Aging ungracefully · June's stupid life

Apparently, the rhythm got June

The directions to my eyelash curler pads are so small I had to use a magnifying glass to read them. Photo on 5-29-14 at 8.13 AM #3No, we're not back to first-world-problem day. Still! How annoying.

I can't read anything anymore, and Ned just last night had on my reading glasses with the leopard print and sparkly sides while he perused a menu. No, I did not take a picture.

What sorts of things are happening with you as you age? I can't remember the last time I stood up and nothing hurt. Lately it's my hips because apparently I went ahead and shook my body baby, did the conga, I couldn't control myself any longer, shook my body baby did the conga, I couldn't control myself any longer.

I must have done that in my sleep, however.

Anyway, before my hips gave out on me, my feet hurt terribly, and of course my sprained ankle, which took six months to heal and is still, frankly, a little wonky.

Marvin can no longer hear anything, from playing in bands and working at concerts all his life.

What about you? What's falling apart? Tell me so I can feel better about myself. Because that's what matters.

Oh, and you're welcome for putting Gloria Estefan in your head like that.

Who goes to a Gloria Estefan concert? I'm kind of thinking the same folks who rock out to Jimmy Buffet, which you could not PAY me to attend.

Okay, I have to go.

Your old pal, literally,


Aging ungracefully · Beauty products · June's stupid life

50 Shades of Gray Eye Pencil

I hope everyone is still in possession of their digits.

For our 4th celebration, Ned and I decided to eat at this outdoor place near him, then walk to the top of a parking structure, where we'd have an unimpeded view of the fireworks. The restaurant was full, naturally, and it took 20 minutes or so to get a table, but finally we were outside, where it was breezy and delightful. There were all kinds of people wearing red, white and blue, which to me is like wearing a Christmas sweater, but what are ya gonna do?

There was a silver Lab out there on the patio with us, have you seen those? I think they must be a Lab and Weimaraner, and oh, they are so cute. The woman who owned him said she picked the biggest one in the litter for stud purposes, and that is when I punched her. Having been to the shelter often this week, and seeing how many cats and dogs are there in cages makes me less than patient with anyone out there breeding more animals.

But what're you gonna do? Clearly that is my theme question of the day.

While I was enjoying my chili, and I know it's weird to get chili in July, this small child wandered over and was attempting to climb the gate around the patio. He wasn't being obnoxious about it, he was just kind of seeing if he could, with his two-feet-tall self.

I turned to look at him, and he said, "Hi!"

"Hi." I do not speak Child.

"What's your name? I'm Kye."

Dudes, it sounded like Kye. It coulda been Kyle. Have I mentioned I don't speak Child? He had curly blond hair and he was a muffin. I mean, he was almost as cute as that silver Lab.

"What are you doing?" he asked me.

"What are YOU doing?" I asked, because I really didn't want to be all, well, I'm divorced and dating this really great guy, and right now we're looking for a place to move in together, and I'm dealing with my aging face and the fact that my decolletage looks like a cracked desert floor. I eliminated all that and just deflected the Q.

"I'm looking at that spider web." He pointed to the top of the fence, where indeed there was a web. "Oh, yeah," I said.

"Spiders make me afraid," he told me. I don't want him to grow up like me, so I told him how most spiders are nice and all you have to do is leave them alone. He seemed skeptical of this theory.

"Why is it up so high?" he said, still studying the web.

"Kye, come back here and don't bother the lady."

"We're talking," he said calmly. "I'm not bothering her. We're looking at a spiderweb." I assured his mom we were fine.

"I think the web is up so high because the spider makes a web and lays eggs and has babies." I get all my spiderology info from Charlotte's Web. "She makes it high up so it's safer."

The child, who I later learned was TWO AND A HALF, and who's this articulate at TWO AND A HALF, paused for a moment. He looked at me. "Well, yeah," he said.

That's pretty much the moment Ned coughed up beer, because that kid was SO unimpressed with me. Well, yeah. Who doesn't know that, big-haired lady? God.

His mom came to get him then, apologizing for his friendliness. I assured her she had a very cool kid, a kid who then said, "We're going to see fireworks! Want to come with us?!" His shoulders slumped when I turned him down.

Turns out, we totally shoulda joined Kye and his mom, because we got so busy talking that all of a sudden we could hear fireworks, and we ran as fast as we could to the parking structure and we missed them anyway. I should clarify that by "ran as fast as we could" I mean we walked over there sort of briskly, as I was in heels because that's what I do. News flash: am not one of those down-to-earth girls with practical shoes.

I was reading The New York Times the other day; I got Ned a subscription and now I am hooked, just like when they let you try the first hit of heroin for free. Does heroin come in "hits"? Anyway I adore the wedding section, and recently two women got married and they had a full-body shot of them, both wearing sensible flat shoes.

"Maybe I could just become one of those handsome women who has given up on trying to look cute," I said to Ned as I lounged in my 1950s slip I like to wear to bed because it's…cute. "Do you have any idea how much time I'd save?"

"Actually, I don't. How much time?"

I thought about it. If I gave up, I'd not spend money and time on

  • Botoxing
  • pedicuring
  • gel manicures
  • eyebrow waxing
  • hair dye
  • root touchups in between
  • haircuts
  • Nair for faces
  • mascara
  • eyebrow-darkening powder and setting waxes
  • 29449394 shades of eye shadow
  • eye pencils
  • liquid liner for when I'm feeling Mary Quant
  • eye shadow brushes in 25 different thicknesses and slants
  • lip pencils
  • the 25 pinky brown lipsticks and glosses and stains and balms I buy
  • razors
  • shaving cream
  • hair gel
  • hair pomade
  • self-tanner
  • beauty magazines
  • jewelry
  • heels
  • push-up bras

Right there I've saved 8 million dollars in a year. But man would I look like Aunt Esther from Sanford and Son.

Okay, I have to go. I have to work out, and I didn't even count the expense of workout tapes, and by the way if I do all this why don't I look a LOT better? I'm barely squeaking by as a 6. For all this work I should at least be an eight and a half.

Before I take leave of you and kiss your hand, m'lady, I show you this:



As you can see from his stance, I took this right before daily beat-Edsel hour. Keeps him in line. Much like my beauty regime, if I spend this much time beating Edsel, why isn't he better behaved?



Aging ungracefully · Film · June's stupid life · My pets

Get up stand up (Or, Oprah’s Wong)

Every morning, Edsel is like some kind of not-bright horse at the starting gate. As soon as I wake up, it is ALL HE CAN DO, ALL HE CAN DO, to wait till I ask if he's ready to get up. "Are you ready to get up?" means food AND outside, so you can see how this is heady material.

