite question to show interest!!" "Hey! That was a great question. Here is my funny Southern story that answers you and amuses you all at once."

Seriously, this is the most social place I've ever lived. Everyone in Michigan was extra super reserved, so I fit in THERE just like a puzzle piece. That one puzzle piece you try to cram cram cram in, cause it LOOKS like it SHOULD fit. Then in Seattle you had to act cool and dark about everything, and sort of earnestly politically correct, and in LA you had to convince everyone you had money.

Here people are just nice. And it's likely fake as all get-out, but I don't care. I'm shallow that way.

When Marianne got here, we hugged, then later she said, "Thanks for the hug when I got here. I know you didn't mean it." I was all, "I SO didn't mean it!" See? Reserved. Michigan. Also just cold fish in general.

Anyway, we had fun. Ned is still having a dreadful time with general being-a-grownup stuff, and when he called to see if I still wanted him to come meet Marianne he sounded so terribly drained and miserable. And you know who is an excellent middle-aged-manfriend? Is Ned. Because he came over anyway, and he was funny and delightful, and mostly had to hear us talk about girl things, although we did manage to not discuss our periods.

Wait. Yeah, we did. Good gravy. Poor Ned.

I guess I'd better go get ready to drive through this INCLEMENT WEATHER and go to fake work. I like how even when work is delayed, I find a way to waste time and show up six minutes late like I always do. Why don't they hire me, again?

Are you going to watch the Oscars this weekend? Ned and I thought about doing a Nedflix where we predict the winners, and don't forget we have a $900,000 bet on who wins Best Short. We are now even on our owing each other money: I owed him $900,000 when he said. "That waitress is going back to get us free dessert" on our anniversary, and I said, "I'll bet you $900,000 she is not" and then boom, she came out with those cream puffs.

But then we saw this French movie about a woman whose legs were bitten off by a whale, and who do you think selected THAT happy film, and Ned was CONVINCED the actress really didn't have legs. I was all, dude, I've SEEN HER IN OTHER THINGS. Do you think she's just that dedicated to her craft and had her legs bitten off for this one movie? So we bet $900,000 that she did or did not have legs. I just want to reiterate that usually Ned is really smart.

Marion-Cotillard-Dark-Knight-NYC-PremiereOh, look! It's a miracle! She got her legs back! What's not a miracle is that copper eye shadow. "Let's make me look like I might have allergies." Pretty dress, though.

Anyway, let me know. About the Oscars. I kind of miss getting to call my ex-mother-in-law during the red carpet. She was always good for that crucial part of the night.

Okay, strapping the diamonds around my cankles and getting to work.

Despair face

IMG_0131Do you know what I bet Ned wishes? Is that he could ever come over here and not be assaulted by pets. My grandfather used to say wish in one hand, shit in the other. See which gets filled up first.

Why do grandparents go around saying things that barely make sense like that? Is it just when you become a grandparent? Those phrases just start coming out your mouth?

I've told you this before, but my grandmother, who was in no way related to my grandfather other than they were in-laws, I guess, used to say "Your ass would make him a Sunday face."

Yeah, I know. I had to sit around for 10 years figuring that one out.

Ned–who had had a bad day, hence the look of despair and enormous glass of wine, which technically I bought for my friend Marianne but more on that later–and I went to the movies last night.

Not that I bought a look of despair for my friend Marianne. I bought WINE for her. Wine. But wouldn't it be great if you could go out and buy looks of despair for people? "I knew your day was sucking, so I bought you empathy face."

Despair pennant
Don't I still owe Furry Godmother this pennant? Don't ever enter into contests here. You'll be out purchasing despair face in no time.

OH MY GOD ANYWAY. So, we went to see all the animated shorts up for an Academy Award. Circle R. And one of the shorts was by The Simpsons. I mean, the cartoon characters didn't make a movie, but it was by Matt Groening and it was about Maggie being at daycare. Of course it was hilarious, but that's not even a fair fight. We hope that one doesn't win.

 There was another one with a dog in it who looked JUST LIKE EDSEL that we liked, and an art one that'll probably win because people are pretentious.

 

Oh. Even though they showed this last night, this isn't a nominee. WHAT GIVES? So maybe my dog one will win. Edsel's movie will win. Who even knew Edsel was doing this? He's always home when I get home, like a good wife.

But as I was saying, I got wine and MADE LASAGNA last night before our movie, because tonight right after work, my friend Marianne is coming over! Oh, I'm so excited.

6a00e54f9367fb8834010537173719970b-800wiI met Marianne a month after I moved to Seattle. We had a mutual, well, "friend" is a strong term. We both knew this really annoying self-centered woman, who literally had a shrine to herself in her own living room. Seriously, she had these giant letters that spelled out her name, and a big glamor shot under that. Once, at a party, my friend Marianne had her Commitments tape stolen, or maybe we were far enough along in civilization that it was a CD. It doesn't matter. What DOES matter is she reported said crime to our self-centered….friend (not that it was Ned), who said, "I saw that movie." THAT'S ALL SHE SAID! She didn't care that Marianne had been ROBBED. The important thing was she had seen the movie. I mean, get your priorities straight, Marianne. God.

So the self-centered woman, who I dearly hope has not somehow found my blog despite the fact I have not spoken to her since 1995, took me to a rugby game a month after I moved to Seattle, because she was banging every rugby player who'd have her, and please see above reference to hoping she doesn't read my blog.

I was desperate enough to make friends that I WENT to a rugby game, and Marianne went too, although I forget her motives. Was she similarly banging a rugby player? I can't recall that, but you never know. We were single and ready to…watch our "friend" out there in the freezing Seattle weather, wearing a crop top and cheering on men giving each other concussions.

Neither Marianne and I were remotely into this sport. And it was cold. And because it was Seattle, a freezing horrid drizzle had just begun. "You wanna go to the car and drink all the beer?" I asked Marianne.

And a friendship was born. After that, we spent EVERY weekend together. We had breakfast at this restaurant across from my apartment EVERY Saturday morning, and even after I met my Official Seattle Boyfriend, we hung out all the time. Marianne and Official Seattle Boyfriend both had the habit where they'd eat all of one thing, then go to the next thing. Like, they'd eat all the corn, then move on and eat all the chicken.

WHICH DIDN'T DRIVE ME BERSERK AT ALL.

6a00e54f9367fb88340120a584c499970b-800wi
Maybe that's why I made lasagna for tonight, since Marianne will be in town for a conference. Since with lasagna everything is mooshed into one dish, I don't have to watch her do The Thing.

How many of you stalky stalkersons went over to Official Seattle Boyfriend's website and looked for a picture of him? How stalky is it that I KNOW about his website? I have always liked his art–I even bought one of his paintings as a wedding present for a friend who'd similarly always liked his art. I had another friend pick it up, though. I was too nervous to see him.

OH MY GOD ANYWAY.

So, Marianne will be here tonight, and what I like about my friendship with her is my house is LUDICROUS, and I know she'll love me anyway. Unless she's changed, like my childhood best friend who now watches FOX News all the time and has no sense of humor anymore. But I don't think so.

There's nothing better than one of those friends you can pick right back up with, is there?

6a00e54f9367fb88340120a5d93917970c-800wiLike no time has passed? Unlike the stylishness of this jacket. Or Marianne's white leggings, for that matter. God, we look young. And you know who took this? Official Seattle Boyfriend. Who as I recall was super sick of us that day. Possibly due to alcohol. Or maybe it was my poor decision to get bangs.

Okay, that's all. Marianne coming. I'm making my official dish. And she's meeting Official Greensboro Boyfriend. That about sums it up. I'll report back tomorrow about how not-fun she's become. I'll report on how Marianne has become Fun Bobby.

