...friend/Ned · I hate everything · June's stupid life

Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me. You know, it really should be “were,” and why does every song have to torture me with the grammar?

Does anyone have any idea what it means when your air conditioning isn't really working? It wasn't working that well LAST summer, and I'm in here sweltering and doing my Meat Loaf in concert impression. Let me guess. It's gonna be a $950,000 thing, isn't it?

Do you ever watch Suzy Orman? I have trouble listening to her for very long due to the dramatic.pronouncing.of.each.word. But people call in and ask Suzy if they can afford something, which, really? Do they really not buy the thing when Suzy says, "Denied" with every letter of that word accounted for? Cause I'd be all, smell me, Suzy, but there you go. Anyway, the people have to lay out their financial picture for her first.

"I make $40,000 a year and I have $400,962 in savings, and $8 million in an emergency fund, plus my 401(k) has 900 thousand billion dollars in it. Can I afford this lipstick?"

"YOU! Can't afford it!" she always says, and that show just depresses me. I am headed for financial ruin, is what I am, unless I score a rich man and I note the part where so far Ned hasn't flown me around on any private jet. So.

I kind of feel like 47 and 11/12ths is too late to be a trophy wife. What say you? I mean, I'm not trophy wife so much as Rice-A-Roni wife, at this point. Remember on Let's Make a Deal when you picked the wrong curtain and no, you didn't get the embarrassing donkey (disclaimer: I'd so rather have a donkey than A NEW CAR!!!!), but you DID get the ohhhhhhhhh disappointing year's supply of Rice-A-Roni consolation prize?

I have no idea how I got off on this tangent. Oh, right. I'm hot. But Rice-A-Roni hot.

Yesterday, speaking of hot, Ned and I laid out by his pool, and we didn't bother to shower first because we'd be lying there getting all perspire-y. After awhile, Ned mentioned he was feeling peckish, and I don't know if I've ever pointed out to you that food is to Ned what breathing is to me. He loves him the food. We decided to get right up and walk over to this local bakery, and have bread from there and tomatoes and Parmesan cheese.

IMG_1343Which we did, on Ned's extra-organized coffee table. Note the bottle of Perrier I picked up at said bakery, and I'm also delighted to tell you they offered me a free baguette after I chatted up the cashier, which of course I took. On the way back to Ned's, I noted how French I was, with my baguette and my Perrier and my lack of shower. I also tried to have attitude, like the cat in Pepe LePew.

We went back to being American, though, at night, when we went to a baseball game.

IMG_1355Actually, it was kind of fun, because there were people to look at, and they have a black Lab named Miss Babe Ruth who runs onto the field and acts all cute and such.

IMG_1354Ned was excited about the food.

So we got ourselves hot dogs, because it was baseball and so forth, and we got sauerkraut on them, and really, I don't know why anyone tries to take me anywhere.

IMG_1356Dude. Seriously. That WHOLE HOT DOG fell onto my lap, and then I had mustard pants, and I'd like to point out how I'm never gonna be a trophy anything. "You should wash those when you get home," helped Ned.

"Wow. Have you considered writing a household hints book?" I was sort of crabby about my mustard pants.

IMG_1359After the baseball game, in which I managed to not pay attention to one single moment of the sports at hand, other than to duck if the ball looked like it might careen my way, there was a fireworks show. You can hear these fireworks from my house, and my dogs decidedly do not like them, so the whole time I just pictured Eds and Lu in a horrified embrace.

I guess that about sums up my Saturday. Today we're going to another pretentious movie, but not till evening because I have stuff to do. For example, swelter. Perhaps I'll think of my home as a kind of detox spa, and by autumn I'll be devoid of all the rotten stuff I consume that lounges in there and makes me look old: coffee, sugar, Cheese Nips. Cat fur. Impure thoughts about Barry Gibb. Episodes of Sex and the City. Lik-m-Aid powder. It'll be great!


I am high-maintenance · June's stupid life


Tallulah went to the vet yesterday, where she managed to bark at everyone in the waiting area so how sick can she really be, and it turns out old Bob Barker has dermatitis, which she got from seasonal allergies, which made her skin itch, which led to her chewing her foot 470 hours a day, which led to it getting all raw and disgusting, which led to her needing a steroid shot and some antibiotics.

$158 later we left. And by the way, the drive to the vet was ludicrous. The rain was coming down sideways, and you could barely see anything, and branches were flying everywhere, and there was a terrible multicar accident on the way, and I kept thinking if I died in this torrential weather that I'd look super-heroic. "She was going to the vet for her dog. Isn't that beautiful?" The whole rest of time, I'd be that saint who died on the way to the vet and not that kind of bitchy June Gardens.

But I lived, and by the time I pulled in to the vet's it was sunny again, and I think the weather here has some kind of mood disorder.

IMG_1341Here's Talu Limpadoo Gardens last night, holding her foot up dramatically, as Ned and I callously left her to go have dinner with Faithful Reader LaUral. Note how filthy that couch cover is. I pretty much change it every day, and I'd like to take this moment to thank Marvin for saying, "Ooooohhhh. Let puppy Talu on the couch. Come on."

Thanks, Marvin. THANK YOU.

IMG_1324 2Mostly Talu just wanted to sleep yesterday, anyway. I had a dream that my beloved cat Mr. Horkheimer, fmr., had hurt HIS paw, and I kept holding him and kissing said paw, and I figured I dreamt that because Tallulah is as much loved by me as Horkie was. Let's face it: You have favorites. You know you do. You're so over there right now liking one kid better than the other, aren't you? My grandmother used to say, "You're ALL my favorite" but pfft. Have you met me? Was clearly superior in that whole layout of grandkids.

I should really play my cards right with my cousins and aunts, seeing as my birthday is right around the corner.

Oh, and speaking of which, Faithful Reader Deb sent me a gift already!

Photo on 6-28-13 at 7.10 PM #2She sent me these earrings, which are made by a friend of Ned's, who makes the jewelry. I had linked to these on the Facebook some time ago as a subtle hint to Ned, but FR Deb took on the task instead. Works for me!

So, armed with my earrings, which makes no sense, Ned and I screamed off to have dinner with LaUral. Once Laura signed in to comment on my blog and she must have accidentally hit the caps key or something, because she totally wrote "LaUral" and who has let that go not at all, over here?

IMG_1325When we got there, we noticed a dog in a car, and it was really too hot for that kind of thing even though it was 8 o'clock at night, and I love this art shot of concerned LaUral and God-let's-just-EAT-already Ned. He got a burrito. In case anyone was worried. I DID run IN to Ned yesterday at lunch. I was with a friend from work (the new girl who fascinates me) and Ned was with a salad.

The dog lived, or else it expired. I guess I really don't know. When we left the restaurant the car was gone. Maybe to the dog morgue, but I hope not. I tried to give him water but he didn't want any. I am just saying. Even if it's a nice 70-degree day, cars heat up DRAMATICALLY even when you open windows like this. It really can kill your dog, and quickly.

After dinner, we went to a bar, because that's what all middle-aged people do on a Friday, right? They should have middle-aged bars, that close at 10:00 and feature quiet music and drinks that won't give you indigestion. I guess those bars are called "Applebee's."

IMG_1333There was an Edsel-looking dog there, except he was extra mellow, and when I went to pet him I learned he was eight months old. EIGHT MONTHS OLD. Edsel is three and he'd have knocked over every table in the place, and stuck his tongue in all the beer, and generally have created mayhem all over. The dog above mostly splayed out and slept.

