She died doing what she loved…

My head is killing me, and despite today's title, I'm not dead but I wish I were. I've had this damn migraine on and off since Thursday, and today it's bad bad bad. As Olivia Soprano used to say, I wish the good Lord would just take me.

However, since I have to blog anyway because Y'ALL ARE RELENTLESS, I thought I'd ask you to play a game with me. Yesterday at work, my coworker who sits in my row but who is the only non-copy editor to sit in our row, so you can imagine his fun all day.

"Would you hyphenate this?"

"Well, I might, but AP Style wouldn't."

"Yes, AP Style wouldn't, but the ancient Romans used to hyphenate it, and based on a little-known study about the Middle East during the Achaemenid Empire, a hyphen was used for that word, so we should use it now." (That was an impression of my boss, who does things like that ALL THE TIME.)

Anyway, imagine being the one guy who doesn't give ANY SHITS, ZERO SHITS, about whether something needs a hyphen, but yet you're stuck listening to the whole hyphen talk all day.

So that guy went to make microwave popcorn yesterday, and why is it I'd never think to make microwave popcorn at home, mostly because I have no microwave, but when someone makes it at work you'd glue feathers to your hind parts or invent an interpretive dance about the Achaemenid Empire just so you can eat some of it?

Anyway, we were expecting a big storm and tornado and already had a shelter picked out and everything, so the guy who isn't a copy editor said, "Well, if this storm comes, at least I'll have died doing what I loved: shoveling popcorn in my mouth."

Then I'm sorry to tell you that the whole open floor plan discussed whether popcorn is good for you or not (sure it is. Someone said Dr. Oz said so, and you can't go wrong with Dr. Oz), but what I said is, "This would be an excellent blog topic." Guess who's probably also sick of hearing that? Is it the guy who isn't a copy editor in our row?

So that's what I wanted you to fill in the blank on, there, either about me or about yourself: She (or he, for the .0004 men who read this) died doing what (s)he loved…

Okay, go.

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Things I believe. Things I don’t believe.

I believe…

…that most people are good.

…that sushi is overrated.

…that most people are telling the truth.

…that the sun is better for you than they currently think it is.

…that almost nothing is absolute. The stuff I was convinced I knew when I was 25 has pretty much all turned out to be, "Yeah, that's sort of true, unless… or until…" or whatever.

…that most of the stuff I fervently believe to be true now will turn out to also have shades of gray that I don't see yet.

…that most of the time since Marvin left is going to seem like a big blur when I look back at it.

…that most people's personal lives would shock you in one way or another.

…that I am growing less and less shocked by people's revelations.

…that most of us, despite our political beliefs, want the best thing for this country.

…that there are still really good things ahead of me.

…that I was kind of a dick when I was 25.

…that Laura Ingalls Wilder' s daughter, Rose, probably has more to do with me loving those books than I care to admit.

…that all these ellipses are reminding me of those dreadful love is… comics.

B61efcd8d6ee2ef6d24c057299bb47f3

I don't believe…

…that snakes are more afraid of me than I am of them.

…that if I just threw up all the time I'd get over my fear of throwing up.

…that I am going to become less assertive over time.

…that raisins are nature's candy.

…that I will become less interesting with age.

…that "the other side" has nothing but evil intentions.

…that I will ever become one of those people who only feel really alive when they're seeking adventure.

…that adventure is all that great. You want adventure? Try swallowing a multi-vitamin when you live alone with no one to Heimlich you.

…that everything happens for a reason.

…that God is paying any attention to who wins a VMA.

…that anyone would willingly eat a snow cone.

…that global warming doesn't exist.

…that you are a horrible person if you disagree with me.

…that Seinfeld was hilarious. Sorry, Hulk.

…that I will ever get over the fact the Princess Diana is dead.

…that there will ever come a day when I am indifferent to Ned. I think I am pretty doomed, there. He'll probably be the last person I think of before I fall over dead.

…that when I DO fall over dead, that I will be famous.

…that there won't be at least 10 people who'll say, "Oh, she died? Hunh. I remember this one time she.was.ridiculous."

…that I will ever forgive Daniel Boone.

…that I mean that.

…that the Little House TV series had anything whatsoever to do with what I love about the Little House series.

…people pay enough attention to each other anymore.

…that the Internet is really all that good for us, even though that's how we're communicating now.

…that I will give it up, though.

…that I am done with this list, but now I have to go.

The Return of the Ned

Of course you knew I'd be running late today, what with the Ned-ding, right? Fortunately, I do have visual aids for you today.

Oh, not that, you perv.

Yesterday I was in here meditating

Photo on 4-27-14 at 4.23 PMand please note this is not really while I'm meditating, because what kind of an asshole photographs herself during meditation? I would. This asshole would. But this here is a reinactment. The point is, I was REALLY meditating and opened my eyes for a second and noticed everyone else was meditating, too.

IMG_0342Ommmzez.

IMG_0347Meommmm.

But then I got so obsessed with how cute Iris is, that I forgot to meditate and just took pictures of her instead. And guess who quickly got over me. (That note she's sleeping on? My doctor quit. Yes, really.)

IMG_0346wy you bug eyeriss?

IMG_0351not to bug. pry vasee pleese.

IMG_0349eyeriss go pit on mom azz.

So, in conclusion, did not really get much meditating done, but the important thing is my pets are cute.

I have to go get ready for work, but in a blatant act of self-promotion, go read today's Purple Clover column that I wrote. It's about my tattoos.

Paintedly, June

The thing is, the line, “That bootie talkin’ to me” is never part of my lexicon.

I hate to think of myself as someone who has only white, college-educated friends (the same as me), but mostly I have white, college-educated friends. I guess that happens, right? You end up making friends mostly with people of the same background.

Still. Hate. Say, June, how 'bout you be vanilla?

The point is, back in LA I mixed it up and became friends with a black college-educated person instead. Exotic! But she was also a good 10 years younger than me, and she's still in LA, so she's all hep and shit.You know what she probably never says? "Hep."

We're Facebook friends, and she complains she's become my urban dictionary, because I'm forever saying things like, "Ohmygod! Who's Mimi and what sex tape does she have?" I feel like a Crest White Strip when I'm reading her Facebook stuff.

(That sex tape is something, though, Mimi's is. Whoever the hell Mimi is.) (You'll never look at your shower rod the same.)

My POINT is, some months ago my One Cool Urban Friend had this song on her page, and when you watch this NOT EVEN REMOTELY SAFE FOR WORK VIDEO, if you are white, you are going to feel 800% whiter. You'll feel ultraviolet.

I think my friend Elena had this up because she thought Sage the Gemini is hot, which he is, although I am not successful with Geminis. Which is why I haven't returned Sage's calls. But I ended up liking this song, because the whole gist of it is that someone is about to shake her hind parts like a red-nosed Pit Bull, and guess who has her a red nose, with her part-Pitty self? I find myself singing this to her whenever she shakes her head.

IMG_0326Dat fantastik news, mom. pleese stop singeeng song to Lu. Lu prefer hevee metals.

I wonder what kind of music Tallulah would prefer, if she could sit up here and claw through my iTunes? I feel like Edsel would be into bluegrass. And Suzanne Vega. "edz so emo."

Oh, and you know how I just told that stupid story and you were all, "Heh, yeah. And there's a picture of Tallulah's red nose. There's the 190th picture of Lu we've seen on this blog. Heh. Yeah."

