June reviews her Christmas dates, and she’s plum tired. BAH.

Last night, I went to bed at 10 to 8:00. That’s the nice thing about migraine–you get your rest.

I am in a streak, a migraine streak, since before I left for Michigan. I’ve had a damn migraine every day since Sunday. Welcome back to Greensboro! So, last night, I trudged home gingerly, as opposed to MaryAnn-ly, fed the 90 pets, and said, “Edsel, I’m just gonna lie down for a bit.”

Not that he didn’t follow me down the hall with Blu once I said that, dropping it dejectedly when he figured out he wasn’t coming with me. And yes, I felt like a dick.

The point is, next thing you know my alarm is going off and I’m in all my clothes. So. Nice. Nothing feels better than waking up in all your clothes, like you were camping.

Oh, and also, speaking of Edsel, who in case you didn’t know is my gay dog, like anyone just got here. But speaking of Edsel, I have a problem…

IMG_2368.JPGI’ve set this room up so that there is now a chair next to the window where the cats eat. This means that stupid Edsel, ON THE DAILY, gets on the chair and eats all the leftover food. Today, he NUDGED LILY OUT OF THE WAY so he could eat her food.

And yes, I yell at him and he turns into a contrite letter C, until the next mealtime, when he gleefully and gayfully does it again.

Surely I can’t be the only person here who owns a cat and a dog. Where do YOU feed your cats so the dog won’t eat it?

IMG_2367.jpgAlso, my building shares office space with a few counseling offices. Say “office” one more time. Anyway, they’re having a toy drive, which is really a bad idea. Adult humans should really be the only ones driving.

Anyway, every day, Elmo, Big Bird and some blue character–did they update their blue character since the Cookie Monster, which is where I left off in 1971? Anyway, every day these three characters are doing something funny at the box. Sometimes they’re just staring through the carton-holder openings.

…Oh my GOD, you guys. See that text, above? I wrote that, and 900 MORE PITHY WORDS this morning, and when I hit “publish,” it published my headline and NOTHING ELSE. All I was able to get back were these first paragraphs, and YOU MISSED ALL MY PITH. So here I am again, 86 calls to WordPress, AT&T and AppleCare later, at lunch, trying to write you again.

What I was telling you, before the goddamn internet ruined my goddamn life, was that tonight is my work Christmas party, and yes, they call it a “Christmas” party.

b253c-6a00e54f9367fb883401543860ae67970c-pi.jpgThe first year I worked there, in 2011, my date was Dick Whitman.

In 2012, they’d laid me off and brought me back as a contractor, and I wasn’t invited to the Christmas party. Hmph.

965838_10152064488943850_1095438410_oIn 2013 and ’14, I went with Ned.

Then we broke up, as we are wont to do, and in 2015 I took The Naughty Professor.

6a00e54f9367fb883401bb0898356d970dAnd then in 2016, I got back together with Ned, as we were wont to do NOT ANYMORE but we were then.

IMG_3920We had both gained eleventy hundred pounds. What stress? And by the way, since Chippiegate 2017, I have done Weight Watchers NOT AT ALL, but I got back on that wagon today. Gained back four of the 10 pounds I’d lost, dammit, but still. I’m thinner than old Big Dot up there in m’polka-dot dress. Old Tri-Chins, up there.

Anyway, this year I’m going alone. Alooooone. ALONNNNNNNNE. I’m going with six fewer pounds and one less man.

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Oh, it’s fine.

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Really.

This year, the event is at the country club, which is exciting because that’s near my house, given what a fancy neighborhood I live in. I live in fancy-adjacent, really. When I first moved here, I told someone what street I live off of, and I remember the person asking which side of Battleground was I on, which is the dividing street between fancy and not fancy. Why didn’t the person just go ahead and ask, “You got money?”

Which, by the way, I do right now. I got paid last night, and I got my monthly deposit from Amazon THANK YOU OH MY GOD YOU GUYS, and also I got paid yesterday for doing that freelance work I never shut up about last month, a check that has four digits in it.

This means I’m considering getting my new dishwasher, or alternatively, tiling the floor in the terrible room with that concrete floor. I’d like to put in some kind of retro-looking linoleum, which does anyone remember where I found that stuff? The really good pretty linoleum? I talked about it before, but now I’m all, where WAS that, even? Does anyone know? I think it was technically a linoleum company from England. I’ll never find it again I HATE EVERYTHING.

