The Beagle has landed

So, as you know, if you've been following June's Big Annoying Book of Events of June by June Oh June, I was scheduled to get me a pit bull puppy this weekend, tentatively named Mrs. Flossie Fern StellaLuna Rosenkrantz. Last weekend, I drove two hours and 20 minutes each way to see her, and I loved her, and I said, yes okay. Give me this puppy.

Then they schlepped her to Wilmington to "spaded" her, and they told me I could get her via two convenient methods: I could drive to convenient Wilmington, seven hours round trip, by myself cause no one would go with me, or I could have a volunteer deliver her to me at 9 p.m. Sunday.

Wow. Those were, um, stellar.

Today, she's at an adoption event in Wilmington all day, and that was where I could pick her up. That was my plan, until yet another person at work told me yet another person they know had a passel of puppies, "purebred Beagles," and did I want them because they were headed to the pound otherwise.

Well.

So I called the pit place. "She'll get adopted Saturday, right? I mean, at that event?" No, no, they said, they wouldn't let her. She was mine. "No, but if I tell you it's okay? Because the logistics of getting her are absurd, and I have another puppy right here." I mean, the "purebred Beagle" was an hour away, in the country, but that distance was sounding like a walk in the park. They said yes, of course she'd get adopted, and did I want my fee back and I said no, absolutely not, keep it as a donation.

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And here, folks, is my purebred Beagle, which by the way, Beagles aren't black and white. I mean, I googled it, and I guess maybe they can be sometimes rarely, but do you know what I think? I think this free puppy from out in the country is not all Beagle all the time. I wonder if maybe she might could be a Pit/Beagle, although she doesn't look remotely Pit.

Anyway, I think Ima name her Ava. Ava Gardens. Another beautiful girl from rural North Carolina who totally banged Frank Sinatra. Oh, did I not tell you that part?

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She is currently freaked the fuck out. She shook a little when we first got here, but she peed in the yard. I took her right to the back room so she didn't meet the pets. But when I tried to put her in the crate just now and come out here and blog, MOTHER OF GOD she cried, and I felt bad and brought her out here with me. She's on my lap. Edsel sniffed her and the cats ignored her.

Dudes. She's teensy. All the toys and the collar and everything I bought for Stanley/new pit puppy are way too big for her. I gotta at least go get her a smaller collar. I think I own a small dog. Tallulah would abhor me. But at least I got the breed of her people. Halfway.

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ava so not sure

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Okay, shhhh

I am buried in work, both at work and at home with my freelance stuff. Ima take a few days off from blogging just to keep on schedule.

The puppy will be here late Sunday (long story), and as soon as she's here I will certainly get back on here, if I haven't done so yet. But in the meantime, I can't do any texting, IMing on Facebook or gmail, calling, emailing, etc., so don't get mad if I don't answer you.

I've turned off my phone for the rest of today, and when I'm at work Ima keep it off, too. If I go on Facebook, it's cause I'm trying to do stuff for work, so if you see me on there, just for the next few days, I really can't kibbitz. I am stressed, is what I am, and I just got a ping on my phone and I was all MOTHER OF GOD, so right then I knew. Hey, I could turn the fucking thing off.

Talk to you soon! When I'm out from under all this crap and I have NEW PUPPY OH MY GOD! Everyone have a delightful few days off from this blog. Talk to you when I have a PUPPY!

{squeee!!!!}

Spotty spot

By the way, here are Flossie/Lizzie/Poppy's parents.

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Dad. So now we know where she gets her spotty spots.

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Mom. hullo. i be seeryus pit. heer be my big pitty face. not to fuk with pit.

So, really, they BOTH have spotty spots, and I know you hope I keep on sayin' spotty spots. They look sort of similar, and given that this is out in the country and that mom had been a stray, do you think they might could be related? I have a royal family situation on my hands. A real Camilla Barker Bowles sitch.

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wyy won't laydee stop?

So, I'll bet those spots (aka spotty spots) will spread out over time and she'll mostly be white. Which expands my palette of pets, slightly. She'll be white and gray as opposed to my cats, who are gray and white. Woah, June! That's the crazy talk! Slow down!

In the meantime, that statistics book I'm working on? All got repaginated, so five pages of index material all have to be redone. I have to look up each word and each page number associated with the word, FIND it in its new spot, and in teensy tiny writing, cross out the old page number and add in the new one. Here is two hours of work yesterday…

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Yesterday it gave me a migraine. For a change.

I went to the doctor yesterday because with the migraines, already. Really, I wouldn't have even bothered to go, but the doctor wouldn't renew me unless I saw her. At any rate, she wants me back on a low dose of Topamax, which is the stuff that makes me stupid. And at one point, it made me skinny, but it only worked that one time and I never should have gotten off of it.

Also, she gave me a blood test to see if I'm officially, um, in menopause, which oh god I'm old. I started my period in January of 1979, when I was 13, and I stopped with no warning in January of this year, when I was 50. Hello, stereotypical. I hate to be typical about anything. But there it is.

So the test tells me if my estrogen is slowing down or if I'm turning into a man or what. I'd make a fantastic and not at all milksoppish man.

And while we're on the topic of my riveting medical woes, there I was yesterday at the doctor and did not even think to mention my trapped ulnar nerve. (A brain. A home. The nerve.) My ulnar nerve is trapped in a pit at Buffalo Bill's house. It hurts real bad, mister.

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Anyway. A trapped ulnar nerve (the nerve.) (see. now me going back to saying "spotty spot" seems like a vacation in Europe, doesn't it?) is this thing where, when you put your elbow on the table because you forgot you have a trapped ulnar nerve, your elbow goes ZZZZT! and you want to die. I'm like that guy in Benjamin Button who gets hit by lightning all the time.

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I did the responsible thing and Googled some exercises for it, which I have been doing, but it still hurts. Actually, dry needling is one way to get rid of it but oh my god, I can't even imagine. I don't know if I have (the nerve).

Last night on our W, which I don't have to say because Edsel can't read, we were in the big field after The Seeing of the Chickens, and I said, "Eds, can I talk to you?" Eds rubbed his snout on the grass. He hates his Gentle Leader so bad.

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it da wurst.

"Eds, you know Tallulah is gone." When I said, "Tallulah," he looked around. Poor Edsel. "And you remember how we had a puppy for one day? Well, I'm getting another one. You're getting a sister." Edsel lunged at a rabbit. "She'll be here in awhile, so we have to get her crate out and get some puppy food and a leash." (I already have a puppy collar that I got for Stanley and don't get me started. Oh my god, I miss Stanley. Am a nutbag.)

He seemed unfazed, Edsel did, and that could be because he can look at shit and Shineola and be all, "?" Really, he'd eat the shit, and he might eat the Shineola, so we're back to square one. At least I told him.

Let's just look at one more picture of Zuzu/Blanche/Lolita and her world-weary face.

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Poppy/Zuzu/Lizzy/Flossie sik of wurld.

(squee!)

“Puppies!” June is Cruella DeVille.

What I did yesterday was schlep all the damn-ass way out to the country to look at puppies. As you do.