I like how I have you thinking, "heh, yeah" to yourself a lot. Anyway, let me just tell you. Me deciding to include a visual aid involved me getting up from this chair (hey, it's an effort. My hips still hurt), getting the phone, seeing if it would ACTUALLY take a picture today, getting Lu up out of bed (not easy), taking her into the spare bedroom and getting this nice shot:

IMG_0324(okay, that is the best Tallulah pic, ever, and you know it).

Finally I had to drag her outside, then go back INSIDE to get treats in order to get her attention, then I finally got the pretty here's-my-red-nose shot of Louis. She's such a pretty girl. Who's my pretty girl? Who's my red-nosed pitty pit? Who's gonna shake it like a red nose? Let me sing the song to Lu.

Aaaaand, we've come full circle.

Anyway. Yesterday, I DID go to the estate sale, and I did not buy anything, MOM, because I said I wouldn't. I purposely didn't bring any money. But I liked looking around the house and staring at the people and OH!!! Oh! They had a Monster Maker, which is this really cool totally unsafe toy both Ned and I had. You pour what was inevitably toxic liquid into a mold, then you cooked it in a hot burny thing, and when it got hot enough to spread carcinogenic chemicals all through the room, you took it out and had your own plastic good-for-the-earth hello-landfills monster.

It was the bomb. And A HUNDRED DOLLARS at that sale.

I heard from white, college-educated Ned a few times yesterday. First he wrote to tell me he was having bacon. Later he wrote to say he was having shrimp. Finally he wrote to say he was having steak. One wonders if any vegetables at all made it to Manly Weekend. I also happen to know there was scotch on Manly Weekend of Men Doing Manly Things. So your four food groups were met.

I like how I act like I have vegetables all the time.

In the meantime, I weeded my damn garden and filled two bags and it STILL looks weedy out there. Those damn weeds grow like, you know, weeds. I never got the nerve to clean the gutters but OH! OH!!! I have BIRDS IN MY CHICKADEE HOUSE! BAYBEEEEEEE BIRDS! I did what I always do, which is call my Pal from MA, who is white and college-educated.

"There are little brown birds in my birdhouse and they go like this, "chirp! chirpchirpchirp bee beee!" "A House Wren?" asked Pal, and I like how my ludicrous bird impression was enough for her to make an accurate guess.

So, of course I'm going to need a leave of absence from work while I sit obsessively under the window and watch the mom and dad bring things to their babies. Oh how I love bird nests. As does Iris. To supplement her bell, I am also hiring a band to follow her and play an Iris theme song, so birds know she's coming when she's climbing the column to the bird house like Sylvester the Cat.

 

 

or

 

or

.

Okay, I am getting off this stupid blog now, but oh! I did see white, college-educated Tall Boy last night.  IMG_0321I know! He's gettin' a whole tall Jesus look. It was great, because we only had to order water and then, free wine! Great loaves and fishes, too.

It was a beautiful night, and we went to eat outside. I mean, obviously, seeing as there's Tall Boy sitting outside and all. But for all you know, this could have been a stock photo I bought from an agency or something. You know how there are all kinds of stock photography agencies selling pics of the TB.

IMG_0317This is a photo of me, and not the Tall Boy. My hair looks tore up from the floor up (you know what my cool black friend also probably never says? "Tore up from the floor up.") but in real life it was pretty cute last night. The Tall Boy gave me communion wafers to wear as earrings.

No, see, Ned's mom gave me those earrings and they're cute as hell in real life, just like my hair, and I give up. My hair looks like I have some sort of Elias Brothers flip in the front. Get me a hamburger to hold aloft.

IMG_0323Here are our salads, and before you get all, WOW, those two are super healthy! You should know we also split a plate of truffle fries that were bigger than your white, college-educated head.

Okay, I'm out. I'm going to a movie and then lipstick shopping. I don't need lipstick and I probably won't buy lipstick, but I figure it'll keep me amused until Ned returns, which can't come soon enough. I can't wait to hear how he feels awful because he ate too much all weekend.

White and educatedly,

June

The one where June gets kind of sad without Ned.

I guess I'm up. I slept terribly.

I was kind of afraid this would happen: I was fine all week without Ned, because, I guess, we do have weeknights where we don't see each other. Four weeknights in a row? Okay, not so much, but still, with the workweek and the dog-walking and the back-to-back Long Island Medium-ing and the laundry, I was busy and fine. But I was worried that if I SAW Ned, I'd get sad that he had to leave again.

And guess what? Yesterday I saw Ned, and it was great, and then I had to go back to work and he headed to the beach. "Everyone's already there," he told me during "lunch" yesterday. "I have to get there and start drinking defensively."

"You know, Ned, you're almost 50. You don't have to drink like an idiot anymore when you're with your friends."

Ned had a blank look when I told him that, the kind I'd give someone who'd tell me, "You really can't afford Botox." I'm having the feeling that while I'm up at 8 a.m., Ned might be what you'd call sleeping it off somewhere on his manly trip.

I made plans for last night, thinking that'd cheer me up, but I've been struggling with a ding-dang stupid assy migraine since Thursday, and yesterday we had a bad thunderstorm, which is not helpful to my head. Barometric pressure. Did you know that's a migraine trigger? I am full of the facts.

So I rescheduled my plans till tomorrow, and my friend Jo emailed me funny pictures from her adventures out last night, which was fun. For example, she saw this painting on a bathroom wall. I mean…

LabeI wish I could figure out what this reminds me of. Twat could it be? Let's talk about it later; I have to sit on this for awhile. I'll C U Next Tuesday.

The other day at work I was j0king around with TinaDoris and told her "I'll C U Next Tuesday," and my boss said, "Oh, are you going somewhere?"

June's work jokes. Often the same work jokes Jackie Kennedy made at HER job.

Anyway. So, today yawns before me with no plans other than my dinner/drinks plans tonight with The Tall Boy. Oh, calm down. He has a girlfriend and I have a Ned and it's no big deal. We're friends. But when I told Ned, I got the "realllllly" he always whips out when I do anything with The Tall Boy. He called me from his drive, Ned did, to complain about the traffic and to say how beautiful it was near the beach, and then he asked what I had planned for the weekend. So I told him I was going to see The Tall Boy at some point over the weekend.

"Realllllly."

Whatever with Ned. Y'all know I'm trustworthy. That is what matters.

I have $81 till payday, and I'm going out on the town tonight to get as wild as I can be, I'm gonna FIND out what's it's really like to be loose, high and free, so the things I want to today do seem sort of out of the question. I was tempted to go to estate sales (watch June spend her entire $81) or to the Farmers Market (say, where'd June's $81 go? Oh! I know! To processed food at the Farmers Market!), but since I can't spend at either, I think what I'll do instead is clean my gutters.

Woooo!

Is there any danger my gutters will have snakes in them?  You know how I am. I went through this whole scenario: birds might make a nest in my gutters (in which case I'd let them be nesty, and not clean that particular part) (and maybe I might kiss the eggs just a little), then snakes slither up there to eat bird eggs. Is that a realistic scenario? Please alert me if it is so I can blow off gutter cleaning.

Oh! I forgot! I took pictures yesterday with my barely working camera and my webcam, to encapsulate my non-Ned fun last night.

IMG_0312Here's Edsel's regular pose, gazing at me longingly while I do important things like look at Facebook. Did I mention the flash was broken on my iPhone? and usually it won't let me take any pictures at all? I'd take it in but see above reference to $81. I will take it in after payday, though, because this is bullshit. I'm a professional blogger.

HAH!

LileehaytejoonI also took time out of my busy schedule to torment Lily, who may or may not be ordering bombs from the Acme Company right now.