Today I got the brilliant idea to film his rocketing off the bed, as it is hilarious, and today, for the first time in four years, he got off the bed like a normal dog.


Enjoy that video. It's fascinating.

Why they gotta do that to us? I like how Tallulah looks out the window dramatically, as though she's in one of those intros they do on Oprah, where they film the person at home and tell you about their woes. Inevitably, the person looks out a window longingly.

Screen Shot 2014-07-15 at 7.55.45 AMnobody no the trubble lu seeen, Ant Opruh.

God, I wish Oprah would take my dogs under her wong, throw 'em a few million.

Her wong. Goddammit. WING. WING! I don't even want to anticipate what Oprah's wong is.

She has Goldens and Cocker spaniels. You don't see any half-Pit mutts at Oprah's. Probably Oprah's Venetian blinds aren't broken, either.

Oh! Speaking of Oprah, I have lived this entire week on $21. I know! I got paid last night, thank God, and my Purple Clover check came in too, thank God's handkerchief. I have no idea why I thanked his handkerchief but I'll bet he has good ones, like Rhett Butler. Do you think he monograms them with just a G, or…?

You know, when I was younger, I said, "I want to marry Lloyd Dobbler." Lloyd Dobbler was John Cusak's character in Say Anything. If you haven't seen that movie, okay, I teach tolerance. But while you're up, go fuck yourself. You have no idea what you've missed. It is completely quotable, the whole thing, from beginning to end.

Lloyd, Lloyd, all null and void.

My POINT is, I did. I DID marry Lloyd Dobbler. And then about 15 years later, I said, "This is bullshit. I don't want to be married to Lloyd Dobbler. I want Rhett Butler."

And then I went off and found a nice Southern boy who knows what I look like without my shimmy.

Oh my god and his handkerchief, wasn't I talking about how to live on $21 a week? I should totally write a book. Here it is.

HOW TO LIVE ON $21 A WEEK by June Gardens.

Get a boyfriend who feeds you a lot. Love, June Gardens.

I mean, don't even feel sorry for me. It is 100% my fault. Last week I decided I could not turn 49 without some new Botox in my head, so I checked my accounts and stocks, I crunched my numbers, and I said, Oh, I have HUNDREDS of dollars! HUNDREDS! Go, June, it's yer berfday, gonna Botox like it's yer berfday, poison forehead like it's yer berfday.

So I went. I paid. And I'd have frowned if I could, because guess who neglected to notice that the check she wrote her lawn guy hadn't cleared yet?


And then I said, Okay, so I have $21. My Purple Clover check will be here any second. And then guess what did not come till yesterday?


Fortunately, I had bread and oatmeal and tortillas, and I am on the very opposite of the Paleo diet. I'm on June's Frozen Frown Lines Diet. I ran out of peanut butter and cream cheese, but I still had butter. One would hope I'd have lost weight living on $21 and bread, but all these carbs have bloated me up like a tick.

My forehead looks fantastic, though.

Okay, I must go. Tonight Ned and I are seeing Almost Famous at our old movie theater, and if you haven't seen it, okay, I teach tolerance.

But go fuck yourself.

Aging ungracefully · June's stupid life


I don't think you can ask for much more, on the morning of your 49th birthday, than to step on the scale and realize you've lost a couple pounds. Given my advanced age, it probably means I have some kind of inoperable tumor, but till I find that out, yay! Weight loss!

So far today I have opened my gifts (my mother got me what looks like a good book and a pink Frutchie Bean Bunny t-shirt) (my Aunt Mary got me some really pretty pajama bottoms, a crisp white shirt that I look good in, a pink tank with shiny stuff around the top which I am wearing today, a purse, a makeup bag WITH MAKEUP IN IT and really pretty vintage cocktail napkins).

(My Aunt Mary likes to shop. I've told you this 20 times, so I don't know why you're so surprised. And no, you can't have my Aunt Mary.)

(When I got to the part where I opened the makeup pouch and THERE WAS MAKEUP INSIDE, I said, "Yayes," the way Morris Day says "yes." Now–now Jerome.)

(Oh wee oh wee oh.)

(Apparently this whole post is gonna be in parens today.)

The Frutchie Bean Bunny is this thing in my hometown. I don't even technically know if I'm spelling "Frutchie" right. But in my hometown, everything is divided by a bridge, with the Saginaw River in the middle. Right at the bridge is this tall sort of grain tower, except it holds beans, and a big pink neon bunny is jumping across the front of the building. It's cool as shit.


437394jpg-245f9291277c2165When I Googled this to get you an image, I did not see the word "Frutchie" anywhere, and it's like I invented it all by myself, like the time I told you all to say "sparklefraffle" and you did for awhile. Now I've made up the word Frutchie, and I need you to incorporate it in your comments today. Make it mean whatever you want.

Go Frutchie yourself, June.

THE POINT IS, cool shirt. I think they're trying hard to save the building, and I hope they do, because did I mention cool as shit?


Anyway, tonight Ned and I are going to dinner and I hope he got me a gift. (Can you imagine being my manfriend and trying to get away with not getting me a gift? Your Frutchie'd be achin'.)

(Oh, look, more parens.)

I'd better go, because now I hafta see how many people said happy frutchie birthday to me on Facebook. When I woke up today, I looked at my phone and told Ned, "Oh, wow, 32 people have said HBD so far!"

"You realize you're the digital version of your mother, right?" My mother is forever updating you re the number of cards and calls she's received on her birthday. I forgot to mention I have gotten lovely cards from

  • my friend Dot who printed out a picture of my head and glued it to one of the heads on the card;
  • my old boyfriend from 1986, Steve;
  • my ex-mother-in-law;
  • my sweet step-grandmother, who always paper clips 20 bucks into the card and signs it "grandma"; 
  • my mother and stepfather;
  • my Aunt Mary
  • and I think that's it. My friend Paula claims a card is on the way but she was barf sick so it's late. Whatever.

My beleaguered Aunt Kathy wrote me that my card is in the mail, too, and I wrote her back to point out that Aunt Mary's card was already here, so.

Just Frutchie-in'.

I told that story to my boss, who honest to god said to me, "Have you ever seen When Harry Met Sally?"

Have I ever seen When Harry Met Sally. I could sit here in this chair and recite pretty much the whole movie to you. It starts out, "I was sitting with my friend Otto Kornblum…"

You know you're in for an excellent movie when someone has thought up the name Otto Kornblum. It's much better than Frutchie.

Anyway, my boss said, "There's this scene where Harry and Sally are watching Casablanca," (oh, IS there?) "and he points out that Ingrid Bergman is low maintenance. You are no Ingrid Bergman," said my boss.

