Linear

IMG_3583You see those jeans back there, behind my gaggle o' pets? The ZIPPER needs FIXING, and I've had them splayed on that chair for months because I don't know how to sew. I wish I had skills at anything. Also, why can't Edsel just sit like a normal dog? Why must he gangle?

Twelve seconds after I shot that, he stepped on Iris. "RAAAAA!" screeched Iris. Look at her, starfishing her little paw up there. Do you see that rug in the hall? I'm making you do a lot of background checks today. Iris loves to get on that rug and floomp down, and then you pull the rug this way and that. Oh, she adores that. She flumps and starfishes and rolls and tries to catch the rug and it's adorable. You do that to Lily and she puts her ears back and writes a terse letter to the editor. I've never even TRIED it with NedKitty, who would take off her glove and slap me with it.

The point is, what do I think is going to happen with those jeans? Is the sewing goddess gonna surprise me one day and TA-DAAA! my zipper's fixed? I mean, maybe I have to physically take them to the sewing factory if I want results.

The sewing factory.

Speaking of sewing goddesses, and who isn't, at work every day at 3:00, we take a walk twice around the building. A whole gaggle of us. We end up having the weirdest discussions, and I've said more than onece it's like we're smoking the ganga when we're not. Dear HR: We're not.

One day we got all up in a discussion of what you call it when fish breathe. Do they gill? They pulled me out the water and I stopped gilling! Then yesterday, Spalex, the Alex on our Spanish team, said in Colombia, they don't HAVE the tooth fairy. Can you imagine?

"I mean, what did you do?" I asked. I was worried sick.

"We lost a tooth. That was it," she said. No quarter? Of course, all the zygotes I walk with were all, "No $10 bill?" Whatever with them. With their millennial big dollars.

Then we got into a discussion about how weird teeth are. Why are there baby teeth? Where are the adult teeth at that point? Are they IN there already? If not, where do they COME from? Why do we NEED baby teeth? Some babies are BORN with teeth.

We all flapped our hands over that one.

A few weeks ago, we had an equally odd conversation about sharks, and I'm telling you, we should record these and release them as Hi, Not High podcasts or something.

I have to go. I stopped working with my student, so Tuesdays yawn before for now with nothing to do in them, and last night I didn't have therapy, either, as Ned and I have graduated to every other week. Did I tell you we thought of getting one of those countdowns, like they have at factories?

Accident-Prevention-Sign-NHE-8507_600

"This house has gone 11 days without a terrible fight!" I think that'd be hilarious. It was Ned's idea. What you need to have n every relationship is one excitable Edsel and one stoic Talu. What we have here is two Edsels.

Dear Ned: I just compared us to Edsel. You're welcome. Love, June.

Okay, bye. Starfishing my paws at all y'all all.

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June’s Cheer Blog

Hi, everyone!!! How's everyone's day going!!?? Sure have missed you all since yesterday!! : )

God, wouldn't it be awful if I were cheerful like that?

289781_10150290035273850_1265847_oI've always been what you might call a cranky person, and I have no problem with that.

I do know some cheerful people who I like. The guy who works in our mailroom is always happy, but not in a Hey, what'd'yaknow, whatd'yasay point-his-finger-at-you kind of way. He's just kind of always quietly happy. We were talking at work the other day about how if you don't like that guy, there's gotta be something wrong with you.

But I am not happy that way. I wonder if people don't like me because I'm Oscar the Crab, or if it's somehow endearing? I must be endearing, right?

Okay, maybe not.

In other news, I feel bad for Joni Mitchell. She's in a coma. The summer I lived in England, I'd get up in the morning really early and run, and who WAS I? I know I was inevitably hung over each day. But I lived in the same park that held the London Zoo, not that they put me up in the zoo for the summer, which I'd have been totally down with. But I'd run from my dorm to the zoo, look at all the animals who were already out. The wolves would run from one end of their cage to the other, looking at me the whole time.

Those wolves were not subtle. They'd have literally eaten my shorts.

MY POINT IS, I had no device, no Walkman or iPod or any headphones whatsoever, and for some reason this song was often in my head while I ran:

 

I lived there in July and August of 1990. I have no idea why I was singing that. You know what I did? I made a lot of money, and I quit this crazy scene.

Anyway, the point is, I like Joni Mitchell. I'm like Emma Thompson's character in Love, Actually. Except for the likable, stoic part.

Stoic. There's another thing I'm not. Let's have a day where we say all the things we're not.

Athletic.

Map-py.

At a loss for words. I never understand it when someone says, "I didn't know what to say." HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW WHAT TO SAY? Say the first thing that pops into your head, that's what you say.

Organized.

On time. It's already 8:31. GodDAMMIT.

Cheerfully,

J

Your dog is not a person. But she does leave photo captions.

This morning I woke up and felt like I was getting a cold. "You realize you're always getting a cold, right?" asked Ned.

I AM NOT! Okay, maybe I kind of always am. BUT THIS TIME IT'S REAL.

Anyway, today I'm going to answer more of your questions that you asked me now 16 years ago.

Sherry from TX asked,

How long did it take you and Slutty Pancakes to walk 2.6 miles?

I don't know; less than an hour. We walked the entire hour yesterday, and Slutty had a sprained ankle, and it was three and a half miles, or something. Are we thin yet?

Wait. Did I already answer that? Good gravy.

PSS asked,

What makes for a good home for a dog? We want to adopt this year, but I have such trepidation.

We have no experience with pet ownership, are away from home all day, are dealing with the distraction of a kid who isn't well, and we want to travel more. My kids and I desperately crave the love and companionship and feel a dog will bring us joy, but are we being selfish? Are we good candidates?

I say, unless you're going to literally be gone for 16 hours a day or something, get a dog and work it out. Hire a dog walker or take 'em to day care. Dogs need homes, and frankly, we're all getting so weird about them. Oh, he needs an ORTHOPEDIC bed! He needs an always-flowing water fountain!

He's a dog. He eats poop and sleeps on the gravel driveway by choice. He's not a person. Let me repeat that.

Your dog is not a person.

Get a dog.

Vic asked,

I think Ned either works for the NC department of transportation or the phone company. Am I warm?

Hah! No. He works for his family's business. Ned is in organized crime.

TXPeach asked,

Did you miss Facebook when you took your hiatus at Lent?

You know, no. Not so much. The LAST time I gave it up, the very day I got back on there, there was drama. Then this time, sure, some days I was bored and wished I could peruse Facebook, but day one. DAY ONE. Drama again. On stupid Facebook. So, maybe FB isn't such a good place for me. I feel like I need to be on it to promote this blog and my articles, but why do I even need to promote those? You all know they exist.

Amish Annie asked,

I haven't walked or worked out in two years and I'm still not thin. Am I doing something wrong, June?

Life is not fair. If a man even THOUGHT about walking, he'd shed seven pounds. If he walked to the store to buy walking shoes, he'd be a size four by the time he crossed the parking lot.

Kelly asked,

1. What's your middle name?

2. If you could only eat one kind of food for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Michelle. Because 1965 called. I don't think June Gardens has a middle name, does she? Unless I've been all "Call me June Sports Gardens" or "June Rational Gardens, over here." That sort of thing.

Strawberries. I could eat strawberries till I grew seeds.

Oh. I see I answered that in the comments the other day:

"JUNE'S middle name, or my real middle name? I think June's middle name would be Fuck Natural, but my real middle name is Michelle. And strawberries."

At least I'm consistent.

I also already answered this one:

TexasGirl:

What will Don Draper be doing at the end of Mad Men??

June Gardens said in reply to TexasGirl…

I hope me.

Tammi V.V. asked,

If you could live anywhere on earth right now, where would it be? If you could live anywhere at anytime on earth, when and where would it be?

Somewhere warm and beachy that had a lot of cool old houses. I'd like a screened porch that overlooked said beach. And Paris in the 1920s.

Cyn in FL- asked,

What's one question you'd ask Howard Stern?

I think I'd want to know what really went wrong in his marriage, and why does his first wife seem to hate him so much. I think it's pretty cheeky to be resentful of someone when you're enjoying his millions.

LisaPie asked,

Do you think Siren will ever come back to us?

Siren was a really cool, very interesting young girl who used to read this blog and comment here, and she was great. We all loved her. Maybe too much. I have talked to her and she isn't mad at us or anything, but she just went on to other things, I think. I also miss Matze, this hilarious foreign guy who read this blog and left great comments.

I have to go. It's late and I haven't showered, plus also this cold. This impending cold. At least you know if this DOES turn out to be a cold, I will be stoic about it and you won't hear a thing more on the topic.

I leave you with this:

IMG_3574

Talu do Edzul impresh

If you please

Before I forget, because you know I always do, here is my latest Purple Clover article. It's full of fire and brilliance. Do you remember the early '80s commercials for the Blue Star Counterfeit diamond ring? "Full of fire and brilliance. And it comes in a man's style, too!" The man in that commercial was a magnificent actor. He was full of fire and brilliance.

 

That commercial was ALWAYS on during General Hospital. Always. Did anyone ever actually order themselves up a fabulous Blue Star Counterfeit Diamond Ring? If so, can I have it?

I have no idea how I got off on that tangent, which is the motto for my life, really. I came here to tell you about my weekend, because I know you're riveted by my every move, is what you are.

