Natural Woman

"Out of all the peanuts in the world, Mr. Peanut is the only one who makes an effort, with his jaunty hat and monocle and so forth. The other peanuts just lie around," said Ned, while we ate peanuts that he roasted himself, and I don't know what to tell you about The New Cooking Ned.

Mr_peanut"I know," I said,"and who has he got to impress, if all the other peanuts aren't wearing shoes." I ate another peanut, because, you know, peanuts. "Do you think Mr. Peanut is gay, or not at all gay, just a dapper dresser like Dick Whitman?"

"Well, he does seem to be wearing tights," said Ned. I think he meant Mr. Peanut and not Dick Whitman.

"Maybe he's not trying to pick up a girl OR a boy peanut. Maybe he's trying to attract another nut altogether."

"He's getting a little cashew on the side," Ned said.

I'll bet Simone deBeauvior and Jean Paul Sarte didn't have conversations this deep.

Hey! How are y'all? I have been busy doing stupid things, and I will not recap them all today seeing as many of you are making scalloped potatoes and having your annoying families over and such. I know you're sneaking onto the Internet with your fifth drink of the day, and don't have much time.

But I would like to tell you about my dumb eye makeup.

The other night I was sitting around here reading a beauty magazine, and please see above where I am Simone deBeauvoir, and they had an eyeliner idea. "On the inside of your lower lashes, use silver. Then use a really bright color in the middle, followed by a dark color and WING it out the outside corner of your eye. You.will.look.stunning," the magazine told me.

Sadly, I had all three of those eye pencil shades in my take-it-to-work cosmetic kit, as opposed to my at-home-no-one-needs-this-much-makeup-who-are-you-Baby-Jane vanity. I glopped all those eye pencils on, then screamed to work without taking time to look, so you can imagine my pleasure when I got to the work bathroom and saw it looked like I'd had some kind of mental breakdown.


Good gravy. And I had to do pesky things like WORK, plus I had no eye makeup remover there, so I was, you know, like that all day. I had plans to have dinner that night with my friend Not Wes, who inexplicably you all have started calling The Naughty Professor, so I guess that'll be his blog name now. Anyway he came down to my desk to firm up our plans, and I said, "I want you to know, I'll be changing this eye makeup before dinner."

IMG_0422"Okay," he said. He really did. "Okay." Not Oh, what're you talking about? Not Gee, June, it looks fantastic. No. "Okay." Like, thank GOD. Because the Professor, here, has a reputation to uphold and he does not want to be seen with Rainbow Bright eyes.

At lunch, I screamed over to Zoe's Kitchen, which is delicious if you've never been there. I go out to eat at lunch maybe 1% of the time. Usually I drive home and let the dogs out and get interested in an old TCM movie, and I realize I just said "movie movie," but didn't know how else to put that. Maybe "I watch an old movie on TCM," but I still just said movie movie, really. The point is, I get into it then have to return to work. I have seen the front end of a lot of movie movies.

But anyway, on that day, with my Eyes of Many Colors, I headed to Zoe's Kitchen, where of course.


I ran into my friend Hibiscus Wilson, who was there with a coworker and who similarly has a reputation to uphold, and there was her friend, old paint swatches eyes running up to her. "HI, HIBISCUS!" I said colorfully.

"Oh. Um. Hi, June. Wow. This is my…friend June," she said reluctantly to her friend.

You have no idea how bad I wanted to say, "Nice to meet you. I don't mean this about my eye makeup." But I abstained. I felt the less said the better.

After work, I had every intention of fixing my makeup, but I got busy, and then I realized I didn't know where the restaurant was, so your pal the NBC peacock just started heading downtown in her full makeup regalia.

Right then, Ned called. "Are you on your way to your dinner?" he asked.

"Yes, but I realize I don't know how to get there, and the GPS says no route."

"That's cause it's right on the railroad tracks," said Ned, who then tried to use funny words like "north" and "left" and "up the hill" to try to get me there. Has he MET me and my fine sense of direction?

"Look," said Ned, who was clearly growing tireder of me by the minute and thank heavens I have these giant bosoms so I can keep him. "Meet me in my parking lot. I'm in the car, too, and I'll just meet you and lead you there."