XO, June

Sasha Fierce

Have you noticed we never get to hear about Dooce's divorce or whether she's dating anyone? I mean, I splayed out all my personal bidness straightaway as soon as there was anything interesting to tell, but she seems to spend all her time around her gay and 12-year-old friends. Come on, Dooce. We know you must be dating by now. Spill it.

I was just thinking today how weird it is to have a blog, and I know some of you also have blogs and can identify. I mean, for example, how I feel perfectly entitled to know all of Dooce's bidness. Am I remotely entitled to know all of Dooce's bidness? Of course I'm not. But since she tells us about her workout routine, her dogs, the things her kids say and her Avon-selling mom, we feel like we should be able to hear every detail. I mean, she's our close, personal friend. Right?

So that's what's weird about blogging. You tell all your stuff and people feel like they know you, when in reality they really don't. For all you know, I beat my cats and speak Portuguese. Exclusively. I could be The Portuguese Proofreader, and these posts are translated into English. There could be all sorts of things I've never told you.

I don't know. It's just a weird dynamic, all sorts of people kind of knowing you and you not knowing them at all. Basically, this whole blog has changed my life.

Maybe once a week, I'll get a long email from some reader where they tell me about a problem they're having, and I never mind getting these. I figure they're sitting there thinking, "God, who can I tell about this. Oh, how about June? We talk every day."

It's not a bad thing, this having a blog. It's just nothing I ever thought would happen to me: having people say, "June!?!" when I go out in public (that's happened, like, three times. I'm not Elvis, for heaven's sake), getting presents from people I've never met, unsolicited advice from readers who've invested themselves in my story.

Oh, and the Marvin hating! That cracks me up! Poor Marvin. But I guess you got invested in him, too. Then he left all of us.

In other news, I got a massage last night. I KNOW!  My neck is constantly in pain. CONSTANTLY. I am the tensest person alive, I think. And oh, it's been hurting a LOT lately. And ever since Ned got me that gift certificate to the spa, I've been getting emails from the place. Yesterday they sent one out saying the woman who massaged me had an opening at 5:30 and I said THAT IS IT. IT'S A SIGN. Because war, famine, June's need for massage. These are the things God troubles himself with.

So I grabbed that gift card and screamed over there.

"Oh. WOW," she said as she tried to, you know, do her work. "You're one of the worst people I've ever seen." They always say that. And can you tell me why? It's not like I'm laying bricks and coming home to my eight screaming thankless kids each night.

After my massage, they took me to this huge window seat filled with pillows, and pulled a gauzy curtain so I could sit in there and drink peppermint tea. I was on the second story, looking out the window to downtown Greensboro. After a few minutes I realized I was starting RIGHT INTO my friend Hibiscus's office space. They were having some kind of meeting in a conference room. So creepily, I got to to sit up there and spy on Hibiscus.

When I was in my 20s, I was obsessed with this boy I was dating. Oh, it was ludicrous. He lived on the second floor, above a movie theater. Sometimes I'd park in the theater parking lot and just watch him up there living his life. I KNOW! HOW WEIRD WAS I?? Oh, he'd be up there feeding his fish or changing a record, and I'd just sit in my car and stare up there and sigh. Until the day his mom pulled into the same parking lot and I had to scream out of there so she wouldn't know I was berserk.

Dear Old Boyfriend Who Sometimes Reads This Blog: That wasn't you. I don't mean you. It was some OTHER guy who lived above a movie theater. I didn't just totally give myself away just now with that detail. Go find something else to do, old boyfriend. Go read Dooce.

See? Having a blog is weird.

Oh, yes. I certainly DO see a virgin up there in those stars. Freak.

IMG_0119Last night I had dinner with my friend and coworker The Poet. We've been TRYING to go to tea together, but clearly God is over us and our tea plans. First, we picked Proximity, which is a fancy hotel near me–and how ironic would it be if a place called Proximity were far away from me–but they only serve tea until 5:00, and we, you know, work. Apparently they only cater to ladies who tea.

Then I suggested this place called The Secret Tea Room, where The Other June and I went and had crab cakes, thereby eating our astrological sign. Yes, I realize I say that every time I have crab. It's my big line. Sue me. Crack my shell and put butter on me. I guess that's more lobster, isn't it? Point is, Effing Secret Tea Room. Closed on Monday.

"GodDAMMIT," I said, glaring at my computer. "You want to just go to the fancy dessert place instead?" So we agreed to do that. Then when work was over and we were finally ready, we decided we wanted actual dinner and that's the end of that story.

How come you can be a crab but not a lobster as your astrological sign? I guess there were no constellations that looked like a lobster. Although if you ask me whoever made up what the constellations looked like was totally making shit up, like the dad from Calvin and Hobbes. "See there? That's an archer." Okay, high-on. I see a star here and three little spots over yonder. If that's an archer to you, go on wit' yer bad self.

Anyway, that was pretty much the highlight of yesterday. Having dinner with The Poet. I like The Poet. When they first sat me next to her at work I was worried she'd be all deep and only speak in poems or something. There's nothing worse than putting me next to a deep person. The juxtaposition is so, you know, jarring. But it was fine. She keeps her deep on the downlow when she's around me.

IMG_0087I just went into my photos on my computer to see if I took other photos of The Poet (answer: no) (and she really is a poet. Like, she's all published and stuff. And she tours around reading her poems and so forth) (maybe one day she'll be famous and I'll be a footnote in her biography. "Inexplicably, The Poet hung around shallow blogger June Gardens. Occasionally they tried to get tea.").

At any rate, I found this picture I somehow managed to take of my phone lockscreen, and by the way can anyone tell me how I did this? But I'm glad, because I have as my lock screen that terrible painting from the hotel we stayed at in West Virginia.

Am obsessed with that awful painting. And every once in awhile Ned says, "She kind of looks like you," which just makes me mad.

Now am interested in what's here in my photos that I haven't shown you.

IMG_0088I never did show you a photo of the chocolate-chip cookies I made for Ned for Valentine's Day. I mean, I actually made them. I did not just cut cookies off a tube. In fact, I was AT the store, buying foreign things like "flour" and "baking soda," and I saw the dang tubes in the frozen-food aisle, and I was all, Why didn't I just do that? But I wanted to make an effort, because Ned is nice to me.

You can see I had a lot of duds in this batch, but I took all the bad ones to work and people descended on them like jackals. If I had left a dead antelope out, I mean. I don't know that jackals would descend on cookies. I don't know if my fake coworkers WOULDN'T descend on an antelope, either. I've seen them eat mayonnaise-based sandwiches that have been sitting out all day.

IMG_0086Here's Tallulah trying to stare intently at me while I eat something but falling asleep in the meantime. Girlfriend would never catch her a jackal. She enjoys the nap too much. You should see how she is when I come home at lunch. Edsel is always at the door, striking up the band and dropping the ticker tape, while five minutes after I'm in the door Talu clicks down the hall with pillow marks creasing her face. "o. yu heer? it noons alreddy? talu just…tydee up in bedrum."

IMG_0073Who even knows what pertinent fact Ned is relaying?

IMG_0006Me at work with my Hot Royals calendar. Every month they show a new prince and give you his status. Is he dating someone special? Single? Into 47-year-olds? They tell you everything.

I guess those are all the faintly interesting photos I have in my computer. Currently I have 5,474 photos on said computer, and that's not even counting the 10839294 you've sent me of yourselves that I haven't put up yet. Remember when we just had photo albums and took 12 pictures at a time or whatever? Yeah.

