June's stupid life · My pets

Where June’s Weekend Has Sort of a Pall (Mall)

It’s Sunday night and I’m at a coffee shop, using their Wi-Fi because of course my house is still in shambles from painting the damn computer room floor, and I have no modem. Before all hell broke loose and I lost my cat, I’d been very concerned about the shiny coat of sealer I put on that floor, as I think I did it too thick and now it’s showing up brown in places. Now that Lily’s gone, I do not give two shits about my floor.

I am at a table next to The World’s Most Annoying Young Person®, which is saying a lot because suddenly people under 30 bug the SHIT out of me. The thing? Where every sentence is a question? Ohmygod SHUT UP.

Anyway, this youngster at the next table is EXTREMELY impressed with herself, and thinks people who envy all the stuff that just seems to, like, fall in her fortunate lap are, like, so sad and, like, need to get over themselves and wow, pot. This is the kettle.

So, I don’t even know when Lily disappeared. She’s just always on her condo, and I take for granted that she’s there. She could have left Friday, or Saturday. I wish I knew. The part where she’d walk out the back door is weird enough, but the back yard is fenced, so to get out she’d have had to lug her rather impressive bulk up a fence, or smush her still-impressive bulk under the fence, which, really? And why?

Ned and I searched the house: the grate where the heat comes out, closets, under everything, bookshelves, behind the dryer, you name it. We printed signs and hung them all over, using my Hello Kitty duct tape to draw attention to the signs. We taped one next to another sign in our neighborhood: LOST: Black Lab with gray muzzle.

“Ohhhh,” I said to Ned, taping Lily’s beautiful picture up. Every time Ned saw Lily’s picture he’d get weepy again. “Someone lost their old dog. How awful.”

The damn animal shelter didn’t open till 1:00, so we got on the road as soon as we could. On the way there, on a busy freeway, we saw a black Lab with a gray muzzle. “PULL OVER!” I yelled to Ned, who of course couldn’t because, you know, freeway. He did turn around, though, and I found a place to walk right next to the freeway, headed toward where the dog had been running. I walked a long time and didn’t see him, but when I got back to the car, Ned said, “Bitchy-Resting-Face Alex called.”

My coworker Alex with the bitchy resting face sees me EVERYWHERE, ALL the time. The other night, when we ran into each other at the produce section of the store, she yelled from the limes, “STOP.STALKING.ME.” We were both at the baseball game the other night and did not run into each other, “but just knowing you were there was comforting” she told me the next day.

The fact that she saw me walking the freeway today furthers my theory that she, in fact, is stalking me.

(Y’all. World’s Annoyingest Young Person® is spouting forth on her feelings about Caravaggio. Ima kill someone. Thank heavens I just bought a restorative caramel apple bacon muffin to keep my wits about me. Caravaggio. Go fuck yourself. Go fuck yourself chiaroscuro-ly.)

The point is, she had seen the dog, too, and knew that’s why I was Forrest Gump, all of a sudden, running on the road, there. Ned and I went back to my neighborhood and got the dog owner’s phone number, told him where we’d seen his dog, and got him in touch with BRF Alex, who saw the dog leave the freeway and head to a neighborhood. At that point we headed to the shelter for our own drama, so I don’t know what happened after that. “My dog is such a magnificent animal,” the guy told me over the phone.

When we got to the shelter, we had to stand in a line and get a form to fill out. We went to a row of chairs where other people were filling out forms, too, and the guy next to me had a teensy squishy-boo baby kitten head with stripey stripes and big big big kitten eyes he was adopting and honestly, there is nothing. NOTHING. I love more than a kitten.

Without even asking the guy if I could pet his new kitten, I reached over and petted her walnut-sized head. I was having a great time ignoring my own missing cat’s needs when a woman came in with her tiny dog, headed to a tank, and


“Hello, baby. What a sweet baby you are. Yes, sweet baby.”

Ned and I exchanged a look. “I know,” he said to me. I was just WAITING for that nutbar to drop the snake right on my neck. Sweet baby. Good gravy.

For some reason, I was spurred to finish my form, then, and we headed to the part of the shelter where I learned about Roger’s demise. Like I needed that. Like I’m not a mess already. And guess who was there? The woman who told me about Roger, herself.

“How y’all doin’ today?” she has one of those voices, and faces, that tell you, “I am no stranger to the cigarette.” I liked her the last time I was there, and I liked her today. She sent me back into THREE ROOMS, THREE ROOMS, y’all, of cats who’ve been turned in in the last 48 hours.

I searched every cage, and almost all of them were full of teensy boopy squeeegeee kissy-head boopy boop kittens, each one cuter than the one before. If it were possible to have a kitten orgasm, I’d have had one. There was a buff-color one with the brightest blue eyes. There was a whole pile of gray ones piled on top of each other. There was a black kitten glaring at me with attitude. And then there was the bobkitten.

He looked JUST LIKE a bobcat, only he was a teensy boopy squeeegeee kissy-head boopy boop kitten. He was sitting in his food dish, absolutely upright, like a person.

“Look at him! He thinks he’s folks!” I said, ignoring that my own cat was missing again. Right then, the bobkitten stuck his tongue out, and left it there. He kept sitting upright. “I LOVE YOU SO BAD!” I yelled at him. He seemed indifferent to my charms.

The point is, Lily was not there. All the emergency vets have my name and her description, and so does the shelter now. Also, I said to Pall Mall, over there, the woman at the shelter, “I just wanted to tell you that you broke the news to me that my cat was dead, and you were so good to me about it. I’ve always been so grateful.”

“I remember that,” she said. “The Christmas kitty.”


“I do. I always hate breaking that kind of news.”

It occured to me after I left that she must think I’m the worst cat mom in the world. Oh, hey, the one with the dead cat who had on the Christmas collar. And now three years later, another one’s missing. Yeah, there’s Cat Owner of the Year.

