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

If that’s movin’ up then I’m movin’ out

So here I am, at the house Ned and I share. Shared. Crap. I'm packing some stuff today and taking it to the new place. I half-heartedly tried to schedule movers this week, but when no one called me back, I didn't follow up. I just kind of moped around like Eeyore.

I want to not be broken up with Ned. I want to find a way to make it work. But I feel like I wouldn't know where to begin. It's hard not to remember the guy who took care of me when I was sick, who filled the house with flowers to surprise me. It's hard to not notice he bought dog treats for my dogs while I was gone this week.

This is hard.

I am berserk · June's stupid life

What the psychic said

Composing on my phone again, which is sure to be error-free.

Last night, the Alexes and I went to a psychic. We each had 20-minute readings. She told me that I needed to calm down (Hah!) and really decide what I want. She told me to make an image board, which is funny because I just did that with my student recently.

She said I could stay where I am, but that things would not change. She said did not turn down social invitations, which I have been doing in droves.

She said if I keep expanding my social circle, that will be the way I will meet a man who is an air sign, such as Aquarius. I cannot wait to hear what Hulk will say about anyone being an air sign. Hulk is a water sign. Anyway, she said he will be stoic and intellectual but very sensitive on the inside.

She said she saw me meeting this man in the summertime. Right now the thought of me liking any new man is ludicrous.

The three Alexes I went with (one of the Alexes is my new tenant) all had interesting ratings as well. They didn’t say I could talk about what they were told, so I won’t. But I wish I could. Oh, she said right now is the time when I could get whatever I wanted. So stay tuned for a special June marries Barry Gibb episode coming your way.

You know, a psychic told Barry Gibb’s wife she was going to meet Barry Gibb. I mean, she said a musical man with a beautiful head. Who had a sister named Leslie. And the blonde woman would stand in their way, and Barry Gibb was getting out of his marriage when he met Linda. Those are your Bee Gees trivia moments for today.

Okay, bye.

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

At my pal Kaye’s house

I'm composing this verbally, via my phone, and I cannot imagine the travesty it is going to turn out to be.

I am at my friend Kay's house, and I cannot wait to see how this phone spells Kay. Please know that she has an E at the end of her name. I usually add about 15 Es when I'm writing her name. Because I'm a fun friend.


Kay and her Es have a 9000-year-old beautiful cat. Kay has already left for work, and the cat is looking at me like wyyy yu heer? Oh she is adorable.

In case you have forgotten, the worst time for a breakup is in the morning. I don't know what that is, but you wake up just paralyzed by sad. I still haven't eaten much, although someone gave me some Girl Scout cookies, breakup Girl Scout cookies, and I've pretty much plowed through the box this week. But please note that it is Thursday and I haven't even finished one simple box of Girl Scout cookies. For me, that is a bad sign.

My friends keep saying, "you have to eat," which is hilarious. Never in my life I've been told to eat. However, my stupid friends keep insisting I have to eat something nutritious. Why? One friend said, "Why don't you try just sniffing a vegetable. Just sniff the vegetable and see if maybe you'll take it in your mouth next." Like I'm at Edsel or something.

Today, why doesn't everyone tell me a story about when they broke up with someone, and how quickly they got over it. Please emphasize the part where you got over it. Oh my God.

Woefully, June P. S. Also, knock it off with the advice. Thank you. Love you!

Hair · June's stupid life

Like Snow White

My roots just shot clean out my head in the past couple days. "That's cause you're mad," said my student yesterday. She said it with utter confidence, like she was an anger/follicle expert. "When you get mad, your hair comes out."

Well, it did come out, with a vengeance, so now I'm writing you while I have root dye on and I have five more minutes before I gotta rinse it off.

In the meantime, I've been trying to find a mover, and I did get boxes, and I can't believe I am moving again, four months later. There are snowdrop flowers in the back yard here, and I was so looking forward to seeing what this pretty yard did in the spring. I was excited about the porch swing, too. I always wanted to be proposed to on a porch swing.

Guess that's not going to happen.

I just love this house, and these rooms, and how the original floor has worn spots on it.

But we're going to be way out in the country at our new house, and I haven't even told Iris she can be outdoor kitty again. If I tell her that she'll get send away for a giant whetstone to sharpen everything. I'll come home and she'll be puttin' her fangs on that thing. She'll be doing her Edward from Twilight impression. Her claws will literally have points of light gleaming off them and she'll be all, "Proceed."


So I'll tell her later.

The dogs are going to be able to run for centuries, and there will be deer and bunnies and I will be like Snow White without the short men. I don't like apples, so I'm not worried about being Snow White in any way.

I always identified with Grumpy, obvs, but I really liked it when Dopey put that diamond up to his eyeball. That was hilarious.

Also, would it have been too much to ask to bring Snow White just a teensy diamond from work? just one? They couldn't pull that off?

