Freaky Friday · June's stupid life

Extra-spooky Freaky Friday because it’s Easter. Or something.


Are you horrified? Do I do that every year? I think I do. The point is, it's St. Patrick's Day and we're all getting ready to cut turkey with our families and spin a dreidel. Speaking of which…

HeebI guess Jewish kids were sick of getting the shaft, AGAIN, when it comes to their holidays, so they get Mensch on a Bench, now, to ensure they're good for Hanukkah or something. Poor Jewish kids. Seriously, I'd tell Marvin about my Christmases and Easters and he'd be all, we look for a cracker. That'd be it. Their whole holiday. Oooo, we found a cracker! Cellllllebrate good times, come on!

Anyway, today is Arbor Day and because it is, I'm giving you a good Freaky Friday, sent by Faithful Reader Jennifer. Ready?


Dear June,
I thought you might be interested in the following benevolent ghost story for your Freaky Friday series.
My husband and I recently purchased an old home in Thomasville, Georgia. It's more than 100 years old and, of course, people have asked if it was haunted. When we were moving in, my sister-in-law got the willies when heading up our stairs. My mother grew up in a haunted house (with a true dirty-old-man sort of ghost), so she cackled (yes, really) over the thought ours might now be.
We spent a few weekends camping out between closing on the property and moving in and didn't really notice anything other than the usual old house noises echoing around empty rooms. After we moved in, though, and spent that first night in our new master bedroom, things were different.
While my husband slept on, blissfully unaware, I was awakened multiple times in the night by a series of four knocks coming from who knows where–I certainly wasn't about to go investigate! There were also sounds of boxes being slid around the wood floors downstairs–that creeped me out the most, even if nothing was out of place the next morning. I was not amused; mostly I was just tired!
Now, I'm fairly comfortable with the concepts of the astral realm, etc. I read Tarot cards and have done some scrying and Ouija board work. I consider myself fairly intuitive, but I've never had any one-on-one experiences with spirits outside of the scrying and spirit board stuff. But I did know that I wasn't going through another night like that one, so–through meditation/visualization–I put up a security blanket around the house to ward against any metaphysical mischief (I also may have told the house, aloud, "Not tonight, Momma needs some sleep!"). It seemed to work, no more strange noises in the night.
We hosted a Halloween party last weekend and, knowing that a couple of my guests are sensitive to ghosts/spirits, I took down the security blanket (but left up a net–I'm semi-brave, not fully stupid) and told anyone/thing listening that as long as they could play nice, they could come play tonight.
Having just finished up one of the house tours to a group of guests, the Friend M told me, "You're not alone." Okay then! Apparently she encountered two spirits in the house, but they just seemed curious about what was going on. Fair enough. She wasn't able to get much more from them as she wasn't feeling well that evening.
Friend S, though, really clicked with one of the spirits: a woman, appearing to be in her mid-30s, who was decidedly happy that there was laughter in the house again after so very long of being tired and down. S did not yet know that the house had been rented out as a personal care home for the last 10+ years and was vacant for a time before that. I don't doubt for a minute that the state of the house when we purchased it reflected the state of the care the patients received during their time here.
But that wasn't all she shared! There is a section of the staircase that she is uneasy on; that she clutches the railing for dear life as she goes down. It was either that she'd fallen down them or that she'd witnessed a fall. Also, in what is now my office, there was an argument of life-altering sort/things-that-cannot-be-unsaid vein that took place between a man and a woman.
In my research into the house's history, I'd learned that the original owner did take a tumble down the stairs and was hospitalized. And I believe it was shortly before his passing or the cause of it. So, if it was his fall that the woman witnessed, that could make her his daughter. And I also know that the daughter was a schoolteacher and never married, living out her days in this house at least through her retirement, so I got the impression it was an argument over a suitable suitor. She didn't seem to indicate (via S) that this was wrong. 
I'm looking forward to finding out what more this spirit (that I keep calling Eleanor in my head for whatever reason) has to show me about the house. Though, right now, I'd happily settle for the whereabouts of the leak that started last night from the upstairs pipes!
...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · Photo essays

Stabbing and raping pumpkins is a really weird tradition, if you mull it over any

For breakfast, I'm having Ned's pumpkin flax granola with plain yogurt. Who the hell have I become?

Speaking of pumpkins and Ned, yesterday we schlepped out after work and be-pumpkined ourselves. IMG_1938"Go pose by the scarecrow," I said to Ned, and really, he should take that to a comedy club.

IMG_1939We each got a big one, and two cute small ones for ambience. There was a beautiful well-behaved Golden Retriever there, and I wondered aloud if that was the very Golden they called me about when I was out the door to get Edsel. Do you remember? Some rescue place had a Golden Retreiver puppy and I'd filled out an app, but by the time I got a call back I'd already been "approved" for Edsel. Approved. They couldn't GET me there fast enough. Poor Eds. Poor maligned Eds.
We went to Target for candy, where I saw glitter pumpkins and realized we didn't need to go get real ones. Glitter pumpkins would have made my life complete.


Oh. Whew!

IMG_1949What's cuter than dressing up your child as a Playboy bunny? My Little Porn Star.

IMG_1947HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA! There was also a linebarker costume. Man, that Target oughta take it on the road. Or join Ned at his comedy club.

IMG_1963Ned. The face of determination.

IMG_1969Tallulah. The face of determination. You've never SEEN someone so determined to eat all the pumpkin guts. She'd grab a big string and have it hanging out her ridic mouth like she was a bear who'd just landed a salmon. Edsel joined her, but you could tell he wasn't into it. Kind of like later, when I sat with Ned while he watched the World Series.

IMG_1985I made flowers and Ned made a skull, which pretty much sums us up.

Later, as we watched the fascinating World Series, I might have come in with some Halloween candy. "What are you doing?" asked Ned, appalled. Y'all, I don't know if I can live with this kind of weird discipline. Who doesn't immediately eat the Halloween candy? "Do I need to get more? Will I need more before Friday?" asked Ned, who wears me out to my very bones. You eat one, maybe two, okay three pieces of Halloween candy and all of a sudden there's a world shortage.

This frustrates me so much that I might need a break. Give me a break. Give me a break. Break me off a piece of that–

…I'll be right back.