Photo on 4-25-14 at 8.33 PMOh, and here's I love the nightlife me putting on my pajamas at 8:30. Have become professional sadsack. I do love those pajamas, though. Thanks, mom.

You know what? There's an estate sale that started at 9 and it's six minutes away from me. Fuck it. Don't let me buy anything.

I think this week’s been freaky enough

so I'm not Freaky Friday-ing today, if that's okay with everyone. I've barely gotten a chance to talk to you. Dang.

As I mentioned in some other what-I'm-certain-was-annoying post, Ned has been gone all week. He was in Las Vegas, and I guess we're supposed to feel sorry for him, but there's something about the ridiculousness and debauchery of Las Vegas that I just love. I remember when I was dating Dick Whitman–and let's talk about how weird it is that I ever DATED D. Whitman–he said if a woman's online dating profile said her favorite hotspots included Las Vegas, he wrote her off immediately.

I understand that, I really do. You'd probably meet a whole Daytona/Las Vegas/Cancun kind of person, which is neither his nor my type, and I understand. But I'll bet Mr. Snooty Art Man never even WENT there, and he has no idea how you can sit and watch people all day. ALL DAY.

But I think I like people watching more than D Whitman, and I have no idea why I'm off on a tangent about Whit and his Dick.

What I meant to tell you was Ned has been gone, and the last time I saw him was Sunday night, and our goodbye was once again like Celie and Nettie's:

.

Today Ned is back, but then he leaves again today and I hate everything, because he's going away for the weekend with all his man friends, to do men things, with men, because it's someone's 50th birthday. Being manly. All I can picture is a lot of spitting.

Anyway, what I'm saying to you is, that's a lot of No-Ned time, although we've been texting and talking on the phone constantly, and we're having "lunch" today at his apartment before he heads off to the beach to spit.

The point is, I'm trying to blog and put on my makeup at the same time, so here is step one: I combed my eyebrows and put in powder darkener.

Photo on 4-25-14 at 7.47 AM #2Do you like how I promote my blog with my Bye Bye, Pie mug? Like you aren't already here. You can get one, too, you know, for some exorbitant price. I do like mine. The t-shirt got shrinky, but the mug I like.

Photo on 4-25-14 at 8.02 AM #2Undereye concealer, eye shadow primer, a little foundation to even out the red tones. I went to Sephora and had them do Pantone Color Matching on me many months ago. It's free, and it's a little machine that matches the foundations they have exactly with your skin, and then you can pick from there. I chose a Clinique foundation that wasn't very expensive.

I am so excited to see Ned, even if it will be for less than an hour. I did a lot better than I thought I would this week, because it turns out I like my life and don't need him to make it complete, and thanks for the Free To Be You and Me upbringing, mom. It's true, though. I didn't even do much. I went to work, on Monday I tutored my reading person (she told me I could tell you about her, and I wish I could because you would love her, but I signed a confidentiality agreement and it just seems wrong to talk about. But she is the bomb and you would ask for more stories if I told you one).

…I've just added neutral, work-appropriate eye shadow (zzzz) when what I really want to to is pile on some come-hither smokeys. Ned's been gone all week. Dude knows I want him to come hither.

Photo on 4-25-14 at 8.15 AMA little eye pencil, the eyelash curler I spent nine thousand dollars on back in the '90s when I had money (hey, refill pads are cheap, and it was worth it.) (Shiseido. I've told you before. I don't even know if they make them. If not? Shu Umura.)

Anyway. This week I've also read this book, and you must run out and get it. I mean, after you've read Opposites Attack by Jo Maeder.

I loved every story and am a huge fan of this author. Oh my god, in love.

I walked the dogs 40 minutes each day, and caught up on my Long Island Medium. Really, it's been a fine week. But I'm excited for the Ned part.

Photo on 4-25-14 at 8.33 AM #2Makeup, done. Hair, dry-ish. Blog for today, completed.

June, out.

Hawk Look. Or, Teeth of the Hydra Upon You.

It is Wednesday evening and I am finally trusting Typepad enough to tell you the rest of my Easter weekend, and there I go being insensitive to other religions again. I didn't even CELEBRATE Easter, so I don't know why I keep calling it that, other than I got Good Friday off, which by the way is another reason to move to the South.

So, after Ned and I bought the nails and watched the documentary, we went out to eat on one of those days of the…Easter-ish weekend, and where we went was this restaurant we go to all the time, and we know the whole wait staff, and have opinions about all of them, and the point is, it was finally warm enough to eat outside. The other point is, they have tomato basil blue cheese soup. Yes, it IS goddammit good.

When we were first dating, Ned and I went to that restaurant at night, and sat outside, and I promise you it was black as pitch back there. They really hadn't yet gotten down the whole "light it up at night" concept, and the whole time we kept wondering what, exactly, we were eating.

But on this day, the sun was shining and it was beautiful out. We sat down next to what was clearly a dad, mom and daughter, who was probably in her early 30s. I say they were related because all three of them were perfectly circular people. Really. They were the roundest trio you've ever seen. I think they'd all eaten the dinner candy over at the chocolate factory and had turned violet, Violet.

The daughter? Never stopped talking. Never. Not once. Not ever. Even when other people talked, she talked over them. Do people just have no concept that they're talking nonstop?

Naturally, I glanced over at Ned, and I'm sure I had what my high school best friend always called The Hawk Look, where I am nothing but a giant grimace.

"I know," said Ned, who was of course studying his menu. I don't know why the waiters even try to come over for the first half hour. "I just need a little more time," he always tells them, as my bones become more and more prominent. They probably talk about us every time we walk in there. "Oh, here comes Mr. Memorize the Menu and his girlfriend Hawk Look."

The Circles of Life eventually left, with that daughter yammering all the way to the car, and they were replaced by a woefully attractive couple with two very cute little kids, and?

Their soccer ball.

THEIR SOCCER BALLLLLLL. Which the kids KICKED AT each other between the tables. While we were all eating. The parents drank beer and looked off into the distance. Eventually we could hear they had accents.

"Ohhhh, they're European," said Ned. "That's why they're that way." Ned apparently minored in European People Studies in college. But really, knowing they were European somehow made it less heinous. However, the children, when they weren't kicking a goddamn ball, kept running up to tables and staring at other diners.

"Notice how everyone else is all enthusiastic and friendly to those children?" asked Ned, "And you and I gave them one look and those kids went away? Look at that Hulk-looking guy, being all nice to them. Wow, that guy really does look like Hulk," Ned was looking behind me.

"He does," I said, turning, "except something's off about him, something's not quite Hulk-ish. Oh! I got it! He's with a woman!"

And THAT'S when we were given the official World's Worst People plaque for 2014.

The other thing that happened this weekend that makes me terrible is we were walking my curs, and I was a little ahead of Ned and Edsel (I gave him Edsel to walk. heeeeeee!) (Please see above reference to World's Worst Person), and we came to a neighbor's yard.

"Oh, look at her flowers," I said back to Ned, my voice raised a little so he could hear me. "The old woman who lived here had absolutely gorgeous flowers all season, and they look awful now. I don't even know if she died or what, but if she saw this she'd be pissed. Oooo, her house is for sale!"

I lifted the flap on the sign, to see a flyer on the house. "Damn, no flyers. I'd love to know what they're asking." We walked on, and as we passed the car in front of the old lady's house, there was a person bent behind the raised hatch of the car, working on a piece of lawn equipment. The smile she gave me told me she (a) knew and was likely related to the old lady and (2) had heard every goddamn word I'd said.

You know those moments in life when your blood runs cold and then freezes up and you fall over dead and unfortunately come back to life, found a peanut found a peanut found a peeeeeenut just now? You know those moments?