Talk at you tomorrow. Oh! And in case anyone was worried sick and didn't read the comments, and I love it when the answer is in the comments but you ask anyway, the official name for Ned's movie reviews is Nedflix, thanks to witty Faithful Reader Letha. We are going to another movie Wednesday, Ned and me, not Letha and me, so there could be a Nedflix coming your way soon. Wooo!

Mica! Broadway Bronze! This is what it sounds like when doves cry. No, I HAVEN’T had a stroke…

-1Remember in December, when I gave everyone in my book club a nice moustache? What do you mean, "no"? What do you mean "sometimes I live my life and don't remember your every detail, June"? Whatever with you. At any rate, it's nice to see they're still being used to the fullest.

I had book club again last night, and what I like about book club is how intensely and passionately we dissect the book. Last night it was, "Did you read the book?" "Yeah, wasn't it great?" Then we discussed lipstick.

I went to the bathroom of our hostess, Hibiscus, and she had 2,047 lipsticks from Ulta in there. When I came out I said, "Hibiscus, I'm headed over to Ulta. You need me to pick you up a lipstick?" I'm fun that way.

"I know," said Hibiscus, "Isn't it awful?" But really, I'm one to talk. Every purse in my closet has at least one lipstick, so if I change purses I won't be lipstickless, god forbid. I also have two at my desk at fake work and several on my vanity.

IMG_0103Faithful Reader and Fellow Book Club Member LauUral whipped out her lipsticks at that point, and one wonders if she's some kind of Picasso painting with seven pairs of lips or something.

IMG_0110But then two book club members said they only have one lipstick and buy it over and over again. This shade is L'Oreal's Broadway Bronze, and if I ever mention her again, guess what this chick's new blog name will be?

The other person at book club who only wears one shade ALSO wears L'Oreal in Mica, which in case you were worried sick I've worn before and it's a nice color.

Screen Shot 2013-02-18 at 7.27.15 AMThat doesn't mean Ima STICK with that color! Don't be silly.

I wonder what it means about us psychologically that some one us just find one lipstick and stick to it, while the rest of us are like Prince's mother: She's never satisfied. Also, why do we scream at each other?

IMG_0115Two people who did not scream at each other this weekend were Ned and me. Enclosed please find a photo from us at dinner with some friends, wherein Ned feigns interest in whatever I'm saying. I'm probably running down my lipstick shades for him.

Was it "wear your hair like a Cocker spaniel and get half off dessert" night? What gives with Ned's hair? BAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, funny. …MY hair. What gives with MY hair? I leave the house thinking it's okay, then I see a picture of it and it's always saying, "BLAAARRGGGHHH!!!!" It's always having some kind of fit, my hair. It's always over-the-top HEY LADYYYY! Jerry Lewis hair and never dignified Sir Ian McKellan hair.

Anyway. The other thing we did this weekend was go to a movie. I know that is shocking information, as Ned and I never GO to a movie. I think since I met him we have not gone two weeks without seeing some (incredibly depressing) movie together.

Someone mentioned in the comments that we should have some sort of movie corner with Ned, not that we all stand on some corner like common prostitutes. On the other hand, how else we gonna keep ourselves in lipstick? Anyway, I mentioned to Ned that you'd seemed interested in talking movies with him, so when I got home last night he'd written a little review of what we saw yesterday, which was the horrifically sad movie Amour:

 

And if you watched this preview just now and thought, "GodDAMMIT. This day was going fine and now I want to KILL MYSELF," welcome to my world. Welcome to every movie Ned wants to see.

So without further ado or lipstick, here is Ned's review of Amour. We need a little name for Ned's reviews if we continue with these. What can we call it?

June has asked me to write reviews for some of the movies we see together. While I cannot promise to be as dedicated as June, nor to bring the same quality that she does, I thought I'd go ahead and give this a shot. So without any further ado, the movie we saw today was Amour, an Austrian film starring Jean-Louis Trintignant and Emmanuelle Riva as husband and wife Georges and Anne.

If you've never heard of either of these actors, you'll be relieved to know that they are French, and nobody else has heard of them either. I took two years of French in high school, but I cannot remember why the French have to make George plural. And as French actors, they speak a lot of French in the film, so if reading subtitles isn't your thing, you might consider giving this one a miss.

Nominated for five Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Foreign Picture, Best Original Screenplay, Best Director and Best Actress in a Leading Role (she'll win), Amour tells the story of Georges and Anne, retired music instructors who live a quiet, sophisticated life somewhere very Frenchy. Anne suffers a stroke early in the movie, and the rest of the film concerns her declining health, his attempt to care for her, and the resulting changes and challenges in their relationship.

This is not at all a sentimental view of aging and dying, but rather an open-eyed, brutally honest depiction of end-of-life issues faced by absolutely everyone eventually. There isn't really any relief in the film either. No hint of recovery, no light moments to lift the mood, just a slow, inexorable march towards the inevitable. Spoiler alert: She dies.

This unblinking look at the increasing indignities and humiliation suffered at the end of a life lived well make this a film not fit for everyone. Me, for example. But if you have a good mood you need to get rid of, think you have this whole life thing figured out, or are just too goddamn smug for your own good, this might be a movie for you.

Lips be poppin’.

I have many plans today, including going to the grocery store for toothpaste because currently I need the strength of 10 men to attempt to squeeze out the dregs of my current tube, but so far all I've done is some laundry and I watched An American in Paris. Oh, and I ate pretty much half the box of Whitman's Samplers Ned gave me for Valentine's Day.

Today. A day that matters in the grand scheme of things so far.

Ned not only got me a large box of candy, because life is like a box of chocolates, and HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAA! no one ever makes that joke, but he also sent me flowers at work AND he got me a Nora Ephron book I had not yet read. The first person to call him a "keeper" gets chocolate cordials thrown up on them.

"They called you a keeper again," I always tell him, whenever any of you guys do, which is all the time. He always seems kind of pleased, but I also think he KNOWS he falls under the category of Good Boyfriend. Good Middle-Aged Manfriend. You can't be as good to your woman as Ned and, you know, not know. Anyway, I have no plans to not keep him for quite a stretch, if I can help it.

"Hi. I'd like to return this boyfriend? He didn't fuss enough over me for Valentine's Day."

IMG_0090We got up with my friend Jo on V-Day, because what's more romantic than that? And no, Ned did not get any girl-on-girl action out the deal. Sorry, Ned. I am so not a keeper. Anyway. Jo was having her monthly BookUp, and I love going to BookUp, so we did despite the Very Important Holiday.

And it's a good thing we did, because she had a whole V-Day gift bag extravaganza for me, and who loves being fussed over? Is it me, over here?

IMG_0093SHE GOT ME PINK BEACH!! I had completely used up my tube, and in case you're just tuning in to this riveting blog, last spring I put a picture of Jo up here, and 9939848372 of you wrote, "What's that lipstick Jo has on?" and then we all screamed out and had a run on Pink Beach.

IMG_0099Here I am wearing it, and God, can you ever tell. Just trust me. Lips be poppin'.

IMG_0095The BookUp was at a coffee shop, and here were our tip jar options. I mean, make it a little TOUGHER, dudes. I was torn. Eventually I picked Led Zeppelin, because I'm from Saginaw and you can't take the Saginaw out of me. However, I did end up conceding that I'd rather hang out with Freddy Mercury than Jimmy Page. I want to hang out with Jimmy Page I just gotta look in the mirror at that hair.

IMG_0097After the BookUp, we went to dinner and did not bring Jo. Sorry, Jo. I managed to capture on film the lightning-fast mercurial slip of a moment when Ned decided to browse the menu.

