I am berserk · I hate everything · June's stupid life

That’s So Raven

Yesterday, I screamed downtown to get up with my friend Jo, who was making an appearance at the local bookstore. Since it was Shop Locally Saturday or whatever, she'd been asked to hang at the bookstore in the afternoon as kind of a draw: Come to our bookstore and meet local authors! Then buy a bunch of books and get the hell out. That kind of thing.

Before I went there, I just happened to find myself in Sephora, where I bought something for Ned's niece, and possibly something for myself. (My Aunt Kathy finds it physically impossible to purchase a gift for something without then getting something for herself, as well. You'll often hear, "And I bought one for me, too!")

6a00e54f9367fb883401157129f7a0970c-800wiAunt Kathy, with the earrings and necklace she also bought herself. Poor mom got bupkis.

The point is, what I got for myself was four chubby sticks, which sounds a lot dirtier than it is. They're a big fat lip pencil, by Clinque, and they're sheer and light and wonderful. Sephora was selling four of them for $19.

Was beside self.

After that exciting purchase, I stormed into the bookstore to find Jo at a table with my friend The Poet, and a man. Naturally, I entered talking. That should be my epitaph. She entered talking. She left the same way.

"Look what I got!" I bellowed, plopping into my chair. I whipped out my chubby sticks, which again, not that dirty.

"Ooo! Are those from Clinique?" asked Jo, who despite being a celebrated author is as shallow as me.

"Yes!" I said, getting each one out so we could admire it. I looked at the man at the table and figured him for not being a cross-dresser, so I said, "Look, I know you don't know from Clinique Chubby Sticks." I framed my Carmel Curve lips with my hands. "But these lipsticks are the shit, Bub. They really are."

I went on like that for, oh, another five minutes before I finally found the wherewithal to ask the man at our table what he did. Turns out he just wrote another book of poetry, about cats.

So, okay, cool. A poet. Like my friend, The Poet.

Later, I got home and told Ned about my afternoon. "Wait," said Ned. "What was the guy's name you sat with?"

"Fred? Fred Chappell!" I was impressed with myself for remembering.

"June. He was North Carolina's poet laureate for years. I would've been so nervous and starstruck," he said, wide-eyed.





What if he writes a poem about Clinique Chubby Sticks, though? It'd be like I'm his muse.


June's stupid life · Sports

Listening to Ned watch sports. Not for the faint of heart.

I'm upstairs, listening to Ned watch football. When Ned has sports on TV on Saturday afternoons, it totally reminds me of the TV room where my father would be all weekend. Although I have never heard my father refer to the other team as "a bunch of sugarbritches," as Ned just did. In truth, it's kind of an excellent nonswear, other than the homophobia. I feel like men watching sports do not check themselves for homophobia.

Anyway, when my dad watched sports, people's mothers were often being called into question. One would often be romantically entwined with one's mother, or perhaps one would be the son of a not-very-nice woman. There was also a swear about the football players engaging in an activity that was first mentioned in Sodom and Gomorrah, so here we are back to homophobia.

Well, now Ned has offered to fornicate with the players; I just heard him. Now he's suggesting they go fornicate with themselves.

Goodness. Who knew football was such a sex-filled game?

Anyway, I just popped in to say hi. I'm off to buy root dye and more over-the-counter UTI meds. Don't ask. I mean, I imagine you already have the answer. One would think I'm a football player.

Now Ned has sent an entire football team to hell. I don't think that's very nice. However, none of his swears comes near the "sugarbritches" line, and I wish it'd make a comeback.

What the hell is a "first down"? Is that sexual? I kind of hope so.

Okay, I'm off. I think I'll talk about our good deeds project for this blog on Monday, when people are actually back and reading this. Right now there are four of you who know Ned just called someone not just an idiot, but a fornicating idiot. Seriously, do they bring condoms, these football players? It seems like they'd need to. Do their condoms have their team, you know, pictures on them? What's that called, when you're on the Indian team and you have a picture of an Indian all over the place? Other than racist. Is it called a logo?

Now Ned is up here talking to his cat. "Hello, sweet cat," he just said to her. he kisses his CAT with that mouth.

"This has been a very fun game so far!" said Ned. Sounds like it.

I'll pick up some UTI meds for the football team, too.

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life

Ned’s Carb Count

IMG_0213We are gross.

Unlike the rest of you, I celebrated Thanksgiving yesterday. I know! June's blog. Come for the exotic adventures.

Did you notice what that last paragraph has? Did you? Does it have…a capital U?!?! Keyboard, replaced! Thank you again, Faithful Reader Happy.

FR Happy came to my party last weekend, and not only did she bring me a new keyboard, she also brought gifts for each of the pets. At the end of the night, I went to the bed where everyone had thrown their coats, and there was the shopping bag, with the toys. I decided to put them in a closet so no one would start playing with them right then, as it was already 2:15 a.m.

You can imagine how my skeleton did not at all leap clean out my skin when Lily burst out of the bag. Turns out? The cat toys? Catnip. Lily was already in there on a bender. When I dumped her out the bag, she was like The Dude. "Heyyyy, mannn, you just dumped me out of a bag, man. That bag really tied the room together. Guess the cat's out of the bag, man. heh."

Anyway, naturally I forgot all about the toys till Wednesday, when I got them all out, and man! The cats were tumbling all over each other, and eventually brought their drug-laced toys in their lips like prey all the way downstairs, and everyone had big I'm-high eyes. Meanwhile, Tallulah managed to steal Edsel's toy and had both on her bed with her, and finally Iris got her toy close enough to the dog gate so that Talu stole that, too, and by the end of the night Tallulah was on Hoarders and also a new show, Growlers.

Maybe I need a show of my own: My Dog's a Dick. June Gardens' Dick Dog. Tuesdays at 8:00.

Coincidentally, just as I wrote that, Tallulah started barking outside, in the yard, so I ran down there and called her, and I watched her just stand in the yard looking at me, unmoving, while I called. You know how they say dogs just want to please you?


I finally lured her in with a treat. So I basically rewarded her jerky behavior. I'm thinking, as an adjunct to my photography seminars, of also having dog obedience school right here at my house. What say you? June's Dick-Dog Training Academy.

Anyway, so it was Thanksgiving. Ned and I went to his father's house for Thanksgiving, and I guess the part where I added "Ned and" was unnecessary, seeing as it woulda been weird if I'd have gone there alone. "Oh, he's watching sports. Is there pie?"

IMG_0159Most of Ned's family was there, including his sister-in-law, who is hilarious and you would love her. She is our people. Also, I've stolen two lines from her in this life so far, and plan to steal more. I always TELL her, but never give her credit. June Dick-Dog/Dick-Person Training Academy. Join now and get the first lesson free!

IMG_0226Ned's stepmother is also our people, and I know it's boring to keep saying that, but she is. She's not lampshade-on-your-head like, say, I am, but she's hilarious and also surprisingly mellow given there were 394939493 people eating at her house. We got leftovers, enough leftovers for 20 people that I will plow through by Sunday, and our leftover turkey came in tin foil shaped into a swan. You know what turkey at my house would come wrapped in? Ptomaine.