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Like, seriously, a long damn-ass drive into the country. But when I finally got there, it was like, Did I die on the way here? Because the woman I met up with has four big puppies she brought home after they were gonna be out in freezing temperatures at her neighbor's house, and then eight TEENSY puppies who she's fostering for the pit bull foundation, and they all greeted me when I walked up.

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I did not at all fall deeply in love with that brown one, who's only 6 months old and LOOK at him already.

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puttin paw up, laydee. beein charmeeng.

Just telling you, he's available. He's so soft! And he's never even SEEN a cat, which is why I don't dare.

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Here is a not-at-all creepy picture of the puppy I ended up choosing. I didn't notice she had this trouble when I met her, but there's nothing wrong with being Picasso puppy.

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Vicious pits

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So, unfortunately I had to sit there with puppies all afternoon, deciding which one was for me. Three of the eight were spoken for already, technically, although one was being kept by the foster and she said if I really wanted him that'd be fine, too. So six. I had only six to choose from.

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For awhile, I was considering this guy, and then I asked, What's he like? "Oh that one? He's an ornery one, all right. Always the first to climb up and discover things."

You know what I don't need?

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The whole time, this one was super calm. She just watched everyone, and slept, and strolled to the water bowl. "That's the calmest one, there," the foster woman told me. "Oh, she'll play. But she's just as happy to go back to sleep."

See. That is what I need. I mean, what I need is to not get any puppies at all, but why don't you do me a favor and shut up?

I dragged her out from her sleeping position and held her up.

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She gave me the most sidelong, indifferent stare, kind of like every look Tallulah ever gave me.

And right then I knew.

"Why are you always attracted to things that don't want anything to do with you?" my mother asked.

I abstained from mentioning my childhood. Look, I'm a cat person. I like cat dogs. Okay? Lu was a cat dog.

Anyway, she kills me. This dog does.

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o deer godz

So, on Thursday she gets "spaded," as the foster woman kept saying, and then SHE thinks the puppy needs another week to recover, but the foundation says I can get her the next day. So I'll let them duke it out, but you know what I hope. YOU KNOW.

So now, what to name her. I put a survey on Facebook, because I COULD NOT, for the LIFE of me, figure out how to put one here. Survey Monkey says "Copy and paste into your HTML." Oh, my HTML. Thanks. And there's a tab here while I compose CALLED HTML, and I pasted into that, and when I came back here it didn't show up at all. So.

Oh, and it says, Be sure to install the Javascript! Well. Okay. Thanks. I certainly know what that means. When you click on that, nothing happens. Why the FUCK do they make it so hard? At least there was just a damn button that you could click that said, Hey, share on Facebook. So I did that.

The point is this…I got 188 votes on Facebook, with Lola being the overwhelming choice. I may go with Lolita instead of Lola, or I may go another route altogether.

Blanche was the second-place choice, followed by Zelda, Petunia, Rosa Barks, Zinnia and Jezebel, respectively.

I don't know what you people have against "Zezebel" being a name.

What about Hattie? I also like Hattie. Or Flossie, which means flowers, so I'd be in my flower theme.

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do ther not be anyone else hoo can take puppee?

I'd better go to work. I have a doctor's appointment today because migraines still coming. Coming round the bend. And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when.

Doggedly,

Jooooon

Purple robe, purple robe

I just sprayed root cover-up on my legs instead of tanning stuff. Hashtag being a natural woman is hard.

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Edsel doing his guillotine impresh. One day this needy animal is gonna snap his head clean off.

I realized it'd been two entire years that I'd taken the cats to the vet, other than the time I rushed Iris there because I was trying to kill her with flea meds, so I made an appointment. Because I haven't given that place enough money lately.

Since the beginning of the year–and did you know it was January 1 that Talu first peed in the house? I had felt guilty because I thought maybe I'd been up too late and slept too long and there she was waiting for me to wake up and she had to pee on the floor. Anyway, since the first of the year, I've gotten to know that staff pretty well. So I was kind of excited to see everyone.

First, I had to put everyone in the kitty carryall. See what I did, there? Little Brady Bunch reference for ya. $_35

My cats are not as nightmarish to put in a crate as others, and I am not at all thinking of Francis. Who required that you put on a HAZ-MAT suit and hawk gloves and get your affairs in order.

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It's funny, that picture is right where I'm sitting now. With a different desk and a whole nother set of cats. The hatred still exists, though. I've never noticed his OTHER angry foot before this. And look how just, like, chunks of things have flown off him. Chunks of hate. He was swinging at poor Lu, who Marvin was holding.

Anyway. I got Lily in there first, no problem, and then I was Leonard Nimoy: In Search of…Iris. Was she sleeping in the linens? Welcome to my home! Here're some hairy sheets and a fuzzy towel. Was she in my bed? Welcome to June's House of Discipline.

She was in the back yard, sleeping on the outdoor furniture, as she is wont to do.

She also went in there without incident, but as soon as Lily had someone to complain to, here is what she said for the next 1o minutes while we drove to the vet:

"MEOW! MEOW! MEOW! MEOOOOW!! MEOW!"

She also added, "MEOW!"

Lugging these two cats to the car was relaxing, but I got them in there, and you won't believe this but Lily said MEOW, and when I was at a red light and could look in the carrier, not only was Lily caterwauling (get it?), but Iris's nose had turned bright pink and she was panting like a dog. It looked like fun in there. 

"MEOW!"

We were maybe a block away when Lily decided, Hey, now might be a great time to pee all up in the crate, and while I'm up, why not drop a couple of logs off, as well?

Iris panted.

I brought my meow box into the lobby, where Marilyn, who always wears a snake necklace, greeted us. I like her. "Ooohhhh, Iris looks a lot better than last time she was here." At this point, Iris's tongue was magenta and she looked like a husky, with the panting.

"MEOW!" added Lily.

We got to a room and let them out, and the vet tech and vet exclaimed over how pretty they were, and you know how I am. I act like I knitted them personally. Iris wasn't too keen on leaving said crate, so we had to tip it up, and that is when Mrs. Brown and her friends rolled out the barrel.

"I'll clean that up," said the tech, whose job I do not envy other than the getting-to-kiss-kittens portion.

"I'll put the blind one on the floor. I don't want her to fall off the table," said the vet, handling Iris like she was the Magna Carta.

"You don't have to be all gentle with her, she's good," I said, to deaf ears, as the vet sat her on the floor like, "Iris, this is the floor. It's under you. CAN YOU HEAR ME IRIS" oh my god.

Turns out, everyone's fine, and you won't believe this but there's only a pound of difference between sleek Iris and Lily, who Ned calls the Round Mound of Meow. It's some sports joke. I don't know.

$280 later, we were all set. They got their rabies tags, and I really should have remembered to spray shaving cream around their mouths for the visit. Next time.

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scru mom and vetz.

Look at Lily, all daring on the dog bed. Lillee been threw the chit. she do not feer dawg.

Also,

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yay, I…you know, guess. Talu's ashes are here. "You turned our dog into a speaker?" Marvin texted when I sent him this picture. The whole package was nice, though. They had a card and in it were some additional materials, including a thing on grieving I totally identified with. They said it's normal to hear the click of nails on the floor or to think you see the pet out of the corner of your eye, which I totally have.