I had a friend whose dad worked for one of the cereal companies, and he always got the prizes. Didn't even have to dig his hand in the box. Bitch got seven men working in a diamond mine while she cooks for their short asses all day and not even a diamond chip.

Oh, hell, it's time to rinse the roots, which is a shame because this post was full of useful. The roots will be dark, like my mood. Oh, and speaking of my mood, I appreciate that everyone is concerned, but I use my phone for my alarm clock, so please knock it off with the middle-of-the-night texts, okay? Thank you.


Jooon White

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

Crappy thoughts while in the midst of a crappy breakup

I've been sleeping with my dogs again, for the first time since September. It's lovely, and also awful. I forgot how they get right on top of me, so I can't move my legs, ever, or roll over. But there is nothing better than when Tallulah rests her chin on your head and sighs, "Hmmmmmmmmm."

We definitely have a place to move to, probably this weekend. I can stay with my friend Kaye till then, so tomorrow that's where I'll go. I'll leave the pets here even though Kaye said bring 'em. It's only three days, and she has an ancient cat I do not wish to upset.

In the meantime, having a blog and having a breakup is both good and awful, like sleeping with dogs. You've sent so many encouraging notes and stuff, and it's nice to know people are concerned at a time when I feel like tying myself to some railroad tracks. Which is not possible because if I were tied up, how could I tie anything?

But then there's the awful part, most of it on the Pie on the Face page on Facebook. Like the people who clearly just want to get the popcorn and hear every dirty detail. Or the Ned bashers, even though I expressly asked that we not do that. It happened with Marvin, too, after our marriage ended. And neither of them are bad people! Nor am I a flawless person, as we all know. I still love Ned even though we're through, and really, it doesn't help to turn him into a monster. None of you know everything, and I've been no basket of fruit in this relationship, either.

I've had friends make this all about them. I've had friends just email to ask, "What happened?" instead of "Wow, how are you doing?". I've been blamed for not leaving sooner. I've been told, "Oh, he never cared for you anyway. I could always tell." (I was told that by someone who's never met us.)

I guess we could all write a book about ridiculous ways people treat us in times of trouble. I have a friend who miscarried, and the shit people said to her would make your mouth permanently hang open.

But I've had nice things happen, too. My friend Alex at work make me a breakup kit:

IMG_2664And I've had some talks with good friends, who have problems of their own, but still cared about me.

IMG_2666The Poet and her plaid. God, that coat looks warm. All my coats are for looks and dreadfully thin. Hey, Poet, why don't you write me a nice breakup poem? That'd cushion the blow, and then I'd be famous forever because I'd be the subject of one of your poems. I don't believe I've ever seen a breakup poem in your lexicon. I'm expanding your horizons!

IMG_2661 2The Naughty Pro's mom died suddenly last week, so we both had a lot to talk about. I hadn't really realized how many jaunty hats he owns till I was there and saw 848483 of them hanging in his entryway. Not any personal entryways on his body, I mean like he has one of those cool wooden chair things with a mirror and hangers. What are those called? I always wanted one of those. Step One: Get an entryway.

Anyway. The only good news other than having a place to move to, is that this has been an excellent weight-loss plan. A woman at work who is from New York found one place here that serves an excellent bagel, and she brought me one, and it was so good I ate it. Only thing I've eaten since Saturday. Hang on, lemme go weigh myself! Exciting…


Okay, I have to go.



P.S. I forgot to tell you that I spoke to my good friend Hulk last night. "I just want someone funny, smart and LOYAL," I told him. Yeah, he said. There was a pause. "Well, what traits are YOU looking for in someone?" I asked Hulk.

"Hmmmm. …Big bazoombas," he said.

And that is why I also make friends with women.

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

Alone again, naturally

Thank you to everyone who texted or emailed or called or whatever. It means a lot to know I am not alone in this hell.

I've contacted a few places to see about moving in to them, but do not know how realistic that is given my pets and the fact that I just freaking moved here in October as it is, but I at least have a place to stay for a few days, when Ned returns from his trip on Wednesday. So I won't have to face him.

In the meantime, attached please find video of what I did with my Saturday night, before I knew all hell was breaking loose in my personal life. Maybe if I spent less time lettin' it all hang out I could keep a man.


Probably not, though.

Beauty products · June's stupid life

June Gardens, Injection Model

It turns out I'm just fine having needles stuck up in me as long as I have an audience. A barfing audience still counts as an audience.

A few weeks back, I went to my regular doctor, and yes she is a doctor, to have my Botox done, and by the way I need a touchup on it. I'm still able to frown, which is not good. But that is not why I've gathered you all here today.

So, while I was there, my doctor said she was having an open house, and all the reps from the various potions and filler and rat poison companies would be there, and did I want to attend.

