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

A Brief Post

"Do you want to go to a play?" Ned called up to me as I was on episode 3494594 of Game of Thrones.

"I don't know. What's it about?" I shouted down.

"A woman who comes home for the holidays and there are family secrets."

"Oooo! Okay" I said, because I love other people's secrets. I also love other people's Sucrets. Barbara, you up?

"I'll get tickets," said Ned. "It's at Hanesbrand Theater."

Seeing as this is North Carolina, everything in the world was at one point textile-y. Buildings used to be textile factories, people used to work in textiles, when we text each other, we text about tiles. You get my drift. One company, Hanes, is still here, and they adore naming everything after themselves, such as this theater and also a mall. Of course, they also name their underwear after themselves, as they are wont to do because that's what Hanes makes.

"Oh, I love that theater," I told Ned. "Let's take the boxer with us."

We don't have a boxer, see, but boxer. Hanes. You get me. You're picking up what I'm throwing down, and what I'm throwing down in some underwear jokes.

"Okay, June," said Ned, who is over me.

"There's no music in this damn play, is there? I don't want to hear one thong." At this point I started looking for halls to rent for my commitment ceremony with myself. You're all invited. Am totally making Kleenex roses that spell out June & June.

"I got the tickets," said Ned after a moment, after which he signed up for an I Have to Deal With June support group. Support can be beautiful. See what I did, there?

"Okay, brah," I said, and then giggled at myself for a very long time.

Ned better girdle his loins, because we're on our way there now.

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

Seven-year bitch

Dear Hulk,

I am sorry to tell you that I am going to talk about my dog for a minute.

Seven years ago today, I drove from TinyTown to Raleigh for a job interview. I never made it to Raleigh, because on the side of a busy two-lane road, I saw a puppy. Just sitting there, watching the traffic go by. And I did a U-turn and SWOOPED HER UP and STOLE her. The end.

Just think, if I'd have gotten all the way to Raleigh, I wonder if I'd have met Ned and left Marvin in a dramatic flurry? Doubtful. I am not the affair/dramatic flurry type. Well. I'm the dramatic flurry type. But I'm not affair-y.

IMG_2935My point is, that puppy on the side of the road was Tallulah, a thing you would have no idea about because I haven't rolled out this story six years in a row or anything. I wish I could tell you how many crappy, front-facing-camera pictures it took till that damn dog would look at the camera, up there, by the way. Also, who rolled out of bed and decided to take this photo, do you think? Hello, world. Prettayyy.

IMG_2940Lu compleetley ober annibersary day. Compleetely ober beeyeng blog dog.

This is probably how Dooce's kid feels. What's that kid's name? Bleeker? Fleeta? I can't remember. But I think I read on Dooce's blog that Doreeta or whomever told Dooce to stop taking so many pictures of her and Dooce complied. Tallulah desperately wishes for the power of speech. Of course, she has the power of her fangs. The power of Pit. But she's been pretty polite so far.

OhnoHere we are, Lu and me, seven years ago to the day. Here is my hair seven years ago to the day. And a hint of the lemon-crate pictures! Do you recognize one that you bought? I can't remember who got which picture when I had the big moving sale.

I loved that trench coat then, and now I'm all, god, June, was your trench garish enough? I think I've gotten less…pink since leaving LA. Not that this was shot in LA. But I'd lived in NC only a few months at this point. Still had the pink in me, so to speak.

Anyway, there's my poor Asian puppy, who I swept off the road. Best day, ever. That was her first picture, and she had no idea there'd be 3,948,485,838,2 to come.

3,948,485,838,2 is totally a number. It's a prime number, and you just don't get math things.

The first asshole to email me and say technically 3,948,485,838,2 is not a prime number gets placed on a busy two-lane road.

In other news, yesterday was the least-relaxing snow day anyone's ever had. I did all sorts of real work for work, and watched I think nine hours of Game of Effing Thrones. I'm somewhere in season three now. Last night, I kept dreaming I was leading armies all over yonder.

"You'd make a great soldier," said Ned, who I feel was being sarcastic. I am sure. I'm super tough. God. Have you ever met anyone more no-nonsense than me?

Exactly. Plus, I could make all the maps. "So, we, um, pretend we're going to Burger King, and take a right right on that corner, there, where the drive-in theater used to be? You know where I mean, right? ATTACK! RIGHT THERE! Go, troops!"

Plus, they could put me in charge of all the maths. The war maths.

When Ned came up here to watch a few effing episodes with me last night (I've been HBO GO-ing them on my computer), he noted the potato chips have just remained up here as my watching companions. I'm not even bothering to put them back anymore. They've taken up permanent residence.

I need my strength to lead the troops.

Sleepy_7Okay, just one more puppy Lu picture. Back when she used to be nice to cats. Now she's either indifferent or awful to them. She loves to get all low like a vulture and scare the crap out of poor NedKitty, who's 109.

My point is, I love Tallulah. So bad, I do. I love her houndy smell, and her aloof, dignified nature. I love how when she's lying down, she flumps her tail whenever I walk in. I love her big, manly woof and how if I ask her to come over, she wiggles her whole dog self as she walks over. But in an aloof way.

I love how she saved Edsel and me when that giant Pit came barreling out the door that one day. Oh my god, I just read that post that I just linked to, and cracked my own self up. "Mr. Nugget Pit, of the Embroidered Mickey Mouse Sweatshirt Nugget Pits"!!! How repugnant am I, quoting me back to me.

In summary, Tallulah would make an excellent soldier. She'd stay–as my mother once put it–calm as a cucumber.

We're going to have a few celebratory potato chips now. Year seven is the year of the potato chip.

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

A walk in the park is no picnic

IMG_2909It snowed here, really a lot. You know. For here.

Do you enjoy my art shot, by the way? Am I like your annoying friend who just got into photography, and you have to stand behind her at the computer while she shows you 79 of her shots of the same dead dandelion?

What I like is I've given the world a glimpse into the windows of the people next door who hate us cause we have dogs. Have I told you about them? I love their house. Love. Love love love. And often I can see in their windows, and they decorated it all cute, too. But when we had a party, I went over there the day of and introduced myself, told them we were having a party and even invited them to stop by. The man, who was not in the bloom of youth, looked at me for a minute. "You the people who have the dogs?"

I mean, look. Edsel goes out there and almost immediately starts this high-pitched, let's-play bark that makes you want to kill yourself. As soon as he does it, I STAMPEDE to the door and call him in, but I guess these aren't what you'd call dog people.

I should totally have Peeping Tom Tuesday, where I show you a picture from times I see in their windows. What lawsuit?

So, basically Edsel cockblocks me from having friendly relations with the neighbors. Does anyone know how to shut a dog up? Oh, good. I just sought advice. How about my relationship? Do you have any advice on my relationship? I'd love some of that, too. Can you send it to me with a GIF where a dog is barking endlessly? Thanks. Actually, do GIFs even have sound? I'm like Faithful Reader suburban correspondent's husband telling everyone to MapQuest everything, so hep am I right now.

