Vonda Shepherd Mix

Last night I had a dream that I was signing Edsel up for the FetLife website. FetLife is, well, let me look it up because I don't actually know.

…Okay. FetLife is like a dating site for people with fetishes, and what saddens me is that I don't know what Edsel's fetish is, although I'll bet it involves biting. Anyway, I was filling out his profile for him as he sat next to me telling me what to write, and the best part of the dream is that I was halfway through when I finally formed the thought, "Wait. Edsel can TALK?"

Then I woke up and he was on top of all the blankets and I was freezing to death. Maybe that's his fetish. Making me miserable.

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do der be a luff mom dot com edz can sine up for?

It was good I felt cold, though, because I came home last night to a broken air conditioner. In August. In the South. Sign me up. Sign me up for FetLife. Overheated mother of god. So, I called the AC place, and for a mere 17 million dollars they came over straightaway and fixed it. My hoooo-deee-frooo-deee-hoogen was broken. He said it's pretty typical. Then he charged me eleventy million dollars.

Which is better than the 17 million I'd stated previously, so.

Oh, also, this.

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I, you know, meandered over to visit the buff kitty again. In jail.

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nobody no. the trubble kitty seen.

Orange you glad I visited her? You shouldn't put kittens this close to me. Don't stand so close to me.

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eyeriss no you heded for cheetin side of town

So that was my evening. Yesterday at work I had a lot of writing to do, so I sneaked off to my hiding place in the building, and what is sad is that you have to hide in order to get your work done. Dear Whomever Invented Open Floor Plans: Fuck you. Oh, I'm sooooooo productive. Produce this.

Anyway it was lovely. Now all I have is the fear of my hiding place being discovered. And what am I gonna do, say, "Hey, this is my illegal work spot!"?

When I worked in Seattle in the '90s, I'd take my high-heeled loafers and clomp on over to the library for lunch. There was this woman at work, this older woman, who sadly was probably around my age now. Anyway, she was obsessed with whatever anyone else was eating. You'd take your lunch to the breakroom and she'd cover her mouth and still talk with her mouth full.

"Oh! What's that?" she'd ask EVERYONE, hand over her mouth. "Is it spicy?" Spicy was a big thing with her, and now that I'm her age and clearly going to reach for a mock turtleneck with patterns soon, as she did, I can understand the worry about spice. Hello, gerd.

Anyway, it drove my friend Paula berserk, to the point that it eventually drove me berserk out of sympathy, so I'd leave to head to the library, where I'd discovered this restaurant on the roof. They had, among other delicious things, this chicken with cashews stir fry that was to die for. I'd take my book, get out of the way of the incessant nagging drizzle of Seattle, and read all lunch. Then I'd clomp my Christopher Columbus shoes back to work.

What was with those high-heeled loafers we all wore? Stupid Ally McBeal.

I BEEN SEARCHIN' MY SOUL TONIGHT! Oh my god, please get that out of my head.

 

 

Anyway, one day I was happily up there, on my rooftop sanctuary, when I heard, "Juuuuune!" And there was the mock turtleneck lady. On my roof. "Oh! That looks good! Is it spicy?!" [mouth cover]

Goddammit. Sanctuary. Ruined.

I have to go to work now, as I am wont to do. I'll probably spend most of the day in my hidey hole. I'll let you know if anyone writes Edsel for a kinky rendezvous.

Fetishly,

June

June holds a kitten. Story at 11:00.

8:06 a.m.

I woke up late, and now Faithful Reader Paula is going to feel nervous through this whole post because I have to hurry. I've showered, and selected what I'm wearing, and also I'd like to mention that when I opened the bathroom door, I fully expected Lottie to be flumped against the door as she always was, waiting for me.

Goddammit.

Last night I went to PetSmart, because I gave Edsel a Sentinel, not literally, at the beginning of this month. "Controls heartworm and flea populations," it read. Okay, so I took care of everything in one pill. He scritch scritch scritch scritch scritch scritched his way through August. Finally, I called the vet.

Turns out? I was supposed to know that "controls flea populations" does not mean he was protected against fleas. Hunh. Yeah. Okay.