"Sure," I said, because you know how I am. And how I abhor the ravages of time, not enough to cut out my Taco Bell habit but still. We talked about what all she was doing that day, and since I'd already expressed an interest in Juvederm, she asked if I wouldn't want to be a model for her, so she could show everyone how Juvederm works and so on.

Well, yeah. Yeah, I did. "Is it, you know free, then?" I asked, and she said it would be.

Earlier this week, I got a call from her. "Just confirming you want to come be an injection model for me Saturday."

If Barry Gibb's people had called to say Barry Gibb's manhood needed an injection model, I could not have been more excited. I had to hang by the phone today, because they weren't sure when they'd need me, but lemme tell you, I've no problem hanging out to get my free filler.

What Juvederm does is, in case  you're not up on your stuff the way I am, it fills in the lines between your nose and your mouth. It lasts six months to nine months, although the packaging says a year. My doctor and yes she is said it never lasts a year.

At 12:15 today, my phone rang. I answered it on the first ring. "It's Liz! You ready to come down?" Liz is my doctor's assistant.

I was there by 12:30. There was a comical Ned-I-Need-To-Get-in-the-Bathroom moment where Ned was in there nekkid, trimming his beard before his shower, which involved two of us using the sink and maybe those house hunters aren't as annoying as I'd thought with their need for his-and-her sinks. But that was beside the point because FILLER! GETTIN' FILLED!

[Insert nekkid Ned filler joke here]

The doctor laid me down in sheets of linen. She had a busy day today. About seven to 10 middle-aged women gathered 'round, and it must have been tough for them to see someone so youthful getting injected.

"I'm going to give June a dental block first, to numb her, because she has deep, deep, incredibly deep wrinkles that need filling," said my doctor, pulling out a needle. Needles don't bother me that much, so I smiled serenely as she talked about my large deep gutter-filled face. I got two shots in my mouth, like you get at the dentist, and to be honest it wasn't that bad.

"Now, as that numbs, I'll tell you about the product we're using. June has deep, deep lines in her face, so I'm using Juvederm Extra Powerful Plus Bonus Cloris Leachman Edition, to fill out her incredibly ancient trenches. Because I'm using Super Plus Extra, her results may last nine full months. You ready, June?"

I mean, at that point I was ready for her to lethally inject me. I always think of myself as someone who has fine lines, not deep incredible ditches. She had to use a cannon rather than a needle to fill that shit.

And really? I mean, my face being numb was really the worst part. I didn't feel much at all, which was good, because with all those women hanging around I couldn't very well freak out, could I? In fact, I heard myself making jokes while she poked, and enjoying the laughs, and realizing this was kind of as good as it gets for me: a crowd and a free beauty treatment.

One woman re-entered the room with a wet shirt. "I just got sick!" she announced. "I guess I can have this done to me, but I can't watch other people get it!" She dabbed at herself cheerfully and grabbed a mimosa. In a million years I could never be that devil-may-care about losing my lady-who-lunches lunch like that.

Ten minutes later it was over, and I sat up and got a mirror. I can see a difference but not a huge one. It will take two weeks for everything to settle in and so on.

Photo on 1-24-15 at 2.25 PMWhat'dya think? Do the lines from my nose to my mouth look any diff to you? I'm young again, so I say things like "diff" now. Lemme find an old photo for you to compare.

King-tut-mummy-1068400-swOh my GOD, hilarious even after major surgery.

Photo on 11-20-14 at 6.38 PM #4I had the cat removed from my face, too. But see?

Photo on 1-24-15 at 3.09 PMAnyway, it's been a red-letter day, a day in which my face has disturbed Ned, but I think that's mostly because he doesn't want to feel like a pedophile, so youthful am I. Now my not-working Botox is REALLY buggin' me.


I am berserk · June's stupid life

The one where June is kind of berserk

As soon as he gets out the shower, Ima kill Ned. He didn't wake me up till after 7:30! WHY? WHYYYY? Aaaaaand, he didn't get in the shower till after THAT, so now I'm trapped, panicked, waiting for him to be done so I can go in there and did I mention Ima kill Ned?

From now on I'm setting an actual alarm made of metal and not Ned. I guess alarms are made of plastic now, aren't they? I like how in my head it's 1969 and I have a huge clunky ticking alarm clock on my nightstand.

IMG_2531 10.00.58 PMActually, I do. I just haven't had a battery in the thing in 400 years. I once read that digital alarm clocks give you brain tumors or something. But that alarm is so loud and jarring that I stopped using it and used my phone instead, which probably also gives you brain tumors.

Anyway, last night, I actually put on clothes–real clothes with buttons and zippers and the like–and went to dinner with Ned.