Marvin's parents used to refer to everything as a tape, a thing that tickled Marvin to no end. "We set our DVR and now we have a tape of the Sopranos." "I got my iPod and heard that tape of the new song you wrote." "Oh, did you send me a voicemail? After we hang up, I'll listen to the tape."

I meant to tell you that Marvin's mother and I texted back and forth during the Academy Awards. We sent tapes back and forth, which self-destructed in five seconds. She said Khloe Kardashian looked like a tomato, which is entirely true, but her hair was pretty, and that Juliana Rancid or whomever needs to up her caloric intake. Dang.

IMG_2903Oh my god anyway. It snowed. St. Francis has on a whole hat/scarf/muff combo that's pretty fetching. Have I told you Edsel pees on St. Francis quite regularly? He's less the patron saint of animals and more the peetron saint over at this here house.

IMG_2920If you could possibly not take note of the tossed salad action with m'dogs, and instead see the branch that fell. I know at my real house that I own, there's a branch touching a wire, which I have to have cut down and was waiting till it warmed up. The point is, I hope it didn't fall and fry my tenants. Landlord of the Year.

  IMG_2895This is the view from our bedroom window, which incidentally took 17 minutes to upload. SEVENFUCKINGTEEN minutes. I've written to Typepad and they will write back and make it my problem as they always do. "Have you tried another browser?" Yes. "Have you started using bigger pictures?" No. Then they'll stop addressing the issue altogether.

My point is, Ned came to bed very late last night. "It's snowing already!" he announced. "I was outside throwing snowballs at the street sign!"

What is it with men? Had I been awake, I may have pulled on my boots and walked around happily, looking at the snow-covered everything and enjoying nature's quiet beauty. Men have to immediately hit something.

Men are weird. Ned also mentioned to me recently that his favorite part of the Peanuts specials was when Snoopy fought the Red Baron. I thought it was a universal emotion that that was the boring part you had to sit though to get back to Linus pontificating. I never imagined anyone liked the Red Baron part. "Oh, I loved it!" said Ned Nickerson, street sign murderer.

He went to work today anyway, and I've just emailed him to make sure he got there okay and didn't have to eat the Christmas candy, a thing that's only funny if you're obsessed with Laura Ingalls Wilder, which Ned is not and my pithy literary humor is lost on him.

I have already copyedited two articles for work, a thing I did in the first hour of my workday, which technically I'm not even having because my office is closed, but I have a lot to do, including watch more Game of Effing Thrones. No one at work feels bad for me, but seriously, having to watch 40 hours of a show you're not that into is no picnic. Having to watch 40 hours of a show where dogs and horses and ravens get killed right and left is no walk in the park, either.

How come people always use those as examples? A walk in the park or a picnic? I mean, a picnic, you gotta prepare a bunch of food and schlep it with you and worry you're killing everyone because the potato salad's been in the sun for 30 minutes and will our good friends Sam and Ella be visiting in a few hours? It it gonna be potato salad, revisited, back at my house this evening?

And a walk in the park, man, you gotta find parking and put on bug spray and worry about those hippie assholes hitting you in the face with their goddamn hackysack. It's not easy, either. A walk in the park is no picnic.

Or maybe that's just how I enjoy life. Maybe I should try to hit more things with snowballs or my dick.

IMG_2918All right, I'm off to watch people get gutted and baby dragons go "aaaack!" and so on. I'll let you know if I get all snowbound and crazy, and what would be hilarious is if my next post is just 800 lines of All Work and No Play Make Jack a Dull Boy.

Come play with me.


June's stupid life · Sports · Television

Crying with Wolves

I just woke up, which is dreadful. You know what's dreadful-ler? People who BOUND out of bed. There is no reason for those people, other than that we need firemen.

My point is, I got coffee, and brought the wolves up here to be blog muses to me, which is not working because Edsel has left the room and now I worry that he's either (a) eating cat litter or (2) rubbing his face raptly and repeatedly on one of Ned's shirts, as he is wont to do.

OH MY GOD MY POINT IS–no, hang on. I gotta find Edsel. What if he's doing both at once? Ned will not be happy.

…Although it's true that one of Ned's old shirts was lying in the hallway, which means either Ned had a dramatic makeout scene with himself and threw his own clothes off, orrrrr Edsel dragged said shirt into the hall to roll his face in it over and over again, with big hearts with "Ned" written on them dancing around his fool dog head. However, after the rapture, after the lovin', Edsel went downstairs and is resting nicely on his dog bed. He seems uncomfortable up here, like he knows I'm allowing it but technically it's against the rules, all of which is true.

Tallulah is absolutely fine with it. Is lying proud and tall on the bed in here.

She's done the shaking thing a couple times, and as my vet told me to, I call her excitedly over to get a treat. She'll DO that, but still shake while she eats the treat. So. That helps not at all.

OH MY GOD MY POINT. My point is that Ned got into the shower not till 20 to 8:00, and now it's quarter to 8:00 and he's done showering, but that is late for him and it negates any chance of a little Ned action before he goes to work, plus also it makes me late, as well. To top it off I'm late for work. Lemme tell ya what I say when I'm dealing with the funky sidewalk. Lemme tell ya how to walk when I gotta do my funky walk.

I say shhhhhhhhh sugar.

Have I ever mentioned all the things I could have in my head other than song lyrics? Things such as maths or geography?

Speaking of wolves, I have to watch that show Game of Thrones for work. It's a long story, and anyway I don't like to go into detail about work. But, really, I have to watch that show. So last night I saw the first three episodes, and NO ONE WARNED ME ABOUT THE WOLVES AND WHAT HAPPENS WITH WOLVES.


Oh my god, you can't expect me to watch something like that. Ned was downstairs watching his sporting event, and all of a sudden I was screaming and crying, watching this damn show on my computer, and by the time he got up here I was hysterical.


Jesus Christ.

So after that, I brought the dogs up here and held them both on my lap and watched the rest of the show.

Before that trauma, Ned and I went to yoga last night, and there was just ONE OTHER COUPLE in the whole class, which I attribute to the fact that it MIGHT snow TONIGHT. This is how much people panic about weather here. Oh, there may be weather in 24 hours. We'd better stay in. Get prepared.

And I don't mean we're taking some kind of dippy yoga class for couples, like people who get couples massages or anything. That's always bothered me. Get a massage by yourself, codependent. I just mean that the other two people who happened to attend class happen to be married, a fact I know because I work with one of them. I work for a big place. But I'm the only person there who had to go home and get sad about wolves last night.

Oh my god.

Okay, I have to go to work.

Howl at you later.