So two weeks ago, I bathed him and I bathed Lottie, and I put flea drops on them, and then Edsel scritch scritch scritch scritched his way through these past two weeks. So yesterday I got him a Capstar, which I can never remember the name of because first of all, Ned always called it Catstar, like he was an old lady.

"NedKitty's got fleas again. I'm gonna get her one of those Catstar pills."

In case you are a normal person with no pets, Capstar is a pill you give your animal and it kills the fleas right away. It's safe to give even if they have flea drops on.

(Paula, it's 8:15.)

Anyway, I call it Capchat and Snapcat and Catsnat and when did I become my grandma? The whole point is, I schlepped to PetSmart and got Eds one, and while I was there I met a kitten.

I know.

They were cleaning out the cages at PetSmart (they have animals from shelters there, and volunteers come every day, morning and night, to clean the cages) and the woman volunteering said, "You want to come in and hold this one while I clean her cage?"

Do I want to come in and hold this one.

She was a buff tabby, with a little white chest, and her name was Lantana, which is a horrible name BUT IT'S A FLOWER NAME, and was she ever sweet. Oh, she purred and didn't mind being held. Eventually, I put her down and let her play with one of those dreadful plastic balls with the bells in it, and as she batted that thing around, another kitten reached out of its cage to pat at her, and without even much of a glance, she gave the teensiest hiss and kept playing.

fuk off. kittee playeeng.

Don't even ask me how I am not home with a Lantana right now. Oh my goodness. I thought maybe I'd pop in and see her tonight. Shut up.

Daisy? Marigold? Daffodil? A yellow flower name.

Anyway, tonight after work we have a happy hour, as one of my coworkers is moving to New York. He was the guy who originally came up to me a year and a half ago and said, "Would you be interested in doing some writing and not just proofreading?" So I like that guy.

(Paula, it's 8:21. My hair is still wet.)

I guess I'd better go. My announcements to Paula have made me nervous.

Efficiently,

June

The dingo ate my baby

So, this week I was sick, with some horrid Disease of the Coughs, where all I did was try to sleep but I couldn't because cough, and I had to sleep sitting up like the Elephant Man, which in case you wondered was not restful.

Also, I was sad, because Lottie, and then because mean commenters, so that pretty much sums up my week.

Oh, and also, I tried to love Edsel rather than drive him directly over to Jeb's Animal Testing and Pelts, as I oft fantasized about doing. Then I'd cough.

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Some of us here didn't give a shit about any of this. My house is so EMPTY now, what with three measly pets. Who can LIVE like this, with this empty house, three teensy pets rattling around? I don't know if you've ever noticed, but having a cat hardly counts as having a pet. See above. It's just mostly like having a pillow that purrs.

I'm on two Facebook groups for Edsel breeds: one is called American Dingo Club, and the other is Carolina Dogs. They're both the same damn group; they should just merge, but who am I to tell anyone what to do, seeing as I seem to be the only person who's got an underbitey dingo. Anyway, mostly these groups, which I call Edsel Support Groups, show pictures of their straight-teethed Edsel dogs and we discuss their weirdnesses, but I haven't had the nerve to ask, "Does anyone else's dingo eat puppies?" for fear I'd have to see 53 photos of everyone else's American Carolina Dog Dingo embracing puppies like Mary and baby Jesus. Although truth be told you mostly just see pictures of her reeling in all the gifts ("More myrrh!?! You shouldn't have!") while poor Jesus lies there alone on that hay bed, which let's face it must be itchy.

Do you think anyone got him any fun onesies instead of that oh-so-babyproof frankincense? (Frankincense! Ages 17 months and up!) Onesies that said things like, Ask Me About My Father or Who Invited All These Sinners? Imagine how obnoxious Mary's Facebook posts would be about her new baby. We're talking smug.

This is why I should not be alone with my thoughts for a week, sleeping sitting up.

Ned, who when you last tuned in came to help with my dog crises last week (Lottie's new people have kept in touch and she seems so happy. Maybe a little too happy. Maybe I could make one of those horrible videos about how she should call me, like that one woman did to her poor kid who had the nerve to be adjusting to college and not calling her ass every minute–did you see that video? That poor beleaguered kid) told me to call if I needed anything. Finally yesterday I could not sit upright in my sick bed another minute longer, so I called him.