IMG_2645We went to the Italian place in my old neighborhood. I suggested it because on Wednesday night, I was finally actually hungry again. Since Monday, I'd eaten, like, a piece of toast and one green apple. I'd love to weigh myself but I can't see the scale without my glasses and my glasses aren't in the bathroom and then by the time my contacts are in and I'm dressed, it's too late to weigh myself. I know. So let's just assume I'm down to 90 pounds.

Anyway, Ned had called Wedesday and asked if I needed anything. "Yes. How about spaghettii and spaghettii sauce? I'm finally hungry." So he did. He brought–

are you ready?

He brought whole wheat spaghettii.


You've ever even met me, yet would you in a milion years bring me fucking whole wheat spaghettii? And then Ned does the worst part.


Oh, I hate that. Marvin used to do that, like the time it was Christmas Eve and I sent him to the almost-closed store for tomato paste and he came back with a tomato. "What?" Like, oh, you can boil this and dehydrate it and condense it and whatever till it MAKES paste, Ma Ingalls! That'll be EASY!

Some scars never heal.

So I was STILL HUNGRY for Italian food, seeing as emory boards covered in sauce did not do it for me on Wednesday.

Anyway, I was glad to be there but I'm depressed. And this is crazy, but is it?

You know how I write for Purple Clover. Every week for two years now, I send in a column. Lately, they've been putting up more and more of my old columns on Facebook, along with other writers' columns, and mine? Do not get NEARLY the Likes other writers do. I mean, other columns will get a thousand Likes. I'll get 249.

I was telling this to Ned last night at the restaurant. Unfortunately, he was distracted because I'd taught him something I deeply regret, and that is that you can look up words on MerriamWebster.com, and your good friend Merriam will repeat said word back to you. Pretty much any word you can think of, you can get that site to repeat back to you.

"Am I just a terrible writer?" I asked Ned, sipping my Pellegrino neurotically.

"Cocksucker," said Ned's phone.

"Sweetheart, no, you're not a terrible writer. Maybe those people have more Facebook friends than you," said Ned.

"Horsefeathers," said his phone.

"It's not got anything to do with how many Facebook friends you have," I said to Ned, who has 36 friends or something and who goes on Facebook once a century. "Your friends wouldn't know how–"

"Twat," said Ned's phone. "Twat, twat, twat,"

"Ned, there are children at the next table."

"Son of a bitch," said his phone. "Son of a bitchen. Twat."

"Ned. Your friends wouldn't know if your story was up on the Purple Clover page. You don't link to the story, they do."

"You just have to keep writing," said Ned. "Don't give up. You're doing the right thing."

"Flagstick," said his phone. They didn't have fuckstick listed on Merriam Webster.

Anyway, it's disheartening and seriously unhealthy, how I look at my stories and compare Likes.

Right? That's unhealthy, right?

But twat would you do if you had stuff you created up there in public, and you could compare and contrast? You'd do it do, right?


Health · June's stupid life

I’m Mr. Bug. I own a mansion and a yacht.

Since I've been felled–FELLED!–by this illness, I've watched approximately 40 episodes of my Sex and the City. Not that I own the franchise to that show; if I did do you really think I'd be sitting around here talking to the likes of your impoverished ass?

I mean my box set of the show, is what I mean. Any time I drag myself up out the bed, I hobble to the couch and cover up in what at this point is a smallpox blanket that

Dear Ned, We should wash

and watch more of my show.

"I'm going to go upstairs and kill myself," Ned announced the other night, when he returned home from the gym to hear the familiar samba music that is the intro to my show. Which I own. I own a mansion und a yacht.

Even worse is when Ned deigns to sit with me and try to read while I'm watching. Twice he's looked up and said, "Oh my GOD, I know what's going to happen in this one. Not because I've seen it, but because you've recapped the plot for me. GodDAMMIT."

Then he threatens suicide again, or to go upstairs and look at porn, which is fine by me because Sex and the City is my porn.

Anyway, I've gone through the plots about Mr. Big, which I just mistyped Mr. Bug and slayed my own self much like Ned wants to do, and Aiden–who was robbed–and now I have all those boring years to get through till Alexandr Petrovsky, who was hot with his lack of letters, I don't care what you think. Self-centeredness is sexy.

Which brings me back to me and my cold, which is here, still, but I am on the mend. It was MORE than a cold, which is what my father always says, but really, it was. I was flat out dead for days, and Ned must be sick and tired of coming home to the Mucinex character every night.

Once maybe 10 years ago I had strep throat, which went away and came back. The second time was accompanied by a fungal infection, which all had to do with my idiot neighbor Rik and his pigeons, and anyway the point is I was sick for three weeks in a row. They were exactly, to the day, the very days Barry Gibb was in town doing an album and I was too ill to stalk him, which had been my plan.

Anyway, Marvin, who really was nice to me generally speaking, came home after like day 17 of said illness. "God," he said, "you look awful. Why don't you clean yourself up?"

You know those things people say that you'll never get over?