P.S. Oh! I almost forgot! Last night Ned went to the store, and I requested more lemonade, and it wasn't till I gorged myself on TWO GLASSES of it that I noted it contained grapefruit! Ned is trying to kill me.

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

Sydney ToastPoints, Yay

It's Monday night and I'm in front of my computer, waiting for MY EDITOR to write back and tell me what to write for Purple Clover. I gave him several suggestions and none of them were about sex, so he may write back and say, Yeah, none of these. Think of more.

Since I'm up here, waiting, I figured I might as well write m'blog. Take tomorrow morning off. I guarantee I will still be late for work.

My friend Paula and her one boob sent me several photos from her visit this past weekend, which I will put here before you. Because it's evening, I have time to upload pictures at the same speed Cleopatra's photos loaded on her blog, Asp Me If I Care.

EdzluffmomOkay, that uploaded, like, immediately. It's like Typepad is afraid of me. Not as afraid as they were when Cleopatra used Typepad, or as it was called then, HieroglyphicsPad.

Love for self suddenly dwarfs even Edsel's love for me, as seen above. I like how Talu's glowy devil eye is peering around Eds. Also, it was good of me to tidy up before I had visitors. Nice robe. And coffee cup. Oh, hell, Paula lived with me. She knows.

FamilyApparently everyone had to get on up and pose in front of the Olan Mills Robe & Coffee Cup backdrop. My flowers are holding up, though. Which is more than we can say for my figure, because do I give new meaning to the word hipster or what? I'm hip to your game.

Cur"I say we eat the dogs. Need more padding in m'hips."

MY EDITOR still hasn't written. I wonder what's keeping him? I hope I'm not up here at 10 p.m., writing. I've done that before, and it's hard to be funny when you're tired. You can see how hard you're stitching up your sides right now, in the early evening. Imagine how painful this writing style will be at 10:00.

DeerPaula and I had lunch, then I took her over to my friend Kit's vintage store. They also sell stuff made by local folk, including these deer-themed stretch pants that I would have SNATCHED RIGHT UP were I still a doe. They only cost a buck. BAH! Again. It's only early evening. And my funny's gone missing like Bambi's mother. The point is, I was being a deer in headlights up there, and I'd like to reiterate my point from a few days ago that holding your mouth open in a picture is annoying. When you do it with doe pants, the humor is spotty at best.

Nobody likes me, do they? Will go stag the rest of my life.

Anyway, that was, like, four of 239494092 photos from Paula, and I noted we took none of the two of us, so for all you know I made her up and I'm all, My good friend George Glass was in and man, did we have a time!

I also took pictures from our Oscar party, and by "Oscar party" I do not mean that we swam around at the bottom of a fish tank. We also did not climb into trash cans.

I better save this hilarity for my article. Don't want to give it all away, man.

IMG_2886I was gonna get all dressed up, but I was out of contacts, and the idea of putting on a dress and heels and then, hi, here's me in my spectacles, just seemed ridiculous. So I wore jeans and my cool heels. I did not wear a top. Went all Nat Geo on your ass. And the Oscar goes to: June Gardens in Divining Water! June Gardens in What Lies Beneath.

June Gardens in Mother, Depressing Jugs and Speed.

Okay, I'm done.

June Gardens in Gravity.

Oh my god, just tickled living shit out of self.

HE STILL HAS NOT WRITTEN. I wonder if he's out sick or something? Maybe I won't have to write my column till tomorrow. After a full day of work and two hours of tutoring my student. Fresh! June Gardens in Not Funny Girl.

IMG_2890It is a shame Marty Martin did not supply us with any food. When Scarlett Johansson appeared in that green dress, I noted my entire chestical region was covered in peanut shells, like an elephant had just given me a pearl necklace. "I feel like Scarlett Johansson never gets covered in peanut shells," I announced, and moved on to the sausage dip.

He also had hot dogs, Marty Martin did, and five different kinds of dessert. June Gardens in Eat, Pray, Eat.

IMG_2888Someone ate more and exercised less. Actually, he rode his bike yesterday for, like, an hour before we left, so.

Marty M., and I like how I'm calling him Marty M. now like he's in AA, and after yesterday he may want to sign up, has HD TV, which I say like that's all newfangled. Marty M. has the moving pictures on his television set. He also had one of those cellular phones. It was like the future!

The point is, we noted which celebrities had had the Botox and who had not, although we may be wrong about this, because what we NOTED were the horizontal lines on the foreheads of certain celebrities, and really, Botox fixes the vertical lines. Allegedly. Have you seen the Nile on my forehead? Cleopatra is going to be so pissed I mentioned it. She is forever accusing me of stealing from her blog, Pyramid Scheming. You should have seen the fit she had when I got that bob.

IMG_2891Here Kayeeeee and I are, giving you a little forehead. Eyebrows were raised.

Then we went back to eating. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? June, and she ain't leaving till every scrap is gone. Old Sydney Toast Points? Yay! Over here. Sydney Porkier.

Anyway. The food was good. Is what I am saying to you. It was less an Oscar party and more an Oscar Meyer party.

It is now after 8:00 and MY EDITOR has not written back. I guess I will end this post and go bug Ned, who is downstairs trying to read a book, I think, but not once The Eyes of June and her Mars Bar start boring into him.

Like Water for More Chocolate,


Film · Friends · I am a pleasure of life · June's stupid life

Your gathering place for saying incredibly petty things about celebrities

You'd think I'd be more sensitive to the famous, now that I've been featured in a major local magazine and all, but no. Still ready to poke fun at the starts. Still Juney from the block. That's funny every time.

I just got back from the world's hardest beginner's yoga class, and wish to eat everything in sight, and when I got home and opened the refridge, as Ned would say, HALF his Russell Stover coconut cream egg was there, still. HALF.

Dear Ned, You're out of coconut cream eggs. Love, June.

Anyway, I know I filled you in on my Saturday day, and what else could you ask for, but I forgot to tell you I did a full horrible hour of my Hans Tracy Anderson video Friday evening, with my new friend Slutty Pancakes.

IMG_2866Look how cute. I work with her, but she's in a different department. I've always been able to tell she is our people, but we never had a reason to talk. Then some yahoo told her about my blog and she started emailing me. "I'm reading the entire thing," she told me, and then would email me all upset about things that happened in 2009 that I've already forgotten about.

Anyway, we got to talking about our romantic histories, as girls do, and she's just gotten out of a very long relationship with some foreign guy. Suzy went and left us for some foreign guy. The point is, he's from somewhere I can't remember, because excellent listening skills, so let's say Serbia.

Then she mentioned another relationship with someone from Madagascar (or Cuba? God, who knows) and I was all, "Wow, you're pretty worldly with your relationships. Who are you, The International House of Slutty Pancakes?"

And a blog name was born.