There was also this duo there, these two large funny women of color, all decked out because it was the birthday of one of the women. The birthday girl had this huge "DIVA" necklace on, and awhile later I saw this:

IMG_1338"HOW'D THAT BEARD-Y GUY GET THE DIVA NECKLACE?!" I demanded. I wanted the DIVA necklace! I didn't even WANT it till that guy got it, but then it was on. His friend, there, gave him that nice 21 & Hot sticker, which similarly killed me. Anyway, LaUral went over there and talked to them, and next thing you know

Photo1-1YES!!!!! I only got to BORROW it, though, and Dear Ned: Guess what I want for my birthday. Love, June.

IMG_1331Dear June: Guess who is over you and this whole evening. Love, Ned.

In truth, Ned had a good time, because he's affable that way, and what I'd REALLY like to see is Ned in the DIVA necklace. Because, demanding? High-maintenance? Metrosexual? All those describe Ned to a T. Is it to a T or to a tee? What the hell does that even mean?

I have to go now. I have to pay bills, which, fun, and then Ima weed my yard. Which, fun again! These are not things a diva should have to do.

I am berserk · June's stupid life · My pets

Limpadoo goes to the vet. Again.

It's Thursday night as I write this, and as long as something large doesn't come crashing through my roof, rendering me smushed and dead and unable to finish this post, I will have gotten everything done tonight that I wanted. Well. I haven't conceived Barry Gibb's child and given birth to it and named it Renesmee, but other than that.

I had to get everything done including blogging because I have to get up early and take Lu to the vet. I'm gonna drop her off and the vet will check out Lu's hurty paw, then at the end of the day I'll go get her and find out whattup. How much do you enjoy me saying "whattup"?

She's very Limpy Limpadoo. Lu is, not Renesmee. My theory is she stepped in something stupid in the back yard. I keep my razors/pointy pieces of hot coal/venomous crabby snakes collection back there, but I've told her to leave it alone.  It's not my fault she doesn't listen. Anyway I won't know anything till Friday evening, so I'll tell you what's wrong with Limpadooesmee on Saturday. Gives you something to live for, doesn't it?

In the meantime, you're stuck with this post, and I am very sorry.

Oh, I meant to tell you a story about Ned's birthday night but I didn't have time last time. Do you remember recently when Ned got angry and threw a shoe, resulting in his nice picture falling off the wall and breaking? And how in the cold light of day, he had to repair that picture, and that's the price we pay for being temperamental, and I would judge as I like to do but I have the same ding-dang temper, so.

"What do you like to do?" "Oh, I judge people. You?"

Ned usually gets up at some point in the night, and makes his way to the kitchen and drinks water and eats peanuts. I am not making that up. That's what he does. Usually if I'm there, I sleep right through water and peanut time, but twice I heard him in the kitchen and gotten up for water, too. Both times I have




right out of him. Oh, how he screeched and lept his whole skeleton out of his body and had his eyes pop out of their sockets and clung to the ceiling like a cat in a cartoon. "You KNEW I was HERE," I pointed out to him, when his breath re-entered his body. "I know, but I never hear you coming, and then you appear out of the gloom of night and it's so horrifying," he's said when it happens.

So the night of his birthday, I woke up and I'll be DAMNED if I didn't have a stupid migraine. I heard Ned getting water, so when I got up to take a pill, I walked down the hall, and this time I warned him, "Hey, I–"

"AACCKKKKK!!!!" screeched Ned, who then flailed dramatically out of the kitchen, running into the wall and–

are you ready? Are you?

–breaking that DAMN PICTURE all OVER AGAIN.

Seriously, you've never seen someone have a more dramatic startle response. They should test him in a lab. I mean, sure, I was wearing a white sheet and saying, "Woooo-OOOOOO-oooo!" but come on. Sure, I'd put on my Exorcist makeup. Still.

So I had on a hockey mask. What of it?

When I left in the morning, I saw that poor beleaguered picture crumpled on the floor all over again and I giggled all the way to my car. Poor Ned. Poor Ned's picture.

The OTHER thing I wanted to talk to you about was your teenage room. Ned and I discussed the other day what graced the walls of our angst-ridden rooms, although I feel like his had just about zero angst, but I had enough for both of us and some of you. He told me he had a Farrah Fawcett poster, naturally. Not the red bathing suit one, but the BLUE bathing suit one. "Sadly, I know just what one you mean," I said.

But now that I've looked it up, what I THOUGHT OF as a blue bathing suit was in fact this poster, with a blue BACKGROUND:

Farrah_fawcett_05Is this the one you had, Ned? Because I did find a blue bathing suit one, too.

Farrah_Fawcett_001God, Farrah Fawcett was beautiful, wasn't she? And she was HEALTHY beautiful, not emaciated.

Anyway, along with his hetero boy poster, he also had (sit down) sports posters, and a bulletin board with (sit back down) sports things he kept tacked up there.

I had a larger-than-life poster of Robert Redford that was to die for.

RrThis was definitely it, even though this doesn't show the whole thing. Oh, look how hot. I also had Clark Gable pictures up that I'd gotten from my grandmother, who had similarly loved him when she was little. Of course, all these second-tier men got tossed when I discovered the Bee Gees, and then I easily had 30 posters, Tiger Beat pages and special fan-club 8×10 glossies of Barry Gibb. My whole room was all Barry Gibb all the time.

BgOHMYGOD!!!!! I Googled "Bee Gees posters" and this came up and I SO TOTALLY HAD THIS ONE and never once thought it was odd that three adult brothers are in bed together. Also, has anyone seen my mesh shirt?

My point is, what'd you have in your teen room? I kept the Bee Gees up till 10th grade, when I got embarrassed about my crush on Barry Gibb even though it's a PERFECTLY REASONABLE AND WISE crush to have, and replaced everything with cool Paper Moon Graphics cards. Very early '80s.

Paper Moon 7 Peter Palombi


Oh, I thought these were SO COOL. God help me.

Okay, so what'd you have? Tell all. Renesmee and I need to know.

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life

June is now dating a much older man

Am running late due to Ned-ing yesterday. Here he is using my nice reading glasses, opening his gifts. I got him a radio that he asked for, and …other things. I got him some stuff that is part of a joke between us. I don't have to tell EVERYTHING on this blog, do I?

IMG_1310We had a really good night.

IMG_1319The jalapeno margaritas were a success.

We ate Italian food at this place that's been around since God wore the short pants, and we went to the book store so Ned could get a book he wanted. I was tempted to buy Gary Dell'abate's autobiography, because I'm deep, but I did not.

Then we went to Ned's and made out on his couch like we were 15.

I love Ned, you guys. Ludicrous amounts. Even if he is much older. (Gold digger!!)

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

In which June has to find someone named Fernando

Tallulah is limping and licking her foot, and I DO NOT HAVE TIME for this today. So far I've looked at it and as usual saw nothing and why do I bother, and also I've kissed her head and called her Limpy Limpadoo. So that should pretty much take care of it, don't you think?

She gets a lot of yeast infections in her feet, and I don't even wanna THINK about what she and Edsel do when I'm not here.

The reason I have no time for these shenanigans is because today is Ned's birthday.

As you saw the other day, his presents are wrapped, and thank god I don't have to attempt any pie-making this year. I remember thinking, "How hard could it be?" last year. Yeah. Pfft. But he asked for these margaritas, which I was stupid enough to send him the link to several weeks ago after my pal TinaDoris told me SHE was making them. TinaDoris is like 20 and owns a house and is competent and has a full kitchen and so on. When I was her age, I was practically an amoeba. I was so not a fully formed person yet.

Anyway, Ned wrote back and said, "I want those on my birthday!" and then he quoted Bonnie Raitt:

In my sweet dreams we are
In a bar
And it's my birthday
Drinking salty margaritas with Fernando


So yesterday I went to the liquor store, which I never do, because I'm not that into the liquor. I think the last time I schlepped to the liquor store was when my best friend Pal from MA came here…from MA, smarty, and the second she got off the plane she said, "We have to go to the liquor store." When we got there there were posters with silhouettes of pregnant women on them, with writing in Spanish, so my assumption is they sold some kind of baby drink, possibly tequila-related. I never found the Baby Drinks section.