So that's how EVEN NED got to see my pretty pretty subtle pretty eye makeup. I pulled into his lot, and he got out and came to my window.

"Wow, you look really nice," he said.

And that is why Ned is the person for me.



Bracelet pool

I just came up with a brilliant idea. Behold my stupid wish bracelet, which Ned tied on me in early December. I have to wait for it to break off so my wish’ll come true.

If you’re in, say you’re in in the comments, and give a guess when it’ll break off. It’s not even frayed, FYI. Everyone who says they’re in has to be good for a dollar, which you’ll send to me via Paypal or in the mail when there’s a winner.

Just say “I’m in” and your date that you guess. If you want to say more, leave it in a different comment so my keeping track is easier. Go!

image from

Sent from my iPhone

June Grooms

Two nights ago, I spent $15.50 on a slate-colored eye pencil from Clinique. I was trying to get the free gifts they have, and I always get my facial soap from Clinique (I get the mini bars so I can use them at home AND travel with them) (I know! Brilliant grooming tips from June) (then I left one at Ned's mom's and realized they're so small you forget them) (stupid grooming tips from June), but I needed to spend a grand total of $25 to get the free gft with purchase.

Does anyone else love the free gift with purchase from Clinique? I find their eye shadows ludicrously hard to put on. You scrape scrap scrape the palette and then put absolutely nothing on your eyelid and it bugs. But the lipstick? And the moisturizer? And this time you get a free exfoliator, too!

Yes, I know I have no job and shouldn't have been purchasing any Clinique anything. God, you are so no fun. In fact, I went in there and realized it'd been one whole year since I'd bought any makeup at the department store. I used to love going to buy makeup at the department store. It was kind of my hobby.

My point is, later that evening I saw Ned and was obsessed with my new slate eyeliner. "The jury is out on this eye pencil," I told him, lifting my eyes at him dramatically. "Oh, you look lovely," said Ned, having absolutely no idea what he was supposed to be looking at.

The other day he was making fun of me for not knowing some sports thing–it was a sports person or maybe some event, and he was completely astonished that I would have no idea what he meant. You know how the eye shadow and its scrapeiness irk me? This is 10 times worse. WHY WOULD I BE EXPECTED TO KNOW A SPORTS THING?

"What's the difference between a lip stain and a lip balm?" I asked him. He said that was altogether different. That most people know sports things and many people don't know makeup things. I think that is so Nedcentric I can't even stand it. Do you agree? I say it's even. The same number of people who don't know sports things = the same number of people who don't know makeup things.

Did you know that when every earth-shattering thing happened to our nation in my lifetime, I was grooming?

When it came on the radio that Elvis had died, I was looking in the mirror, trying on different wrap-around sweaters to go to dinner with my father. Yes,  in Michigan sometimes you need a sweater in August.

When John Lennon died, I heard about it while applying mascara in the mirror. I remember specifically the kind: It was a Revlon with a soft-tip applicator, supposedly so you'd look natural. The part where I applied 11 coats and black eye pencil to my inner lids really helped with that natural effect. Perhaps had my parents both been mimes that would have been my natural eye.


When the Challenger exploded, I was at an old lady clothing store buying a black ribbed turtleneck. Black turtlenecks were just becoming fashionable but in dumb Saginaw no one knew that yet, so I had to buy one at the old lady store, where they'd never gone out of style. All the old ladies, who were probably my age now, were clutching their pearls and watching a portable TV and I saw the Challenger.

I was applying Jergens lotion to my legs when 9/11 happened. It was a special kind of lotion–supposedly the more you used it, the less you had to shave your legs. I had to stop using it because the smell depressed me after that.

I am just saying to you, I think I groom a lot.

Anyway, yesterday I emailed Ned. "Just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror," I wrote, as if I don't run over and consult the mirror like it's my swami every 14 minutes. "Was attracted to self. Think eye pencil is working for me."

"I TOLD you you looked lovely," said phony-ass Ned.

Do you have any makeup you've liked recently? Is there anything you think I should try? You know, once I get employed or something? Do you wish black ribbed turtlenecks were still in? Heaven knows I do.