I had one.

"Oh my GOD!" I wailed once we were out of hearing range. "What?" said Ned. "You think she heard you? Oh, she didn't hear you, no way!"

Dudes. She so heard me.

Yeah. So that was not at all awful.

Oh! And finally, on Sunday morning, while people were in church, Ned and I schlepped off to the Science Center here, because they had baby otters, and also a big giant T. Rex, as opposed to one of those tiny T. Rexes we've heard so much about, and also we wanted to see the tigers they have there. Our theory was everyone was at church and the center would be uncrowded, and we were mostly right, and every time we saw a kid we played "Jewish, Muslim or Atheist?"

Please refer to our plaque, above.

We went into the planetarium and saw a short film all about Sue the T. Rex, and it was really cool because it was projected onto the ceiling of the planetarium and that's always just cool as shit, seeing things on the ceiling like that.

048Photo (c) Ned Nickerson

Then we stampeded off the see the real Sue the T. Rex, and my only complaint is she never performed Bang a Gong. I blame Sue.

 

You got the teeth of the hydra upon you. I've always liked that line. Because it makes sense in so many different ways.

Anyway, everything at the science center was as cool as we hoped it'd be, not that this was our first rodeo, and don't you hate people who say, "This isn't my first rodeo"? The point is, we went to the outdoor part to see the tigers, and on our way out, without knowing there even was such a thing to see, was

A

BABY

GIBBON!!!!!
Tumblr_mpj1jjCVT91s5iqc4o1_1280Here he is, and OH MY GOD HE WAS REDUNKULOUS. Yes, I just said redunkulous, and sue me. It's not my first rodeo. I am sorry to tell you that Ned did an impeccable impression of him when we got home, and I wish my DAMN CAMERA would have worked.

But here's Ned's photo of one of the tigers, with whom I am obsessed and I WANT A TIGER.

064Tygur want yuu too ant joon.

So finally, as our day was winding down, we headed off to one last monkey exhibit. There was a hammock right in front of our little window, and a blonde monkey came right over and splayed all on it. We were charmed. Then her black monkey friend joined her, and gave us this look.

095Photo (c) Ned Nickerson

I know it's hard to see with the glass and all, but he was glaring at us, I think. Then? He turned around to address the blonde monkey, and address her he did, because let's just say what they did next is illegal in some states.

I wish I could tell you the degree of our delight. The whole "What was your favorite part?" conversation on the way home was pretty useless, because you can't beat monkey sodomy during your trip to the science center.

So there it is. My weekend, which I finally got to tell you about. And now Ned's out of town, on a worky kind of a thing, and I won't see him Sunday through Sunday, except he'll be home briefly on Friday, so we're going to have "lunch." See above reference to monkey untowardness. So in short, I am getting through my week Nedless, but so far I've muddled through. I hope he doesn't come back with his consciousness raised and turn all nice.

That would be awful. That would be like having the teeth of the hydra upon you.

In the room the women come and go, talking of Michelangelo

This site's gonna be the death of me. Typepad is STILL having problems and this thing comes and goes constantly. When I went to log in today, I got the big warning you get sometimes about how I was logging in to an unsafe site. I've been logging in to this site since 2006! Now it's unsafe. At any speed.

So I'll wait till all seems actually stable to really post anything. Go read yesterday's if you didn't get. I'd hate for you to miss my impressive art.

P.S. I had a stupid idea but Ima do it anyway. Let's have selfie day. I just copyedited an article on selfies and I got inspired. Send me a photo you took yourself, of yourself. Email it to the email address on the right side of this blog (beneath the ad) and title it SELFIE.

Only title it that. I will not reply to you, because part of what makes finding these emails from you all so hard is that I've replied, so then when I do a search for "SELFIE" I also come up with 75 emails of us talking. So don't find me roooood.

Oh, and tell me your name (the name you want me to use for you when I mention you on my blog, anyway) where you were (Kansas, not "my kitchen") and any other fascinating tidbit. You have till this Friday at noon Eastern time. Go!

P.P.S. Y'all. REMEMBER TO ATTACH THE PIC. If you don't attach, your photo won't be shown. Because there, you know, IS no photo. Is the thing.

P.P.P.S. Oh my god, you all keep saying funny things and I want to reply BUT I CAN'T.

Fang

When I got up today, I was convinced I wouldn't be able to get on my blog again. How disconCERTing, the whole of Typepad being broken for that long. Fang.

"Fang." Goddammit. I've lost my ability to type since this was a real blog that worked.

So I guess what I'll do is run down my Easter weekend, or "my weekend," if you are a Jew. My damn camera on my iPhone was broken–kept saying I was out of storage, which made me mad because I have bins all over the place. Finally, I deleted some important apps such as my what-disease-is-it app and my a-hot-black-man-is-nearby-alert app and voila! Cleared space and ability to take photos. This, sadly, only happened yesterday, so the only pictures I have are ones Ned took with his iPod when we were at the science center, and he did NOT send me any of the monkey sex ones, which I will get to.

Don't you hate people who think it's "waa-laa" instead of voila? Whenever I see someone write this, I unfriend them. Huffily.

The point is, no photos, and so this whole post will be boring as shit.

Oh! I could draw photos like they do in Hyperbole and a Half! Yeah! That'll be effective! I am an excellent draw-er.

So, on Thursday we got out of work early, so that we could start celebrating Easter forthwith. Or, "the weekend" forthwith. June. Sensitive to other religions since 2014.

At lunchtime, I'd been SICK AND TIRED of dieting, so I am sorry to tell you I went out and got nachos, and God, don't nachos sound delicious even though it's 7:00 in the morning. But that day, it was at least noon (it's noon somewhere!) (don't you love people who say that?), and I got me the nachos and ate the shit out of them, as Ned would say.

NachogoodanideaWhen they let us go at 3:00, my idea was I'd go home, nap for maybe 20 minutes, get up and do Tracy Anderson, then shower and get ready to see Ned. We were going to a baseball game. Woooo! Whose idea was that, do you think? So I got home and went to bed.

When I opened my eyes, the sun had moved in a disturbing fashion, and I was sweaty, and when I sat up?

Oh, Lord.

"I can't go," I told Ned, when I called him TWENTY MINUTES before the sporting event was to start. I'd slept till 6:30! And no, I didn't barf. But I did have to…release the hounds, as Marvin would say.

So that was fun. And Ned went without me, which, whatever with Ned. He clams he asked if there was anything he could do, and that I'd said no, but do I recall that? I was in nacho hell at the moment.

The good news is that I felt better by the morning, and Ned and I decided to fix my picket fence. Ever since we had an ice storm here, and Ned moved huge fallen branches and limbs from my back yard, one of the fence posts got knocked over, so basically ever since, there has been a big gap-tooth area in the fence with no, you know, fence-y part.

The good news is, the dogs would go back there, and stay in the back the whole time, and then when they saw me they'd just step through the open part of the fence to greet me. They knew they could escape through that missing post part and never did. What excellent dogs. Here is an artist's rendering, where my dogs look nothing like rabbits.

Scan 44Okay, the opening wasn't that dramatic, and in real life, Talu looks a lot less like Barry Gibb. Do you all wonder why I didn't give everything up to pursue my art? Sometimes I do, too.

Anyway, Ned and I schlepped out to buy nails on Good Friday, which is an unfortunate coincidence. And do you have any idea how many effing nails there are in the universe?

"These say 'one inch.' Does that mean that's how long they are?" I asked.