They also had another card in there with a dog-shaped paper on it. "Plant this and wildflowers will grow in memory of your beloved pet" the card read. I so want to do that. How do you plant wildflowers? I mean, where? And should I buy dirt? Tell me.

And finally. In summation. To conclude. I feel terrible about Prince. We're all wearing purple today at work. I fucking loved Prince; I loved him when I was 15 and Dirty Mind was a record, and I never stopped. I saw him in concert twice, and oh my god, the charisma he had. I think I still have my Prince concert t-shirt somewhere.

I'm so glad my old movie theater showed Purple Rain a few summers back. The place was packed, and we all knew what he was talkin' about so we went on and raised our hands during Purple Rain. They turned on purple lights during the finale of the movie. It was great.

 

I wish he could have seen it.

P.S. Just when I put on my purple clothes, it started to rain.

June Gardens, first responder

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Killing season is taxing.

Speaking of which, Eds and I were in the park last night, after Chicken Watch 2016, wherein this time Eds put his paw up like he was some sort of pointer, a thing he almost never does, and I wonder if he's finally realizing chikkens be reel.

Oh my god with me. SO WE WERE IN THE PARK, and we were way back by all the foliage, when this bunny LEAPED away from us with a crash, and we'd had no idea she'd been there. I know it was a girl bunny because she had a Real Housewives carrot koozie. Anyway, it scared the shit outta both of us. I wish I had a video of us leaping out our skins and back into them again.

Speaking of koozies, and I don't know why we call them that, I was poking around on the Facebook yesterday and I noted the Scottish Inn has a traveling-drink-koozie page.

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The Scottish Inn is a RIDICULOUS/fabulous bar in my hometown; it has plaid wallpaper, and it's dark and small and that's where all my friends and I met up the day after Thanksgiving 2012, when I took Ned with me home. It was the only bar that was open at 2 p.m. on a Friday. And people were already drunk. We soon joined them.

I remember actual families, decent people, filing in at dinnertime and there was the whole room, drunk. That's when we left–I was too ashamed of myself.

In my lifetime, I've been to the Scottish Inn only a handful of times, but each time has been pivotal. And now they have a Facebook page where you take your drink koozie, and for the love of god I MUST HAVE A SCOTTISH INN DRINK KOOZIE, and take a photo of it on your trips. Am obsessed. I'd take that bitch everywhere, load up that Facebook page. You know, with all my travels.

I don't travel much, do I? I guess I'm a homebody. Who goes out a lot.

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In other news, here's a photo of me. And my cleave. Jeez. Anyway, we had to take selfies for work, for this project, and "had to" is a stretch–we were asked to. I was the first responder.

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Bitchy-resting-face Alex used my phone to take hers, and Dear BRF Alex: You use my phone, you get put in my blog. If only we could capture BRF Alex sleeping like Iris.

Oh, and speaking of pets, listen.

I really regret not keeping that puppy. I mean, I think about it when I wake up every morning. I think about how he's not here when I get home. I fucking loved that puppy. I think I made a mistake. I even looked on my phone to see if I still had the texts with the woman who'd raised him from being under her porch, just to see if the puppy is okay. Fortunately I deleted those texts, so I don't bug her and assure her of my craziness. But really. I want a puppy. Is that insane?

These past five years have been stupid, man. First Marvin left, which I really didn't think he'd do, but there it was. Then I had no job and I was poor and that was stressful, and I met Ned and fell stupidly in love and we got that beautiful house and that failed–which was devastating–and then my sweet Talu has to up and get fatal cancer when she's just barely 8 years old. Barely legal.

I'm not saying I haven't had one happy minute since five years ago or anything, but I just feel like maybe I broke a mirror and don't remember it or something. I want a reason to wake up and go, Ooooo! I wanna wake up and say, I have a puppy! I want to get to know a new dog personality. AND THAT DOG HAD A GOOD ONE I COULD TELL. Dammit.

Anyway. Regrets. I have a few. This is one of them. Wish I hadn't done it. Which is what, you know, regret is.

Meanwhile, I'm scheduled to get dry needling. The new hygienist also has migraines, and she said it made a huge difference for her. Apparently, she gets migraines and, like, sees an actual migraine doctor and so on. She was all, Who do you see and I was all, I just get migraines and take pills when I get them.

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

I figure going to the doctor about migraines is like going to the doctor about a cold. There's not a hell of a lot you can do, medically. I avoid weird sleep patterns, I avoid MSG, I stay away from rational thought. That's what works for me.

But after a month or two of really good luck, lately I've been plagued again. In fact, as I write this, I have a headache. I've had nine med-necessary migraines in 18 days. So I'll try the dry needling. It's like acupuncture, but in places where your muscles are knotted. It somehow loosens them up, and it's not what you'd call fun, but apparently it really helps. So that's next week. Add it to the list of things I've tried.

Dear Everyone,

When you start to send me the "Have you tried…" email, here's the list: Cupping, acupuncture, Chinese herbs, Botox, biofeedback, Topamax, Chinese tea, food/sleep/exercise tweaks, trying to wean myself from all headache meds, yoga positions, drinking 100 ounces of water a day, magnesium/vitamin B/some other supplement in one pill, experimental drugs, Maxalt, Imitrex, sticking my head in the oven.

So when you send me the "Have you tried/Maybe you should" email, please peruse that list. And if you email me anything about Excedrin I will personally drive to your house and twist your testes.

I'd better go. My hair is wet and I'm makeupless. Looking hot.

Smell ya,

Joooon

And now Junie Jo McGardens has jumped off the Tallahatchee Bridge

Exhibit #28283a of why June should not be let out the house.

If you have your Big Book of June Events before you, you may recall that about a year ago, I worked up ALL MY COURAGE and called the dentist and asked if they might hook me up with a different hygienist. The one I had was a nice woman, but she talked to the point of it being some kind of disorder, and plus also it always hurt. I always left there all sweaty, a Shroud of Turin on the chair when I got up.

They agreed, and gave me a new person, who was great.

Then six months ago, I get to the dentist and the door's locked. Who comes to the door but Chatty Cathy, my old hygienist. "Oh, hey!" she said, unlocking the door. "The receptionist had a death in the family, and we all went to the funeral, so no one's here but me. I came back early to do your teeth."

Careful readers will remember this. The poor hygienist had had a bad day, because earlier she'd hygiened a woman and that woman went straight to Facebook and complained about how fucking chatty her hygienist had been. Sadly, my hygienist SAW said Facebook post and felt terrible. And proceeded to chatter to me like a magpie about it.

"Hey, why haven't you been seeing me, anyway?" she asked, 47 monologues later, while I lay with tools in my mouth, forming my Shroud of Turin. "They must have booked you on my day off or something."

Yeah. That was it.

So I had an appointment this Wednesday, and the receptionist called to remind me. "Oh, yeah, thanks," I said to her. "But can you confirm for me I'm not scheduled with Cathy? I think I might be, but I really like the other hygienist."

The receptionist confirmed that, indeed, I was back to seeing the talky cleaner.