...friend/Ned · June's stupid life

Political June. Speaking of which, if Kay Hagan bugs me one more time I’m voting for that Republican.

I'm in the "office," aka my girl room, and I just heard Ned get out of the shower. I know all you pervs who can't get off Ned want that detail, so there it is.

Actually, now I'M thinking of Ned just getting out of the shower. Twitterpated.

I'm still hunched over a laptop, because a nice reader said she has an extra keyboard she will send me, so cool. I feel very Carrie Bradshaw right now, typing on my laptop. I couldn't help but wonder…

Carrie Bradshaw wore a ton of robes from Target.

Yesterday I went out for a drink with my boss after work, and we talked politics. You know me, and all my deep political discourse.

He thinks that in general, liberal people are kind of the prevailing group in America. Movies lean to the left, newspapers do, in college it's cool to be a Democrat. I don't see it that way. I mean, I agree about movies, but it seems to me that Republicans are who's in charge. Do I really think the people in charge of my mortgage are Democrats? How about the stern jerky taskmaster who sends me those irksome "you bounced another check" notes in the mail? How I abhor those. That guy MUST be a Republican, all good with his money.

What say you? I just asked Ned, who has emerged from said shower and is cute, and he said he thinks each side would argue that the other is, which is what happened with my boss and me and he doesn't know it because I didn't tell Ned everything my boss and I discussed because Ned went to the gym till 3 a.m. or 7:45, whichever. Then he came home and had a sweet potato while I ate half a leftover cheeseburger. Jack Sprat and his wife.

Ned said by and large we're a more puritan, religious country than most–other than fanatical places in the Middle East, but that Republicans would say we've created a welfare state by trying to help people.

He thinks culturally we're at the middle of the road.

I also ate half a slice of leftover carrot cake last night, and it was delicious. Ned also had green beans. They didn't ruin the carrot cake with raisins. Raisins are the devil's droppings.

Anyway, what say you? And you know if you're insulting to the other side I will cut a bitch and delete your comment and come over and poop in your lawn. Even though Ned was kind of snarky to the other side, and he knows I disapprove of that sort of thing.

Ned is mad because NedKitty has a huge scratch on her nose and you know what NedKitty has needed all along? To not be so mollycoddled by Ned. With her composure pills and her pheromone collar and her $90 special cat food. You know what that spoiled, nelly cat does all day now? She tears up and down the hall with my cats. The other day the hall rug was all the way in the bathroom. She also plays, "Who could that be behind the door" and paws at a gray foot half the day. Sometimes when you LIVE your LIFE, your nose might get scratched.

If Ned had had a child, it'd have been one of those kids with an inhaler who's in the marching band. My cats would have dropped out by now. Lily'd be knocked up. Iris would be in juvie.

"That is not true. My kid would be on the football team and be kicking your kids' ass."

I hate it when Ned looks at my stuff as I write it.

Anyway, let me know what you think. I know my friends and also my boss think they'd like to have just one goddamn conversation with me without me saying, "This'd be a good blog topic."


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

June blogs from her laptop. Not literally. My thighs don’t have a keyboard embedded.

What's sad is I can't actually see from my head to my lap, so for all I know I'm typing "puppies are assholes" right now. "Grandmas suck."

So, last night Ned saved my life, which was considerate of him. For the last year or so, my throat feels close-uppy, and I keep thinking it's just anxiety because have you met me? But I also feel like it's kind of hard to swallow. Every once in awhile a drink will go down the wrong way. Which is what happened last night.

I don't even know if I was officially choking choking, because I could still make a noise, but it was only breathing out, sort of, that I could do. We were at a restaurant and Ned jumped up and pulled me out of the chair and Heimliched me. I've never been Heimliched, and lemme tell ya, that shit works.

Ned was traumatized after and said it was the scariest moment of his life. I wonder if I'll get jewelry out of this?

Anyway, I'm calling the doctor, because I'm telling you my throat is swollen or something, and I know this is The End and you will never hear from me again. "You don't have esophageal cancer," said Ned, when I Googled my symptoms. "You've never smoked a day in your life.

Technically, I did smoke a pack of Virginia Slims, one a day, when I walked home from 9th grade for a few rebellious weeks. I'd wait till cool kids were walking by and I'd very pointedly hold my not-at-all-beginner-looking-Virginia-Slim out and smoke it when they were near enough to see me. You can imagine how this shot me into the upper eschelon of the popular crowd.

Anyway, given how much my grandparents smoked around me, I had a pack-a-day habit by age 4. So now I have to pay the piper for all those good times and die of some throat disease.

Either that or I'm just being crazy.



June's stupid life

June blogs from her phone

Well, now my keyboard has stopped working altogether. Previous to this it just wouldn’t type a capital U, or even a small U unless I pressed it 50 times. Am annoyed.
I guess I’ll have to get that fixed before I can type you in depth. Ned and I had a very busy weekend in which we went to see David Sedaris on Friday and went to a concert in Raleigh on Saturday. Also two different groups of his family visited us.
I will talk to you tomorrow, when I actually have a keyboard. I have a new column on purple clover, about happiness, that I kind of like. I would connect you to it, but no effing keyboard.
Irkedly, June

June's stupid life · Times I Amused My Own Self

The one where June offends everyone

Ned's mom will be here soon, so tomorrow I will write you about what we did all weekend, but I did wanna tell you about the creepy guy next door.

This neighborhood is pretty nice, and the houses are all from the 1920s and well-kept, except, of course, for the place next door. My gaylord, who of course likes things pretty, told us the people who own the house are in old folks' homes currently, and probably it isn't politically correct to say "old folks' home" and next thing you know I'll be whipping out the N word or saying "Eskimo pie" or something.

Indigenous person pie. Yes, ice cream man, I'd like an indigenous person pie. Say, why are you 47 and selling ice cream bars, anyway? You feeble-minded?

Okay, I am done saying terrible things. I like how I'm fine calling my landlord gaylord, however.

ANYWAY, the kids of the people next door can't bring themselves to sell the place, so instead it sits there with an overgrown yard and chipped paint and it's like we live next to The Munsters or something. "At least it'll be quiet," I said, because I always look for the silver lining. You don't? What are you, a psychopath?