"Let's go do something," I said.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

"I don't know. Oh! Let's drive past all your houses!" Ned did this for me before, drove me past where he lived as a kid, then where they moved to when his family got bigger, and so on. But the last time was 2012, and now I know more stories from each house, so I wanted to see them again.

We got to the first house, and I asked where his tree was. He had a tree in the backyard that he claimed as his own, and he assigned his poor little brother the other tree. Once, though, his brother decided to climb up Ned's tree, and as soon as he was able to reach him, Ned reached down and kicked his brother out of the tree, who then hit every branch on his way down, like the marble in Ker-Plunk.

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I really feel like dad, up there, might be faking his mirth a tad. And really? Tantalizing? Really?

"My tree looks kind of bad," Ned noted. It was true; it was kind of gnarled and bony. "Your brother's tree looks great!" I pointed out, kindly. "It's flourishing!"

We stared at the trees for a minute. "You should totally call your brother and tell him his tree is doing better at life, just like real life." Ned's brother is happily married and has two kids in college already, and the third one will grow up to be, like, a cult leader or president or something. Kid's got charisma.

"I really should," Ned said, laughing.

Then we went to these woods across from his old house. "I wasn't supposed to cross the street to play here, but of course I did all the time," he said. Ned was the kind of kid who was outdoors all day, catching frogs and playing football. I had record low vitamin D levels, most likely, what with my basement-and-a-book childhood.

"I always wondered why they never developed these woods," said Ned. "I mean, I'm glad, but how'd they get away with it?" We saw one of those green-and-gold signs, the kind that let you know you're at some sort of historical marker, which always sends my Uncle Leo into fits of ecstasy and we always ALWAYS have to stop and read them.

The sign at Ned's woods said this was an area that marked some dumb thing that happened during the Revolutionary War, and also this was a site of the Underground Railroad.

And right then, we knew.

"Hunh," I said. "I wonder if it's still under here."

"What?"

"The Underground Railroad. Is it still there? Can we see it?" I sort of half-heartedly looked for a trap door or something.

Ned put the car in park so he could turn all the way in his seat.

"June. What do you think the Underground Railroad was?"

God. This is just like when my mother says things like, "The White House is in Washington D.C." "It was when a bunch of white people helped slaves escape. So, like, there was a big tunnel across America that they were all in on. I always pictured one nice woman digging a hole at the back of her pantry, and she dug under her house and all the way to the next white person's–"

When I saw the look on Ned's face, I realized my terrible truth. "Are you saying the Underground Railroad was never under the ground?" I asked.

Ned looked mortified.

"WELL WHY DID THEY NAME IT THAT, THEN?" I asked. "Next thing you know, you're gonna tell me it wasn't a railroad, either!"

"June, never, ever tell anyone this," he said gravely.

I mean, why not just name everything something it isn't? Hey, it's the Civil War, but really it's not civil at all. It's Roe vs Wade, but there's no water involved. I mean, how was I supposed to know? Why does everything have to be so confusing? Naturally, I told this story to my mother, who said, "Never, ever tell anyone that, June."

So I'm only telling you. I trust you can keep this underground.

Brightly,

June

Lottie is gone, and I am ruined

I didn't go to work today. I spent all night crying and coughing, and now I am just waking up from a migraine.

As you know, Edsel was sometimes attacking Lottie, and that the trainer and the vet said this sort of thing happens at the beginning when you have an adult dog and a puppy, and it's best to let them work it out themselves within reason.

And I did. Mostly Lottie and Edsel got along, and I know Eds enjoyed running around the yard with her in the mornings. I'd see him smiling; he looked gloriously happy. But every once in awhile he'd get fed up and bite her in the face, and she'd screech, and it was awful, but I did what they told me to do, which is not mollycoddle Lottie and not get mad at Edsel.

She had a little scar on her snout from what I assume is Edsel. The cats would give her a whack sometimes, too, and trust me, she deserved those. She was not mean to the cats, but she had no idea her…Lottie bulk was intimidating when she tried to play with them. When she'd plunk all 40 pounds on them and be all, why you not play?