Oh, and I have an idea. If you leave a comment today and you have Siri, try to leave it on Siri. In the comments yesterday, I called Faithful Reader Kira "keratinocyte" thanks to Siri. I thought it'd be amuuuusing to see what else that heifer screws up.

Siri, I mean. Not keratinocyte.

June, off to do her makeup.

The Birds and the Bees

It is unseasonably cold here and I for one am annoyed. On my home page on my computer, as opposed to my home page I just have in life, I have the local temperature, the temperature of my hometown in Michigan, and for no real reason, the temps in Dublin and Paris.

Back when we all wore Swatch watches? Remember that? I wore two, because that was also a cool thing to do, and one of the watches was light blue and smelled like something. I forget what. But it was scented. The other was watch was black, to go with my general demeanor at the time. The point is, one watch was set to Paris time. My boyfriend Cardinal said, "I'll bet a lot of people in Paris have their Swatches set to East Lansing, Michigan time."

Anyway, my home page yesterday said the temp here was the same as it was in Dublin–46 degrees–and this morning? My hometown, my FRIGID NORTHERN HOMETOWN, has the same temp as here. Thirty-two degrees. Which is not pretty. THE GOOD SPRINGS HERE MAKE UP FOR THE CONFEDERATE FLAGS. That was the deal I made with this place when I got here. Am irritated.

And what's more fascinating than hearing someone complain about their weather? How about their bird house?!?!

A few years ago, I spent seven dollars on this little wooden bird house with a hole in the middle. I think it was supposed to attract a certain kind of bird, a bird from our class, a bird of the Philadelphia birds, yet every year different species have come in and nested there.

Can birds be different species? They can't, can they. June. Paying attention in science since 1977.

Last year, hornets or bees or wasps or some stingy thing had a nest in there. And I mean "sting-y," not that the bugs failed to pay for heat or only got meat on sale or whatever.

Probably a bee or a hornet or a wasp is an INSECT and not a BUG, right? Do you know what I enjoy? People who act like that makes any difference, bugs and insects. It's like people who insist you know that a tomato is a fruit.

My point is, I hope the birds don't encounter the sting-y things and all hell breaks loose. I imagine this sort of thing happens in nature all the time, much like what's happened to my ass, and it's a tragedy any way you look at it.

Last night, Ned and I went to that old theater we like and saw The Passion of the Christ. Oh, by the way, I'm changing the subject completely now. My old friend Tammy called me The Queen of the Nonsequitur, and often I'd be telling a story and all of a sudden come up with SOMETHING ALL NEW, and she'd just say, "Are you the QUEEN?"

I imagine I'm an exhausting friend.

So, Ned and I met at the movie theater, where he showed up precisely at 7:30, which is when THE MOVIE WAS SUPPOSED TO BEGIN. "If you're worried about us getting in after it starts, I've read the book," said Ned, who apparently has the passion for the Ned.

Have you ever seen that depressing movie? I mean, I knew getting crucified was no walk in the park, although he did walk quite a bit, but dang. That was awful. I turned to Ned at one point and said, "This hardly seems like a good Friday at all. In fact, it might be the worst Friday anyone's ever had."

I kind of wish Jesus had risen up and kicked some ass after that, but I guess that goes against his grain.

After the movie, Ned and I talked about how my friend Sandy's birthday was last week, and not only did I completely forget even though her bday is on the Ides of March and therefore memorable, and even though I have known her for TWENTY-NINE YEARS and should know, I managed to email her that day and call her a twat.

Oh, I was kidding. Still. Happy birthday from one of your oldest friends!

I imagine I'm an exhausting friend.

Anyway, we talked about if we remembered birthdays, and did Ned recall the birthdays of any old girlfriends (answer: not really) and then somehow we got onto the topic of what the number one song was the week you were born, and sadly for Ned it was Mr. Tambourine Man by the Byrds. Not the birds who are building a nest in my house, but rather the singing ones with the Y in their name.