Anyway, which should I do? Ooo, Ima add a poll. That always goes so well, when we do that.

I promise you this post was a lot funnier THIS MORNING before I had to remember what I said and re-create it all crabby-like, but I leave you with this…

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it dooo fit. dooo not a quit.

I put this puppy bed, fmr., on my dining room table, fmr., which now resides in my computer room, fmr., and does anyone local need a very long table? Anyway, I thought it’d be a nice place for cats to lounge in private, and yet? No one used it. My cats never use actual cat BEDS I provide them–they’d prefer Edsel’s bed or my bed or my clean clothes or anything that inconveniences me. Nevertheless, yesterday Steely Dan suddenly embraced the puppy bed, and for that I am grateful.

I leave you now but I’ll be back to give you a poll. Which is what HE said.

Hoping this doesn’t all DISAPPEAR INTO NOWHERE.

Invisible June

June wraps up her trip; bored nation rejoices

If you’re just getting back from your Thanksgiving holiday, and I say “holiday” like we’re all British, there are several days of my posts for you to catch up on and I wish you luck. I wish you luck mucking through all my ins and outs.

For the rest of you, who kept up with me like good readers, here’s the rest of my trip back to Michigan…

IMG_E2204.JPGWhen we left each other yesterday, saying, “No, YOU hang up,” Gus had been doing tricks in my mother’s yard, fmr., and then I might have kissed him with my red lipstick. I remember back in the ’90s, kissing my mother’s fluffy white Samoyed with my then-fushia lipstick, and my poor beleaguered stepfather in the kitchen, patiently washing it off that dog’s head.

Oooo, speaking of lipstick…

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Both on the way to Michigan and on the way back, I may have looked with rapt interest in the Mac store at Chicago airport, noting these lipsticks were all for sale as one unit, a unit someone might like, if someone were trying to determine what June Would Like For Christmas, a query that’s burning in the brains of just er’one.

I’d look like an asshole in the second-from-the-left one. That burnt orange look does not appeal. But speaking of needless purchases, isn’t it Cyber Monday? Wouldn’t this be an excellent time to link to Amazon, so you can purchase like a mo?

Oh, look! A book about how we shouldn’t consume, that if we click on it takes us to Amazon so we can consume. Oh, June, you’re so ironic. Don’tcha think. A little too ironic. Yeah, I really do think.

But I digress.

On Friday night of my trip to Michigan, my Aunt Kathy had us over for tacos, and by “my Aunt Kathy,” I mean my Uncle Bill made tacos.

IMG_2211 2.jpgSome families form a conga line. We form a taco line. [Insert taco/Katie-the-lesbian joke here]

IMG_2212.jpgMy Aunt Kathy, who is a Virgo, had already decorated for Christmas. Like, that day. She started the day with no Christmas, and by the end of the day she was swinging on her North Pole.

Do you remember that guy Ward who I went out with like three times or something, and then it didn’t work out? He texted me over the holiday (British), and I answered him, telling him how all the women in my family prattle endlessly and all the men are sort of quiet and introspective. Okay, not my Uncle Leo. But the other men. Anyway, below is yet another piano-playing video, this time not horrific like the last one, where one of the men is being deep and yet you can hear women prattling in the background. I recorded this for his listening pleasure. I think it was around then that he stopped texting.

In summation.

IMG_2217.jpgAfter dinner, my cousin Big June and her husband Hill came to surprise me, and it was so cute to see them. She gets migraines, too. Is plagued by them, actually.

Maybe had I not been named after her I wouldn’t have migraines. Maybe they could have named me after a tennis star or something instead. Step one: Get tennis star in family.

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fukking schtopz

Also, here is my aunt’s cat, Tom Thumbs. Did not at all follow Tom Thumbs around like an idiot, scooting across floor with phone out like a moron. That would not be fittin’. Did not at all call him kitty head or sweet kitten or kitty hitchhiker kitten face wif thumbses.

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Finally, it was Saturday and time for me to go, but not before Hulk rejected me for sports. Also, Dear June: *of.

IMG_2239.jpgI returned home without incident, late Saturday night. It was too late to get Edsel from daycare, so I slept with Lily, who was beside herself that I’d returned, and if you look carefully, you can see an extremely indifferent Steely Dan down the hall.

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hooo gif shit

IMG_E2246.JPGThe other, more normal, cats were happy to see me, in their cat way. “wee not say hi, but we sleep on you a lots.”