Following that, Valentine's Day was none yo' bidness. Oh, but as Jo mentioned my unmentionables to all y'all all in the comments, I did have on a rhinestone bra, which I got special for the holiday, and I like how I keep calling it "the holiday" so as not to offend Jews or pagans. Anyway, you go all out and get a pink rhinestone bra, you need to unbutton your sweater in the coffee shop and show it to your friend. And your …friend. See what I did, there?

Yesterday I visited my old pal Charlie, who in case you are just tuning in AGAIN, and will you stop tuning in and out? COMING INNNNN AND OUT OF YOUR LIFE ISN'T EASYYYYYY…

That is a horrific song. In fact, it is SO horrific that I refuse to YouTube it on here. I think I officially have a No Barbra Stresisand rule on this blog, as of now.

OHMYGOD ANYWAY. If you just got here, my friend Charlie is in his 20s and the funnest person EVER, and this past summer he slipped on a goddamn LOG and is now paralyzed. It sucks. Is what it does. And this week he was back in the hospital with some infections and stuff, so yesterday I drove to see him in Winston-Salem. His door was shut and a nurse person came out. I mean, I guess she was a nurse. No one wears white hats and nylons anymore like Jesse did on General Hospital.

"I'm here to see Charlie," I told her. "Is it okay if I come in?" "We're in the middle of something but hang on. Whom shall I say is here?" "June," I said.

A minute later she came back. "June Gardens?" "Yes." "Oh, he really wants to see you. Hang on."

"Tell him I have on a sparkly bra," I told her. Yes, I wore it to work the next day. You can't TELL it's sparkly. And it lifts the girls. Support can be beautiful.

"NOW I REALLY REALLY WANT TO SEE YOU!" I heard him shout.

Eventually I got in there and we had a nice visit, and I may or may not have shown him a rhinestone or two. I never said I wasn't a giant tramp. With an understanding Middle-Aged Manfriend.

So that sums everything up. I seriously have 700 things to do now. I have to sweep the pet-covered floors, get the toothpaste before I  start becoming an extra from Deliverance, do some work I brought home, finish the laundry and do my Tracy Quartermaine workout, because hello, Whitman Sampler hips.

Hope all is well with all y'all all, and since you're up, can you tell me why they even MAKE chocolate-covered cherries? Blech. Dear Whitman and your sampler: More cashew crunches. Fewer cherries. I'll show you my bra if you listen. Love, June.

I will talk at you tomorrow. Oh, how I miss Henry’s white ear tip.

My workday looks insane, y'all. And at lunch I have to run to Winston, because my friend Charlie, the one who broke his neck? Is in the hospital with some infections and stuff. Then after work I have dinner plans, so ACK.

What I'm saying is no time to post today.

Here. Enjoy this vintage shot of Talu when she had a Henry.

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The Love Post. Soon will be making another round. The Love Post. Promises something for everyone.

Well, it's Valentine's Day, which technically is my favorite holiday because I like the colors. And yes, I know I also like April Fool's Day, and you know, a person can have two favorite holidays, persnickety. Where is it WRITTEN, I'd like to know, that you can only have the one favorite holiday? Hmmm?

Watch. Someone will go find where it's written.

So far I've gotten some lovely earrings from my Aunt Mary and also from my friend Dot, not that they went in on earrings together. Also I got nice cards from my mom and Chris and Lilly.

As for me, I spent all last night preparing a Very Special Valentine's Day Thing for Ned, which I can't TELL you about because he hasn't GOTTEN it yet, but let's just say it involved me being in the kitchen, which is seldom a good idea. And I was nervous as a CAT at the grocery store for fear I'd run into him, and I even went to the store he less-seldom frequents, and it turns out he was there within an hour after I was there.

See what I mean? If we break up I'll have to move to Schenectady. And I don't even know where that IS. I just kind of wanted to say Schenectady.

But anyway, I've not gathered you all here today to listen to me blather on about Ned, for once. Today, the holiday of love, I thought we should talk about other kinds of love. Not "other kinds of love" like the way I humped my dog the other day, but things we love that aren't romantic.

Because yes, this is the day to celebrate romantic love, and yay and so on. But last year, I didn't HAVE romantic love and it sucked. I had just MET Ned and the only thing we did was send each other sarcastic Some eCards. Oh, I love Some eCards.

Screen Shot 2013-02-13 at 9.24.40 PM

What I'm trying to say is, not everyone is ensconced in a happy romantic sitch this year (I am. Did I tell you how I am? Did I tell you I get all melty when I'm around Ned, and how half the time I don't even know what the fuck he's talking about because I'm so busy thinking, "I adore Ned"? Did I tell you all that? Have you heard? Because maybe I've not mentioned it) and it's depressing and abhorrent to see all those happy romantic people.

100_2192

IMG_2060

IMG_1766sigh
.

heeeee….

So my point is, today let's talk about what else we love. Oh, sure, we all love our PETS and our KIDS and so on. Who cares? When you ever gonna hear anyone say, "My child is hideous and I hate him." No one ever says that. Everyone has "four beautiful children" now, did you ever notice that? "We have four beautiful children." Oh, shut up. One of them has to be a bulb nose or something. Give me a break. Four kids, and not one butterface? Come on.

And no one ever says, "I am bored stiff by my new kitten."

And that is why we will attempt today to enjoy all the OTHER things we love. This day of love doesn't have to be about romance, like the hot hot hottie hot melty romance I have that's new and exciting.

Blogger Bludgeoned with Own Blog Post. Story at 11:00.

No! Today we celebrate ALL the things we love. Is what I say.

"I'm writing a special love post," I told Ned, the man I lovelovelovelovelovepinkcloudofhappy love. "And I'm trying to think of other things we love. What else do you love besides me and that cat? What other kinds of love are there?"

"There's Love American Style," said Ned, while I told him to hang on so I could sign up for a dating site.

So, here's my list of THINGS I LOVE THAT AREN'T NED BY JUNE GARDENS.

  1. Mashed potatoes. Yes, if there were a card I could send to a mashed potato, I would. Sue me.
  2. George Clooney. I don't even particularly lust for George Clooney, although he's undeniably handsome. I mean he's a good person who's done a lot for the world and isn't an ass even though he could be if he wanted to.
  3. My friends. I mean, I have a lot of friends. But I have three or four people who, when I talk to them, I feel 100 times better after we've spoken. And if you try to tell someone about it after, you can't capture what was special about it. So anyway, them. Those friends. The ones who lift you up rather than make you feel like dung.
  4. A new lipstick, when it's really good. When you dash to the car, rip open the packaging, look in your rearview mirror and put it on and you don't look like a lunatic after. Where you're all, Wow, I'm pretty cute rather than Wow, am I an extra from Girl, Interrupted?
  5. The flowers that are coming up all over my yard. Even though they shouldn't be, and it's too early, oh! It's nice to see daffodils out there nodding hello.
  6. Waking up and realizing you actually slept all night.
  7. Really good coffee.
  8. The small child I saw today who was approximately 2-11 years old, and who had on old-fashioned white button-up boots, like the kind some kid would have had on in 1900 along with her large-wheeled bicycle. I have no idea where she GOT those boots, and she also had on a fabulous tassled pink poncho, and she was so working it.

That's what I mean. About stuff to love today. It doesn't have to be anything traditional.

Lillyvalentinelillee too pretee not to be everyone valentyne

So let me know. What do YOU love today other than the obvious stuff?

Love (see that I did, there?), June.

In which June humps Edsel and needs relationship advice

You know what I did last night? I humped Edsel. He's always JUMPING on poor Talu and humping her, and she shows her mean teef and then he gets scared and 17 seconds later he does it again. Because Edsel is brilliant.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017ee3e0cc63970d-800wi
So last night I was lying on the floor doing Tracy Anderson, and there went Ned's fantasy night, when Talu came over and rubbed her cute dog head on me to say hello. She's such a pleasant dog. She doesn't drool all over me and leap around like she hasn't seen me in 29 years, she just rubs her head on me. hi moomz.

