Aging ungracefully · Busy busy busy busy. Thank heavens for Angie's List. · Faithful Readers · Friends · June's stupid life

The one where June convinces self that 2016 will be HER YEAR! The one where June does that every year, and look how 2015 turned out.

Here we are, at the end of this damn year. On New Year's Eve of last year, Ned and I got into a fight, and I spent the entire night in my room, crying, with a bottle of wine. I watched the year tick down by Googling it.

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Here's me, last year, 8 o'clock at night. Only 4 hours of sitting there angrily to go! Is that a blanket on the bed back there, or did I import some kind of large mammal into the sitch? I wouldn't put large-mammal-into-the-sitch past me.

Well, anyway. Tonight should be cheerfuller. It's my friend The Poet's birthday, so if they let us out early today, Ima take her to that fancy hotel I like, have my way with her, or alternatively get cream sodas with her. She's not what you call a big drinker. Then after my friend The Other Copy Editor is having a New Year's party.

You know, I feel like no matter what I do on New Year's, it'll never beat the time I ended up making out with my friend's brother while "Babe" by KC and the Sunshine Band played out his clock radio. It was just so unexpected, me and my double belt pressed up to Donny W. I was 47.

No, no. Ninth grade. It was ninth grade.

Then tomorrow I'll do what I always do on the first, which is go to the park downtown and take part in that group meditation. Then after THAT, my friend Jo is having a party, so hello, busy.

I hope your new year is full of surprises as wonderful as pressing your double belt up against an eighth-grader.

Yes, he was a younger man. June, a cougar even then.

In other news, last night my neighbor Peg came over. Peg, of the give-you-the-norovirus neighbors Peg.

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One great thing about my year abroad is that Tallulah forgot she hated Peg. She's hated Peg since she was a puppy, and Peg had the nerve to lean over the fence into Tallulah's yard. But last night all was copacetic. She did not attempt to murder Peg even once.

The point of her visit was that she was gonna look at where I'd put everything and tell me what I did wrong. Peg is an interior designer, kind of a celebrated one around here, and I don't know how I score, knowing fancy authors and designers and poets and artists and also Marty.

See what I did, there? Hey, Marty Martin!

We spent three hours moving stuff around, Peg and I did. I don't mean we'd take a picture from the wall and jiggle it a minute and put it back. Why would we do that? But that's the image I got when I wrote that sentence, so. Welcome to my mind.

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She had me move my books all over yonder, so it wouldn't be one full shelf of books and then one shelf of knickknacks. And she's really good at seeing something you have lying around in one place, like a damn pillow or basket, and telling you to put it in another place altogether.

I didn't even show you what she did in the dining room, and I'd get up and do that, but Iris is purr-pawing on my arm and I don't wish to disturb her.

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You know what that reminds me of?

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This kitten picture of Iris. Awwww. Kitten Iris. She was a ludicrous-looking kitten. Her eyes were all screwed up. But now she's such a beautiful cat. People are all the time saying how pretty she is, and I always say, "I KNOW! How is it a cat with no eyeballs can be so pretty?"

At least I'm ending 2015 in my usual linear fashion, where I take one topic and stick to it. I'm re-showing you my end-of-year video, because it's tradition to show it the last day of the year, and you know how traditional I am. Also, last time I showed it to you on the mobile version and this is the desktop version so allegedly it'll be clearer. My suggestion is you click on the title of the video and watch it on YouTube so you can make it bigger and not have to deal with that ad at the bottom. You can X the ad out. Stupid YouTube.

 

Talk to you next year! Thanks for sending me Dresscember donations, and coffee, and TVs, and for reading my bullshit all year. You made 2015 tolerable, you know.

Luff,

Joooooon

Dooce envy · Friends · Health · June's stupid life

Don’t be rash

I just used the new shampoo and conditioner that my aunt sent me–it's fancy stuff–and then when I emerged from the shower, I said. "What's that red dot on my arm? …Hey, what's that other red dot on my arm?" Then I looked in the medicine cabinet mirror, and fortunately Glen Close wasn't behind me (hashtag Ruined Since Fatal Attraction in 1987), but I was covered–covered!!–in a rash on my back, shoulders, arms and face.

I guess I'm allergic to the shampoo/conditioner. I even checked that it didn't have grapefruit in it! And no, I can't take a Benedryl. Thanks for the advice. Benedryl gives me migraines, so I don't own any.

So while I wait to die of anapyhlactic shock, I'll blog at you.

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One of the Alexes at work is in the midst of a long breakup, so I made her do what I always do to mend a broken heart: see a psychic and sign up for OK Cupid. You can see how well that's worked for me. The very day Ned and I broke up, I stampeded to a psychic, and she told me Ned would get a new girlfriend right away. Thanks. Feel better. Glad I came here.

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But anyway, I made an appointment for Alex at the psychic place, and you know it's genuine because they use purple. And prayer flags.

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Plus, the receptionist/cashier is a Kitler. Do you guys remember four years ago when I went to this place and he was a kitten? A Kittenler? If you kept up with your Big Book of June Events, you'd remember. I'll bet faithful reader Steve's Wife Beth remembers.

Oh my god, my throat feels all irritated. This is probably it, when the allergic reaction has hit my innards. Elizabeth, I'm comin' to join you, honey.

If I died while blogging, I'd get so, so famous.

I went to the tea shop to wait for her to be done, Alex, I mean, not Steve's Wife Beth or Eva Braun, and I don't know why I can't just stick to the topic at hand. I had to pee when I got there, so instead of ordering a peppermint tea before I did that, I stampeded through the empty shop and to the restroom. Then when I emerged, I had to wait for a guy who was practically buying a condo.

"How much caffeine is in the bark mousse tea? Oh, yeah, I don't want that much caffeine. The eggnog existential crisis tea, is that spicy? Can I make that into a latte? What sizes do you have? Do you have one the size of my man bits, which are clearly lacking and the only solace I have is this tea?"

He's lucky I'm on Lexapro, man, or there would have been a TON of passive-aggressive sighing while I waited.

Anyway, the psychic told Alex she's got to get over the last guy and make a decision to move forward, which, wow, psychic. And that once she does, she's going to meet a chiseled doctor. I'm not even kidding you. A chiseled doctor. When I went to that psychic in September, she was all, yeah, I don't see anyone. Nope. No man.

The only time I'll see a chiseled doctor is when I see him for this rash.

A chiseled doctor. Why am I friends with that dick, Alex?

So then right there at the tea shop, Mrs. Doctor Alex and I got on her new OK Cupid page and watched the hellos parade in. IMG_7063
If you're on a dating site currently, and you hover near my age, here's the part where you go ahead and kill yourself with allergic shampoo. She got 120 messages right away. Like, not even day one, hour or two one.

So I feel like she'll be okay.

I gotta go. If my airways stay clear, I'll head to work. Oh my god, I just remembered that Dooce had an allergic reaction not long ago. Even my diseases are derivative. No wonder I can't score a chiseled doctor. Or anyone.

Actually, though, last night after I left Alex so she could get ready to meet Noah Drake, I came home and fed the pets, then got online to peruse vintage plant stands (I want to make this back room into a plant-y room, I mean if I live through being Rash Bridges right now), and then I lost all track of time till it was time for Girlfriend's Guide to Divorce, and as I headed to my TV I thought, God, this is marvelous. I forgot how much I like living alone. I really do.

Although it'd be super convenient to have a doctor in the house right now.

Rashly,

June

Film · I am berserk · June's stupid life

When Captain Howdy doesn’t think you’re pretty

This morning, I was making the coffee and the cats were in their little window, meowing for food, while the dogs moaned at their dishes like I never feed them.

"You know," I said, and whenever I try to reason with the pets–yes, I do–I always start with "you know." "You know, you guys have to wait till mom makes her coffee. I'm the leader of this pack."

And that is when Tallulah fell to the floor in utter hysterics. Seriously, she was wiping her eyes with Edsel's lace hankie.

When I got up this morning, I saw I'd thrown yesterday's clothes on the floor of the spare bedroom, and it all came back to me what I did last night. I STUPIDLY stayed up and watched The Exorcist, and then I was too afraid to walk all the way into the closet to put my clothes in the hamper. I was convinced the devil was in there waiting for me. Because the devil is in the closet. The devil is in Miss Jones.

You know how I often come home for lunch and start watching an old movie on TV, and then I'm always loathe to leave for work again, as if modern technology hadn't yet invented ways to see the end of a movie later or something.

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Iris usually falls asleep on me during lunch, too, and I'm loathe to remove her squooshy warm self.

The other day, The Exorcist was just beginning, and I watched it long enough to SCARE THE BEJEESUS out myself before I had to go back to work. Then last night I was flipping around, not literally, and came across the movie again, pretty much where I'd left off.