The cat-sitter told me that every day, SD and Lily would come blinking down the hall, like, O, do someone bee heer? And every time, Iris was asleep in the dog bed.

Speaking of my cats, I was writing you in my regular fashion, not that I’m pooping, when I saw this shadow…

IMG_2264.jpgHere’s the annoying part: I’ve already let him in today. But there he is, mysteriously on the other side of the door, as he is wont to be. And yet, he still wishes for me to get up and let him in the traditional way right now. Sneak out whatever way he’s figured out? Sure. But inconveniencing me to come back in? Oh, HELL, sure. So many sures.

IMG_E2274.JPGIMG_E2275.JPGAnd he wasn’t hungry; he’d already eaten. He wasn’t sleepy. Evil rarely sleeps. He just wanted to be sure to remind me that my coffee repels him. My coffee should be stopped. As soon as he can gather funds, he’s going to bribe a lobbyist to get coffee outlawed.

IMG_2278.jpgAsshole. Why do I love him so? This sums up all my relationships.

I’d better get to work, which I am actually looking forward to doing. Tomorrow is my mammogram, which has not haunted and terrified me since I made the appointment or anything. Do you all know from EMDR? It’s a kind of therapy they do for trauma. I really think I should get EMDR so I’m not so

EFFING

INSANE

during mammogram week. Am considering.

Meanwhile, here’s an Amazon link again, in case it inconveniences you to scroll up. I want to make it was easy as I can for you, so that I will become a millionaire. Also, I got my new credit score today, and it’s in the high 700s.

You know, at the beginning of the year, I made the New Year’s resolution to fix my finances, and I actually did it. I worked freelance jobs ALL YEAR LONG. And I got my debt cleared. And I upped my contribution to my four oh wonk.

I still don’t make a lot of money, but at least I don’t have debt haunting me. Just mammograms.

Anyway, here’s your second Amazon link.

Resent. Also, wish Crazy Cat Lady ornament did not look so much like self.

Sanely,

Juuun

P.S. Someone will ask, so I will assure you I got the Eds from daycare Sunday, and he was…enthused about seeing me.

IMG_2249.jpgI had a migraine (thanks, world), so he spent the entire day with his snout up on my berobed self. No, seriously. THE ENTIRE DAY.

IMG_2254.jpgSteely Dan made barf sounds from across the room and rolled his orange cat eyes.

1136 words, dear god,

Jooon

I’ll worry about that when I get to it

Something woke me up last night–I can’t even remember what, now, but it was something I should probably be planning or preparing for, but what I did instead was roll over, thinking, “I’ll worry about that when I get to it,” and realized that will likely be my epitaph, which, by the way, June, nice 401(K). Continue reading “I’ll worry about that when I get to it”

It was the 3rd of June, another sleepy dusty Delta day. Volume XVIIIX934X

I’m only writing at you because it’s our day.

A few years back, when I sat next to my boss, fmr., he and I got into one of our 408-minute discussions about Things That Didn’t Matter and gee, I wonder why they split us up. That day, the discussion centered on what did Billy Jo McAllister toss off that bridge? Continue reading “It was the 3rd of June, another sleepy dusty Delta day. Volume XVIIIX934X”

June. No longer a Bug. Now more of a Mini. A chubby Mini.

When I woke up yesterday, I did not know I'd be buying a car. But there it is.

Now my life is officially a country song: the man I loved done left, m'dog died, and my VW Bug up and quit on me. I just need a train off in the distance and a jail sentence.

It didn't officially quit, but the "Check Engine" light came on, which is always slightly horrifying.

"Maybe the light itself is just broken," I told myself, because I'm good at denial. "Maybe a wire got crossed or something."

Yeah. That's the ticket. You go, June.

I had a bunch of writing to do for work, so I just took my laptop and went to the car place. I was able to finish everything, in fact, while I was there. A whole car place was quieter than the open floor plan.

Finally, they called me over. "Ma'am? It isn't good."

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Oh! Just $2,753.81? Pus tax? Is that all? I have that on me.

I did what any adult would do. I texted Marvin, because he was in charge of Car Things, and he was in charge of the purchase of this car eight years ago. "Get a Mini Cooper," he said. Marvin was never one to avoid buying a car. He knows I love Mini Coopers.

I called my stepfather. Told him the deets. He asked me to never, ever say "deets." Then he said, "Sounds like maybe you should just trade it in and get another car."