"Oh, crap," I told her, "see, I worked up all my courage to ask you guys to switch me, then last time I came in there was some funeral and it screwed up the schedule, and I got back with the wrong hygienist. Can I rebook with the other one?" The receptionist checked the books, and there was a cancellation, and I could come in Tuesday.

It was only after I hung up that my veins turned to ice. I realized I'd referred to "some funeral" that had "screwed up the schedule" and that the receptionist was the person who'd had the death in her family. I don't recall who had died, but I do recall the hygienist telling me it was something of a tragedy, and here I'd just been all casual about it, and complained about how it inconvenienced me.

All morning, I felt terrible. How could I be so insensitive? Why of all things did I have to bring up that funeral to the very person who'd feel worst about it at that dentist's office? Why was I always saying the wrong thing?

When I got there yesterday, I was determined to make things right. Sure enough, there was the receptionist when I walked in.

"Billy Jo," I said to her, "we talked earlier today about switching hygienists, and I referred to how a funeral had messed up who I was getting to see to clean my teeth, and I realized later that the funeral I'd been referring to was someone in your family. I really feel awful about that. I am so sorry, Billy Jo."

She looked at me with a kind smile. "It's Bobby Jo," she said.

Son of a…

Am certain that I was somehow thinking of Billy Jo McAllister, who threw himself off the Tallahatchee Bridge, which is something I now dearly wish to also do.

Anybody got a good dentist? I need a foot removed.

Sadly,

June

P.S. Me having Billy Jo McAllister on the brain is ALL YOU GUYSES' FAULT. GUYSES IS TOO A WORD.

Chaos theory

I've been thinking a lot about why I got that puppy, who I STILL MISS and think about ALL THE TIME. Why'd I do that to myself?

Ned used to accuse me of creating drama in my life, and it annoyed me, but now I'm starting to wonder–am I some sort of chaos addict? It seems like there's always a crisis du jour. Is everyone like that? It seems like my life has more ups and downs than others. Some of it was not my doing, like getting laid off twice, but some of it was. I got divorced–I had half the blame in that. Ned and I broke up and got back together 400 times. And he never broke up with me; I always did the breaking.

I was considering this all yesterday, and then last night I had a dream that I was in my ex-best-friend's wedding, and I had months to get the dress for it, but then it was the day of the wedding and it was almost 7:00 and I hadn't even GOTTEN the dress yet, and I looked at the invitation and the wedding started at 7:00. I had to tearfully call the store to see if they were still open and did they have my size.

WHICH IS ALL SOMETHING I WOULD DO. I leave things till the last minute, I spend all my money once I get it and then panic that I have no money, I double-book social engagements all the time. Doesn't that sound a little chaos-y?

I'm still thinking it over. But if you think about your more unsightly traits, what conclusions do you come to? What's going on in your life that seems to be a pattern that you want to stop?

Tell me. Then maybe I can yell at you for it and cause some chaos.

Karl Not So Young

Hang on. I'm trying my refrigerator oats for the first time. …Mmmmm. Okay, this is good.

Refridge oats: old-fashioned rolled oats, so, like, oats that think you shouldn't have sex till marriage. You know what I hate? When people write, "old-fashion" and don't add the "ed." Old-fashion lemonade! Oh, fuck off.

Anyway, you take a Mason jar, because everything we do these days involves taking a Mason jar, and add the oats, Greek yogurt (the yogurt of FR Fay's people) skim milk, and then it devolves based on what else you put in there. Did I just use devolve correctly?

Anyway, in my case, I put in cocoa and bananas. Seven points.

This week I lost no weight. And in fact, this would NOT be the time to mention the Hardee's nachos. I just heard 43,000 people saying, "You had Hardee's nachos?" Because 43,000 people are reading me RIGHT NOW.

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So, I've been hanging around Ned some, and I KNOW. Shut up. No, really, shut up. We have no idea what we're doing. We started doing stuff once Tallulah died, and it went from, like, every few days to now every day. Did I mention we have no idea what we're doing? Anyway, I went to his house to help him paint his dining room table, and maybe this was all a ruse to get me to do that. Let's see. If I act nice about her dead dog, maybe three weekends from now I can get her painting that table.

Above please find the pretty tree from Ned's also my, fmr., yard. I forgot how pretty it is there in the spring. I mean, I only lived there one spring so whaddaya want from me. But our gaylord really set the flowers up beautifully so something's always blooming.

God, I'm full already and I'm not out of refridge oats yet. Is it okay to give the rest to Karl? I've been calling Edsel Karl just to bug him today. I just woke up and said to him, "Today, I shall call you Karl." And every time I look at him and talk to him while calling him Karl, he's all,

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hooo da fuk you talkeeng to? dis edzel. you no me six yeers, mom. it edzul. mom flippin? hoo karl?

Although just now he was looking out the back door and I said, Hey, Karl, and he turned around and came back to me. So. Adjustment. Made.

Dear FR Paula: Yes, I see that clump of cat hair in front of Edsel.

Anyway, you're all, all 43,000 of you, screaming at me not to give Karl the cocoa oats.

I feel like there's this general consensus that I don't fucking know anything. Why is that? Is it how I live alone and pay my bills, do fairly well at work and have actual readers and friends and so on? Is that what makes me seem incompetent? Or does everyone on earth get treated that way? Like, do people say to you, You should really remember to breathe, or, You should remember to give birth to that baby or other obvious things?

Maybe people think that if I joke around about stuff, like the other day when I said 14 kids, one went to camp, 12 kids left, that that's legit and I really don't know whether to scratch my watch or wind my ass.

OH MY GOD ANYWAY SO I WAS AT NED'S, which I hope means you'll give me tons and tons of advice and also your opinion on, and by the way we sort of ruined that table.

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Here is how it was, and we painted it but it looks all brushy now and so on. We have to redo. And by "we" I mean Ned. Anyway, I was looking for gravel from the driveway, to hold down the newspapers under the table, and I walked past Ned's camellia bush that

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NO NO NO, the BUSH with FLOWERS on it.

Last year, there was string in that bush. A bird had started making a nest then said forget it. Which if you ask me, makes sense, because camellia bushes aren't that tall. So I looked at that bush again

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STOP IT.

I looked at it again this year to see if maybe a nest had been built and I LOOKED A MOTHER ROBIN RIGHT IN THE EYE! OH MY GOD!!!!

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Naturally I screamed back to the porch to get my phone, although I did sort of a mince scream till I was far from the robin, and the newspapers were blowing all hither and yon, hoo care, and when I got back, she was gone, and I hope I didn't make her abandon her nest. I wish I could have captured her look when we were RIGHT AT EACH OTHER'S FACE LEVEL. If you've never seen an annoyed robin before, you can't know. Oh, she was irked. It was a lot like this.

Photo on 4-18-16 at 8.23 AM

Now, imagine me with a beak, in a nest. There you go.

Also, I was walking in the park here this weekend, the park that's all up in the Revolutionary War, where they celebrate Mr. Greensboro and so on, and I saw FIVE DEER walking together in a gang. I heard a rustle and there was one, and then slowly there were one two three four more who appeared. They paused and flicked their ears at me, then one by one walked across the path I was on, like, fuck ya, old lady. deer not afrayed.