IMG_0229Ned's sister got up at 4:00 yesterday and ran a 5K. She didn't see me there because I won the thing, and was already done when she crossed the finish line. Then I dashed right over and played the flute with my modern jazz ensemble, at a brunch restaurant. June's blog. Come for made-up establishments like "brunch restaurants."

Oh, also, beside Ned's beautiful sister, there, is Ned's brother, who is the nicest person on earth. Unfortunately for him, he's a computer person, and any time anyone's phone or laptop or TV or appendix acts weird, they call him and he's never ever mean, as I would be. I'd be answering my phone all, "what."

IMG_0164Oh, look, there's Ned's bother helping Ned with his phone. Ned's dad is waiting his turn, like he's on hold to AppleCare. Look how handsome Ned is. Is it just me? He's so cute I can't stand it.

IMG_0219Ned's niece is ridiculously adorable all the time, and yesterday she was 100% over me. ONE HUNDRED PERCENT. She seemed indifferent to my photographing her every move, though, which is more than I can say for the rest of Ned's family, who wanted me and my phone dead by sunset.

IMG_0205 IMG_0197I don't want you to worry yourself sick, but Ned hurt the inside of his mouth and kept touching the spot all day long and also rewarded everyone with this pained expression. I told Ned it's like he went to one of those how-to-endure-torture trainings that Navy Seals go to. I have no idea if Navy Seals really go to how-to-endure-torture school, but it seems like they would. I mean, just wearing navy alone is torture, if you ask me.

When I was a kid, my grandmother bought most of my clothes for me. I'd always gravitate toward the purples and pinks, but she thought those were tacky colors, and every item of clothing I had was navy blue, dark green or red. I will never sport a pair of navy corduroys again, as long as I have free will.

IMG_0237This niece ALSO got up and ran a 5K yesterday, and I don't understand how everyone wasn't dead by 5:00, but they were all just fine. Ned's niece just got her driver's permit, so Ned took her in his car, and she drove him around the neighborhood. They ended up finding a playground, so they got out and swung for awhile.

I love Ned.

Oh, but listen to this. So, it was dinnertime, and everyone went into the kitchen and filled their plate, and I barreled in ahead of everyone and won't you attend June's School of Dick soon? The point is, I got back to the table and was so happy to have my sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy and oh right, turkey. Oh, I was happy. Oh, and a roll! Because that's how I roll.

Ned sat next to me with his plate of one slice of white meat, some asparagus spears and a salad. "You good on carbs, then, June?"

And that is when I stabbed Ned with a pickle fork. The good news is, when he does something that pisses me off, I can always tell all of you about it, and until he starts his Ned's Sports & Weather blog, all my bad behavior goes under-reported.

I've droned on for a lifetime, but I have to tell you about going to Target to pick up dog food on Thanksgiving night, and what a pleasure that was. Also, we're going to have our Go Out and Do Good Deeds project again this year, so look for that announcement soon.

IMG_0161"Instead of celcbrating the holidays, you really ought to think about eating less and exercising more. Love, Ned."

Dooce envy · I am berserk · June's stupid life


For almost eight years now, I've had a blog that I write on pretty much every day, and then after I write, I get comments. I might have been really interested in how many comments at got at first, although I don't recall being all that interested in numbers, per se. I just liked it when someone said something funny, or insightful, or whatever. I also liked it when anyone said things like "per se."

I was never that caught up in how MANY comments, is my point.

That is why it was so weird last night when I went slightly viral on Purple Clover's Facebook page and sort of lost my mind.

Okay, "viral" is a strong term.

But, as you know because I never stop plugging it, I write for this website called Purple Clover, which is aimed at women who are, you know, my age. They put out new articles every Sunday night, and it's nearly impossible to leave comments there.

However, they have a page on Facebook. I don't look at it all the time, but occasionally I'll notice they'll run a column I've written. They reran the one about candy from my childhood, and they ran the one about how I love the gay bar. The one about when poor Marvin left me at that marathon got all sorts of controversial comments. It was weird to see total strangers weigh in on Marvin, and on my mental state, and on who of us was the horrific person.

The point of all this is, last night I was looking at Facebook and I saw the article I wrote a few months back, the one about being polite. It's titled something like. "Will You Kindly Shut the Hell up?" (oh, that damn loweracase u. Dear Happy: Guess who spent last night looking at her numbers and not on her new keyboard?)

Screen Shot 2014-11-26 at 8.17.12 AM
The article as it appears on Facebook has a photo and also introductory sentences, which are an excerpt from the article. They chose two lines I wrote about going to restaurants when there's a large party right next to me, and how annoying that is.

Oh my god, the Likes and comments just flew in. Some people clearly did not read the article at all, just the intro sentences, and they were all "She should just stay home. She is a horrid person!" Then other people were all, "Clearly no one ever invites you anywhere and you are bitter!"

The people who didn't actually read the article reminded me of when my cousin Katie was little and I found her "book" report on gymnastics. The book was right there, cleverly titled Gynmastics, and had a picture of a girl in a leotard doing a back bendy thing on a bar. You can tell I was way into gymnastics as a child.

The point is, Katie's book ("book") report was also there, and no one has more obviously just looked at a cover and written a report.

Gymistics is hard. (She spelled it "gymistics.") To do gymistics, you need a yellow leotard. Gymistics hurts your back.

I remember the teacher had written a note, gently inquiring if Katie had actually read the book.

That's what those commentors reminded me of.

The point is, Ned came home from work and I was on the couch with my phone, like one of those people who endlessly sits on her couch and stares into her phone. "What are you doing?"

"My article on politeness went up on Purple Clover's Facebook, and in one hour I've gotten more than 200 Likes."

You see what I mean about "viral" being a strong term? If I write something on Facebook about my dog, I can get nearly that many Likes in a hour. For some reason, I discussed this with my coworker Fleeta once, about how if you want a lot of Likes, put something up about a dog. She said with black people, it's God. Put something up about how God has done something for you, and your Likes will go through the roof.

White people=dog

Black people=God

Which reminds me of something that gets on my nerves. How come if you're trying to prove how not racist you are, you always have to use the color purple? Not like you're Celie, I mean that people always say, "I don't care what color you are: white, black, purple, you still…" People always go for purple. Okay, sometimes they also say green. How come no one ever says, "I don't care if yo're white, black, eggshell…" "White, black, maroon…"

I guess maroon is almost purple. See? It's impossible to not pick purple.

MY POINT IS, you could not drag me from that computer last night. I sat there like an idiot, while perfectly cute Ned was right there to make out with, staring and refreshing and wasting my time arguing in my head with complete strangers who don't know anything about me other than two lines on Facebook.

The internet, man. It's a weird place. Doesn't matter if you're black, white or mauve.

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

If I get bats, Ima need a belfry, just because that’d be funny.

IMG_0137I'm not showing you this for any reason other than I like this picture of Fleeta.

I have many stupid things on my mind today, and here they are in my usual linear fashion.

1. I like bats. I do. I think they're cool. I don't understand why people get so weird about them. "They have rabies!" Yeah, so do dogs sometimes. We don't screech and cover our heads over dogs. And the get-tangled-in-your-hair thing is a myth, too. I don't know. I think they're cute, and when you see one wobbling overhead I always get excited about it.