When we left off, Regan had peed the floor. Let's see what happens next.

OR NOT CAUSE YOU LIVE ALONE AND TALLULAH IS YOUR ONLY PARENT AND SHE'S AN ATHEIST AND THIS MOVIE DOESN'T SCARE HER. I feel like Tallulah would be the type to scare you after a scary movie. Roll her eyes up in her dog skull and groan.

The thing is, once you get past HOW EFFING HORRIFYING that movie is, it's really a good movie. Plus, that house in Georgetown is lovely. Not that you'd get even one s-shaped hair of mine in there, if it's a real place. No fucking way.

Speaking of scary, over Christmas, my coworker Griff had some work done.

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There's this weird shelf of stuff behind me, including that mask, and I like how just now, showing you this photo, I see FedEx envelopes, and I need FedEx stuff to mail back that riveting statistics textbook, and all this time I've been all, If only FedEx supplies were conveniently located.

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And speaking of my coworkers, my coworker Fewks came over to my desk yesterday. "Hey, June, I hear you're selling coffee mugs. How much can you get for this one?" Then Fewks went online and lovingly bought himself a couple's massage. Let's start the bidding at 50 cents. Do I hear 50 cents? For a genuine used Fewks mug?

I'd better go to work. It's a cold, rainy day, and there's little shittier than cold rain falling on you, unless it's literal shit falling on you, in which case, you should probably relocate, if that's your weather.

Your mother knits socks in hell,

June

Faithful Readers · June's stupid life · My Bible and Wall Street obsessions

June will not say something tired like haters gonna hate.

Hurr

Good hair day yesterday. …Oh, look. A pet in the background.

I've been blogging now for nigh on nine years. I have no idea what "nigh on" means. Does it mean "almost"? Because that would be inaccurate; it's now more than nine years. Nigh on nine years. I'm just gonna go ahead and make "nigh on" mean whatever I want it to mean.

Because I've been blogging for such a nigh on time, it's inevitable that some people who read me aren't gonna like me. The part where I let my bitch flag fly high probably doesn't help. I might even be a tad polarizing. Like cilantro. I am nigh on cilantro.

The first person to hate me was that Carin person, who when one day when I felt sad about something or other, and I got here and said I don't feel remotely funny today, took offense. I've noticed that any time I get on here and say I feel sad, people are mean. It's the oddest phenomenon, but it never fails, and years go by and I don't dare say I'm sad, then I forget and it happens again. I have literally typed a blog post in tears, mostly when things were going bad with Ned and me at the end, there, and written a whole funny tra-la-laaa! blog post just to avoid the mean.

But man, she really came out of nowhere. She accused me of trying to sell coffee mugs. Of course I was trying to sell coffee mugs. You can still buy coffee mugs, by the way. There's a button on the upper right. Anyway, she was mean. And then we all hilariously talked about her for freaking months. Any time I'd lose my glasses, someone would say, "Carin took them." Or Carin was responsible for a traffic jam, or she gave me the flu. I hope poor Carin didn't off herself.

Then some nutbar wrote me and told me I was bipolar. Bipolar. Pfft. I have no poles other than crabby. I think that whole thing was pretty much behind the scenes; she didn't leave mean comments so much as she left me mean emails. She also, I realized later, started a fake Facebook account, in which I was her only friend. Any time anyone friend requests me now and they have, say, seven friends and/or no photo, I do not accept the request.

Oh! And THEN there was that wingnut Kelly. I'm not saying if you hate me you have to be crazy. I can see how I would grate, believe me. Look, not everyone in the world can be as sweet as Faithful Reader Megsie or FR Sadie. You want a sweet blogger, go read The Nester. You want cilantro, you're in the right place.

Anyway, Kelly would leave all kinds of mean comments, like "Ned will leave you soon because you're so unattractive" and "Do you have rosacea?" Oh my god, she was a gem. And I'd block her, and she'd get another IP to comment from. THAT is what I mean by being a nut.

But now? Oh, now. I have the best hater of all. Because what this person did was BRILLIANT and I cannot help but love it.

About a month ago, I started getting emails on my blog email from The Gap, and Banana Republic, and Old Navy. I know they all belong to the same company, so getting mail from ALL EFFING THREE was annoying, but I understood it. The thing is, I never use this email address for anything except your comments. It's nigh on anything else. Today in the comments we have to use "nigh on" absolutely incorrectly all day long.

Anyway, I deleted them, but I was also curious about how I even GOT on Banana Republic's mailing list.

Then I started getting emails from Sears. And beauty-supply companies (hey! I'll take those!), old-lady stores like Soft Surroundings and medical supply companies for my walker.

And then? The Duggars' newsletter.

And right then I knew. Someone was fucking with me. Someone was signing me up for anything she could get her hands on. This must be a girl doing this, right? Men are never this vengeful in such a clever way. Men just shoot you in the head or whatever. Women are diabolical, man.

And it was the newsletter from the Duggars that made me love her. Because THIS WAS SO GREAT. Now I can't wait to see who she signs me up with next. Sometimes I get the introductory email. "Thank you for signing up for the Bible Passage a Day email. Click here to confirm."

I wish I had thought to do this to someone. I mean, I still could, but now it'd be derivative. I would so sign Hulk up for Animal Lovers Unite, or Yay, Democrats! or something. Or some super-gay-a-day email. Daily Dick Pics. I mean, once you start thinking of someone you want to torment, you can really go to town on what to sign them up for.

Actually, now that I think about it, when Marvin and I first separated, I did forward him all my Increase Your Penis Size spam, just for awhile. But that wasn't as genious as this.

Anyway, I'll keep you abreast. Today I got a Wall Street Cheat Sheet subscription, because you know how I can't get enough of checking on my stocks. It's like a little gift in my email, every day. It's like it's always Christmas, but not depressing, suck-out-your-soul regular Christmas. God, aren't you glad it's over? I am nigh on the fact that it's over.

Nigh on,

June

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

The pot returns

When we last spoke, it was Christmas–and you know how I love it, give me Christmas 40 times a year. At any rate, I was blogging at you and everything was copacetic till the phone rang.

It was Ned.

Dun dun DUNNNNN.

I'd taken Ned off my contacts list on my iPhone, so when he rang (am British), it didn't have his signature train whistle sound effect. He used to live four inches from the train tracks, and so I'd made his ringtone a train whistle. Plus, he absolutely loved getting all his friends together to pull a train on me. It was so romantic.

Anyway, so the phone rang like a normal person, and I figured it was some relative calling to say Happy Christmas because we're British, then when it was Ned I got all twitterpated. "NED!" I said, and I literally said "Ned." He laughed.

We both abhor this holiday, and his was officially over, so we got up for a Christmas drink at the place where we had our first date. It's a hotel, so it's open. Not that we had a date at the hotel. TJ Hooker, over here. I mean, it IS a hotel, but our first date was at the hotel bar. Calm down.

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Am particularly glad that I captured Ned, in what is probably the last picture of us, in my sparkly reading glasses. And also paying. Which is how God intended it.

Aw, Ned. Look at him. I've always admired his nose, which ends the way I want mine to, instead of having its grand finale at the ball. Letting the ball drop. It was nice to see him and his nose. And yes, I did get my pot back. How Stella got her pot back. Shut up.

 

Anyway, that was that. I am not reuniting with Ned.

I am also not reuniting with the Tall Boy, with whom I hung out yesterday.

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Mostly because he's turned himself into a chair. Billy Jean is not my lover. She's just a girl who thinks that I am the one. But the CHAIR is not my son.

There's a story behind this chair. See.

I'm on the lookout for two floor lamps, cool ones; and an ottoman, an old leather one to match m'face; and also a couch. My mother is helping me buy a couch as part of my Christmas gifts. Christmas. I'll abhor it, yet I sure will take your gifts. Just another reason June is an Asshole.

Now that we don't have a June Advent calendar, maybe we need to get a June's an Asshole list. Like Santa's list, only longer.

Anyway, this means I spend quite a bit of time at this antique/secondhand shop near here, the same place where Ned and I got that tall bed. Yesterday, instead of seeing a couch or a lamp or an ottoman that matched m'face, I saw this office chair. I've been LOOKING for a chair like that for quite some time. Also, is it possible for me to take any photos in my house without a pet in them?

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Nope.

At any rate, I snatched that office chair right up, bought the shit out of it, and brought it home. Tall Boy and I had plans to go to a movie, and he said he'd ride his bike over "around 2:00," and knowing the German Tall Boy, that meant he'd be here AT 2:00 OH MY GOD NO STOPPING HIM GET OUT MY WAY BIG BEN, IT'S 2:00 AND I'M GERMAN.

At 2:00, the doorbell rang. "Oh, good, I just got here with my new office chair. Come admire it." I swirled around in my chair seductively.