Incidentally I am now mom to five deer. They live in the yard, with Karl.

All right, I have to go. I also went to see an '80s band with the Alexes, and it was fun, but I have to head to the salt mines. My boss, Lot's Wife, hates it when I'm late.

Does anyone have time today to count how many Lot's Wife jokes I've made though the years? The winner gets this offensive t-shirt.

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Talk to you soon. On a granular level.

Jooooon

Edsel and the Pussycats

I charged my Fitbit last night, so now I don't know how I slept and HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO LIVE LIKE THAT? Also, I only remembered to put it on once I got here, to the computer, where it was charging, so I missed out on all those valuable let Edsel out and back in/feed the cats/feed the dog/make coffee/shower/put away pajamas steps. That means I just stood here running in place so my Fitbit could "catch up."

In unrelated news, woman's brain snaps, blames Fitbit. Story at 11:00.

I only do things like put away pajamas because it's what Ned would have done. I started feeling guilty about my slobbildy-ness when I lived there. All his shirts hung the same direction in the closet. He made his bed no matter what. That night he barfed 11 times, he probably made his bed before he ran to the bathroom each time. I don't know, due to the HAZMAT suit/grabbing suitcase situation I had going.

Slashes are a big thing with me today.

I noticed, during the brief period that my puppy was here, MY puppy, that as mellow and cool as he was, he watched Edsel a lot. I wanted to go in there and speak puppy to him, tell him, @whsoetr ^3edselwwmwbg rrrrgrrrr, which if you don't speak puppy translates to "Do not let Edsel be your guide."

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!rwwrtyssfh edz38323. [edz resent]

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Look at my tiny family. It seems like too few pets, right? I know there's one reader here who has, like, 14 kids, and after some cat or another died here, I bemoaned how few pets I had and she said she feels like that when a kid is at camp or whatever. "That's all we've got for KIDS around here?" And there are still 12 kids running amok at her house.

Maths.

Edsel's totally got backup singers. He's Edsel and the Pussycats.

I asked him to come up on the couch last night. The secret to proper training is consistency. I felt lonesome, because my house is so empty what with the almost no pets, and I patted the couch and he was like stop-motion photography. reelly? edz—no. reelly? you want–ookay. no. you–reelly?

After I got all my money back for that couch (I just checked my account. IT'S NOT IN THERE YET.), Marty Martin says maybe we might could fix it. We just have to flip the couch upside-down and then do something manly to it with tools.

Just sent fairly terse email to Joss & Main. Not that terse. Because still. It was nice of them to refund me, if they ever do. You should hear that couch when you sit on it. It's like you're sitting on seven tubas. As you do.

In the meantime, it's worky at my work. Yesterday I got in the car for lunch and started heading for home, when TING-A-LING-DING! My phone went off. "Meeting at 1:00," it read. Son of a fucking BITCH. So I turned around and headed back to work.

Dear anyone who schedules meetings from 12:00 to 1:30: Stop it. We get ONE DAMN HOUR a day, ONE HOUR, that's all we're asking, ONE HOUR to pick up paint or get gas or go to therapy or watch a recorded episode of Long Island Medium. ONE HOUR. Let us have it.

Iris is back sleeping on my arm again while I type this.

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Restful. Well, it is for her.

When I got my phone out to photograph Convenient Iris, I noted there was a text from my mother. I sent her that group shot of the pets last night, and she wrote back, That's EVERYBODY?

See.

Remember when our phones were just our phones? They didn't take pictures or remind you of meetings or show you girl-on-girl videos, remember that? They just hung there on your kitchen wall, with a cord that if you were lucky stretched out to the den where you could half shut the door.

My mother just texted back…

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Marketing marketing marketing copy. Well okay, then.

I'd better go do that.

June June June, copy that.

June talks to you while she does her makeup. Wait. June wears MAKEUP?

I'm all out of sorts today. So what better way to cheer oneself up than to do one's makeup!?

I know. Deep.

Let's do a day where we watch me do my makeup, and in the meantime I complain at you.

Photo on 4-13-16 at 8.05 AM

Oh hey, while you're up. Can you break me off a piece of that?

Photo on 4-13-16 at 8.11 AM

Eyebrows filled in, concealer and I CAN'T FIND MY EYELID PRIMER. If you wonder, say, does this irk the SHIT out of June, the answer is oui. I got all international on your ass, that's how much it bugs. Look at Eds out there, surveying his domain.

I'm still sad about the puppy. Am devastated over the puppy. Is that nornal? I miss a puppy I knew for only 24 hours. Did I really make the right decision? I know practically, if one were practical, it's the right decision. Shots and neutering and food and so on. I know. I still have to pay my state taxes, for god's sake. I'm waiting till payday to pay them. So, yes. In practical terms, a new puppy is not sensible.

Photo on 4-13-16 at 8.16 AM #3

I used regular primer on my eyelids and now my eyes are watering. Hey, I wonder if June hates everything? Anyway, powder foundation. Edsel still surveying domain.

Also, I finally got a message from my friend Melanie's cousin. I got it two nights ago while I was walking Eds. "Hey, your email was in my hidden messages because we aren't Facebook friends," he wrote. "What do you want to know about Melanie's suicide?"

So now I have the deets, and maybe it was better to not have known the deets. I wanted to be right where she was, knowing exactly how she felt in life. I guess I kind of wanted to be there with her posthumously, and I can just hear her saying Yeah, thanks a lot. That made a huge difference. But still. Like, if I could be there with her somehow in some way, it'd make it less awful.

It didn't.

Photo on 4-13-16 at 8.24 AM

Urban Decay Nakeds shadows, yet to be blended, and some annoying Revlon eye pencil. Say, do you wish to bug me? Make an eye pencil that's hard to apply. THANKS. Hey, where'd Edsel go?

Also, I had to leave work at lunch yesterday because screaming migraine. I spent the whole afternoon in bed, and not in the good way. The whole time I dated Ned, I wanted to have, like, one whole day where all we did was stay in bed, and the very last thing Ned would ever want to do is spend a whole day in bed. A whole day at the salad bar? Sure.

Anyway, because I slept all day, naturally I couldn't sleep last night, but it did give me a chance to catch the very lofty finale of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Did you see it? Thoughts, please. Lofty thoughts.

Photo on 4-13-16 at 8.38 AM

Rimmel mascara, and please pronounce is "miscaaaara" like they do in the commercials. Some annoying Maybelline lipstick that makes me look like a mom in 1972, and still no Edsel. Do you think he put his knapsack on his back? And clearly my Botox has given me one Spock eyebrow as of late. Nice.

Fuck natural,

Joooon

835 Glorious Words

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This is my favorite time of year, because, for example, this is the view out my kitchen window. Every hour I spend dicing and sauteing, I see this. I also have a view of this:

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I accidentally typed "dicking" instead of "dicing," which is more like it. Although I never do that anymore, either.

Speaking of which, last night I was walking Edsel.

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I took this by accident, but I love it. I was really meaning to film The Watching of the Chickens.