Had it been Mr. Tambourine Man by Bob Dylan, that would have been a different thing altogether. And by the way, that link up there goes to Wikipedia, and you know I am snobby about Wikipedia, but you click the year you were born and then look up your particular birth week. Good luck.

I have Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones, and you know that's a good one.

And speaking of songs (I'm changing the subject again) (I imagine I'm an exhausting blogger), do you have a friend who absolutely abhors a song, and then when you hear the song you get a kick out of it because you know how much they hate it? That's how I feel every time I hear Lyin' Eyes by The Eagles, because my coworker The Poet abhors that song.



Subject: With fiery eyes and dreams no one can steal.

Guess what I heard on the radio just now?

To: June

From: Poet

My oh my, you sure now how to arrange things.


Whenever I YouTube for you guys, I try to find the most ludicrous video I can. I guess every form of refuge has its price.

Did that terrible song ever go to number one? Because what if you find out THAT WAS YOUR SONG from when you were born? Oh, that will tickle me.

I have to go. I'm headed for the cheatin' side of town.

Marvin makes an appearance. As does Henry. (Onnnnreiiii!)

Sometimes Tallulah and I like to play "Heavy Cat," where I lift her up and carry her around the house with her legs all askew in an alarmed fashion. "Are you my Heavy Cat?" I ask her, while she patiently waits for me to be over this game. "Who's my Heavy Cat?" Sometimes I even curl her on my lap while I sit with her and scratch her chin.

Photo on 3-26-13 at 7.40 AMEdsel is so rude.

Heavy Cat just got put down and she went outside, relieved that I am over it for now. Some day that dog's gonna eat my neck area out and you really won't be able to blame her.

I can also feel my knees JUST WAITING to give out while I lug her 45 pounds around. One day I will be all crippled up in my knees, I can tell. They're okay for now, but when I lift something heavy, such as Heavy Cat, they're all, "Yeah, what're ya thinking? We're going to feel weak STARTING RIGHT NOW."

I don't know how I got off on that tangent.

What I was GONNA sit down and write about was Marvin's latest YouTube video. Yesterday on Facebook, I saw that his mom linked to something Marvin-related, and I was all, What is Marvin up to NOW? He's trying to re-record the songs he wrote when he was 12. I have listened to all of those songs, repeatedly, and I can certainly see why you'd want to revisit them. God help us everyone. 

He says his real name on here, but I asked him and he said that was okay if you all knew it, and I don't mind cause it's not my name anymore. If you click on the thing above you can see the video, which I guess technically is not YouTube, and I'll bet the fine folks at whatever this company is enjoying having their video called "YouTube" when it isn't.

The best part about the video is Henry makes an appearance at 1:46 and 2:03. A magical appearance. He even says, "Mrt."

I miss Henry.

By the time Marvin said, "Twenty-three songs," he was irking me. Oh, and I got him that dog toy behind him, the one where you push the bottom and the dog dances around. I forget why. It was back when we liked each other.

So there's your Marvin visit for, you know, the year. Remember when we talked about Marvin all the time? Now we hardly ever do. It's weird. Who knew I'd be all Marvinless one day? And happy with a whole new boy?

Did y'all see it coming, or was my "Marvin is moving out" announcement two years ago a total shock? Just recently someone commented that she had a baby more than two years ago, and stopped reading me cause she was too busy, then she came back and was all, Whothehell's Ned? How shocking it'd be to come back here after two years.

All right, I had better get ready for you-know-what. But confidential to my deep Real Housewives friends: Fay Resnick is a jerk.

XO, June

The one where June never ever lets you forget you’re a man.

I was extra busy sleeping this morning, so I didn't blog. I only got in eight-and-a-half hours, and I know you're wondering, "God, how does she do it all?" Cause I mean, after that brief rest, after that if-you-wanna-call-that-SLEEP sleep, I had to flurp some kibble into FOUR BOWLS before my six-minute commute to fake work.

I've been making up a lot of words lately. I've been onomatopoeeing all over myself.

At any rate, Ned continued to, you know, recover from his major oral surgery and not get dry sockets, although he DID make the mistake of asking me what they DO when you get dry sockets, and I told him, and then he was all STOP STOP STOP DON'T WANNA HEAR ANY MORE STOP.