So, that’s what’s going on, there. I agree with you all that if Lily is still alive, she can’t have gone far. She’d be too scared. I just wish she’d come home. I hate the thought of her so scared. She’s too fluffy to be scared.

I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when I will expound on my feelings about Caravaggio.



June's stupid life · My pets

My sweet, round Lily

Godammit, you guys, Lily is missing. How many of these “My pet’s gone” posts am I gonna WRITE?

She never ever goes outside. Remember once, two years ago, when she ventured out and meowed under a bush in my yard till I got her?

When it’s warm, and I’m home, I leave the back door open so the dogs can go in and out of the screen door. We were doing repairs here all day, and at night after we’d cooked out, I said, “Where the hell’s Lily?” She sits on her condo 90% of the day, and we’d both noticed her conspicuous absence from it but figured she was sleeping in the closet, her other habit.

You guys, she sits at the screen door all the time and watches the dogs carouse but never wants to go out. Why’d she go out?

We walked the neighborhood for ages, searched this yard thoroughly, called all the emergency vets and animal control and nothing.

Ned just sat down on my deck last night and started to cry. “I’m worried sick about her. She hates outside.” The dogs ran over to him, concerned.

This morning as soon as it was light Ned walked around again and
I left tuna on the porch, which of course Iris tried to eat cause she’s a dick.
I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything. We’re making flyers right now.

June's stupid life

Boom Boom Room

Last night Ned and I went to a strip club, which was my idea, and I already promised MY EDITOR I'd write about it for Purple Clover so I will tell you all about it then.

In the meantime, I decided since my spare bedroom is all empty anyway, and now the ceilings are painted, I should paint the walls while I'm up. What color should I go with? It's a, you know, square room. With windows in it.

Okay let me know.










...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · Not Grace Kelly

Call me Ishmael, M’lady

Today at work, we're having a photo sesh, because we're revamping the company website. They've asked me to be one of the people posing for said pictures, and in my mind I had us phonily leaning over the conference room table, looking over a document–something I never, ever do in real life. But it turns out the shots are going to be more casual than that, which has not lessened my obsession over looking flawless, anyway.

I mean, I know I'm in there because I'm the token old chick, but I want to be the "WOW! They hire hot old chicks!" old chick. Last night for Ned's birthday, we went to the baseball game (I begged him to go. BAH!) and when Ned got in line for beer, I said, "I'm getting a bottled water. Photo sesh."

Then he got a brat, and I was all, "Not me. Photo sesh." It's like he's dating fat Kate Moss without the cocaine.

Speaking of Ned's birthday, and what else HAVE I spoken of as of late, he was vehement that I not get him anything for his birthday because we're allegedly moving, and need all the cash we can get. So the only thing I got him was his childhood version of Moby Dick, with which he has been obsessed ever since he couldn't find it at his mom's house over Mother's Day weekend.

I got the brilliant idea to get him this book, and emailed his nice brother to say what I was doing, and could I send him some book covers and he could identify which was the real book. His brother cheerfully complied, until 384838483822 book covers later, and then guess who became over me. Oh, did I look for that book. I even got my friend Dot on the case, as she is good at this sort of thing.

Finally, I told Ned what I'd wanted to get him and couldn't. I sent him five covers just as an example, and he wrote back: "JUNE! That very first cover is it! You found my book!"

Sigh. His brother remembered a photo from INSIDE the book, not the cover.

Anyway, I got him that, and then I felt bad that that's all I got him, so night before last I went to the liquor store and got him some gin. Ned is forever saying he loves a gin and tonic in the summer, and yet I never see him drink gin and tonic. I always feel slightly seedy going to the liquor store, and worry that the salespeople think I hit a different liquor store every night to keep my gin habit going.

I also got him tonic and a lime, and then yesterday at lunch I stampeded to Rite Aid to get a gift bag, and I also picked up some…girl medication. I have a …girl issue right now, that Grace Kelly would not tell you about so I won't, but let's just say if I could sit on one of those bristle aquarium cleaners and spin around for an hour, I'd be happy.

JunehairEnclosed please find a photo of the woman ahead of me in line, who had total June hair.

The point is, I got to the counter with my gift bag and my girl meds, and when the woman was ringing them up, I heard myself say, "I'm not giving this away as a gift."

What is wrong with me? "I wasn't even thinking that, ma'am," said the sales clerk, who is as over me as Ned's brother and they ought to form a support group.

At the end of the workday yesterday, Ned emailed me. "I really feel like having some gin tonight. On my way home, I'm going to the liquor store."

Son of a…

For TWO AND A HALF YEARS of knowing Ned, he's NOT ONCE said he was going to the liquor store to buy gin, and the VERY DAY I have it for him, what does he say?

"DON'T GET GIN!" I emailed back.

"Oh! Okay. Well, what if I get lime and tonic, then?"


"So now you've ruined ALL the surprises I had for you," I told him. "Just don't stop off and get a 16-year-old prostitute on the way home, either."

The only thing Ned did not blow was the fact that I got him an apple crumble pie, and a fine card.

NedspecsIt reads: "Your reading glasses are sexy." And here he is, wearing my diamond-y ones. His actual reading glasses ARE sexy, though.

NeddickNed said I absolutely found the right Moby Dick, which by the way is often hyphenated, a thing that annoys me not at all. At the end of the night, I am happy to tell you Ned read the book to me, and wow, is Moby not hyphen Dick ever a fascinating book.

We had a gin and tonic on my deck, and by "we" I mean I watched Ned have a gin and tonic on my deck. Photo sesh.

Then we screamed off to the baseball game, where I think we won, I'm not sure. There was an extremely hot young black woman in front of us, with a really thin, hot young body, and she had on acid wash elastic-waist jeans that believe it or not she looked bangin' in. She was doing a whole ironic mom jean thing. "If I wore those, I'd look mentally disabled," I told Ned.