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Although right then it was the Ignoring of the Chickens. You know, once Tallulah got sick and I learned it was terminal, I was getting her Gentle Leader on her that same night and I said, "You know what, Talu? Never again." And I put a leash on her like she was a normal dog, nothin' on her snout, and SHE WALKED JUST FINE. She didn't pull me like I was miming dog-walking. Edsel, however, would not be fine. He pulls even with the Gentle Leader. Remember when I took them both in for harnesses? Good gravy.

Anyway. We were at the park walking in the grassy knoll part, and I always call it a grassy knoll in my mind and I often think of the photo I took of my grandmother, at the part of Dallas where Kennedy was shot, where she's pointing to the grassy knoll dramatically, like the old pictures. Now I want to dig that photo up and this is why I'm always late for work.

ANYWAY. My phone rang, and it was Ned. "Are you walking the dog?" he asked, because he knows my moves. I assured him I was. "I'm near your house, can I stop by?" Ned had a stress test last week, because what stress, and he'd had chest pains because did I mention what stress? He's the fancy president of his company, and do you know what I would never like to be? Is a president of a company.

The point is, he was running on the treadmill and that all went fine, except he pulled a calf muscle really bad and I'm sorry that I think that's hilarious. So now he's STILL GOING TO THE GYM, but not doing anything on his bottom half. This means he was done with the gym spectacularly early, like 7:00!!, and wanted to pop over. HE STILL HADN'T EATEN, of course, and Ned's whole evening schedule has always irritated the crap out of me. I hate to inform you that I freaking love living alone. I really do.

Anyway, we were still in the grassy knoll when I saw his car pull up, and we ended up meeting on the bridge of the park, and when Edsel saw Ned he broke into an ecstatic run, and the whole point is, Ned brought me two bouquets of purple tulips. I hugged him and Edsel wrapped his leash Ned and me twice, like a lasso.

"I'm sorry you had a weepy weekend," he said, handing me the flowers. And no he's NOT trying to get into my size 10 pants and my very big bra. Would that he were. Ned won't just bang people willy-nilly. He has to be all stable and in a relationship with a person, and what a pussy.

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But he did come have a drink at my house. He had a beer. I had water. I was out of points for the day.

I just noticed that I'm typing this whole thing with a cat asleep on my arm. I hadn't even noticed. It's incredibly uncomfortable, and why the carpal tunnel, June?

I guess that's all I have to tell you, other than my job changed a few weeks ago, and I think I told you that, but as a result, I'm now someone who has to go to meetings all the time. I'm forever leaping up to go to meetings. The woman who sits next to me told me at the beginning of the day, she looks in her calendar to see what meetings are ahead of her, rather than just letting the meeting alert thing stun her with the info 15 minutes prior. She says that way she's "prepared" for the meeting.

Hunh.

She's like 27.

Oh, also. I will be intentionally vague about this, because I'd hate for anyone to feel bad. But a coworker found a horrific book that has never been published, and when he opened it in the middle of the book the first thing he read was a love scene, that said, "For five glorious minutes…" Oh, then it was on. We BEGGED him to bring the book in, and every day we have something we call Five Glorious Minutes, where we read the book aloud. It's so fantastically awful that we can't get enough of it. Five glorious minutes are never enough. It's so bad that it really should be published. Maybe I'll sell copies of Five Glorious Minutes. Can I get sued for that? Yeah. Probably.

Crap. It's 8:31.

Gloriously,

June

June makes you do her decorating again.

What color should I paint the back room? Currently it's Sad Beige, a thing the previous owner seemed to stampede for. "Oh, is it beige or brass? Sign me up!"

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Here's the room itself. Look how horrible that door is. The bricks are sort of off-white and the walls are a beige that if you didn't have so much ennui you'd get up and kill yourself. The floor is a blue-and-cream tile that Marvin put in when we moved in. I like it. It's very '60s basement. I know I'm weird.

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I want, when you're in the living room, to look at the blue walls, then the brown walls and onto the _____ walls of the back room. To ignore, please, the bedding that the puppy peed on that I haven't put away yet. Also, that is not a dog. You're hallucinating. Again.

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The floor. And my broom. I just flew in. BAH! Oh, stop, June, you're killing me.

Okay, go.

Stanley Steamer Saga

I had a puppy and now I don't, and I am devastated and it's all my own fault.

"Hey, June, I know a woman who's got puppies. They were born under her porch and she raised them and got their shots and stuff. You want one?" someone at work asked me.

Did I want one.

You know, when Tallulah got sick, my thought was, I will not get another dog, because I got two dogs when I was a married person, not really thinking I'd ever actually be an UNmarried person, and then Marvin left and there I was with two dogs and an old cranky cat.

And now here I am with two dogs and two cats and WHY, god? Because I love cats and dogs and I want all of them. So BECAUSE I AM A CRAZY PERSON, I schlepped out after work and to another town and met this woman with the puppies.

We'd spoken on the phone, and I'd told her how I'd just lost a dog and could I maybe try the puppy out for the weekend, see how it worked with my regularly scheduled dog, although I had the feeling Edsel would be fine. She said sure, and that another family in Randleman also wanted this puppy, so if it didn't work with me there was somewhere he could go. Then she made me SOPHIE'S CHOICE the two puppies left, and I picked the bigger and calmer of the two.

I couldn't even look the other one in the eye.

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Here he is on the drive to my house. Dudes, this was the most chill puppy I ever met in my life. I think he was going to be enormous, and really cool and really mellow. Out of all the puppies I have ever met, I liked him best. He was so calm.

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Edsel was, as I suspected, a charming gentleman for the most part. The puppy growled at him and hid behind Laura Ingalls Wilder, and Edsel didn't growl back–he was just as curious as shit. Lily sniffed him indifferently, and Iris had no idea why everyone was over at the bookcase, so she came on over and WALKED RIGHT ON HIM, because no one believes she's blind, but I'm telling you. Then she fainted and screamed and had 40 fits and jumped in the air and hissed on her entire way back down.

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Puppy took it in stride. Did I mention chill?

And I don't have to tell you. I LOVED HIM. I loved him right away. IMG_8882 IMG_8877 IMG_8878 IMG_8904 IMG_8911
eds not shure

That puppy was gonna be the dominant one. He'd already taken Blu and Edsel was all, But! But..! Okays about it. IMG_8918 IMG_8948
But I started to feel overwhelmed. What was I doing? Why do I have FOUR pets? What am I thinking? I already can't go on vacations because it costs so much to board two dogs. Everyone needs shots and food and flea meds and heartworm stuff for the dogs and WHAT WAS I THINKING?

I also think of moving from here sometimes, like to a big city, and I know it'd be impossible with four pets. I'd need a house and when will I ever be able to afford a house in a big city? And what if I actually ever meet anyone? And we want to get married? Hey, here I come with my FOUR PETS.

I was starting to feel like I was hoarding animals. I was starting to feel like I'd made an impulsive decision for a change, with my emotions leading the way for a change, and so on Saturday afternoon I called the woman and said, "Let's let the family in Randleman have him."