The very first night we were there, this van parked there and the house had one tiny quiet light in it. Tiny and quiet, like a Chinaman's penis. Oh my god, NO ONE is going to read me after today.

The van parked there the next night, and the next, and we were struck by how he came in late, left early and turned on almost no lights. We wondered if he was some kind of squatter, and while we felt bad about turning him in and putting him on the street like a hobo, we also were kind of scared of him.

One night we were in our back yard and we heard him pull up. Like two old busybody hens, kind of like every woman who's stopped menstruating, we got up and crept to the wooden fence.

Okay, here's the creepy part: We couldn't SEE him. He got out of his van and opened the back door, we heared it, but we physically could not see him.

That's when we started calling the guy Boo Radley. "Boo's home!" I'd yell to Ned when I'd hear his car. Twice I crept to the window like a sneaky Injun, trying to see Boo, and twice more I'd hear the back door open and see nothing.

Yesterday morning we were putting things away, for a change, when Ned jumped up and ran to the front door. Boo was just leaving, and in the light of day there he was. He looked completely normal. "He looks like middle America," Ned said, dejected. He was a little older than us, gray hair, neat beard, regular clothes. He didn't look squatty at all.

And that's when we started calling him Bob Radley. I'd love to close with one more offensive reference but I can't think of one. My mind is blank. It must be the Polish in me.



June's stupid life · My pets

Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.

Poochie and I were looking at the local animal shelter's Facebook page, because for us that's porn. This particular Facebook page has, like, professional head shots of all the dogs and cats, and we were window shopping, as it were, because one thing either of us needs is more pets. Although technically, Poochie has just two cats and one dog, which, pfft.

Her goats and turkeys and so on are beside the point.

Anyway, there was one dog I was drawn to, and here is my problem. You know how you find yourself dating the same type of person over and over?

Why am I always drawn to Edsel?

MytypeI mean, he's not just an Edsel type, he'd be a SUPER Edsel, you can tell just by looking at him. His brain is all, "?"

Look at this! Is this not the first time Edsel has looked like a calm, dignified animal?

EdsEdz be the brayns.

You'll be stunned to hear that Ned was not enthused about my new dog, Methzel. I don't know what his problem is.

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

All work and no play make June a dull girl

Ned is back–yay!!–from his work trip, and I like how I went from being someone who lived alone for three and a half years to being scared at night without him in only three weeks. When I got home, he was already there, and he had flowers for me and he is a nice boy.

We watched The Shining last night, as we have this three-month deal where they give you 50 HBO channels so you get hooked, and then in three months they'll say, "You have to pay for this now" and we'll be all, "YES! Yes of course we'll pay for it now! Don't ever take HBO from us!" and we'll go from being people who went their whole lives without HBO to HeroinBO addicts in three months. All our HBO teeth will be rotting.

My point is that Ned said I am exactly like this when he interrupts me in here writing.

It's a shame how Ned invents things. And I dearly hope Marvin doesn't read this today, because he watched this and so nodded knowingly.

You think you can handle that, Wendy? Then why don't you start right now and get the fuck out of here.

Why did she even stay with him in the first place? He was a Crabby Appleton on the drive up. Oh, good, my husband's a DICK and we'll be snowed in together for god knows how long with our weird talking-finger son. But no, she packed 6,000 corduroy jumpers and headed off with him.

I have to stop talking about it now or there will be twins behind me. Oh, fuck, are there twins behind me?

ComeplaywithusAre there? DON'T TELL ME.

If Iris and Lily had any sense of humor, they'd be back there holding hands.

Also, are you already tired of this new background on my webcam? No one sent me a photo of their new life with my lemon crate pictures. Before I moved, I auctioned those things off and wrote hilarious things on the back of each one, such as, "Orange you glad I sent you a lemon crate picture?" and everyone said "I'll send a photo, Joon, of my new picture at my house!" and bupkis. Imagine saying you'll send something and not doing it. I would never.

It seems like I had other things to tell you and I'll be damned if I can remember them. I didn't sleep very well, and I had a migraine all day yesterday after that aura. What I am is a barrel of laughs.

I guess I'll go on with my life and fill you in on whatever I was gonna tell you when I think of it. We're going to see David Sedaris tonight, which is exciting, as David Sedaris is the wind beneath my wongs.

I did not just accidentally type "wongs." Oh my god.

Okay, then, talk at you. I will leave you with a disc of photos I found from 2004 when I was still in LA. Some are from my father's birthday dinner at El Coyote, which he wanted to go to because Sharon Tate had her last meal there, and some are from the surprise birthday party I threw for myself. I guess Ida been 39 that year. Jack Benny's age.Img0031I think Marvin was drunk in this one. Everyone had 39394393 margaritas that night except me, who had Coke. Partayyy on, June.

Img0018My friend Keith, me, dad, my friend Dave Newman, and Marvin, with an empty glass, which means he was drunk for shizzle. One margarita is, like, Marvin's limit for the year.

Img0081Just to fill you in, my surprise party had a pink theme.

Img0098I miss Renee. Just walk away, Renee. Walk to fucking Hawaii, you traitor. I act like I didn't move away, too. That cake does not read, "Karen." Oh my god they got the wrong person's cake! Somewhere Karen is having June's cake. And look what I'm holding. I think ancient man called that a cam..a camma…I can't recall. Where's my cell phone, is what I wanna know.

That's my natural hair color.

Img0077This was the front porch of my apartment. I mean, you can't see any of the front porch, but the point is this was my view. I lived in Silverlake, which was a trendy part of town, and every day I saw something interesting in my neighborhood. Plus? Pink.

I wonder what I did with that wig. I'd so wear it to work right now.

Okay, I have to go.




Health · June's stupid life


I have a pre-aura right now, which is a migraine thing, and what it means is the screen in front of me is barely visible and what I see instead is a bunch of wiggly lines, kind of like static on a TV. Soon no one will remember static on a TV.

The point is, I can't see to write and my head isn't that happy with me, either.

IMG_1919hole world be bluree today, mom

So, tell me, once I can see again, what you thought you were going to be when you grew up and what you eventually became. I fully intended to be a beautiful princess, and thought I was going to wear the cone hat all the time.