But Edsel saw our exchange, so he stormed over and knocked his head into my arm, then humped Tallulah to show her she has SOME NERVE acknowledging me.

Well, that was it. I PAUSED Tracy Chapman, got right up and pulled Edsel's slim doggie hips right to me. "You wanna hump so bad? How do you like THIS?" hump hump hump. He was appalled. He put his ears down and looked back at me in awe. I think he had no idea anyone here could hump but him. He slunk away, stunned.

"How long before he's humping Tallulah again?" Ned asked me later that night. "Oh, he's violating her as we speak, I'm certain," I said. In the meantime, I hope no one reports me to animal welfare.

Ned and I went to the old movie theater we like so much and saw Easy Rider, which mostly consists of Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper going around being high on the gange. Also, who knew Jack Nicholson used to be cute?

Afterward, we went to get something to eat because I had worked out and hadn't had dinner and I was the cranky hungry. I got tuna, and Ned ONCE AGAIN mentioned how the bread wasn't really a good part of Project Emaciation, and if I could have humped Ned into submission I would have. Who told him he had a voice in Project Emaciation? "You know what I'm doing," he said his mantra smugly, "is eating less and exercising more." If he says that ONE MORE TIME, he's gonna be breathing less and bruising more.

In case anyone cares, though, I've lost a pound. Take THAT, manorexic Ned.

But let's talk about Ned for a minute. Or rather, let's talk about my hangups for a minute, and apparently it's 1967. What're your HANGUPS, man?

I adore Ned. I don't know if I've ever mentioned that to you. Oh, I just love him to death, except for when he tells me to eat less and exercise more. But here's my thing. I used to just love Marvin to death. Remember that? Well, you probably don't, because by the time I was blogging we were circling the drain.

But that's what scares me to pieces. How do you know that the person you adore today isn't going to be the person who drives you berserk five years later? How do you keep yourself feeling the way you do when you first met the person?

When I married Marvin, we had the ceremony out behind a cool old bed and breakfast, down by the water.

Scan 14
Before everything got started, people were seated and I was hiding behind a building so I could make my grand entrance. Why can't every day be my wedding day? Because what was more fun than hundreds of people awaiting my arrival and me looking great in a big dress? See. I really should be a drag queen.

Anyway, while I hid behind the building, I peeked around to see the crowd, and there was Marvin, just splayed out on a chair, like he was in the lobby of the car repair place or something. He was so, you know, casual. And it was so Marvin, and I had this feeling: "I am absolutely doing the right thing."

And here I am divorced. So, what's the secret? Do you know? If you say "communication" Ima kill myself, cause we did nothing but communicate. So what KIND of communication? What does that even mean? It's kind of like when someone majors in Communications. I never knew what that meant, either.

Do tell. Cause I was lucky enough to find somone wonderful and I'd like to not ruin it by being me.

Supposedly faithful readers but really dogs.

By the way, what's this?

IMG_0049When Ned was sewing on my buttons, we noted that silver saint-medal-looking thing, and we knew normal domestic people would know what you did with it but we were flummoxed. Is it like a golden ticket, and now Ned has to be Pope? Do tell.

And speaking of faithful readers helping a sister out, yesterday in the comments, someone said we were so hungry after eating fish and vegetables because we didn't have enough starch or something, and she suggested rice with sauteed vegetables as a side dish, and I want you to know Ned listened and made that with his leftover fish and had a "godammit, this is good" moment. I was on the phone with him when it happened. So thank you.

I really had no idea what I was gonna blog about this morning, but now I have a little theme: faithful readers.

395387_10200314203197167_298066682_n(1)For example, Faithful Reader Jan recently got a puppy, and named it Wilbur, and in a stunning turn of events, I love him. I asked her if I could share Wilbur with all y'all and she said yes. What she does not know is she also agreed to give me Wilbur after I drugged her. How you drug someone through the Internet is beyond me but I did it.

LOOK AT HIMMMMM!

Also, two Christmases ago, I went to dog daycare to drop off my curs, and there in the lobby they had a sign: "We are fostering Ladybird. She is from the animal shelter, but she'll stay here for a month. She needs a home." I think, thank God, they did not say "furever home," which makes me want to stab self with drink swords.

6a00e54f9367fb88340162fde276b9970d-800wi
Naturally, like an IDOT, I looked through the glass at the playroom, and there she was. Looking all sad. And thin. And pretty. And whooooooo asked the daycare to get her out so's I could meet her?

Also, y'all, what was going on with my HAIR two Christmases ago? Why did none of you speak up about that Jean-Harlow-on-heroin mess?

Anyway, I put Ladybird up on this here blog, and those of you who did not cancel Christmas over my hair said you loved her and wished you could take her and blah blah blah. Then? I got an email. My friend Mindy, who I've been friends with since 8th grade, had just lost her wonderful dog at Thanksgiving, and she was in the market for a new doggie snickerdoodley doo. Because that's a lot better to say than "furever home."

The point is, I schlepped to Kentucky  with Ladybird nine days before Christmas and met Mindy in a mall parking lot, which by the way is a brilliant thing to do nine days before Christmas. Ladybird was so nervous about me in the car, and then we stopped at Long John Silvers and split a piece of fish, and then she wasn't nervous with me in the car anymore.

615251_468970743121441_47522279_o(3)My point is, I keep meaning to send you pictures of Ladybird, who thank God Mindy and I decided to call Lucie, because apparently I have to stick my mitts into everyone's everything and have a say in that dog's name.

59792_510641298954385_521377619_n(1)
So here is Lucie in her furever home. She is happy, and I got 20 free visits to dog daycare. Win! See? At least I didn't say win-win. But let me say furever home again. Ooo, how about veggie? I haven't said that yet.

The only other faithful reader story I have to tell you involves a nice woman who wrote me yesterday. Sometimes someone will email me and say, "I just found your blog and read a bunch of it and you are so not funny." Okay, no one writes that, but you know that's what they mean and they're just writing cause they feel sorry for me. "Wow, keep, um, going there, June. [You poor poor thing.]"

Anyway, so she somehow told me, in her email, that she was Navajo, and then she said a bunch of nice things and attached the number for my local comedy school, should I want to attend, and the point is I wrote this back:

See, the part where you're Navajo should probably tell me that
I should abstain from letting you know my Uncle Jim used to tell people
he was a member of the Slap-a-Ho tribe. A tasteful person would say to
herself, "Don't tell that to someone who's actually Native American, and
who you've just met." That's what, say, Jackie Kennedy would tell
herself. On the other hand, did Jackie Kennedy have any relatives who'd
make Slap-a-Ho jokes? Well, maybe that drunk dad of hers.

I always get impressed with myself when I remember to use my out-quote feature. Anyway, thank GOD she wrote back and did not hate me furever for my Slap-a-Ho reference. I mean, really it's Uncle Jim's fault. If he hadn't said it I wouldn't be forced to repeat it.

Oh, wait! I thought of one more faithful reader thing. Apparently this is less faithful readers and more faithful readers' dogs. Beause FR Letha does dog rescue, and she sent me a photo of her latest crop, Pit/Beagle mixes, which in case anyone forgot is Tallulah's fine mix of breeds.

021013 004(1)
LITTLE LUUUUUUUUssssss! LOOK at them. I say that second one is from some affair mom had with a St. Bernard who got thrown in the mix. But whatever. The last two totally have Talu looks on their faces. yah. we got pit in here. to not eff wif, bittches.