First of all, I took Friday off, because, sadly, Ned's grandmother died, and her funeral was then. We met up with his family at 10:00 in the morning for the graveside service. Then after that, we went to the church, where there was a kind of lunch before the church part, and I tried to help but you know I'm useless. I took out plates and filled ice, and Ned's mother said, "Will you pay attention to the lettuce for the sandwiches? If we run low, can you take out more?" I said of course I could and then never thought about it again. Probably the whole crowd was talking about how everything would have been perfect if only there'd been more lettuce, and there I was, oblivious.

IMG_3549
Then was the actual service part, and Ned and I brought our reading glasses so we could sing the hymns, and that is sad. Ned went to see this band the other night, and I stayed home. He texted me from it. "This is the first rock concert in which I brought reading glasses," he kvetched.

Neutral Milk Hotel. For whatever annoying person is gonna ask me, "Oh, who'd Ned see when he went to see a band? Tell me, June. Tell me. Who?" That is who. Ya happy now?

IMG_3543Ned's niece, brother, mom and aunt. There were small children to photograph. Or perhaps they're photographing the empty lettuce bowl.

Afterward, we ate cookies and cake and brownies and I met relatives of Ned's that I had heard of these past three years but hadn't met yet. Then, after all that, Ned's sister and her family came to our house. I did not know people were coming to our house, and you know what a neatnik I am.

Everyone was nice to us anyway, even though our house looked like Sanford and Son's only with more dust. Ned's sister has large dogs, so my dogs dashing around like idiots fazed everyone not an iota. Ned has a nephew who is, you know, somewhere between 7 and 12, and I'd yell down there and ask Ned right now how old his nephew is, but Ned is on the phone. My point is, that kid started playing with Edsel, and I don't know if you remember when Ned's OTHER nephew, who is between 13 and 25, came over, and similarly played with Edsel, and my entire point is that I should never get a job guessing ages at the fair, and also that Edsel desperately needs a boy to play with.

You have never seen a happier expression on that dog's face. He was fetching Blu, and running around, and smiling, and just generally being a dog for a whole hour. I should hire some boy between 7 and 25 to come over and just play with that creature.

Ned also has a niece who is between the ages of 18 months and 8 years old or something, and she is a muffin. She is, like, the world's most charming child. You would love her. My dogs meant nothing to her, but what she wanted to do is meet all the cats. She does not have cats at home, and is therefore riveted by them.

20150424_170511_resizedAnd here is the best part. Her name is Lilly, and HERE SHE IS MEETING LILY! I know! And look how she has the whole I-know-how-to-meet-dogs-sniff-my-hand thing going, and Lily the cat is all, "?"

They got along great, whereas Iris had seven heart attacks and could not dash under things fast enough to get away. Lilly the person kept looking under everywhere Iris had gone, and as soon as Iris knew she'd been spotted, she'd do that low terrified run cats do, till finally she was able to make herself disappear altogether, a thing that vexed Lilly the human quite a bit. "But where's the other one?" she kept asking me, and I had to tell her how cats can make themselves invisible should the need arise. And by "need" we usually mean "small child present." I didn't touch my grandmother's cat till I was 15 and the cat was 16 and too crippled up to get away.

During CatFest 2015, NedKitty glared at us from atop the wardrobe, as she is wont to do.

IMG_3337WHUTS.

"I'm worried about that one," Lilly the human said to me. "I'm worried she'll break her leg." So then I had to explain how cats can not only disappear, they can also jump up on and down from great heights without any effort. Really, when you start explaining cats to someone, you realize how cool cats really are. They're fascinating, cats do be. I have no idea why I just turned into one of my dogs just now. It turn out, catz do be delish uss.

We went back to look for Iris again, and I did not tell Lilly the human that there was zero point in that endeavor, then we petted Lily the cat again, and in all it was a fine time.

As they got ready to leave, Ned walked everyone to their car, and Lilly the human said, "Uncle…I want to say Uncle Pedro but I know that's not right."

Pedro is Ned's brother, who by the way is not remotely named Pedro, but I never asked Ned's brother if I could use his real name, so I ran him through the random name generator just now, and you find a lot of people born in the South named Pedro.

The point is, she said, "I want to say Uncle Pedro, but that's not right." She mulled this over for a minute. "Oh, well. Just, could you tell June I love her?"

You know, Lilly the human can also never remember Ned's sister-in-law's name, either, who is first of all a teacher with three kids of her own, so she's great with kids, not to mention she outdoes herself at Christmas for everyone, and is fun and hilarious. But still, all Lilly can ever remember is that's the aunt who always wears black, so Lilly calls her The Black Lady.

It is so gonna bug The Black Lady when she hears Lilly remembered my name AND she loves me. And I'm not even an aunt! I'm not even an uncle named Pedro! But I do have cats.

That night, after everyone had gone, Ned and I walked to the store and got snacks. We got a bag of Pirate's Booty, and guess who has a pirate's bootie now, plus also we got a bag of chocolate chip cookies. All of Saturday day, we helped move stuff out of Ned's grandmother's place, then at night we came home, made a fire, and finished off the snacks we'd bought the night before. I mean, all the snacks.

As the bags of food sat between us, getting lower and lower on the old totem pole, getting pirate-ier and pirate-ier on my bootie, I said to Ned, "We're gonna be one of those chubby couples, like on Roseanne or whatever."

"No, you know who we're gonna be? We're gonna be those twins on the bikes." Ned crumpled the empty cookie bag.

Mcguiretwins_4Ned and I shared a childhood fascination with the Guinness Book of World Records. As soon as he said that, this very picture above popped into my head, of Guinness's World's Heaviest Twins. I was similarly riveted by the long nails guy, who was Indian, oh! And the tall man with his mother. I just tried to Google those images from our old book and had no luck. Ned and I both pored over that book in our respective youths, and we both know just what picture the other is talking about whenever we reference that thing.

We were also strictly forbidden to listen to our parents' Cheech and Chong record, and can both recite the whole thing word for word. What Ned can do that I cannot is name every Playboy playmate from about 1974 to the mid-'80s.

On the other hand, I had a freak book that my grandfather gave me–that my grandmother refused to have anything to do with so it was strictly from him–and man did I love that book. No one gave Ned that one, so I have to tell him about the Lion Man and the Caterpillar Guy and so forth.

LIONEL-The-Lion-Faced-Boy-366x500

He knew about Eng and Cheng, because they lived in North Carolina, so everyone here is all proud they housed Siamese twins. But for ME, my favorites in the book were Daisy and Violet.

HiltonportraitI loved their names, and I thought they were pretty. …I just looked it up, and they ended up moving here, too. Geez! North Carolina was the land of Siamese twins! Join me, won't you?

Bah.

Anyway, that's sort of what Ned and I did this weekend, told to you in a linear, brief fashion. We also went to the movies, and saw this one movie where Al Pacino is an old rock star who finds out John Lennon wrote him a letter in 1971, only Al Pacino didn't know it and once he finds out it changes his life. It was good and I have no idea what it was called. But oh! At the movie, I opened the damn door and the BOTTOM of the DOOR caught on my FOOT and ripped my shoe, not to mention amputated my toe, practically, which was horrifically painful.

"You COULD say it hurts but it doesn't matter," Ned reminded me.

IMG_3537Ned's niece Lilly had been playing with this very spoon, above, when it splintered into a million pieces and landed in her brain. I mean, it really did impale her a little. Everyone stopped and gasped as she pulled shards from her.

"You know, it hurts, but it's okay. It doesn't matter," she said. She is the youngest. Apparently when you're the youngest, you're encouraged to walk it off. So she did.

As an only, I made the theater get me ice, and I moaned, and I sweated, and I limped like I was playing the fife in the Revolutionary War, and generally made a scene. No one point out to me that an 18-month to nine-year-old child was more mature than me.

Okay, really going now. I've told you everything. -ish.

Freakishly,

Joooooooooooon

 

 

 

Edsel Gardens, Murdery Pants

6a00e54f9367fb8834014e867a30d5970d-800wiNed came home right after work last night, so that we could take the dogs on a long walk, and also so that he didn't have to hear it from me about how he's always at the goddamn gym all night. Ned's job is super-stressy, and the gym is, like, how he unstresses, so basically I am an excellent girlfriend.

But a long walk can be unstressy, too, right?

Yeah.

"Which cur do you want?" asked Ned, handing me both leashes. When you put the Gentle Leaders on the dogs, Edsel has 50 fits of jumping and squealing and leaping and setting off fireworks like it's the Chinese new year, whereas Tallulah stands stock still. It's like she's in a game of freeze tag. She abhors the Gentle Leader. Tallulah wishes for no leader. Tallulah would be one of those people who moves to the woods and declares she has no government. Tallulah would be too indifferent to everyone else to bomb a post office, however. She might blow up the treat factory, in hopes it'd rain Milk Bones. But she wouldn't mail that bomb. She'd hide in the hilly area behind the treat factory with one of those bombs that has a handle on it that you push down.
Detonator_6550
But I digress. I can't believe you can Google "cartoon bomb with a handle that you push down" and you get this. God, the Internet is my favorite invention. Thank you, Al Gore.