The good news is, he was well enough to go with me Saturday to go partayy with Dick Whitman and one of DW's friends, who did not want her picture on my blog and who can figure that kind of thing out? What do you mean, privacy and dignity? Do not get.

Photo-4Anyway, here's Dick Whitman holding some kind of chalice of girly drink, and you may think this is blurry but I'll have you know it was PITCH BLACK in that bar, so the fact that I got ANY picture at ALL is saying something.

Photo-3Ned had scotch on the rocks, and I really think he may be the most manly person I have ever dated. Also, the part where there's a hole in the table, near his manly drink? Led me to tell him yet another plot of a Sex and the City episode: the one where Aiden makes the love seat, and it has a flaw, and Carrie uses the example of the flaw in the wood to get him to not break up with her despite the part where she'd been humping Mr. Big.

Spoiler alert. Thirteen-year-old spoiler alert.

But Aiden would have none of it. Till he came back, that is.

Spoiler al–oh screw it.

893008_10151514740628850_1417677382_oMy point is, someone may be over hearing about every plot of Sex and the City.

But in my defense, I believe I sat through three, or maybe four, basketball games this weekend.

Don't you love that picture? How bored with me is Ned? I have always kind of been like a prize in the Cracker Jack. Novel, kind of cheap, and you're over it before too long. Marvin was the only person who kept for 16 years his 100% plastic magnifying glass that magnifies .008 of an inch of something. His temporary tattoo that doesn't all transfer onto your skin.

His bird whistle that doesn't quite blow. So to speak.

Despite this depressing image of us, things are going very well with Ned, who by the way I like. Yesterday we schlepped BACK TO WINSTON-SALEM, for the THIRD TIME THIS WEEK, to go to my friend Charlie's fundraiser.

And oh, with the rain. To say it was raining would be to say I have a bit of hair. To say there was a downpour would be like saying sometimes Edsel is enthusiastic. To say we had some precipitation would be like saying Hulk is fond of sports.

You get my drift. You see my point.

Photo-2Eyeriss not. She not see poynt. Thank for bringeeng up again.

God. Iris makes everything about her.

So it was raining, if you're picking up what I'm throwing down, and Ned was driving, which means we had no GPS, and we kept SLIDING all over the dang road, and sometimes we couldn't see because the whole windshield was WET WET WET HELLO RAIN WET, and then we got there and couldn't find the place.

I mean we just couldn't.

The exit I wrote down did not exist, and we drove near where we thought it might be, and the rain was raining and the slidey was sliding and after awhile we gave up and went to a restaurant for some soup.

And I do not know what to tell you, but for some reason we stayed there for hours, although the part where there was a TV on with ding-dang sports may have had something to do with it, and waiting for the rain to cease was another part, but we ordered food TWICE, we were there so long, talking and sporting-event-ing and people watching and so on. We saw a shift change of the staff. I mean, we were a part of that restaurant. And it became a part of us.

I emailed Charlie AND his girlfriend today, to see if he has PayPal, and if not, Ima send your donations to his house directly. I am sad I couldn't find it. Part of the day's events included contra dancing, and I wore a swingy skirt for just that reason, and I even YouTubed a how-to-contra-dance video and made Edsel practice with me. He is terrible at dosey do-ing.

Oh! And speaking of sporting events, at fake work we're doing that bracket thing? That apparently people do when it's basketball-y out? And Ned filled mine out for me, and I got to pick who wins the whole thing so naturally I picked Michigan State, because I went to school there, though Ned had to ask me, "Do you want to pick Michigan State?" because of course I had no idea they were participating in this thing and my point is today I got an email and I am in the lead, over everyone here at work.


I think I stand to win $800,000 or something. Am so gonna get rich and get all Real Housewife of Greensboro on your asses.

Which, ooooooo! Season finale tonight! And reunion show! BEST NIGHT EVER! I cannot wait. Maybe I'll call Ned after and run it down for him. Do you think I'll get the crossy-arms-stony-look again?

I have to eat something for lunch and get back on the road to commute to the office again. I mean, she commutes, she blogs at lunch, she operates on 8.5 hours of sleep–she's like the Enjoli commercial. What a wonder woman.