"It's missing a caster," said detailed Tall Boy.

What? Son of a …

I called the damn store, and they said I was "welcome to come see if it fell off anywhere." This store is a HUGE storeroom, so I was looking forward to that.

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So before we took off on Caster Find 2015, we fortified ourselves with Prosecco. Nothing says highfalutin' like sparkling wine in a Mason jar. It was the Tall Boy, in fact, with whom I had the conversation long ago that you never, ever add the "g" to "highfalutin'" and they should just change the spelling of the word. Also, nothing is ever lowfalutin'.

I just noticed there's a pet in that photo. Jesus, with the pets.

Our plan was to go see the movie Joy, but when we got to the theater, hey, guess what? It's the Saturday after Christmas. What people? I really feel like, as someone who goes to that theater three times a month EASY (see above ref to hotel on first date), I should get some sort of VIP pass to walk past the riffraff and right up to the popcorn. We stood in the line for a minute, but gave up. "There'll be even another line at the concession stand," TB pointed out, which is crucial. I don't understand people who go to the movies and breeze past concessions.

"Since we're here, can we go to Trek?" he asked, and I had no idea what that was. Was that like a Dirty Sanchez or, worse, a Cleveland Steamer? One delightful thing I learned from seeing Ned the other night was what a Cleveland Steamer was. OH MY GOD NOT LITERALLY. I mean, we Googled it in the midst of our conversation. I feel like Prince Rainier never said to Grace Kelly, "You don't know what a Cleveland Steamer is? Get your phone, we'll Google it."

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It turns out, unfortunately, that Trek's a bike shop, and all you women who go insane over the Tall Boy will be interested to hear he bought fingerless gloves, and the extra large was too small for his hands, and he had to ask if they had extra, extra large.

And a thrill went up over the land.

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In the meantime, since I'm never IN a bike shop, I wandered around and giggled at seventh-grade-humor things.

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Breaking the friction barrier!

Tall Boy and the earnest bike salesman were having quite a time, with their bike talk. They SPOKE quite a bit. HAH! Eventually, emboldened by Prosecco, I announced, "I don't know how to ride a bike!"

It was like when EF Hutton talks.

"Is she even allowed in here?" asked Tall Boy.

After that, we headed back to the damn antique store, and Tall Boy got all, "I've been looking for a side table. I've been looking for a chair. I've been looking for a red suede pump," until I had to remind him we were there ON A MISSION. A CASTER MISSION. And right when I said that, Tall Boy said, "Here it is!"

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And there it was! On top of a desk, about 200 feet from where I'd found the chair in the first place. I mean, WHAT WERE THE CHANCES we'd actually find it? We took that motherfucker and got out the store. And as you can see from the first photo, it's already fallen off again. Son of a …

But cool chair, right? I'm in it right now. How do you screw in a caster? How do you mend a broken heart? Step one, don't sleep with your ex because it's Christmas.

Oh! Oh oh oh! And I FINISHED MY STATISTICS TEXTBOOK! FINISHED! Oh my god, that was torture. But now I get to spend that money! Fleeta, at work, asked me how much of it I'm gonna save. God, don't you just hate the youth of today?

I'd better go. I'm off to see and be seen. By pets.

Lufff,

Jooon

June's stupid life

Joueux Noel. Or, June gets pretentious with her holiday greetings.

I wasn't gonna blog today, but then I figured someone out there desperately wants distraction from his or her family, so here is my gift to you.

I spent Christmas alone today, but don't feel sorry for me. It was fabulous. Plus also, am I ever really alone here? I am not.

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eff yuu, mom.

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Lu a Joo now. Dis suk.

Last night, I made a roast, and also mashed potatoes, and it was right then I knew that I had left my medium-sized pot back at Ned's. So that sucked ass. So I had to cook and mash one potato at a time, which was annoying. Don't worry, I'll get the damn pot back. It just seemed like this would be a bad time to call re that. I let the dogs sleep with me last night because it's Christmas, and then we got up and opened gifts.

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Here's a gift from my mother that had pretty wrapping. I have no recollection what this was once I opened it.

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Another pretty one. Mom's puttin' a bird on it this year.

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She got me lovely earrings, and you can see I also got some bath towels in blue and white, and however did anyone guess that'd be the color scheme to go with?

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Aunt Mary got me this necklace which I love love love love love.

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Oh, and this is a good story. Just last night, after I consumed my roast and fired up a movie, I thought, Geez. I should have at least done SOME nod to Christmas. I decorated nonce, and I know you all tell me "nonce" is a dirty British word, but it works so well; I don't know why the British have to ruin my good word with their dirty minds. Anyway, this morning I opened this live centerpiece from my Aunt Kathy. The dang box read "Perishable" on it but I thought someone was just reusing an old box and thought nothing of it. The point is, I opened it and it was in fine shape, and then my Aunt Mary sent me my great-grandmother's candlesticks. And now all of a sudden I have such a pretty nod to Christmas! A nod that Iris is going to eat, but still a nod.

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Foxy pajams! Cause I'm Foxy Brown. Foxy White. Relatively Still Handsome White. Crap.

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Oh, and every year my friend Dot sends me (and only me) Christmas cards of her pets and not her kids. All the normal people get kid pics. First of all, how good-looking is her dog? Also too, this is year number two that wherever she takes Tug to get his portrait, the Santa on duty looks suicidal. I mean, you're SANTA and you get to pet dogs and cats all day. Take a Lexapro, man. Good lord. We all need to go do an interpretive dance and cheer him up or something.

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Anyway, she sent these vintage earrings, which I also love love love. They're HUGE, and I think Ima pin them to a coat instead of wear them and get Buddha ears.

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Oh, and one final picture. This was the poor receptionist when I went in to get my Botox this week. My doctor is what you'd call into Xmas. All told, she has, like, eight Christmas trees in her office this time of year. She even has a Hanukkah tree. Anyway, the part where I walked in and the receptionist was invisible is my new favorite thing.

Anyway, I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas —

— Ned is calling me. Holy cats.

June's stupid life · OooooooWEEEEEooooooo!!!

Old crow

It's been cloudy and rainy and ridiculous for days, and my floor back here is all muddy despite wiping these damn eight dog feets every time they come in. Note: Get mud entrance rug, for god's sake. The point is, after breakfast, those three seconds where the dogs have breakfast, they like to go back outside and have them an a.m. constitutional.

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But today Tallulah wanted to stay in. "Do you want to be my indoor hound?" I asked her. She did. With her little cookie feet. Look at her perfect cookie feet. So okay. She's my indoor hound. I also asked her if she wanted to be blog dog today, and she sat right down and posed, as shown above. My dogs know the score.

I've noticed a little bit of slowing down in Talu. I mean, not a lot. She's only 8. But, like, she doesn't gobble her food with the gusto she used to. Edsel finishes first and then stands expectantly over her bowl, as if she's gonna stop early. "yuu want rest, eds? Lu could not eet nother bite."

And she only barks when it's really necessary, like when that creepy guy came to the door. Ooo, did I tell you about the creepy guy at the door?

I was in the living room in my cowboy chair, reading a book, when both dogs got up and raised their hackles. I mean, right away, they did, like a couple of dinosaurs. "Mmmmmm," growled Lu, all low and dignified. "Rrr-rrr-rr-rrr-rrr-rr-RR!" barked Edsel, who would not know the word "dignified" if I branded him with it.

Then there was a knock at the door. I hadn't heard anyone pull up, and I don't know why I opened the door. I looked through the peephole, but really I can't see a damn thing through there. I saw a blurry guy. I mean, I guess if I'd have looked through the peephole and was able to squint enough to see that it was blurry Death or blurry Charles Manson, I wouldn't have opened the door.

But I opened the door. Open the door! Are you ready for your mystery date? Open the door! Are you ready for your mystery death?

Anyway, there he was. Some white guy, skinny, kind of nervous. Not what you really want to see. The good news is, the dogs were losing their minds. I had to physically hold Edsel back from charging the guy. Every so often, Edsel is a badass.

"Ma'am I deliver meat. Any kind of meat you want. Do you need delivery of meat?"

Do I! But that's a matter for another time.

"No, thank you, I…"

"The truth is, ma'am, I need help. It's Christmas and I'm not doing well."

See, stuff like that kills me. Possibly literally. What if it's true? What if he's Jesus or something? Skinny meth Jesus? But really, at this point Edsel was practically foaming at the mouth, and Tallulah has the lowest, manliest bark and she was giving it her all. The guy looked nervously at my dogs, who I had by their collars.

"I'm sorry, these dogs. I have to go." I shut the door.