Well, thank heavens for that. There was always something about her teeth that bothered me. They looked all Frutchie.

Okay, I have to go. I have to embrace 49, and get mature, and be dignified, and also say hello to the hot buttered monkeys carrying Frutchies that are going to fly out my arse all afternoon.

Love, June

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

Sans pépins

Yesterday evening, my phone rang. It was Ned.

"What are you doing?" he asked me. He'd been over here two hours earlier and we'd made out until he had to go. "I'm watching Andy Griffith," I told him. "Aunt Bee has just laid down the law; no more Opie going to the police station."

"Well, why not? His dad's there," said Ned.

"Yeah, but Barney gave Opie some handcuffs, which Opie took to school and used on some kid, and Aunt Bee feels like the police station is a bad influence."

"You know who's a bad influence is that Barney. He was good for nothing," said Ned.

"In a way, it was good he moved to Raleigh even though it made the show jump the shark. Did you ever see Barney when you lived in Raleigh? Did he ever arrest you?"

"Barney moved to Raleigh?" Ned was incredulous.

I don't know how anyone doesn't know that Barney eventually moved to Raleigh, but the point is after this pertinent discussion was through, Ned asked me what I had for dinner, as my food consumption and his own food consumption are the focus of his days. There has been more than one occasion when we're still eating and he begins to wonder what our next meal will be.

"I had a bagel with tomato on it and a peach," I told him. "You?" Turned out he'd had a tomato sandwich and corn, and we were both still hungry. The first person to mention neither of us had any protein gets shot with Barney's single bullet.

"You wanna go out somewhere and get a snack and maybe some water?" I forgot to tell you guys that I'm on this water thing. Faithful Reader LaUral told me about this woman in England who drank three liters of water a day, and I am so with you on the whole how much is three liters and can't we speak English for God's sake, not to mention the water-drinking woman probably spells it "litres."

It turns out three liters is 101 ounces. Which, wow. But this woman made only this change and look at her after four weeks.

Screen Shot 2014-07-24 at 12.40.04 PM

Right? How much does that make you want to drink litres of water all day long? Guess who went out and literally purchased three-liter jugs of water immediately? I've been doing it since Monday and here is my progress so far.

Photo on 7-21-14 at 2.56 PM #2Here's Monday. I look not at all insane. It's because I'm so dehydrated.

Photo on 7-24-14 at 12.44 PMHere's today. So far I look exactly the same. And a tad psychopathic. Well, I guess in one my hair is actually dry.

Still. Ima keep going. God, I'm sick of water. I brought a bottle of water to the Prince movie the other night and halfway through I went to the concession stand and got another bottle. I peed three times during that movie. I waited till the Morris Day scenes.

Anyway. So Ned and I walked down to this place near him, and it was such a pretty night and we could have eaten outside, but there was the 44848392949459394th baseball game of the summer on, so we had to go inside. I got a pint glass of water and what I meant to order was just maybe something like chips and salsa, but they didn't have that. "All we have like that are nachos," the waitress said. So I ordered them, and Ned and I said, "We'll just eat some of them and take them home."

IMG_0978Twenty minutes later.

"God. Do you realize we just did a bang-bang?" asked Ned. A bang-bang is from the Louis C.K. show, the best show on earth. Louis C.K. and his brother sometimes go out for bang-bangs, which is where you go to one restaurant and order a full meal, and when you're done you get up and go somewhere else and order a whole other full meal.

The good news is I got in two pints of water. Then I went to Ned's and had a little water.

Today Ned left for the damn beach. I know. He asked me to go anyway, but I have to get back to work tomorrow. Today I'm getting the facial I won at my friend Charlie's fundraiser back in January. What kind of world is this where I take six months to get to a beauty treatment?

Before he could go, Ned had to make some more work calls. "I have to wait to call Kansas; they're an hour behind," he told me. "When you call them, are you going to tell them to carry on, my wayward son?" I asked him, holding my own hand tenderly.

"No, but I will remind them that all we are is dust in the wind," said Ned. "Oh, but I guess I could call Boston right now."

"You do NOT also have to call Boston!" I said, delighted. "When you call them, don't look back!"

I can't imagine leaving me behind while you scurry to the beach.

Anyway, he'll be back on Saturday, and in the meantime he left me his grapes to remember him by.


His raisins verts sans pépins. If this bag needs to have a giant American flag on it, why the French translation? And if the French call grapes raisins, what do they call raisins? You have to differentiate. Oh, I put raisins in the salad! Did you put grapes in there, or raisins? Because in one case, yay! In the other, get your disgusting salad away from me.

Okay, I have to go. I have to get my facial. I'll bet the facialist will notice I drink a lot of water.



Aging ungracefully · Books · Friends · June's stupid life

Took a break from sculpting this David thing to say hi on m’blog

Before I begin to complain about painting my ceilings–and it's just like you're reading Michelangelo's blog–I want to talk about my poor work husband, Ryan.

6a00e54f9367fb883401a73dd442bf970d-800wiI've shown you his picture before and you all turned into Mrs. Robinson. Ryan (and I have no idea why I didn't just call him Alex like I do everyone else I work with, but his name actually isn't Alex, so it makes him an anomaly) sits across from me, and everyone accuses us of being work married, just because we share our almonds and IM each other all the time and go on walks and have secret jokes.

I guess he'd be my trophy husband, as he is half my age.

The point is, he is what you'd call a good kid. He plays basketball approximately 78 nights a week, and he rides a bike, and he thinks clean thoughts and does right by society. He even has a Little Brother.

I wish to change all that and make him into the same terrible person I was at 25. "So, what're your plans for tonight?" I IM'd him yesterday, hoping he'd say, "Oh, I plan to snort some heroin, maybe pick up a hooker."

"I can't decide whether to lift weights or get a milkshake," he wrote back.

Seriously. That's what he wrote back.

"Well, if you get a milkshake, it'll bring all the boys to your yard," I wrote, then sculpted a bust of myself.

So to speak.

Anyway, I told Ryan I was on pins and needles, waiting to see if he got the milkshake or lifted the weights. ("I could pull a wild card and do neither!" he announced.)

What I'd like you to do is guess. Which sad, not-taking-advantage-of-his-youth-and-looks thing did he do last night? I will enter the winners in a drawing, and will "award" you a prize. Seasoned readers, please warn any new people about my prizes.

Oh, and the other thing I wanted to mention before I complain about painting my ceilings is that Faithful Reader Fay and I got into a discussion about books we should never write. Sort of a What I Don't Know For Sure, which I always thought would be the title of my book, anyway, should I ever write one.