Ned looked at me for a very long time. "Yes, June. That's…what it means when the box of nails has 'one inch' written on the side of the box. Yes."

It occured to me what a ridiculous question that was, and it started to make me titter a bit, and then I did the thing where I get hysterical, and I'm all bent over at Lowe's, giggling at myself, and barely able to stand up, and where Ned seems to be wishing one of those forklift things would pick him up and relocate him.

Scan 45Oh my GOD, now it's getting late, because these fine artist's renderings are taking a long time and I hate me. So I will tell you about the rest of my weekend tomorrow. But the rest of Friday we spent going to a documentary on Elaine Stritch, and guess who I love.

Oh, she's the bomb. And her legs are still good. You have to hand it to her.

By the way, I didn't draw that movie. That was a real film. I know it's hard to tell my drawings from real life.

Okay, talk at you tomorrow. Monkey sex. Maybe that's how I'll sign off from now on. "Monkey sex! June."

Monkey sex,

June.

When I said I was broke, I meant me, not my blog. Yeesch.

I do not trust that this will even work; Typepad's been broken for days, and one thing that was fun was watching people yell at Typepad on Facebook. "MY BLOG IS CRUCIAL TO THE SURVIVAL OF THE SPECIES!!!"

Anyway. I'll yammer on at you and will be talking to myself, kind of like when I start off any story I tell to Ned with, "This reminds me of an episode of Sex and the City…"

Okay, so this will be a test post. Remind me to tell you:

About my fence, not that I've taken up fencing and I'm sticking swords in anyone.

All about my nausea. Oh, fill us in, June!

How Ned and I have a wonderful connection in that we hate everyone, particularly the people at the outdoor restaurant.

The science center (monkey sex!).

Ned's absence and how it will make my heart grow fonder, but as a substitute for Ned I've found merlot cheese, and mother of God, it is delicious. They should totally make cheese merlot now and come full circle. The circle of cheese.

Boom.

Not dead

I know you're wondering where I am, but the truth is I got a letter from the IRS saying I owe even more than I thought, and I wouldn't even bring it up, because everyone's finances are sucky these days, but that's why I'm not here. I am just at the end of my rope and would not have any funny in me if you forced me to wear clown shoes.

I just need a few days to feel awful. And to sell Edsel. 

IMG_0308wots?

My gouda with Alex

Yesterday after work, I got together with people from work, 4939292 of whom are named Alex.

IMG_0296We met up at the pretentious bookstore downtown, and eventually there were so many of us that we had to move to the back of the store, and at 7:00 they kicked us out altogether for a book club or something. I.am.sure.

I like the new pretentious bookstore, but it feels like there are too many events there all the time. Wouldn't it be nice if we could just, oh, hang out instead of always having to get ready for a live reading of Gertrude Stein's greatest hits?

IMG_0298A lot of people got alcohol, but Alex #5649484 and I got coffee. I had to go home and do Tracy Chapman. Yes, again. I'm in Fat Club, man. I'm trying to get my money's worth. I also had a delicious smoked gouda and apple sandwich (5 points) for dinner, and in case you were wondering YES I AM STARVING NOW.

Fat Club. Hate.

IMG_0300Here's all of us trying to make Alex #2893 look like a huge drunk. Everyone's a comedian.

Oh, and yes I DO only work with people who are 17 years old. Thanks for noticing. It's a sad day when I'm the old, wizened one. Note I did not say wise, but wizened. But speaking of wisdom, as the evening wore to a close and the only people left were the drunks and me, high on caffeine, we talked about what we aspired to be someday. Truth be told, no one thought to ask me, as I am old and  invisible, but I answered in my mind, and told Ned about it later.

I aspire to not have an insane, chattering brain one day. I'd like it to turn the fuck off just PART OF THE DAY, okay?

I'd like to be known for my writing. I don't have to be famous Amos, but, you know, like one of those bands only cool people know about. I could be the hipster's writer.

Okay, that sounds awful. I just mean I'd like to be somewhat known but I don't have to be that chick who wrote the Harry Potter books.

I'd like to live in a big old white house out in the country and have cat (hunh) and one large mellow dog, and some goats because goats are cute and maybe a few pigs because pigs are adorable. I'd like some kind of young muscled farmhand to take care of said pigs and goats.

Perhaps my farmhand could look like Morris Chestnut.

Screen Shot 2014-04-17 at 8.11.51 AM

Hey, I can dream.

Okay, so what do you aspire to be?

The one where you wish June weren’t quite so well-rested

Last night? I shut the dogs out and slept alone. I am a terrible dog mother. I might be the worst dog mother since that awful woman starved that Pit Bull and left him in the laundry chute (oh, he's fine now. Calm down). (That woman got arrested and spent some time in jail, but if I ever saw her, I would punch her so hard, right in the face, possibly multiple times. Definitely multiple times. I would punch her till someone had to drag me off of her. Is what I would do.)

My point is, I slept like a LOG. A LOG, man. I slept so well I can't even begin to tell you. I don't think I ever woke up once. God, that was wonderful. No contorting myself around 100 pounds of dog. No Pitty jaw on my head. No being jostled when two dogs hear the tiniest noise outside and they have to dramatically leap up to investigate out the window.

What if I always did that? Can I always do that?

You should've heard Edsel today, though, when the alarm went off. I've no idea if he ran in from the living room to whine mournfully outside the door, or if he just laid there, forlorn, all night, with a boom box over his head.

Anyway. Slept well.

When I woke up today, not only did I think about how lovely that was, but I also thought about my stupid hair, and how annoyed I am that I didn't get it cut this weekend. The good news is I have an appointment this weekend with my colorist, the one who's nice but has a bitchy resting face, and I've scheduled a cut from her. I don't even care anymore if she's Curly Girl-certified, because she isn't. Although one of you in the comments gave me the number of another Curly Girl-certified person, and I will call him for next time. Am currently in hair crisis.

I think the worst part of all of that sitch last weekend was that I made Ned say goodbye to my hair when I left for the appointment. I even waved the ends at him. "Goodbye, hair," Ned said beleagueredly, and the fact that I got him to do it is a testament to my powers and beauty, if you ask me. Beauty that's compromised by my cave woman hair. That's the second day in a row I've compared myself to a cave woman, and I don't know what to tell you.

Oh! SPEAKING of Ned, and don't let me forget to tell you about my coffee after this, but speaking of Ned, we had a brief, crabby dinner yesterday and then he had to do work things. So I went home and did me some Tracy Chapman, as I am wont to do and why do I not have her body yet? No one mention the not one but two Kashi bars I consumed yesterday. Hey, they're natural. -ish.

Anyway, I'm on all fours doing Tracy Chapman, so in other words I was Whitney Houston.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Tell me I'm not the only one who heard those rumors in the '80s about Tracy Chapman and Whitney Houston. Oh, God, am I? How will I know?

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!

You do better when I don't get good sleep.

SO I'M ON ALL FOURS, and something catches my eye, almost literally, because it was

the

biggest

bug

ever

invented

on my wall.

And it was right above Edsel, who'd been lounging on his dog bed chewing Bluuuu. He's some watchdog. Although if you look in his manual, his Watchdog Manual, it never mentions having to off large enormous giant bugs, really. But it mentions protecting me in general, which was not happening as he casually chewed the ends of Bluuuu, the Everlasting Gobstopper of dog toys. How I wish I could find another Bluuuu. I have no idea where I got it. I know I've HAD Bluuu for more than two years, and he's managed to not destroy it yet, and he has that dang thing in his mou

OH WHO CARES. BIG BUG. BIG BUGGGGG!