Sometimes I'd be allowed to scream back over to Pal From MA's/AK's house to swim one more time after dinner, like I hadn't already been swimming all day and chlorinating my hair. The point is, we'd float in the pool and watch the bats fly overhead in the dusk, and her parents would be inside playing piano, and it could be this happy memory that makes me enjoy a bat.

Maybe I'll start raising bats. Mosquito problem, gone. Also, I need more pets.

5. I'm at the doing-stuff saturation point, and I'm supposed to go out again tonight. I can't see that I'm really going to do it, though. I went out Friday with my Prettiest Coworker in the World, Molly, and on Saturday I had 49,000 people over, then yesterday I had my student and afterward I got up with one of Ned's oldest friends, who is the nicest person. He was in town for work and called Ned for dinner. I'd met him before, at Ned's class reunion, the one where Ned did not get at all drunk.

Do you remember that? Ned's class reunion was a three-night affair, and one of the events was held at this Elk's Club, a place I'd always wanted to go into because it's this cool 1960s Jetsons space-age modern-looking place, and I knew men went in there and drank glasses of beer all day, and it was just such a Michigan-seeming environment that it totally appealed.

That was a brief sentence.

So I finally got to go into the space-age glass-of-beer place and I told Ned to go see his old friends; I'd find stuff to do. Ned would come check on me periodically, and I swear to you one minute he was a normal person, and 20 minutes later he was Mr. Gower in Pottersville. Apparently shots were had, a thing Ned does not do.

I have no idea how I got off on this tangent. The point is, Ned's friend was here and it was great to see him.

But after my student and visiting with Ned's friend, I also had to write next week's Purple Clover column (here's this week's) and basically did not unwind till 10:00 and went to bed at 10:01.

Now tonight I'm supposed to drive to Winston-Salem and go to a happy hour and Thursday is Thanksgiving and I just want some quiet fucking time. Is that too much to ask? Quiet fucking time.

9. Charlie's grandma saw my boobs.

A few months back, Charlie sent a text to his friends, and as time goes by I realize how FEW friends he asked this of, but he said that people see him naked all the time, people he doesn't even really know, and to lessen his humiliation, he wondered if we'd be willing to send him pictures of an unclothed part of ourselves. Seeing as I'm an exhibitionist and I have great boobs, I immediately shot off a photo to him, which somehow when he was showing photos of his new art to grandma, she saw.

What irritates me is she wasn't all, "Heyyyy! Stellar front porch! Who is that? {nudge}"

So that happened.

I guess that's all I have to tell you. Ned wanted me to tell you all about our weather again, and there is a reason Ned does not have a blog. Ned's Sports & Weather Blog, by Ned. RSS feed, now! (He also wanted me to mention to you all that we go through a lot of cat litter. Does Ned's blog have a fan page, or…?)

I'll talk at you later. I'm glad we had this time together. Let's be sure and so something social soon, because quiet fucking time.



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

You know it’s a good party when someone leaves behind their LSD.

IMG_2104On Saturday, I had my dress-as-a-character-from-a-song party, and next party I have will be more succinctly titled, cause what a pain in the ass it's been to write that every time.

Kit came walking in behind her Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds figure, which is now here because Kit is a huge drunk. Actually, she opened a second vintage shop in Winston-Salem and Saturday was opening day, and she STILL showed up, and I'd just like to mention for every yahoo who was all, "I can't come. I have plans to be depressed that night," KIT CAME AFTER HER STORE'S GRAND OPENING.

IMG_0129Peg came as Jingle Bells, and SHE just had a quadruple bypass! Also, where the Sam Hill did she get those boots? Did she mug Leiutenant uhura? Oh, goddammit with this keyboard and its lack of a capital u.

Yes, my neighbor, fmr., Peg, of the norovirus Pegs, answered my call a week or so ago. "Hey, Peg! I'm having a party and seeing as you are the last human on planet earth without an email, I thought I'd call and invite you like it's 1989! The lost tribes of Papua New Guinea emailed to tell me you're a loser. What's new, anyway?"

And that is when she told me, oh, I had an emergency quadruple bypass a month ago. Other than that nothing.

Don't you hate it when someone tells you stuff like that right after you gave them a bunch of shit?

"Hey, fattie, have a muffin to match your top! Wow!"

"Oh, heh, yeah. My treatments for my incurable disease have made me retain water."

I guess one could, you know, abstain from jerky comments, but that's the silly talk.

IMG_0149Speaking of my keyboard, Faithful Reader Happy came as Blackbird, and she gave me a NEW KEYBOARD. Which, Dear Happy. Guess whose ass is dragging and who did not hook that up yet? Was it your old pal Lieutenant small uhura, over here? Captain, I'm getting something, but it's not a capital u.

BeelzebubAs you know from yesterday's post, Dick Whitman was a devil in a blue dress, and after we speculated on it heavily, we finally looked at his dress tag, and if DW were a girl, he'd be a size 16. I mean, he IS a size 16 as a man in a woman's dress. He's too big for Buffalo Bill's skin suit. "Was she a great big fat person?"

Buffalo Bill. Making size-14 women feel bad since 1989. Hannibal Lecter. Making them not feel much better with that "big through the hips, roomy" comment, either.

Dick Whitman, will you send us the pictures you took at Goodwill, of you in the OTHER blue dresses you auditioned? There's one that makes his hoots look fabulous.

IMG_0145Despite one of you sick Mrs. Robinsons hoping Ryan came as some kind of gladiator, because we all know how many zesty gladiator songs there are, he came as Rubberband Man, which, yeah. Oh my god I totally shold have dressed as Mrs. Robinson, mostly because I'd love a leopard-print slip and bra.

I love that picture of my work husband and me. It's like he's punching me in the head. Which I deserve, because I just don't listen. If I'm good enough, maybe he'll change.

IMG_2093And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson.

IMG_0126Poochie and her husband came as Me and Bobby McGee. Dying. Also, she made the Best Cupcakes Ever®.

IMG_0138They had real chunks of strawberry in the frosting. And they were VEGAN, and it's not like me to enjoy a cupcake that doesn't have a little leather in it.

IMG_2096Faithful Reader Laural, whose u I cannot cap goddammit, came as a pretty fly, and her husband who does not at all remind me of Hulk or anything, came as a white guy, so they were Pretty Fly for a White Guy. They may win on most creative idea.

IMG_2102My friend The Poet, whose real name may or may not be Sarah, was Sara Smile. I love that song. All of a sudden I have a newfound appreciation for the Hall and the Oates.

From now on, whenever you have to describe me, and sure you do, I want you to say, Well, she's got baby hair, with a woman's eyes. And don't explain yourself beyond that. Thank you.

IMG_2100My own date and cohost I barely saw all night, much less photographed. I kept asking, "Where's Ned?" It turns out there was this whole contingent out by the fire pit, that I never ever got to. Afterward, we sat up till after 2:00 and confabbed, and he'd be all, "And blooo de blooo told me…" and I'd say, "Blooo de blooo was here?" "Yeah, he was at the fire pit."