So the other night, when I was the Mucinex character, I thanked Ned for never telling me I needed to clean up. "Well, you're welcome. You're beautiful," lied Ned. "And, to be fair, you probably looked a lot worse then than you do now."

See. I can't even REWARD Ned with the Price is Right losing horn, so awful was that line. All I can do is sneeze near him.

Okay, I have to go. I worked from home today and am in the middle of something. I just took this time out to talk about really nothing.

Photo on 1-22-15 at 4.41 PMdis hole post stoopit, mom.

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

You know I hate to complain

Last night I finally showered, at 8 p.m., and I didn't bother to wash my hair. It got a little wet, though, and that with the combination of my curls being in bed all day resulted in it drying into sort of dreadlocks. "You look like Perry Farrell," said Ned. Then he had the nerve to add, "What? He's a good-looking guy, right?"

Ned always has to confirm with you that a man is good looking. It's like if he were absolutely certain a man was handsome, he'd be in a bathhouse in the next 20 minutes. Why are straight men so weird about being gay? Even the gay-friendly men I know, which Ned is, are weird about seeming gay. Just this morning, Ned put on his purple shirt. It's a beautiful shirt, and I have never seen him in it before.

"Does this shirt look gay?" he wondered, like he'd just pulled on a tutu.

I mean, I don't really care if I look gay. Granted, I'd rather no one looked at me and thought, Oh, bulldyke, just because I try kind of hard to look girly and I'd hate to be that off base.


Look I'm going for.


Look I hope I'm not achieving. Although she looks adorable here.

But in general, you don't find women asking, Is this gay? Do I seem gay? And yet men seem scared to death of that label.

Why? Our society is stupid.

In other news, I got up today and took a shower and intended to go to work, but as I moved around I got hot and dizzy and my head is killing me. It's been killing me for more than 24 hours. I don't know if it's a migraine or a sinus headache or both, but I can't get rid of it.

In the meantime, I suggested to Ned that we change the sheets last night, because I laid in them all yesterday, contaminating them. This whole time we've been living together, we've used Ned's sheets, but last night I got out some of mine, which happen to be pale blue with sheepies on them, and each sheep has a number. Like you're counting sheep. Get it? Do you?

"You aren't serious," said Ned, as I spread the fitted sheet. "Oh, get over it," I said, throwing a pillow case at him. "Put a pillowcase on."

"Are these flannel? I'll sweat all night in flannel," he groused. "I'll cozy up right next to you if I get sweaty, just so you know."

Ned is so fussy, he might as well be gay.

And in case you were worried sick, he did NOT sweat in the flannel sheets, seeing as its JANUARY and all. Yeesch. What I did not tell him was I used to have matching pajamas, and I'd get into bed and ask Marvin, "Can you see me right now?"

I am a delight.

Okay, so, this has worn me out, sitting up and writing this post. I have an Iris on my lap and a Talu snoring on the bed, and I hate to tell her but she's getting joined by her mom and a blind cat in a minute. Yesterday while I was sleeping–that brief window–Iris and Lily got into the biggest tussle at the end of the bed. Lily was leaping on Iris over and over and biting her neck out and Iris was hissing. Then they'd stop and flump their tails at each other and do the thing where they raise their paws up and swing at nothing.

It was fun to watch other than the part where I lay dying.

Okay, I'm going to bed. For a change.

Oh, I forgot. On Monday, the night of our anniversary, I took a picture of us even though I was ill and looking awful.


...friend/Ned · June's stupid life


I found myself wondering today about Carmine Ragusa. Did he ever marry Shirley? I stopped watching after Laverne and Shirley moved to California, because that was just stupid. Remember how their entire circle moved there, too? Oh, look, Dad's girlfriend is here!

I am probably the same age as Laverne's dad's girlfriend.

Ff5085f1967298947ee85f4c71c6182eI just looked it up. Edna Babish was in her late 40s when she played Lavern and Shirley's landlady and also Laverne's dad's girlfriend. I remember at the time, at age 15, thinking, Why bother dating when you're that old?


Anyway, the part where Laverne and Shirley moved to California and so did Lenny, Squiggy, dad, the girlfriend who really shoulda insisted Frank put a ring on it before she schlepped her late-40s ass all the way to LA, and possibly even Carmine, moved to LA with L&S was dumb. Why MOVE to California if everyone was just gonna be there? Wasn't the point to introduce new characters?

Five years ago, I worked for a very glamorous yet work-you-to-death agency, and got laid off. Several months after that I got hired where I am now, and to this day I run into people who similarly got laid off at the last place and are now hired at my new place. And every time I run into one of those people, I'm all, "This is just like on Laverne & Shirley when they move to California." Seeing as everyone I work with is 22, they're all, "?"