61056-princess-cone-hat-pink-acc2-1146x1539-1200x1200So far today I've cleaned cat barf and can't see out of one eye and I have to go to work anyway and try to proofread things. So, yeah. That happened. Princess happened. Thank god I'm beautiful. Prettymmmhmmm
Break me off a piece of that.

Anyway, you? How'd you turn out?

I hate everything · June's stupid life

The one where June hates everything

I had a migraine yesterday, and also I hate everything.

There was a wall? In my hallway? At my old house, the one I own? And I noticed the baseboards were all of a sudden a little, oh, squishy, and I figured well, that wall is on the other side of my shower. My tenants asked me to look at it, and they also asked for me to get the screen door hung straight, which could not be done because for some reason Daniel Boone planed it or whatever to hang it crooked and you get what you pay for.

So not only did a handyman have to go buy me a new, less-cute screen door, he also called to tell me that basically the shower is leaking into that wall every day, and the whole wall has to come down, and that will be $32939929393.

I called my homeowners insurance, and they will cover it but there is a deductible of eleven thousand million dollars, so.

Plus also it would appear that a mosquito bit my neck in the night and now it itches.

Plus also Ned is still out of town and his cat barfed all over the bedroom like she'd been out on a malt liquor binge. Really, she keeps eating MY cat's food, which cracks me up because since this is Ned's first cat, he goes to the vet and purchases special cat food there for eleven thousand million dollars, which coincidentally is my deductible, and anyway NedKitty's been eating that for years and she takes one look at the Purina from Rite Aid and goes, Fuck yeah.

She can't get enough of Purina from Rite Aid.

In other news, today at work if we wear pink we get to be in a drawing for a free massage. Apparently by wearing pink we will all cure AIDS or something. Seeing as I wear pink nine or eleven thousand million days a week, there is a real chance I could win a free massage.

Oh! And to add insult to injury, last night I got home and got all settled in on the couch and started watching the movie Closer where Jude Law is a cheaty-pants when I remembered I was out of goddamn cat food from Rite Aid, and instead of schlepping to Rite Aid I got up and put on my shoes and went to the pretentious liquor store near here, where they sell imported beer and beer from local breweries and caviar and also Purina cat food.

Then this morning I remembered I was also out of coffee. Son of a BITCH. So, migraine hangover, no Ned, no coffee, cat barf, nine million dollars owed in home repairs, a mosquito bite and I have to cure AIDS today. Ah, what the Christ.



P.S. NedKitty was eating my hair the whole time I wrote this.


...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · My pets

The one where June gets right to the point

IMG_1915If you had the world's cutest roommate, you wouldn't blog, either.

Besides, it was an adventure-packed weekend, although not in an Indiana Jones kind of a way.

IMG_1880On Friday, after outrunning a large boulder, I joined about 17 of the Alexes at a happy hour after work. I guess the part where I said it was a "happy hour" sort of already implied that it was after work.

The happy hour, which was after work, started at about 5:00 on Friday. After work. It was downtown, driving all the old men crazy–and I need to get over that line–at a a new brewery.

"It's right across from Mellow Mushroom," everyone kept telling me, and of course I drive to Mellow Mushroom and it was nowhere to be seen. If you're going to give me directions, you need to be literal. Don't say it's across from somewhere unless if I stand at that place I can see the locale you're referring to. I don't need to hear that maybe some of the new brewery's molecules might be intermingling with Mellow Mushroom's because they're relatively close. I need real directions.

Also, Ned lived downtown, driving all the old men crazy, which means I was downtown constantly, and in the three weeks since I haven't been doing that, all sorts of new stuff is being put up and it's looking really cool. "It'll get really great down there now that I'm gone." said Ned, who is headed out of town for work this week so I hope that also applies to my nethers. By the time he returns, there will be a garden and a swing in my girl parts.

Lescarpolette-or-the-swing-658x325Welcome to my parts. It now takes two men to operate it.

Oh my god I haven't even gotten past Friday's happy hour.

IMG_1881Poochie and her husband had cool footwear at the happy hour. If I were Poochie's shoe size, I'd have offed her years ago and stolen all those shoes.

The point is, before I got onto my girl bits and Poochie's feet and so on, is that I could not find the damn new brewery even though it was living downtown. Driving the June crazy. So what's a girl to do? I had to go into the midcentury-modern furniture store and ask the hot owner.

Now, if you've read my blog awhile, you KNOW how I've craved the hot midcentury-modern British furniture store guy, and since DAY ONE he has given me not even the time of day. Countless times I've slapped on pasties and lucite heels and marched in there, and zip.

Friday? Now that I'm living with someone?

"Well, helloooooo!" he said, brightening as I walked in. He stood right up, ended up WALKING ME partway to the new brewery, told me his whole plans for enlarging the store and also for throwing me forcefully against a midcentury couch and having his way with my new swing parts.

Seriously, he could not have been warmer, and life is unfair.

Oh my god I'm STILL not past happy hour. Jesus. So believe me when I say this weekend Ned and I exhausted ourselves moving furniture from room to room and schlepping things to the basement and making Tall Boy help us when I hurt my foot on a CHAIR that landed on my FEET and so on.

We also went with a group of people to dinner and to see Gone Girl on Saturday, which by the way was a pretty good movie. The damn movie was sold out at the first place, so we had to scream to another theater, where we had an hour to kill and I am sorry to tell you we all headed to a bakery where I had a banana pudding cupcake that had literally banana pudding inside of it and why so generous about the hips, June?

Really, I had a whole charming, full-of-details story to tell you about that night but that sums it up and also Gone Girl was good. Which I already said. Am I driving you crazy? Are you living downtown?

On Sunday, Ned and I hung pictures. It sounds low key but Ned decided we needed special hooks, and then there was the part where we had to make…decisions on how everything should go and in case you hadn't gleaned this, Ned may be more deliberate about decisions than I am. Mostly when I move into a place I hang pictures where nails are already in the wall from the last people.

IMG_1913So, magnolia paintings on the stairs. Ned is not as enamoured with my 1950s paint-by-numbers pictures as I am. "Have you ever noticed everything is vintage with you?" he asked, and has he met me?