Goddammit. Plus I kept hoping it'd get warm so Ned wouldn't wear much more, but November. So.

IMG_0115Oh, look, here's another photo of Raspberry Neddet. Yes, everybody did bang their head on that light fixture. Sue me. Everyone else is. By the way, this picture kills me. What a tableau this is.

IMG_2092Here's Dick Whitman dancing with Fleeta. I should have cranked the lights way up so these pictures would be better. Hey, everyone, screw the atmosphere. I have to blog about this later.

IMG_0146Beauty School Dropout. Yes, my coworker Alex IS beautiful.

IMG_0116Beauty School Dropout II. Also, photography school dropout.

IMG_0154Dude, they didn't even mingle, much less dance. Party Peanuts my ass.

IMG_0133Hot Legs. Dying.

IMG_0143My boss, An Innocent Man, and Marty Martin on the Chain Gang. What I'd like to know is where Marty Martin just happened to have a jail jumpsuit. Also, has anyone seen my ATM card? It was there at the beginning of the party…

IMG_0130Jo as a Cowgirl in the Sand. It is impossible for Jo to look bad.

IMG_0114My delightful table before everyone came and descended on it like hounds. I had bread and different cheeses, and a fruit plate and a vegetable plate, brownies and sausage balls and nuts, including those party peanuts who did not remotely grab any lampshade, and also dips (including that fattening one one of you sent me in the comments, with the bacon bits and cream cheese. Holy mother of pearl. "Is she a big fat person?").

IMG_0127A couple people, including my cute friends Wilma and Sheldon, didn't wanna dress up (Naughty Professor didn't, either) but came anyway, and I was fine with that. Also, I just noticed how much I like Wilma's nail polish. My friends rock.

At the end, Ryan, Tall Boy, Ned and I sat around till the wee hours, and Ned said something absolutely hilarious that he WILL NOT let me tell you, but the fire burned and the music played and we all laughed ourselves stupid, and it was one of those nights where you just feel like all is right with the world. Like our house is a very very very fine house. With 79 cats in the yard.

So that wraps up my party. This is the end. And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.




June's stupid life

Even brick houses have to clean for a party

I am using this blog as my to-do list. I will come back and cross stuff out as I go, so you can be nervous with me. "Oh my GOD she's never gonna get to Sharking the floors and people will be there in 45 minutes!"

June's blog. Come for the recipes. Stay for the pre-party stress.

Okay, here's what I have to do today and I haven't started yet because Ned. He distracts.

(A) Put away the seven hundred million things on the bathroom counter because we don't have a medicine cabinet yet because even though I found a cute one at Target, every time I go to buy it, Ned says, "We still haven't looked for an old one at Habitat for Humanity" and here it is seven weeks later and no medicine cabinet.


(V) Find my gray skirt, which I also couldn't find on my first date with Ned. Where does that thing GO?(Very, very last place I looked. Now everything else is clean except that damn skirt.)

(A) Get ice, another appetizer, fireplace logs. (Ned also came back with a fire pit. Is now obsessing over construction of said fire pit. Am trying not to cockpunch Ned for adding to our list when SHIT NEEDS DOING.)

(Ai) Sweep floors.

(b) Shark floors.

IMG_0110(b) Put away the goddamn laundry, which I have so nicely laid out on the bed. (That was redonk. And yet I never have anything to wear. Also, when I was done, Ned said, "There's more laundry in the dryer that's yours." And that is when I shot myself clean in the head.)

(a) Put up decorations (I found musical note confetti to lay out on the table. I know! Classy.)

(2) Set up music (made a playlist, all characters from songs. I did finally get the list ungray, no thanks to AppleCare.)

(2) Take dogs to daycare. They are having a sleepover. Because they are rotten animals who'd ruin any party. Who raised them? 

(I also just knocked on the neighbor's door and warned them we're having a party. He said, "Are you the one with the dog who barks?" Oh, god.)

(A) nfb ntg nn

Iris wrote that. Yes, I need to remember to nfb ntg nn. She climbed on the keyboard so she could eat the rest of my cake. I went for coffee with my coworker Molly last night, and I had cake for dinner.

IMG_2081I'm a grownup. You know, -ish. I can have whatever I want for dinner.

Okay, I think that's all for my dumb list. I'll be back to cross things out, so come back later and refresh your page.

P.S. I forgot "Get dressed and make self look pretty, aka go back to 1990." Oy.

P.P.S. How to charm me: Call, text or otherwise bother me an hour before the party.

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

Another crafting post, by June Gardens

Last night, the Bitchy Resting Face Alexes, blonde et brunette, came over to help me put my costume together.

IMG_2073Wine was involved.

IMG_2064A few days ago, blonde BRF Alex said, "Okay, I've got boxes, and glue, and pens, and glitter, and hacksaws, an orchestra, and a full-course meal. I'll be there at 7:00, right?"

Okay," I said, "Well, I'll get wine."

"Oh, I have wine," she said.

There is something about me that makes people feel like they should just take over and handle all the details. Those feelings are correct.

IMG_2063BRF Alex, dark, cut the cheese, which was rude but I told her to.

IMG_2062And by the way, who did a concise job? When I cut the cheese, it looks like I just wielded the knife in some sort of rage. Oh, and also, how the HELL do you clean those kinds of burners? I've used dish soap and then resorted to Windex, but it always looks not clean. Plus also I burned a yogurt lid into that burner yesterday.

Wait, now why would a 25-year-old feel like she had to come over here and take charge?

IMG_2069She had just a few craft supplies. It almost rivaled my supply!


Anyway, after much me watching everyone else do all the work, my costume is done.

IMG_2070As was the wine.

Did I tell y'all what Ima be? I'll wait to demonstrate my whole look, but here's a subtle hint…


36! 24! 36!


I start out with 36, anyway.

So, after we'd (we) (36-24-36) slaved over my costume, I put the whole thing on top of the new wardrobe, thinking that was the safest place for it. At FIVE this morning, I heard


which is never a sound you want to hear when you have five pets. I got up, and there was that DAMN NedKitty on TOP of the wardrobe, with her 14-and-a-half-year-old dick self. I moved the damn costume.

When I came back to bed, Ned said, "What happened?"

"Your dick cat was attacking my costume." I floomped the pillows annoyedly.

"She got all the way up on the wardrobe?" asked Ned. Then I heard heeee-heeeee-heeee-heeeee. "I love that cat," he said.

And that is when I cockpunched them both.

Built, and knowing how to please,


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


20141119_202917Tallulah has decided that Blu is her important new toy. She keeps picking it up and parading around with it, while Edsel moans and whines and growls and pickets and is trying to introduce a proposition banning this sort of behavior. Proposition 2, Lu With Blu.

20141119_221904Meanwhile, the cats don't care.

Last night I dragged all the extra pieces of lattice off the back porch, and organized the chopped wood back there–yes, it needed organizing–and moved chairs around and so on in the 18-degree weather, and probably no one will even see our back porch during our party.

Plus, I swept floors and washed the dog beds, and it turns out the beds need to be hung to dry, so last night poor Eds and Talu and their Blu fight had to sleep on the foam that goes on the inside. Probably someone should call child protective services or something. Poor foam-sleeping dogs.