Do you know what'd be a lovely accessory in my home? A spare Beagle/Pit, in case the one I have wears out. Don't you think? What do you mean, "no job"? What's that about "small house"? Oh, shut up all of you. June's gonna go Pit on you.

Ruff-ly,

June

Mostly food. That’s what this one is about. Food. I’m kind of like Tallulah right now. You gots food?

Since yesterday I was so busy showering you with more pictures of your own selves, I didn't get a chance to tell you the myriad things that're new, and by "myriad" I mean two.

First of all, Ned has insisted that "we" need to not spend so much money going out, and by "we" he means "Ned," since as I told you before, he mostly pays for everything because he is the boy and he is nice and oh, right, he has a job.

I know I sort of technically have a fake job, but I also not-at-all-technically am paying $3,000,000 a month on COBRA. And I don't even LIKE snakes. So what I'm saying is, Ned's usually the pay-for-er. How do you feel about that? About the boy paying? I have been out with both: boys who always pay and boys who want you to pay half the time. What say you about that?

Anyway, we go out to eat a LOT, and Ned said "we" have to be more responsible about it, and I said that's fine with me. I just like being with Ned, and HE'S the one who "goddammit"s over food. And remembers what he ordered at a restaurant eight months later. "Remember last time we came here? And I got the soup?"

"No."

IMG_0055The point is, on Saturday night Ned and I cooked at his house, and by "Ned and I" I mean mostly I sat in his dining area and watched him do things in the kitchen. IN MY DEFENSE, I offered to help but he had a rhythm, going, there. The rhythm was frenetic and panicked, but it was a rhythm nonetheless.

IMG_0056My name is June. And I'm a help in the kitchen. Hiiii, June.

We were having mahi mahi, and this butternut squash he mixed with garlic and some other tasty stuff, and asparagus and some other healthy items I can't remember right now but what I DO know is on the way to Ned's house I called my pal Hulk, who said, "There is nothing you just told me that is something I'd eat."

Recently, on a date, Hulk was given his choice of sides: green beans, broccoli (which he called, "What's the stuff that looks like little green trees?") and mashed potatoes. He got double mashed potatoes. There's nothing that tells your date "I care about my health" more than double mashed potatoes.

You know what sounds delicious right now? Mashed potatoes. Which leads me to my next subject but I'm not done about Ned and our cooking.

IMG_0074We grilled the mahi and its mahi outside, and why do you have to say "mahi" twice? If you just say it once does it mean something totally different? The point is, we ("we") (pfft) put in an enormous amount of work for something we consumed in eight seconds. Because we were both starving to death by the time we finally ("we") finished all that cooking. "This was okay, but it wasn't goddammit good," Ned complained. Then he said he was still hungry.

IMG_0077So we did what any normal people would do. We went to the dessert place, where I got that coconut sour cream cake I talked about yesterday.

WHICH LEADS ME TO MY NEXT TOPIC, finally. Remember how I said I needed to begin Project Emaciated for my high school reunion in July? Have you noticed it's February? And I'm still Lulu on Hee-Haw, and don't you wish with all the fiber in your BEING that I'd think of another, you know, curvaceous chick? I'm Susanne Sugarbaker. There we go.

So this weekend I found an app called Lose It! with an exclamation point, like it's Lose It the Musical, and you put in there any activity you do (gardening burns more calories than you think) (sex is only 64 calories every half hour, and I really need to get into treadmill sex or something if that's the case because HELLO COCONUT SOUR CREAM CAKE) and every bite you eat (turns out coconut sour cream coffee cake is caloric) and then it tells you how many calories under or over you are for the day.

You know what's annoying? Trying to enjoy popcorn at the movies (we saw a depressing French film called Rust and Bone and JUST ONCE I'd like to leave a movie with Ned where I don't feel shaky and drained) ("I like movies that make you FEEL things," said Ned. "What about feeling happy? That's a thing," I said) knowing you're gonna have to go tell it to your app after. And you can just FEEL the app's disapproval. "Boy oh BOY, June. That's real caloric {pursed lips}." Somehow, the app sounds exactly like my mother.

And that is why I am writing to you while I am starving to death, because I fear the app, and I guess I can comfort myself with the part where at least I know Ned won't suggest we go out and eat nachos, because we're being responsible.

June and her kwashiorkor, out.

IMG_0064NedKitty not give two chits what Joon do. Fattie.

I’ve been living so long with these pictures of you

It's 12:25 as I sit down to write this, and my plans today are (were) to garden a bit more, and pay some bills, do my yoga DVD because after a week of Tracy Anderson I feel tight as Camilla Parker Bowles' lips whenever Goodbye England's Rose is played, but what I decided to do first was come over here and get more of your damn pictures on here.

About a month ago, I stupidly said to y'all, "Hey! Why doesn't everyone send me their photo, so's I can see what YOU look like since you're always stuck looking at me." And everyone who didn't unfriend me for saying "so's" sent me their picture. Everyone and their half brother. Everyone and Camilla Parker Bowles.

Ned will be here at 5:00 to see a movie, and how much do you want to bet I will still be sitting here putting in your photos?

So let's begin.

MissusBMissus B knew I'd love her husband's shirt. That guy next to them is the Fashion Police. He is so busted.

1

L. in CA! Oh mygod, she's posted a MILLION comments over the year. No, literally. Sending her the gold watch. Right after I send whoever I owe those Abraham Lincoln Band-Aids.

By the way, one faithful reader BOUGHT ME the Abe Lincoln Band-Aids for Christmas, and she was all, "Now you can finally send that poor reader her band-aids." Guess what I still haven't done?

Joan RockJoan in Nevada said she doesn't envy me the task of putting these up, but that she's excited to see the other Piehards.

Piehards.

We totally need Piehard coffee mugs.

-1Look how pretty Texas Laura is at her work's holiday party. Love that jewelry and love that shirt. See what she didn't do? She didn't wear a Christmas sweater. AND LOOK HOW NICE SHE LOOKS.

Someday I will be sued by the Christmas sweater people. They will storm over here in their reindeer vests and give me what-for.

2012SummerKAuthorPublicity-30Here is Summer holding what I think is a saint, therefore I will not tell you that my first thought was "marital aid."

Liz_dec2011Liz is originally from Michigan, like some people we know. She has the pretty hair. How come HER hair is thick and wavy but she doesn't look insane? Like some people we know.

Lisa momJeanie practically committed hari-kari getting her pics to me. She was all, "If you can see these, I'm on the left. If you can't, I give up." Totally felt her crankiness through the Internet, and I FEEL YOU, Jeanie. Hate stupid computer issues. It's always the computer's fault, too.

DSCN1677Oh, Susanna! Now, don't you cry for me. You're standing there in Paris and I'm in the South kill me.

I should totally be a songwriter.

Photo(26)Here's Tawny in Toronto. Ohhhh, Tawny! Now, don't you cry for me! You're chilling in Toronto and I'm frowning in NC.

Seriously, it's like I'm Cole Porter or something. Only cooler. I'm Cool Porter.

Photo"This is me, Chelsea in Texas. I'm kind of a lurker….but occasionally
post when I'm feeling particularly witty. Or passionate. Or passionately
witty.  Which is not right now….because I'm eating nachos."

And that is when I loved her.

Faith and Robert In ParisHere's Faith in Paris, with some guy she picked up. Alternatively, here's Faith in Paris with her husband. I know they're in front of the Louvre, and I mean, later Ima stand in front of Target, so.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017d40eeb313970c-800wiI sort of know Davida. She and I dated the same person. Not at the same time. Anyway, then she started reading my blog and now she and I are in love. Well. Maybe she doesn't love me at all. Maybe it's one-sided and that's why she never thanks me for the flowers I send daily.