Anyway, much of my evening was spent watching her, and looking at her thumb ring, and her cute white toeanail polish, and basically wishing I were a hot 19-year-old black girl. Guess what I am not.

So that sums up Ned's birthday, which was a fine event, and for 20 days he is my much-older manfriend. Then next month we'll be the same age again. I am hoping that there is some screwup in the system and I turn 19 instead of 49. And also black. I need to get over the black girl. But you didn't see her. You'd have died, too.

Okay. June Moss, out.

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life

On the grand occasion of Ned’s birthday

image from https://effjune.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/9dd33-6a00e54f9367fb883401a73de0aff9970d-pi.jpg

Once Ned and I were at a restaurant, and it was the kind of seating where there's the long booth against the wall and then little tables, so you think you're sitting alone but really you're just sharing a long booth with a bunch of horrific strangers. Next to us sat this couple, and the man kept calling his date "M'lady."

Ned and I did the thing where we couldn't look at each other, because we knew we are going to giggle. "M'lady." What a tool.

Last night I talked to Ned on the phone, and asked if I could write "Happy birthday, M'lady" on his Facebook page. He said no. So technically I did not, but what Ned did not say was that the rest of you could not go on his Facebook page and write "Happy birthday, M'lady." That's all I have to say about that.

That was the same night that the waiter, who kind of knows us, asked how long we'd been dating, and I said "two years" and at the very same time, Ned said "a little less than two years." After the waiter left, I asked why he couldn't have just said "two years," because it was really close to two years when the waiter asked us this question. Ned droned on about how he wanted to be accurate, and I said hooo care if the timing was really accurate or not, we were less than two months from our two-year anniversary at that point. We got into one of those stupid fights you get into that mean absolutely nothing. It wasn't really a fight so much as a baker. Still.

A baker. Fucking Siri. Bicker! BICKERRRR! Now I'm bickering with Siri.

At any rate, I'm excited that it's Ned's birthday, even though his gift has not arrived yet and I hate the store who hasn't sent it to me yet. I even paid expedited shipping.

So I guess that's the big news over here today. Last night, I was supposed to go see my friend Charlie, but he just wasn't feeling up to it. So I came home and started to do Tracy Gold workout but then my old friend Renée called and we ended up on the phone for 7 1/2 thousand hours.

I like how Siri has given my friend Renée an accent mark.

You will be proud to hear that after we hung up, I did Tracy Gold anyway. I had to kick all the animals off the yoga mat, where they had fallen asleep after I laid it out and left it there.

Mostly my friend Renée and I and her accent mark talked about sex, because she has met somebody new and you know how that is. Every time you meet somebody new you think, oh my god this is the best sex I've ever had in my life. I think it takes a while to just be normal and then assess whether it's really the best sex of your life a little bit later. But it sounds like she's having some bangin' sex.

On that note, I guess I will get ready for work. After work I have to scream on over to Ned's and celebrate his big day. And as I said, do not go over to Facebook and write "Happy birthday, M'lady" on his page. Nope. No, sir. Don't do that.

Talk at ya, m'ladies.

Sent from my iPhone

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

The one where Ned and June are homeless.

Photo 1This was Ned's fortune cookie yesterday. "Yeah, no kidding," he said, munching his cookie. I never actually eat the fortune cookie. Do you?

Photo 2-2Here was mine. Apparently Claude Monet created mine. Anyway, that's nice, right? Although I said to Ned, "They probably mean some guy in the next booth." Because I am a wonderful womanfriend.

So, yeah. They sold our damn house that we were going to rent. I had to email the nice couple moving into MINE and tell them the bad news, and they were so nice about it that it made me feel worse. We still don't know what we're going to do. Whatever we do, be sure to continue with the advice. God, I love that.

Basically, we are sad. And disappointed. Our options are to keep looking, stay where we both are, or find Ned a cheaper place for now and we move in together later. Oh, or Ned could move in to my house, which we had already dismissed as less than ideal due to its teensy size and one bathroom, but we may do that for awhile. Say, did I already say to be sure to give us a shit ton of advice re this? Thanks.

I hate everything. In the meantime, Ned's birthday is tomorrow, and he wants to go to a baseball game. I emailed him awhile ago to ask if I need to get tickets for a certain section, such as in front of the cheerleaders. A person who is 100% over me is not Ned. No, sir.

So that's what's new over here. Also, I went into the room with the newly painted concrete floor, and it STILL isn't dry, so I haven't put the shiny coat on it yet. I went to Sherwin-Williams and asked how, asked now. Asked Sherwin-Williams. So I have the right stuff now; I just can't use it. Story of my life.



June's stupid life

Another sideways picture. How you vex me, iPhone

Tonight I decided to go through old papers and throw out what I don’t need.

image from https://effjune.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/52c77-6a00e54f9367fb883401a73ddef9a0970d-pi.jpg

Here’s my meal card photograph from when I went to Michigan State in the ’80s. I should do that with my hair again. Actually, my hair is kind of doing that right now. Minus the mullet.

I found all sorts of papers tonight, including love letters from boyfriends past. One boyfriend wrote me on a video receipt, because I think he must’ve worked at the video store. He said he missed me and if I were there he would throw me against the ice cream machine and have sex with me for five minutes. Woah, dream big! Plus, what’s hotter than ice cream machine sex?

I also found my aura picture from when I lived in Los Angeles. I guess the part where I lived in Los Angeles was a given.

Other than this papery stroll down memory lane, it was a fine day. I got together with my student and we decided to study at the ice cream store. I had just had salad for dinner, and was feeling so righteous. And then? Ruined by nutty coconut ice cream. We did not have ice cream sex.

This whole moving thing is for the birds. I wish I could just be like Samantha on Bewitched and suddenly live in a different place. I also wish I had that big diamond heart necklace she always wore. I always envied that necklace.

I guess that’s all the iPhone blogging I have to do today. Oh! Yes! Iris.