And just Saturday night, on what I did not know would be my last walk with Lottie, I passed Ava's house, and thought about how sturdy Lottie was, and how I was glad she was my puppy if Edsel was going to be an asshole. She clomped her big paws on the ground contentedly while we walked, and I thought about how much I love her.

On Sunday morning, I let her out of her crate, and we were going back outside after breakfast. They went outside together and for no reason that I could see, Edsel pinned her down and attacked her. And it wasn't just one bite, it was several. I ran outside half-dressed and got her away from him. She had a bad gouge on the side of her face, near her eye.

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I got on Facebook and started asking you what I should be doing. Lottie was sort of cowering around Edsel sometimes, and I didn't like the fact that he was seriously damaging her, and not just warning her about her place in the pack.

I was reading your advice posts about an hour later when Lottie jumped off the couch and as far as I could see, just tried to walk past Edsel. That's all she was doing.

All I can remember is that Edsel had Lottie pinned down after that, and bit her over and over. She did her terrible screech, then she did this low cry that I will never forget. I was screaming as loudly as I could, pulling Edsel by his scruff, and I know from over there all quiet at your computer, you're saying, "You need to be calm in these situations. You need to speak to him quietly." Try it in real life, is all I can say. My dog was trying to kill my puppy, and I'm not being dramatic. He wanted her dead.

I can't remember what happened next, except I stopped breathing. I have this weird…cough thing, that I thought was maybe allergies, and I'm starting to think might be asthma or something? I don't know. But I'm coughing constantly, and while I screamed and bent over to get Edsel off Lottie, something closed up in my throat and I found myself not able to breathe. I don't know if that got Edsel's attention or what. I just know she ran to the back room, screaming, and my living room was dog pee and blood, and when I got my breath back I said to Edsel in an unnaturally calm voice, "Go outside."

And he did. He walked right out the door and stayed there. I ran to Lottie, who wouldn't come out from behind the chair. I was crying and gasping for breath and I didn't even think about it, I just grabbed the phone while I was still crouched at the chair, and when Ned answered he didn't even say hello, he just said, "Oh my god, what happened?"

"Please come over now," I said, and he did. He lives four minutes away and he was here in four minutes. Lottie came out, finally, and her whole face was…I won't even tell you. Ned got hydrogen peroxide and cotton and we cleaned her little face, and as I held her, I said, "She can't live like this."

I knew it was true. I called my old trainer, who said to at least keep them apart for two days, and then maybe try to re-introduce them, but there was no way I trusted Edsel. His attack came from nowhere. She hadn't goaded him, there was no toy or food in the way.

I found friends of friends who are middle-aged, childless, and who had lost their 11-year-old dog four months ago. He wants a big dog and she wants a little one, so they took Lottie ("a dog who'll ride in my truck with me") and they're going to get a little puppy for her.

"Lottie would love a puppy friend," I told them when they came over yesterday afternoon. By this time she was back to being Lottie. Swollen-faced Lottie, but Lottie. She freaking adored the guy, a big sweet alpha guy who's had dogs his whole life. She was all up on him, wriggling and flirting. They live right near the woman's parents, who also have a puppy Goldendoodle, so right away she'll have a puppy friend.

They took her bed, her food, her dishes and her sweet pink and purple collars I had ready for when she got big enough for them. They took what toys we could find, but mostly Lottie buries her toys in the yard, which I warned them about. They have a huge yard, in the country-ish, and they said, "We don't have kids, so we love our pets like they're our kids."

And now my kid is gone. This house is so empty and quiet. I've tried to not hate Edsel, and I've petted and hugged him and didn't punch him clean in the face when I finally let him in from the back room and he started looking for Lottie.

I can go maybe 15 minutes before I curl into a fetal position and cry again. Lottie was a ridiculous puppy. She was full of energy like I'd never seen, and her absence is so obvious. There was no one wriggling under the toilet paper roll every time I go to the bathroom. There were no noises as she turned around in her crate last night. Ned quietly took the crate apart and put it in the attic for me while I wasn't looking.