I have a couple books I should never write:

Advanced Trigonometry, by June Gardens

Smooth Hair Tips and Tricks, by June Gardens

Keeping Your Cool: How to Stay Not Irked by Life. Written by June Gardens

Keep Your Makeup Natural by June Gardens

Injectables are Wrong. Age Naturally. A seres of essays by June Gardens

You? What would your book you should never write be called?

See? Goddammit. I went on so long about those other things that now I can't complain like I wanted to. In summary, we are scraping, sanding, priming and fucking painting my dining room and bedroom and guest bedroom ceilings. "Guest bedroom" is quite a euphemism, seeing as the room has an ironing board and zero bed. Guest bedroom for all the vampires and astronauts who stay over.

IMG_0995Here are my dogs, trying to kill Ned while he scrapes. I've run out of drop cloths and am now using curtains I hate instead. What made me ever say, "Ohhhh, sheer lavender curtains! Yayes!" Am I Liberace, with those things? And thank god I schlepped those all the way from California.

IMG_0997 2we not shur about dis. wy eberytheeng in disray?

I love it when Talu does her Edsel impression.

Okay, I'm off. Be sure to guess about Ryan, and tell me your book you should never write. Tonight Ned and I are off to our old movie theater, where they are showing that classic The Hangover. I just love those old actors like Bradley Cooper.

Now THERE'S someone who doesn't waste his youth and looks on milkshakes and weightlifting.



Aging ungracefully · June's stupid life · My pets

[Insert clever headline here]

I like how I get all huffy with my pets in the morning because they act hungry. "Hang ON, geez. You act like you haven't eaten in a week and a half. Edsel, get your damn nose out the bag. God."

Then after I've fed them, and ravenous Iris, too, I go to the kitchen thinking, "Mother of GOD I'm hungry. What's there to eat?"

Speaking of my curs, Edsel had to go to the vet yesterday, as he was super extra behind on his shots, and good mothering. I got him in the car as he foamed at the mouth. "I think it might be time to update that rabies shot, Eds" I told him as he snarled when the radio came on.

The part about taking Edsel to the vet that I enjoy is that it's the only place he acts subdued. It's like I get to see this rare dignified side of him. Maybe it's really cause he's dying of bordatella, but whatever.

IMG_1006Edsel, acting like he's normal.

The vet said he looks fantastic, nothing wrong with him at all. I guess I'm going to have this dog for years. And years.


On the way home, I looked over at Eds and he had scrinched his Gentle Leader around so it was on his head like he wanted to get physical, physical.

IMG_1009And that was the end of my normal dog. Oh, and he has the lipstick out, too. Tidy.

I made a terrribly uninteresting video about the experience.

But the still image they used was priceless.

Other than that, it was a fairly uninteresting day. I had lunch with the Tall Boy, who got a new fancy job that he loves. In that link I just gave you, to the Tall Boy, there's a whole thing on Roger that made me sad, and I give up. I GIVE UP ON CATS!

Oh, but that reminds me. When Subdued Eds and I signed in at the vet, there was a teensy fluffy brown-striped kitten head just walking around on the counters. "HELLO KITTEN!" I screeched, because there is nothing better in the world than kittens. Need I go through my list again?

Best Things in World

  1. Kittens
  2. Barry Gibb
  3. Puppies
  4. Cats
  5. Dogs
  6. Mashed potatoes

Oh my god, I completely left off Ned. He comes in at a strong seventh, for reals. The point is, kitten. Kitten on the counter. Naturally, I did what any responsible adult would do. I called Ned. Old Numero Seveno.

"There's a sweet bitty baby kitten here and it needs a home," I told Ned. "Stop me."

"What's it look like?" asked Ned, who is as big of an asshole about cats as I am. I told him, and he asked me to send him a picture, and basically was no help at all. I resisted, though, because I am a cat's curse. Then when I got back to work? There was a company-wide email from this woman who has SIX KITTENS who need a home.


I have to go. I have to start the day's drinking of the water. Yes, I'm still doing that and no, I don't look remotely different. Here I am on day one, 11 days ago.

Photo on 7-21-14 at 2.56 PM #2God, that looks like a mug shot.

Here I am today.

Photo on 8-1-14 at 8.16 AM #3I look exactly the same. Do you have any idea how many tons of gallons of water I have had in the last 11 days?

I had to take a couple pictures because Iris kept getting in the way.

Photo on 8-1-14 at 8.16 AM #2Anyway, as you can see, the hair still needs drying so I'm off. Tonight if it stops effng raining, Ned and I are going to the food trucks. Tomorrow we're going to a play with one of the Alexes and her boyfriend who has shoulders that are 79 feet wide, so I just call him Shoulders. Am hoping to get a shot of him for your viewing pleasure.

June, overwatered and out.

Aging ungracefully · I am high-maintenance · June's stupid life · Not Grace Kelly

Fashion advice

I overslept, and I have these bags under my eyes that I have NEVER ONCE EVER woken up to. Aging is fantastic.

My point is, I need advice. I know. Didn't I say NEVER AGAIN last time? There's always someone who's just been champing at the bit to tell me how fat I am or whatever. Still. Advice.

If you could put me in something flattering, what would you put me in? If I could score a burka, I would, but I only have the weekend to decide.

Color, style? Jeans, skirt, dress? What?

Okay, tell me. It's nothing fancy, so… (Steal something casual.) (That's only funny if you know from the movie Arthur.)

And I'll tell you WHY I need something flattering as soon as I am able.

Fashionably, June

P.S. Thanks for chiming in yesterday to say how long you've been reading. It was sort of fascinating, mostly because we were talking about me. My favorite part was how many people said, "You yelled at me, once, June, but I stayed around." Nice. I am a gem.

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

In which June giggles at screws.

IMG_1724We were a lot cuter when the day began. I brought the dogs on the porch for a last portrait in front of the house. Ever since Talu had her incident, you have to bribe her with treats or cat intestines or the head of Peg to get her to come out anymore.

It's amazing how frazzled my hair can get when I am frazzled. My boss has been out of the office for two weeks, and I've had to do a lot more work, and even though all I'm doing is staring intensely at papers and screens all day, by the end of a busy day my hair stands all on end, like I've seen a mouse.

The reason my hair looks like that one heroin-addicted chick from Orange is the New Black today is because I've been working like a demon. I really thought I had the packing thing under control, because certainly you haven't heard me talk about packing for the last 9,000 days or anything. But once you start really trying to eliminate every last thing, it turns out you aren't remotely in control. Of anything. Ever.