Yesterday evening Ned and I were sitting on my porch, and Iris was out there in the grass with us. She was just lounging in her jungle cat way, but there was a robin with a nest in one of the trees and man, did he abhor Iris. She was on his bird shit list. First he stood with various bugs in his beak, screeching at Iris the entire time. I didn’t know you could yell and keep bugs in your beak, but you really can.

Iris was indifferent to his shrieks, and finally he just kept swooping down at her, but I think the part where she can’t see a damn thing and the part where she is a huntress just meant she didn’t give two shits about that angry bird. See what I did, there? Angry bird. Am hilarious.

Eventually I picked her up and brought her inside with us. I really didn’t want that poor bird to have a heart attack. I didn’t want him to wing out. See what I did there? Still hilarious.

Okay, my meal card and I are out of here.

Sent from my iPhone

June's stupid life

June blogs from her phone again. In unrelated news, it sucks.

Well, Ned and I finished our many painful tasks this weekend. I painted the concrete floor, which I will take a picture of, calm down, as soon as I can. It's night now and the pictures won't turn out with this lack-of-flashbulb cell phone. Could I have a more first-world problem?

I am still blogging from my phone. There's my next first-world problem.

Oh, I need your help. I painted the floor with latex paint, and I bought a sealer that I thought would make it all shiny and everything in there. But when I really read the paint can it said only use this sealer with water-based paint. Price is Right losing horn. What sort of sealer can I use on this concrete floor?

Anyway, other than drudgery and being Cindarella and doing all the work and sweeping the hearth and not getting to go to the goddamn ball and getting planter fasciitis from a glass slipper, Ned and I did have some fun things happen.

The first was when the other night we looked up in my tree and it was filled with fireflies. It was like the whole tree was made of diamonds. I've seen a lot of cool things in my life: I saw the Halle Bop comet, I've seen the Northern lights, but this was right up there. I wish you could've seen it, although all of you standing in my driveway with me would've been sort of weird. Really, though, it was cool. It's like I got a bedazzler and bedazzled the tree. …It IS the South.

Also, last night, after all of our toiling, Ned and I decided to go out and get our favorite goat cheese appetizer from the little Irish pub in his neighborhood. It's this goat cheese covered in pepper, and also tomatoes, spinach, little fried onions, and some sorta black sauce that the devil brought on his tongue, which is velvet and hypnotizes you with its deliciousness.

While we were outside eating our delicious goat cheese appetizer, and what's better for you than goat cheese at midnight, we started to get a monsoon. My hair had predicted it was going to rain, but WillNed Scott over there said no, no, it's not going to rain.

Trust me. I looked like the Big Boy, with the curl I had in the front of my head, which is always an indicator of upcoming precipitation. The point is we sat in the rain and ate anyway. Pesky thunderstorm was not going to keep us from our goat cheese and black devil sauce. It was actually sort of romantic, because we enjoy having piña coladas and getting caught in the rain. I mean, it was romantic other than the part where we're both clearly addicted to goat cheese. We're like Sid and Nancy, the dairy version.

Eventually it got so bad that we went inside with our wet selves and sat under the sign for "brunch!!!"


"How come we never come here for brunch exclamation point cubed?" I asked Ned.

"I don't know why we never come here for BRUNCH!!" screamed Ned. Honestly, you've never seen two people more amused over a stupid sign in your life

I guess that's all I have to tell you. Floors, ceilings, fireflies, brunch!!! Truthfully, brunch annoys me. When I get up, I want coffee and food right away. I don't want to have to dress, get in the car, stand in some fucking line, and eventually eat three hours later. Brunch is not my bag, man.


I will talk to you soon, and tell you more about my renters in our house and all the freaking work we are doing. Also about how Iris got divebombed by a robin and how Edsel's lying here next me right now screaming in his sleep. I wonder what he's dreaming about; maybe that there's a shortage of firemen.

Okay bye. Now I'm going to have "dinner!!!"

Excitedly, June

Sent from my iPhone

June's stupid life

Come and knock on our door. Which is in the living room.

I am sitting on the front porch using Siri, so sue me if there are typos in this. Ned is painting the ceiling in the bedroom, and I am about to paint the concrete floor. Last night we took every single stitch of furniture out of that room and today I have sanded the concrete floor three times and swept it five times. Remember when Ned and I used to have fun on weekends?

Iris is loving the fact that there’s a whole empty room or she can flop and roll. Flop and roll. Flop and roll is her signature move.

Ned has warned me there’ll be a lot of swearing. So far I have heard the G word and the SOB word.

In case you were thinking, “Gee, I’ll bet June is a natural at laying down tape paint,” you are completely not at all right. Also, I unplugged the computer, and I’m thinking in order to save money I will disable my Internet altogether this month and next month in order to save money. I’m really starting to panic about the cost of this move. I also decided to remove my toenail polish and go without a pedicure. I know!

My point is, may be blogging from phone. Which sucks.

Flop and roll. June.

image from https://effjune.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/55632-6a00e54f9367fb883401a511d24e59970c-pi.jpg

Sent from my iPhone

Busy busy busy busy. Thank heavens for Angie's List. · June's stupid life

Uriah Cheep

Yesterday I was still busy being me and my boss, and we have this poor guy we hired to fill in for The Other Copy Editor, who picked this week to quit, and I have said almost no words to the poor new guy. All I've really said to him are "Hi" and "Are you ready for me to give you another thing to copyedit?" He must think I am a fuckin' B.

(The Other Copy Editor gave, like, a three-month notice, and of course on her last day it occurred to me that a normal girl would have gone out and gotten her a card for everyone to sign. Fortunately for me, there was a Valentine's Day card on the Free, Take It table at work, and I think The Other Copy Editor would have expected nothing less from me.)

The point is, I was toiling away when an email came to the whole company. It was from a woman who is on my floor and part of the super-private open floor plan, only she's way off in the corner. "I have found a baby bird," the email read. "If anyone knows what I should do next, please contact me."