I could not call Ned, which would have been my normal mode of transportation in this matter. He was not around. He was at his work thing. Why do I have to date responsible adults?

So before I could think a lot about it, I got the vacuum cleaner attachment and sucked that bug up, then shoved the attachment back into its slot, so the bug will at least perish in there if the sucking up didn't slay him. I hope. Nobody tell me any horror stories.

I went back to do Tracy Chapman and everything on me was shaking in fear. Being single sucks. What do lesbians do? Is there an Official Bug-Killing Girlfriend? Or does everyone just flap their hands around and screech? That'd be the kind of lesbian girlfriend I'd get stuck with. One who was just like me. I like how I keep referring to having a girlfriend and I have to say "lesbian," as if that weren't implied by the mere fact that now I'm dating a girl.

Oh, and finally. My coffee. See, I told you not to let me forget and you did.

Yesterday I got to work and said, "OH CRAP! I FORGOT TO MAIL MY TAXES!"

I've had my teensy payment toward my giant tax bill shoved in a Christmas-card envelope for, like, 10 days now, and I'm sorry to tell you it also has a Christmas stamp, and once the government sees all this they'll probably start bugging my house to ensure I am not insane. Which, yeah. But I DID NOT REMEMBER to mail the damn thing, and here it was April 15, so at lunch time, about 7 different coworkers alerted me to mail my taxes, as they'd all set reminders on their phones.

Then AT lunch I got a text from my boss: Don't forget to mail your taxes.

I don't know if I've told you this, but at work we've started cheat sheets for each other so that different parts of work are easier. Like, let's say you're really good at knowing one thing but others aren't. There's a cheat sheet on the server to help you, written by the expert at work.

Did I tell you that they (oh! so hilariously!) proposed a cheat sheet for how to deal with me? Harrrrdy harrr.

Oh my god, the coffee. There's a girl at work, a Not Alex, who weighs 14 pounds and looks fabulous. She eats a Paleo diet, and I don't even know where you can BUY a Paleo these days, and anyway she told me she drinks coffee with a spoonful of coconut oil in it every day, and that it keeps her full till lunch.

So guess who's doing that right now? And so far, I could still go for an Egg McMuffin. Further reports as developments warrant.

TALK AT YA!

Perkily, June

P.S. Oh, hell. I keep forgetting to tell you to go buy Jo's book, Opposites Attack. I copyedited it, so you can look for mistakes. I've read the dang thing 12,000 times now and still enjoy the crap out of it. So I promise you'll like it, too, but it will also make you hungry. You can get it on your Kindle or a real copy in real life.

Look at me!

On Sunday, I went with Ned to a baptism in his family. I know you're sick and tired of hearing about Ned and me getting up early and being at a church on Sunday. But there we were again.

IMG_0276In case you were thinking that I always ride in back, like Ned and I are always playing chauffeur, we had his uncle and his mom in the car. I got in back so his uncle, who is, you know, taller than me, could ride in front. Yes, I DO get carsick in the back. I went back there and prayed to God above, who I was on my way to visit, not to let me barf on my church-y clothes.

It was exactly the kind of spring day that makes you love spring, and I know I said that about Saturday at the feed store but IT'S TRUE, and I don't know what you want me to do about it.

The church was in a college town, so we had to park and walk a ways, but it was lovely so no one cared. There were tons of trees in bloom, which I'd have photographed but now my iPhone is ALL SCREWED UP and keeps saying storage is full even though I've had this phone less than a year and oh I hate everything. The point is, when we got inside the really pretty huge church, Ned had an inch worm on him.

We all had teensy crosses made from palms, because it was Palm Sunday, heathen, so I gathered up that little worm and let him rest on the cross. He probably didn't enjoy the symbolism but what are you gonna do?

IMG_0277See him? He's up hear the top, on the right.

"Remember that song Kermit used to sing? 'Inch worm, inch worm, measuring the universe,'" Ned sang in the church like he was Shug in The Color Purple. Not that she sang Inch Worm. But that's only because one never fell on her.

Dude. I had COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN this song. Which is not, in fact, sung by Kermit, but rather an actual inch worm. Was there a more '70s flower than marigolds?

Ned's 14-year-old nephew sat next to me, so that was good, because someone at my maturity level was there to keep me amused. We traded that inch worm back and forth, and played with the palm tree cross, and generally had ourselves a time. This is only funny if you know theater things, but when it was over, Ned's nephew said, "I don't know about you, but I just watermeloned through that whole service."

IMG_0291Ned also took time out from God to write me important notes. In his cute serial-killer penmanship.

IMG_0292Ned has two moods: starving and "I ate too much." There's never a middle ground with Ned.

After God was completely over us and our inattentive selves (the baby getting baptised was really extra cute. She had a cute round head and rosy cheeks and was not at all one of those lemony babies) (and she had on an excellent dress), I got out of that church as quickly as I could to rescue the inch worm, who I was worried sick about. He looked like he was getting greener while we were in there, and I didn't know what that meant but I figured it wasn't good.

I got to the grass and was setting him in there just so without realizing a great number of Ned's nieces and nephews had decended on me. I am still a novelty, so they are interested in saying hello. Soon they'll be over me. One of them already said that day, "Oh, you're family," so you know the thrill is going.

The point is, Ned has a niece who is The Cutest Child in the World®.

IMG_0280 2She's five, but do not tell her that. She had her birthday in March, but then a few weeks later they had another, friends-attended birthday, and because she had another party, she knows she's six now. She told everyone she has a numbers chart and knows five comes after six, and when you have a birthday party, it's your birthday, so.

She's going to be dreadfully disappointed on her "21st" birthday.

The point is, she'd run over and I hadn't seen her, so after .00003 seconds of waiting for me to notice, she screeched, "LOOK AT ME!"

See. Why didn't I ever think to just cut to the chase that way when I greet people? It's what I'm saying, only with 758 words.

Also? I want monograms on my shoes.

After church was over and everyone was milling around in the yard, there, I told Ned I was walking to the Rite Aid on the corner, because I had forgotten lipstick and it was making me physically uncomfortable. I ALWAYS have something on my lips, even if it's just a judgemental word. It was driving me CRAZY to have empty, cave woman lips.

Needless to say, I had to make my decision quickly, so I chose a chubby lip pencil in a nice pink that I thought would be sheer. Perhaps you saw my lips from wherever you were that day, because bright?

It was really embarrassing how ships kept slamming up to me whichever way I turned my head. It was awful the way Michigan J Frog started dancing and singing once I looked down on him. "Hello my baby, hello my–Oh, that's not a spotlight?"

Bright. Is what I'm saying to you. The lipstick was bright. I walked back toward the church and Ned's family was walking toward me, and they all have sunburns now like Richard Dreyfus had in Close Encounters.

"Do you think this lipstick is too bright?" I asked, my lips the watts of 10,000 suns.

"Why didn't you ask?" said Ned's mom. "I have a tube of the lipstick you told us all to get on your blog." And she whipped out some L'Oreal Mica. I had no idea this blog was so influential. In the meantime, can you see my lips?

Yeesh.

Anyway, it was a good time, and it ended with everyone Ned is related to getting in the car and going for Cheerwine slushies, which I did not have, because points. Guess who'd better look like she has rickets soon.

Okay, I have to go, as it's now 8:00 and I am unshowered. I'd better get in there, maybe swipe on a little…lipstick and get to work.

Brightly, June

peeee peee peeee peeee

I'm gonna tell you what I did this weekend, and it'll be just like when you're at the coffeemaker at work, and you ask someone how their weekend was, and they drone on about it for 78 minutes. So get that fake, pained smile on your face and prepare to say, "Uh-huh!" a lot as if you're interested.