I've always said they should just call a spade a spade and have a whole Teen Drinks section, with the Slo Gin and the wine coolers. Goldschlager. The stuff no one age 19 and up ever touches. I mean, who are we kidding?

Anyway, I had to buy tequila and something with the word "Coin" in the title, and guess who was overwhelmed by all the liquor there? Also, the kind of tequila Ned said was good? Was FIFTY DOLLARS, and who has that kind of cash just lying around all willy-nilly? Not June Gardens, Mom of Yeast Paws, over here, that's for sure. Although I think pretty soon they're gonna name a wing of the vet's office after me.

The "I spent money and they're naming a wing after me" joke. June's blog. Come for the original humor. Stay for words like "limpadoo."

I found the "Coin" stuff and noticed the SAME tequila in a SMALLER box behind the counter. "Oh, is that this same stuff in a smaller container?" I asked, because I am street.

"Yes, ma'am. You have a fifth, there."

"Oh, good. Can I have the smaller stuff? I was worried. This bottle would last me the rest of my life."

The guy looked at me and pfft'd. I'm not kidding you. He pfft'ded! "That big bottle won't get you through the weekend," he said.


So apparently I'm looking good these days, and not at all soused. Olé.

Okay, am out of here. Have to call the vet, whose number I know by heart, and start the margarita-making procedure now, so I can screw it up 28 times before Ned gets here.

June, drunk and out. Passed out.

...friend/Ned · I am high-maintenance · June's stupid life

June gets spotted

IMG_1296Tomorrow is Ned's birthday, and it's all very exciting over here, with the baking and cooking and so on.


Last year, I tried to make Ned a pie, and disaster struck. This year, we're going out to eat and possibly getting peach cobbler, because he's been bitten by the peach cobbler bug. I am linky today. Am linked in. God, that's funny. How do you stand it?

Last night after work, I decided to try this little boutique-y place near me, to see if they had good cards. Cards are very important to me, because I'm a girl, and when I lived in LA you couldn't swing a shallow cat without finding a really good card. Here it's all Hallmark and Target, which makes me want to kill myself and perhaps that strikes you as a strong reaction but see above re "girl."

Ned enjoys the story I tell about one day after Christmas, when I was standing with 14,000 other women at some card store, and we were all carefully perusing the half-off Xmas cards. What about this box of cards? No, too forest green. These? Ack, they say too much on the inside. I know most women out there feel me, here.

A man bursts into the store. He said, "Excuse me" and reached through the crowd, picked a box of cards WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING, paid and left.

And that, friends, is the difference between men and women.

At any rate, I thought I'd try the boutique-y place, and how annoyed are you getting that I keep saying "boutique-y." As soon as I walked in I knew I'd like it. There was fancy jewelry and regular-person jewelry, and pretty pitchers and funny pillows and that kind of thing. The woman who was manning the place, and I do not mean she was in any way transgendered, said, "I know you! You're June Gardens!"

I have been "June?"d a few times now out in public, and what's sad is every time someone calls me June I do not even hesitate. "Yes! Yes, I am," I said to her, living in my sad dream world.

She said the two owners and she read my blog all the time, and they like it because I talk about local things. "We love it when you talk about the hot midcentury furniture guy," she told me, and then we launched into a 90-minute diatribe about how cute he is.

Do you know not once in that video does he say, "And the best part of Greensboro is that lovely June Gardens." What's his PROBLEM, do you think? I think he's intimidated by my beauty, and can't bring it up.

Anyway, had a good time with the woman in that store, and they have GOOD CARDS. My problems are solved. You have no idea how sad I've been about no cards. I recently sent my stepfather a glittery silver card, so desperate was I. And if you've met my grew-up-on-a-farm, quiet, cardigan-wearing, no-nonsense stepfather, your first thought would be FABULOUS GLITTER CARRRRRRD!!!!

IMG_1295I also got Talu a new collar, as her pink rhinestone one was all broken up and hangy, having been on her every day for the last three years. She's going for a preppy look now. So many mutts from trailers in North Carolina end up in prep school. I guess she'd be like Jo from Facts of Life. I guess she'd have sexual tension with Blair Warner.

Last night I talked with Ned, and told him I'd been June-sighted. "The woman said to be sure to tell Ned happy birthday," I told him, "and she agreeed with me about midcentury furniture guy."

"Tell her Ned says 'Oh, brother,'" he said. Ned has never gotten the mystique of midcentury furniture guy.

And that, friends, is the difference between men and women.

Film · I hate everything · June's stupid life


Lately my coffee tastes weird. Clearly I have a brain tumor. Alternatively, maybe I'm making it too strong. It seems like the first cup is good, but after that it really isn't. Too bitter or something.

So this morning I decided to actually look on the bag of coffee and, you know, read the directions. It says to add 2 tablespoons (10 g) of coffee for every 6 oz (180 ml).

First of all, go fuck your milliliters. Am I reading this by candlelight in some Eastern European hovel? God. Milliliters. Speak English. Then also, you stupid stupid Starbucks bag writers, WHO KNOWS HOW MANY OUNCES of COFFEE you make?

Six ounces. Oh shut up. There's not one human on the planet whose coffee pot tells you by the ounce. The OUNCE. Oh, I am irritated. So you know what I did? Do you? I got out one of my Mason jars and measured ounces of water. The side of the Mason jar has little numbers, which for all I know are cups and not ounces, anyway.

I hate everything. But my coffee's ready so hang on.

…Blech. Too strong. Bad gram-to-milliliter ratio.

IMG_1289Yesterday, Ned and I went to the movies, for a change. We saw This is the End, with Seth Rogan and that idiot who's in everything. James Franco. That's it. I realize this is not our usual genre of movie, as it lacks pretense or sadness, I mean, other than where the world is ending. But here's what Ned wanted to see yesterday:

http://movies.yahoo.com/video/much-ado-nothing-trailer-173033169.html?format=embed&player_autoplay=falseAnd here's what I wanted to see:

Dudes! It's a movie by Judy Blume! JUDY BLUME! This movie was going to be so much better than Ned's "Are you there, God, it's me Pretension," up there.

We totally need to read Forever by Judy Blume for our next book club. What say you?

Anyway. I thought the Seth Rogan movie was kind of funny, but Ned said it was the dumbest thing he'd ever seen. Which leads to the Q, what's the dumbest movie you've ever seen? I said Sex and the City 2. But what do you say?

The first person to say When Harry Met Sally gets punched with my milliliters.

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

Paula, TinyTown, and Ned enjoys food. It’s your one-stop blog, really.

IMG_1262Yesterday my friend Paula came to North Carolina. Paula and I worked together in Seattle. Not long after, we became housemates, and seeing as we were swinging singles in our 20s, we went out together a lot and drank and danced and came home and didn't have sex. We bickered all the time, and kind of stopped liking each other till I moved into my own place again.

Yesterday my ex-wife Paula came to North Carolina.

In 2009, Paula got the breast cancer, and I scrounged up my money and flew there the day she had her mastectomy, and screeched though the night in my rental car to get to her room. There was nowhere to park in downtown Seattle at night, and I ran like a demon to get to her room. And because I do not hug, I stood in her doorway and said, "Hey."

And that is why you read in the comments someone saying, "I'm standing in your doorway, June" instead of seeing the dreadful {{{hugs}}}.

If you ever write or even THINK {{{{hugs}}}}, I want you to know I am throwing up on you, in my mind.

Anyway, so Paula was in Charlotte to see the band Heart, as she is what you'd call a fan. She follows them all over the place, and they know her, and they even MENTIONED her and her one-boobed self in an interview once. I know! They were all, "We have a fan named Paula who got sick, and then she got well, and never missed a concert."