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So that's where he is, and I checked today and he's doing GREAT, and I've been crying ever since. All day. I have triangle eyes. You know, where you cry so hard your eyelashes are triangles? I am so fucking sad.

When I handed him over, I said, "I love her so much." I know he's a boy. I think I was talking about Tallulah. Now I'm crying again.

I'm typing this fast and hitting post and I won't proof this. I'm too sad to read it.

 

Beneath my wongs

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My hair made a little heart on the right side of my head. I just noticed it on the drive home from work just now.

Anyway, I'm here. I'm back home after a hard morning plowing the hearth or whatever people did when they used to really work hard all morning. And in fact, I did work hard this morning–my shoulders are all hurting from being tense. My work has changed at work, and I'm, like, really busy now all the time. But it's fun busy, you know what I mean? I get to write more, and when I do that the time just flies.

Flyyy. Flyyyy. FLYYY against the sky! So high I almost touched the sky. Thank you, thank you, thank god for you, the wind beneath my wings.

Which I just typed "wongs" and now I've got the giggles.

This morning, before my iPhotos went wonky, I'm certain I had all sorts of pithy things to tell you and now they're gone. Poof. Out of my head. But I have had some other pithy thoughts.

One is, why don't bumper-sticker makers and buyers alike realize that if the bumper sticker is more than, say, five words, we can't read it? I just saw one whole quote on a bumper sticker the way home, and I was all, dammit. I wanna know if you're my people or not. I want to know whether to give you a cold glare when I pass you.

The other is, why is it that the one thing know-it-alls don't know is that no one likes a know-it-all?

And my third pithy thought, (thereby rendering calling the one above this one "the other" a mistake) is who is the god or goddess who invented vanilla almond butter? Mother of god, it's like I'm giving oral to an angel. It's so delicious.

Other than that, my mind is a blank. Other than the part where I can see my mom pursing her lips over the "oral to an angel" thing.

You know, sometimes, I'll be going along in my life, doing things like walking Edsel…

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when it HITS me, like I'm a gong and someone is banging me and getting it on, that Tallulah is dead. It's like I'm navigating through life like normal and BOOM. Oh my GOD, my dog is DEAD.

Sucks.

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It seems like Edsel is going though the same thing. He seems good and then he isn't. I woke up to him on the other pillow the other morning, a thing that would not have happened had Talu been here. He always had to sleep at the bottom of the bed. Lu got the other pillow.

I was also going to show you a photo from the happy hour I went to last night, but did I mention photos, wonky? I can't find it anywhere. It was the Irish pub Ned and I used to go to all the time, near his old apartment. The happy hour was upstairs, so I was breezing by the downstairs bar when I heard, "HEY!"

The bartender was waving me down.

"Were you just gonna WALK RIGHT PAST me?" he asked.

"Oh! I…well, I didn't see you!" I also didn't know you'd remember me. We fist-bumped.

The happy hour was a work thing, and people were all, "Come here often, June?" Nice. Hey, we need someone to write this copy. Oh, I know! Let's ask that barfly, June!

All right, I'm out. Gotta put my snout to the grindstone.

Barfly June, saying goodbye.

Lot’s Wife rolls around in the woods, probably gets ticks. Smell that.

Yesterday, someone brought a puppy to work. I knew it right away, because the whole office changed, and there were squeals, and I said to myself, "Please let it be a puppy and not a human baby person."

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Nike.

Way back, like in the '90s, this poor soul named Pheiddipides had to run from Marathon to Athens to tell everyone what was going on with the war with the Persians, and why everyone hated cats so much is beyond me. He was a courier who spreaded the news. Because there were no cell phones or internets. There was no TMZ. In one day, he ran back and forth for a total of 26.2 miles, and in the end announced, "Nike," which means "victory" and also "lesbian shoe," and then he fell over dead.

And that is how we got the marathon. Because someone fell over dead. And yes, I said "spreaded."

Anyway, victory was mine, as it was a puppy and not an infant, which, eh. Do you guys who have kids and so on really get as squishy inside as you do when you see a puppy? Am I missing a chip? I know I'm missing a chip.

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puppee make the hare lady get skwishy.

The point is, I sat in the Circle of Girls that was immediately created at work, and we all petted the puppy WHO WAS SO SOFT and we loved the puppy and we exclaimed over her feets and then I said to my coworker TinaDoris, "I want a puppy so bad."

And that is how we decided to just, you know, zip over to the animal shelter yesterday after work, which by the way is what she decided we should do back when Roger died and I ended up with a Lily and an Iris.

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you say like it a bad theeng

Anyway. For one, I am delighted to announce that I don't have to drive down fucking Wendover all over yonder every night after work. The shelter is, I'd guess, five miles from work, all down this street called Wendover, and it takes approximately 47 hours to go those five miles. Jesus Christ.

But when we finally got there, oh, with the puppies. My heart was BROKEN for the older dogs, but I'm too scared to get a grownup dog. What if he eats cats? But, oh my god, so many grownup dogs killing me.

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Then I saw this sweet pea and I fell over dead. LOOK AT HIM. He has a terrible name, Chadwick, and who names a puppy Chadwick? Oh, I talked to him and cooed at him and told him I loved him. I love the part in this face. His red sea. Oh my god, dead. Dead Sea.

"Okay, I have to think about it," I said to TinaDoris, in my one moment of maturity that I get per day. All the way home I thought about him and his little white streak. Oh my god, I could name him Dice.

And that's when I got home and got a bill for $1,000 from the dentist.

SON OF A BITCH.

Remember when insurance used to cover things? I had a crown and a night guard made recently, and I guess that's what it cost after insurance. Wait. "Insurance." I called the dentist's office, and their machine actually said, "This machine does not record calls." What the FUCK? What is this, 1977? So I have to call today, and obviously will have to do a payment plan, just like I did with the vet, and also too I owe money for taxes. So no puppy SON OF A BITCH.

Go back up and look at his earses. SON OF A BITCH.

Literally.

Anyway, before I knew I'd have to spend $1,000 on the dentist AND IT WASN'T EVEN FUN, I spent $7.44 on a perfume sample of that Jo Malone stuff I was talking about yesterday, the Wood Sage and Sea Salt one. So that's exciting.

At least I will smell good. Or like salty woods. Mmmmm!

I leave you with this; June dancing to the Pixies. You're welcome.

 

Let the innards be a surprise

Dear ProPusyEater,

I don't see us creating a future together.

Honestly, do men just 100% not understand women? Does the person who picked that for his OK Cupid screen name (then had the nerve to come look at my profile) think any woman in America would be all, Heyyyyy! You seem like a gentleman! I wonder if I strike people as the type who'd love a ProPusyEater with one s? Oh my god, did he have to pick one S because the name with two Ss was taken?

I am over the men of our country.

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ProSaladEater Ned came over yesterday, and I really felt like I looked cuter than that but what're you gonna do. Anyway, I know. Shut up. I swear we didn't Do It or anything. We went to go see my friend Molly play. Not House; she was playing her music at a little place in between our houses.