IMG_1916Decidedly NOT vintage pie painting over the couch. Do you like our coffee table? The Tall Boy said if he comes over and we're still using that bin next time, he's going out and buying us a coffee table himself.

IMG_1908Ned has a friend who made several small, colorful drawings and we put them in the otherwise beige bathroom, which looks yellow here but isn't.

IMG_1898Years ago, Marvin framed vintage (vintage!!) wallpaper, and I hung it in the other bathroom, which might actually be my favorite room. I can't photograph the chandelier in there because it's a, you know, light, and keeps looking like a big bulb in photos. When I turn it off, it's too dark for you to see it.

Photography dilemmas, by June.

IMG_1911Next to this computer, I put a photo of my grandmother, and also a note she left with her important papers, that reads, "For when I die (and it's about time)."

IMG_1897My Saginaw picture is in the kitchen near the back door. I'd show you entire rooms but there is still CRAP everywhere. I mean, it's looking way more moved in, but then there'll be a drill on the kitchen counter.

IMG_1896See? Crap on the kitchen counter. I was coming up from the basement and Lu was extremely concerned. Edsel was being Edsel. oh happeee day! mom come up from dark place! mom! happeeeeee!

IMG_1920get ober you self. youu not that grate.

IMG_1909More pictures from my room, that seem a little…vintage-y.

IMG_1907I got Ned this picture for Christmas one year, and we hung it over our bed and now we worry it'll fall in the night and kill us. Also, I'm looking hot in my robe, eh?

Youuu not that grate.

IMG_1900Cool picture of Ned's grandfather, on the left. Next to my squirrel. Shut up. I love that squirrel. And it's not even vintage!

"Did you read The Right Dog for You?" asked Ned. "Did you put it down and run out and get Edsel?"

Poor maligned Edsel.

IMG_1890Eds confer with his patrun saynt. Oh saynt Francsis, how do Eds be less malined?

Edsel's such a muscle-y dog. It's like he's one of thoe people who spends all day at hot yoga or something.

All right, I have to go. After a whole weekend of working, I have to go to work, which will be relaxing. Maybe we'll have some kind of team-building, move-furniture day today. Oh, and before you go, here's this week's Purple Clover, about the gay bar.

Gloria Gaynorly, June

Freaky Friday · June's stupid life

Inch-of-my-life Freaky Friday

I'm running late of course again today, and really Nedding takes up a lot of my time. It's my new hobby. It's not a bad hobby as those things go, but I feel like knitting would not distract me till after 8:00 in the morning.

At any rate, here it is Friday and I remembered to bring you a Freaky Friday story, because I am organized within an inch of my life. It's brought to you by Pamela Soul Sister, who has read and commented here for 73 years.

Before I delve into her story, lemme put all these pictures up that I keep meaning to show you and never do. They are all very congruous and organized. Because organized within an inch of my life.

IMG_1755Ned in Peg's yard the day she gave us pizza. Ned went to NC State. Ned is a trifle obsessed with NC State things, like sports things, and boy, me too.

IMG_1697My work husband, Ryan, went to a lunch-and-learn at work, and ate the box lunch provided. Someone didn't show up for the lunch-and-learn, so here is Ryan having second lunch, inexplicably at my desk. I would like to tell you I did not eat all those chocolate-covered almonds but that would be a lie.

IMG_1803Another rare and unusual Eds with Blu sighting.

IMG_1836I feel like maybe I didn't get big enough dog beds for my poor curs. Look at Edsel, falling off his. Will rectify.

IMG_1846 2TinaDoris gave me housewarming Pop Tarts.

IMG_1828Ned at the hamburger place, where a kid acted the fool the entire time. He was like, 8, or maybe 15, or maybe not, but he was too old to be acting the fool. His stupid dad let him run in and out the door, and finally the stupid kid hit his face on the window and SCREAMED so much that the whole place fell silent. No one felt sorry for that bratty kid.

Okay, good. Desktop is clear. Onto Pamela Soul Sister, so to speak. PSS, you will notice Ned is right on top of you. We're having the same morning!


My first grownup apartment was a converted warehouse in downtown Brooklyn, NYC. Soon after moving in, my roommate and I would both hear all kinds of strange, un-attributable sounds at all hours of the day and night. Also, things would fall when no one was near. We were told that someone had died on the premises when it was a candy factory. So, we just assumed it was the spirit of that poor soul.

We tried to cleanse our space with sage and Florida water and such, but nothing worked. We frequented a Yoruba candle shop in the neighborhood and decided to call in some professionals. Two little old brown ladies dressed in white, Santeria priestesses, showed up…with sage and Florida water (um…we tried that)!. But they also brought with them The Gift. They told us that it was not the soul who died there that was with us, but several of my guardian angels. The most animated of the bunch was a Native American ancestor (they could tell he was Native American by his garb), who made it his mission to look after me. They said he was harmless, but just liked to make his presence known. They told me to talk to him and tell him that I appreciated his presence, but that he should quiet down and stop scaring us. 

I did as they instructed. It worked. The shenanigans stopped cold. 

Before they departed, they told me, "Oh, by the way…you have The Gift, too.  You can do what we do. You just need to develop your psychic muscle." Or some such words. 

A year or so later, I got a reading from a very renowned intuitive and he confirmed everything those ladies told me.

I've been using my powers for good ever since. Just kidding. I am purposefully not tapped in to that part of me…yet. OOOWEEOOO!

-Pamela Soul Sister-

Aging ungracefully · June's stupid life

Yeah, no

Ned and I went to Winston-Salem last night and saw a band play. This guy I briefly dated, who I've stayed friends with, was there, and put us on the list like we're important. The point is, I stayed out too late and we slept in. It was good to see that guy, and before you ask, "Didn't Ned mind seeing some ex of yours?" keep in mind he's friends with 9,000 of his exes and most of them are my Facebook friend at this point and I was really considering inviting them all to join me in an I, Too, Once Rode The Ned Train page.

I got in the shower first today, and when I got out, Ned asked if I felt the scald. Apparently when I flush the toilet downstairs I boil him like a lobster when he's in the shower.

"Oh, no, did you flush just to be mean?"

"YES. Goddammit! Did you really not feel it?" Ned was totally annoyed. I accused him of having an extremely low tolerance for pain, which he loves. "I didn't feel it because my tolerance is normal," I reminded him.