IMG_2867And why is she so cute after a workout and I have penis nose? I hate my nose. You know it looks like a penis and I know you feel sorry for me. I suppose the fact that I'd just worked out had nothing to do with my nose's penisness. It'd be that way no matter what.

Anyway, we had a good time, me, Slutty Pancakes and my dick nose. So that was Friday.

Last night, one of the Alexes had a party, the same Alex who was all hot in her white dress some months back.

This time, she had a Mardi Gras theme. There was a lot of shrimp served, and I do not eat shrimp. Shrimp does not appeal to me, and people had to appeal their shrimp last night. Thank god there was also dirty rice and blackened chicken. Oh, and bananas foster, which I would marry were that legal. Holy cats.

IMG_2881Ryan was a total bitch about me photographing him last night. "I've whored myself out on your blog a hundred times," he said, all righteous. I mean, you can't be my friend if you aren't willing to whore yourself. What was he thinking? But anyway, I got all excited to show my coworker Spalex and her pregnant self along with her husband, and all of a sudden old Don't Steal My Soul With Your Camera got all friendly.

My coworker's name is (wait for it) Alex, but she works for the Spanish team, so to differentiate her we call her Spalex. She walked in and introduced herself as Spalex to people, which sort of killed me.

20150221_225718_resized-2I was asked to bring my tarot cards and read everyone's fortune, which I did, and now everyone is mad at me that they aren't going to fall in love this week and also become millionaires. I mean, I am sorry. Shit occurs.

Ned is in the shower, angrily plunging our constantly clogged drain, and he seems to be insinuating that the hair in there is disgusting, and I'm not really 100% sure of what he's getting at. Once he's over it and clean, we are headed to Marty Martin's to watch the Academy Awards. I want to be a good party guest, but I will be looking here occasionally to see if any of you have terrible comments to make about anyone.

Oh, I know. We should do something new this year, and practice kindness, and only try to say positive things about Julia and Gwynneth and Angelina. Let's look for the good this year.


XO, Jooon

Friends · June's stupid life

The one second we’ve had to relax all day

IMG_2869And I spend it taking pictures for my blog.

My friend Paula is here, and we met up with her at 12:30, which is dawn for me, and yet I did it.

IMG_7377Of COURSE Paula's here for a Heart event. I told her I'm having a party July 11, to celebrate Ned and me turning 50, and she was all, "I wish I could fly here for it."

!!!!! If Nancy fucking Wilson turned 50, she'd take a dirigible to get to her. She'd water ski. And yes. That is Paula and Nancy Wilson from Heart on her phone's wallpaper. Along with 242 unanswered emails to Nancy.*

Anyway, we hung out all day, and now I have to go because my friend is having a Mardi Gras party and I can't wait to walk in and show my hoots. What do you mean we aren't showing our hoots?

IMG_7341Paula took this picture of Yellow and Yellow, when I was showing them my hoots.

Talk at you tomorrow.

Who dat?


*(c) Marvin, who made that joke after I stampeded to send him this pic.

June's stupid life · Religion

Easter Par-Aid

Last night, even though it was two hundred million thousand below zero, Ned and I went to a restaurant whose name bugs me: Pastabilities.

Oh, stop. Pastabilities. However, it.is.delicious. You can't go wrong there. It is an impastability.

I had The Traditional, which is penne pasta that cost more than a penne, with pink sauce and heart-healthy meatballs. Ned had The Natural, which is Robert Redford ground up and sprinkled across your noodles.

"Do you wanna go to Rite Aid?" I asked, as the last of Bob was scooped up and swallowed. "I need a tongue scraper."

You'd think maybe the bloom is off the rose, seeing as I'm able to announce stuff like that, but in truth I'm still pretty bloomy and rosey about Ned. I just also have the utter inability to not tell everyone everything.

Fortunately, Ned was down with that idea, and even though it was right next door, I still drove over there. Because six hundred million thousand and two below zero. Before I gave up Facebook for Lent, I saw one of my friends, who grew up here, announcing a link with, "Here are some tips for getting through this deadly cold weather we're having."

Deadly cold weather. Like we're in Greenland or something. Dude, I'd spend whole seasons in temperatures like this. I walked to school in temperatures like this when I myself was a single digit. Here I still am. Alive. I think people in the South think if you walk outside and it's below 40, you might could die immediately, right in front of your silk-flower welcome wreath. Really, it's sort of cute.

Ned's mom called him earlier in the week to similarly warn him about the weather. My mother would have done the same thing. When she visits, she'll say things like, "Do you have your keys?" as we leave my house, as if the other 364 days of the year I am constantly getting myself locked out of my home because no one is there to warn me."Did you remember to put in contacts? Are you breathing? You have to breathe all day, honey, or you'll die."

I am just theorizing, really, but based on having a mother, I think mothers are physically unable to stop mom-ing, even when their kid is 50 and has jowls.

Anyway, Ned's mom said, "It's going to be really cold this week, so bundle up. This weather is no joke."

"Weather walks into a bar," Ned said, then gazed at himself fondly in a mirror.

Anyway, we went to Rite Aid, which was what I was going to blog about and here it is 900 minutes later. I found the tongue scrapers right away, and Ned found that Sports Illustrated where that model is showing us her cooch. "Have you seen this?" asked Ned, showing me the model showing me her cooch.


I wonder if "cooch" is not an acceptable term if one is a feminist. …Mom? What's your take on "cooch"? And yes, I will remember to go to work today and to wear clothes there and not show m'cooch.

The point is, right there in the aisle next to Cooch Illustrated, was a whole aisle of Easter stuff. EASTER stuff. Easter is 38 days from now. I know that because that's how many days till I can go back on Facebook. "Ned! They have Easter candy!"

I feel like this was less interesting information for Ned than it was for me, because he was on cooch watch, which if there's a DARK-CHOCOLATE COCONUT EGG in the other aisle, I don't see how you have to even think about which to attend to.

Neither did Ned.

The point is, that aisle was smokin'. Not literally, because scary. But dudes, they had a whole huge section, all the rows, of different Russell Stover Easter Egg flavors, one of which Ned put IN THE FRIDGE to eat "later" that I am desperately hoping he forgets today.

There was flavored Easter grass. FLAVORED! They had green apple, which is probably disgusting, and strawberry, and blueberry, which was the flavor I chose for my fantasy Easter basket that I began creating for myself, and guess who's gonna fire up her Pinterest for a brand-new Very Chubby June page?

There were not only your traditional Easter bunnies, holding those candy carrots that you always eat first, but also HELLO KITTY EASTER BUNCATS. Hell, I don't know what they were, cats or bunnies. Hello Kitty something Easter-y. Maybe it was Hello Kitty Jesus, which would be just like those Communists over in Japan to invent.

Are there Communists in Japan? I really have no idea. Perhaps if I spent less time in the Easter aisle and more time reading the paper.