Here's Paula enjoying the shit out of a Heart concert.

I am sorry to tell you that you can see Paula at 1:13, 3:00 and again at 3:40, breaking the rock. I went out and PURCHASED a Heart DVD just so I can show everyone Paula breaking that damn rock. Am obsessed with it. It kills me. Does anything make you this happy? Because, me neither.

Photo-39Was excited for Paula to meet Ned. We got up with each other at some restaurant in Charlotte yesterday, and she was with her gay entourage who similarly like Heart. We'd all walked right past a Hooters on our way to the restaurant, and Paula said, "What have those women got that I don't have?"

"The s," I said.

"Maybe you could work at Hooters part-time," offered one of her entourage.

One-boob jokes. They're hilarious!

IMG_1266When we left Charlotte, I dragged Ned to TinyTown, which is relatively close by. Just drive past 34848383 Bojangles and boom, you're there. I took him to the sit-on-rockers-and-eat-peach-cobbler place, and Ned "godDAMMIT!"ed it. He mentioned at the TIME that it was good, then after he was done he said it was good, then as we perused the many nooks and crannies (four. There are approximately four) of TinyTown, Ned said, "That peach cobbler was delicious."

I don't want you to worry that he forgot or anything: I think he was awake 96 seconds when he said, "I had a good time yesterday. That peach cobbler was delicious. GodDAMMIT." I kind of feel like food is Ned's Break the Rock.

IMG_1269I showed Ned the pretty church where I worked, and God went ahead and smoted him right there for his swears (it is so totally "smoted"), and then I schlepped him to the Pee Dee Nature Preserve. Before I moved to TinyTown, I of course looked it up on a map, and I don't know why I say "of course," because you know maps mean zero to me. Anyway, I saw they had a Pee Dee river, and I was slightly obsessed with it. I like the name Pee Dee. I'd like everyone to call me Pee Dee Gardens from now on. Thank you.

IMG_1270When I lived in TinyTown, I went here a lot, and I have a sweet picture of me wearing ridiculous sweatpants, walking teensy puppy Tallulah around this preserve. I'll look for it–it's in my actual pictures, and isn't it funny to think that five years ago we went around developing actual pictures?

Anyway, as we walked around the place, not only did I flare up my dang plantar fasciitis, but we also kept hearing this animal in the distance that sounded like a sheep. It can't possibly BE a sheep, but what is it? Turn your sound up–this whole 18-second video sounds like a sleep machine. Till Ned and I laugh at the sheep creature.


WHAT IS IT? It's obsessing us. When we can get the peach cobbler thoughts out one of our heads.

So, that wraps up our Saturday. When we finally got home, we tried to watch an episode of The Sopranos, as I have the box set, and we turned it on and when I opened my eyes the show was over and Ned was asleep sitting up, like the Elephant Man. Raise the roof. Partayyy. Get down tonight. I'm coming out so you better get this party started.

I'm done.

The roof! The roof! The roof is on fire!

Okay, really done. Everyone have a fine day, y'all. Have a break-the-rock kind of day.

XO, Pee Dee

June's stupid life


Here's Ned in the middle of a story, last night. Let me guess: This came out sideways once I posted.
6a00e54f9367fb88340192ab7ad233970d-580wiWe're headed to Charlotte now because my old roommate Paula is there, following the band Heart around. Yes, she follows the band Heart around. I don't know what to tell you about that. She is an excellent friend with a Heart condition.

Juuune, barracuda.
Sent from my iPhone

I am high-maintenance · June's stupid life


I will tell you this story, but at least one person is going to write in and say, "You're a terrible person, Joooon." "You aren't fit for this planet, Jooooooooon!" Whenever y'all nag me, my name turns into Jooooon.

Yesterday morning I was in the computer room, already showered and in Marvin's nice cowboy robe that he left behind. Marvin left everything behind that I ever gave him, and I don't know if he did it on purpose or not, but how anyone could leave a blue cowboy robe is beyond me.

Photo on 6-20-13 at 7.32 AMAttached please find an unretouched photo of me in said robe, before all the SHIT WENT DOWN. Tallulah and I were playing Heavy Cat again, and guess who is over me in every way.

My point is, I was in here having myself a time, blogging and Facebooking and doing all the things that make me late for work daily, when Iris


brought in ANOTHER GODDAMN BIRD. And this one was not only alive, it was flapping. I mean, dude was pissed. He had a bee in his bird bonnet, is what he did.

Iris has learned how to let herself out through the screen door, and no, I don't like it, either, seeing as Roger taught himself to go out the screen door and got himself run over, and every time I think about losing Roger, the largest toughest coolest cat on earth, it breaks my heart. And I just recently noticed Iris all lettin' herself in and out, coming in and out of my life, and thought, I should really get a hooky kind of lock for that door.

But I haven't, and yesterday she GOT HER BLIND SELF ANOTHER BIRD. She is so not blind. This time I am certain of it.

When she came into the room with a squawking, flapping bird that was practically her size, I did what any responsible adult would do. I screamed and flailed my arms and called Ned. Who was already at work.

"IRIS HAS A BIRD!" I screeched at him. "She brought it in and–AAACCCKKKKK!!!!" The bird had freed itself. Free your mind and the rest will follow. I really wish I didn't have to think of song lyrics constantly, but there you go. Not only had it freed itself and its mind, it was FLYING around my HOUSE, right over my head.

"ACCCKKKKKK!!!!" I screamed again, directly into the ear of Ned, and you know how sometimes businesses will say things like, "We know you have many choices when it comes to your episiotomy service provider, and we appreciate your choosing Acme Episiotomies"? You know how they say that? Sometimes I feel like saying that to Ned.

"I know you had many choices when it came to the women hitting on you on that dating site. I appreciate your choosing the most dramatic, difficult one."

In case Ned hadn't gotten my point, because sometimes I'm not direct, I said, "ACCCKKKKKK!!!!" into his earhole once again, for good measure.

"Do you need me to come over there?" Ned asked, because he is the most patient man on earth. But he'd already been late for work because of me this week already. "Well, you're gonna have to get him somehow," Ned said. "Do you have a net?"

If there's anything Ned can't get enough of, it's my butterfly capture stories. Do I have a net. Sometimes when there's nothing else to do, I'll put on a white coat, grab my net and drag people who strike me as crazy right to the home. Mental health service providers love me. We know you have many choices when it comes to who's dragging you here with a net.

So no. I didn't have a net. I know it's a staple for most people, right up there with ketchup, salt and episiotomy tools. I do not know why I'm so obsessed with episiotomies today, and I should cut it out.


I called animal control, is what I did, eventually, and the nice lady there similarly suggested I get the bird myself.

IMG_1242I had been standing hysterically on my porch, in my cowboy robe, and how often do the neighbors just make popcorn and sit in the window waiting for what's next, do you think, but I gathered up my courage and went into the house. The bird was just SITTING there, on the kitchen sink, like he was waiting for the coffee to brew or whatever.

Not that I perch on the edge of my sink while I'm waiting for the coffee. Especially now, since my whole kitchen is Avian flu ground zero.

IMG_1240You can see that I hysterically tried to take a couple pictures in my hysteria, but I said rather hysterically to the animal control woman, "I CAN'T DO IT! I'M AFRAID TO APPROACH HIM! I KNOW THAT'S STUPID BUT I AM!"

I don't even know what I was afraid of. But I so was. "Okay, ma'am. We'll send someone out."

I waited, hysterically, still in my cowboy robe, till the nice man came with, yes, a net.