So I hope my what-look-like-killer dogs dissuade him from coming back and murdering me like a crow. Get it? A murder of crows? If I do get murdered, I want you to go around telling everyone that you used to read a blog and the blogger was murdered like a crow. I don't want you to explain yourself any further.

If I'm killed, he was slight and fair-haired. Probably mid-30s. That narrows it down.

I think from now on if a stranger comes to the door, I will shout through the closed door that my two dogs aren't nice to strangers and I can't take that chance. That sounds menacing, right? Or maybe I could get a gun! June's temper and a gun. Yeah! Do it!

Junie's got a gun. Dog days just begun.

I must stop singing lyrics for everything. Annoy own self. Should not live alone with own self and own self's thoughts.

Also, do you really think Jesus would come to your door looking all cracked out and menacing and then send you to hell because you were scared and didn't help? That hardly seems fair. That seems more like passive-aggressive Jesus. I would really resent burning in hell because I thought Jesus looked precisely like a Molly addict.

I don't think you can get addicted to the Molly, can you?

Oh my god, I have to go. There are approximately .004 people at work this week, but I am one of them. It's busier there than you'd think, and I kind of feel like the guy who had to stand behind Mr. Potter's wheelchair on Christmas Eve. I mean, that guy didn't even get Christmas Eve off? I do, however, get Christmas Eve off.

If you're off to be Xmassy, have a lovely holiday and I'll see you when you get back. I'll be here, unless I'm murdered like a crow. Oh, and also, everyone's answers yesterday were hilarious. I kept giggling at my desk like an idiot. Fortunately, there was no one in the room to hear me. I was like a tree in the forest.

I'll take my LEAVE of you now.

Joooon

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

And the winner is, MISS GARDENS! …Wait.

It was busy as all get-out yesterday at work, which annoys. Isn't it supposed to be a good cheer, smoke myrrh, get gift baskets and enjoy the holiday week kind of a week? Dang.

When I wasn't slaving at work, I was slaving over a hot statistics textbook. Yesterday I got so sick of that statistics book that I gave myself a reward and let myself proofread the index instead of reading as many real pages as I usually do. It's a sad day when an index on a statistics textbook is your dessert. I just have to let that exciting house power wash dangle before me as incentive. Powwwwwer washhhh, POWWWERRRR WASHHHH.

I have no idea why I just turned into a ghost. Oh, wait. Boredom. I died of boredom and became the world's boringest ghost.

It was someone's birthday once, maybe my mother's, I dunno, but I was calling whomever and trying to sing Happy Birthday in a sexy Marilyn Monroe voice, because vixen. When I was done, Marvin said, "You know you just sounded like a ghost, right?"

I WAS A VIXEN.

Look how many paragraphs I've started with "I."

Anyway, at least I got to have fun Sunday night.

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I got up with one of the Alexes and also The Other Copy Editor, fmr., at a pub. That's TOCE,f's ridiculous husband grabbing their parts.

We ended up staying there for hours, talking and–oh! And I made a new friend!

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Because I need to further my "June doesn't know any ugly people" reputation. My street cred. You know what I have a ton of? Street cred.

Which REMINDS me. Last week, I switched desks at work, which I've probably already told you, but why don't you shut up. YOU try talking to a roomful of strangers first thing every morning of your life, with the exception of some weekend days or days when you used to be having sex, and note HOW DAMN OFTEN I'm here now every day.

Son of a BITCH.

Is everyone keeping their June's No-Sex Reverse Advent Calendar up to date? We need to invent one of those, and for each little window you open, it's me getting crankier. As if that were possible.

Oh my god, anyway. So, I moved seats last week, because they had me right next to the steps, and anyone who went up or came down the steps stopped at my desk and rendered me suicidal, because more than 300 people work at my workplace, and ALL OF THEM SAID HELLO IN THE COURSE OF A DAY.

So now I'm all cloistered in a quiet corner, because everybody puts Junie in a corner, and it's lovely except for when I can hear everyone laughing and I want to get up and say, "What? What'd I miss?" every single time. I've worked there five years, and this is my seventh place I've sat, so I won't get too up in it, as it always changes. It's like barn kitties.

Did I say oh my god anyway yet?

So now I sit next to my boss's boss, whom everyone adores, because he's mellow and smart and funny and finds all of our shenanigans vaguely ludicrous. He's, like, 10 times more dignified than the rest of us put together, even when he does things like give people bald eagle calendars.

The point is, he and I are back there in this quiet spot now, and somehow yesterday we got on the topic of what would be the very last thing someone would say about us, to describe us. Like, for me, I said no one would ever say, "That June. God, she's such a tomboy." And also, "If only June would tap into her emotions, stop being so logical about everything."

When my boss's boss stopped laughing about the thought of me being logical and not just one dramatic emotion after another, he said, "What about me? What'd they say about me?"

We both thought about it for a minute. "No one would ever say to your wife, 'You must really like the bad boys,'" I said.

"Wow, that's true," said my boss, looking dejected. "Stay away from that one. He's trouble," he said. We both giggled about that for a century. Then he lay his head on his desk. "Now I'm depressed," he said.

"Well, you could break these chains tonight, man! Instead of going to the gym and being home by 6:00 like you always are, you could head to a bar and get terrifically drunk."

"I'd have one drink, get sick, and have to call my wife," he told me. "And then she'd just feel sorry for me, and I wouldn't be a bad boy at all."

I guess it's hard for leopards to change their spots.

So, what would be the last thing someone would say to describe you? Like, no one would ever say, It's weird how Hulk seems indifferent to sports. Or, If only Dick Whitman would tap into his feminine side. Actually, I'm sitting here thinking of super-snotty things to say about some of you who've commented for years, but I am not saying them. Because June. Driving away readers since 2006. But just know THEY ARE HILARIOUS IN MY MIND. 

Okay, I have to go. I have to go to work and be not remotely mellow and of good cheer and having a Lightday Oval Pad. I can't believe how many of you, last time I said that, didn't know what a Lightday Oval Pad was. Were you not alive in the '70s? Don't answer that.

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"I'm a jaunty secretary having a tampon day! Be of good cheer!"

"My flowy '70s shirt and I are having a discharge day. Be gone!"

"Tapering off days are a racket." BAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

"If only June loved herself."

Have a light day, oval pads.

June

Health · Hulk's sex life · June's stupid life

Patience is a virtue. Seersucker is a fabric.

I woke up at 4:30 with a migraine, which was super relaxing. Dragged self out of bed, which I just wrote as "Dragged self out of Ned" FOUR TIMES, hello Freud, and took my meds. So now I'm groggily up, and headed to work because hero, but I have all the funny of a Bazooka Joe comic.

I will check in with you tomorrow. Why don't we have best/worst Christmas memory day? My worst was the year I was 10 or 11 and had a stomach bug and barfed. I got a good diary, my first one, and some Chanel No. 5-scented pens, so it wasn't a total wash. Which reminds me, here's my latest Purple Clover.

Best Christmas memory? Maybe the year Marvin and I were about to get engaged and we met each other's families. I was so excited and all giddy and so forth.

Go.

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eyeriss do donald trump impresh. eyeriss hilaree-is.

Aging ungracefully · June's stupid life

June takes herself out. Nothing happens.

I haven't blogged at you because my weekend has been pretty much all statistics, all the time. In case anyone's worried sick, I'm on page 285 now. Only 215 pages to go! Kill me now. No, kill me after I've spent the money I'm earning.

I'm having my house power washed with the money, did I tell you? EXCITING! Okay, maybe it's not up there with "I'm getting Louboutins and a pink diamond," but it's thrilling for me. Every time I come home now, I'm all, Oh my god, with the DINGY on this house. If you ever wanna get real perspective on how your home is looking, move away for a year, get destroyed by a relationship that didn't work out, and then return home. You'll see your home with new eyes! Eyes you want to pluck out of your head so you can think about that pain instead of the other.

How's it going, June?

Since it's becoming obvious that a weekend here alone with statistics and my thoughts is not a good idea, last night at around 10:00, I put on black hose and heels, and headed out the door to the fancy hotel within walking distance, which I did not walk to because heels. I was determined to sit at the bar and drink a glass of wine and see what happened. You won't BELIEVE what happens next. Click here!

Photo on 12-19-15 at 10.36 PM

I took a picture for you, of me getting ready, and it came out like this and this KILLS me. I look like last dance with MaryJane.

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The heels.

Anyway, I'd love to tell you all heads turned when I teetered into that hotel bar in my heels, but zero heads turned. Heads used to turn. Mostly because I had a three-foot-wide perm back in the day, but still. They turned. The bartender knows me, though, not because I'm such a regular, but because he's a good bartender and we've talked at length before. He set me up with the worst Chardonnay ever invented in the history of time, and I commenced my sexy sitting at the bar like a mystery gal.

Seriously, it's a swank place. Why the bad Chardonnay?