I also made chili last night, because I am the world's best girlfriend. Ned and I had big plans to have a lovely evening, just the two of us, because all week we had shit to do. Tonight the Bitchy Resting Face Alexes are coming to help me make my costume for my party–

–and by the way, the term is "bitchy resting face." Everyone keeps calling it resting bitch face, which makes no sense at all. Resting bitch face would mean your face is bitchy and it's lying down right now. Bitchy resting face means when you aren't smiling or talking, you look bitchy.

Maybe I should do, like, a tutorial podcast or something. A YouTube veeeedeo.

The point is, Bitching Face Resters Alex and Alex are coming, then tomorrow Ned and I will be desperately cleaning the house, although he may not know this is in the cards. Also, we have to get food and I still don't know what Ima serve. I looked on Pinterest for food ideas for a party, and it was all "Individual pastry puffs filled with homemade blackberry jam, with an individual sugar-rolled blackberry atop each pastry!"

Puff this.

So last night was our only night to enjoy each other's company, and then he got home and I was a bitch. I was Facey Resty Bitch.

I made a goddamn playlist for the party, using my goddamn iTunes, and you can tell already this went well, right? I put on all songs about characters. Brandy, You're a Fine Girl. Lola, by the Kinks. Raspberry Beret, both Prince's and Warren Zevon's versions.

I had it all set up, and when I went to click a song to enjoy it? The whole playlist grayed out. It went gray. And I couldn't play anything.

By the time Ned came home, I was on hold to AppleCare. AGAIN. How many evenings and weekends do I have to spend on hold for hours with these people? "Did you try Googling the problem?" asked Ned, and at this point I was like the wicked queen in Snow White.


"OF COuRSE I'VE GOOGLED IT," I said, with a lowercase u.

When someone finally answered at Apple ("Why can't they ever answer their phone?" asked Ned, like they're at home letting it ring) and had to tell the guy three times what was wrong ("Okay, so you need a battery for your phone?") [insert facey rest bitching here], they finally told me they'd help me if I paid them $30.

To which I said puff this.

So our romantic evening was really more me grousing over my phone, and once again I hate everything.

20141119_221904Meanwhile, the cats don't care.

...friend/Ned · Busy busy busy busy. Thank heavens for Angie's List. · Friends · June's stupid life

Our Lady of Lazy Eye

IMG_2042Here's a photo of the world's most terrifying Virgin Mary embracing the head of the Don't Litter Indian. Mary's got her a lazy eye or something. Lazy eye for the magi.* Really, that whole visit to the concrete place last weekend was a treasure trove of stupid things.

*I totally stole that joke from Faithful Reader Paula, who one year put up her ancient Christmas manger scene on Facebook, for all of us to see. "The Wise Men look terrible," she wrote. "They need Queer Eye for the Magi." And that is when I died.

So, before I head off to hell, I thought I might fill you in on what's new, which is that I have been busy and I hate being busy. Yesterday after work, my student and I met up, as we do on Mondays, and they had a woman come observe us to see if we're doing okay. I didn't think this would bother me till we got started, and then I was sweaty.

"Okay, now we're going to learn about dangling modifiers, which is, um…" I was a blank. Thinking hard, my pen thwaped my notebook.

See what I did there?

Anyway, suddenly I had performance anxiety and it was kind of horrifying. We got through it, though, and apparently my student and I are doing fine. I had to go home and write this coming week's Purple Clover after that, and did I ever mention that Mondays suck and I know I sound like Garfield and let me just dive into this pan of lasagna? Oh, that's hilarious every time.

Last night, as soon as work was over, Ned and I had to scream on downtown and go to the movies. I mean, we didn't HAVE to, it wasn't the law. But The Big Lebowski was on at our old theater, and that movie is Ned's When Harry Met Sally. He knows the whole thing. He's forever going around saying things like, "Papers, business papers" and "That poor woman."

IMG_2058When we walked in, my coworker Ryan was there, having a White Russian, which is only funny if you know the movie. You don't know that movie? You should ask it to lunch sometime.

IMG_2059Ned did not have a White Russian, but OHMYGOD, this young girl, this young girl whose ass Ima kick, was so checking Ned out in the lobby. He's gonna have to shave that facial hair. She didn't just do it once, either. We went in and sat with Ryan for awhile, then went up to our regular spot in the balcony, and she gave Ned the old up-and-down BOTH TIMES. Then I pulled out her hair and cockpunched her. It was like all you guys were there, getting on Ned in the comments.

Geez. And then he wanted to know "Which young girl?" Like I was gonna tell him so he could go slip her his phone number. I am just about sure.

When we left the movie, I noted my student had called me twice. It was after 9:00, and I was raised with "You don't call before of after 9:00" so I texted her. I text her. Sigh. Anyway, she was worried we hadn't passed or something and would have to break up.

Now tonight I have my therapist because I am a nutbar, and then this weekend is our party and IT IS ALWAYS BuSY. Plus my u doesn't work. Goddammit.

I just asked Ned if he has anything to say to my readers, and he said, "Tell them it's very cold here, but we're expecting a warming trend later in the week." After that fascinating diatribe, he kept talking about Duke and Michigan State, and then asked why I wasn't responding to him.

"I'm telling everyone what you said. I can't TALK and type at the same time," I told him.

"You and Mrs. Wiggins," he said.


So that pretty much sums up life here with me and Mr. Tudball. My lazy eye and I will catch you later.

June's stupid life · Marvin

Marvin is 48. Why does that sound young all of a sudden? Crap.

Today is Marvin's birthday. In case you just got here or something, Marvin is my ex-husband. The former little missus.

6a00e54f9367fb883401a3fd371fcf970b-800wiI met Marvin in college, on the first weekend before sophomore year. We'd all schlepped back to school, and my roommate said, "I know a bunch of guys who've moved into what will become a truly unsanitary house. You wanna go see them?"

Of course I did, because remember college, when you didn't have anything to do but get in the car and drop in on a group of 19-year-old boys? I do that now some Saturdays and it's never as comfortable.

6a00e54f9367fb8834011168cf2780970c-800wiOh, how I loved me some Marvin Gardens the second I met him. Look at him, all deep and unsmiling and playing his guitar like life is unsmileworthy. He was just my type. He was indifferent to me, which made him even more my type.

It took me that whole school year to get Marvin to ask me out–he thought I was obnoxious and too funny. Can you imagine? You all know for a fact that could never be true. Look at all this nonobnoxiousness.

I would also like to point out that he liked me only after I'd gotten a nice perm and went to the tanning booth. So I was hotter, is what I mean, because who isn't made hotter with a perm and a fake tan? I'm getting a little hot just THINKING of myself.

Anyway, I finally reeled him in, and I was berserk about him. You don't even know. Oh, I thought Marvin was the bomb. Once, I drove over to his unsanitary house–and you know what? He never drove over to my house. What the hell? Why'd I put up with that? Anyway, I drove over there, and all his unsanitary friends were on the roof drinking beer, which is a good combo, almost as good a combo as a perm and a tan. I waved at them and went to the front of the house to join them on the safe roof, which I'm sure was structurally sound.