IMG_1243"My cat, my BLIND CAT, got a bird!" I told him, as he eyed my nice robe and considered capturing me with the net to take to the home. I like how I keep calling it "the home," because that's sensitive. Anyway, into my kitchen he and his net went, and

IMG_1244after some struggle, he got the poor thing. "Squeak!" said the bird, who had hurled him or herself against my kitchen window a few times, and who just wanted to get the hell out of my house, like everyone else who comes over.

And it was over. I was so glad. "Yay!" I said, glad this bird had survived the wrath of Iris Dahmer. The nice animal control man was headed out the door with the bird in the net when


Tallulah jumped up and ate it.

She ate it.

She jumped onto that net, and ate that poor sweet bird. Net schmet. There's no stopping Lu when she sets a goal.

"SON OF A BITCH!" I yelled, and the beleagured animal control guy said, "Well, shit."

You guys. It happened so fast. And it's my OWN DAMN FAULT, because I DANGLE squeak toys in front of Talu all the time, and how was she to know this was a different kind of a toy altogether?

So that is the story about that poor doomed bird.

IMG_1248eff you, byrd

And SOMEONE is SUPER EXTRA PROUD of herself, and has been rolling smugly all over the place, all Proud Mary keeps on rolling.

So yes. Miss Iris Setter, the Charles Manson of cats, is getting a DAMN BELL COLLAR, and my door is getting a DAMN HOOK LOCK, and I will come back to life as a bird living in a tree that resides on a cat farm.

IMG_1246Oh. And yesterday evening, my kitchen got Silkwood showered. A little birdie told me I should clean it thoroughly.

P.S. I was late for work, and when I explained the story to my boss, he blinked a few times. And he said, "That story had everything in it, including the kitchen sink."

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

Cuff and Link

After perusing your comments from the what-bad-food-do-you-like post, I was relieved to see that so many of you like to eat horrific things. I'd hate to be alone in my poor diet.

Yesterday I left here early, which you can imagine is my strong suit, as I am such a morning person. Embracing the morning. The way one would embrace a rabid opossum. But I did, I left early, and screamed on over to the car repair place, which someone at work recommended because the guy is honest. I got my car fixed by this guy six months ago and he gave me a good deal on what was wrong with my car. He'd even called me at work and said, "We can get away with not whoo-dee-whooing the blee de blee, if you want, save you some cash. Okay?" I liked that about him.

So I dropped my car off yesterday, so he could put my sideview mirrors back on. Ned was already there waiting for me, seeing as I was five minutes late and who do you think was likely delighted with me, because he wasn't expected at WORK or anything. But he acted like my lateness was just fine, and drove me to work.

Ned's shoulder has been smarting for several days now. He assumed he did it lifting weights, and the answer to that is stop lifting effing weights. My father has something he lives by called the No-Maintence Policy, and dad is 942 and fit as a fiddle. You just wanna smack him. (Actually his birthday was day before yesterday, and he turned 67. Which suddenly doesn't seem very old.) (Which is depressing.)

But really. He'll eat all those things you guys listed yesterday IN ONE DAY, and lie around and get zero exercise, and the doctor is always all, "You're perfect!" And then there'll be a report about how Vitamin C gives you cancer or whatever, and Dad will say, "See? Zero Maintenance Policy."

Am hoping I have his genes. Seeing as everyone on the other side drops over from the cancer.

So, Ned's shoulder has been hurting, and yesterday on the way to work, he couldn't really even drive using that arm. I mean, he was in agony. "The thing is, it's getting worse," he said. And that is why I spent the whole ride to work telling Ned he should go to the doctor.

Midmorning, he wrote to tell me he'd made an appointment, and it was right next door to where I was having Fun No Car Lunch with all my coworkers. So Ned joined us and got to meet Sarah the Poet, and Deb Downer, and my boss who he'd already met anyway so now they go way back, and my cute young competent coworker who is two decades younger than me and way mature-er, and also this curly-haired woman we just hired who I find fascinating.

Every once in awhile I get a coworker who I get fascinated with, the way Tallulah used to be fascinated with Henry. This one is pretty and she is a singer and she is super cool and I just kind of want to sit at her desk and watch what she does next. Would that seem weird?

I just looked at the post I just linked to about Talu and Hen. My petspeak was hardly down pat.

IMG_1238mom pet tawk do be suk in too thowsind nyn

Anyway, Ned got to meet all my people, and I know he's wanted to meet Sarah the Poet for quite some time, because she is a big fancy poet who has published a ton of books and wins awards out her yang all the time. If she wanted to, she could carry all her awards around like how when one movie wins a ton of Oscars they show some idiot carrying them all. Afterward, Ned and I talked about how if WE were super-successful fancy poets, all we'd ever DO is talk about how super-successful and fancy we are.

"I'd be wearing my Ask Me About My Poetry Awards t-shirt," Ned said.

But in fact she DOESN'T go around talking about how fancy she is, and I think it's because she is totally humiliated because I pointed out to her that her poems don't rhyme. I don't even know how she's won ONE award. Is the thing.

Oh. But Ned. His shoulder. It might be a torn rotator cuff. Which might require surgery. Which makes Ned not pleased.

When he picked me up from work, with his one useless arm, as we drove to pick up my car that cost


(yes, you heard me. They TOLD me it'd be three or four hundred, and then it was SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY. I had to put some of it on a credit card and some on my debit card. Because SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY DING-DANG DOLLARS) (for SIDEVIEW MIRRORS)

I asked Ned, "So. You gonna go home tonight and raise the roof?" "No," said Ned, as he winced over the steering wheel. "You gonna throw the discus repeatedly, like you like to do?"

"You planning a chicken dance marathon?"

"Did you want to help me paint my ceiling?"

"Hey, listen to what's on! Come on! Y-M-C-A!"

Ned seemed kind of cranky when he dropped me at my car. And I seemed SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS LIGHTER IN MY LOAFERS.

I know that made zero sense. But come ON. GEEZ!

So that summed up my day. I did freelance work last night, which, you know, good. Bring on the supplementary dollars. I proofread about statistics, for a change, and riveting? Woo!

Tonight Ned and I are going to the movies, and I swear to you he plotted out already how he's gonna eat popcorn with his left hand. "You're gonna have to sit to my left this time, and we'll put the popcorn in the middle, and…" He's got it all strategized. ("Strategery.") Poor Ned. Poor cuffy Ned.

I guess I don't have anything else to tell you and am certain you are sad. Because I haven't kept you here hostage for a hundred minutes or anything.

Now go take on the day. (I wish I could tell you how bad I abhor Dr. Laura.)

P.S. Because I haven't said enough already, I am on the American Dingo Club page on Facebook. I just wanted to tell you that so my loserness would be 100% sealed. But also, today they posted a picture of another American Dingo. Whoever wrote me here three years ago to say, "Edsel sure looks like an American Dingo" could not be more righter. Can I say "strategery" again?


amerkin dingo do be like edz

Food and Drink · June's stupid life

White Bread

I have to dash out the door to get my car fixed, because I broke both my side mirrors. Yes, I did. I ran into the driver's side mirror with the garbage can when I was dragging said can to the curb, and when the mirror hung there sadly, I was super careful about dragging the garbage can on the OTHER side of the car the next week.


So, Ned is taking me to and from work today, and I am going to lunch with my pal Sharsky, and Sarah the Poet, and my boss who calls Ned MAMF (middle-aged-man-friend) and Jane West. Oh, and Deb Downer. So there's an upside to car repair–the fun lunch.

But speaking of food, yesterday in the comments, we got on the subject of Velveeta, and Faithful Reader Kate said she loves her the Velveeta, and I said you know, I do too. I am not afraid to admit it.