And is there much worse than opening a drawer or cupboard and SON OF A BITCH, you haven't cleaned that out yet? God DAMMIT.

Speaking of Peg, today I called her to ask if I could use her recycle bin, because you can imagine how not-at-all-full mine is. "Oh, sure, but mine's pretty full," she told me. She told me she's been feeling poorly again, and the doctors can't figure it out, and she's not been well enough to take the trash cans to the curb.

"Why don't I come roll those out for you, Peg," I said, because I am a magnificent person. You guys. Her trash and recycle bin were so completely full that I could barely move them. And they're on wheels! She hasn't been able to roll those things for weeks. I feel terrible for her. Poor Peg. Now I feel bad that I'm leaving her.

Also, because God frowns upon me, the wheel to my picket fence leading to the back yard fell off, so with all my spare time, Ned and I had to schlep to not one but two home repair stores, which by the way always make me feel sick. I honestly cannot tell you what it is. Maybe it's seeing people preparing to work hard. I don't know. But whenever I go into one of those places I feel dizzy and nauseated.

They gave us this, like, cone of free popcorn when we walked in, and once we'd wolfed that down I did a Madonna-with-a-mastectomy impression, and then a unicorn, and then pretended I had a cone-shaped penis because we were in such a manly store. I held it in front of me and talked in a low, manly voice. You'd never have known I wasn't a dude.

Ned seemed to walk several paces in front of me.

Then I wanted to look at drawer pulls, because there were so many pretty ones, but Ned dragged me over to the nails and that's when I got all giggly about the dirty things.

IMG_1702A coarse drywall screw! Hot.

IMG_1708Of course, if a drywall screw is not for you…


IMG_1712Green screws. Because you care about the fucking earth.

IMG_1707By the time I got to hardwood screws, I was beside myself.

IMG_1706Say, who d'ya think was completely over me?

Anyway, we fixed the damn thing, and then I spent all day hauling and packing and cleaning and hauling and shoving and grunting and hating the world. Oh, and I bought weed killer, and look, I'd judge me, too. I have never bought weed killer, because I'm a green screw, but I am desperate because renters coming.

Having never bought any, I asked the sales boy at Target who just this morning became a fertilized cell. When I spoke to him he'd just developed ear buds, so that was a plus.

"Do you know where I can find weed killer?" I asked, feeling like someone who burns styrofoam. Oh, the guilt.

"Is that a video game?"

I swear to you. That's what he said. Is that a video game. Jesus.

Anyway, now I am headed to Ned's, who if you can believe this wants to go out tonight, because it's his last weekend living downtown. Driving all the old men crazy. So it'd behoove me to shower, because am currently disgusting.

Pretty soon I'll have to pack this computer, so when I go dark don't freak out like you do. Joooon! Are you dead JOOOOOON?!


June. Packin'.

Aging ungracefully · June's stupid life

Yeah, no

Ned and I went to Winston-Salem last night and saw a band play. This guy I briefly dated, who I've stayed friends with, was there, and put us on the list like we're important. The point is, I stayed out too late and we slept in. It was good to see that guy, and before you ask, "Didn't Ned mind seeing some ex of yours?" keep in mind he's friends with 9,000 of his exes and most of them are my Facebook friend at this point and I was really considering inviting them all to join me in an I, Too, Once Rode The Ned Train page.

I got in the shower first today, and when I got out, Ned asked if I felt the scald. Apparently when I flush the toilet downstairs I boil him like a lobster when he's in the shower.

"Oh, no, did you flush just to be mean?"

"YES. Goddammit! Did you really not feel it?" Ned was totally annoyed. I accused him of having an extremely low tolerance for pain, which he loves. "I didn't feel it because my tolerance is normal," I reminded him.

Anyway, I know I said remind me to tell you things, and what were they? Oh! I know one was about my student. I am supposed to keep her anonymous and I have, but you guys would love her. I asked if I could tell this story and she said, "Yeah, I don't care. I tell stories about you all the time, about how crazy you are and how you help me. Why can't you tell stories about me?"

How come everyone's stories always involve how crazy I am?

So, the other night, this man came over, because men are always coming over to talk to my student. She has some kind of man attractor or something, some kind of notice-me pheromone. I just sit there ignored. The old unnoticeable white lady.

The point is, this man was super smarmy and he was so ready to pick up on my student. He works as a manager at the local grocery store, and he asked her, "Do you ever go to the Food Lion? I manage the one on Whoo De Hoo Street."

My student sat up straighter in her chair. As calm as you please, she said, "You might be calling it Food Lion, but you know that's the Ghetto Lion, over there."

Oh my god, the Ghetto Lion. I will call it nothing else from now on. The Ghetto Lion. I don't even know if that's true, because I never frequent that particular Food Lion, maybe because it's in a bad neighborhood. So she's probably accurate. And you'd think that guy woulda slunk away after that but he kept trying, with his low meat prices and two-for-one cracker offers. Whatever with that guy.

What my student did NOT give me permission to do was show you the picture I took of the sidelong dismissive glance she gave that guy and I wish you could see that because you would wither FOR him.

Okay, I said I wasn't even gonna write today, because tired, and it was allllll fun till that alarm went off six minutes after I went to bed.

Talk to you tomorrow when I've slept like a normal person. Well. "Normal."

Tiredly, June

Aging ungracefully · June's stupid life

Is it ginko baloba or ginko baluba? I just like to say “ginko.”

“This is a good blog topic,” I said, for the 697th time, to someone or other at work yesterday, and now for the life of me do you think I can remember what that was?

OHMYGOD I just did! Wow, that is so unlike me. And I’m not even taking ginko baloba.

I was in the kitchen with two men I work with, one of whom met a prodigy recently, not from the band The Prodigy, but an actual kid who could play music amazingly well. She was from Turkey, but not the bird. She wasn’t gravy.

Everyone is ready to slap me now.

The point is, after a half hour of the prodigy meeting the guy I work with, another friend showed up and asked the prodigy girl, “Oh, so you met Alex. What’daya think of him?” and she managed to give an incredibly insightful, not-altogether-very-flattering-but-100%-true portrait of the guy from work.

He said it was amazing, and then he worried, are we ALWAYS that transparent to people we just meet? Do we THINK we’re hiding our baser traits, but really everyone can see pretty much everything?

“Oh, I think so,” I said. “People see all kinds of things about us that we’re desperately hoping they won’t.”

I work with a young girl who’s a really truly nice person, and she is forever taking time out to tell me I look nice, when really I don’t look that nice, because I’ve been dirt poor for more than three years and own nothing new and besides, old chubby geez, over here. But I think she sees that I am insecure about that and tries to bolster me. I’d really rather that people didn’t know I feel old and shoddy and my clothes are at best purchased from Target in 2010. But I think she gleans it and tries to make it better.