I did NOT mean to drone on for so long about Laverne & Shirley, but speaking of people who are old and in a relationship, today is my three-year anniversary of dating Ned. We're going to meet tonight at the same place where we had our controversial first date.

Our first date was, in fact, not at all controversial. That's a line from Say Anything, a movie Ned only saw once, in the theaters, in 1989, but now he too calls the hotel bar where we met the site of our controversial first date, since I always call it that. I am slightly contagious.

6a00e54f9367fb88340162ffe41770970d-800wiHere I am on January 19, 2012, on my way to see Ned.

MenowwirisI'm a little less maniacal now. It may have to do with getting action on the regular. Nice picture of the ring Ned gave me last year, though.

Someone (Amish Annie? PJ?) noted you can always see a cat in the background, and there you go.

Photo on 1-19-15 at 8.29 AM #2There's also a puppy here. I like how everyone's still in REM and I have to go toil to earn our keep. I'll bet as soon as I go, they all play that I don't wanna work, I just want to bang on the drum all day song. The cats limbo while the dogs hold up a stick.

Anyway, three years. I don't think I've been very obvious about this, but I love Ned. I love Ned stupid amounts, and the part where he's all professional single guy and moved in with me, and is committed to this relationship even though it's different and kind of weird for him makes me love him even stupidier. I feel like I won some kind of lottery. A Ned lottery. Somebody had to win. I feel like I've gone from rags to riches, as Carmine Ragusa would say.

Okay, I gotta go. I can see a car full of cats parked on the corner waiting till I leave so they can join the limbo.

Schlamiel, schlamazal,



...friend/Ned · June's stupid life

The one where Ned sleeps in

Our problem is, Ned doesn't get sleepy till, like, 1:00 in the morning, and I don't understand people like him. I mean, when I was 20, sure, I was raring to go at 1:00. Now I get logy at about 10:30. The result of this is that I never go to bed with Ned unless there's hanky-pank promised, and then when that's over he'll be all, "Okay, getting up for awhile. Be back later."

I realize there are worse things in the world, but it bugs.

So, this morning I woke up around 9:00 and there was Ned, sawing logs. I don't mean literally, because that would be weird.

I got up, made coffee, fed everyone who lives on four legs, checked my email and still. Logs. Ned.

I went back in there and sat on the bed, willing Ned to awaken with the amazing powers of my mind and also with the cough I somehow developed overnight. I don't really feel bad except I have this nagging cough, which I assume is the eboli. Ned knows someone who pronounces it "eee-bowl-lie," and you know that thing where you start mispronouncing a word on purpose and then you find yourself grasping for how it's really pronounced when you're in public? Kind of like veeeeedeo.

Cough, cough, I said as I stared at sleeping Ned.


I really wasn't doing that on purpose even though I wished he'd wake the fuck up and entertain me already, but finally Ned rolled over. "What's wrong? Why are you coughing?"

"I have a cough, I don't know," I told him, establishing my disease du jour. "It's probably eee-bowl-lie." I got under the covers. "If I were a Charlie's Angel, I'd be Shelly Hack," I said, growing fond of myself. "If I were your money holder, I'd be the coffer. If I were a skater, I'd be Peggy Fleming."

"What if you were a quiet bunny? What would you be then?" asked Ned, as he rolled over.

Well. There's no answer for that.

Alone and hacking,


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

Marvin, please read this one. There are no feet, I promise.

I got a big kick out of everyone's comments yesterday. The poor Guy Who Sits Next To Me had to hear each new what-you'd-find-if-you-cut-me-open comment. Imagine being the poor guy who has to sit next to me all day. His wife is probably sick and tired of hearing about me already. "June again, GodDAMMIT!"

Maybe not everyone talks like Ned and goddammits all over the place.

Yesterday was a busildy day, and after work Alex #48584584 and I went out for pedicures and tea. It was her birthday last month, and I'd given her a gift certificate to the pedicure place and we finally cashed it in.

IMG_2510Nothing's more comfy than open shoes in January.

IMG_2507You know how it is after you get a pedicure: get busy livin' or get busy dryin', so we dried under the light table while Alex 47 (we're so intimate now that I have a shortening-of-her-name-nickname for her) read me my Cosmo Bedside Astrologer for the year. Every year since 8th grade I've gotten the January Cosmo and read the damn Bedside Astrologer, which in case you did not know gives you not just your year's horoscope, but also what you should wear that year, your sexy colors, and NOW, NOWWWW, they've even added your sign's sex position for the year.

I can'r recall now if it was my position or Al 47's that involved sitting in a chair, straddling your partner, and putting your legs over his shoulders.

When I got home, poor Ned was eating eggs and reading the paper. Sometimes he has no idea if it's morning or night.

"Ned, come over here to the chair," I said, once he'd put his plates away. It was all I could do to wait THAT long.

"Why?" Ned never thinks I'm up to anything good.