I sipped like I didn't have a care in the world for awhile, when in fact I DID have a care, and that care was, When did TJ Swann come up with a Chardonnay line? Did STP Motor Oil and the Chardonnay worlds merge? Jesus.

We're talking bad wine.

Finally, I looked around the room at my options. There were two men in suits sitting in the spot where Ned and I had our first date. They looked precisely like the men in the balcony on the Muppet Show. I wondered, since one of them had a pink drink, if they were on a first date. I wanted to tell them those were doomed chairs.

There was a Middle-Eastern family having some sort of "celebration," and you've never seen such a dour group of folk in your life. I was riveted by how much this family hated each other. One grown man never looked up from his phone, once. Not once. Maybe he was watching an episode of The Waltons or some other program where families like each other. Holy cats. I finally decided that someone must have died, and they were having a post-funeral dinner. I really hope that was the case, otherwise, this family should just break up. Maybe they were having a frowning contest. I'll have more fun at my colonocopy than these people had last night.

Finally, I turned to the booth behind me,

and there was Midcentury Modern furniture guy,

also known as Area guy, and I always get annoyed when you guys don't know his identity. "Is Area guy the Midcentury furniture guy?" GEEZ. Yes. That's the name of his store, is Area. At this point there is NO WAY he doesn't know I blog about him on the regular. There is just no way.

Anyway, there he was, in all his British glory, and in your Big Book of June Events, you may recall I saw him there several Friday nights ago, when I was at that same bar with Naughty Pro and Tall Boy.

He was on a date, and they were with another couple. "I'm just as pretty as she is," I thought, and I want you to know that isn't true. I'm not. And lemme tell ya something. Midcentury Guy could NOT BE MORE INDIFFERENT to the All This that is June. Every time we make eye contact, he flickers away quickly, which means he either, (a) reads this blog and thinks I'm a NUTBAR, which, hmpf, or (2) is just not into all the heat that is The June. Which, hmpf, also.

So that was interesting, at least, and I kept turning coquettishly in my barstool to act like I was perusing the room, when really I was wanting to check out every moment of Area Guy's date night. Why does he think I'm crazy, do you think? What's his problem? God. And now every time I see him, I can hear Ned's voice, "He just looks like a dude to me."

So, that was pretty much my night. Nothing magical happened, except I got to hear what was new with the bartender, who's married, so. And what do I need to be dating a bartender for, anyway. Well, let's see, I'm 50, and my boyfriend is a bartender! Yeah. That's not sad.

The good news is, a new day yawns before me, but I have plans this evening to get together with one of the Alexes and The Other Copy Editor, Fmr tonight, so that'll be good.

If I see the Area Guy tonight, we'll know he's officially stalking me.

Just a dude,

JOOOOOON

Hulk's sex life · June's stupid life

Death and sex and Walmart

I got this envelope in the mail yesterday: "Death benefit AND Walmart gift certificate enclosed!" it read on the outside.

Well! Thanks!

I abhor the march of time. And the March of Dimes. Dimes don't even have legs. Also, I saw this last night…

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Edsel is such a homo. I know Tallulah's a girl, but it doesn't negate the fact that Edsel is a homo. If Lu woke up and saw that she was snuggling that hard with gay blade Edsel, she'd eat his neck out. Fortunately she does not waken easily. Sometimes when I kick her off the bed, and she pours her molasses self off the mattress at the speed of slug, I think she's still asleep. Flumps herself on to her dog bed and wakes up the next day all, "how lu get heer?" Drunk again.

You know who'd make a poor fireman? Is Tallulah. "oh, der be fyre? yawwwwww{squeak!}wwwn."

I love her yawn squeak.

This entire time I've been blogging at you, Edsel has been insisting I scratch his gay ass. He so needs one of those gay guy bandannas. I guess gay guys don't wear those anymore, so they? Anyway, his jaunty bow tie does the trick.

Remember the gay guy bandannas? I was told that each color and placement meant different things, like so you could signal your sexual preferences to other gay guys. I wish hetero people would make it that simple. I could see some attractive, age-appropriate man somewhere, and he'd be sportin' his yellow bandanna tied on his noggin and I could be all, "Oh. He likes being peed on. Next."

Why can't we be as straightforward? So to speak. Instead we have to be all romantic, and I have to hear that I have lovely eyes, when really my eyes are sort of beady, and the whole time I'm all, Can we get to the sex part already? Good gravy.

Is that just me? Am I a man? Maybe I'm a man. Maybe I'm amazed at the way I love me all the time.

I remember when I'd been dating Ned for, like, six weeks, and we'd spent several dates just kissing goodnight, and had fooled around once, and then he emailed me on a Sunday. "I've made soup. Would you like to come over and have some?" and I was all HELL, YEAH. I'M ON TOP OF ALL THAT!

Hi, mom.

And then we actually had to have the soup, because I hadn't yet realized how important food was to Ned, and the whole time I was thinking, Are we going to get to the sex part? Are we getting to the sex part yet? Sex part? Sex part? I was like my dogs when I dangle a treat over them.

I have no idea how I got off on this tangent. So to speak.

Anyway, let's jump from death and sex and Walmart to Christmas. What are you doing for Christmas, if you celebrate Christmas? I, as you know, am doing precisely nothing, and I told some of my coworkers how I'm making lasagna and watching movies all day. "You need a theme," one of them said. I think it was my metrosexual coworker who said it.

"I DO need a theme," I agreed. So now Ima watch all the Rocky movies between Christmas Eve and Christmas night, then Ima go see Creed. Is Creed still on? If not, I'll go see Joy, because it's also my perfume. Plus, it's a movie Ned would never, ever see. Particularly if there was soup to eat somewhere.

Anyway, what are you doing for Christmas, and what do you WISH you were doing? Are they one in the same? Tell all.

Inquisitively,

June

P.S. Edsel just charged after Iris, thereby negating his sweet homo dog status just a little.

In the kitchen with June · June's stupid life

If you liked it than you shoulda put a…oh, put this.

Today is my department's annual ugly sweater and breakfast, and I am cooking sausage biscuits. And by "cooking sausage biscuits," I mean I'm throwing some frozen sausage biscuits in the oven in 10 minutes. I had originally signed up to bring "attitude and fruit," but once I got to the store last night, the fruit looked depressed. The fruit needs Cymbalta.

At least I'm still bringing the attitude.

One guy signed up to bring Texas Pete. Like, he's bringing a bottle of Texas Pete. Maybe 24-year-old boys should not be allowed to participate in the work Christmas potluck. Then again, maybe 50-year-olds should do more than throw frozen sandwiches in the oven for 10 minutes. Hey, I have to wrap EACH ONE in foil. Exhausting.

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As for what Ima wear, two years ago this very lovely woman at work loaned me her nice Christmas mock turtleneck and sweater vest. She loaned a similar one to The Other Copy Editor, who doesn't even work there anymore, so we would be a matching set. I am assuming The Other Copy Editor returned that nice outfit forthwith. What I did was keep that ensemble in a drawer till October of the following year, when I moved it to the house I lived in with Ned. Then I moved it BACK here to this house, and then I had the nerve to ask her if I could wear it this year and return it after.

I'd have punched me right in the cock.

That's TOCE and me, up there above, with our proofreader gang sign we made up. It's a caret. Proofreader humor is the best kind of humor.

Oh my god, anyway.

Other than that, I've been reading my statistics textbook at night, and I know you envy my pre-holiday excitement. I also keep meaning to do a whole photo montage on Facebook, with "Christmas 2015" as the title, and then just room after room of my completely not decorated house. Fuck it. I'm not in the MOOD to decorate. I think we should all be lucky I don't impale myself with a wise man.

Photo on 12-17-15 at 8.19 AM #3

There. I just put it back on. This means I'm not wearing a dress today, but maybe I'll come home at lunch and change so I am still Dresscembering. Jesus, with my many activities. It's never-ending. Dresses, statistics, ugly sweater parties, impaling self with myrrh. Hey, you wanna drive yourself berserk? Try spelling myrrh. One year I should insist my family get me nothin' but myrrh.

…I just cut my goddamn finger on the tin foil serrated edge thing. Goddammit. Fortunately I was able to put a little myrrh on it. Good as new. If you liked it then you shoulda put some myrrh on it.

Now I just gotta wait for my biscuits to cook, and how often do you hear me say THAT? You must be sick of it already. I finally got my baking sheets back from Ned's house; I'd left three of them there, plus a muffin tin, because you know how famous I am for my muffins. So to speak.

I hope somebody else makes something actually good. Did I already tell you this, that Bitchy Resting Face Alex said when she attends a potluck, her goal is to make the thing that everyone goes, "Wow! Who made THAT?" I'm like, really? That never occurred to me to think, ever.