The two guys I was talking to about this are both pretty outgoing, and while we were talking, this quiet guy from another department walked in,  silently got coffee, and left.

“Now, THAT guy, he keeps his mystery about him,” we all agreed, and wondered if maybe the part where all three of us come in to work each day riding unicycles and juggling plates and playing one-man bands might have something to do with how transparent our personality traits are, that maybe quiet people keep more of their stuff hidden.

But I don’t know. There are quiet people I know who I can tell are smug or depressed or self-conscious or any number of things I’ll bet they wish they were keeping better hidden.

So that’s my deep thought of the day. What do you think?






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


First of all, sleuthy Faithful Reader Jeanie noted that the fire department that took Violet, the puppy someone left in my car two years ago, has put up new pictures of her!

Here she is in October of 2012, the day I found her in my passenger seat:


And here she is now, a big old fire station dog!

006_1Oh my god, I love her so bad. I hope they don't sue me for putting her picture on my blog. Wouldn't that be a charming end to this story?

She looks so dignified. "Wow," said Ned, when he came in here after his shower, "She looks so calm. I wonder if you'd have kept her if she'd be calm and obedient?"

I hate Ned.

"Tallulah is calm," I pointed out, grabbing Talu's beleaguered head and rubbing it.

Ned mentioned how at night, when all you want to do is go to bed and it's cold and you're standing in the doorway saying, "Talluuulah! Come in now! Come on, Talu! Talluuuuuulah!" she acts like she's never met you before, and hoooo hell you talk to, anyway?

"She keeps going on with her life, back there. 'That Lu name. Not wear out. Stop wear out Lu name,'" said Ned in his Talu voice that sounds a lot like an American Indian, and by "american Indian" I mean Tonto, because thath's the only one I can think of except maybe for those Indians in Dancing With Wolves, but I can only remember the girl Indian whose name was Likes Fisting or something.

Incidentally, Ned plans to get a big heart tattoo with "Ned" written in it after work today. Or maybe "Likes Fisting."

Anyway, I'm always happy to see pictures of Violet. I'm so glad she turned out okay, and that she's allowed on that couch, which is more than you can say for my poor dogs, who now live in Nazi Germany, with Ned in charge.

But that is not why I gathered you all here today. I came to tell you that after two doctor's appointments, several horribly unpleasant tests where various things were stuck down my throat and my nose and would everyone kindly get out of my esophagus, they think I have acid reflux and that's why my throat is swollen, which it is, and I'm taking meds and probably not dying. So that's a plus.

I might also have something wrong with my thyroid, and I hope if I do, I get to take some kind of pill where weight falls right off of me. Do not tell me that is not what happens when you take thyroid pills. I am not interested in your silly "facts." Your silly medical facts. Your silly words people throw around that mean nothing, like maternal or addiction.

That was a line from Will and Grace, which was a really good show till it got stupid.

Okay, I have to go. Tomorrow I get my roots done, which is an excellent thing as there is snow on the silver mountain or something. I'm riding the silver streak. When yo look at me you watch an episode of Grey's Anatomy.

Okay really done now.

Violet Sparkle-ly,


Aging ungracefully · June's stupid life

The one where June does her makeup and blogs at the same time. The one where June NEEDS BOTOX SO BAD OHMYGOD.

I went to bed kind of late last night after my office party, not that it went on forever, really, but I got home around 9:00 and then wanted to watch the rest of this old movie I recorded.

Dear Mom: I figured out I could record movies on our TV. It's like we're The Jetsons!

You all don't know how many times I'll come home at lunch, start watching a Turner Classic Movie, then have to go back to work, so I'll call my mother on the drive back to my office. "Did you ever see that old movie with Barbara Stanwick, where she…"

"I never really liked Barbara Stanwick," my mother will offer.

"That's not the POINT. Did you ever see the one where she, and then she…what happens after this part? Cause I have to go back to work."

Seriously, my mother and I must have had 72 of these conversations ever since I got cable. But now we have this fancy red button on our remote, and do you know it reads, "Record," and I can COME HOME and watch the REST of the movie? So last night I did. It was about this old couple who loses their home, and they have to split up and each one stays with a different kid. The old mom stays with the actor who played Uncle Billy in It's a Wonderful Life. 

The point is, I stayed up to finish it and now I'm tired. Oh, and also, that was the most depressing movie I've ever seen. Ned, who was up here writing things on his computer, because Ned writes and we should really force Ned to have a regular guest column at Bye Bye, Pie, don't you think? Anyway, he came down to get something from the kitchen and even HE said, "I just listened to that entire dialog and that was the most depressing thing I've ever heard."

Everyone go out and rent that old movie where the couple loses their house and Uncle Billy is one of the kids. No, I don't know what it was called. I started recording after the title flashed on the screen.

OH MY GOD MY POINT is that I have to do my makeup and talk to you at the same time, so here is me before makeup. Get ready. Girl your loins.

Photo on 12-18-14 at 7.55 AM #2Pretty. There's Coney Island on the bed, and on the chair are all the Christmas gifts I have yet to wrap. And by "Christmas gifts," I mean things I bought myself and some gifts. That bag from Ann Taylor Loft? I got a blue sweater on sale and then I realized I needed another size, and by "another" I mean "larger," and what snacks? So we got out of work early yesterday because of our Christmas party, and I took the sweater to exchange it, and I got six dollars back, because now it's even more on sale than it was Saturday!


Tonight is our bowling event at work, and our team is lame. The four of us have been all, "Oh, you're on my team. Yeah. Heh." I saw another team come back from lunch yesterday with dinosaur hats. I am assuming that's part of their costume. You know what my team has? Bupkis. And a bad attitude.

Photo on 12-18-14 at 8.10 AM #2Eyebrows, eye shadow primer, eye shadow, undereye concealer. Done. Talu. Unmoving.

Her foot seems to be gettting better, and I only saw her shake once yesterday. She's dreaming right now and making little bark sounds.

Anyway, last night's party was fun. If you remember Jane West–who I used to work with and who now works where I do only another department–she came over yesterday after work and got ready with me. She also did that in 2011 for the same party, so we were kicking it old school.

In other news, 1999 called. Wants "old school" back. I'm old school about my use of the phrase old school.

Photo on 12-18-14 at 8.18 AM #3Mascara, eye pencil. Also, Edsel has come in to join Talu, to which Ned is saying, My, June. I certainly am delighted we purchased a dog gate, so the dogs couldn't come upstairs. A worthwhile investment!