So I took It's Raining Men and his leapy disco moves last night, while Ned took Easter Island. You have to tug to get her to even move, then she hangs her head low like the sad horse Rhett stole for Scarlett in Gone With the Wind, and I like how I say the title of the movie like you see so many other shows with people named Rhett and Scarlett.

If you knew how bad that dog pulled when she DOESN'T have a Gentle Leader, you'd ignore her pitiful old mule act, too. She has no mule power with me.

Oh, it was a lovely night. The flowers were blooming again, and two houses down it's evident that in a few days, the neighbor's entire yard will be all camellias all the time. We were having a fine walk.

Till the dog charged us.

dun dun DUNNNNNNNNN.

 

Okay, I'm done. Mostly because I couldn't find any other good dramatic reactions to link to. Wasn't I just saying I loved the Internet? Now am annoyed. Just last night, after the DRAMATIC DOG CHARGING happened, Ned and I went to dinner and I said, "I love our waitress." Then she came back and said something annoying. "You hate our waitress now, don't you?" asked Ned. I did. "You should stop that. It's not charming," said Ned.

You know what's not charming?

IMG_3517

As soon as I got the camera out last night, Ned assumed this annoying expression, and BY THE WAY the waitress ran over. "You want me to take your picture!?!" I was all, dude, leave us alone. We're doing a thing, here.

Ned kept trying to maintain an angry face to RUIN MY BLOG, but I kept snapping him. My Uncle Jim used to say about my quiet stepfather, "One day that guy's gonna snap." My Uncle Jim never got to see me torment Ned.

IMG_3519 IMG_3521 IMG_3531

How much do you hate me right now? We're back from the commercial break.

So we're walking not even far from our house, when this DOG CHARGED US fifty cents. Okay, he did not remotely charge us any money, but he was on the side porch with his people, see, and I've seen these people do this before, have that dog on their porch with them all unleashed.

Let me just make this public service announcement to you ASSHOLES who have loose dogs. "Oh, my dog is FINE!" Yeah, maybe your dog is, but MY dogs, who are following the RULES by being on a LEASH are NOT fine with dogs coming up to them. They still need walks, though, is the thing. So keep your GODDAMN DOGS on a LEASH so that they don't RUN UP to MY dogs, who are MINDING THEIR OWN BUSINESS.

God, that annoys me. One person once had a PUPPY run up, and if my dogs had killed a puppy I'd have never been the same.

So what happened this time was, this yellow dog, who you'd think would be in the same gang as my dogs, really came charging out with his mind on his murder and his murder on his mind. I mean, it wasn't a waggy-tailed hello. He had a growl going right away, and his people were all, "PETER! GET BACK HERE, PETER!"

And see? You think your dog is fine, but your dog sees something good enough, he's gonna ignore you. Two dogs from another gang count as something good enough.

I did what I always do, which is drop the leash. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but they will be a lot less awful if they aren't actually attached to me. At least that's what I told Ned when it was over, and Ned said, "I don't see how Edsel could have been more awful."

Because what happened was, Edsel TORE over to that dog, got in him the STREET (was numb with terror), THREW that dog down, and commenced to kicking the SHIT right out that dog.

You heard me. Edsel. Ned had Talu's collar up tight, and she didn't even bark.

"PETER! PETER!" yelled the family who'd had their dog loose.

"EDSEL!" Ned and I were screaming. Cars had to come to a stop while the yellow balls of fury went at each other in the road.

Finally, Ned walked over there and pulled everyone apart. The people picked up their dog. "This was entirely our fault," said the woman. "I am so sorry."

"No, I'M sorry," I said. I mean, Edsel really beat that dog up. "Was there blood?" I asked Ned after, because I was too stunned to know for sure. Ned said there wasn't, and we didn't hear the dog yelp, but we plan to go over there today to check on him. I mean, Edsel!

Edsel!

Every time he does something manly, I can't get over it.

"He was protecting his family," said Ned. "He did what he was supposed to do."

I mean, I guess so. That dog really did run out aggressively.

When I got up today, Eds was on the guest bed. "I let him sleep there," Ned told me. "For being a ferocious boy."

Oh, great. Now I've got Ned and Edsel gettin' all manly together.

So that's the story of murdery-pants Eds and the charging dog. Tune in tomorrow for Edsel's Got a Gun.

Opinion cookie

This is one of those days (remember that commercial for Midol, I think it was? "Are you having one of THOSE days?") where I sit down to type at you and have no idea what Ima talk about. God, what WAS that commercial for? Was it pills or pads or what? I just know that in seventh grade, asking someone, "Are you having one of THOSE days?" was positively hilarious, especially if you asked a boy.

When Ned comes out the shower, Ima ask him if he's having one of THOSE days, see what he says. I'll bet you'll he'll say, "What?" and continue on with the rest of his morning. I know Pamela Soul Sister is always beside herself when I mention Ned emerging from the shower. He's still in there, and he's gonna come out and yell at me that I flushed the other toilet, but I had to.

Our idiot neighbors were loud again last night, but I did not hear them, otherwise the police would have been phoned forthwith. Ned said their friends beeped goodbye at them–twice!–at like 3 in the morning. I wish to smash each of them in the face with a pan.

God, is he ever gonna come out so I can ask him? He's so not gonna care about my shenanigans. Ned is the least shenanigan-enjoying person I've ever met.

Last night, Mr. Shenanigan Enjoyer and I went out for Chinese. "I've eaten nothing but crap for dinner for a week," he said. It's good to know I have an influence on him.

IMG_3503_2"Why do you always look like you're gonna kill yourself the minute I get out the camera?" I asked Ned. "It's what I do," he told me.

Ned finally got out the shower just now and I asked him. "Why are you asking me this?" he asked me with the enthusiasm of a tree sloth.

"Because it's an old commercial from–"

"I remember that commercial."

"I was blogging about it."

"Why did you ask ME, though?"

"Because you're the only human in here," I told him, and then I helped Ned make the bed, because that is next in his routine. Back when we didn't live together but I'd be at his house in the morning, Ned would come kiss me after his shower, and for awhile I thought it was cause he liked me, but finally it dawned on me that he just wanted me out of his bed so he could make it. Ned is very routine-y, did I mention that?

It's kind of nice to live with someone who has structure. I have no structure, other than I am expected to be at a job from 8:30 to 5:00 every day.

Anyway, the Chinese food was good–the place was recommended to us by the salesgirl at Adam & Eve.  I know, right? Your one-stop shop. We SAW her there, in fact, which was funny. She gave us the knowing nod.

IMG_3508_2After, we got fortune cookies, which Ned calls opinion cookies because really, they don't tell you your fortune anymore.

IMG_3510_2This was mine. "Aaaand that's an opinion," said Ned.

IMG_3509_2In bed. Do you always add "in bed" to your fortunes? Your opinions?

When we got home, Ned went back to the dog gate and got out a piece of paper and started doing the maths. "June, if the bloo de hoo angle were heee de heee dee, what would the blickedly bloo be?"

I tried not to stare at him blankly, like I'd turned into a babydoll. But really.

Finally today, he said he figured out the sine of the angle opposite the long leg heeggee dee whoo de hoo, so once again he's trying out a way to fix the gate, and I look forward to Tallulah appearing at our bedroom door the next morning after he fixes it.

I guess that's all I have to tell you, other than I was perusing old photos and found this.

64849_447098678849_6683910_nBaby Edsel! With that toy goose Talu carried around in her snout for a year, the same goose Edsel ate in 15 seconds. Or is that a beaver? I hate being called a beaver.

IMG_3513Here's baby Edsel today, spooning with Lu, which probably displeases her, so no one go on her Facebook and tell her I photographed this moment of sibling love. Edsel looks like he's got some junk in his trunk, but really he's quite slim. It's just a bad angle. If he sees this photo, I'm gonna come home and he'll have ordered one of those vibrating belt machines my Great Aunt Maxine used to use.

Article-2241075-1649F7BB000005DC-793_306x423

This is not, by the way, remotely my Great Aunt Maxine. She always had this cupboard filled with the good toys, like Mr. Potato Head.

Okay, I have to go to work. These no-idea-what-Ima-write-about posts are always terrible.

Yeah, well, you know, that's, like, your opinion, cookie.

The Color…Oh, You Know

If Ned's not here, I have to walk the dogs separately, because if they see another dog, they attack each other like idiots. I do not know what drives them to do such a thing, other than they can't attack the dog they see, so it's the next-best thing.

You know how sometimes people say about countries who are at war with each other, "Oh, just let them kill each other off already"? That's sort of how I feel when my own dogs bare their teeth at each other. At the very dog they plan to curl up on a dog bed with in a few hours.

It's that man you fought with this morning. The same one you're going to make love with tonight. That's truth, that's love. I've been undressed by kings and I've seen some things that a woman ain't s'posed to see. I've been to paradise but I've never been to me.

No, you're welcome. I'll burst into that song any time you like.

So, when I was walking Edsel alone tonight, I was admiring the spring and the flowers and the houses and so on in my neighborhood, and I thought of The Color Purple, when Shug Avery said, "I think it pisses God off when you walk by the color purple in a field and don't notice it."