You know, now that I play House every day, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Although I had some brandy snifters some grownup got at a yard sale or something, and I'd forever be swinging a brandy glass around when I was playing house and always being Helen or Ginger, and not only was Helen or Ginger forever dramatically day drinking, she was also a pill addict in the form of Tic-Tacs. What I'm saying to you is my inner Helen or Ginger is pretty much flying her freak flag very close to my surface.

"So, that's it for animals around here, hunh?" he asked. Lily and Iris were on either side of Ned, like Ned was the library and they were lions. Edsel was in his bed in the living room. I moved the second dog bed in there so he could visit with people, like he's convalescing. (At first, Edsel was sleeping in Tallulah's dog bed, WHICH KILLED ME, but now he's sort of back to his own, so I moved hers out there. If Edsel's being too "Heer Blu! Heer Blu! Heer Blu!" you can tell him to go to his bed, and he does with a flump and a sigh.)

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"I know. It seems empty, doesn't it? Even though there're three animals in here, which is more than anyone should have, really," I said.

"Well, there's a big personality gone," he said. It's true. Lu just took over so much of the house with her stoic self. I knew I'd miss Lu but man, do I miss Lu.

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I don't miss the Alexes, though, because hello five days a week. The good news is that Alex gave me her pink sparkly Christmas tree. I wonder how she thought to give it to me? She got married, and she's Jewish now. No, no, no. I guess everyone doesn't marry the Jewish men. But apparently her husband is not at that into pink trees, which, WHATEVER, man, so now I own a pink Xmas tree. Look how organized she is, that she wrote "Pink Christmas Tree" on the box. I'd just have left it blank and let the innards be a surprise.

Which is kind of how I conduct my life.

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eyeriss sinseerlee wish you get organized, mom. we not see eyye to eyye on dis.

eds luff mom way she are.

"Wow!" Ned said, when I got out the phone and snapped this photo yesterday. As soon as I pointed the camera at Iris, she sat up and posed, with her tail curled just so. "She's spent her whole life being a blog cat," I pointed out. Other than her time on that roof. Wasn't she the cat who was found with her siblings on a roof? It's sad when you've gathered so many pets that you can't remember their individual sob stories.

Hey, whatta you guys think about that Jo Malone perfume I keep considering? I got a scent strip in my Vanity Fair, which all sounds like a euphemism, much like ProPusyEater, I can't imagine what he's getting at. Anyway, I always sniff the scent strips (euphemism again), and I LOVED the Jo Malone Wood Sage and Sea Something or other. Sea Urchin? Sea Men? Sea Son'd Salt? Oh, hell.

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Salt! Sea salt! Who doesn't want to smell like salt? I'd totally be Lot's Wife, literally! Anyway, it's $65, which I could spend on things like Tallulah's cremation, which I haven't paid off yet. That's how happy my life is right now. Perfume or my dog's cremation?

The thing is, it's been obsessing me for weeks now, this perfume.

Once in the '90s, I went to a boutique-y shop in Seattle and they had this sage green cat collar that had typewriter letters on it that spelled, "Meow." I so wanted to get it for Mr. Horkheimer, but it was $18 or something and I couldn't justify spending big dollars like that. AND IT STILL BOTHERS ME. Hork is in the closet now, being ashy, and I still want to get him that collar. It would have matched his eyes perfectly.

There were also these ridiculous pine cone earrings I saw at a gift shop after I drove through a redwood in Northern California, on my way to Paula's wedding, that I dearly wish I'd have bought. They were absurd, and she was having a fall-themed wedding, and I so would have sported those as her bridesmaid. I was wearing a deep red dress–tell me those pine cone earrings wouldn't have worked beautifully with that.

I wonder what things I've actually bought that if I hadn't, I'd still be haunted by them. I wonder why the hole in my soul is shaped like Jo Malone perfume. I wonder why two weeks without your hound feels like two centuries.

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I hate that I already have to scroll that far up to get a photo of her. You know, I don't know that I've clicked on this picture at full size before, but I can tell she has pain face in this one. Her eyes got this look to them. Oh, my Talu. I know Austin doesn't enjoy this photo series, because he feels he has moobs, so this will bring fresh pain to Austin as well. That's what I do. I bring the pain.

Okay, ProPusyCollector, out.

Dear eHarmony, I hate you. Luff, June.

I need you to understand how much I hate eHarmony.

I had a friend who joined it, and it would never be a site I'd have considered had he not joined and met an actually cool woman. I see it as sort of a site where I'd never meet anyone I had anything in common with. I see a lot of basic types, not that there's anything wrong with that. Just isn't me. I don't love a new-construction home. Never liked Dave Matthews.

But in a fit of ennui earlier this year, I joined, and hey, I was right. No one I had anything in common with. Lots of 62-year-old men in polo shirts.

So I unsubscribed, and yet? I still get emails EVERY DAY. EVERY DAY.

"Hey, June! Signed, Sealed, Delivered! Here are your matches for today!" Okay, that alone makes me hate them, not to mention how they technically are NOT signed or sealed. And here's what. You can't unsubscribe. YOU CAN'T!

There's a place to "log in" and unsubscribe, allegedly, but you can't log in if you don't have an account. I've hit Reply to that stupid homophobic organization's emails, and I like how that bothers me now that I haven't met anyone on there, but much like Chik-Fil-A, I'm all, This is wonderful! Screw rights for everyone! Anyway, I emailed them and of course nothing. I went on their Facebook page and complained and–nothing.

What makes companies think this is a way to do business? Oh, let's be all scammy and horrific. That'll SURELY encourage people to recommend us! Not to mention, today's specimens are from Tennessee, Pittsburgh and some town called Somerset. Well, THANKS. Those are convenient. In the meantime, my ex is a four-minute drive and WHICH DO YOU THINK I WILL CHOOSE WHEN THE NEXT ENNUI HITS, E FUCKING HARMONY?!!?

If you try to "log back on" and unsubscribe, they make you START ALL OVER, begin a profile and answer questions and redo just everything, which takes an hour, and there's nowhere to scroll down and say, Oh my GOD, just stop sending me EMAIL.

There's no section that reads Help, and the Contact Us is just a set of links you can click to read frequently asked questions, and of course none of those questions are HOW IN THE NAME OF FUCK do you get OFF THE EMAIL LIST.

Finally, I called. You know who I feel bad for in this world? People who have to answer these calls. People in India, who're just working for the weekend, or whatever people in India do for yucks.

First, they couldn't find me on there. Then they did and said, "No, it's fine. You're unsubscribed."

Okay, you're not listening to me. Yes, I am unsubscribed from being on eHarmony, but YOU KEEP SENDING ME EMAIL. Look, hoo care, right? It's not the end of the world. But now it's the PRINCIPAL of the thing. You can just harass me because you want to, and I can't stop it.

Finally, I got her to understand what I meant, and she said, "Oh, those emails, with your matches every day? Yeah, there's no way to stop those unless you go into your settings and–"

I don't HAVE settings. Because I'M NOT ON EHARMONY OH MY GOD SHOOT ME.

"Oh, right, well, then you just have to get them. You can't not get those emails till your subscription expires."

Next time you see that little imp of a man on TV touting eHarmony, I beg you to scream at him to chew a bag of dicks.