…Okay, they're ready. Edsel let me know, by getting up on his stupid hind legs, that if I wanted help ingesting these, he's here for me. I gotta drive to work with sausage biscuits.

It's the most stupidest time of the year.

At Two With Nature · June's stupid life

Cordless mouse

I was at work, minding my own business, which you know is never really true, but I was at least mostly minding my own business when I heard a shriek in the other room.

In our office's open floor plan, there is a wall of sorts separating some of us, but it has three doorways you can go through, and those don't even have doors in them–four. Four doorways. Ah, ah, ah… I was just The Count.

CountDay

The Count, throwing up his gang sign or whatever.

Anyway, so despite the wall, it's really just a big open room, like we're a PBS pledge drive. Call us! {ring!} And get the box set of Downton Abby, The Heroin Years, absolutely free!

Anyway I got up to see the source of the screech. There were actually people who didn't, which always amazes me.

"THERE'S A SNAKE IN HERE!" one of the women flapped.

"A SNAKE?" I was appalled. We're on the "garden level," which is a euphemism for exactly on the ground level near a greenway, and we have had snakes before, and one very disturbed spider that freaked us all out.

"It's not a snake, it's a mouse," my boss said, lying on the ground to look at the poor thing, under a desk. "I saw something move very fast under this desk. It's a mouse."

More women shrieked. One huge art guy got up on a chair, like he was in the cartoons.

"Oh, where is it. Come here, honey," I said. How can you be scared of a bitsy gray mousie, who just wants to be friends and sit on a spool of thread and join you for tea? "I'll kiss him on his mouse head," I said.

Two women got up and moved to a different floor immediately. "IM me when it's over," one of them said. One guy, who's from New York and sort of metro,

 

said, "We should get a humane trap."

A humane trap.

"We aren't running a charity ward here," I told him. "What're we gonna do, capture and rehabilitate him? If you want him gone, we bring my cat here. Fourteen seconds later, that mouse is toast."

I like how I went from kissing him on the head to finding creative ways to off him, once the My-Cat's-a-Murderer pride took over.

"I'm allergic to cats," Kevin said. Kevin is the guy who held a football in my senior photos, who you all Mrs. Robinsoned over. As per usual.

"You're not allergic to cats," frowned my coworker Griff. "Cat allergies are bullshit. They're like secondhand smoke. People used to have to ride on planes with smokers. Now they smell smoke on someone's clothes, they get cancer."

Really, my workplace is full of fascinating people.

The point is, someone called HR, finally, which I guess took us awhile to do because pioneers. Pioneers of the Garden Level.

In the meantime, I named him Condoleeza Mice.

The mouse, not Griff.

...friend/Ned · Faithful Readers · Family · Friends · June's stupid life

June’s end-of-the-year video

In order to avoid proofreading my statistics textbook, I made this end-of-year video this weekend, as I am wont to do at the end of every year. But I just noticed 24 people have already looked at it on YouTube, so since the secret's out, here it is. I'll show this again on the 31st.

 

Whether you were in this video or not, thank you for being a part of my dumb, wonderful life this year.

Luff,

JOOOOON

Ask June · June's stupid life

The one where we’re all sorry we had freaking question day 264 days ago.

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I may or may not have given Lu a Tostito the other day. Behold her crunchy face. She wants you all to know she is delighted that such a flattering photo is going on the Internet. Lu is not allowed to say "Interwebs." Nor are any of you.

Yesterday I had my regularly scheduled workday, screamed home and did some freelance work at noon, screamed back to work and worked on a huge presentation, then at 5:00 I stayed and wrote Purple Clover, which was due, then screamed home and fed everyone, then screamed to the old movie theater, where they were showing It's a Wonderful Life.

I was dead asleep by 9:45.

Let's scream to your questions from the other day. Yes, again. IT'S NOT MY FAULT YOU HAD SO MANY.

Texas Kari, for whom I am grateful asked, How did you become a church secretary? How did you decide to be an editor?

I became a church secretary because we moved to TinyTown and I had nothing to do but take walks all the time. I'd always stop at this beautiful gothic church to catch my breath, because we lived at the bottom of the world's tallest hill, and the church was at the top. Finally one Sunday I went to church there so I could see the inside. The priest, Father Mike, knew who I was (in a town of 3,000, you know the new folk) and asked if I needed a job. I worked Monday through Thursday, 8 till noon. In an empty old beautiful church. The only interruptions I had were the old church ladies who'd stop by. I love love loved that job.

I became an editor because I was a receptionist after college, and Marvin wouldn't hear of it. "You can be doing so much more," he said. So he pretty much made me apply for a proofreading job 19 years ago, and the rest is history.

LisaPie in Texas wondered, Do you know how many pounds of pork I need to buy to make a gazillion dozen tamales next week?

Eighty. And you know what sounds delicious? Pork tamales.

KR asked, 1. Mid century modern furniture guy??? D. Are the loud little girls with snowball still your neighbors back in your new/old neighborhood? £. How is Charlie?

1. What about him? Did you not see the post a few weeks back where we had our photo taken together?

D. Snowflake. You guys have called that poor dog every name but his real name. I haven't seen them, but it's winter, and also they're probably all sort of old for playing on the swings now. I did see two preteen girls walk past, and I wondered if one of those girls was one of the Snowflake girls, but I wasn't certain. When we DO see each other, I am certain they'll still bellow, HI, ETHEL! HI, LALUUULA! They were not bright.

£. Charlie and his girlfriend broke up, and he is going to a nursing home as a result. This makes him sad, as you can imagine. But his girlfriend, who is an amazing person, is in her late 20s/early 30s and has spent the last several years being his primary caregiver. She has a chance for a big promotion at work, and she can't take said promotion till she moves to Boston, and she's finally doing that at the first of the year.

Bama Carol asked, How are you doing, really? Just concerned.

Eh, Not great.

Linda from Jamestown asked, What is the name of the bar where you go dancing, when you do go out dancing, that is? I love to dance, but all the clubs around town are full of 20 somethings.

Well, I go to Chemistry, the gay bar, but some nights no one dances till midnight. There are also pop-up dance parties for old people. I get Facebook notices for those, so look on Facebook for them. They are sometimes at Printworks, those dance parties. If you see someone there with hair, dancing like an idiot, come say hi.

Nithya asked, Would you rather live your whole life being the only person who smells a truly disgusting smell OR be the source of that smell so others smell it when you're around but you are happy and cannot smell it?

I pondered this for awhile, and I think I would want to smell the smell than BE the smell.

My Mother's Best Friend asked, June: Why did you hog all the stuffing on Thanksgiving?

Dear Gwen, I got two words for ya, and they ain't "Let's dance."

Rogue asked, How do you manage to stay upbeat with everything that happens?

Oh, please. I'm not. I'm not sleeping and I mope around like a sad bat. I have no idea why I just picked "sad bat." I guess cause they hang around all day. Anyway, also Lexapro.

Karen in VB wondered, Have you had that wonderful test we are all supposed to have after turning 50?

No. I have not. I'm trying to think of it as a cleanse.

Karen in VB wrote back to ask, Have you tried the Duplin wines? They are all very sweet.

Ugh, no. They sound awful. In fact, Ned's family has a story about that wine, where on Christmas one relative went on and on about how dreadful that wine was, and then she opened her gift it was, like, a case of the Duplin wine. So…heh. Yeah.

Oh thank god, that's all the questions. Oh, and you know what? Today is my nine-year-anniversary of blogging! Here is my first, really boring, post. June Cutoff Cash. Hah! Heh. Yeah.

Hee-haw and Merry Christmas,

June

Ask June · June's stupid life

More of your questions answered. Good gravy.

On Saturday, I had Ask June Anything Day, and yesterday I started answering the many pressing questions of your time. On today, I will answer more. Yes, I just said "on today."

Mary Ellen from Napa asked, Do you think you will stay in North Carolina? Is there anywhere else you are longing to move to and try out? Or did you burn through that in Seattle?

Jan asked this, too. I think I'll stay here, at least for the time being, because it's affordable, I own a cute house, and I love my job. If I didn't have all these kids, I might pack my bags and head to the West Coast again. I don't think I could afford Seattle anymore; it got fancy since the early '90s. But I might try anyway. I'd have never left Seattle had it not been for Marvin. I would never want to be 50 and single in LA. Good lord.

Kim in Texas asked, What is the last book you read that was not for work?

The Jane Austin Book Club. It was at my mother's. Eh. Girl book. One thing I have to say about Ned is he upped my reading repertoire. He read pretentious books and I began liking them more than I thought I would. He'd be furious if he heard me say his books were pretentious. But they were. He was such a slow reader, because most nights he worked, so I'd burn through them while he was still on chapter one.