Only one dog to feed, and the screen door didn't burst open when I let Edsel out this morning. He just walked calmly through it.

There's no joy in this house. Lottie took all that with her.

Like I blister in the sun

First of all, I answered most of your questions you had yesterday in the comments, and I'll go back after this and answer the rest. I had to work more than I thought I would yesterday, and was unable to post at lunch. The lunch I DID have was scarily interrupted by a "You coming to the meeting?" text about a meeting I wasn't alerted to on my alert-me thingy.

Remember when I just proofread all day? Oh, those heady days.

Also, I did something really, really stupid yesterday and now I have a major injury.

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The day before yesterday, before I majorly injured myself, I was gonna interview a guy for our company newsletter, and I was waiting to take his photo as he walked through the doors and accidentally took this of myself. My hair has now faded enough that I just look like old Rusty Jones hair. Does anyone from the Midwest remember Rusty Jones?

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I did still capture the guy as he walked through the doors. Look at that photojournalism. Oh, hey, D, you're in my blog today. Haiiii.

Anyway, so yesterday was a normal-ish day, in that I was busy for most of it and also that this one guy at work was going to get a kitten. Another person at work has a mom–I mean, we pretty much all do, it's the weirdest thing–and that mom lives next to some people whose cat had kittens. The mom asked if anyone at work would take a kitten and of course I was all I WILL!!!

I didn't, but my coworker did, and I can't remember if I already have a blog name for him or not.

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It doesn't matter, though, because what does matter is KITTEN. That's the kitty, on top of this list of dumb names we all came up with. You can barely see my purple pen at the top suggesting Griff. I also later suggested Earl Grey.

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This guy. Have I come up with a blog name for him yet? I know you've seen him before. After my major injury, I did not capture on film the arrival of the kitten, and this guy holding said kitten, and it was all the cutest thing and that kitty was so cute, although we still don't know what his kitty name is gonna be. Someone suggested Stoli, because he looks like a Russian Blue kitty, and I liked that one, myself. But let's stampede to my death-defying injury.

Oh, also, Dr. Claw. Love Dr. Claw.

Every day at 3:00, a bunch of us take a walk. It used to be around the building, twice, but then it occurred to us we're right next to a park, and there's a little trail with stairs that leads to said park, and we've only seen a snake on that trail twice, so we go that way, and walk this concrete path that leads to the end of the park, then back again. It takes about 17 minutes.

Yesterday I had on my cute gold MaryJanes, with the t-strap and the heels, and I love them, but I'd accidentally worn home my tennis shoes that I usually put on to do the walk. So I had no walking shoes, and I knew those high heels would kill me, but I really wanted to go on the walk because stress yesterday.

And that is when I decided to just walk in zero shoes.

As soon as I got to the BLISTERINGLY HOT, literally, parking lot of our building, I knew this might have been a mistake. But I did it, I walked the blacktop in August in the South, and then I walked over the wood chips and pine needles and snakes to the concrete path.

Eventually? I had to sit under a tree while Austin ran back and got my shoes. Then I had to hobble back to work on the heels I'd avoided. I'd given myself huge blisters on the bottoms of my feet, and now I can't really even walk. Oh, it's bad.

And for WEEKS–WEEKS!!–I'd been looking forward to last night's movie at my old theater I like to go to. They were showing Metropolis, which is a silent film set in "the future," and man did they ever get that right. It was just exactly like today, mostly the part where men where eye shadow and lipstick and open their eyes dramatically and claw their hands when anything noteworthy happens.

Who told actors to all do that back then? Calm down. Geez.

Anyway, they'd hired an organist to come and play the organ for the whole silent movie, and he was great, and I'd been dying to see all this. And because I am tough, I hobbled to it. In my fashionable tennis shoes. But look at June, dedicated to her cause.

Seriously, though, I feel like crap today. Also, I've had congestion and a terrible cough for days, and I'm assuming it's allergies, and now my feet are destroyed, and remember when Mary Richards won an award for her TV news show and she had a sprained ankle and a cold and her eyelash was falling off when she went to accept the award and she got up there and said, "I usually look so much better than this"? Remember that? That's how I feel now. Although let's face it. I don't really look any better than this, ever, anymore.