The point is, there was Marvin, at the front of the house, sitting alone playing his guitar.

Tom-And-Jerry-Cartoon-Characters-Pictures-And-Wallpapers-201I was obsessed.

Of course, it took me 10 years to get him to marry me. Ten years and three geographical relocations. He left Michigan State to go to college in Boston, and I pined for as long as you pine when you're 20 years old. I think I pined for a good month or two. After Boston, Marvin moved to LA, and I eventually moved to Seattle. We'd talk maybe once a year, and every time I talked to his morose self, I'd think, Oh, THAT is the man I love.

Finally, in October of 1996, Marvin came to Seattle to visit me.

6a00e54f9367fb88340120a5ab09e9970c-800wiDespite the fact that apparently I was a lesbian in Seattle, Marvin and I fell back in love that weekend, and in less than four months I'd moved to LA, and a year after that, we got engaged.

6a00e54f9367fb88340120a5549afc970b-800wiMarvin sneaked this picture onto my camera the weekend he visited me in Seattle. When I developed the film, there it was. Marvin, you could totally use this for your OK Cupid profile pic. Nothing's hotter than a selfie in the bathroom. Except for a perm and a tan. I also recommend that.

What I wanna know is what would make you say, "Oh, hell yeah" about a woman with that shower curtain? "Yeah, she's got taste like an 89-year-old. Break me off a piece of that."

6a00e54f9367fb883401287670e820970cAnywa, y'all know the rest. We were married for 14 years, I flared my nostrils and had mom hair while we lived in LA, then we moved to NC, and it was fun.

6a00e54f9367fb88340133f2114370970bTill it wasn't.

And you know, these things happen. Neither one of us was a terrible person, although out of the two I was terrible-er. But we didn't cheat on each other or smash each other over the head with plates or anything dramatic like that. It just didn't work out.

But I have nothing bad to say about Marvin, not really.

6a00e54f9367fb88340134840e61ea970c-800wiIn fact, I'd write him a letter of recommendation, should his next wife require one. I'd say,

Dear Marvin's Potential Second Wife:

You could do a lot worse. This person will make you laugh, and bring you surprise gifts, and tell you just what you need to hear when you're feeling bad. He stays in pretty much the same mood all the time, a mood I like to call amusing Eeyore. He'll call just when you're thinking of him, and he can play any song on any instrument, just like a little human juke box. Okay, yes, you have to listen to Rush. But the position of second wife is a position I highly recommend. You will never be bored.

XO, June.

So, happy birthday, Marvin Gardens. I am glad to be in your life. A perm part of your life, if you will.



...friend/Ned · June's stupid life

If I Can’t Have u

IMG_2054Cute Ned had to leave yesterday for a work trip, so I had the night to myself. Sadly, I spent it watching Beaches. I don't even LIKE Beaches, although I do feel Bette Midler's character a little. The point is, I stayed up past my bedtime, so I got up late, and now it's quarter after 8:00 and I'm still in my robe.

So, tell me what dumb things you'd do if you had a night to yourself. What would you eat? What would you watch? Would you read instead, Lofty? I had the Sunday New York Times right there on the table for myself and instead I looked at Barbara Hershey's lips. You know, people make fun, but really she got the lips right. She was the first lip job and she did not overdo, if you ask me.

Screen Shot 2014-11-17 at 8.27.21 AM
I'd just like to mention that I have to go back and re-hit the letter u for every word that has a u in it. I abhor this keyboard.

Anyway, tell me. And also, here's my latest Purple Clover. Yes, I just had to go back and add the u to Purple. Abhor.

Okay, really going now. IMG_2041Here's another photo from that nice concrete statue place we went to this weekend. I'd be feeling her character, too, but why bother? Okay, now it's almost 8:30 GODDAMMIT.



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

Burned in a three-way script

The weatherman's exact words were: "It'll be cold as SHIT this weekend," so Ned and I crafted a plan that we would not go out all weekend if we could help it. I had The Poet's, you know, poetry reading to attend Saturday night, but other than that, Ned said, "I'll build a fire that lasts all weekend," which was not a euphemism. I said I'd make more pumpkin chili, and you can think that sounds disgusting but it isn't. Let me link to it for you, because recipe blog.

So the first way that got screwed up is Ned had to work late. He called me. "You just wanna go out to dinner?"

IMG_2033We got blurry pizza. We went to Monet Pizza.

IMG_2031Monet date.

On Saturday morning, before we started this infamous fire, we realized we really did need to buy that other wardrobe Ned admired. Wardrobe, hunh, what is it good for? Absolutely something. Say it again.

The one we bought was already full and we still had a ton of crap. So we made arrangements to drive to…let's call it Dalton and pick the wardrobe up in a grocery store parking lot, which by the way Dalton is in the middle of nowhere. The woman selling it was, you know, a woman, so it made sense she'd have us meet her in public. Obviously, it totally ruined our plans to bludgeon and rape her, but you gotta roll with the changes.

The wardrobe is beautiful, and I've already put a picture in here of it. That sentence was constructed flawlessly. Anyway, scroll down a few days and it's the not-waterfall-pattern one. Or just trust me, it's pretty. I don't feel like going all the way downstairs to photograph it.

June's blog. Come for the Gordon Lightfoot/Edwin Starr/REO Speedwagon lyrics. Stay for the laziness.

The other thing that was beautiful was the drive. We took back roads, and the sky was that blue it only really is in the fall, and the leaves were still spectacular. Then we pulled into Dalton.

"If I had to live here I'd kill myself," I said, driving away all my many Dalton readers. "The whole time we're here, should we call it Dulltin?" asked Ned, sort of loving himself.

"I think we should be all, 'You live here? God' when we meet her," I suggested.

"Yeah, we could say, 'What do you do all day? Aren't you depressed?" said Ned.

"Did you have to marry your cousin?"

We made other hilarious, we-live-in-the-booming-city-of-Greensboro jokes till we pulled into the parking lot, where it turns out the woman selling the thing and her dad were really kind, good-looking people, and I immediately felt bad about the Halloween pump-kin joke I'd made right before we pulled up.

After our purchase, which Ned was terrifically excited about ("It's such a good-looking wardrobe!" he kept saying, like he'd just purchased a thoroughbred or something) he mentioned we were near Lexington, which is famous for its barbecue. "We could have lunch there," said Ned, chili long forgotten.

I'd done Tracy Chapman before we'd left, and the idea of barbecue made me swoon like it was 1954 and Frank Sinatra had just sauntered in. So we drove on more tree-lined country roads till we got to Lexington.

IMG_2034"You know it's gonna be good barbecue when they show a picture of a pig getting ready to eat himself," said Ned.

IMG_2035"Do y'all need menus?" asked the waitress, who seemed surprised when we did.

IMG_2038Dood. That was the best effing barbecue I've ever had in my life. IN.MY.LIFE. Oh my god. Those hush puppies? Light and a little sweet and oh, so crunchy. You don't even know. And there was enough food there to feed me five times.

Then I'm sorry to tell you we got swept up in one of those by-the-road-ridiculous-concrete-statue places.