Ned needs to calm down.

Photo on 12-18-14 at 8.29 AM #5Foundation, lip gloss, which you can't see, because you know what? EDSEL is licking Tallulah's foot wound. EDSEL is. I put a cone on Lu and her brother licks where she's injured. Goddammit.

Is that a bad sign, that he's tending to it? Or is he just trying to help?

Photo on 12-18-14 at 8.32 AM #3Iris and I worry.

P.S. I just noticed I wrote "girl your loins" and I am dying.

...friend/Ned · Aging ungracefully · Family · Friends · Hair · June's stupid life · Marvin · My pets · Not Grace Kelly · Travel

I have the feeling Ima be just as annoying in 2015.

It's the end of the year, FYI, and time for my end-of-year veedeo, and you've been around a long time if you know why I say "veedeo."

So long, 2014! You weren't all bad. (Click on the white "2014 Be Done" title at the top of the video, so it'll take you to YouTube, where you can CLICK THE DAMN X to get rid of the ad. THANKS, YOUTUBE.)


...friend/Ned · Aging ungracefully · June's stupid life · Not Grace Kelly

June blogs while Ned boils

Ned just told me he'd poach us some eggs, and yes we ARE just getting up at 1:00 in the afternoon, and we are decadent and have I ever mentioned I've never regretted being childless? I did, however, have to get up and feed everybody, and sometimes in the morning I feel like a farmer. Also, sometimes when we touch, the honesty's too much. Which might be the annoyingest song in the history of time.


Apparently, flaring one's nostrils makes it more sincere.

I'm just another writer still trapped within my truth.

Anyway, I thought I'd write you about my weekend till Ned says the eggs are ready, because starving, and I think it'll be hilarious if I write and then just break off dramatically. I wanna blog ya till the fear in me subsides.

On Friday, I left work and screamed on home, where Ned had the day off, and carried him over to this new brewery, and that's what they say here when they mean "drove." I carried Vonnie over to the bingo. I am not kidding you.

Ned has always wanted to try that brewery, I mean, not always, seeing as this place opened like two months ago, but he's wanted to go for awhile, so I was glad when my work's happy hour was there. We have happy hour every Friday. It's not a bad workplace.

It's a big, open room, as opposed to a big closed room, and the handles of the door are big pieces of pipe, and right there's a phrase I like. Big pieces of pipe. I have no idea when I turned into Blanche on Golden Girls.

Not only do they have beer made right there, because brewery, they also have games, so we all set up the Jenga, which was fun unless you're the asshole knocking over the thing. I can't play Jenga without thinking of Marcia and her charm bracelet and the house of cards, but just try making a Brady Bunch reference to the Alexes. They'd be all, "?"

There was also a food truck there, and Ned and I got ginger chicken burritos that were the size of your head, unless you're a Macy's float. I get a lot of Macy's float readers. My numbers go down dramatically on Thanksgiving.

We came home and rented Carnal Knowledge, which we'd said we were gonna do before we left the brewery, resulting in a giant "Who's hotter, Ann-Margaret or Candace Bergen back then?" First of all, someone whose whole name is a hyphenated first name is irritating to me. Second, while I see and understand that Hyphen Margaret is hot, she always struck me as just a teensy bit cheap.

Celebrity-Image-Candice-Bergen-237432Candace Bergen, on the other hand, was classically beautiful and sophisticated looking. A thinking man's hottie, which apparently does not exist, because every man at that table was all up in Ann-Margaret, who if you ask me seems like she'd smell of Victoria's Secret perfume. Candace Bergen would be Chanel No. 5 or Shalimar or something.

The point is, the whole room woulda had Ann-Margaret on the pinball machine and I'd get Candace Bergen all to myself.

Oh my god anyway. So that was Friday and I hear Ned taking plates down. By the way, he came up here as I was enjoying that beautiful video above and was entirely unfazed. "Want more coffee?" Ned is completely used to the bullshit I look at online.

On Saturday morning, one of the Alexes insisted I meet her at yoga, and you know how I get right up with gusto, but get up I did, and it was rainy and awful, but me and my yoga pants headed out anyway and can you believe that bitch stood me up? I am just about sure.

But I did the free yoga and I've been to that studio with that teacher before, and I loved it, so I signed up for eight classes and talked Ned into doing it, too, because he lifts weights and rides a bike and hurts constantly, but he never wanted to be the creepy guy at yoga. Now he can be the creepy guy at yoga with a girlfriend.

I told him about the melon-halves butt girl ahead of me in class and that is what sold him, I think.

Well, see, the eggs are ready. So okay bye. I wish I could stay and hold you till the fear in you subsiiiiiiiides.

Aging ungracefully · June's stupid life · Music

JuneBit Flex

My crappy things aside, the good news is that I have my Fitbit Flex on as we speak! I know, man. They had them on sale at Bed, Boys & Behinds or whatever Faithful Reader Paula's unfortunate coworker calls it, and I had a gift card from there. My old cleaning lady, Alll-eeeeeseee-seeya, sent it to me last year and I have yet to call her. I know. She sent it last Christmas, dawg, and I know if I call her, it's two hours on the phone and I haven't had two hours in a row since last Christmas.

Pay no attention to the 485858484 hours I've spent on this blog.

THE POINT IS, that thing was just sitting there, disgruntled and unused like my vagina. So I whipped it out–the card, not my vagina, and got me a Fitbit.

Do you ever just wish I used an economy of words?

So at lunch yesterday I came home and saw it'd arrived, so I charged it, then after work I obsessively set it up and read the instructions and got all excited to go to bed, so it'd record my sleep. In case you were worried sick, I slept well last night, and as soon as the alarm went off, I screeched up and ran to the computer.

No sleep recorded, it told me.

Goddammit. I KNOW I SLEPT.

Turns out, you have to tell it you're going to sleep. Fitbit tips, from Joooon. I had a minor fitbit when I figured that out.

So now I have to wait all the way till tonight to log m'sleep, and I am just about sure.

In other news, it's Elvis's birthday. Elvis was the first concert I saw. I know! What was yours? That's always an excellent question. The point is–and again, economy of words–they're showing Viva Las Vegas at the old movie theater tonight, starring Elvis and that cheap Ann-Margrt. I took all the letters out her name. She's gonna take one out, I'll take more. I'll show her.

You know, it's hard enough getting old and hideous when you went your whole life being a 7. Shut up. But imagine being an Ann-Mrgrt and getting old. How the hell did she do that without trying to kill herself by drinking her Victoria's Secret perfume?