"Just sit down." So in my grandmother's chair, the chair where I'm hoping to God nothing like this has happened before, I sat on Ned with my coat on and my wet nails and so on.

"What are you doing?" he asked as I sexily tried to hoist my skinny-jeaned leg over him. And by the way, no one like me should wear skinny jeans. It's like when you call a huge guy Tiny. "It's my horoscope sexual position for the year, or maybe it's Alex's," I grunted as I kicked Ned in the head.

Ned lifted me off him. "This is a position for lithe people in their 20s, June." He went back to his paper.

You know, Cosmo Astrologer WARNED me about this.

The other news is that after work, Al '7 and I schlepped over here special to let the dogs out and feed them before we went on our jaunt, and jaunt doesn't at all sound like we're Paddington Bear or anything. Jaunt. Could I be any older? Ask my sex position.

The point is, we fed the dogs and headed off jauntily, and an hour later I looked at my phone and there was a message from Ned. "I'm assuming you didn't come home and feed these creatures," he began. I didn't even finish, but screamed to the Call Back button.

Did you ever watch Louis CK's show? You really should. He and his brother on the show sometimes go out for what they call a Bang Bang, where they eat two dinners in a row at two restaurants. "Greek and diner?" "Nah." "How about Chinese and pizza?" "Yeah, okay."

IMG_2522I be Bang, and you be Bang.

Those dicks. They didn't even remotely act not starved. THEN they had the nerve to stare at Ned's eggs. They need the eggs.


I am berserk · June's stupid life

Glitter and kittens

I don't even know what to tell you about the conversations I get into with my boss. Yesterday we somehow started talking about if you'd cut us open, what would be inside.

"Well, if you cut me open, you'd find glitter and kittens," I said. Then we decided if you cut open my coworker Griff, you'd find kvetching and pears.

"What would we find if we cut you open?" I emailed to Ned.

"Black beans, beer and bitterness," wrote Ned.

I texted with Hulk last night, I text with Hulk (that never gets old) and I forgot to ask him. I have the feeling he'd say, "Uh. Bones and intestines."

If we cut open Gwynneth Paltrow–and can we?–we'd find quinoa and smug.

Anyway, what about you? If we cut you open, what would be in there?

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

Royale with Cheese

We have a work delay due to inclement weather, which by the way is a tenth of an inch of ice. OH MY GOD STAY IN!

The Michigan in me giggles. The lazy in me rejoices.

Last night I slept for 8 hours and 10 minutes, and I had 43 "restless" minutes, ifyouknowwhatI'msayin'. I wish Fitbit would do something like add a little nudging-you emoticon or a high-five or a "GOT SOME!" instead of the whole "restless" euphemism. Also, I met my student last night at McDonald's, and that put me over my calorie intake for the day. I know! Who had any idea a Quarter Pounder with Cheese would put you over the calorie limit? A Royale with Cheese.

June's Fitbit. Making her blog boring since 2015.

With my whole busy day at work yesterday and important photo session for a major magazine and then my student right after work, I opted to stay home last night rather than go out and celebrate my fame, as Ned suggested we do. So he went to the gym, of course, and when he got home I was enjoying me some Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and what the hell is wrong with Brandy these days? Also, who names their child Brandy and DOESN'T assume she's gonna be a tad trashy?

The point is, I thought it was cute that the cats were all cuddled up on Uncle Ned, which is how the cats refer to him when they speak to him, and yes they do shut up. Really, he should be Stepdad Ned or even Dad, seeing as I got both cats right around the same time I got Ned. But we're going with Uncle Ned.

IMG_2477My point is, who do you think is sick of being photographed? Could it be everybody in this scenario? Lily, Iris and Uncle Ned?

IMG_2479Hah! Got two out of three of them, anyway.

This is sad, but I'm thinking of the things I could get done right now while the office is quiet, and I think I'll brave the thick sheets of ice and go in now. I know, man. What's happened to me? Honestly, though, that open floor plan is the worst if you're trying to write or think. Three minutes go by and someone else will be all, "So what's different about your hair?" or "Oh, what's that on your screen?" Uh, my work. God.

Speaking of what our cats say to people, does your pet have a speaking voice? Ned's sister-in-law got very annoyed when you didn't speak in her dog's correct voice, back when she had her old dog. She insisted he was a very sophisticated French man, and this dog was before my time, but from what I hear, that dog was no Jacques Cousteau. I like how my only example of a sophisticated French man is Jacques Cousteau. I get out a lot.

Tallulah has a low, no-nonsense voice, whereas Edsel has a dumb-guy voice. I'm sorry, but he does. The cats all seem to have the same squeaky voice, although it seems as though NedKitty uses the F word more often than my cats.

Anyway, what do your pets sound like? If they were celebrities, who would they be? Also, how much does Hulk hate all of us right now?