But that's the crazy talk.

"Oh, wow, look at this." I showed Ned the chocolate cross they had. Seriously, how disappointed would you be if your Ned Flanders parents gave you a chocolate cross instead of a bunny? I feel like there's no carrot on a candy cross. No eyeballs. At least I hope not.

They also had candy bars that had Jesus on them.

"Oh, wow! I've never seen all this before! I am in the South," I told Ned, before I headed off to the chocolate cream Peeps. CHOCOLATE-CREAM PEEPS! Is it just me, or are they going crazier for Easter now? Have you seen all this religious-themed candy before? I mean, I get it. People who are religious are probably sick and tired of Easter meaning a marshmallow Peep. It's just the first I've noticed such a thing.

I told Ned I'd buy him a Russell Stover Easter Egg, because hey, big spender, plus they were two for a dollar, and I couldn't very well gorge myself on two of them right there in front of Ned and my new tongue scraper. I like how the possibility of NOT buying two when there's a two-for-one special did not even remotely enter my mind.

(Oh, man, Ned just left for work and I think he didn't remember his egg! It's in the fridge so it shall not perish, but I feel like it shall disappear.

Sorry, Ned, Happy Easter.)



June's stupid life · Music

And you can tell everybody this is your song (Or, Blog reader walks into a bar)

Yesterday, I learned there's a new app you can put on your phone which will let you play whatever song you like when you walk into a bar or restaurant that has a juke box. ("I even busted the juke-a-box!" Name that movie.)

What would your song be?

I said Black Dog or Bizarre Love Triangle, a fact that surprises no one who knows me.



The Guy Who Sits Next to Me said The Pixies' Where is My Mind, and then I was jealous of his most excellent choice.

I love that song. But now if I say that, I am just Single White Female-ing The Guy Who Sits Next to Me.

There's something you say every day.

Griff, who sits next to The Guy Who Sits Next to Me, said Merle Haggard. God help us all.


Ned said Camptown Races, and he doesn't even get a You Tube video for that.

What would your song be?

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

Prickly Pear

IMG_2859Every morning, after Ned leaves, I let the dogs upstairs while I blog. I tell them they're my blog muses. They somehow understand that they are NOT to go into the real bedroom, but that it's okay to lie on our old double bed, where the three of us crammed in every night for years. They also understand, for the most part, that they are not to chase NedKitty.

But NedKitty's so tempting. What's she doing in the hall alone at this hour, anyway? Dressed like that.

Hi, Ned.

I'd say the part where I call the dogs my blog muses is kind of a bullshit excuse so I can bring them up here, but look. I just got several paragraphs out of them.

IMG_2863 we mewses.

And no, Pesky, I haven't heard about Talu's thyroid yet. Geez. It's been ONE DAY. Hang on. So far, she hasn't been shaking again, so maybe that was an isolated incident and I dragged her off to the vet like I have Munchhausen by Proxy. Which I probably do, let's face it.

Due to ICE! OHMYGOD ICE! ICE IN THE SOUTH! I don't have to go to work till 10:00 today, and I promise you I will find a way to be late, anyway. I tried to lure Ned, who had to be at work at 8:00 like a normal person, back to the bed with me to make him be late, but he was having none of it. 


Truthfully, I really wanted a lot lot more snow and drama and icicles off the roof and so on with this "storm." And all we got was a little snow and a little ice. Darn, that's the end.

Ned and I did 12 more questions, of the NY Times article questions, last night. Here are the next 12 we answered:

13. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?

14. Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?

15. What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

16. What do you value most in a friendship?

17. What is your most treasured memory?

18. What is your most terrible memory?

19. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?

20. What does friendship mean to you?

21. What roles do love and affection play in your life?

22. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.

23. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?

24. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?
The one I answered that surprised me was what do I value most in a friendship. I never thought about it before, but the thing I value most in my friends is they know when to leave me the fuck alone. I'm a prickly pear. I am not Oprah and Gayle, yakking on the phone every night, discussing their every detail. You have something major going on? You call me. We talk. Six months later, I call you because I have something major. 
This whole checking in all day thing makes me want to take my life. I think I blame this blog. I already check in, and tell my every detail to all 20,000 of you. Do you like how I just upped by numbers dramatically and made myself Dooce? So, I mean, I guess I don't need to check in all over again with one chick on top of the 9 million chicks who read this blog. All of a sudden I'm HuffPo.
So, I don't know. That's what I value in my friends: a lack of neediness, yet dependability. Does that make me weird?
Speaking of weird, I just went downstairs to get a delicious bagel, and I see that Ned was in there at some point, in the bagels, and he took half.
Half a bagel.
It's a sad day when your boyfriend eats like a chick and you eat like a longshoreman. Because I was considering eating the whole sleeve, like they're Thin Mints.
Half a bagel. Jesus. Even Jesus would take the whole bagel. You know what Jesus would never do? Tell anyone they needed to eat less and exercise more. That's what Jesus would never do. You never saw that, even once, in the red font in the Bible. Does Jesus get the red font, or does God? Remember that time Marvin was mad at me because I wanted a puppy, and he said, "I HAVE SPOKEN!" and then whenever I quoted him on this blog I used red font?
Tonight, I celebrate my love for me, Tonight, there'll be no distance between me.
All right. My blog muses and I have to go. Some of us have to work, and some of us have to fall into a dead sleep till the mailman has the nerve to show up. We should totally switch that up and see how The Guy Who Sits Next To Me reacts to a dog tapping at the keyboard and snorfing his snacks.
...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · My pets

The Long Winter by June Gardens

Laura Ingalls Wilder would cock punch me right in the ass if she saw me calling this a long winter. "Ohhhh, with your one day of a little snow and some ice! Long Winter this, bitch."

"Cock punch me right in the ass" doesn't even make sense, but what do you want from me? I've gone CRAZY from this WEATHER.

So, yesterday it was looking all gray and snowy-y and all we did all day at work was check the weather to see if it was going to start snowing already. I had to take Tallulah the Sheik to the vet at 3:30, which was a charming time because snow was predicted at 4:00.

"Text me if they close work." I said to one of the Alexes, one of the more grownup Alexes, and she said oh, sure, absolutely. Anything for you, June, because I am your good good friend.

I got the dog and we schlepped to the vet, where not only a small gray Schnauzer waited in the lobby–a small gray edible Schnauzer–but also one of those teensy silky haired terriers that Tallulah heartily resents for being small and feisty and silky. There's nothing she'd like in her digestive system more. Poop her out some silky small dog bits.

But when we got there? To the lobby? Tallulah just crawled up on my lap and hid her head in my neck.

That worried me.

By the way, Talu is my phone wallpaper, and whenever it's 10 o'clock, this happens:

IMG_2836This is a thing Ned and I have yet to get over. Apparently it will not be getting old any time soon.