Ooo, that's another good question. In your prime, whether that's now (pfft) or 30 years ago, what were you? A 9? A 5? I once found an old boyfriend's list of his former girlfriends and me, and I rated a 7.5. He was young. He was still a dick, but he was, like, 17. So. Anyway I can't complain about a 7.5. The first person to drone on about the objectification of women gets hit with a bottle of Victoria's Secret perfume.

Okay, I gotta go. Hang on…So far today I've taken 619 steps. Wow! I've burned 513 calories. Look at me go!

June's blog. Getting decidedly boringer since she got a Fitbit Flex.

Aging ungracefully · Film · June doesn't know any ugly people · June's stupid life

Our nation breathes a sigh of relief

My Fitbit logged my sleep! I know! I slept 8 hours and 21 minutes and woke up twice, once because I had a dream that I slid open the shower curtain and when I did, someone grabbed my neck and strangled me. Happy.

Fitbit did not say anything about that.

You know, it's exciting to have a device that records what I ate and how many calories I've burned and so on, but I'd really like a Fitbit to tell me things like what I need to stop obsessing about, and am I living up to my potential, and what's my rating on a scale of 1-10. Have I still got it?

Maybe I don't want Fitbit to tell me that.

In related 1-to-10 news, you know how you guys say I don't know anyone ugly?

Screen Shot 2015-01-09 at 7.32.17 AMWell, I can finally debunk that myth. Meet my hideous coworker, Austin.

I've worked with him for awhile, but really didn't talk to him that often till they moved us this last time and now we're in the same room. As soon as we had even a modicum of knowledge of each other, I was all, "I'm putting you in my blog." Poor Austin, who is relatively normal, was like, "Um. Okay."

What kills me about this particular picture is he took it while out with his wife and kids at Christmastime (yes, of course his wife is hot, too, what did you think?) and his friends all gave him shit on Facebook for being a Mr. Handsome and looking vaguely like a criminal, here. They did things like this to his picture.

Screen Shot 2015-01-09 at 7.35.38 AM Screen Shot 2015-01-09 at 7.39.08 AMI think I love his friends.

Anyway, that's Austin. So you can shut up now about me not knowing any ugly people. I took him in just to seem deeper.

And finally, in summary, have you seen this woman from Saturday Night Live? I just discovered her yesterday and I'm dying. Below, here's her impression of Justin Bieber.


I am dead. Am typing you from the ground.

Finally, and didn't I already say finally? Yesterday was the coldest ding-dang day,

IMG_2439(Yes, I DO use Weather Whiskers as my weather app. What about it?), but it was also Elvis's 80th birthday, and they were showing Viva Las Vegas at the old movie theater.

IMG_2442They gave us all leis, and you got to pick your own color. Also, hello, front-facing camera. Wow, you're good. Every detail, captured. Oh, did I mention I'm an Impressionist painting now?

IMG_2441Viva Ned's attitude.

The whole point of the movie appeared to be Ann-Mrgt and her lack of letters in her name dancing with as few clothes on as possible, and as frenetically as possible. Here, I can do am impresh for you. Just imagine I'm hot and young and have red hair and not enough letters in my name.


Iris. Unimpressed.

Speaking of Iris, after the movie, we came home and made a fire, which I'd like to say I sat in front of, but I was trying to get my 10,000 steps in to please my master Fitbit, so I paced in front of the fire instead.

IMG_2447But Iris did what you're supposed to do in front of a fire, mostly because Iris doesn't have a Fitbit. Yet. "You slept 22 hours and 52 minutes today!"

Okay, Jn, out.

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

Marvin, please read this one. There are no feet, I promise.

I got a big kick out of everyone's comments yesterday. The poor Guy Who Sits Next To Me had to hear each new what-you'd-find-if-you-cut-me-open comment. Imagine being the poor guy who has to sit next to me all day. His wife is probably sick and tired of hearing about me already. "June again, GodDAMMIT!"

Maybe not everyone talks like Ned and goddammits all over the place.

Yesterday was a busildy day, and after work Alex #48584584 and I went out for pedicures and tea. It was her birthday last month, and I'd given her a gift certificate to the pedicure place and we finally cashed it in.

IMG_2510Nothing's more comfy than open shoes in January.

IMG_2507You know how it is after you get a pedicure: get busy livin' or get busy dryin', so we dried under the light table while Alex 47 (we're so intimate now that I have a shortening-of-her-name-nickname for her) read me my Cosmo Bedside Astrologer for the year. Every year since 8th grade I've gotten the January Cosmo and read the damn Bedside Astrologer, which in case you did not know gives you not just your year's horoscope, but also what you should wear that year, your sexy colors, and NOW, NOWWWW, they've even added your sign's sex position for the year.

I can'r recall now if it was my position or Al 47's that involved sitting in a chair, straddling your partner, and putting your legs over his shoulders.

When I got home, poor Ned was eating eggs and reading the paper. Sometimes he has no idea if it's morning or night.

"Ned, come over here to the chair," I said, once he'd put his plates away. It was all I could do to wait THAT long.

"Why?" Ned never thinks I'm up to anything good.

"Just sit down." So in my grandmother's chair, the chair where I'm hoping to God nothing like this has happened before, I sat on Ned with my coat on and my wet nails and so on.

"What are you doing?" he asked as I sexily tried to hoist my skinny-jeaned leg over him. And by the way, no one like me should wear skinny jeans. It's like when you call a huge guy Tiny. "It's my horoscope sexual position for the year, or maybe it's Alex's," I grunted as I kicked Ned in the head.

Ned lifted me off him. "This is a position for lithe people in their 20s, June." He went back to his paper.

You know, Cosmo Astrologer WARNED me about this.

The other news is that after work, Al '7 and I schlepped over here special to let the dogs out and feed them before we went on our jaunt, and jaunt doesn't at all sound like we're Paddington Bear or anything. Jaunt. Could I be any older? Ask my sex position.

The point is, we fed the dogs and headed off jauntily, and an hour later I looked at my phone and there was a message from Ned. "I'm assuming you didn't come home and feed these creatures," he began. I didn't even finish, but screamed to the Call Back button.

Did you ever watch Louis CK's show? You really should. He and his brother on the show sometimes go out for what they call a Bang Bang, where they eat two dinners in a row at two restaurants. "Greek and diner?" "Nah." "How about Chinese and pizza?" "Yeah, okay."

IMG_2522I be Bang, and you be Bang.

Those dicks. They didn't even remotely act not starved. THEN they had the nerve to stare at Ned's eggs. They need the eggs.


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

Just kind of fadey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bonne Bell’s Tuna Surprise

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

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

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

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

You know who does NOT want any lip gloss?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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