Anyway, I know I said remind me to tell you things, and what were they? Oh! I know one was about my student. I am supposed to keep her anonymous and I have, but you guys would love her. I asked if I could tell this story and she said, "Yeah, I don't care. I tell stories about you all the time, about how crazy you are and how you help me. Why can't you tell stories about me?"

How come everyone's stories always involve how crazy I am?

So, the other night, this man came over, because men are always coming over to talk to my student. She has some kind of man attractor or something, some kind of notice-me pheromone. I just sit there ignored. The old unnoticeable white lady.

The point is, this man was super smarmy and he was so ready to pick up on my student. He works as a manager at the local grocery store, and he asked her, "Do you ever go to the Food Lion? I manage the one on Whoo De Hoo Street."

My student sat up straighter in her chair. As calm as you please, she said, "You might be calling it Food Lion, but you know that's the Ghetto Lion, over there."

Oh my god, the Ghetto Lion. I will call it nothing else from now on. The Ghetto Lion. I don't even know if that's true, because I never frequent that particular Food Lion, maybe because it's in a bad neighborhood. So she's probably accurate. And you'd think that guy woulda slunk away after that but he kept trying, with his low meat prices and two-for-one cracker offers. Whatever with that guy.

What my student did NOT give me permission to do was show you the picture I took of the sidelong dismissive glance she gave that guy and I wish you could see that because you would wither FOR him.

Okay, I said I wasn't even gonna write today, because tired, and it was allllll fun till that alarm went off six minutes after I went to bed.

Talk to you tomorrow when I've slept like a normal person. Well. "Normal."

Tiredly, June

June's stupid life · Money

As perfectly as possible

I just paid off my car. Just now. Eight seconds ago. And I was so excited to do it, then of course the computer was crawling and it took forever. I like how I've gone, in the last five years, from being able to get on my computer and pay a bill with no stamp or check to fill out or walk to a mailbox, only to be pissed that it took me four or five minutes to sit here and wait for the computer.

Still. Annoying. And yet? Yay! Car is paid off! Dscf1124

I bought it August 15, 2008. And it's taken six years and two months to do.

But it is. Paid for. It's the first car I've ever purchased new and paid off without Marvin going ahead and trading it in for something else first. I feel very accomplished. I paid for most of this car with just one income, or when I was laid off, with no income to speak of.

So that's exciting. And it makes me $273 richer every month. Of course, now it's acting like it won't start up, but that's beside the point. Marvin told me to try a new things called a…what was it? "Battery." Oh, men and their funny car talk.

I have to go, because this GODDAMN computer is CRAWLING today and it took me half an hour to type this and download this photo. Since we moved into this house, our ATT uVerse has been sorely lacking. Also, I can no longer type a capital (shit) u on this keyboard. I am not kidding. The keyboard won't type it anymore. It also won't let me use the quote key if I press Shift from the right side of the keyboard. What is it Anne Lamott says about when everything falls apart? Let me go Google it for an hour.

Okay, I haven't found the quote from her I want yet, but this one killed me:

“I smiled back at her. I thought such awful thoughts that I cannot even say them out loud because they would make Jesus want to drink gin straight out of the cat dish.”

Okay, here's the one I was looking for:

"…when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born–and that this something needs for you to be distracted so that it can be born as perfectly as possible.”

Let's hope so. In the meantime, I have to go bitch slap everyone at ATT small u Verse.

2014-10-14 22.47.03_resizedmom be scarry

P.S. Remind me to tell you the funny story I have about my student when my computer is not CRAWLING LIKE IT'S 1997.

P.P.S. That white dick Ned calls a cat has gone into the bathroom and unfurled all the toilet paper. She's 14 and a half. Show some decorum. God.

I am high-maintenance · June's stupid life


I HATE the new bathroom rug, in case you've been mulling it over during your tea time. "I wonder how June's liking that new bathroom rug?" Answer: I do not. It's too fluffy and it never gets dry, which someone here told me was the problem with that rug. It's like you're stepping onto the back of a wet bear whenever you get out the tub.

The day I was looking for throw rugs, there was also an Oprah's-close-friend-Nate Berkus rug that I considered, and it was even on sale. It was the Nate Berkus Tsunami Sale or something. You'll be swept away by these deals. And I said, nah, this fluffy one's cheaper and so fluffy and I really can't wait to step on a wet bear each day in a fluffy manner.

So there's that update, and you're welcome.

In the meantime, listen to this stupidity. Remember how I had three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves at my old house? I really didn't feel like moving them, and they're so large and cumbersome and the 1926 rooms here are smaller than my old 1950 rooms, so I left the bookshelves with the tenants, wrote it into the lease and everything. Then we got here and said, "God, we really don't have enough bookshelves."

Ned and I took EIGHT boxes of books to the used bookstore place, where they'll buy your books, and I took countless more to the charity box, and we still must have 500 books here.

Yesterday at work they sent out an announcement. They're selling six-foot-tall bookshelves, white, for $10. So guess who owns two MORE bookshelves now? The other thing is that we want to put a dog gate between the dining room and living room, but the entryway is six feet wide. Who did they build this house for, the wide lady at the 1926 circus?

In fact, I can see where there used to be doors there, between the living and dining rooms, and I'll bet you anything they were French doors, doors that smoked Gauloises and wore berets and ate scrambled ouefs and stalked black and white cats thinking they were skunks and so on. How pretty would it have been to have those French doors? Plus, any time we wanted to keep the dogs out, click! We could shut our pretty French doors. Loosen up that pretty French door. Let me pour you a good long drink. Oooo baby don't you hesitate.

Rod Stewart and Pepe LePeu had a lot in common, with the lasciviousness.

Tonight's the night, baybeee, mmmm, mmm, mmm! Oh, mon cheri! Gonna bee all right! Mmmm, mmmm, mmm!

I have never found French men to be hot. They kind of creep me out. Too obvious or something.

Oh my god, my tangents are ridiculous at this point. What I was saying was, when the Tall Boy was here the other day, he pointed out that we could put a bookshelf IN that huge entryway, so then we wouldn't have to get such a long ridiculous pet gate. I love it when someone comes over and solves your problem like that.