All right, I'd better go. Not only will I get things done in an empty office, but I don't have to listen to the town cryer, over here, alerting me to every yahoo who has the nerve to walk by our house.

IMG_2487Lu tell you get out. Lu haff barrle chest. She show you barrle chest, you not get owt of our sydewalk.

That was a very low, slightly Southern voice. Kind of a Brett Butler.



June's stupid life · Not Grace Kelly

Apres Photoshoot

The photographer came. He was a lovely man, who just got an Australian shepherd puppy named Bo who I saw a picture of and I love Bo so bad.

Photo on 1-13-15 at 1.00 PMI sneaked in this shot of said photographer in my room; he's the blue blur in the corner that Edsel is falling for, hard. He's Edsel's new blue.

When I got home this afternoon to meet the photographer, Ned had been here and filled the house with flowers. Here is the part where you tell me Ned's a keeper.IMG_2472

IMG_2474 IMG_2475I love this picture, how you can see Eds in the mirror.

Anyway, he was a nice guy, and got shots of me at the computer and also with the dogs on the couch (don't tell Ned) and it all went well and then he left.

IMG_2476I was just breathing a sigh of relief and being glad it was over when I posed for this shot for all of you, and?

Found the price tag still on my skirt.


Dooce envy · Hulk's sex life · June's stupid life

The one where June can’t blog because she has to be interviewed about her blog

Here's what I'm wearing. ("Sometimes I vary it a little." "Which part?" "What I'm wearing.") (Name that movie!)

MeI will alert you as to how it went. I wasn't nervous till I started talking about it just now ohmygod.

At least I'm "funny," so if I'm not hot, it's fine. I'm Phyllis Diller.



Health · June's stupid life · My pets · Photo essays

Real Romance

I woke Ned up in the middle of the night. According to my Fitbit, it was somewhere between 2:47 and 3:08. "I'm sick," I announced, not at all dramatically. "My stomach is sick."

"Oh, no!" Ned jolted up. "Come here! What can I do?"

Now, see, there's the difference between Ned and me. I'd have been all OHMYGOD STOMACH SICKNESS! I'M GOING TO A HOTEL!

"There's nothing you can do," I said to him, not at all dramatically. "I'm going to sleep on the couch." And I did. Lily slept on my stomach, which I thought was going to be awful but was in fact not so bad. The 49 times I had to get up and run to the bathroom last night, Edsel accompanied me, and now I have an image of me on the pot and Edsel playing accordion.

The point is, now I feel better, and I'm going to work because stoic, and I weighed myself and lost like a pound, which is completely unfair. I promise you I dropped Mrs. Brown off at the pool 90 times, and Mrs. Brown's been retaining water.

Does that ever happen to you, where you wake up horrifically nauseated and you feel awful and you finally fall asleep and your body's all, eh. Better now, mostly. What is that?

In other news, don't forget that we've got a new book club book, and that book is Forever by Judy Blume because it's 1976 right now. Red, white and blue everything and the bicentennial minute.

Also, Ned and I went to that Chris Rock movie, Top Five, which I did not even want to see but he showed me the preview and I said, Oh, now I want to see that. So we did, and it was great. I didn't even expect to like it, and I don't know why because I like Chris Rock. Anyway, I recommend. And look at us, going to a mainstream movie! We're so basic. We totally shoulda gone to Applebee's after.

I have to go, which I always say and then I talk 72 more minutes. Here's my latest Purple Clover and here are photos I've taken recently that're on my desktop that I keep meaning to add here and never do. June Gardens' School of Organized Thought. Instructor: June–oh, wow, look at that!

IMG_2346 IMG_2351 IMG_2373 20150109_071103_resizedShe's 109, and she can still jump to the top of the wardrobe. She'd be one of those old ladies who still cuts her own grass.

IMG_2404 IMG_2380Hey, how's that the-dogs-aren't-allowed-in-the-living-room thing going?

IMG_2411When my coworker, Griff, left for Christmas, we decided to all chip in and girl up his workspace. Sadly, you can't see the MILF someone put on his wall in glitter letters.

20150102_112319He took it a lot better than we'd expected, and he left the ribbon on his screen all day. We think he secretly adores pink.

IMG_2434Speaking of pink, my coworker Alex #38448833 got a Hello Kitty Snuggie for Christmas, and she tortured me with it for days before finally giving it to me. I HAVE A HELLO KITTY SNUGGIE NOW!

IMG_2456And finally, in summation, Faithful Reader Paula sent me TWO Real Romance magazines and I have read them thoroughly. I read them thoroughly the minute I got them. Ohmygod, they were FABULOUS, and I forgot that each narrator is a cute girl with a pert figure. "I was 26 years old, with honey-blonde hair and a pert figure." They're never a dog.

Okay, it's late. I gotta dress like a sexpot and get to work.