I don't really have a field anywhere near me, per se, although people often mispronounce my last name (my real one) as "…field" when it's FELD, folks. Feld. There's no I in me. There is, apparently, a king in me occasionally, seeing as I've been undressed by one.

Oh my god, I never get to the point. Again, I do not have a field near me, but I did decide to grab my phone when I went back to the house to retrieve Tallulah, and notice all the color purple on my walk.

IMG_3500This one was more the color fuchsia. Whatever, picky.

IMG_3496I don't really understand the let's-stick-bottles-on-trees trend, but purple.

IMG_3493I have no idea what part of Tallulah we're seeing here. She's like the Loch Ness Monster, all humps.

IMG_3476 IMG_3470 IMG_3487The color purple-ish again.

IMG_3495Purple. Now with hot-pink flamingos.

IMG_3483 IMG_3490 IMG_3478A long time ago, in a yard far, far away.

IMG_3467 IMG_3464
Tallulah wanted me to tell you she did not give one shit what color we saw. Unless that color was treats.

Royally,

June

Ribbed questions. For your pleasure.

I completely forgot about my Purple Clover deadline last night, and it is all Ned’s fault. So now I must sweatily write it before my editor wakes up in LA, and that is why today’s post is going to be one of those short, I ask YOU questions kind of things. These usually end up being interesting, anyway.

Answer one or more of the following:

What’s the last picture you took with your cell phone?

 IMG_3454
Here’s mine. Ned and I went out for health food last night. I’d like a plate of mashed yeast.

I’ve referenced Woody Allen a lot lately. There is nothing wrong with that.

If you haven’t taken pictures with your phone, what are the last five things you looked up, when you look at your phone or computer’s history?

God, mine are ludicrously boring. From my fancy iPhone 6 Plus:

  • Jeremy Piven (that’s for work, believe it or not)
  • Showtimes for While We’re Young (it was kind of funny)
  • Jon Brion (he’s a musician)
  • Dysphysia and GERD (still having it)
  • What time does Adam & Eve close (no comment)

From my not-as-fancy iPhone 4s, which I still sometimes use, and why? I don’t know:

  • European clothing sizes (I was in a boutique. Oh, size 36! Thanks! Feel not at all like a heifer.)
  • Gaussian function (I was reading a poem, maybe? I just remember someone referred to Gaussian function and I was all what in THE hell…)
  • Questions about Wellbutrin (was thinking of going on it, decided I was just having a bad day)
  • My own blog (nice)
  • Airplane old woman hanging (Ned was telling an endless story and when he was done, I held this image up with my phone)

0020gq531

If you don’t HAVE a phone or don’t PLAY with your phone, Abraham Lincoln, here’s one. What would be harder to give up: coffee or alcohol? I just had this conversation with Spalex, the Alex at work who’s on our Spanish team. She is pregnant, see, and has to give up both. Although now they’re telling you you can drink in the third trimester. Did you know that? How pissed off are all the women who gave birth between 1980 and last year, who had to give birth sober?

I don’t drink. But my GERD and I are having coffee now. So what do YOU think my answer is?

If none of those questions appeal, what would you buy at Adam & Eve?

Oh my god, okay. Leaving to go write column. You know how I could sit here and ramble for six ages and you would hang yourself from the airplane.

Responsibly,

June

Gategate

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When Ned and I moved in together, he said he didn't want the dogs on the couch or in our bed. I agreed to this, although I was secretly baffled by such a rule. If it were up to me, I'd wear the dogs around my neck like a stole, which would smell fantastic. It'd be like a sachet, really.

So we bought, after much searching and what you'd call your hemming and hawing, because Ned, an elaborate wooden gate with a door you can go though rather than climb over it. I had a relative poop on her own self climbing the dog gate in HER house, and I know that idea was in the back of our minds, although we did not say so.

So, the dogs were allowed in the living room when we were home and sitting on the couch, and in the bed never, although I let them upstairs in the morning to sit with me in here. Basically, though, they're in jail. Dining room/kitchen/back yard jail.

This did not work for Tallulah. This was not what you'd call a viable plan. She was jailed for a crime she did not commit, although let's face it. Tallulah's committed every crime. She's wanted for forgery in three counties in Florida that I know of.

After six months of what I assume were sketches and blueprints, Tallulah figured out the gate. All of a sudden we'd come home and she'd be all curled on the bed up here. oh hai.

It wasn't even the bad bed; it was this one. See what a rule-follower? Edsel stayed downstairs, in his rightful place, even though the gate would be wide open, because the idea of displeasing us makes him hurl, like that guy in the dean's office on Animal House.

Saturday was a beautiful day. A perfect day, really. The blooms were all out, it was warm but not oh-dear-God-it's-the-South hot yet. "I'm going to the hardware store and fixing this gate," said Ned. Then he proceeded to tell me just how he was gonna rig this thing to Tallulah-proof it. It included the word "brackets," I think, or was that when he was discussing basketball? I don't know. It was boring. My theory is Tallulah being on this side of the gate is God's will.

"I'm going to the park, then," I told Ned. "And I'm getting a pedicure."

So I put on my fuchsia flip-flops and headed to this wooded trail, the same trail where Tallulah and I got caught in a thunderstorm years ago.

Oh, it was lovely out. I walked for awhile, but I worried I'd get all blistery in my flip-flops, so I sat on a bench in this fire pit area, and read for a bit, and enjoyed the crap out of myself. Then after an hour or so, I got back in the car and got me a nice pedicure. The name of the color was something really stupid, where they tried to make a pun with paparazzi, and I don't even know what it was. Anyway, paparazzi aren't even a color.

Finally, I went back home, and Ned had out the drill, which is never good. I avoided him, but heard many of the swears, and he was snappish, and finally he came in all aglow. "I want you to come see what I did," he said. So I traipsed over to the gate, where Tallulah resided gloomily on the other side. "I added this latch. Here's how it works, see," he hooked and unhooked it, like a little dress rehearsal for when I'd make the big walk thought to the dining room. "And I'm going to add brackets brackets brackets…" Ned's voice faded while I admired my new feet. I turned a paparazzi foot this way and that. What a good color.

Ned finally put away his drill and other manly objects, satisfied with his work. His Fort Knoxing of the gate.

IMG_3447
That night, I was roused from sleep, JOLTED from sleep, by the most intense itching humanly possible, on the tops of both my feet. scratch, scratch, scratch, I said, manically digging at my feet. My itchy feet and fading smile can you hear me?

Ned did hear me. "What are you doing?" he groused. "My feet are killing me," I said, scratching for a change. "I must have gotten bitten by bugs in the woods. Am so looking forward to the Lyme disease or African sleeping sickness or whatever I'm coming down with.

scratch scratch scratch

"Oh my GOD, put something on them, then," said Ned, who must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed or something. "If I were doing this, you'd have already checked into a hotel." Someone is resentful of my vomit phobia. Someone can't let anything drop.

So I got out of bed with my inflamed feet, and opened the door to get some cream. When I opened the door?

There was Tallulah.

IMG_3438Tallulah Gardin. Certify geenious.

A remaining pip of toilet paper

I've been out doing things all day, and in preparation for my evening, I just put toner on my face, toner that's supposed to clear away dull flakes to uncover skin that's fresh and glowing. Every time I put it on, I look in the mirror hoping to see the skin I had when I was 9, and what I saw today was skin with a teensy bit of toilet paper left on it from when I wiped the toner on myself.

I'm out of cotton balls.

The last bag of cotton balls I had was given to me by Ned, who'd bought a whole bag of them to remove the black nail polish he had on when he dressed as Sid Vicious for Halloween one year, then realized the next day that he had no idea how to remove nail polish, but then somehow figured it out. I also have his nail polish remover.

Do you suppose he Googled it? "How do you remove black nail polish?" The point is, I used up those cotton balls maybe a year ago and have been Charmin-ing it ever since.

IMG_3363But that is not why I gathered you all here today. I gathered you to tell you about going to dinner at Chris and Lilly's last night, a dinner where I may have gotten engaged to one of their dogs. A dog who is clearly over me and our impending nuptuals, but I don't care.

IMG_3360Do you guys remember two years ago, when I was taking care of business every day and also Ned when he had his wisdom teeth removed, and while Ned was convalescing I got an email or call or something from Lilly saying, I just had a freakin' baby, come see me for the 15 minutes they're letting me stay here till they kick us out on the street. Do you remember that? I do. The point is, back then they had this infant and now they have a human who says words.

IMG_3368She came out in her pajamas at 6:30, because apparently she is not a night owl despite her pajamas to the contrary, she said a few inspirational words such as "chicken" and "noisy" and also "kitty," then Lilly told her it was time to go to bed so she grabbed a glass of sherry and a book and we never heard from her again.

IMG_3393 IMG_3389
Here's why she said "kitty." Ned was obsessed with this cat, who reminded him of NedKitty, and I don't know if I've ever mentioned Ned's deep and abiding love for ridiculous NedKitty. This cat swatted at us, which then reminded ME of NedKitty. She's pretty, though.

IMG_3356Chris and Lilly have two dogs and a cat, even though they live in the country so they could have 72 more pets. You know what C and L are? Reasonable people. I'd be all, MORE ROOM FOR PETS! and head off to the 24-hour kitten store.

IMG_3367America's favorite reasonable couple.