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edz kind of theenkeng mom reep wat she so.

Oh shut up, Judge-y Edsel.

Talk to you later. Hey, maybe I'll walk on over. Or not.

June goes downtown, which is not a euphemism

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Yesterday I had to go to a building downtown to attend an all-day meeting. This is the view from the balcony behind the building. Went out there to smoke my 'rette. Man, I was having a nicotine fit.

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It was really cool there. They took this whole back area and made it pretty. They took a nothing day and suddenly made it all seem worthwhile. Well it's you, alley, and you should know it. Also, Dear Fay: I will never want that wagon wheel …wagon wheel. Love, June.

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Inside were all my loving teammates, and we spent the whole day coming up with new ideas for what we work on, or as I'm sorry to tell you, "ideating." Every time I hear that non-word, my soul dies a little more.

Speaking of soul-killers, because I was gonna be downtown all day, I took Lottie to daycare, and so did the Alex Who Sits Next to Me, the one you helped get a dog a few months back. I mean, she took her OWN dog, not my dog, to daycare. On breaks? We'd whip open our laptops and look at them on the webcam?

They were friends! They hung out together all day! They'd never met before! It was so cute. Out of all the dog daycares in all the world (Greensboro), Alex had to take her dog to mine.

So that was adorable, plus also her dog is an adult and totally looks like Lottie of the Future, so Lot recognized her own kind. Sort of dog-ist–breed-ist–if you ask me. Lottie would build a wall to keep out anyone who didn't have a brown snout. But still.

After our day of "ideating," which was actually pretty fun, we all went two doors down to the brewery, because it was the Alex in the photo above's last day. I screamed over to daycare and got the Lot, and she joined me for, sadly, her fourth time at that pub in four months of life.

Lottie totally needs rehab.

She was pretty good, meeting people and buying them drinks and giving out her dog digits, till some asshole had the nerve to bring his dog in. God. Whoever heard of someone taking their dog to a pub? Lottie had been splayed on the floor asleep and she JUMPED up. BARWARWARWARWAR! BOOF! She's a big "boof"-er. That thing where you don't really open your dog lips all the way, you bark and poof out your cheeks. That. She does that.

Anyway, I got her distracted by upside-down margaritas and next thing you know she was flashing the room for beads, so. Crisis averted. look at lotee teetz!

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When I got her home, she kicked off her shoes and was so exhausted she could barely eat. Then I got the brilliant idea to Yoko her and take Lottie/June shots. Because humane. Also, I really need to give up the ghost on those black flats. They are wore out from the floor out.

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can lotEE pleeze go bak to sleep now? we stop beeng at olan millz?

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do anywon no number for peeta? lotteee beeng waterborded

Finally I gave up for more dignified pursuits.

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Oh my god, I give up.

So that's that. There was an Abbott and Costello movie last night at my old theater, but I was tired and I'd been downtown all day, anyway. Tonight's Beach Blanket Bingo, and I'll probably bing-go to that. Except you know what? Tonight's my Hollywood Medium, and I hate to miss him as soon as he airs. God, what a dilemma. How do I juggle it all? Annette's teetz or my little twink's talks with the dead? Goddammit.

Stay tuned for the stunning conclusion tomorrow.

Lottie and the Big-Girl Bed

Last night, when I headed to bed, Lottie was already in there, fast asleep. She looked so cute, and she's been doing so well with not going in the house, that I thought, "Maybe she can sleep in the big-girl bed tonight." Sadly, every night I sleep in that bed it's the big-girl bed. What M&Ms yesterday?

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lotEE be gud! she sleep in big gurl bed! mom can trust lotEE!

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{mentally high fives Satan}

She really was good, though, until SIX FIFTY SEVEN, which is THREE MINUTES before we get up. I heard her get up and I was paralyzed by sleep for a minute. Peed on the new mud rug, pooped in the living room. Goddammit.

Look at that last photo, where she's high-fiving Satan. You can see her real fang trying to come in. Oh, poor Lottice! That must hurt! See. Now she's got my sympathy again. That dog really is all snout. I wonder when she's gonna get a face? I wonder if she'll always have that snout scar?