Hulk asked, Why? Why didn't we give Zeke the ball more?

I ask myself that all the time, Hulk.

Caroline B asked, How many times a day do you have to sweep cat litter?

Once a day. I should probably do it more, but have you met me?

Greensboro Laurie asked, Did you get rid of your white Christmas tree before you left to spend your year abroad? When did you realize you had a disdain for the Christmas season? Any particular incident leave you with this feeling or just bah humbug in general to the holiday festivities?

Yes, I threw away that damn tree two years ago. It wasn't that old, but it was getting very droopy and you could see the pole, which I usually enjoy, but not in a tree. And it was shedding. Annoying. So the last two Xmases I slapped up a 15 dollar silver tree from Target.

This year I'm not doing a damn thing, for decorating. I put Xmas pictures up as my Facebook profile and banner. Done. And my Christmas hatred has grown over time. Not sure why. It's just so much pressure to do things I don't like doing: cooking, decorating, shopping. Bluch.

Jan had a million questions. Have you seen Ned? she wondered. Also, How's Marvin? Finally, marry, f*uck, kill… Ryan, Tall Boy, Dick Whitman.

Yes. I've seen Ned. Marvin is good; he's dating someone and she seems nice. I've not actually talked to her, but she also has not insisted I never mention Marvin on my blog, so lookin' sane! Plus she just looks likable when Marvin has photos of her on Facebook. As for fuck/marry/kill: Ryan, Tall Boy, Dick Whitman, in that order.

Outkast Lee asks, If I send you $19.95, will you tell me how to break into the lucrative, exciting and fulfilling field of proof-reading?

No. But feel free to send me $19.95 anyway.

Melvin wondered, As a proofreader, do you have to know all the documentation rules for APA, MLA , Chicago etc.? You must really like English!

Yes. And I do. I don't know why I picked this job, because as we all know, details are not my forte in any other walk of life. But there it is.

Oh, and the next comment was Melvin saying she's MELVIE, not Melvin. Melvin. heeeeee…

Barbfrommilwaukee asked, Will you take your trip to Hawaii in 2016??

I will if the person who offered it in the first place says, June, why don't you go to Hawaii this year? I should have gone in 2012, even though I literally had 150 bucks for the whole trip. God, I was destitute. How the hell did I do it?

Tricia wondered, Why did you decide to play Siri this Saturday?

I thought it would save me time. Look how THAT turned out.

Lee Una asked, What happened to The Fireman whom you dated a few times? Are the two of you still in touch?

Yes, we are still FB friends, if I'm not mistaken. He met someone about a year ago and seems fantastically happy. He was a good guy.

Anita asked, What are you plans for Christmas?

Precisely nothing. I plan to stay home and make lasagna and watch movies all day. Tell me you aren't just a little envious of me.

bettydh asked, Why do you get people to ask you questions? You know how they get!

I do. I do know how people get. But it's fine.

Jane said, I'm done with Sergio. He treats me like a ragdoll. She also asked, Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?

Right now, it's 8:06 a.m., my time.

Missus B asked, What sound or noise do you love? What sound or noise do you hate?

I love a train far off in the distance, at night. It always sounds so mysterious. I also love those bugs in the summer that buzz. And thunder. And when a branch breaks during a winter storm–dramatic. Dramatic, and you know you have an official excuse not to go anywhere.

I hate leaf blowers and people who have no idea their laugh resonates throughout yonder. You always work with one asshole who doesn't realize this. I also hate the laughter of children. Okay, I'm making that up. Yesterday I was in my back room working with the screen door open because it was warm out, and I heard the kids in the corner yard and I smiled, which made me wonder what the hell is wrong with me and did the new antidepressants kick in.

PJ wondered if I was sick with worry that she was coming down with a cold.

No one likes a person who drones on about a cold, PJ. GOD.

Mrs. Gumby asked, How are the pets adjusting after their year abroad?

I think I answered this yesterday, but I'll answer again. All four of them absolutely knew where we were, and had zero trouble, so that's good. Iris was particularly happy to be in her back yard again, where way too many things got to live this past year. Not anymore, wildlife. Not anymore.

  IMG_6888
Iris, purr-pawing on my lap yesterday. She has her excited nose drip thing going on.

MTM/Phyllis. But really The Poet asked, If you were my nephew, would you rather receive a Star Wars Death Star Tea Infuser or a Star Wars R2-D2 Bento Lunch Box?

The Bento lunchbox.

Texas Kari asked, Have you worked on your book-to-blog project?

I have! Still not as much as I'd hoped to during my six weeks at Kaye's. I spent a lot of time at Kaye's crying on the bed till tears fell in my ears. But things are looking good in that department.

There are still six thousand questions to answer, and who should have said time's up and never did. Was it me? I'll answer the rest tomorrow, and in the meantime, here's my latest Purple Clover.

Your answer gal,

Juuuuuuuuune

Ask June · June's stupid life

Your questions answered. My textbook procrastinated.

A real grownup, such as, say, my stepfather, would have gotten up early and done today's statistics textbook proofreading already. However, hello. Have we met? I stayed up till 1:30 and just crawled out of bed. Now I'm blogging at you, and stay tuned for June's-panic-about-her-textbook posts in about a week. I know I said that yesterday. I will probably say that all week until it's time for June's panic-about-her-textbook posts.

Anyway, yesterday we had an Ask June Anything Day, and today I will answer your pressing Qs forthwith. …There are, apparently, 60 questions y'all asked yesterday, a thing I just noticed as I just looked at my blog for the first time. Not ever. But since I posted yesterday. Your questions came to me in email form, and I thought they were manageable, but maybe not. I'll answer SOME today and some tomorrow. What say you? Don't answer that.

Kate wondered, What are you going to do that makes you smile this weekend? Other than counting your potential dollars made per hour?

I didn't do much, so far, other than proofread. And remember when I had A COLD a few weeks back? Just when that one was clearing up, I got another cold, and that one is just going away, then last night my throat started hurting. GODDAMMIT. So the weekend has been proofreading a textbook, although it's nice out here, so I've been doing it in the back yard with the dogs. The dogs are excellent proofreaders.

d-lou inquired, How can you put 1000 Island dressing on your Big Boy? Would you ever move back to Michigan?

I put 1000 Island on my Big Boy sandwich because that's the way God and all the saints intended it, d-lou. Read your Bible. It's in Elias 4:17.

Also, I don't think so. I'd like to be around my family more, as I like them and all, but the weather, man. And the weathermen. Aren't the Weathermen the people who sang It's Raining Men? Also, the men. Michigan men are not my type. I realize I lost my virginity to a Michigan man, and the great love of my life for many decades was a Michigan man, and I married a Michigan man. But two out of three of those men left Michigan. So.

"Elias 4:17" was only funny if you're from Michigan.

Sapphire Anastasia pondered, Can we send in pictures from our Christmas this year and you post them?

No.

Nellie asked, Do you know Marvin's ex-girlfriend is getting married?I did! But the only reason I know that is because ANOTHER reader told me. It kills me that y'all know who she is and what she's up to. I wish her no ill will. Really. I'm sure reading a whole nine-year diatribe on someone she liked was hard. Of course, she could have just abstained from reading, but what woman among us could have resisted?

Just me, Vee asked, Why do camptown ladies sing this song "doo dah, doo, dah"? And what are camptown ladies?I feel like they're sluts. But maybe I'm just turning into my grandmother again, calling all women sluts. I feel like doo dah, doo dah is a euphemism for douching. But maybe I'm crazy.

I have a funny doo dah story. See, this is why I should not proofread statistics textbooks in my spare time. Anyway, my friend comes from a large family, many of whom are very conservative Christians. My friend is not. My friend is, in fact, gay as a goose. It was Xmas Eve, and my friend and his equally no-longer-religious sister were in the back seat, as adults, riding to church with their parents. Since they were both unmarried, they were still stuck riding to church with mom and dad as though they were 12 years old.

"When we get back, your brother's kids have a song they've written and want to sing for all of us," my friend's beleaguered mom told them.

My friend and his sister exchanged glances. The brother was the religiousest of all the siblings, and he was pretty judge-y about it.

"We are Christians, you are not. Doo dah, doo dah," my friend sang quietly to his sister.

"We are Christians you are not, all the doo dah day," sang the sister.

"We are Christians, yay! You are Christians, nay," sang my friend, getting giggly.

"You are going to hell someday, we're gonna be okay," sang the sister, and that is when I fell in love with the sister.

Since you and N love each other to the ends of the earth and back, what happened? communication? too different lifestyle wants and needs? not enough alone time? too much sharing????

I like how she calls him N, like I can't see the whole name without falling apart. This is tricky, because I do still love Ned and do not wish to spread his bidness all over yonder. It wouldn't bother me a bit, but he wouldn't like that. But suffice it to say there was, indeed, something insurmountable that meant we couldn't be together anymore.