But who has suggestions for what else we can do? We don't have enough closet space, particularly coat closet space, of which we have none. What should we get to house our coats and scarves and so on? I'm repurposing all my drawers, so to speak, and using one dresser for linens, and I'm no longer able to have one drawer for underthings and one for socks. It's all going together. I wear socks about twice a year, so why do they get their own drawer anyway?

So, that's where I am today. That's where my brain is. I know it's fascinating, but it's what's on my mind.

IMG_1838Lillee say relax, mom. Loosen up pretty french gown.

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

The one where nothing’s ready

Other than the sad state of my urinary tract, living with Ned has been pretty delightful. In the morning, he is my alarm, as he gets up before I do, and by the time he wakes me, the pets have been fed, the dogs have been let out, and he makes coffee.

I like little slavey Ned.

Also, I have had stupid amounts of salad in the past two weeks, and I've lost a few pounds. Which I know worries you, because I'm so small already. But also I've cooked! I know! I made salmon, and I made spaghetti, and yesterday I made eggs. I mean, I didn't make them in my body and shoot them out. But I cooked the eggs of some fowl somewhere who probably has a terrible life.

Go, me!

Anyway, yesterday we had our first official get-together, which I did not plan but rather took on a life of its own. Nothing is ready yet, and in fact I forgot to put soap in the guest bathroom and now everyone was unsanitary. But it started with The Other Copy Editor, who doesn't even WORK with me anymore, saying she wanted to stop by, as she lives half a mile away. I said okay, cool! But nothing's ready yet.

But then I told that to Tina Doris, who said, "But I've said all along I want to come sage your house! I'm coming over, too!" Okay, I said. Nothing's ready, I said.

Then my coworker Alex 3484939332 heard about it, and said she was coming too. And then the Other Copy Editor said, I'm bringing my "husband," okay?

The Other Copy Editor talked about this alleged husband of hers for MONTHS–months!!–before any of us at work saw him socially. He was always "busy" with "medical school." We were convinced her husband was George Glass, and that The Other Copy Editor went back to her lonely house every night and looked at her cardboard cutout of a man.

But then she started bringing this "husband" around, and he is wonderful, and I hope she went on Yelp and gave the escort service several stars.

"Hey, you know, the Tall Boy has been asking to come see the place since Day One," said Ned. "You should ask him, too."

NOTHING IS READY. Have I mentioned that? But call the Tall Boy I did, because I like the Tall Boy, and I said to him, hey, you're a man. Can you help Ned schlep a huge heavy desk upstairs so it's not in the middle of the dining room like an asshole? He said sure. I told himk nothing is ready yet.

CrowdMy plan was to host everyone on my front porch, because NOTHING IS READY, but it was rainy and 60 degrees out there. So we went into the living room, where nothing is ready, and used a Rubbermaid bin as a coffee table, where I served snacks.

IMG_1848Everyone brought us little housewarming presents, which was sweet. TinaDoris was the last to get there, and she forgot the sage. "Are you guys gonna…get a coffee table?" she asked, trying not to be appalled. We all laughed, because we'd all just said we should use the Rubbermaid bin forever. Start a new trend.

IMG_1855Do you like the laundry hamper as side table? I think I'm really spearheading a new movement. Double your furniture's use. In fact, this hamper served as a table, a, you know, hamper, AND a dog gate. Edsel was beside himself to come in, but I didn't trust either dog to leave the snacks on the bin alone.

IMG_1858But everyone felt sorry for my stupid dogs, and eventually they got to visit. Edsel was his usual ludicours self, acting like he's never had human affection before.

IMG_1865Lu lounged.

And before I have to hear it from you people, it was a dark rainy afternoon, and the flash on my iPhone hasn't worked in years. Ned got a new Samsung Galaxy S 5, which takes great pictures, but of course we can't figure out how to get those pictures to me.

Shut up. Did I ever say I was Pioneer Woman? I did not. I take the Pie out of Pioneer.

Anyway, eventually people wanted a tour, and Ned's old desk was in the middle of the hall upstairs like an asshole for Tall Boy to help move, so that was pretty. We all wedged past it and looked at half-done rooms. Although my room is coming along.

Photo on 10-13-14 at 8.17 AMRight? It's, like, practically a room now, I think that condo is going. NedKitty has one, too, and this one is falling apart and takes up so much space. The cats are getting along well enough that I think they can share one condo. I mean, NedKitty's blog may say something different.

IMG_1812"fuk udder catz. get off condow"–excerpt from NedKitty's blog "Wite Cats Soopreem."

My point is, eventually everyone wanted a tour, so we walked all arond and headed to the back yard, which really is fabulous.

IMG_1815 IMG_1819it really do be

We were all admiring the St. Francis and Buddha sculpture back there, and everything, when I noticed Tallulah's conspicuous absence, Edsel was just delighted to be with all of us, but Lu…"Tallulah!" I called.



And right then I knew. I DASHED into the house, TORE over the laundry-hamper fence, STAMPEDED into the living room…

…to see Tallulah just finishing up the last of the snacks. She'd hoovered them all down in a minute.

And that is when I shot her.



P.S. And we forgot to get Tall Boy to help Ned move his desk.

June's stupid life · Photo essays

I’ve been looking so long at these pictures of you. And your minty rope.

I found two CDs with my initials on them, and seeing as I haven't released a CD in ages, and should really get on that live album, I was intrigued.

It was a whole mess of pictures from five or six years ago, that were on my old computer, the one I punched. Marvin must have somehow saved the pictures and I never looked at them.

Travel with me through time, won't you?

WowHi! We have no chemistry!

I adore Marvin, to this day I do. And dear god, I wish for him some woman who can't keep her mitts off him. We look like we're posing at Olan Mills.

I like his hair that way, though. He looks like a little spider monkey.

DadDad, with a gift he just wrapped for my Aunt Mary. Good paper.

038Apparently I was spinning a yarn.

I'll give you a moment to stitch up your sides.

063My Aunt Mary, smoking a birthday candle. As you do.

018Just when you got your sides stitched up…

024Let's say you're new here, and have no idea who this is. Dear New Person: Once I roomed with the devil. Love, June.