On Saturday, as I announced earlier, I schlepped out to Chris and Lilly's feed store to get my feed on. I had to drive way out in the country, and it was the kind of spring day that makes spring the best season ever, which it is, if you ask me. Y'all can shove stupid fall up your asses. All the dogwoods were in bloom, and those redbuds that I don't know why they call them redbuds because they're purple, and oh! Everything was lovely.

IMG_0247Chris was in front of his store right when I got there, and I had no idea it'd be so huge! Insert hilarious "That's what Lilly said" joke here. It was teeming with people, and there was, you know, feed, which hadn't ocurred to me. There was llama feed, horse feed, and tons of stuff to feed your dog.

IMG_0259I got pig ears for my dogs, which is probably like getting junk food but I'm not gonna hear it from you. Don't swine to me about junk food for dogs. Tell it to the hoof. And by the way, when I brought them home, Edsel would not drop Bluuu, his best most favorite better-than-mom-even toy, to eat his pig ear, so I threw his in his bed and Tallulah had two pig ears on Saturday, is the moral of that story.

I also bought four hanging plants for my front area, not that I'm hanging plants off my ample bosoms, and I have no idea why all my jokes are from 7th grade today. But the BEST part of the whole thing was there were (sit down) (are you ready?)

IMG_0255BAYYYYYYBY CHICKS! Peee peee peeee peeee peeeeeeeee!

The only people obsessing over the baby chicks were four years old, and me. After I knocked all those pesky kids out my way, I kept trying to grab one up, and guess who's elusive? Guess who slips away like trying to pick up mercury off the floor? Geez.

IMG_0253Ebony and….yelloowwww, live toGETHer in perfect harmon…ello! Side by side in their chick bin…

No, you're welcome. My gift is my song and this one's for you.

IMG_0258"I don't even see cute chicks. I see dollar signs," said Lilly, who's turned into a hard-core entrepreneur. She's this generation's Mr. Potter, only way cuter. Oh, and who got her prebaby body back already because she's 12? Who's as thin as a rail and hot, still? Really, though, she was a pretty fit pregnant person to begin with. Why do I have friends who are perfect? I should meet more screwed-up people so I look better.

Oh! And I'm droning on about this so much that I didn't get to the next part yet, which is where I got in the car and headed to Moshi Moshi, where I will NEVER GO AGAIN, to get my hair cut.  Once I got out of Chapel Hill, where the feed store is, and into Durham, where stupid Moshi Moshi is, the traffic was ridic.

Yes, I just said "ridic."

I called them. I know that my car phone is impressive to you, and I try not to brag. I got a recording, so I left a message that it was about 20 till 3:00 and I thought I might be late. After TEN MINUTES OF NOT MOVING IN STUPID STUPID TRAFFIC AND WHERE WAS I, LA? Cause if I'm gonna have LA traffic again, get me a celebrity in the next car and not this yahoo with the Confederate flag bumper sticker.

"Moshi Moshi!" someone chirped.

"Yes, my name is June, and I called awhile ago to say I'm coming from Greensboro and stuck in traffic."

There was a pause. "Yes, we got your message. We have a 15-minute window, ma'am."

A 15-minute window? Like, then your store sits in darkness? Where does it go? How do you get a breeze in?

"Well, as I said, I drove in from Greensboro and I'm doing the best I can."

"Well, where are you?" This person might want to consider a career in torturing spies, with the barking of the questions and the lack of any empathy whatsoever. "I don't know where I am," I told her. "I'm not FROM here, as I've said now twice, and my GPS is in my phone and all that's on my phone screen when I look at it now is this call…"

I called back at 3:14 to say I was two miles away and traffic was moving and my arrival time was going to be 20 after.

"You'll have to reschedule, ma'am."

!!!!!!!!

You know, I understand they have a policy, and I'd be annoyed but I'd understand if they said nope, we can't give you a five-minute pass on our policy even though you just drove 50 miles to get your hair cut. I understand.  I have no desire to make someone else wait on my account. But if this heifer had shown even a MODICUM of kindness, A MODICUM, I'd not have said what I said next, which is that I will never even CONSIDER going back to Moshi Moshi for the rest of my days.

God.

Why would you take a job in customer service if you have no desire to, oh, serve a customer?

That night, I took my live and uncut hair to dinner with Ned

IMG_0265

and his mom.

IMG_0269They both insisted my hair was cute despite no scissors touching it. After dinner (I got a pear and Gorgonzola salad with walnuts. 448583838 points.) we all meandered to the local bookstore, where Ned gave me this look:

IMG_0274and I got this book, which I AM LOVING.

Good gravy, y'all, now it's really late and I have no time to tell you about the REST of my weekend, which included an inch worm and also Cheerwine slushies. I will have to tell you the rest tomorrow and I will not say TUNNNNNNE in next time. But tune in next time.

Hairily, June

Band on the run. If I were a band. Which I’m not. So.

I am on the road today. Again. I just couldn't wait to get on the road again. Oh my god what is wrong with me?

I have to scream on over to Chapel Hill today, because my friends Chris and Lilly own a feed store, and I'm hungry.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

It's called Piedmont Feed & Garden Center, and allegedly there are baby chicks. Lilly might be just saying that to guarantee I will drive over there and then she can finally kill me, as she's been planning to do for three years. Talk about your drawn-out murder.

After that, I'm getting my June Hair cut in Durham, then I come back here to have dinner with Ned and his mom. She is in town for a family event, and what's more rewarding when you're in to see family than having to feed our son's stupid girlfriend? Maybe I'll bring everyone back a baby chick.

In the meantime, have a stupendous Saturday. It's, like, 80 degrees and sunny here, making it the perfect day to be in your car all afternoon.

Outdoorsily,

June

Take a letter, Maria. The letter “F.” For Freaky Friday.

Guess what I still don't have. I STILL don't have permission to tell Hulk's story. Oh my god I am the worst. I will tell it as soon a I can.

In the meantime, Marty Martin and his girlfriend Kayeeee and Ned and I went to a Scrabble tournament, as you do. I know you're sick and tired of hearing me say how much I like to play Scrabble. Put down the TILES, June, and get out and enjoy the day.

IMG_0230I haven't played Scrabble in probably 30 years, but it turns out it was kind of fun. Plus, there were heavy hors d'oeuvres.

IMG_0240Because it was a tournament, Ned and I played as a team against those mother effers Marty and Kayeee. See every time it says "if" or "peed"? Guess who came up with those? Was it the brain trust of Team Ned&June? Although fatwa was ours.

IMG_0239Ned thought of that one. I thought of peed. Did we really need to explain that?

The important news is, we won. At least the first game. Then those competitive assholes who I never really l iked in the first place won the second one.

IMG_0243Nice.

IMG_0244Because no board game would be complete without a photo of me. Open the door! Are you ready for your Mystery Date? Oh, let me get the door! It's ACCCKKKKKK! It's a haggard old woman!

Anyway. There were then raffles and none of us won 10 pounds of sausage, which, GODDAMMIT.

So that's all I have to say about Scrabble. I don't have tile for more. It was a capital time. I'm blocked; I can't think of any more jokes. But it was a red-letter evening. Okay, enough. There's no time to scrabble for more anecdotes.

Word.

Here is today's Freaky Friday story. Y'all know how organized I am. Have I told this one before? I've READ them all, so now it's getting hard to keep track.

FREAKY FRIDAY TALE (oooooWEEEEEoooooo!)