IMG_3374We also went fishing, because did I mention they live in the country? They had roosters crowing while we fished, and I kept calling them chickens, just like their kid did, and it occurs to me her life is an actual The Farmer Says toy.

Farmer See n Say 300Oh my god, I played the shit out of that toy.

IMG_3380You can imagine how I eagerly dipped my hand right into the bucket o'worms and gleefully put said wriggling worm on my hook. A million dollars you could offer me and still I couldn't touch a worm. Fortunately, I also caught nothing, so I didn't have to worry about touching fish, either.

IMG_3383Ned was a regular Old Man and the Sea, however. He was a regular seaman. He caught two and threw 'em back in. Cause nothing's more humane than dragging something out of its oxygen source via a hook in its mouth, then throwing it back in. We're animal lovers.

IMG_3381Everyone's a comedian. He's a regular Joan Rivers. Get it? Do you?

IMG_3402We had a good time with Chris and Lilly. We always do. And they made hamburgers that were freaking delicious. They said the secret was to fry them in butter, which if you ask me is the secret to everything. And one of our topping choices was avocado, and if it were legal to mate with an avocado, I would. I would give birth to guacamole. I would give birth to Brad Pitt. I'm done now.

Ned and I can't decide what to do tonight. He proposed grilling something, but here's what happens when Ned suggests we grill at 6:00 at night. We eat at 10:00. That's what happens. So. Then he suggested we walk to the baseball game, which I am only in it for the hot dogs, but there's a chance of thunderstorms tonight. Maybe we should just drive back out to Chris and Lilly's and see if they'll feed us again.

Maybe I should just rub toner on this day and see if it comes back with a more youthful glow. Or a remaining pip of toilet paper. Maybe I should fry this day in butter.

Reasonably,

Joooooooooon

Probe June

My new iPhone will not make phone calls. Which, I know everyone forgets that smartphones are supposed to be PHONES for making CALLS, but that's what smartphones are. Just a little reminder from June. And I actually call people, still. So a phone that, oh, can be used as a phone would be nice. Does it seem like I am ALWAYS having trouble with phones?

The guy at AppleCare finally said, "This is beyond me" and I got to speak to some guru on a mountain somewhere. He couldn't fix it, either, so now I have to call AT&T. I'm sure that will be brief and un-hold-y.

In the meantime, tonight we're going to Chris and Lilly's to fish and have dinner, not that we'll be eating any fish we caught, although that'd be very farm-to-table of us. But you know I like to go there in the spring, although they've technically moved from the farm to a house across the street. So there may actually be no baby chicks in my evening. Unless we eat them.

But anyway, I am here, now, writing to you, and look how in the moment June is. (pfft.) I thought I'd answer more of the questions you had for me the other day. I hope they involve fishing tips, because apparently I'll be able to give those. You know, I HAVE been fishing BEFORE. I like fishing. No one ever thinks I like to do anything outdoorsy, and you all forget that time I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro.

MissusB asked…

What is the one thing you really want to accomplish before you either become too old to do it, or die?

(Ned is in the bathroom and just exclaimed, "Goll-LEE," like he's Gomer Pyle. "What's wrong, Ned?" "Bunch of goddamn hair in this drain is what's wrong," groused Ned. He should really cut his hair. Is what I think.)

Wait, did we already answer this question last time? I can't remember. For me, whenever anyone talks about something they want to do before they die, it always involves athletics. Run a marathon, bike Mt. Kilimanjaro, whatever. And I've already done those. So I guess write a book. Kiss a leopard. I think I already did this Q. God forbid I go look.

Sherry from TX asked…

How long did it take you and SP to walk 2.6 miles?

Slutty Pancakes and I are allegedly walking during our workdays now, although this week it rained like a mug and has been impossible. Last week we waked 2.6 miles at lunchtime, at a blistering 16-minute mile. You do the math. I mean, literally, you do the math, because you know how I am.

Jen V said…

How is Lily? Has Tina Doris' ghost ever returned?

Lilly is excellent. You want me to go find her and photograph her in her element? Ima take a wild stab and assume she's on the bed. Hang on.

IMG_3335I was wrong. I could be like Fonzie and say I was wrr. Wrrrr. Remember how he could not say he was wrong? No wonder Pinkie Tuscadero left him.

Anyway. Lily was on the rug in the hall with Iris. She usually has a routine where she sits on me at night in the living room, then comes to bed with me till Ned comes to bed, then he summarily removes her fluffy ass from the room, till morning, when she goes back on the bed all day. She's an active cat. Last week she biked Mt. Kilimanjaro so she could fish off the top.

IMG_3333Tallulah's in here with me, apparently feeling coquettish. She's still my blog muse.

IMG_3337NedKitty's on top of the wardrobe, as she is wont to be. In a few weeks, she'll be 15. You'd never know it. Bitch be cray. She'd be one of those old people who goes to Studio 54 and swims Mt. Kilimanjaro every day.

Dear June, There is no Studio 54 anymore. 1979 ended a long time ago. Love, The World.

NedKitty and Iris had a big fight last night, for a position on the bookshelf. They both like to sit on the bookshelf, and Iris got up there when NedKitty was already there, and they had a big bitchslap fest till finally this happened.

IMG_3329Cat standoff.

Oh my god, you answered the question, June. Oh! But yes! Tina Doris' ghost HAS returned. TD? Tell us about it in the comments.

PJ asked…

In an unfamiliar locale, would you rather drive or navigate?

Drive. Because someone else has to navigate. My grandmother had the arthritis, and she'd say, "I can't hardly navigate." Me, either. And I don't have arthritis. Well, technically I do, in one knee, the same knee she'd rub absentmindedly while she watched her stories. Not that I had my grandmother's knee put in, but in a way, I did.

Oh my god, you've answered the question, June.

LaUral asked…

What age do you want to look?

If you had $1 million and had to spend it, what would you spend it on?

Five places in the world you want to see before you die?

I'd like to look 25. Is that too much to ask? Okay, what if people said, "God, you look 30!" Nothing wrong with wanting to look 30, is there? If I had a million dollars, I'd spend it on plastic surgery to look 30. I just asked Ned, "If I had a million dollars, what would I spend it on?" "Me," he said.

That was funny. Then he said, "You'd spend it on eye makeup and mashed potatoes." God, he knows me. Plus, there's my eternal life's quest to find the perfect lipstick and purse. Once I found those things, I'll probably die the next day.

As for five places I want to see, one of them would be Barry Gibb's junk, then four baby leopard heads. …Do you mean locales? Travel makes me nervous. A beach with pink sand, maybe New Zealand because that's interesting, maybe Italy because I'm hungry, oh and New York! I've never been to New York. Is that five? Because I have to go. I have to get in the shower so I can go to work. We're having massages at work today. I'm signed up at 1:40. Do not let me forget. You know I'll forget.

Okay, bye. I'll call you later. Oh. Wait…

Got a photograph, picture of

Awhile ago, I got an email from my credit card company. Dear Jooooon, it said. The design on your credit card has expired, it said.

The design has expired?

We could send you a new card with a regular boring blue design, or you could pick one of these pictures if you want, or upload your own.

I mean, why is this necessary in life? What possible benefit does this company get out of letting me choose a design? Do they think I'll use my card more often if I like the picture? Do you know what I use my credit card for? Buying candy out of the vending machine at work. It takes credit cards. I have no idea why. So that 50 cent candy really costs me $17.

The point is, of course I looked at the designs they had to offer me, and if I were one of those people who had a pink curlicue monogram on her back windshield, I might have loved them. Sunsets, praying hands, jellybeans. I am not making this up.

I called Austin over. Austin is my stupidly handsome coworker, the one who is funny so then you forget he's handsome. He's one of the art guys. "How about the traffic jam?" he asked. "A traffic jam says 'I'm a busy executive. I encounter traffic jams often.'"

And that is when I began to ignore Austin.

So, because my credit card company gives me SUCK-ASS choices, I appeal to you. What picture should I use for my credit card?

Cockasaurus rexI asked Ned, and he said this. So, we can ignore Ned now.

I mean, are there any photos from this blog, this photography blog, that you can recall that I should use? I'd like to abstain from using a photo of my cats. I'm already almost 50 and single. Put a cat on my credit card and you might as well start playing sad spinster music whenever I enter a room. Put a cat on my credit card and I'm a Cathy cartoon.

What would BE spinster music, do you think? See, this is how I get distracted.

Photo ideas, please.

Free Cardinal

Last night, Marvin and I went to the sandwich place for–

Oh, my god. Ned. NED and I went to the sandwich place, holy CRAP. I never once even tried the sandwich place with Marvin, and I know you think I made that error on purpose but I didn't. Have been awake 18 minutes. Good gravy.

Anyway, it's been there since the '70s and they've changed nothing and that is what I love about it. I usually get a BLT with avocado, which they serve with a side of Ruffles because health nut. Ned gets a black bean burger. I also get cream soda. God, I love the sandwich place. Last night we walked in there and it was a rainy night, and they had all '70s music on and it occurred to me it could be any era from 1975 on, so time warpy is it in there.

Did I mention I love that? Ned used to go there in high school. And there that place still is, 57 years later.