Anyway, they did $8484858583 worth of tests again, and so far everything is coming back normal, which I know technically is good but I wish they'd just find something already. She checked Tallulah's thyroid, and I have noticed her being sluggish and bloated lately. Okay I'm totally making that up. Other than shake shake shaking her bootay, she seems perfectly well.

One thing the doctor suggested is next time she shakes, call her over for a treat, such as silky haired terrier jerky. If that breaks the spell, we can be assured it's emotional and not physical. 

As I was in there consulting with the doctor and Tallulah was shedding ludicrous amounts on my navy-blue coat, the vet interrupted herself. "Oh! There it is!"

I looked outside and all I saw was white. It's like we went from the South to a tundra, and really I don't know what a tundra is, you just always say it when it's cold, bad weather.

Lu and I turned over the deed to my house to the vet's office and walked to the car, and she was very excited about sniffing the snow, snertling the snow back out her nose holes, prancing in the snow, and I was all, You motherfucker. You aren't even sick.

Dog was my copilot as we crawled back to my office. Everyone on the road was fleeing for home in a panic, like Godzilla was stomping through town, so it was slow driving. The weather was really kind of scary, and I nervously checked my phone twice to see if work had closed early. Nothing from Alex.

What normally takes 10 minutes took 25, but finally I pulled into work. There was only a half hour left, so it was going to be take-your-dog-daughter-to-work day, take your Pit to work day, take your coworkers' lives in your hands day, and when I got there?

Everyone was gone.

"Oh, I wanted to text you," said Alex, the only remaining coworker. "But when we closed early, I all of a sudden had everyone needing something from me."

Tallulah exuberantly sniffed my coworker Deb Downer's plants. She all of a sudden is some kind of plant manager, over there, and has 79 perfectly bloomed plants at her desk. If I tried to have plants at my desk it'd look like the end of the Civil War, like when Scarlett stepped over all the brown withered bodies to get to Dr. Meade.

We headed back to the snowy car and drove snowily home. Ned went to the grocery store before he came home, as all Southerners do, to load up on the necessities of life: beer and spaghetti and cat food. Then–and this is where you call Ned a keeper again–when he got home, he realized he'd forgotten my lemonade that I'd requested, so he went BACK OUT through a storm and got me some.

We built a fire and I had Ruffles for dinner, and we answered 12 of the 36 questions. Do you know about these? Here are the 12 we answered so far:

1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

2. Would you like to be famous? In what way?

3. Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?

4. What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?

5. When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?

6. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?

7. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

8. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.

9. For what in your life do you feel most grateful?

10. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

11. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.

12. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?

Now today it's really icy out, as there was freezing rain all night, which Ned insists was sleet, and which I say What's the diff, but the point is, it's made the dogs very frolicky.

IMG_2844IMG_2845IMG_2848IMG_2843IMG_2839That dog is not sick.

...friend/Ned · Aging ungracefully · I am berserk · June's stupid life

Bonne Bell’s Tuna Surprise

I put lip gloss on the cat this weekend, which pretty much is the last butterfly in my net.

But she was on my lap–and of course I mean Lily. Who else is crying out for lip gloss more than that girly cat? I have that kind that comes in a tube, where you squeeze it onto your finger. I am speaking of lip gloss now, and not cats. Anyway, there was some left over, and I said, "Does my kitty want some lip gloss? Oh, so pretty and shiny!"

And she didn't mind one bit. Had her cat compact been nearby, she'd have taken an approving glance.

In the meantime, Tallulah just started shaking again this morning, and I am worried. I will call the vet as soon as they open. She went a really long time NOT shaking, and I had attributed it to her sore footie, and yes I called it a footie, and if I were Tallulah I'd gnaw my throat out, too.

You know who does NOT want any lip gloss?

IMG_2820Tallulah. Doing her Bridget Jones impression with the ice cream. Lu wish for man. Eeet ice creem.

IMG_2823Look at NedKitty's hearty resentment of Lu, getting to have a milk-based snack. She stabs Lu with her steely eyes but she just can't kill the beast.

So, how was your Valentine's Day? Ned and I were invited to a party, and it was black-tie optional, which I guess I already told you, so on Saturday we shopped for clothes to wear to said party. We went to Belk, which we call Belt because my mother said it that way once and I cannot drop anything (see above reference to stabbing something with a steely knife)

IMG_2763Ned went to the boy part of the store, and I texted (I text him) (I have GOT to stop saying that) pictures of my dress choices. After I sent Ned this one, he said, "I'm coming over there." Then he sat outside the dressing room just like Pretty Woman, except Ned is not paying for me to not kiss him.

IMG_2762I ended up getting this one, and I held my arm out like that the entire time. Typepad is taking FOREVER to fucking upload pictures today, like more than three minutes per picture, so I can't show you my new shoes and my little sweater I wore with it and so on and I HATE TYPEPAD SO MUCH. Does anyone have any info on how I can just get my own damn fucking website? I am not kidding.  IMG_2777Handsomest boy, ever.

IMG_2797It was the coldest night in the history of time, and the wind was slapping things against our windshield, and it was like God was saying, Stay innnnnn! Build a firrrrre! God talks like a ghost. But we'd gotten all dressed up, so.

IMG_2782The party was hosted by my coworker Poochie and her dashing husband, Steven, whose name is really Steven and I guess I didn't think up a blog name for him. Zed. Her husband Zed, and not at all Steven.

IMG_2814Here are Poochie and Zed, and did I mention their house is da bomb? It was built in the late 1800s, as was I.

IMG_2806I turned the camera around to capture Ryan for all you Mrs. Robinsons out there. (Jan.) (Amish Annie.)

IMG_2786Here's another one you can tear out of this magazine and hang on your wall.

IMG_2784Fleeta was also there, in her VDay finery. If you HAVE a party, you really need to invite Fleeta. She's outgoing, but not in a hey, here's the lampshade kind of way, because of course I have the lampshade.

Anyway, good party. Excellent food, and they're vegans. You'd think it'd have been all, here's a piece of cauliflower. Get out. But everything was effing delish.

Tonight we're expecting a big snowstorm–I mean, big for here. It's very exciting except for how Ned is large and in charge at work, so even if it snows like a mother, he has to go in. This is why I have never been ambitious and have opted for trophy wife status. Other than not being a wife or a trophy. Say, nice 50-year-old trophy! I'm like a tarnished loving cup.

Okay, it's after 8:00 and I will worriedly call the vet about shake her moneymaker, over here. Maybe she's upset because Lily has on foundation today. What? She needed to cover her unsightly veins.

Books · June's stupid life

Mince Words with Joooon: Forver by Judy Blume

The last time I read Forever by Judy Blume, I was in 6th grade and owned a shockingly complete collection of Bonne Bell Lip Smackers, the best being–if you ask me–Piece of Cake, which tasted like wedding cake. If I ever get married again, I am handing those out as party favors.