You know in Twilight, where Edward just blurs across a huge amount of space because he can move so fast, and suddenly he's by dynamic Bella's side? I can certainly see why you'd rush over there. Anyway, that was me getting over to the baby bird.


She already had him in a Dean & Deluca box with those kinky strips of paper in it. We'd gotten two big boxes from a client, and I certainly did not partake of the truffle-oil popcorn or chocolate chipotle cookes at all yesterday. No, sir. But we'd vultured the dregs of those boxes already and boom! Now they served as a perfect bayyyyybeeee bird nest.

IMG_0742peeeep peeep peeep peeep! bayyyybe bird not WISH to be in blawg. peep!

I named him, in my mind, Uriah Cheep, because man, did he cheep. We could see where his nest was, but even though we grabbed a metal ladder during a huge thunderstorm because we're smart, we still couldn't get up there to put him back. I called my friend Dot, the one who's Ellie May Clampett and forever rescuing things, and she said to get canned cat food and feed him–or, even better, take him to a rescue place.

Now, see, here's the part where I don't know what's wrong with me. Everyone else gathered around for a minute, said, awwww, and went back to work. Are you SERIOUS? I worried and fretted and panicked and offered to go out in the storm for the cat food and eventually found the rescue place. The woman who found Uriah Cheep took his three-feathered self over there. So, whew. I mean, LOOK AT HIS HEAD TUFTS! AND HIS LIPSES! How can you go back to work?

Some people suggested I take him home myself. Yeah. wat you breeng eyeriss? thank, mom! {crunch}

As soon as that drama subsided, I was just wrapping everything up and getting ready to see Ned. At a few minutes to 5:00, my old boss in LA emailed me. "We have an emergency. The client is PISSED. Can you hlep?"

I said I could, because greedy, and I called Ned to say I'd be late. I screamed home (now that I'm about to move, I just learned a new way to get home from work in 4 minutes rather than 8) and got right on the computer, I figured it'd take me till around 7:00, then I could eat and see Ned.

At 10:00, I was still in here working. I hadn't eaten, or peed, or oh my GOD I don't think I fed the animals! I really don't think I did! Oh, I am awful. I really SHOULD have brought Iris that bird. Well, they ate this morning and everyone's alive. Good mom-ing.

The LA office was not bugging me at ALL last night, with the "Are you done yet?" emails that then distracted me and I'd have to spend five minutes finding my place again. But finally, at 10:00, I called my old boss. "I know it's only 7:00 there, but I haven't eaten or gotten up from this chair or even peed all night. And now it's my bedtime here in NC. This is the most I can do. You guys have to do the last 31 pages." I mean seriously, I was spent.

My old boss was understanding; that job was a nightmare. The person who created it needs to be punched hard.

So I did not see Ned, but in a month I will be seeing Ned constantly, so. And hey. $$$!

I will go now, and shower and so on, so I can have another relaxing day. I cannot tell you how loglike my sleep was last night. I got into bed with Talu, spooned her, and we woke up in the same position. She was probably weak from hunger. My poor neglected pets. Somebody call Animal Services.

Oh, and thanks for the moving tips. I read them, nodded my head, then 72 hours before I have to move I will throw everything into one big panicked box.

Love, June

Busy busy busy busy. Thank heavens for Angie's List. · June's stupid life

June takes the day off

Between showing this house every night (Now TWO people really want it!), scraping the floor after viewers go, doing my boss's job at work and my own, I am hugely tired. Talk amongst yourselves today.

Does anyone have any good moving tips? Other than "hire movers," which I would dearly love to do.

Busy busy busy busy. Thank heavens for Angie's List. · June's stupid life

Joooon Gardens, landlord

What I love about Tallulah is she is unwaveringly enthusiastic about food. I'll bet you can't say that about your dog. Just now she was here on the floor, gnawing at her bone with some kind of tasty crap inside like kitten innards or something that Ned got for her–and thanks Ned, because when they drop those bones on the hardwood it doesn't make my spine hurt or anything.

Anyway, she was here gnawing, and I had a bite of turkey burger left over from when yesterday's potential renter came early and I was still having dinner goddammit, and since it looked so cold and sad in the fridge, I decided to give it to Lu. The turkey burger, I mean. I didn't stuff the potential renter in the fridge for interrupting dinner.

She was so involved in her bone, but when she saw me approaching with food she was all, wat dat be? oooo, fud! fuk bone. thank, mom!

I don't know. I guess I admire that kind of dedication.

I ate the turkey burger with the new fancy organic bread I got from the organic truck at work. Once a week a truck comes filled with local meat and eggs and locally made soaps and pesky vegetables and so on. Every week I go in there and get something unhealthy. Last week I got local organic cheesecake. This week I got toffee. Anyway yesterday I also got local bread and a tomato. I hate to throw off the balance of things with a tomato but there you go.

In the meantime, I think I have a renter. She's an older woman, and by older I mean actually older than me, and she is here from New York. She walked around and mentally placed her furniture everywhere, then said, "I want the place." So I'm processing her paperwork. She came to me via my friend Jo, who'd put my picture on Facebook. Well, not my picture. "Here's a picture of my friend June!" "Oooo, look at her! What's her house like?" "Well, as a matter of fact, her house is for rent!"

Last night, Ned and I went to the Marilyn Monroe movie at the old theater, and I told him about my renter. "But what about the lesbians? I liked the lesbians," he said, never even having met the lesbians, who by the way never contacted me again. The single mom did, to say she really didn't think she could afford it. And both couples from last night did, to say they love my house but it was the first place they'd looked and didn't want to commit yet. From now on, when I rent a place, if I do, I will always contact the person after. I had no idea how nice it is to not be left hanging.