I also enjoy me the Wonder Bread, but mostly I like it because it reminds me of  my gramma. Wonder Bread commercials used to go on and on about how full of nutrients it was, and how big and strong it'd make you. So when I was at her house, I'd eat one slice and say, "Gramma, try to pick me up now." And she gasp and struggle and carry on about how big and strong I'd gotten, and how she couldn't possibly pick me up. The fact that I was 35 when we had that conversation may have had something to do with her inability to lift me.

I kid you. I was like five. Girlfriend coulda hauled me halfway to Texas had she felt like it.

So what odd, not nutritious, socially unacceptable food do you like? Go ahead. We won't poke fun at you. Much.

Los Angeles · Science

June Takes Wayback Machine, Writes to Self. (Because god forbid she do anything important with wayback machine, like, oh, 9/11 or what have you.)

If somehow we were able to travel around in time–and don't really smart science-y people claim we really can? If so, will someone go back to 1983 and find my dang senior yearbook? Where'd I LEAVE it? Oh, and on your way out of the '80s, please drop me a line about not getting that spiral perm. Thanks.

Anyway, if we were able to travel around in time, here's what I would say to 2003 June.

Dear 2003 June,

First of all, that cell phone you have, the one that's the size of a shoe, will not last that long, so don't go to the mall kiosk and get them to bedazzle it with pink rhinestones. Honest. I mean it. By next year you will turn that flip phone in, and that pink sparkly Eiffel Tower decoration is a goner.

Also, June, your summer of 2013 looks like this:

IMG_1199You'll spend breezy evenings walking your dog and waving at your neighbors. Yes, dude, it is your dog. I KNOW you've wanted a dog forever. Isn't she dignified? Wait'll you smell her.

You have a dog because you have a house. I know! Over there in 2003, houses cost, like, 8 million hundred dollars, and that is because you are in Los Angeles, still, and also because the economy is good. Live it up with that economy, June. Live it up now. Your salary will still not be in 2013 what it was in 2003 in LA.

And yes. You, my dear, do not live in LA anymore. You are in the South, like Scarlett O'Hara and Ouiser and Harper Lee and Otis the town drunk.

IMG_1204You'll sniff your neighbor Peg's magnolias when you walk your dogs (yes, dogs, plural. Let the other dog be a surprise, 2003 June. Really. Just don't think about it), and you'll sit on your front porch with a Mason jar of ice water after, watching the lightning bugs and hearing the world's loudest cicadas.

P.S. Don't eat Peg's gazpacho. Just don't.

IMG_1186Some days, you'll lie by the pool with a nice boy (Let's let the answer to "Where's Marvin?!" be a surprise, too).

IMG_1093He might could be the kindest boy you've ever met, but not in that gross "You're a really nice guy, but…" sort of a way. Yes, he gives the homeless guy outside the grocery store a dollar every time he sees him, but he's also sarcastic and smart and doesn't put up with a lot of your crap. So he's, like, hot nice. Oh, I can't wait for you to meet him.

IMG_1192You'll have a fun job, with interesting friends. And as the morning light shines into your kitchen, you'll make stuff like this. Oh, don't panic. This is as cook-y as you get. A lot has changed, but THAT hasn't. Come on.

Some days you'll have breakfast on your deck, and you'll hear baby birds in the birdhouse you put in the yard. You'll smell the mimosa trees, and hear the train in the distance, the same train that is .007 inches from The Nice Boy's house. Sometimes late at night you'll hear the train and smile, knowing The Nice Boy is hearing it too.

IMG_1185I know, 2003 June, that you're pretty happy, what with your cool 1940s apartment in a cool LA neighborhood. With your $300 haircuts and happy marriage. I know things are good. But I just wanted to let you know that 2013 June is pretty dang happy, too. You might say she's delirious.

See you in 10 years. And I mean it about the bedazzled phone. And Peg's gazpacho.

Love, June

Family · June's stupid life

Dear Dad,

I thought I'd rerun this post, since it's Father's Day and all. Happy Father's Day, y'all!

It being Father's Day, I would like to apologize for the following transgressions over the past 43.11 years:

I am sorry for the time I called you on April Fool's Day and told you I joined the Army.

I apologize for the years I begged to get my ears pierced, and when you finally relented, I further apologize for taking the trainer earrings out early, forcing you to wrench the posts back in while I lay my sweaty head on your lap and screamed.

I heartily regret forcing you to wear the sombrero in Cancun.

Ole 001

I am sorry for calling you, crying hysterically, about every boy I broke up with between 1980 and 1996.

But most of all, I am sorry about the wind incident. Which I will recap for our readers.

I was small for my age. I think that is why when I currently get into my higher weights, I do not really notice it. All my childhood and teen years, I heard about how teeny I was.


I am 17 in this picture.

Really, though, it's hardly fair to compare my size to the giant that is my father. My mother is I think 5'2" and twice she married men well over 6 feet. I do not think this is fair to all the 5'11" women out there, and have told her so many times.

(What was up with our total lack of foliage in the yard? Was this a 1960s thing? Maybe this is why I find my current yard over landscaped. I am used to miniature golf courses for front yards.)

Getting back to my tale, I was three or four, probably, and my best friend–faithful reader and commenter Pal from MA–lived around the corner. I do not know why her parents named her that, particularly given that we lived in MI, not MA.

There was only one house between mine and Pal from MA's, but as I said it was a corner house, so it was quite a trek when you're 2 feet tall.

One wintry Saturday I decided to do as I did every day and head on over there for a captivating day of playing house or whatever you do when you're three. I know nowadays no parent would let their tiny kid just walk over to a friend's, but it was no big deal then. You just played outside randomly throughout the neighborhood and your parents kind of knew where you where, and nothing bad ever happened.

So as I walked over there, I noticed it was pretty windy. My hair was being blown straight back, the trees were bending, my hands were cold. So I headed back home and knocked on our door.

My father came to the door. "What are you doing?" he asked me. He had been in the basement watching a sporting event. "I got lost," I told him.

"What are you TALKING about?  You go to Pal from MA's house every day. You walk around the corner and you're there." He shut the door.

So I headed out again. The wind whistled in my ears. Leaves blew across the yard.

I went home. Knock knock knock.

He answered the door again. I remember he had no shoes on, and his feet were getting red from the cold outside. "I got lost again," I told my father. "June, you can see her house from here," he said, pointing through our back yard. "It's RIGHT THERE. Go!" He shut the door.

I headed out again to the sound of the wind, my lips blowing back like a G-force pilot.

Knock knock knock. I don't know why I kept knocking at my own house instead of just going in.

"June, WHAT is going on?" my father asked.  "I got lost again," I told him, tearing up. This time he wasn't having it.

"I know you're not getting lost. You know where Pal from MA lives. I'm tired of coming upstairs to answer the door. WHAT IS GOING ON?"

I started to cry. "I'm afraid the wind is going to pick me up and carry me away," I wailed.

People used to always say to me, "June, you're so small, if a big gust of wind came up it'd carry you away." Well, there it was. Big gust of wind day. I could see myself whisked up over the city, tumbling past Pal from MA's house like the dead leaves. Oh, it was horrifying. And yet I also knew this was stupid as all get-out, and that it couldn't really happen. Could it?

My father took me inside. We went to my piggy bank. Whenever my father had pennies, he'd give them to me. We dumped that bank upside-down, and he filled my pockets with pennies. "Now you weigh more," he said. "The wind can't get you."

And, full of copper and confidence, I jingled over to Pal from MA's.

So, happy Father's Day, father. Sorry for being such a lightweight over the years. A lightweight who didn't really join the Army.

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

Bite ’em Drink ’em Chew ’em

I am home only briefly, as Ned and I are going to lie by his pool, because we're not aged enough, then go to dinner. Last night I MADE dinner, and I guess I should have warned you before I just blurted that out. All 17 of the people who read me on Saturday just fell over. Your families are over there elevating your legs and giving you air and so on.