One morning when I lived in Seattle, I was riding the bus to work and as usual it was 63 degrees and rainy and I could not, for the life of me, remember what time of year it was for a good minute or two. I mean, 63 and rainy could be July or November in Seattle. Disconcerting.

Anyway, I've been so busy telling you about weddings and hating the neighbors and GETTING ADVICE OH LOOK ADVICE, that I haven't had time to tell you about my tryst with Cardinal.

Cardinal was my high school boyfriend, who broke up with me in 10th grade, then asked me to get back together with him in 11th grade so that he could dump me again in the summer before senior year. It was his senior year. He needed to be free. That's what he told me. He needed to be free. Guess what I haven't gotten over? Needed to be free. Free this. Free Willy.

If that weren't ridiculous enough, Abraham Lincoln, over there, just showed up in my dorm room one day when I was 19, and we got back together AGAIN, but this time after a year or so, it fizzled out of its own accord and I didn't need to hear about his deep need to run wild because he's a panther inside or whatever.

You'd think the story would end there, but OH NO! It did NOT! Because the Statue of Liberty found himself not free with another girl in his early 20s, and they had a tragic breakup, and MY MOTHER invited him to MOVE IN to HER house, where unfortunately I was also living at the time, because it was one of the 700 times I dropped out of college.

6a00e54f9367fb883401b7c763c352970b-800wiI dropped out of college to pursue perms full time. So then Cardinal and I were roommates. We were platonic-ish by then. We've stayed platonic-ish friends ever since.

IMG_3317 2And here he was this weekend! We were platonic. Cardinal lives in Seattle now; he probably moved there to find me so we could get back together because it'd been awhile since he'd dumped me. We really DID both live in Seattle for about a year, before I left to go marry Marvin. Who then 16 years later needed to be free.

The point is, Cardinal was here in the South–where everyone's always been super free–visiting family this past week, so I met him and his mom, dad and sister who I hadn't seen in DECADES to go to this flea market in Raleigh.

IMG_3314
I didn't find anything to buy. However, Cardinal ought to invest in some guts and God and perhaps a gun, so he can stay free. It's literally his senior year.

IMG_3316
But it was good to see Cardinal and his custom cornhole. Cardinal used to be married but now isn't, but we did not get back together. In fact, I was excited to introduce him to Ned, but Ned's grandmother is unwell, so his brothers and sister and mom all came to town to be with his grandmother this past weekend, and the point is now Cardinal thinks Ned is Snuffleupagus.

What's sad is if I said that at work, half the youngsters there would be all, "?"

My material is dying. There's probably some high-larious hieroglyph-er, who had the best, funniest hieroglyphics around, and we look at them and go, "?" Yeah, there's a pharaoh and some squiggles. Woo. Hilarious.

I'd better go shower. Ned always sits on the steps to put on his shoes in the morning, and it's his last act before he heads out the door. Ned is very ritualized in his day. I mean, he gets up and does exactly the same thing, whereas some mornings I shower then blog, or blog hurriedly then read a magazine, or I've blogged the night before so I meditate then hurriedly read a book or lie in bed with the dogs or whatever. What I'm saying is I have almost no routine and Ned is just the opposite.

"You're leaving already?" I asked. I'm always sad when Ned has to go to work, even though I have to go to work. I'd like him to just be here all day like Mr. French, so I can return home and stare at him whenever I like. "I never SEE you," I told him.

"That's because you're always doing something," Ned said.

"I am? What am I always doing?"

"Writing something or having therapy."

God, that's sad. And also true. I currently have my OWN therapy and then couples therapy, but we just graduated to only having to go every other week now, and I no longer have to wear the lobster bib.

AnnieHall_097PyxurzAll right, then. I must go on with my rigid routine. I just noticed that the whole time I've been writing this, as opposed to being in therapy, that I've had a spy. In the house of love. IMG_0076She's been over there in that dark corner I guess the whole time. But how do I know. I guess she's watching me, as much as someone with precisely one half of a wonky eye can stare at you. Any second now she's gonna notice those expensive makeup brushes and chew them. And then I'll have her put down.

I have to go. I need to be free.

June

Neighborhood Munch

I abhor the people across the street with every fiber of my being. I have an abhorrence for them that I usually reserve for celebrities who bow in front of you with their hands in prayer position like they're saying namaste. Eaa83a3d3e630b9958f3f9a42b8929af
Namaste my ass, you nincompoop.

For six months, we had these kids living across the street and they were lovely. One of them even helped me when Edsel ran off early on, when the gate got left open–and yes, I actually did try to find Edsel, who by the way had run off…to the rest of the yard, and I couldn't see him. That young guy and I traversed my whole neighborhood, asking "Have you seen a medium-sized yellow dog who looks like he might be soft in the head?" to everyone we saw. When we finally turned down my driveway to call the authorities, the proper authorities, there was Edsel, smiling at the end of the drive.

IMG_3306
Then when that nice kid held out his hand to meet Edsel, Eds growled. God, that dog is an asshole.

The point is, they were nice kids, and then they left, and now in this past month these

IDIOTS

have moved in, and they regularly–regularly!!–sit on their porch at 3 a.m., scream-laughing and talking at the tops of their lungs, playing music, their devil music, without a care in the world.

The other night I called the police on them, just like I'm my old neighbor Alicia, who used to threaten everyone with "call[ing] the police on your ass."

But did they care? Clearly no, because last night was another scream-laugh night, and it woke me up, and it disturbs Tallulah, who needs everything just so, and have I mentioned she's figured out the dog gate? They're gated in the dining room at night, with their dog beds, and the other morning I opened the bedroom door expecting to see the usual cacophony of cats, which I did, but there among the three meowing, purring, rolly amoeba cats was a big smiling dog. o hullo

Usually Ned puts the fear of death into her and she skulks downstairs, and now in the morning when she's up here with me being my blog muse, when Ned comes out of the shower she crosses the bed and gets on my lap. Just in case he's gonna get mad, and I guess what we've done is confuse that dog, but anyway, she's figured out the gate.

So not only was I awakened by Screaming Trees over there across the street, old Down By The Old Mill Scream, by Sabrina the Screamage Witches, but now I had Talu scratching at the door and moaning.

AH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!

Mmmmm-MMMMMMM.

"SCREECH! AHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!"

Rooowwwwww….

GodDAMMIT.

I have written them a letter in my mind, which I will type up and mail to them, just like I'm my grandmother who I've turned into, and then I will smoke my More cigarette and stare pointedly out the window at them from my chair, which actually is the very chair Grammy sat in when she smoked her Mores. I own that chair now.

My point is, I was gonna get on here this morning and answer some of the questions you sent me the other day, but I slept in because NO SLEEP LAST NIGHT and namaste THIS, and when I finally grumped out of bed, Ned said, "Do you hate the neighbors, then?"

"I have half a mind to write them."

"Oh, THAT'LL help." Ned has a rare talent for taking my bad mood and making it worse.

"What's on your ankle?" he asked, as I stamped angrily to the bathroom.

Jane_austin_bandages
"It's a Jane Austen band-aid. I rubbed my ankle on my shoe when Slutty Pancakes and I took our walk," I told him.

"I thought you HATED Jane Austen," he said.

"I don't HATE Jane Austin. I'm just not INTO Jane Austen. Someone sent me these. They're pretty." I turned my ankle about so I could admire my Jane band-aid.

"You SOUNDED like you hated her on your blog," said Ned, who all of a sudden reads my blog when for years he did not.

"I was starting my period," I said.

"You're ALWAYS starting your period."

So, because I was busy dragging the body to the river, I did not have time to answer your questions today, and for that I apologize.

Irkedly,

Jooooon

Get me to the church on time

IMG_0025The terse drive.

We pulled up to the church–which was lovely, by the way. One of those big old beautiful ones, not one of those cinderblock churches that looks like it might have been a Goodwill at one point–exactly at 4:30. "Do you want me to–"

"YES," I said to Ned, already climbing out. Yes, I DID want him to drop me at the door. He didn't care if he saw the bride walk down the aisle, because he's a boy, a straight boy, who'd never met the bride anyway and I will not mention the word commitmentphobe at this juncture.

But I did. I cared a lot. I've been dying to see Wedding Alex get married, because I was there when she burst into work with an engagement ring, I've heard all her wedding plans and offered my valuable and important input on makeup, hair and invitations. I even threw her surprise party in the breakroom. So the walk down the aisle was my reward.

I should also mention, as just an aside, that I had absolutely zero to do with her surprise party in the breakroom. They sent us an email saying a party was coming, and a card and collection were going around, which I forgot about completely till the card came to me, where I wrote something snotty. Then I forgot all over again until weeks later when I got an email. "Alex's surprise is in 15 minutes."

"WHAT surprise?" I thought, then remembered Oh right. Her wedding is coming up. God, what Ima wear to that shindig, anyway? Then I started Googling Ann Taylor till someone said, "You coming to the breakroom for Alex's surprise party?"

"WHAT surprise?" I asked, having already forgotten again.

The point is, there were decorations and a cake and cards and when she came in and we all yelled SURPRISE! and I wondered WHAT surprise again, she happened to be right near me. "This is so wonderful!" she said, emotional.

"I'm glad you like it. I planned the whole thing," I told her. "We gonna eat your cake or what? I made it." I lifted the plastic lid off the clearly bakery-bought cake.