She's headed to daycare today, Lottie is, because I have an all-day, offsite meeting and won't be able to come here at lunch to let her out. That meeting is costing me $20. But here. Look at Lottie on the webcam. She'll be there about 8:30 till 5:00.

In other news, I think it's over with me and The Younger Man, the one in Rio. I told this to my mother. "The last thing he texted me was Sunday, early, and it read, You're mean," I told her.

"What'd you do?" asked my mother, and then we laughed for 45 minutes. Good mom-ing. Not, "That's preposterous!" Not "How could he SAY such a thing?" No. "What'd you do?"

Which, you know, I know you all just asked the same thing.

Okay, so I called him a dick, but YOU KNOW HOW I AM. If you're too lily-livered to handle me calling you a dick in an I'm-giving-you-shit text, you're too lily-livered to deal with when I'm actually being bitchy. One good thing about Ned was, no matter how bitchy I got, he was always all, "Oh fuck you, June." He was unflapped.

Is unflapped a word?

So, that was that. Darn, that's the end.

I can hear Edsel and Lottie wrestling outside, and I want to go look, but as soon as I do, they always stop and look at me instead, so I just have to listen to them being funny without being witness. Sometimes if I'm out there with them, they'll commence wrestling in front of me, but I can't walk in on it.

I just heard them tear across the deck. They just tore across again. Goddammit. This must have been what it was like to be on The Dating Game. YOU JUST WANNA SEE.

That would really suck, to get the hideous guy on The Dating Game. Did you know Maurice Gibb was on that show? He won. Couldn't you just have some friend in the audience signal to you which bachelor was cutest? Seems like it'd be easy to cheat. But maybe they didn't HAVE a studio audience. I don't know, man. I can't figure it all out right now.

I'd better go get the Lot to daycare and head to my ALL DAY meeting. Maybe while I'm there, I can be mean.

XO,

Jooon

Undercover June

Morning.

Do I sound intimidating? I've been watching a lot of Undercover Boss, and thank god my weekends mean a lot lately. Undercover Boss is where a CEO or president or whatever hoo-hah of a major company (7-Eleven, 1-800-Flowers, Waste Management, the Chicago Cubs) (not that I watched 109 of these this weekend or anything) pretends to be looking for entry-level work at the age of 60, as you do, and then he's down with the people for awhile and sees what really goes on with his company.

Or hers. Every 10th show, an actual woman is in charge, usually because she started the damn company her own self. Like that jewelry company everyone is a part of on Facebook. Stanford and Dash or whatever.

Oh, it's fascinating. And I noticed once they're the hoo-hah again–and they call these poor unsuspecting workers in to (a) give them diarrhea and (2) to say, That whole time you were in a hairnet is going to be on TV for everyone to see–once they're CEOs again, they almost always walk in with a fairly unfriendly, "Morning." Like, I'm the CEO. I say when it's morning.

The phrase "good morning" annoys me anyway. And you know how I hate all men who send me good morning texts. 

So that sums up my weekend. Fascinating, June. Oh! And also, when I woke up yesterday morning, I realized I'd left the broiler on all night, and my mother just fainted, and I was all, Oh, damn. So then half an hour later I went in to "make toast."

I don't have a toaster. I got rid of it during my year abroad, and that toaster at Ned's house was Ned's. I've never gotten another, which is dumb because I make toast all the time, and all my LA friends are appalled I eat bread right now.

So I broil it. I put bread in the broiler and have to flip it, like it's steak. But it's bread.

Twenty minutes later, I was all, Oh my god I forgot the bread! But when I went in there, I realized I hadn't turned on the broiler. After having had it on all night. Goddammit. Ten minutes after that, I was all, THE BREAD! and I ran in there and opened the broiler.

I'd forgotten to put in bread. I'd opened the bread, forgotten to get any out, and put the bread away.

Dementia runs in my family. I will miss you all.

In other news, I went to the grocery store at 9 p.m. last night. That's the time to do it. Late on Sunday. No one else is in there except for other terribly single people who don't have to watch The Wonderful World of Disney with their kids on Sunday nights. If some cable show knew what it was doing, it'd rerun WWoD on Sundays at 7:00, so everyone could have that "It's Sunday and Wonderful World of Disney" is on dread.