Now that I'm a mother of six and the CEO of a major conglomerate, Forever by Judy Blume has taken on a whole new meaning. Mostly, when did we get so fucking weird about sex?

I was raised the same way as Katherine, the hero of our story. Her family is a little bit hippie-ish, meaning they don't live on a commune, but there's lots of macrame and free thinking and openness about sex. Even Katherine's grandmother was all, "Go on the pill! Have sex if you want!" and my one grandmother was the same way.

(The other grandmother spent a lot of her time worrying about how rapidly that steam train to hell was coming for me. She was what you might call traditional, and my upbringing caused her some consternation.)

(Imagine how worried she'd be if she knew some day I'd know and laugh at Faithful Reader Paula's jokes.)

The point is, it is shocking, when you read this book today, how NOT like that we are anymore. All of a sudden sex is this forbidden topic, and no one is doing it, and it's bad bad bad and everyone's getting shrill about DON'T GO SEE 50 SHADES, and Pee Wee Herman is selling abstinence rings, which okay, he's doing as a joke, but that there are enough abstinence rings out there that Pee Wee has to make fun of them is saying something.

What I like about Forever by Judy Blume–and apparently I have to say it like that in its entirety every time–is that this is a story where two people meet, have sex, and break up. Nothing tragic happens. Our heroine does not get AIDS or pregnant or even a UTI. It's–let's face it–kind of what happened to most of us in high school. We fell in love, we had sex and hey! Nothing bad happened except for maybe a broken heart, that you get over once Theo calls.

Not only did I have a wave of nostalgia for the permissiveness of the '70s, I also loved the references to things we don't do anymore: embroider jeans, talk on the phone, drink legally at age 18. It was all so charming in its '70s-ness. It made me long for Love's Fresh Lemon and an Ayds Candy.

I'd forgotten about the depressed friend, whose half-closeted homosexuality I could see coming a mile away. I have no idea if it's easier to be a gay teenager now, but I hope it is. The worst part about having a closeted boyfriend is you have to go to all his plays.

So, how'd you like revisiting Forever by Judy Blume? Were you scandalized? Thrilled at the once-shocking sex scenes? Wondering why we meet "Ralph" but never "Deloris," ifyouknowhatI'msayin'? And how much do you not miss monkey posters? I have never once enjoyed a monkey poster, or a monkey in clothes, or really a monkey anything other than straight-up monkeys being monkeys. Show me a picture of a monkey acting human and I show you my Easter Island face.* Let me know your thoughts.


Juney Blume

*(c) Faithful Reader Paula, with whom I seem particularly obsessed today. Oh, I hope she shows me Ralph soon!!

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

Juneda Gardensho

IMG_2758Someone is almost insisting he have a thick girlfriend. Ned had flowers delivered at my work yesterday AND he got me a Dick Whitman's Sampler. I ate the chocolate messenger boy right away, because, you know. Chocolate messenger boy. If they had candy where one of the pieces was a hot 22-year-old woman, Ned would eat that piece first too, so.

He did not get me a blind cat; she came with the house. He also did not get me a falling-apart ancient table linen that I love. I love it so much I pepper it with cat asses.

While I was writing this, someone came to the door and the dogs' asses fell off because EVERYONE IS AN INTRUDER and then Ned came up here at look!

IMG_2760He got me MORE flowers! Flowers at work and then flowers on the real day! Wow!

I like Valentine's Day.

Last night I made more pumpkin chili, and Ned had to go out in the cold and get another can of pumpkin because the first one was dented, and while I'm perfectly willing to put botulism in my forehead, I did not want it in my gullet. Anyway, it was delicious and I gave some of the dented can of pumpkin to the dogs, which was nice but I KNEW in my heart of hearts it was okay and look, they're still alive.

The point is, afterward we downloaded the movie Frida, which was kind of stupid but fun to look at visually, plus girl on girl with Josephine Baker. You don't see that every day. Chocolate dancer girl.

My question is, for a woman who was super visual, what gives with those eyebrows, Frida? They had to have invented tweezersin the '20s, right? I mean, eventually that whole '30s too-thin-eyebrow thing came in style, but not for Frida.

Photo on 2-14-15 at 1.37 PMThe best part of this whole scenario is when Ned walked in here with the broom, and just kept sweeping the floor. It's just another day is What is She Up to Now world.

During the whole movie, any time they sat down, Ned would ask, "Is someone going to come over and set down a basket of chips and some salsa?" Oh, he loved himself. "Oh, look, here comes someone with the basket of chips."

MY POINT IS, before we turned on the movie, I told Ned how you guys were all Googling "Bye Bye Pie +" whatever word, and I read him the one where I did an extreme makeover on myself, as opposed to that nice makeover I did right here in this blog today, and I could not read it because I was laughing at myself too hard. I fell over on the couch laughing, and guess who finds me not at all appealing?

It was the where-to-place-foundation part of that post that got me. I don't know what to tell you. I get a kick out of me.

All right, I gotta go. Ned and are headed to a party tonight, and it's black-tie optional, and as we all know, Ned has no ties thanks to my, you know, fit the other day, so we're going out and Ima buy him a tie. Also possibly Ima buy me a dress, as Banana Republic is having a 40% off bananas day or something.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! Oh, I love this holiday.

Insert heart emoticon here, if I were the kind of asshole who used heart emoticons.

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

Just kind of fadey

It is cold today, a fact that has haunted old Nedlard Scott, over here, all week. "Don't forget it's gonna be cold today," he said just now as he headed out. I should totally grab my shorts and halter and put it on when he gets home. "What? This is what I wore today."

You know what'd be pretty? Me in shorts and a halter.

6a00e54f9367fb883401a3fc8351fd970b-800wiHere's me in a tube top, in 1981. It wasn't really even a good idea then. Look how there used to be a space between my thighs. Goddammit.

6a00e54f9367fb88340168ec1917f1970c-piHere's me in a short dress in 1997. This was the day I got proposed to. I had on Marvin's nice jean jacket that looks acid wash but was really just kind of fade-y.

The only reason I found this picture up there is because I did a search. Did you ever go on Google, hit Images, then type in the search bar "ByeByePie" + something? "ByeByePie + June" or "ByeByePie + shoes" or cats or whatever. You get all sorts of riveting images that are probably only riveting to me because it's my dumb life, but it's fascinating, really. How rapidly do we think Hulk will type in "ByeByePie + Hulk?"