When we hung up and I was talking with the car place, my mother called. "FIX THAT CAR!" she said. My mother always goes for the thrifty option. Although in this case it was hardly thrifty. I mean, my fear was if I got all these repairs, and the car is almost nine years old, won't it need expensive repairs in another year? That was my fear.

Anyway, after a whole day of obsessing about it, and asking the boys I work with because they're boys, and also asking Ned, who of course suggested I think on it for a month and a half, I did this…

IMG_2374

I traded in my poor yellow Bug and got a yellow Mini Cooper. It's actually one of the larger Mini Coopers, so it's, like, a not-so-Mini Cooper. It's like this one woman I worked with, who dressed like Li'l Kim, only she had some curves, so the guys in the copy room called her Medium Kim. I bought Medium Kim.

I was certainly enjoying not having a car payment every month. I went one year not having one.

Turns out, to have avoided this problem, every time my dealership sent me those phony, "It's time for your 30,000 mile checkup" or whatever? I should have actually gone to those. Who knew? See, this is why I need adult supervision.

So I'm a little sick about having to have, you know, BOUGHT A CAR, but oh god, it's cute.

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hullo, I'm cute!

IMG_2388
even my dashbored is cute! meedyum kim almost do pet speek, but it car speek insted.

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even my kee is cute!

That's the key! You slide that disk in and push a button. It's like the future!

Anyway, I had to clear out my regularly scheduled car, and it made me so sad. Why do we get so sad about our cars? I was in the back seat, which I hardly ever was and then I felt sad about never being in the back seat all those years, and I was pushing the seats forward to look for odds and ends that had dropped (found one Mary Kay mascara sample and this Weight Watchers key fob that looked like a sex toy) and I saw all sorts of Tallulah fur under the seats. Oh, Talu.

I also found in the back pocket of the driver's side the large book of maps Ned wasted his money buying me. Also the tire inflate-y stuff and some spare motor oil. Do you think maybe all that time Ned thought I was a lesbian? Oh, lemme get m'map, and while I change the oil, I can find out how to best drive us to the Isle of Lesbos.

I had that Bug a long time. I got it in August of 2008, when I was still married. 6a00e54f9367fb883401bb0798f0e5970d-pi

I found Tallulah in that car. Oh, wait. No I didn't. I found her in the blue Bug. Okay, but I drove Tallulah around in that car. I made out with Ned in that car. We'd meet at our old movie theater, and I'd drive him home afterward, when he lived downtown. We'd kiss in his parking lot. Which probably delighted that guard who had to work there all night.

By the time I actually made the decision and signed all the papers and so on, it was dark, so before my Aunt Mary gets here today Ima read the manual and find out where all the things are on it. Like, how do I switch over to Sirius radio, which came free? The important stuff.

Oh. Have I not mentioned my Aunt Mary is coming? She is, along with my Uncle Stuart. They'll be here through Tuesday. I took today and tomorrow off, which turned out to be stupid because their flight doesn't get in till 3:30, and really I shoulda taken off tomorrow and Friday. But there you go.

Oh, and thanks for telling me your ages and so on yesterday! I never looked to see how many comments there were total, but "a lot" seemed to fit the bill. One person was all, "I can't wait to see the results once you compile everything!"

COMPILE everything? What am I, made of time? Good gravy. Here's what we know: two of you are men. The rest of you are chicks. Amen.

I'll talk to you later. Maybe I can have Aunt Mary do an interview for my blog. I remember back when she came to visit me in Seattle, a bunch of gay guys I was friends with threw her a little party, and included an Aunt Mary handshake. Then we took her to the gay bar and then bowling, and she had a great time.

This time she gets to look at my car and meet 8,000 pets. Ain't we lucky we got 'em. Good times. Yeahhhh.

Car-ily,

June

June speaks

There are three things I wanted to tell you about: the turtle, my conversation and the intuitive. Which do you want to hear first? …Okay.

Remember last week, when a bunch of you donated to my coworker Alex so she could adopt that dog and set him up in the life to which he is about to be accustomed? First of all, he's home with her, and doing great. He totally wants to get up in the cat, in a friendly way, but they're still keeping them separated. She's waiting for a really good picture of the three of them to give me to show you, but is having trouble getting the dog to sit still for a picture and I have no idea what that's like.

Speaking of which, here's more of the Lottie-in-front-of-the-laundry-basket shots.

First one, about a month ago…

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About a week after that…

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Last week…

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Last night…

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She slowed down this week! She's still between the top three dots, depending on if you're measuring her head or her ridiculous ears.