I have no idea why anyone remotely likes me.

So I ran to the church and the doors were already shut and everyone was inside. I saw the church, I saw the steeple. I opened the door and seed all the people. I was like Benjamin in The Graduate, running to the wedding that had already started. I WHIPPED open the door, hoping to scream ELAINE!

And there was Alex and her bridal party, getting ready to start.

Tidy. I worked with a guy who, whenever you screwed up completely, would just say, "Tidy."

"NOT LOOKING!" I whisper-screamed to Alex, and I literally covered my eyes so I wouldn't see her. I tiptoed dramatically into the church, looking not at all like Elmer Fudd, and I saw my coworkers look at me, completely unsurprised that I'd be the last asshole in there.

WHAT surprise?

.00004 seconds after I sat down, the music started and the wedding began and I totally got my money's worth, and by the way if you think I've already purchased a wedding gift for poor Alex, I'd like to remind you that crack kills. It's no joke.

But oh! She looked so pretty, and sparkly, and I met eyes with my other coworker Bitchy Resting Face Alex, who was also there, and we both got teary like proud parents. After we'd worked so hard on Wedding Alex's surprise party and all.

Once they were saying their vows and so on, I started to remember Ned. What had happened to Ned? I looked behind me, and nothing. Naturally there was no one behind me, as I was the last to arrive. Was he just hanging out in the car? Was he in the lobby, waiting till it was over? Had he driven home, cause he was over me?

IMG_0024Finally, I looked in the balcony, and there in the loft of shame was Ned's tiny head, the lone guest, accompanied only by the wedding photographer. He looked so ridiculous and alone up there that I got The Church Giggles. You know the kind. Where you're supposed to be being dignified and hanging with God, and all you can do is your Kegels so you won't pee your own self in a pew.

Oh my god, that was hilarious. Ned's solo head. Dying.

The reception was in this cool old building that at different points had been Winston-Salem's post office, jail and courthouse. It had exposed brick and cool old features and big rooms and tiny rooms and Ned said if we ever get married, we should totally have it there, and I was just reeling over Ned saying, "If we get married" without having some kind of Vietnam flashback and the shakes. IMG_0027

IMG_0026Wedding Alex did all the decorations herself, and she did a great job. There was no stone left unturned. She had this plate thing for us to write something nice ("plate thing" is the official term), and I wrote something snotty, then we all got delicious scented candles Wedding Alex made.

"Do you like the candles?" I asked guests as they opened them. "I made them all myself."

On each little table Alex had framed texts from when she and her husband were first dating. Cutest idea, ever.

IMG_0028Bitchy Resting Face Alex was at my table. Do you like her dress? I made it myself.

IMG_0031Another cute coworker of mine was at my table, and clearly Wedding Alex decided to put all the really beautiful women from work at one table, hence the part where I was there. But the point is, my coworker's baby Ruby was also at my table, with a beer, and I didn't know babies drank but whatever. My point is, Ruby is a muffin and I had serious dress envy. She was positively well-behaved all night and never fussed once. Because, beer.

IMG_0050Ned hung out with Bitchy Resting Face Alex's husband, and I think they talked about war and spitting, which is what I assume all men do, and I also assume they play swords with their man bits, but I could be wrong about all that. For all I know, they were discussing their feelings and hugging it out. I was busy eating.

Because, dude. The food was so good. And I knew for a fact there were cupcakes instead of wedding cake. I knew this because Wedding Alex had told me when we were discussing her details, and I was obsessed by said cupcakes.

IMG_0036There were two flavors: chocolate shake and butterbeer. We were TOLD that each guest was expected to take one, which, pfft. One. I don't know if you can tell, but there are SPARKLES in the frosting of these. SPARKLES, man.

We were all waiting breathlessly for cake time. Truly, you'd have thought we were all smokin' the gange at my table, so cupcake-centric were we. Finally, FINALLY! It was time, and I was knocking people over to get to the table. People were all around me, so I grabbed a plate and said to the room at large, "I'll get one for me and one for Ned." See, that way I wouldn't look like such a dick for trying both kinds. I HAD TO TRY BOTH KINDS, MAN!

"I'm right here!" yelled Ned, holding a cupcake on the other side of the table.

I mean.

GOD, Ned.

IMG_0071Here is each flavor of cupcake, one for me and one for…Ned. I made them myself. When my table was eating those cupcakes, there was five minutes of all of us just saying, "Oh my God. OH my GOD." They were that good. It was the frosting, which was light and fluffy. "A lot of times, frosting is what ruins a cupcake," said Ned, who is right. "Too much emphasis on frosting now. The cake should be the main attraction," he said, and I agreed, saying frosting should just be the, you know, frosting on the cake.

And oh, dude, there was dancing. I did the Wobble, whatever that is, I danced to Push It because I party like it's 1989. I believe I also danced to This Is How We Do It. I met one of Wedding Alex's hot blonde friends, and danced with her, because I'm Meredith Baxter Birney.

IMG_0059I tried to sneak in photos of the bride without bugging her, because you know how it is when it's your wedding day. I mean, you know how it is unless you're a loveless spinster who nobody can stand.

IMG_0068Eventually, though, the bride caught me. "What can I do for you, June?" she asked, and I told her to strike a pose, and I have no idea why my phone went all Lisa Bright and Dark on me, with the light on top and dark on the bottom 1-2-3 Jello action. But look how pretty! Pretty dress! Sparkles!

I made it myself.

IMG_0070Ned and I were the last people to leave from my workplace, mostly because we were dancing with Hot Friend, whose name I never caught but hooo care. You know how you get attached to people at weddings and never see them again. It was a brief but passionate dance connection.

IMG_0074When we got home, I sat down and ate the second cupcake. The one I got for…Ned. It was positively delicious.

I have to say, out of all the things I did for Wedding Alex's big day, I really outdid myself making the cupcakes.

Humbly,

Jooooon

Princesses Rule

It is Sunday evening, and I am on my computer while Ned is at his, doing his taxes. He just said, "Son of a bitch," and I feel like Ned is going to be a bit of a swearwolf tonight. I am having strawberries and cutting cheese, which always makes me snicker like a 7th grader, but really it's a sharp white cheddar.

So, busy weekend and I will plunge right into it. That's what SHE said.

Saturday morning I had to bound out of bed like a fireman or someone who actually ISN'T clinically depressed, and scream on over to the hair salon. I got roots and highlights and a blowout, which means I was at the salon for three and a half fucking hours. They weren't just hours, they were fucking hours. Plus, my hairdresser was in a hurry at the end, and he didn't smooth me out as much as I needed, so I look a little like Garth of Wayne and Garth. Party on. Dana-carvey-waynes-world-watn-red-carpet-movie-photo-GCThen I got a manicure, which I had tried to do Friday night, but I was waiting on this IDIOT girl who wanted a design on one finger. You'd have thought her one finger was going into the annals of history, so to speak. That this finger was being photographed to be displayed in Times Square. You'd have thought her one designed finger was going to serve as the muse for artists and poets and songwriters everywhere, so inspired would they be by her ONE FUCKING FLOWER on her ONE FUCKING FINGER that I was ready to chop off and stick down her stupid annoying throat.

"No, no, not that color. Can you take it off and try again?"

"I'm getting hungry," her beleaguered friend said, and how this yahoo has one single friend is beyond me. "Try the blue paint," she told the manicure guy, who was clearly growing uncomfortable with her endless retries of this stupid design, knowing I was SITTING THERE waiting my turn.

Forty minutes I waited for this dipstick to be happy with her ONE FUCKING FINGER before I gave up and left. You have no idea how hard it was for me to not say, "You, dear, are a pain in EVERYONE'S ASS" as I snapped off her unhappy finger like a chicken bone.

So Saturday. Got a manicure Saturday.

This means it was after 1 p.m. by the time I got home. "The wedding starts at 4:30, so let's leave at 3:30," I told Ned when I arrived with my new Princesses Rule nail color, and they really do. I mean, unless there's a king or a queen around, then they don't rule at all. But often, princesses rule.

"You're KIDDING," said Ned, and let me tell you something. Ned? Cannot imagine arriving for anything on time, or in a timely manner, or punctually. He was early for our first date, and I should have thanked all that was holy in the sky, because I never saw that behavior again. The thought of giving yourself extra time to get somewhere is not a concept Ned embraces. Sometimes his mother tells him things begin earlier than they do, so he's only 15 minutes late and not an hour late.

"Yes," I said. "It takes 40 minutes to get there, so let's give ourselves time."

"I'll just go on a bike ride, then," he said, and on my insides I was all MOTHER OF GOD.

(Ned just god dammited. I wonder how the tax-paying is going?)

Because if Ned gets on that bike, he'll be on it for an hour, and then he'll sit listlessly in the back yard with water and look all flushed, and then he'll stretch after, and it was already 1:30 when he said this and we had to be in the car IN TWO HOURS.

And indeed, all of that happened, and when Ned got in the shower at 3:17, I was beside myself. Beside. My own self.

IMG_0013I had gotten ready, and it went quickly because I believe in letting one's natural beauty shine through. Just sunscreen and a smile are all I need to get ready. Alternatively, Fuck Natural.

IMG_0016Here I am, the one that I love, looking kind of cross-eyed. But what're you gonna do?