I noticed, in my weekend of solitude and nothingness, that many of my friends have up and gone all at once. Jo lives an hour away now, and Naughty Professor moved to Charlotte with his man. Tall Boy is still here, but he has a girlfriend, so. BRF Alex works in Winston now, so while she's HERE she's still spending most of her time far away. Roy and Nancy moved to Pennsylvania, and Charlie moved to Boston.

Ned moved to ex-boyfriend world.

Ryan has a girlfriend in Raleigh, so he's always with her. And The Other Copy Editor and her spouse just bought a gigantic mansion that they're turning into a B&B, so they're busy, and no, no one has any idea how they can afford it, but there they are, having done it.

Fleeta left work Friday, as she is moving to China. CHINA! And the other Alex, who I do yoga with? Her last day is Tuesday, and she's also going to be working in Winston.

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solitary, pink-haired June

I don't mind isolating, I really don't, but probably I should get out more and do things. I've been thinking of going to the Unitarians on Sundays, but why do they have to meet so godawful early? Whoever heard of doing something at 11:00 on a Sunday? Can't they have, like, later meetings for people who drink?

Come to the Unitarian church. We meet at 11:00 for normal people, and at 4:00 for drinkers.

Actually, as part of my big weight loss plan, I have not been drinking at all, except for weekend evenings. That's my rule. I've lost five pounds! Allegedly. My new digital scale seems to be all over the place. One day it'll read 120 and the next day 125.

Oh, did I not mention my digital scale tells you what you weighed in 1990? It's like Facebook's time hop feature.

I'd better get to work. Tomorrow I have to be in my 8:00 for a meeting, which lasts till 8:45, and then from 9 to 5 I have a meeting. All day. 9 to 5. Lord.

I leave you with the caliber of messages I've been getting online…

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…yeah.

June Brought the Rose (Gold)

Last night, I got my rose gold color! It'll only last a few weeks, but here it is!

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I look vaguely like an aging Disney princess. But I like it! It's exciting! Also, I need lip enhancement so bad.

Four hours I was in that chair last night. I screamed home after work and let Lottie and Edsel be in the back room, with the door open so they could go outside if they wanted. A few weeks ago, Lottie figured out she could open the screen door herself, so she spent about an hour standing in front of it, pushing it open, watching it slam close and then pushing it open again.

That was relaxing.

I sent my photo to "Steve," aka The Younger Man in Rio, and noted that I look like dessert. "There are worse food groups you could resemble," he wrote back, and then we spent way too much time talking about what foods would be worse for your hair to look like.

Legumes.

Fish.

Organ meats.

Haggis.

Tripe.

Anything burned.

Mayonnaise-based salads.

One time my Pal From MA was visiting her grandmother. I believe there'd been a celebration of some sort, and she stayed on a few days. By day three, she was dying for a salad.

Do you know what I'm never dying for?

Anyway, her grandmother said, "Well, honey, there's all kinds of salad in the fridge. There's macaroni salad, potato salad, tuna salad…"

Welcome to the Midwest.

Lottie's been tugging on my robe tie the whole time I'm writing this, and is there any sort of 24-hour drive-thru euthanasia place around here? I forgot to tell you that when I had that kitten, I took The Lotissimo with me to PetSmart (I think I did tell you that part) and got kitten toys. They were they spongy, many-sided cubes, which makes no sense,

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but look, there they are. How would YOU describe them, Hemingway? Anyway, the kitten did play with them, and they were strewn on his floor the day I decided to bring him out to sit on my lap in the living room. All the animals came over to meet him except Lottie, who I figured was in the kitten room sniffing around, getting some almond roca from the litterbox, and so on.

I was right, for she emerged from that room with one of these squares on her fang. Just hanging there like it was meant to be. Just trotted around like that, happy as a pig in clover.

Lottie is an asshole.

We need BBP merchandise again, starting with Lottie is an Asshole mugs, shirts and tote bags.

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resent

My asshole dog and I will talk to you later.

Luff,

Pink June