XO, June. The eight-hour blogger.

Tyrannosaurus Ned

I meant to write sooner today, but apparently MTV feels the need to distract me with retro episodes of The Real World, in particular The Real World Las Vegas from 2002.

"Trishelle's hawt." There's this poor awkward kid from the Midwest on Real World LV, and do you like how I've become so familiar with it that I abbreviate it, kind of like when people call it "Idol," which by the way makes me wretch. "Idol." Shut up. Anyway, the poor awkward kid says that 9,000 times an episode in TRWLV. "Trishelle's hawt."

And she was kinda hawt.


Back when this was a real show, Marvin and I would go around saying, "Trishelle's hawt" in that poor Midwestern kid's voice, and guess who needed lives so bad? Was it Marvin and me?

Also, I love how on this show they fight over use of the phone, because no one had cell phones. That was only 11 years ago. I'm telling you, styles are kind of the same, music is kind of the same, TV IS KIND OF THE SAME, but technology? All over the place. It's the only thing that seems dated from then: the lack of technology.

OHMYGOD none of this is why I GATHERED you here today, though. I GATHERED you here to update you on Ned's condition, and to tell you about Chris and Lilly's baby, and all I can think about is Trishelle and her cell phone.

What kind of bullshit name is Trishelle, anyway?

So Ned, who seems to have no opinion on Trishelle, but maybe that's because I've never asked him about his feelings on Trishelle, went to get his dang wisdom teeth out yesterday, and I took him. When you go to Ned's–and why are you at Ned's? What are you doing with Ned? I could kick your ass, you know, you giant tramp–you have to call him so he can let you in to the Fort Knox Gelatin that is his apartment. You'd think he was storing gold or Trishelle up there, so secure is that building. The point is, I was just gonna call and he was gonna come down and then we were gonna schlep to the dentist to remove his parts. But when I called, his "Hello?" sounded so scared and beleaguered that I just felt terrible for him.

Ned. Looking forward to having his teefs out since never.

When we got there, I planted myself in the lobby, where I'm delighted to tell you a sporting event was taking place on the lobby TV.

IMG_0374The dentist really went in for the "we're in a cabin somewhere" scheme, by the way. To the left, there, is a canoe book shelf. I am not making that up.

IMG_0377Here I am, thoroughly enjoying said game. Note also the canoe lamp behind me. My ex-best-friend Esmerelda (the first person to ask gets impaled with a pine cone. I've told the story 40 times. Google ByeByePie + lost my best friend. You're welcome) used to sell Precious Moments figurines, and they had an anniversary figurine of two Native Americans, "injuns" as Hulk and his offensive Indian tattoo would call them, and the figurine read "Many moons in same canoe. Blessum you."

I am also not making that up.

Fortunately, Ned's appointment went quickly, and I was never so glad to see someone's cute face as I was when he came out of that room. I'd been trying to read but really the whole time I'd just been nauseated for him. Really, I was nervous as a cat, because he was. But he was at the desk paying and I mouthed, "You okay?" and he nodded yes, because of course he was clamping down on 50 yards of gauze. Really, dental procedures are barbaric.

We had to go fill his prescription for pain meds, and even though he was clamping, he managed to chatter like a magpie the whole way. "Aaat rully wonn't so ad," he said.

"You should probably try not to talk," I said.

"O ay." [Eight-second pause.]

"Eally, o. It wonn't at ad."

"Okay, good. But TRY NOT TO TALK. Just clamp."

"Oot ooo you aaant oo oo now?"

"OHMYGOD, CLAMP. We aren't gonna do anything now but get you home. Geez."

Eventually, we got home and Ned changed his disgusting awful gauze and got all woozy about it and asked for a chocolate shake. Ned never wants bad things like chocolate shakes, and I was glad to go get him one. But right when I was leaving, I got a text that Lilly had had her baby! And they wanted me to visit right then!

Ned said he'd watch his riveting sports and sleep and to go ahead, and I was kind of worried he'd expire from tooth removal, but I also really wanted to see Lilly for the FOURTEEN SECONDS they keep you at the hospital anymore, so I said I'd scream over there, stay for 15 minutes so as not to be the rude overstaying visitor, then get Ned his shake.