And it was none of the above choices. Nothing like that. We loved living together and our wants and needs were similar. That's what's so difficult. 90% was good. But the 10% that wasn't was, again, insurmountable.

Carol in Mpls wondered, Sometime, early in the new year, can we do show & tell pictures of our pets?

No. You guys have Pie on the Face! It's the perfect place to do this, because then I won't lose anyone's photo. And I won't get the sad-face emoticon comment when I forget it.

 
My friend-in-real-life, Dot, asked, Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
 
Oh my god, shut up. Love, June.
 
Angie inquired, Since you've been blogging, so you still journal? Do the journal and blog have mostly the same stuff? Does the journal cover stuff you can't talk about on the blog because it's other people's lives or stuff about your own that you don't want to share? Is your journal as fun to read as your blog?
 
I do still keep a journal, and no, it's not the same stuff at all. Mostly this past year it's been angsty stuff about Ned, and no, it's no fun to read at all. It's all my sad clown shit.
 
Inquiring (or is it enquiring) minds want to know asked, Why does each chapter be on an odd-numbered page?
 
In books, even-numbered pages are on the left; they're also called verso pages. Recto, or right-sided pages, are on the right. If you notice, all book chapters, or pretty much all, start on the right side, not the left. So.
 
LinCA wondered, 1.Does your old neighborhood seem the same when you take the dogs for a walk (have you seen the same gaggle of little girls that like your dogs?). 2. Do your pets like the move…or don't really care….? 3. Do you recommend online dating or is it a weirdo magnet?

My neighbor Paul died, which is sad. His house is empty and lonely-looking. Also, I have a new neighbor in the back–just introduced myself to her yesterday. I asked about the woman who USED to live back there, and she said THAT neighbor died, too, quite suddenly, and then she moved in. With Paul, the across-the-street woman who died a few years back and now the woman behind me, I am Angela Lansbury of my hood.

 
The pets knew exactly where they where and there was not one minute of anxiety from any of them, fortunately. There's a whole new dog in the kitty-corner yard in back that my curs bark bark bark bark bark at, and I'm sure everyone loves that we have returned. I DO call them in when they start that goddamn barking. And by "they" I mean mostly Edsel. Lu barks when there's something to bark at, but often I look back there and Eds is in the middle of the yard, his snout in the air, just barking at the sky. Eds can be a real dick.
 
I DO recommend online dating. You have to stick it out, though. You have to slog through 86 messages from StiffStick69 till you meet a real person, but via online dating I met Dick Whitman, the Fireman, Daniel Boone (okay, I know), Tall Boy and Ned. So.
 
Lisa. Not that Lisa pondered, Who's your favorite Persistenf Reader?
I wonder what a presistenf reader is. That was a total Marvin answer.
 
Dad of Frank and Zoe asked, Y?
MCA.
 
darla asked, Who is your presidential candidate of choice so far?
 
Donald Trump. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Hoo! Oh! heh.
 
Bernie Sanders. Hey, maybe I'll be like Oprah when she endorsed Obama. My influencer voice will be heard throughout the land and Bernie Sanders will have me over to the White House for mashed potatoes and mac and cheese.
 
Nancy in CA wondered, You seem to make new friends so easily everywhere you go. How do you do it? And once you start a conversation, how do you go from a pleasant conversation to going for coffee or doing other friend things together?
 
I have no idea. I guess it's because I don't care if I seem weird. And most times, I think I seem weird. I just get up my courage and ask people to do stuff, because what's the worst that could happen? Remember how I was on OK Cupid for six minutes and gave up? I met a nice man on there, and he seems clearly not interested in me romantically, but I said, Hey, why don't we be new-breakup friends and hang out that way? He said sure. If he'd have said no, what was I gonna do, kill myself? So.
 
Deb who is back to being Deb asked, If you read other blogs, which are your favorites?>I don't. Isn't that awful? I check in on Dooce every six months, but that's it.
 
We have a billionty more Qs, which I will answer tomorrow. I thought you guys didn't even LOOK at my ass on a Saturday. Geez.
 
Thanks for the Qs! Do you like how I keep calling them Qs?
Ask June · June's stupid life

Ask June Anything Day

I spent much of last night working on my statistics textbook, and I am doing so again today. I can't even remember what I charge these people, but I keep adding up what I at least must be making so far, as I used to when I was babysitting. Fortunately, it's more than a dollar an hour for proofing a (riveting) statistics textbook.

By the way, so far I've looked at the book for four hours and haven't read one page. You know people who say, "Oh, a proofreader! I love to read!" Yeah. This book is 500 pages. So far…

  • I've looked at each individual page number to make sure they're all there.
  • I've looked at each chapter in the table of contents and made sure it's exactly the same as the chapter titles on the real pages–capitalization, spelling, punctuation.
  • I've also made sure the TOC are accurate. If the TOC says Chapter 7 is on page 54, is it really on page 53?
  • Then I made sure each new chapter was on an odd-numbered page.
  • Then I looked at each chapter heading and made sure they all looked exactly the same–same size, same font, same placement on the page.
  • Then I did the same for all the tables in the book. Same rule sizes, same italicizing.

That took four hours.

Proofreading. Because you love to read.

So because you know how I am and how I will be willing and able to waste SIX MONTHS blogging today, Ima go. Today only, we'll have Ask June Anything day. Between now and this evening, my time, whenever I feel like coming back and saying time's up, I will read and then answer any and all Qs and honestly as I can. Even mean ones.

Since four people read this on Saturday, I'm not that worried about it.

Luff,

Chi-square June (that's a statistics thing. I have no idea what it is, but I see that word constantly in these books. I figure it's a square where you can drink tea)

Food and Drink · Friends · June's stupid life · Music · My pets

Edsel gets daring

Every morning, I get up, let the dogs out (who, who, who?), make coffee and feed the pets. No matter how far back in the yard they are, the dogs hear their food hit the bowl. Dogs have good hearing, did you know that? By the time I get to the back door, they're in hysterics, worried that wolves are going to burst in the front door and eat all their kibble first or something.

Anyway today I let in Edsel, and was admiring the sunrise, and I yelled, "Tallulah!" I didn't see her run in, but I'd been distracted and never in her life has she not charged in like a banshee for the best three seconds of her day: breakfast.

I was cleaning the cat litterboxes, and I realize I am practically Fern's father in Charlotte's Web, with my farm duties. The point is, I heard crunching. From Lu's bowl. And I assumed all was right with the world.

But Lu wasn't at her bowl. It was Edsel.

He'd eaten ALL his food, then stampeded over to Lu's bowl and just commenced to munching on that. How he had the nerve, I'll never know. You don't fuck with Tallulah and her food.

"Edsel!" I said, astonished. He flinched a little, the guilt flinch, but kept eating. I had to whip out my terrible voice.

"EDSEL."

Oh, he backed away. Turned into a letter C the way he does. He hung his head, and wrung his hankie, and generally felt sorry for the whole incident. I went to the back door and there was an irate Tallulah, who'd barked nonce, and I have no idea why she was (a) missing and (2) not barking like a maniac once she caught wind of the travesty that was happening to her personal dish.

It was only half full, so I gave her more food, and Edsel super-sized it today. What a jerk.

IMG_6840
Eds sorry. Sorts of.

See that damn beer bottle? Some yahoo, who Ima go on a limb and say was Bitchy Resting Face Alex, left empty beer bottles with little sad cards all over my house, for me to find. I think this one read My tears could fill this bottle.

BRF Alex met her husband in, like, seventh grade and they've been together ever since. YET SHE MOCKS MY PAIN.

I like how in that photo you can also see the back of Edsel's ridiculous head.

IMG_6841

Speaking of the Alexes, one of them had a birthday yesterday, so we all went to lunch to celebrate. She's 23. She celebrated her birthday with a 50-year-old. That would be like me celebrating my next birthday with a 104-year-old. I think. Maths.

Anyway, I got a turkey sandwich with green apple on it, a fact that annoys my coworker Griff to no end. "Ugh, how could you GET that? I can eat turkey and have an apple after, but…"

Also, I received a statistics textbook in the mail, to proofread, and I know you enjoy me when I have one of those looming over me. So far I've gotten the huge box off the porch, moved the huge box to my dining room, touched the box with trepidation yesterday and toyed with opening it, then came in here and bought iTunes all night. So.

June's latest iTunes…

 

 
 

I'm just telling you. Prepare yourself for June's-hysterical-about-her-statistics-textbook posts in about a week. Then I'll cash that check and all will be right with the world. I'll stop off and nibble me a little Tallulah food. I hear her dish is open to just everyone.

Luff,

Joooooooooooooooooooooooooon