Yesterday was my day off, which I told you about already, skimmy. I mean, I didn't tell you TODAY, and let's say you had oral surgery yesterday and are finally able to get up and about, and you made your way over to my blog with your pudding and other soft food stuffs, and you decide to read from the top down, so you didn't KNOW I had yesterday off, and now I've called you "skimmy."

I am such a bitch.

But I did. I had yesterday off, and I did all kinds of things I've been meaning to do, one of which was mail a bunch of stuff. There's one of those mailbox stores near my house, and I prefer it to the post office because there aren't lines, usually, and the people who work there are nice and there's free coffee. So I schlepped over there, and there was just one person ahead of me.

I'd like to point out that she was not a doddering old lady. In fact, she was young and kind of pretty. And she's up there with a few pieces of mail, asking the guy there 700 questions. "Is this enough postage?" "Can you give me more postage?" I mean, it's a MAILBOX STORE, so I'm feeling like maybe they might be able to SCROUNGE UP some stamps, lady, yeah.

"Can I mail this right here?"

"What about these things? Can I just give them to you? And you'll mail them?" I mean, had she just gotten here from a Third-World country where there's no such thing as a mailbox store? Had she time-traveled? What? God.

She moved to the side, like she was finally done. "Oh! And when will that get there?"

You guys. At first I tried to be patient, which you know is my strong suit, right up there with cooking anually. I looked at all the envelopes and pens and candy they had for sale, and hey! They had Lik-m-Aid Fun Dip,
CC_Sunline-Brands-Lik-m-aid-Fun-Dip-3-flavor-candy-package-1986which is the world's deliciousist candy, with the white sticks which I'm sure are full of nutrients. And the three pouches of powdered superfood that you stick the white candy into.

IMG_1163Attached please find an extremely flattering picture of me, having Lik-m-Aid for lunch. God, those white sticks are delicious. It has always annoyed me that you don't get THREE sticks, one for EACH pouch.

So yeah. Picked up some Lik-m-Aid, because they say it's good to get a lot of color in your diet, and then Oooo! Candy cigarettes, so I got a pack of those because I was having a fake-nicotine FIT, and also some Nickel Nips, which sounds dirty but they're these.

Niklnips_5_packSo. Even MORE color in my diet. I know!

Even after all that candy shopping, you guys. EVEN AFTER ALL THAT. "And is this package insured?" "Oh! And before I go, can I get some…"

Seriously, it's a wonder I'm not writing you from county jail right now. That effing woman WOULD NOT GET OUT MY WAY, with her QUESTIONS and her HESITATING already. No human has passive-aggressively sighed more than I did that afternoon. I was practically lightheaded.

After that, though, I tried on shoes at Belt. My mother called Belk "Belt" just one time, and now I can't call it anything else. It's like someone my cousin knew who said "big-bone-ded." Now everyone in my family says "big-bone-ded" and it's all that person's fault.

IMG_1161I liked these, and I sent a photo to Ned with the Q, "Too slutty?" and he was all, NO! NO NOT AT ALL! And someone is apparently into huge tramps. I did not get them, though, because I am not Adrienne Maloof. I mean, where am I gonna wear 12-inch slutty heels that zip up the back? Other than in Ned's disgusting fantasies.

Oh, and Marvin canceled on me. Because, person who had oral surgery and didn't read yesterday's post yet, I was SUPPOSED to have lunch with my ex-husband, and he claimed a big storm came through and dropped a TREE on his road and he literally could not get out. Pfft. I say. If he'd REALLY wanted to have lunch with me, he'd have moved that tree.

So I made salmon, my one of two dishes that I can cook, and red potatoes, and I made a salad, and then Ned and I had candy cigarettes for dessert.

Did you know candy cigarettes have beef gelatin in them? That there's good for you.

So that's all I have to tell you, except for the news flash that Julie Delpy's ass has reached gargantuan proportions, and you get to see her bare breasts for a good 10 minutes in that Before Midnight movie. If that's not a ringing endorsement, I don't know what is. Seriously, that is one ass on her. If she put on some white pants, we could have a slide show on that thing. And it's not one of those sexy round big asses, either, I am sorry to tell you. It's just a big ol' white girl arse. You know those sweatpants that read "Juicy" on the back? She could add 14 more adjectives.

We're talking ass.

With that, I am out of here. I leave you with Ned sucking a Nickel Nip, because why not.

June, waxing on.

June's stupid life · Los Angeles · Marvin

June Gardens’ Day Off

Guess who has a day off. Dayyyyyy off! Dayyyyy-yyy-yyy off. Daylight come and me want to go blog.

There was a store in Seattle called the Bon Marché. I imagine it's still there; they tried to compete with Nordstrom, which, please. You cannot compete with any Nordstrom. Anyway they were constantly having one-day sales, to the point where you no longer GAVE a shit about their one-day sales, and they did their ads to the song Day-O. Which did not drive me berserk in the slightest.


Oh, I beg you to look at this '90s commercial and see the super-cool jeans. I beg you.

I have no idea how I got off on this tangent. …Oh! Right! My day off. Daayyyyy off!

I took this daaayyyyyyy off because I was originally scheduled to take my friend Dick Whitman to have a biopsy. He's having…medical woes, and everyone keep him in your thoughts, although in my extremely reliable medical opinion he's going to be just fine. At any rate, instead of today's fun biopsy, he's decided to get a second opinion. And since I already asked for the day off I said eff it.

So I'm doing laundry and eating last night's pizza:

Hey! There's a quarter! Behind the computer! Am rich. This changes whole day.

Then after I shower I'm taking the car in for an oil change–I know!–and having lunch with my ex-husband Marvin, then going to the store to buy salmon. Ned is coming over for dinner and then we're gonna see the new Before Sunrise movie.

Did you ever see the first two of those movies? It's Ethan Hawke and that French blonde actress who is pretty. I once rode on an elevator with her when I lived in LA. She was going to the gym and I was going to a movie, and that's why she's famous and I'm not. In the first movie, which took place in the '90s, they meet in Europe while he's backpacking. They spend one night together and fall in love and at the end of the movie, they plan to meet back at the train station in six months.

That's how it ends. But then nine years later they made a sequel and now there's a SEQUEL sequel. Am excited to see what happens next. Maybe in the movie she'll mention our elevator ride.

JULIE DELPY!! That's her name. Or maybe it's Julia. Whichev. Blonde, pretty, French. Your basic nightmare (™ Nora Ephron). (That was practically a Nora Ephron quote. Hers was "Thin, pretty, big tits. Your basic nightmare." Which is how I hear myself described constantly. It's exhausting.)

Oh! I forgot to tell you that this week while I was walking the dogs in my Marshall High School t-shirt and black stretch capris (™ every dowdy person walking their dog anywhere), a very dapper old man got out of his car and said, "You're a beautiful young woman." I mean, I realize he'd probably escaped from some home for the delusional, but so have I, so.

Is anyone freaking out that I'm having lunch with Marvin? Or are you all used to our relatively civil divorce? I'll take his picture, if I can, for everyone to enjoy his plaid du jour.

I must go get this party started, but before I do, you need to know I moved the bed to sweep and am delighted to report I found Blue.

IMG_1155Not as delighted as others of us, who seem to be as obsessed with Blue as ever. Absence does not dim the love for the Blue.

IMG_1157edz hart do go on and on. edz luff Blu so bad.

Look how disgusting that toy is. And yet I hold it like it's the World's Greatest Treasure. Which it is. Sometimes, just to be a butt, Talu takes Blue away even though she has zero interest in it. Do you remember when Edsel was a puppy,

6a00e54f9367fb88340133f54ba938970b-800wiand Tallulah took all the toys and put them on the center of the bed, because Eds was too little to get up there? Talu is a dick.