On my way to see Lilly, I remembered I forgot to sign that contract for the Exciting Thing Ima tell you about eventually, so I stopped at home, let the dogs out who were totally confused by me being home at 4 p.m., signed and scanned and emailed said Exciting Contract, then scream scream screamed over to the hospital that is eight inches from my front door, and also where I left my fibroids last year. And the year before.

Clearly I have boomerang fibroids.

And oh! Lilly's baby is cute! And thank heavens, because Lilly had SAID she had a cute baby, but she's the MOM. If that thing had come out looking like Marty Feldman she'd have thought it was cute.

ZellafamOkay, here's the story. Lilly said I could put the baby's picture on here, and I KNOW Lilly HATES her own picture, yet I ASSURE you she looks REALLY VERY LOVELY in this one, but I cut as much of her out as I could so I wouldn't piss her off and yet still include the baby. Whose name is Zella Grace. It's a family name. Isn't that a cool name?

IMG_0379Also, Lilly got a beautiful diamond necklace from Chris, for, you know, passing a huge baby head out her parts and so on. Which by the way Lilly did not exactly enjoy. Wasn't what you'd call a relaxed evening, her evening of giving birth. Am thinking surrogate motherhood will not be on L's list of hobbies anytime soon.

Childbirth. Apparently it hurts.

Naturally when I got back to Ned's I showed him this photo of me holding a newborn necklace. "You deserve a diamond necklace too," said Ned, who I doubt is out getting me one because he clearly said that while under the influence of morphine or whatever he took for his teeth. "When you have my children, I will get you a diamond necklace."

See. Someone just got away with murder, there.

The point is, after I did all those things like sign contracts and visit babies and covet diamonds, I schlepped to the shake store and got Ned's treat, only to DROP IT LIKE IT WAS HOT when I got to his house.

Best.girlfriend.ever. And yes, I DID go get another one. And yes, I DID swear like a madwoman. I'd like to take this moment to thank my dad for teaching me all the really good swears, because man did they come in handy when I dropped that @&%# shake.

So there it was. Ned survived. Lilly birthed. It was a big day. Other than the part where I didn't get any diamond necklace.

The rest of the evening we spent quietly, because Ned was told he couldn't eat anything but mushy stuff, and he couldn't drink alcohol, and he couldn't have…raucous activity, so that pretty much ruled out anything we WOULD have done on a Friday. Usually Fridays find us eating a whole mess of peanut brittle then slam dancing in a mosh pit.

Generally on Fridays we have a who-can-chew-the-biggest-piece-of-ice contest and then we head to the bumper cars.

Fridays? That's our eat gravel and box each other night.

Okay I'm done. So what we DID end up doing was eating split pea soup and talking.

"If you be named after something, what would it be?" I asked Ned.

"A beer. No, wait. Beers are too transient; they come and they go." Tell that to Mr. Bud Light.

"A comet," he amended. "But not one that hardly ever appears. A comet that shows up every four years, like the Olympics. …Or a dinosaur. I'd like to have a dinosaur named after me. What about you?"

"Lipstick or a sex act. Except with my luck, it'd end up being one of those sex acts involving poop. 'I'm never seeing him again. He wanted to June Gardens me! These are Egyptian cotton sheets!'"

I finally settled on a rose. I want a rose named after me. Wouldn't that be nice? The June Gardens pale pink rose. With sparkles. Maybe you could plant it and add a little glitter to the soil and it'd grow all sparkly. Do you think?

Anyway. He feels sore today and a little tired, but I think Ned will live. And Lilly is home already, of course, because WHAT IS WITH HOSPITALS TODAY? Lilly mentioned that Zella hated her first bath, and I suggested she might be French.

With that, I bid you adieu. June and her rose, out.

I wonder what we'd name after Trishelle? A hot plate. The Trishelle Hawt Plate.

ImageP.S. Chris and Lilly just sent this picture. thurtee-ate hourz of lyfe all it take to be totlee sik of ant joon blog.