Anyway. Once Ned gets out of the shower, he doesn't bound out of the room like a fireman or someone who isn't clinically depressed. Oh, he flosses, he trims his beard, he admires himself in the mirror and says, Al Pacino. I don't know WHAT all he does, but I DO know that I nervously announced that it was 3:27 when he finally emerged from the bathroom.

"What am I gonna wear?" Ned said, and this is when my insides began screaming like an injured wolverine. He tried on one thing and hated it, and I selected ties for him and silently wished I could turn back tiiioome, like I was Cher. As a technique to not be late for anything, a technique that has worked on Ned precisely NOT ONCE EVER, his clock is set 417 minutes early, so I could not tell what time it really was, but I clammily knew it was past when I wanted to leave. I knew if I nagged, he'd get testy, but I'm telling you my teeth were sweaty at this point, so tense was I.

Ned finally got his clothes on and headed to the mirror. "He is NOT headed to the MIRROR," I thought, panic having welled up over my brain and out my nostrils, like a dragon. Ned took the towel and dried his hair vigorously. "Ugh," he said, and dried his hair again. Then he examined his nails.

"Can we please go?" I asked, purse in hand.

"Okay, hang on," he said, as if I were some sort of impossible shrew, what with the wanting to actually see the bride go down the aisle and all. God. Demanding.

Finally, I lured him down the stairs, and had a steak on a big stick or tassels on my hoots gotten him down there faster, I'd have worked it. We got all the way to the kitchen when..

IMG_0021Here is an actual unretouched photo of Ned heading BACK IN THE HOUSE AND WHY, GOD? WHYYYYYYY????

I have no idea what he had to do, because at this point here was my mood:

IMG_0022.

Finally, FINALLY!!!, we headed to the car. "What time is it?" asked Ned, as if I weren't acutely aware of each passing moment that lessened our chances of even seeing the cake before it was digested at passed, much less the bride.

"It's 10 minutes to 4:00," I said nervously. Winston-Salem is 35 miles away. The wedding started at 4:30.

"Geez, we have plenty of time," said Ned, as we headed to the highway.

Where two lanes were shut down.

Tune in tomorrow for June's Weekend, part two of 3934928239 parts.

YOU’RE a towel

Yesterday I got a new phone, because I was finally eligible for an upgrade, and my current, now former (iPhone, fmr.) phone had a big crack in it, which is what SHE said, and also the flash on it had not worked for years. The point is, here is the first picture I took with my new phone. Well. First-ish. I’m always glad to capture my penis nose on film.

IMG_0003 9.27.27 PM
I am NOT wearing a robe. I sent a photo from this sesh to Ned, who wrote, “Why are you wearing a robe at work?”

“I’m not. It’s a sweater that leaks all over everything. I have little white sweater balls on the rest of my outfit.” I am never one to not tell you every detail. Ned’s lucky I didn’t launch into my “My nose is a dick” diatribe.

“Looks like a robe,” Ned wrote back.

“YOU’RE a robe,” I wrote, which is another horrible thing I’ve learned from the 25-year-olds at work. If “That’s what SHE said” doesn’t work as a comeback, usually telling someone “YOU’RE a [whatever it was they said last]” will accomplish a ton.

“Is that story done? We have a deadline.” “YOU’RE a deadline.”

We’ve all been doing that in droves at work, and then the other day, our very dignified boss came back from “YOU’RE a deadline” with “Your MOM’S a deadline.”

Editor humor. It’s hilarious.

YOU’RE hilarious. YOU’RE an editor.

Anyway. Was super-excited about new phone, and photographed every single molecule of everything yesterday.

IMG_0008Here are the leftover jellybeans from the anyone-can-take-it table at work. No one ever wants the black ones. Because who invented black liquorice flavor and why weren’t they shot clean in the neck?

IMG_0006Here’s the beleaguered Guy Who Sits Next To Me. Imagine his life eight hours a day.

After work, Marty, Kayeee, Ned and I screamed on downtown for the SCRABBLE TOURNAMENT! YOU’RE a nerd. It was a fundraiser for the literacy place I volunteer for. I didn’t read the rules. BAHAHAHAHAHA.

IMG_0010
Because I’m super organized, I didn’t sign us all up till this morning. Marty and Kayeeee were a team, then Ned and I were. Here are the hilarious names I came up with for our teams. How do I do it? It’s a gift of wit, is what it is.

IMG_0012Ned and I had, like, one word that was worth 42 points, but then we got tired and totally sucked in round two. This is just how I am when I bowl. I do well on the first game, but then I’m tired and not into it the second game. And by “do well” in bowling I mean I don’t get a zero the first time.

IMG_0011Those assholes Marty and Kaye, who I hate, beat us both rounds, and Ned and I suck. I was so incensed that I tried to tell Marty HE was a triple-score letter, and he told me that whole “YOU’RE a…” thing is big on Southpark, and did you ever notice boys are forever telling you about Southpark like it’s interesting? Southpark is Sex and the City for boys. Anyway, apparently there is a character who is a towel, and people tell him he’s a towel and his retort is, “YOU’RE a towel.” So.

UnnamedMy friend Jo showed up, too, because the Scrabble tournament is the hotspot in Greensboro. Here I am pretending to not care that I lost.

Unnamed-1And here are my real feelings. YOU’RE a lost. Also, I do not know how Jo managed to take this picture, seeing as she’s lurking behind me like something from a Goya painting, but life’s a mystery.

Oh! Also, the best part of the evening was somehow we all got on the topic of our virginity, and Marty told how when he and his then girlfriend decided to try sex, they went to the library and read about it first before they did it, which by the way is nerdier than going to a Scrabble tournament.

Then I said to Ned, “You’ve never showed me where you lost your virginity. Why haven’t you showed me where you lost your virginity?”

“It was in the butt,” said Marty, who wins for best comment of the night. MARTY’S a butt.

Oh! And we won a raffle prize! Six months to a gym, and since we all know Ned is Norm on Cheers at HIS gym, I get to use the prize! My butt’s gonna get so cute it’ll lose its virginity.

So that sums up my big night of Scrabble. Ned kept trying to find a way to spell “vadge” but it never came up. That’s what she said.

Finally, yesterday I told you to ask me questions and I would answer them, so here are a few that you asked me. I will try to do a few a day until I forget because you know how I am.

Megsie said, I would love to hear about your *perfect* day.What would be a joy-filled day for you? How would you wake up? What would you do? Who would be there?

I’ve answered this before, so some of it is the same.

  • Sex.
  • Hash browns with onions in it, poached eggs with toast. Strong french roast.
  • Some lake in Northern Michigan, on a warm day, with my whole family, even the annoying ones, and Tallulah. Okay, Edsel can come, too, but if it’s my day he’d be strangely calm.
  • Lunch of salmon like how my mother makes it, with corn on the cob. Strawberries, and really good peaches.
  • Getting to pet a puppy or kitten for a long time.
  • Nap with sex. Not that sex and I would sleep.
  • Massage.
  • Mashed potatoes and steak. Lemonade.
  • At the end of the day, my family and I would gather around a fire, and even though she’s been dead for 30 years, my grandmother would be there and I would sit on her lap even though I’m 50.
  • Sleep with crickets chirping and a good thunderstorm later.

That’s pretty much all I require. If I got a call that day saying June, we’d love to publish your book, then okay.

PJ asks, If I run into you and Lalula some day, will I be able to love on her and kiss her beautiful head or will she do me harm if I go all “love the doggy, kiss the sweet doggy” on her?

ImagesSEER ee is lee?

Lu is pretty aloof, really, but she’d let you dote on her. I would never recommend putting your face in that pitty dog’s face, but so far she’s not been remotely aggressive with any human. Edsel, of all people, showed his teeth to someone once, and I was stunned.

Jeanie asked about allergies, but I was like The Riddler on that one. I had question marks all around me. Fortunately, other readers addressed her issues.

MissusB said, What is one thing you really want to accomplish before you either become too old to do it, or die?
 

Hmmm. I would still like to be a go-go dancer in a cage. And dress in drag, like, all the way. I want to lie on a beach with pink sand. And kiss a leopard. That’s about it. Oh, I guess publish a book.
 
That is all I’ll answer for now, because we’re at 1,200 words and you’ve developed kwashiorkor from sitting here this long.

YOU’RE kwashirorkor.

There’s something you read every day.

Maturely,

Jooooooon

Ask June. Old School.

Am 100% totally late because of Ned. We have a busy day planned: Tonight we're going to a Scrabble tournament with Marty Martin and Kayeeee, because nerds. Then at 10:30 tonight, the Louis CK show comes back on, and I am beside myself. Then I will be exhausted from going to bed that late.

Yesterday at lunch I walked 2.6 miles with Slutty Pancakes, and we are annoyed that we aren't thin yet.

So see? What normally would take me 6,7094 words has taken me, like, 75.

Since I have to go, why don't we have an old favorite: Ask June. Go ahead. Ask me anything. Advice, pressing questions about my life, my views on geography and map reading, anything.

6a00e54f9367fb8834017744d4a3bb970d-800wiYu rully want to go dere, mom?

Yes, mom do. Because mom late and have to scream out a post. 

Love,

Jooooon