Okay, am off. To do my things. To enjoy my day off. Dayyyyyy–okay, done.

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

June thinks about old boyfriends in the middle of the night

Last night, right when work was coming to a close, I felt a migraine coming on, and THANKS, HEAD.

(HEAD! MOVE! That's only funny if you enjoyed the movie So I Married An Axe Murderer, as I did. So bad, I did.)

 I came home and took one of my migraine pills, and laid gingerly on the couch. And by "gingerly," I mean I splayed out in my long white SS Minnow dress. By about 8 p.m. I was in bed, covered in sweat and completely nauseated, with andirons clanging against my head, and the worst part was, I couldn't fall asleep because I knew Ned was going to call.

On nights I don't see Ned, he always calls. His call can come any time between 7:00 and 9:00, depending on how worky-outy he is, and yes, he works out every night. I know, dudes. Yes, I DO appreciate his worky-outy self and yes, he DOES look really good. And now you have me thinking about Ned and getting all moony, so let's move on.

I have no way to turn the ringer off on my phone, and if I unplugged it I'd also unplug my whole computer, so really I was just a slave to when he called. Because I KNEW, I just KNEW, if I drifted off, that's when the phone would ring.

Eventually, though? I did talk to Ned, and assured him I needed nothing but sleep, which I could now finally get, knowing the phone wasn't gonna ring anymore.

So by 8:30 I was in REM, and that is why I'm



So. Hi. How're you? You up? I am.

Barbara, you up?

I'll get the aspirin and Sucrets.

Barbara should've shoved those Sucrets up that guy's nethers.

So, I'm up, it's the dead of night, and I have no Sucrets, and you know what I'm thinking about, for no real reason? Are songs that remind me of old boyfriends. Do you have any of those? Are they stupid songs? Most of mine are stupid. Because they took place in 1982, for one thing. But without any more 'dos, let's look at them.

When I was in ninth grade, my song with my very first boyfriend, Kevin, was Shining Star by The Manhattans, who by the way were super good at lip synching.

I need three of you to come learn all of these moves and stand behind me. All of them. Now. Who's in?

My first true love, Giovanni Leftwich, decided in 10th grade that our song should be Stairway to Heaven, which KILLS ME DEAD. Could we have been more early '80s blue collar stereotypical tight jeans and cans of beer kids? We were practically Jack and Diane. Nevertheless, when I hear this song, we are so making out in a basement at a party. With cans of beer in our hands.

Do you think he picked this song because I have Robert Plant hair?


After that, I had an Official New Wave Boyfriend, who I went out with for years and have completely lost touch with. This Squeeze song makes me think of him putting gel in his pompadour before we went to New Wave night at our college bar. Yes, that whole sentence was terribly sad.


As was the fact that I, too, had kind of a pompadour.


And no, that guy I'm with is NOT Official New Wave Boyfriend. And I actually think I was relatively sober in this picture, but I sure don't look it.

As college wound to a close, I got back together with my high school boyfriend Giovanni Leftwich. It did not go well. It went on FOR YEARS and it did not go well. We'd break up, and that felt just as bad as being together. I finally had to kind of move away in the dark of night to get away from that whole thing, and this song always reminds me of that time.


Ned gets annoyed with U2, because he says a band should only be allowed to have one member who's a single-name person. You can't have a Bono AND a The Edge. Although technically he has a "The" in his name.

Eventually I moved to Seattle, where I moved in with a long-haired artist who loved this song. It always reminds me of him working on one of his frenetic paintings, surrounded by paint tubes, wearing combat boots and singing along.


My last boyfriend before I got married once played this
not-safe-for-work song on my answering machine, because my real name is
in here, and it's right after the person named "Seattle," too. He was a
fun boyfriend. He threatened to canoe by during my on-the-water wedding
and scream, "Noooooo!" I was a little disappointed when he didn't.

The song below was my first dance with Marvin at our wedding. It's called Our Love is Here to Stay. (News flash: It wasn't.)


As for Ned, it's hard to know what song reminds you of someone when you're in the throes of the relationship. Right now, EVERY song reminds me of Ned. If I heard Ted NUGENT I'd find a way to think of Ned.

But sometimes we get into the stupidest disagreements possible. We fought about soup once. We fought about a cold once. It seems to be getting better, because we've worked at it, but whenever we'd have a stupid argument, I'd think of this song.


It's the absolute dead of night now, and the birds are going to sing soon, and tomorrow (today) is SHOT, but this was fun. Thanks for traveling down memory lane with me.

What're your songs?

Friends · June's stupid life

Stupid conversations with my friends

Emails with Hulk:

Hulk: You are the best chick I know, that I never banged.

June: Well. THANKS, Hulk.

Hulk: Hey–that’s no small club.  There are literally THOUSANDS of chicks that I never banged…


Phone call with Ned:

Ned: How was your day?

June: Not to put too fine a point on it, but I just got back from getting a wax. Not to WAX ON. BAH!

Ned (desperately hoping I shut up): Oh. Wow. Yeah. So —

June: I mean, that's a LOT OF WORK, getting a wax. You have no idea. And everything's gone! Everything! The whole kit and kaboodle, down there! I wish I could put a photo of it on Facebook, tag my mom or something.

Ned: Why don't you?

June: Even I'm not that shameless. Oh, crap, the dogs want out. I gotta get up and Slim Chipley over there and let 'em out.

Ned: ?

June: Slim Chipley was the mascot for some potato chips that were local, and he dressed like a little potato chip cowboy, as you do. He had guns on his chip hips. Anyway he sauntered around with his legs way out, as I am sexily doing now.

Ned: A potato chip cowboy. So, you think he could kick Mr. Peanut's ass, probably? I mean, he was armed, so.

MrPeanutLogosJune: Ohmygod, TOTALLY. Mr. Peanut is a giant homo, and not the athletic kind like my friend David. With that monacle and gloves. He's such a dandy. Slim Chipley wouldn't even NEED his gun.


Texts with my Pal from MA:

Pal: My mom just told me the exciting news about your column that you're writing! That is fantastic!

June: Oh, thanks! Yeah, it's exciting. Am famous. Am Oprah. You can totally be my Gayle.

Pal: I'd be honored to be your Gayle!

June: Wait. Would Hulk be our Steadman, or would Ned. I guess Ned. He can be Nedman.

Pal: We can have a magazine with your picture on it every month, called J. We can write articles about poop. (Pal and I were amused by poop jokes when we were three, and we just haven't changed. Is the thing. It's a classic. Poop jokes are the Chanel of jokes.)

June: We can name it Opoorah!

Pal: I'm at the park, and I just saw SEVEN BABY GOPHERS!!!

June: I WANT SEVEN BABY GOPHERS! You can name them Gopher, Julie, Captain Stubin, Issac, Dr. Adam. What was the captain's annoying daughter's name?

Pal: Shhh. Am on gopher watch now. Am standing very still and they are getting closer.


Pal: I love that you're hard at work, over there, writing a successful blog and column, you have a great guy and I'm at the park watching gophers.

June: Yeah. But you're six weeks older, so.

(When we were kids, from her birthday May 30 to MY birthday July 16, Pal from MA LORDED her advanced age over me. She was such a twat. "You know, I really want to play with my new puzzle, but it's for kids five and over. Guess you'll have to go home."


"I thought I'd play with Stacy this afternoon. She's five, too, and we have so much in common."


"You know that cute boy in daycare you liked? I slept with him. He said he was really into women who're at least five."

So she still has THAT over me.)


Email with Hulk:

June: I've been watching a lot of baseball, I am sorry to announce, and I see no reason that anyone has to spit that often. No one has to spit that much. I go ALL DAY and it never happens.

Hulk: No one needs 32949492949493923 pictures of the same damn dog, either. The world is full of wretched excess.