6a00e54f9367fb8834017d42c95a86970c-piHere's what happened when I typed in ByeByePie + Hulk. heeeeee…

At any rate, it's cold in case you didn't know and now I have to go put on warm clothing. It's 8:10 and I haven't showered yet, because Ned, and I have a big day ahead of me. Did I tell you about work? I guess I didn't. So, I am doing more writing now, and less copy editing, which is exciting, but also hard to juggle. Plus also too I'm doing EXTRA writing for the company in general, a thing I volunteered for because suckup and plus it's pretty fun, but with that open floor plan, concentrating is not so good. Most of the time now I sneak into the hall and write there, which is good for my back.

Still, it's an exciting development and I oddly find myself not even being able to wait to get to work, I have so much cool writing stuff I wanna try.

Oh, I have an idea. Write in and tell me what you find when you type in "ByeByePie +" a weird word. Let me know.

Tonight I am going to attempt to make chili again, in the hopes that Ned will (a) keep it down and (4) keep it refrigerated. Last night he took me to a fancy restaurant to celebrate Valentine's Day early, and it.was.delicious. The first annoying local to email me, "Where?!" gets a shipment of liver-flavored liver. Upon receipt, please smack yourself with it. It was on Dolly Madison Street, which who even knew that was a street. Something Seafood and Steak. I had catfish, which is the seafood side of that equation. Because there aren't enough cats in my life.

Do you know what Ned hates? That song Black Water, by the Doobie Brothers? And from now on I want you to call me Doobie Sister. Anyway, he hates the line "Catfish are jumpin'…" because as he points out, catfish don't jump. They sort of swim around at the bottom. This never would have bothered me had I not met Ned.

IMG_2750Here's Ned dippin' the bread. Slappin' the bass.

Ned had some kind of seafoody dish, which included mussels, and I made a reference to pulling mussels from a shell (like the Squeeze song, you zygote) and Ned said I made that joke LAST time he had mussels, and clearly I am out of material.

Okay, bye. Oh, by the way, here is how I typed this whole goddamn post, I am not kidding:

IMG_2754I typed around the body of a cat. A squishy, annoying cat. I wish this catfish would jump somewhere else.

June's stupid life

Spy vs Spy

20150212_002325_resizedNed got home from his sporting event* and could not sleep, so he sent me this picture from his phone at 12:25 this morning. He titled it Spy vs Spy.

Do you know what I was doing at 12:25 this morning?

Not a lot. Logs were sawed, perhaps.

Marvin and I dressed as Spy vs Spy once, I mean not just around the house to enhance our adult time, but for Halloween.

SvsWho adored their own selves, do you think?

We didn't win Best Costume that year. Every year this couple we knew had an elaborate party, and a lot of your Hollywood types came and wore extra-spiffy costumes. I remember one woman came as Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction, with the giant hypodermic sticking out of her white shirt. It was great.

We DID win the year we went as Steve Irwin and a stingray.

6a00e54f9367fb88340120a61eb1fe970c-piWow, my butt looks cute. I miss the bloom of youth. I think I was a youthful 40, there. Look at glowy-eyed Winston!

How come in every old picture of me there (a) is a cat and (8) is a cat who is now gone? When I arrive at the shelter, the cats probably try to hide. The only reason I saw Iris is she didn't see me in order to get to the back of her cage. I can't KEEP a man or a cat.

Actually, things are going okay with Ned, although how do you know, since in the last month all we've had is one crisis after another. First I got a cold, and I know you haven't forgotten I got a cold, then we broke up, then he got barfy and now here we are.

It's weird to have a blog and to break up with someone on such a public level. I was so distraught and so used to coming here and telling pretty much everything that it never occurred to me to keep it mum, but now I wish I had. Now everybody's got an opinion, and really that's all my fault. Ned woulda kept this under his hat. But not ME. Not old Go Tell it on a Mountain, over here.

So, you have a blog for years, and you learn. Not everything needs to be announced as it happens. I could have done a Very Special BBP, where I say wow, Ned and I had a crisis and it's over. Not nearly as interesting, though, and lemme tell you. That whole week my numbers doubled. The actual day we broke up? I had almost 7600 page views, according to Typepad.

So there's that. Be an interesting, real writer or a dignified, less-interesting one? I mean, keep it real or keep it safe?

But, really, I don't keep it 100% real. There are some things I don't tell, because people won't let me and I HAVE SOME FASCINATING STUFF, but I always ALWAYS respect my people when they say, "This does not go on your blog." They also kind of know that they have to SAY, "This does NOT go on your blog" in order for it not to go on my blog, because hello. The worst thing in the world is when my friends are interesting and I can't tell you.

Recently, a particularly crabby commentor said Ned and I broke up because he was sick of being written about on a blog, and it reminded me of how my grandmother read the tabloids and then would discuss the lives of who she read about as though Luke Spencer called her personally to discuss his relationship with the rest of the cast of General Hospital.

I like how my celebrity example is Luke Spencer. But that's who I can hear Gramma talking about. "Luke Spencer, he was friends with that Elizabeth Taylor when she was on the show. But now they don't talk any more."

I mean, Cranky Reader invented a whole scenario in her mind, where Ned had his suitcase and his hat at the door. "That's the last time, June. I told you if you blog about my inability to sleep when I get home late, we'd be through. This time it's for real." {slam}

In fact, I discuss with Ned ad nauseam and add nausea what I can and cannot say, and he rarely puts the kibosh on anything. He is completely unimpressed with this blog and it's almost like it doesn't exist for him, I think. So thanks for the theory, cranky reader, but wow, were you off, there.

My point is this: Having a blog where you talk about your life. It's fun and it's weird and sometimes you say too damn much. I have to learn to not scream over here whenever something happens, like I have 2,000 best friends on the other side of a screen. You know? Because while most of you are my friend, or at least relatively tolerant of me, not everyone is.

Ned and I are going to a party on Valentine's Day, so tonight we're going out to dinner someplace nice. We figure tomorrow will be just as intolerable as anywhere Saturday night. I just thought of that scene in the Sex and the City movie where Carrie and Miranda go out to dinner on V Day and it's horrific.

The point is, this is the fourth Valentine's Day I've had with Ned, and this was the year Shit Got Real. I don't know if we'll get through it and I certainly wish I didn't have to deal with real, and could stay in that OhMyGod I Have a NED! phase for the rest of time, but you know what? I still love the crap out of Ned. I still want to touch his hair whenever I see him, like he's Hubble. I'm always happy to hear him pull into the driveway at night, and sad to hear the door shut when he leaves in the morning.

So that's what I'm telling from the mountain today. Talk to you tamale. {hilarious}

*I do not know why Ned attends sporting events. I always ask him, "Did Jimmy win?" and he almost ALWAYS says no. "Did Jimmy win" is what I used to ask when I was a kid and we'd go to my Uncle Jim's baseball games. My mother would, in fact, almost always say yes, he did win, and I'd think MAN, that guy's an athlete. He beat all those other players out there!

That pretty much sums up my concept of team playing to this day. Anyway, Ned likes that story so I always ask if Jimmy won. The end.