I also keep loving my house anew. Everything's so clean and shiny, and Ned said the same thing when he came to get me last night. "God, the house looks great. Let's just move in here." And that is when I shot him, because all along he's said we need more space so his ancient cat can have some rooms of her own. I kind of secretly hope NedKitty and Iris become friends, and Iris can show NedKitty how to hunt in a back yard, and NK can show Iris how to put bags on her head. I kind of think Lily and NedKitty will take one look at each other and be annoyed at having their diva status usurped. It'd be like if JLo and Maria Carey had to live together.

Who would Lily be? JLo or Maria Carey?

Anyway, that is all I have to tell you about that. My boss is on vacation this week so I am in charge, and we have a temp in because the Other Copy Editor is quitting. So I have to do my work, and be in charge and assign things, and teach the new guy and in the meantime I still have two work projects that go beyond what I normally do and then I get to come home and show my house every night. What heart attack?

What I could use is a good bone with kitten inards in it.

Love, June

Film · June's stupid life · Not Grace Kelly

The one where I meander and don’t get right to the point

It's hard to get used to how FRICKING CLEAN this house is, in anticipation of the people traipsing through to look at everything. I walk into a room and go, "Oh! Crap, it's clean in here." My Uncle Leo used to say about people: "They're so clean" as if that were a bad trait. I had these two old lady great aunts who lived together in a tiny cute house, and in retrospect it was my dream house. They had all the old lady things I like. I even think they had an O'Keefe and Merrit stove.

425-502x600Marvin and I had one in California, and had to leave it behind. It's hard to schlep a stove. I like how they show a 1930s stove with 1960s graphics behind it.

The point is, my Uncle Leo and I were inexplicably at my great aunts' old lady house one day–I can just see us in their kitchen with their cute embroidered hand towels–and my uncle mouthed to me, "Everything's so clean" the way you'd mouth, "They're crazy" or "There's a gun on the table."

Uncle Leo. Never a neatnik.

They had a schedule, my great aunts did, where they'd do laundry on Monday, bake on Tuesday, or whatever. My schedule is Oh dear Lord, someone is coming. I have to get the eight pounds of dog fur out from under the bed.

Anyway. I had said to Ned, "On Monday, I don't have my student, and I get to just go home and do absolutely nothing. I have no engagements or plans. I can just go home and relax for the first time in weeks." Someone at work asked me if I was going to the workouts in the park, and I said, "Nope. For the first time in ages, I'm going home to do nothing."



I'd like to take this moment to once again do my Susanna Hoffs impression.

Photo on 6-17-14 at 7.33 AM #2 Photo on 6-17-14 at 7.33 AMYou're welcome.

Oh my GOD, my point is, I did not remotely get my nothing evening. Which is a shame, because I can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile. Two more couples came by to see the place last night, so there went my relaxing. The first people were absolutely delightful and I loved them. They were young but both had gainful employment, and the man in the couple said, "Would you be our landlady?" and when I said yes he said, "Oh, that's great. You're already wonderful." Which of course I am. And so clean.

The other duo told me they couldn't come till after the World Cup was done and would that be okay. They got here at about 8:30, and I had the feeling they'd be foreign, because World Cup, and also they both had wonky names. If they move in, I won't even need to make up names for them. Anyway, the man was a tall man of color with dreads, from Colombia. He has a PhD in mechanical engineering and works at a university, so you can imagine how much we had in common. Oh, did we talk mechanicals and engineering. Wooo! But he was so, so nice and also very cute, which is what matters.

His girlfriend is from Germany and she just got here. I have no idea why every German in Greensboro is coming to my house. They met in college and she finally got a green card. She was very nice, too, but she scared the crap out of me. She looked around and asked intelligent questions, and noted imperfections in the house and asked if they'd be fixed before they moved in (….) and generally was one of those brisk, efficient people who make me sweaty.

While she went from room to room taking pictures and making notes (swear), her boyfriend and I had some water in the kitchen and talked engineering. I gave him some tips. He said, "My girlfriend is so efficient. I'm just already emotionally attached to the house, but she has to be logical about it." I told him about how I walked into my new house with Ned and said, "Okay, I love this house and want to spend 80 years here" and he was all is there central air? How's the water pressure? Does the basement leak? I guess you need a regular person and then the person with 80 emotions going.

The point is, they emailed me later and said they really could see themselves living here and want a few days to think it over. In the meantime, someone else is coming tonight and I will never be able to shed dog hair again. Jesus.

Help me think of good Colombian and German names for them, should they move in. Christopher Columbus and Helga. Good. Glad we had this talk.

After I show the house again tonight, and I just saw myself lifting my house up like they do when they show cats, I am going with Ned to see How to Marry a Millionaire at the old theater we love, and I hope to get some tips on how to do just that. I wish there were a movie called How to Make Ned a Millionaire.

Have you ever seen them show cats and hold them up all terribly? Hang on. I can't find a cat right now, believe it or not, but a Lu is right here. I'll demonstrate.

Photo on 6-17-14 at 7.52 AMThat was a terrible demonstration, because today she seemed to weigh 11 hundred pounds. Plus, her leg looks creepily human right there. Oh, forget it.

June, clean.

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · OooooooWEEEEEooooooo!!!

Eight Ways to Irk June

As I was logging in today, there was an article on the side of the log-in page called something like, "Seven Blogging Mistakes You're Probably Making." Probably rule number one is blogging about what you see on your sign-in page. Also, I understand that some yahoo somewhere determined we all stampede to articles with numbers in the headlines, but cut it out already. "Eight things you're doing to irk June!"

Speaking of which, at work the other day I announced to the open floor plan that I am officially sick of the phrase "fun facts." "Is that a fun fact about you?" my boss asked. Then he ordered a coffee mug for his own self: "World's Hilariousest Boss."

Anyway, three groups of people trooped in here yesterday to look at m'house. None of them want it.


Seriously. That horn never ceases to me funny to me. World's Hilariousest Blogger. So far I probably have

Four blogging mistakes in a post.