By the time we got home and schlepped the wardrobe in (a woman stopped her car on the street to say what a beautiful wardrobe it is. Oh, scroll down. It's like three days ago I showed you), it was time for me to go to The Poet's poetry reading.

"I'll have a fire ready when you get back. You want me to buy the ingredients for the chili?" Ned asked. Poor Ned's been waiting on that chili for days now.

"Yes!" I said, "Maybe I'll make it when I get back. I won't be gone long."

I got back at 10:00. IMG_2045I was having a good time, okay? And some author guy totes hit on me, which was fun and just goes to show you you can still be a slut when you're 49, if you choose to.

IMG_2047After each poem and short story was read, The Poet and I stayed and had coffee. Actually, neither one of us had coffee. I got a Pelligrino and she got some sort of cider that she said tasted like she was drinking a liquid doughnut. I have no idea what hilarious thing I was saying at this moment but I'm certain it was pithy.

"When I saw your blog on Friday, and it was called Freaky Friday: Gordon Lightfoot Edition, I thought maybe you'd tell about how Gordon Lightfoot saved my life," said The Poet.


It turns out, years ago, The Poet had to work late, and when she pulled up to her house, she stayed in the car to hear the rest of that ridiculous "If You Could Read My Mind" song.

Have you seen my enormous turquoise cuff?

"That's two people you really actually like who enjoy them the Gordon Lightfoot," Ned mentioned to me when I told him this story, and it's true. Miss Doxie also likes her some Gordon Lightfoot. I don't know what to tell you.

So The Poet stayed in her driveway and jammed out to Gordon Lightfoot, which gave the robbers in her home time to escape out the back. Those same robbers had beaten someone else nearby and had raped another person.

So Gordon Lightfoot saved her from something nefarious, at least.

Let me weigh my options: beating and rape, or having to hear that entire song. I'll get back to you.

The point is, it's Sunday morning and now we have to scream to Winston-Salem, as my friend Charlie has asked us to, and I'm not saying no to Charlie. Look, paralyzed guy, why don't you go fuck yourself? It's cold out.

Yeah, so.

Project stay in. Kind of a bust.




Friends · June's stupid life

Wind Beneath My Wings

I'm interrupting our regular day to show you these pictures, which KILL ME DEAD.

My coworker, Bitchy Resting Face Alex, sent me these pictures of her grandmother. These are from BRF Alex's wedding, where her grandmother is dancing to Brick House with the groom.

I hope I am exactly like this one day.

76238_4949733986737_1721520820_n 644072_4949732706705_393135795_n 522245_4949732386697_1206347437_n

Freaky Friday · June's stupid life

Freaky Friday: Gordon Lightfoot Edition

Thanks for your how-to-fix-a-scratch tips yesterday. Who knew rubbing a walnut on it would work? Aw nuts.

June's blog. Come for the hilarity. Get disappointed.

Anyway, today is Friday, so I bring you a Freaky Friday from Faithful Reader MissPam, who tells us stories of her kid, Amy, that we all love. Here is her Freaky Friday story:

Miss June,

This is not big time freaky. Just a little freaky. Feel free to scorn it!

When we were stationed at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina we were especially close friends with our next door neighbors, the Lightfoots. We had moved in around the same time. We were in and out of each other's houses constantly. Between us, we had eight kids. All the kids without exception hated the Lightfoots' downstairs bathroom. They all called it the scary bathroom. They would either run upstairs or even next door to avoid using it and no one ever wanted to bathe in there. We never got a straight answer as to why it was scary. It just was. I personally thought it was because Amy hated flushing toilets and somehow had influenced the others. It was a loud flush. We had lived there almost two years when the bathtub clogged up in there. Judy scheduled maintenance to come and repair it. Afterward she came over and had to tell me a secret that we both swore never ever to tell the kids.

The tub was the type with the drain thingy being a metal disc with small holes and you closed the drainage with a knob up on the faucet. The plumber had to remove it with a screwdriver, and once he did, there was an obstruction right there at the metal plate. He had to pry it out. Judy brought it with her when she ran over to our house. It was a heavy black metal pentagram.

Some previous occupant had taken off the metal disc and wedged it into the drain! To what purpose I have no idea. But it freaked us out. I'd like to say the kids instantly started liking the bathroom. That didn't happen. Just afterward Judy and I took to avoiding the scary bathroom. And it was.

Side note. Amy is still afraid of the self-flushing toilets. She reports to me whenever she encounters one. "Mom, it was one of those scary toilets. I had to run!" Makes road trips enjoyable. We keep track.


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

The Ned, The Witch and the Wardrobe

I've seldom mentioned it, but we moved into a 1926 house last month, and it is charming and delightful and pretty and contains absolutely no storage whatsoever.

I don't know what people did in 1926. I guess they had that one flapper dress and a bottle of hootch, and never needed to Swiffer.

So we decided was the thing to buy was some kind of wardrobe, preferably an old cool one because with me, everything should be old and cool. We started looking on Craigslist, which sells old cool wardrobes, anonymous sex and also drill presses. There were several I liked–wardrobes, I mean–and I'd point them out to Ned and he'd say, "Yeah, that's nice. Let's keep looking."

The more I know Ned, the more I realize my ability to reel him in was somewhat miraculous. On January 19, the anniversary of our first date, churches should set up a little scene in their front yards, of two middle-aged people sitting at a bar. Or maybe two middle-aged people signing a lease. Because, man, Ned does not commit.

We also spent a mighty Saturday or two perusing the antique shops around town, where we found several cute wardrobes that Ned said, "Yeah. Nice. Let's keep looking" to.

Seriously, like January 19 could be the next Hanukkah. Forget having all that oil. I get Ned to say yes to my wardrobe, if you're picking up what I'm throwing down.

Finally, the other day, he saw this one on Craigslist.

Screen Shot 2014-11-13 at 7.16.32 AM

"I like this one!" Ned said, and it was January 19 all over again.

"Great! Good! Let's get it!" I had the enthusiasm of a Price is Right contestant. I mean, my one teensy closet contains all my clothes and all my coats. Also all my shoes and all my boots. Plus every photograph album I own, all my diaries from 5th grade to the present, and possibly Amelia Earhart. There's a lotta shit in there.

"Well, let's write them and look at it," said Ned. "We'll see." On January 19, you should gather the kids around and tell them the story of the Miracle of June Snagged Ned, the world's intense-ist Hemmer and Hawer.

Later that day, he sent me this:

IMG_0098"Oooo! Nice! I like that one!" I said to Ned. "It's in good shape!"

I hope you're sitting down, but Ned said we'll see. And that is when my brain snapped. "I am calling them, Ned. I am telling them we'll be there tonight. Get the truck from work."

In the meantime, Ned emailed his entire family, several friends and our local congressmen. He showed them both wardrobes and got their opinion. He also took some quiet time to talk to a power greater than himself for guidance, and went on a fasting walk about for 11 days to clear his head on the matter. His family said the one he likes is lovely, but it looked like the one I liked was in better shape.