042Did I need more fiber? What was up?

001My pal Charlie. This makes me sad and happy at the same time.

028Was completely duped by the ears. Who wouldn't have been duped by the ears?

003I laughed at this for 700 minutes. This is quintessentially my life. My life plus a blue whiteboard. I took it with me in this move and put it on the fridge, and just the other night, Ned was all, "Is this yours? Where'd it come from?"

There's a whole section of my life Ned is oblivious to.

Okay, one more.

008Good luck trying to get this image out of your mind. When you shut your bathroom mirror, this image will be behind you.



Freaky Friday · June's stupid life

Freaky Fleeta Friday

I keep forgetting to tell you something cool. You know my coworker, who when I talk about her on this blog I call Fleeta, and I came up with that name using the random name generator? And we were all, Fleeta. Pfft. Yeah, there's a name. Remember that?


Well, recently our pal Fleet (that's her casual, we-know-her-so-well nickname) went back home for a visit, and she asked some of the older relatives to tell her stories about the family, stories from way back, so she'd know her history.

Turns out? Her great grandmother? Fleeta. HER GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S NAME WAS FLEETA!

How weird is that? Out of all the names the random name generator came up with. And who ever even HEARD of that name, ever?

So that's today's first Freaky Friday story, and here's a bonus story, from an actual reader, who wanted me to give her a cool name, so I will call her Phleeta.

Oh my god I love myself.


This doesn't seem like much of a story compared to some others you've had but here goes.

About forty years ago we were living in a new house in a new subdivision in Knoxville, Tennessee. There were a lot of creaking noises at night; we were told by the builder that new houses did that as they settled. One dark night I found myself suddenly wide awake andI felt someone was in the room. I sat up and I saw a small figure in a white gown at the foot of the bed. I couldn't see the face clearly but the white gown shown in the darkness. I thought it was my six year old daughter and I whispered her name, twice.  Then I remembered, she doesn't have a white nightgown anymore. The figure slowly dissolved and I lay there with my heart pounding. I knew there had been something there.

I didn't tell anyone what I had seen. I didn't want to frighten my small children and I didn't think anyone else would believe me.

Seven years later we're living in a different house, different city.My now 13 year old daughter heard me telling this story to a neighbor and her mouth fell open. She said that in that same house she had been lying awake late one night (child was a night owl and always had trouble sleeping) and she saw a man and a woman in a red dress dancing down the hall. She said, "I thought it was you and Dad at first but then……I realized it wasn't. I never told anyone because I didn't think anyone would believe me."

She's now 46 and she still swears this is true.  I have no explanation of why there would be ghosts in a new house. The subdivision was on the site of an old farm but that's all I know. We moved a year later
and I've always regretted not contacting the new owners to see if they ever saw anything.  My daughter and I still talk about it occasionally and it haunts (ha!) us to this day.

Phleeta, but give me a cool name if you use this

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

June brings good things to life

I only have 10 minutes while my root dye sets in–I'm trying to do things like my own roots to save money since this move. Although we'll be RICH soon, because we're saving so much living here together, at first I have laid out what the official money people call a shitload of cash.

I also waited three weeks to order contacts to save the $127 it costs to get them. For weeks I've worn glasses every day, and I look not unlike Margaret from Dennis the Menace. Appealing.

My last pair of contacts I'd saved for a special occasion, and that special occasion was this past Saturday, when I danced at the gay bar with some friends and some complete-stranger lesbians once my friends got all tired and middle-aged and sick-of-Cher on me. Margaret from Dennis the Menace has no place in a gay bar, so I went glassesless.

Anyway, I ordered contacts, finally, Tuesday, and my contacts guy called Wednesday. He and I get along like peas and carrots.

"How we doin'?" he asked when he called.

"Well, I'm doing fine, and I don't care how you're doing," I told him. He'd ordered my contacts to come in fast, as a surprise to me, and I cannot wait to be a normal member of society today and not Daria.

670px-Cosplay-As-MTV's-Daria-Step-1-Version-2Daria's kind of hot, really.

Only five minutes to go on the hair, then I have to rinse it out. So far I've covered a lot of crucial info.

Here is another important story: My landlord, who is gay but he's really more pleated khakis gay, and I will call him Gaylord from now on, is obsessed with complex light fixtures. Almost nowhere in this house can you just, oh, switch on a light. Oh-ho-hoooo, don't be silly. Whoever heard of doing something so plebeian as being able to flick a switch up? That is so 2011.

When I'm not cooking my hair, I will show you the chandelier in the second bathroom, and the world's fanciest light in the bedroom that you need a remote for and a four-digit code to operate. "I just want to turn on a goddamn light," said Ned as he punched various keys on the control panel to our back porch light.

So, my office, here, has a–wait for it–fancy light fixture, and Gaylord said, "Oh, the bulbs on that are really hard to find, so I don't use the overhead, I just always used it as a ceiling fan."

….! I mean, HOW much did you pay for this thing? Because it LOOKS like it cost a million dollars. And there is one–one!!!!–outlet in here, at the back of the room, so I could plug two lamps in way over yonder and have the rest of the room be dark. Perhaps I could bring people in for questioning.

So I insisted we find bulbs for this effing light. And Ned, because I am charming and persuasive, agreed. He had to get on a ladder and unscrew the elaborate top to this light in here. Each light bulb has its own little home in this wrought-iron cage, like a go-go dancer from 1912. Ned lifted an old teensy bulb from the fixture.

Then he went to Lowe's and got a similar one, got back up on the ladder, and realized it was the wrong size.

"Son of a BITCH," said Ned. "Where's the receipt?" Ned asked me while I was crouched in front of the litter box with a Lowe's bag. "um…" I began.

"Oh GODDAMMIT," said Ned. "Well. Okay. These bulbs weren't that expensive. It's okay that you covered the receipt in cat poop, because you are so generally charming most of the time. But let's go back and try to find some bulbs that fit."

So Ned handed me the teensy bulb, and as we drove, I did an Uncle Fester impression, and I also said I had an idea and held the light bulb over my head, and of course there was the inevitable guy-with-testicular-cancer impresh, and finally we were back at Lowe's.

And that is when I got out of the car and dropped the bulb onto the pavement.

The end.