1. Blogging about your sign-in page. 2. Blogging about your boss. 3. Same tired-ass horn joke. 4. Blogging about your sign-in page. 5. Repeating yourself. 6. Making number lists different from your title.

And look. Maybe they WILL call, today or something, but I dunno. I had the place sparkling.

IMG_0709Everyone who came in said, "Nice place. It's a little blurry, though."

Damn. I just noticed the doily is scrunched. But I removed the doily before people got here, anyway. I tried to remove as much June Has Old Lady Taste stuff as I could.

IMG_0707 2

After I murdered my own self straightening everything, I got some coffee and a book I stole from Ned and waited. Ned just bought this book, and I picked it up while I was at his house the other day, and I could tell almost immediately it was gonna have hot lesbian action in it. "This book seems like it's gonna be pretty dirty," I said to Ned. "Yeah, I know. That's why I picked it," he said.

"Well, how'd you know? Do you have dirty-dar?" It irks Ned when I add "dar" to things. He says gaydar is a fine word, as it's like a play on radar, but makeupdar makes no sense, for example. Since I have irkNeddar, I do it early and often as a result.

"Well, I…looked at the cover," said Ned, and right then I knew there were two naked girls on the cover. Dudes, I'd watched Ned buy that book, saw it on his coffee table for a week, picked it up and READ FIVE PAGES, and hadn't noticed there were naked girls on the cover. And I feel like right here I should defend Ned, who always reads really smart, esoteric books that I would hardly ever be interested in, and as dirty books go this is a smart one (Tipping the Velvet. I know you're poised, over there, on the Comment button), and my point is I don't want you to think he's a lecherous perv.

"Wow! I hadn't even NOTICED the naked girls on the cover," I told him. "This is why you're clearly heterosexual and I'm not."

"You're not? That's…unwelcome news, June."

Oh, he knew what I meant.

So I read the dirty lesbian book till the first couple came, this cute girl and her huge hulking fiance. She went on about how she loved the house and how much character it had, while he remained stonily silent. My bathroom is smaller than most of his poos, so I know he wasn't feeling it. They stayed five minutes. They have a Boxer mix.

Exactly an hour later a lovely single mom and her son came. He was, as I told you in the comments yesterday, somewhere between six and 15 years old. The two of them have been living in 750 square feet since he was three, which was three or 12 years ago. She also said he loved my house, and asked if I had gas or electric heat, to which I said, "?" She seemed fascinated that someone would not know this, but what do I care as long as heat emerges from the wall?

She also liked my color-coordinated books and asked if the shelves were staying. Answer: No. Ned has a lot of filthy books to shelve.

The kid really, really wants a dog, she told me, and he took to Edsel like he had dogdar or something. The two of them dashed through the back door and ran around the yard together, and in general Eds fears the reaper and also children, and I kept an eye on him for signs of panic, lest he rear up and gnaw this woman's child to bits. But in fact he had a goofy grin and ran around like a moron the entire time, and I offered to throw him in to the deal. "Don't let my son hear that. He'll beg me to take you up on it."

IMG_0712edz beleef the chilren be our future

Finally, at 4:00 a young cute woman knocked on the door with the most gorgeous German lesbian you've ever seen. I mean, she buried Martina Navaratolova, who I don't even think is German. Blogging mistake 8. Get people's country of origin wrong. They looked around, and they were really interesting and funny, and as they were leaving, the hot German said, "I read that book, It's pretty great." Then she kind of gave me a knowing nod. A "Wow, who knew June was an older lez?" nod.

Blogging Mistake Number 9. Saying "lez."

I loved them, and I hope they take the place, and Ned was very, very interested in the idea of having to come here and repair things for two hot young lesbians.

Speaking of Ned, he came over after golfing with his dad, and as we have done every single day since we first saw the house we want to rent, we drove past it. We'll be at dinner, or at Lowe's, or putting together a Great Wall of China jigsaw puzzle, and Ned will say, "Wanna drive past our house?" "Yes."

So last night we did, and it was dark out, and some man was walking past. He said something. Ned rolled down the window. "What did you say, sir?" Ned is from the South.

"I said it's haunted!" yelled the guy, who laughed and crossed the street.


"Oh, it's not haunted," I said to Ned, who looked pale.

"I'm not scared," said Ned, pale-ly driving.

"I'm just a little scared," he said a few minutes later.

"I DON'T HANDLE THESE THINGS WELL," he said, as if we'd already been faced with 17 Amityville Horror scenarios in that house. Seventeen Ways to Haunt the New Tenants.

So, yeah. That happened.



...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · Times I Amused My Own Self

Mime juice

I tell you what, y'all. Since Friday night, Ned and I have painted my bedroom ceiling, scraped this stupid concrete floor that you know vexes me, washed the curtains–the CURTAINS!!–washed the couch cushions and spot cleaned the whole doggie couch with alcohol (I Googled it), scrubbed absolutely everything, re-vamped the closet space, conducted an orchestra and pulled a train with our teeth. We even exchanged teeth just to make it more challenging.

We are half dead. And today Ned plays golf with his dad, it being Father's Day and all. I, meanwhile, am sitting here waiting for the first few people to come look at my house. The dogs are banished to the back room and back yard, which they're fine with because Ned and I scare them right now.

Last night I looked up and it was 9:16. We'd allegedly had plans with Marty Martin, but I forgot all about him. We were starved, and we were cranky. "Let's stop for today and go eat," I limped into the room where Ned was working and swearing.

"Exclamation point, percent sign, ampersand," yelled Ned, as he spilled paint on my floor. "Yes, let's stop."

So we got in the car, and Ned announced that he was out of coffee at his house and needed to go to the store before we ate. "I also need mime juice," he said, backing out of my driveway.

I waited for Ned to clarify. Mime juice? What the hell is mime juice? What was Ned going to do to it?

We were both so tired and cranky that I didn't dare just say, "Did you say MIME juice?" because I knew he'd be all, "Jesus Christ, June, no. Of course I didn't say mime juice."