BlogPhotoFor JuneHere's Kelly Pie, who says she has nothing in common with me. BUT WHAT ABOUT PIE? You got PIE right in your NAME!

84920014B S says the most flattering pic of her is one where she's behind the camera. Here, however, are her doggie-doo-snickerdoodles. That was me saying that. I think someone who owns no-nonsense dogs such as these probably never says "doggie-doo-snickerdoodles." Look, they heard me. Now they're gonna kick my ass.

Speaking of which, it's now 1:19 and my ass has grown numb. Let's continue.

ElisinWAwithLunaHere's Elis in WA with her doggie-doo-snick– okay, I'll stop. Cute dog, though.

DSC_0210Steph in Fla says she's commented a few times, but doesn't it seem like she's a more of a regular commentor? Doesn't her name sound familiar? Anyway, what matters is, she has really good skin. Whereas I'm Cole PORE-ter.

-2Terri R lives in Florida and says she loves my blog. Now, see, if I lived in Florida all I'd ever do is stand around in front of Barry Gibb's house. I guess she could do that and look at my blog on her tablet or other highfalutin' device. June's blog. To be read while you stalk formerly famous people.

Gilligan hatDB in MD had just rolled her kayak, and I didn't even know you could SMOKE kayaks.

Jay for blogRuby Blue was all, "Sure, my house is aflame, but June's photo deadline is approaching."

Mom's headshotBarbara lives kind of near me, which means I am dragging her with me next time I go stand in front of Target.

1kathiKathi said I'm the one place she stops every day, and I was all, Doesn't she have to PEE sometimes?

CarolineLonghorn(1)Here's Caroline Longhorn, who apparently just had her horns trimmed or something, cause I can't see 'em.

LaurieforBlog2Laurie wrote, "Sometimes you just don't need to see the whole forehead."

-3Here is Melva, who said she is a lurker/stalker. Either one works for me.

Photo(28)Sherry from Texas, who I guess has a menu in front of her, but for the longest time it just looked like an internal organ to me. Because there is something deeply wrong with me. Hey, it's 1:47 and here I still am. Could that be part of the problem?

100_1973Faithful reader and Commenter Saundra, who is German, and trying to steal Hulk from me, when we all know Hulk is my oh-my-god-I'm-50-and-still-single backup plan.

Just got more coffee, and the rest of the coconut cream cheese cake from the dessert place we went to last night. Which I was excited to tell you about, but nooooo. June had to finish this project.

And you KNOW I'll get a comment, "My picture never made it on here." With a frowny face. YOU KNOW IT WILL HAPPEN.

Dear person who does this: Look in your sent mail January 8, 9 or 10. If what you sent me was NOT titled "blog photo," you do not get to send me frowny face. You can send me a vagicon. Remember in the comments when we started sending each other female anatomy emoticons? Why did we do that? What is wrong with us? Have I mentioned my behind-end parts are numb?

Let's press on.

IMG_5034mKathy F. Do you think this was her 21st birthday and someone gave her that balloon to be an asshole?

PhotoI have no idea why cute Christian's photo took ELEVEN YEARS to download. While it was doing so, I gave the rest of the frosting to the dogs.

IMG_0080Won't you come eat off my forks soon?

IMG_20130108_173042I see in my email, my endless, endless "blog photo" email, that when Ruth sent this picture, I wrote back and said, "Say, are you from the Bible?"

Would marry self all over again. Commisioned a The Blogger statue of self. To go in The Cole Porter Museum.

J-and-four-kitties-on-couchJala sent this and I informed her that I like cats. Then she fell into a shocked faint.

Screen shot 2013-01-08 at 9.34.49 PMSteph in St. Pete, formerly Steph in Tampa, currently Steph who I kind of have crush on. Hot. Hottie hot hot.

Wedding 012 (591x640)Leeuna! There's a commenter name I recognize from way back. The photographer went to the June Gardens School of Centering Your Subject. It's one of my more popular classes.

-1Aaaaaaand Cecelia is my people.

IMG_1139ASHLEY wrote that her son is cuter than her, then wrote that she was waiting for me to protest in 3,2,1… and I see that I never replied. NICE! Nice, June. ASHLEY, you and all your caps are adorable.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017ee863b88c970d-800wiHere's Miffy and her little dog, too, whose name is Frankie. This reminds me of one of Tallulah's Facebook updates, where she'd sort of bullied a schnauzer at the dog park. He'd been sort of scared of Talu, and she said, "You gots a beard. Be a man."

Tallulah is hilarious. She's on FB under Tallulah Gardens if you haven't friended her. Also, I have no idea if that dog is a schnauzer up there. I just saw "beard" and thought of Talu. Also Kelly Preston.

Bah.

Oh, but let's continue. Because am not ready to tie noose at this point.

Photo for June (2)Carol wants us to be kind because she only scored a two on that narcissism quiz. But, really, being a narcissist is an undesirable trait, says June, who scored a 19.

Image(5)Jessica, in the purple and black, sent a very nice note saying she reads me every day, starting in 2007 when she was on bed rest for her pregnancy. "It was the most boring three months of my life," she said. June's blog. For when you're painfully, nauseatingly bored.

The three and ninja shepMegan V. said about this photo: "I'm pregnant with our first kiddo and in the picture, you see me with my
husband, Bryan (on the right) and his father (on the left) with a ninja
mask going around our belly to represent Shepherd. It doesn't fully make
sense which is just our style."

I think I would like her.

We are nowhere NEAR done, but Ima do just five more because IT's 2:30, people, and I have turned to stone, over here. At least my arse has.

IMG00164Pamela Soul Sister #2 comments every day, and I did not know she was all cute and stuff. Also, am liking the lip gloss. Tell us what kind, PSS#2, so we can all stop wearing Pink Beach.

1107Cyndi said she doesn't like to comment because she's not as witty as the other commenters. People tell me this all the time, and I wish you'd comment even if you're dull as mud. I said years ago that if you can't think of anything to say, "Lovely post, June" will suffice. It's just nice to hear from you, whether you're Shekky Greene or not. I have no idea if that's how you spell Shekky Greene, but no longer care because NUMB ARSE OH MY GOD.

Photo(30)Megan thinks I'm hysterical. Look at her friend, there. They must have been reading me out in public, as you do. Because I'm hysterical. Or maybe she means a person with hysteria.  

Dammit.

Also, Megan is pretty. Has everyone noted that? You know what makes you pretty? Not doing yoga, but instead eating coconut cake and sitting endlessly at your computer. THAT makes you pretty.

ZachpupamyAmy used to be Amy in KY, but is relieved they moved to Georgia so she can change her unfortunate moniker. Also PUPPY DOOGIE DOO SNICKERDOODLES!!!!!!!

Last one today. Have turned into Sylvia Plath, over here.

ElsieB
I know this is teensy, but this is how it came to me. Elsie says, "This photo is five years old, and I've aged
considerably, I think.  Recent photos don't resemble my self-image the
least little bit.  After this photo was taken I
retired from teaching middle school, cared for my parents who have both
since died, and have gained weight, wrinkles, and grey hair.  I resemble
what you feared in your 07 Jan 13 blog post."

I can't remember what I said in my January 7 post, but Elsie killed me with this. "Here's a picture of me. I look like shit now." Elsie, honey, I refuse to believe that. I'm sure you are cute as a button. Also there is no way you are more depressed than I am after sitting here for 17 hours.

THERE ARE MORE PHOTOS LEFT, y'all. So stay tuned for a different day, when, like childbirth, I forget the pain of this project.