Every day, Monday through Friday, my alarm goes off at the same time, and every day that information stuns me. "What the–? Seriously? The alarm is going off? GOD!" Every day it's all, "The nation was rocked when June's alarm went off at 6:54 a.m."

I hate getting up.

I have a dumb day planned, as I am only working till 1:00 in order to take Ned to his wisdom teeth removal. Oh, he'll be fine. They aren't even impacted. He is worried about it, though, as I guess I would be. I've had three out, at three different times. One of the times, I was lying on this table, and the nurse came in. "Okay," she said, pulling out a needle, "we're going to give you something now."

"Okay," I said. Shots don't bother me and generally I end up loving whatever floaty feeling I get during these kinds of procedures.

The nurse was messing with tools and such over at the counter, and I said, "Are we going to go into the room now to get started?"

"We're done, honey."

"No! We aren't done. You just gave me the shot."

"That was an hour and a half ago. You're all done."

IT WAS THE WEIRDEST THING. I completely lost all time from the second that shot went in till that nurse was at the counter. She was probably more of a dental assistant and not a nurse, wasn't she? Hoo care.

Oh, and speaking of Tallulah, the other night I was going to the grocery store for my staples: cat food and coffee, and when I got out my car, right there in the car next to me was Penny, my friend TinaDoris' dog.

6a00e54f9367fb88340167636d382b970b-800wi"Hi, Penny!" I squealed, thrilled to run into dog friends. I mean, had she driven herself over for some kibble, or was she just along for the ride?

"BOW WOW WOW WOW WOW grrrrrr-WOW!" said Penny, showing me her teeth and scowling and getting torches and pitchforks and bombs.


I went into the store, and there was TinaDoris and her spouse, buying muzzles or anti-rabies pills or cleanup rags for when your dog foams at the mouth at someone she's MET 80 TIMES or something. "Your dog just yelled at me," I said.

"She hates being confined in the car," said TinaDoris. At least they don't ever have to worry about anyone stealing their car. Or putting a puppy in it. That's the same parking lot that someone put a puppy in MY car, and if it's remotely warm enough I leave the window open, still, just in case.

Best delivery ever.

I know I've told you this story before, but I've been blogging for SIX YEARS. I've told you EVERY story before. But I had the world's most marvelous cat, Mr. Horkheimer, who died seven years ago today in fact, and anyway in Seattle I had a fireplace in my room. Horkie would sleep on my bed all day because cats have it rough.

One day, he was snoozing in there as he is wont to do, when blark, something falls out of the chimney and onto the floor of the fireplace.

It was a nest of baby birds.

Can you imagine?

Hork was not one to be kind to birds when they were grown up and able to flitter about normally, so you can imagine the evil smorgasbord he had with a whole bowl of flightless babies. My roommate Paula came home to find the carnage. She threw Horkie outside, and she said he plastered himself to the window like that Far Side cartoon while she cleaned everything up.

Ri6t95The point is, for the rest of the time we lived there, Hork would wander over to the fireplace every so often and look up. It's like he wondered where the lever was to pull for more baby birds. That's how I feel when I leave my window down at the parking lot where I got a puppy once.

Ohmygod I wonder if I could drift further from my point. Which was that I am taking Ned to get his wisdom teeth out. "If you feel okay, what're we going to do tonight?" I asked, knowing making out was off the table and therefore flummoxed. "There's a sporting event on," said Ned, who probably told me specifically WHICH sporting event it was and did not say "sporting event," although now he is starting to say just that because that's what I say. The point is I'm bringing a book over there.

Also, my boss calls Ned MAMF, because the first time I mentioned him to my boss, I said, "Well, calling him my boyfriend seems weird, because we're 47. He's my middle-aged manfriend," I said. So somehow that got shortened to MAMF. "How was your weekend?" my boss will ask. "Did you and MAMF go anywhere fun?"

So yesterday my boss called me at my desk. "Say, do you think you'll have time to do this before you go off MAMFing at 1:00?"

MAMFing. Now Ned is a verb.

Okay, I'm off. Am totally going to dress Ned up in wee Uggs and wigs while he's asleep. So tune in tomorrow.