He could have meant lime juice, and just said mime juice, but what the hell was Ned going to do with lime juice? Add it to his coffee? The more I thought about mime juice, the more hilarious it seemed to me, and I made up all sorts of untoward things happening to Marcel Marceau. Finally I started to giggle, and then laugh, and by the time we were at the grocery store I was in complete hysterics.

"What the hell is mime juice?" I asked Ned as I peed myself repeatedly.


"You said you were getting mime juice. Why are you getting mime juice? Will, it, like, fortify you to be a better mime? What?"

Ned looked at me for a long time. "Lime juice, June. I'm getting lime juice. I add it to my black beans."


Unrelatedly, guess who's rethinking the whole living-with-me thing?

June, working in a coal mime.

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life

Eye of the Iris

Yesterday I was in the kitchen at work when my phone rang. It was the property manager for that house. "June, I talked to the owner. He's willing to go down on the price AND the pet deposit." You can imagine the pet deposit he wants.

My voice stayed calm while I talked to the property manager, but I was jumping up and down and dancing while we talked. About 86 of the Alexes were eating at the table. "I feel like we should be playing some '80s song, like Eye of the Tiger or Maniac," one of the boy Alexes said, who was a zygote when Eye of the Tiger was a thing.

Ned and I decided that we probably seem like attractive candidate for rental. "I mean, to look at us, you'd say, 'Hey, there are two responsible adults.' You have to get to know us to figure out how wrong that is," Ned said.

So this weekend we're going to list my house for rent, and see how it goes, response-wise. If it's dreadful, we won't apply for the place. That was my idea, and look who's practicing impulse control, when what she really wants to do is start schlepping her couch over there tonight?

Actually, Ned says my dog-covered couch should go, and that no dogs will be allowed on his nice couch. He says he's going to train my dogs to be decent human beings, and I cannot wait to see him try. Does anyone remember the trainer I had come over who said in all her years of working with dogs, she'd never met a dog as obstinate as Talu?

IMG_0704eet lu short, unkkle neds.

It's that time of year again where Lu rolls in the blackberries in the yard. I did not punch her eye.

IMG_0705der be dissaplines? eds love dissaplines.

I wonder if it's possible to have dogs with more opposite personalities.

Oh, I forgot to tell you, my birds left. I had chickadees or wrens or something in my little bird house that's right outside my window, and it was so cute, until it wasn't.

IMG_0339They'd go beep! beep! beep! beep!, the babies would, and I would squeal a little and go back to watching TV or whatever. As the weeks went by, it was more BEEP! BEEP! BEEP EM EFFERS BEEP!

First of all, there must have been 20 of them. And clearly they were all slackers. By last week, they were peeping constantly and were clearly able to leave and get their own damn food. They had a few keggers with the other young birds in the neighborhood, and played their rap music and I was so over those loud birds.

Then day before yesterday I was in here and noticed the silence. And then I missed them. I'll tell you who else missed them.

IMG_0360wat? eyeriss just enjoy sunshyne. dat it. yeah.

She probably scaled the post like Sylvester and sucked them all out of that hole through a straw.

Anyway, that's the latest with my NEW! HOUSE! that I am not at all excited about and decorating in my mind. Oh, and Ned does not want color-coordinated books. I have no idea what's wrong with Ned. Who wouldn't want that?

Would anyone like a house to rent? How about a dog? Would anyone like a dog? You can't have Tallulah. Okay, let me know.

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life

Oh, and be sure to give me advice. I love that.

You guys, I love that house. I LOVE THAT HOUSE.


In case you didn't tune in yesterday, and what's your phony excuse, Ned and I are looking for a place to live. We wanted something big so that his 14-year-old cat can have a few rooms to herself, and also so we don't get sick and tired of each other. Last weekend, we said, "Let's just drive around and see if there's anything" and boom. We see this. First place we see. And LOOK AT IT!

I didn't take picture inside because there was a property manager with us and I didn't want him to think I was berserk. I mean, I already went in there with the Peter Frampton hair. (It's been rainy. And humid.) But I stole some pictures off the website.

Screen Shot 2014-06-12 at 8.05.21 AM

Dudes, it has a fireplace, and a formal dining room, and a sunny little breakfast place behind the kitchen, and a gazebo thing in the back yard, just like Shirley Maclaine had in Terms of Endearment when Jack Nicholson said, "I don't wanna blow smoke up your ass" and she said, "What a relief."

There are FOUR bedrooms, and they're all pretty big, although of course the closets are for Barbie. Jesus. So I'll wear two outfits and have one towel. That's fine. That's absolutely fine.

Oh, and built-in bookshelves! The place was built in 1913. Oh! And it's a block from a cemetery! I love cemeteries!

It's in the nicest neighborhood in Greensboro, and the houses around us are to die for.

I am unsure if you can tell I've become emotionally attached to my new house. Ned, who also loves it, is being practical. "The rent is really high, June." Rent schment. So we're still mulling it over but if we DO decide to take it, we have to agnostic him down on the price if we can. Even if he DIDN'T come down, we'd both be paying less than we do. Plus also I have to get a renter in here, which everyone says will be no problem but what if it is?

Did I mention the pretty deck? And two bathrooms, thank god.

After we looked at the house, we walked the neighborhood and went to dinner at a restaurant in the neighborhood, a place we've always loved. Then we went back to my house and watched fireflies. Every sentence we uttered was, "If we take this place…"

If we take this place, we could baby gate the upstairs so that the dogs never, ever meet NedKitty. Screen Shot 2014-06-12 at 8.06.12 AM
If we take this place, Ned will have to join a gym because he works out at his apartment complex now. If we take this place, what if my alleged renters move out suddenly? If we take this place, can I put my cute Formica table in the breakfast area? If we take this place, how cute will my outside furniture be on that deck back there? (answer: Cute!!) If we take this place, I'll never be sad again.