XO, June

 

In which Ned becomes my stitchin’ bitch

I just spent 45 minutes gardening, and the fact that my arms are shaking annoys me. What am I, 73 years old? Don't answer that.

Yesterday, I had another harrowing day at work, and then I went to the Target, there, to refill my goddamn migraine meds. The Prednisone I took to stop them from coming every other day HAS helped, but I still have had five migraines in three weeks. Which is not, you know, great.

I was wandering around, waiting to get my prescription filled at the Chelsea Drug Store. I was standing in line with Mr. Jimmy…

…must everything devolve into a song with me?

So there I was, over in the root-dye section when who do I run into but Ned. Honestly, we can never break up, because we will run into each other everywhere and it will be traumatic, and do you like how I don't torture myself with dreadful dark bleak thoughts?

Not that Ned was dyeing his roots, by the way. He, too, was headed to the pharmacy, because we are 109 and maybe one day we'll get married and creep down the aisle on our festively decorated walkers with special white wedding tennis balls on the bottom, and anyway it was exciting to run into him.

"Hey!" I said. "What do you think? Am I dark blonde or light brown?" I had two kinds of root dye in my hands and was holding my hair up to the top of the box, where they show you the color your roots will supposedly turn.

"I think you're either," said Ned, who is not remotely metrosexual. "Where do you think they keep the needle and thread?" he asked. I mean, I admit I'm hilarious, but was he thinking I was about to launch into a whole funny hair-dye routine and he was gonna be stitching his sides?

"Why?"

"I thought tonight we'd sew on your buttons. And I'm gonna fix your ring, too."

Three buttons on my damn winter coat have fallen off already and when it's cold out I have to grasp the front of my coat dramatically. Speaking of which, my Aunt Kathy told me the other day that I should stop being such a drama queen. Allow me to direct the viewer to Exhibit A.

 

What I also wish is I had recorded Aunt Never Dramatic Kathy's latest voice mail to me, in which a bird "committed suicide" on her deck. "I CALLED THE NEIGHBOR!" she exclaimed, "BUT HE WASN'T HOME!!!! SO I DECIDED TO HONOR THE BIRD BY MOVING HIM TO THE GRASS, BUT WHEN I STARTED, THE PHONE RANG,–"

She said "the phone rang" the way you'd say, "And then Queen Elizabeth offered me oral sex" or some other event you'd never dream would happen.

"AND WHEN I GOT BACK!?!?!?!? THE BIRD!"

At this point she was screeching.

"THE BIRD HAD MOVED!!!!!! OH GOD, IT WAS THE WORST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME!!!!" she was in tears at this juncture.

I should point out that Aunt Kathy fears birds. Still. I saved the message to play for Ned, because I had droned on about her "you should stop being dramatic" pot/kettle pronouncement, and after I played it, Ned said, "You know who she sounds like? You."

Whatever with all you people.

So last night I went over to stitch-and-sew Ned's, and I swear to you he sewed on my coat buttons like it was a thing just anyone would know how to do.

IMG_0040Here are my buttons. And Ned's remote. Also a coaster. I mean, Still Life by June.

IMG_0038Who is the nicest boy, ever? Oh, but by the way, Ned was annoyed at us yesterday when you asked about my string bracelet, and I told you how he'd tied it on like an Eagle Scout or someone really into bondage, and you fell for the Eagle Scout thing but no one once thought maybe he was really into the leather and handcuffs and so on.

"So they see me as an Eagle Scout but not some dark dangerous sexual type?"

I think he's a little of both.

IMG_0051I held a flashlight while he sewed, because it was dark in there and we're 103.

IMG_0026I also took pictures of myself, because my NEW PHONE does this thing where it flips around and looks at YOU instead of photographing whatever's out there. Which is a metaphor for me, really,

My new phone, sorry, NEW PHONE also has Siri, which means I can speak emails and texts to people just like that annoying commercial with Zoey Deschannel. Mostly it is an amazing feature, except I was emailing Ned about the mahi mahi we're going to eat tonight, and it came to him in an email as "monkey monkey care." Which is also delicious.

Also, I meant to text Hulk "What does Mamba out mean?" because he writes that all the time now in his emails and it was irking, but what got sent to Hulk was "Fuck your mother." Which as we all know insults Hulk as a son and a husband.

Anyway, Ned also did fix my ring, which lost its stone, and now I am stitched and stoned and ready for a night of monkey monkey care.

Mamba out.

Here’s Where the Story Ends. No, really, who did that song?

Yesterday, after a harrowing day at work–

I mean, it WAS kind of busy, but I also took time out to torture the receptionist who is SO OVER ME. We're having window cleaners come in this weekend, and she has sent out messages about it, and whenever she does, I write back.

"What a pane."

"I like the way you framed that email."

"You're so transparent."

Sadly for her, the date of the window-cleaning got changed, so naturally I wrote to tell her I was shattered, but then I told another editor what I was doing, and we dive-bombed her.

"Is the cleaning SILL going on?"

"I'm blind with rage that we aren't getting the windows cleaned sooner."

"So they're coming this weekend, a-LEDGE-edly."

Oh, you don't even know. And she TOTALLY IGNORES US, probably because she has things to do like answer the phone.

So I was busy with that along with my actual productive work, and then right after, my friend The Other June came over. Do y'all remember The Other June? I took a knitting class–and money well spent–and she was taking the class as well and I picked her up at the knitting store while we were signing up.

We used to go to the Farmers Market a lot when I was married and did things like get up early and go to the Farmers Market.

Anyway the plan was to go out for coffee and catch up on everything (i.e., hear me drone on about Ned. How boring of a friend I must be right now. "I like Ned." "Say, did I mention I like Ned?" I try not to do the thing where every subject can somehow become a Ned subject, like when Samantha finally liked someone and Charlotte mentioned she might adopt a Chinese baby and Samantha said, "Richard's opening a restaurant in China.")

(It is sad how much Sex and the City I know by heart. Did I tell you how we were flipping channels the other day, and an episode of SATC was on, and Ned said, "Okay, I KNOW THIS PLOT because you've told me about this one."

Aaaaaand I made this about Ned.)

IMG_0019Somehow coffee turned into us deciding to get manicures instead. It was only after I got out my wallet to pay that I realized I picked that same color I always pick these days.

IMG_0021The Other June got a more traditional cranberry color. Here's where the story ends. Get it. Do you? Wait, is that song even BY the Cranberries, or is that The Sundays? Stupid '90s bands.

After that we were headed to coffee and…

IMG_0023I mean, coffee shops are doing a LOT these days to bring in the noncoffee-drinker.

We totally went out to eat instead. Obvs. And Ned was IRKED because he called me later and was eating rice and beans while I had feasted at a fancy restaurant.

Oh, look. I mentioned Ned.

So that was my day, other than the part where I got irritated at Dick Whitman and I can't talk about that but trust me. I should have an extra super-secret blog. This can be Blog of Most Things and then I can have Blog of Stuff I Can't Blog About. Anyway, DW and I will be back to being nonirked friends probably in the next hour. So don't get all dramatic about it like the time I got mad at Ned and you had us broken up for life.

Oh look, I mentioned Ned.

Ima go now, but before I do, I just went to get coffee, since The Other June and I eschewed it last night, and poor blind Iris was drinking water from the dog's dish, when all of a sudden a cup came CRASHING down from the shelf, BOUNCED off the counter and CAREENED right into the dog's water bowl.

You have never seen someone leap so high in the air as poor Iris, who of course didn't see it coming till it was splashing onto her. Then she did the leap sideways down the hall thing, which is dignified.

Sadly, I can't find a reason to make this about Ned.

Okay, bye. I'm sure Ned says bye, too.