Last night, in his workplace's red truck, Ned and I schlepped to Winston-Salem and got the wardrobe I picked. We talked about how we hoped it wasn't going to be one of those things were you get something from Craigslist and it's really a setup so they can murder you. For me, as long as I knew I finally had a wardrobe after six weeks of looking, they could kill me right up.

We did NOT get killed right up, though, in fact the couple was very nice. The wardrobe was lovely, in excellent shape, and as we stood in front of it, Ned said, "Are you sure?" Yes. "You're sure, then." YES. "Okay, if you're absolutely sure."

Oh my god.

We gave them the cash, thanked them for not killing us, loaded the thing on the truck, promptly got lost on the way back because it wasn't a Winston neighborhood we usually go to, went half an hour out of our way, remembered we needed dog food on the way back, and finally, finally got home again.

I helped Ned load the wardrobe, the one we'd spent eleventy thousand hundred hours selecting, the one that was in such great shape, out of the truck.

And that is when we dropped it smack onto the gravel driveway.


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

The one where June has to muddle through an evening all alone

It's Tuesday night, and I was looking forward to the end of the workday and getting to go home. Then I got an email from Ned.

"Don't forget, I'm going to that lecture with my dad tonight."


I know it's stupid. I've only lived with Ned for six weeks, and already the idea that he won't be home tonight makes me sad. Maybe I'm addicted to Ned. Maybe I need NedA.

The point is, I thought I'd check in while I while away the hours of the evening, which yawn before me, dark and loveless. You can join me in my agony. Congratulations.

5:16 p.m. Since Ned isn't even gonna be home, I'm staying at work late to look up whether it's "wile away the hours" or "while away the hours." My boss is still here, too, and you can't even ask him something like this, because he becomes obsessed, and starts looking it up, and tells you the origin of the word "wile" and what you hope is that Wile E. Coyote comes and saws a circle around him so he falls through the earth.

I'm also staying here to play with the design of my blog, and god forbid I stay here at work to, you know, work. Anyway, I did a screen shot of my blog's old looks to see what I liked and didn't like.

6a00e54f9367fb883401b7c704c833970b-800wiCirca 2008. Love the cherries. My masthead is bigger now, hence that my blog is named Bye B Pie. What the hell is B Pie? Is it some kind of bitch pie, maybe? Lift my crust. I'm full of bitch.


6a00e54f9367fb883401b7c704c865970b-800wiI think this look was maybe 2010-ish? I can't recall. I really like this design. It's girly. 


6a00e54f9367fb883401b7c704c8a3970b-800wiAwww, remember this one? This design went up on election day 2012. I remember being excited about it while I watched election returns with my pal the Naughty Professor. It's funny the shit you recall.


6a00e54f9367fb883401b8d08ec1e1970c-800wiI know I was still married to Marvin when I had the Norma-and-Vern-and-Ferris-wheel design, because Ferris wheel. Marvin proposed on a Ferris wheel, so it was all meaningful. I like how with all these versions of my blog we've looked at the top of my coworker's curly head from today's post. The top of her head is FAMOUS.

Okay, even though my house will be dark and sad, I still have to go to it to feed everyone. It's like we're farmers, with the time and effort we put in to the care and feeding of these pets.

6:05 p.m. I went home to my dark, loveless house, where there is no Ned. Walking through an empty house, tears in my eyes. This is where the story ends, this is goodbyyyyye. KNOWING ME KNOWING YOu (small u. uh-huhhhh) there is nothing we can do! Knowing me, knowing you.

What I like about myself is my lack of drama. uh-huhhhh.

The point is, I came home and fed everyone.

IMG_2023 IMG_2025 IMG_0059I have no idea what those four things are on the floor, there. I just went over to look and they are gone, so I hope they were edible.

After slopping the hogs, I thought I might throw myself on our bed and frown.

IMG_0072And languish dramatically.

IMG_0075But after, like, a minute, I got kind of bored, so I ordered a pizza.

6:45 p.m.

IMG_0087Yay, pizza! I got light cheese, spinach, tomato, onion. Because health nut. Please to ignore Coke, please.

IMG_0089I also found time to catch up on that show, Sex in the? Sex or the? What is it? Totally unfamiliar.

7:11 p.m. What the hell happened to my bed? It's like some kind of dervish was here. Won't you enjoy my brassiere?


7:22 p.m. Am cleaning machine. Alternatively, Iris ate everything on the bed.


 7:30 p.m.

IMG_0090Gosh darn you, Tracy Chapman. Gosh darn you to heck.

8:10 p.m. Wait. Is that–what? Ned is home!!! His dad couldn't find the damn tickets, so they just went out to dinner instead!

IMG_0092NED IS HOME! I survived!!!!!

Dooce envy · June's stupid life

June’s all-new blog, featuring puppies, cats and 7th-grade humor.

I forgot to tell you that last week, Bitchy Resting Face Alex brought her puppy to work. That dog got more women on him than Fonzie did when he walked into Arnold's.


IMG_1999 IMG_2007In case you were unsure, I LOVED that puppyyyyyyy! Also, that camera is shitty. Dooce would have images of each detail of that sweet puppy. Each whisker would be evident. Why don't you go on over to Dooce if you're so obsessed with her?
IMG_2004yeah. weee not need your pikee foto critik ass. go see doowse. sifflitik whoore.

I guess this puppy is related to Violet. Or maybe all puppies swear like longshoremen.

In other news, I seem to be having a problem with itchy eyes and a stuffy nose whenever I…go home. Both of my parents are allergic to cats. What the hell am I gonna do if I'm allergic to cats? I'm sitting here right now wanting to pull my eyeballs off and replace them with new, nonitchy ones. I feel like if we took a family vote, Ned would have me put down and not his cat. Am doomed.

Photo on 10-22-14 at 8.17 AMyuuu no it, bitz.

Claritin? Should I take Claritin? This is awful. How could you be allergic to something as cute as this?


IMG_2020Iris' little crossy paws kill me EVERY TIME. Did I tell you Lily and Iris were in the hall the other day, sitting right next to each other, and they freaked me out in a Shining kind of a way? Come play with us…

While I'm not rubbing my eyes till they're about to fall out, I am looking at the new girl at work, who I will call Mona Lisa, because she doesn't work full time, and all of a sudden I'll turn around and there she is, or I'll turn to say something to her and she's gone. She's very mysterious. She told me this is the first time in her life anyone's found her mysterious.

IMG_2012The point is, she has June hair, and also an enviable necklace. She is a copy editor, like me; she's not remotely mysterious, like me; she is funny, and we all know I am 100% hilarious all the time; and plus she has June hair, like…June, here.

We are either going to fall in love and have one of those lesbian-late-in-life things or we are going to hate each other's fucking guts.

I think that's all the news I have for you. I have absolutely zero air passages at the moment. Can you just up and get allergic all of a sudden? Maybe I should have one of those prick tests. So to speak. Oh, I have so many horrific things I could say now, but all I can picture is my mother sitting purse-lipped at her computer when she reads anything I wish to type.

"Tsk. Jooooon. That's real crude."

So just know that side-stitching prick jokes are growing inside me. That's it's hard not to tell prick jokes. I keep going back and forth on telling them, but I won't take the plunge and shoot one off.