We live in a 99 year-old house. Since we moved here, one of our dogs has a room that he will not go in. He just stands in the the doorway and whines or sometimes growls a little while looking forlornly into it. Except for one time when I could hear him from upstairs, I came running down and he was laying in the middle of the room, crying inexplicably.

There were other unusual occurrences, doors slamming when no windows were open, lights on in rooms where you could swear you had turned them off, and a feeling that something has brushed just past you and when you looked down thinking you were going to pet one of the dogs, nothing was there. My daughter swears someone (thing?) is always turning off her curling iron. We joked that we had a ghost, a seemingly benevolent one, and randomly began calling him Walter.

One summer evening we noticed some people standing on the sidewalk looking up at our house. Our son recognized the man as one of the teachers at school. We had heard that he had lived in our house several years before, so we walked out and introduced ourselves. We chatted for a bit until the couple asked us if we had met “the ghost.” Of course we asked them to tell us more about it. Basically, they described the exact same situations we had been experiencing with one exception, almost all of their encounters (including an incident with a wall that wouldn’t take paint-creepy eh?) had occurred in the pantry instead of in the dining room/front room.

Unusually, another one of my son’s teachers had also lived in our house. I guess a house doesn’t get to be almost 100 years old in a college town without going through quite a few tenants. She too asked my son if we had met “the ghost,” described similar occurrences and reiterated the couple’s assertion that he lived in the pantry.

We continued co-existing peacefully with Walter, even taking to greeting him when we walked in the door. After we had been here a few years, my son and I went to the historical society to do some research on our house. We found out two things…

The house had gone through several remodels, and the room that now torments our poor sweet black lab, used the be the pantry!

While reviewing resident registries from the 1940s, I ran across a listing for a man named Walter Phillips at our address. When I saw it, I tapped my son on the arm and pointed to the listing, he read it and we both just sat there, feeling kinda freaky. We couldn’t explain why we had decided to call our ghost Walter any more than we could explain the things that were happening that we credited him with.

I did a bunch of research trying to find out more about him, see if perhaps he had died here. So far I’ve not been able to come up with anything. So for now, he remains the mysterious soul occasionally messing with our family,  but mostly the dog.–Donna

The part where you’re irked that you tuuuuuuned in today

Due to the small detail where I have to ask someone permission to tell the latest hard-hitting news about Hulk's sex life, and due to the part where I did not get ahold of said person in order to GET said permission, I am unable to tell you today about Hulk's riveting sex life. So although I told you yesterday to tuuuuuune in today, now you get bupkis.

But wait! There's more. All of it stupid.

For example, under the category of stupid, yesterday at work while in our new open floor plan, I overheard one coworker say he was going to dinner with his family tomorrow. "Oh, where are you going?" asked my boss, who enjoys every conversation about food. The coworker told him.

"Oh, I've heard of that place," said my boss. "Is it a chain?"

"Chain, chain, chainnnnn," I sang at my desk, never looking up.

"I don't think it's a chain," said the coworker.

"Chain, chain, chainnnnn," I sang again.

"Yeah, I think it is," said my boss, who then delved into an explanation of this one company that owns several chains

("Chain, chain, chainnnnn…")

of restaurants. "And I think that place is part of their chain," my boss said.

"Chain, chain, chainnnnn," I sang again.

"ARE YOU GOING TO SING THAT EVERY TIME SOMEONE SAYS CHAIN?" demanded The Other Copy Editor, who sits behind me. Imagine having a job where your whole day involves having to sit seven inches from me. Imagine that.

My boss ignored The Other Copy Editor, so enamored was he of his extensive restaurant information. "For example, the company that owns P.F. Chang's…" he began.

"Chang, chang, channnng," I sang, and then I gazed lovingly at myself. The Other Copy Editor lit up a cigarette. Do you know what kind of smoker she is?

CHAIN, CHAIN, CHAINNNNN!

Okay. She doesn't smoke at all. I just wanted to say that.

Also, OH, ALSO! I'm so glad I remembered to tell you this! So, my cousin Katie, the one who kind of looks like a lesbian and that's okay (you know what she wears to connect her wallet to her belt? A CHAIN, CHAIN, CHAINNN!), recently bought a house in northern Michigan. My cousin had some friends over who have a kid. The kid came out from the guest room, where he'd been playing, and said he didn't want to play in there any more, because there was a mean man in there who had horns.

By the way,

ACCCCCCKKKKK!!!!!!!!

I heard this story months ago and forgot it.

So, Ned and I are planning to go to Michigan in August, to see my home town and also to go visit Katie. I was emailing with my mother and Katie about which days are good, and by the way, no. If you are in Michigan and you see that I am coming there and you are thinking, "Oh! I'll write June and tell her I'm there too! Surely she won't have 49559495934934 people to see and will have all the time in the world to visit me!" No. The answer is no. Already booked, as I always am when I go back to Michigan. I'M SORRY.

Anyway, my cousin Katie said yes, she'd love for Ned and me to visit, and my mother too, but to keep in mind she only has the one guest room.

My mother emailed me forthwith. "You don't want to stay in Katie's devil room, do you?"

ACCCCCCKKKKK!!!!!!!!

I had forgotten, and Ned had forgotten too, and he said, "We would have gotten there, and I'd have remembered about the devil THAT NIGHT, and I would have gotten really pissed."

In other news, Katie has an excellent way to stave off house guests. And that way is Old Pitch.

Anyway, that's my news. I will alert you to Hulk's hot lava devil sex life as soon as I get permission from the person I need to get permission from, and this whole trying-to-be-considerate thing sucks ass.

Chainedly,

June

My lunch with June

I am making a turkey burger (7 points) and while it's cooking, I will blog at you. Although I hate to interrupt the extremely disturbing commenting going on from the small post I left this morning.

Anyway, how are you all? I have several stupid things I've been meaning to tell you, and here they are.

First of all, this past weekend, Ned and I schlepped to (wait for it) Winston-Salem, because there was a film festival, and included in said festival was a little documentary on my friend Jo.

It was very exciting. It was like I was friends with a celebrity or something.

IMG_0224Here's Ned and me supporting Jo the best way we know how. Me by showing up. Ned by shoveling as much popcorn into his gullet as humanly possible.

IMG_0227Afterward, Jo, her friend Dave, Dick Whitman and his girlfriend Peggy Olsen, and Ned and I went to lunch. This was before Dick Whitman came down with the trots, an ailment that Dick Whitman's mom mentioned to us in the comments the other day. FEEL BETTER SOON, DW! AND YOU'RE WELCOME!

Also? I need to get my fucking lack of flash fixed.

So that was exciting. Having a movie star for a friend and all.

I'd better get back to work. The Other Copy Editor, who sits behind me in our open floor plan, told me that her refrigerator broke this weekend. You have no idea how badly I wanted to call her from my desk to hers, three feet away, and repeatedly ask if her refrigerator was running. Every time I considered it, I cracked my own self up.

I feel like she wouldn't have appreciated it, though. I feel like you'd have felt the frigid air between us had I done that.

I told this whole story to my OTHER coworker, TinaDoris, who said if I'd done that, The Other Copy Editor would have given me defrosty attitude.

Everyone's a comedian.

I also want to alert you to the goings-on in Hulk's sex life, but I ran out of time before I could get to that. So this blog will be like a kind of serial drama. TUUUUNE IN NEXT TIME! Has Hulk finally gotten some action? Is Hulk rounding the bases as we speak? Is "rounding the bases" even a thing? DON'T MISS Bye Bye Pie tomorrow!

Okay, bye. I'm so glad we had this time together.