THE CONVERSATION

Oh my god, none of this is why I gathered you here. SO ON THAT DAY, the one where you guys donated to Alex, I was excited so I called my mother. I knew she and my stepfather were driving to his doctor appointment kind of far away, so I called the mobile. Because British.

My stepfather answered. My mother was driving, but he offered to relay to her my story while she drove.

"Okay," I said. "Well, I work with this woman. Maybe like two years now, I've worked with her. She's amazing. Really smart and composed and way more mature than me, which there's a stretch. She's had a boyfriend just forever, and he just graduated college, and they wanted to get a dog after he got a real job."

"There's a woman at June's job," my stepfather said to my mother.

"Wow," I said, astonished at my stepfather's…brevity.

"Okay," I continued, undaunted. "But, so, they wanted to get a dog but they wanted to wait, and now he has a real job so for weeks they've been talking about it and saving up and she's been on PetFinder looking at dogs. There was even one she had her heart set on because she liked his funny name, I can't think of it now. It was one of those celebrity puns like Charles Barkley, but it wasn't Charles Barkley…"

"Her coworker's getting a dog," said my stepfather to my mother.

OH MY GOD.

So what I'm saying to you is my mother did not get to hear every nuance.

So that's that story. I'd love to hear my stepfather's riveting version of it.

THE INTUITIVE

As you know, Kayeeeee has me on a budget, which includes not ordering food to be delivered. I have stuck with that fucking plan, but yesterday I was clean out of food, and did not want to go to the grocery store till payday (tonight). So for the first time in ages, I called the Chinese delivery place.

Shut up.

The delivery woman came, and she was all, "Oh my GOD! You got a PUPPY! What does Edsel think?" The dogs were outside, and she walked to the gate to greet them. You know how easy it is to greet a puppy, because what wriggling?

Anyway, afterward, she said, "I really hope you don't think I'm weird."

I love any conversation that starts that way. I mean, I really do. I'm instantly intrigued.

"But, I'm an intuitive. And I've always loved delivering to your house. There's just such a good vibe. And it comes from both you AND the house. Just great energy," she said.

"You know, I've always felt this was a happy house," I said, because I'm as weird as she is. Anyway we talked a little about my fabulous vibes and so on and eventually exchanged numbers and we've already texted, and I kind of feel like I'm the only person these things happen to.

THE TURTLE

Last night I was taking the freeway exit to my neighborhood, and I saw a turtle on the side of the road. He was huge. And he was stuck on this bend of the freeway under an overpass thing. (Official name®.)

Oh my GOD, that was a turtle! I told my own self, which is sad.

So I screamed home and let Lottie out of her jail. I decided to leave Lottie with Edsel in the yard and I headed back to the freeway exit. It was less than a minute away, but once I got there I realized there was no way to get to the turtle. So then I pulled into an office area that I saw if I could walk behind like a crazy person, I might be able to traverse this snakey area and get to the turtle that way. In the meantime, I'm Googling "Snapping Turtles" on my phone so I don't grab one and get my arm snapped clean off.

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Here's the office area. Annoying local readers will ask, "Where was this, June?" and WHO CARES?

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Here's the snakey part I thought I might traverse, but there was no way to get to the other side without walking on water, which of course I can do but I didn't want to show off.

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Here's me knowing I'm ridik.

Eventually, I got back in my car and drove the exit all over again, and slowed to a crawl, a turtle crawl, at the turtle spot. I was fully prepared to stop all traffic and lug him into my car.

He was dead.

Oh, poor Mr. Shel Gordon the Turtle. I can see how he GOT where he was, but he musta had no way to get out of there. I hate the thought of him suffering so.

So that's my sad story.

"June saw a dead turtle."

From now on, let's summarize my whole posts in stepfather speak. That will be your challenge as a reader.

Eloquently,

Jooooooon and her vibes

The state of things

You know what's gonna happen today? No one will comment. That always happens after a 200- or 300-comment day; it's like you're all so exhausted. "Oh my god, I just wrote 15 words to June yesterday. I'm all in."

Did your grandma used to say that? "Heavens to Betsy, that party was long. I'm all in."

Anyway, that was fun, right? Or was it just fun for me, kind of like any time I have sex?

If you just got here, and welcome to earf (remember that movie?), yesterday I asked you where you were from. I wrote down each state that was represented until after work, when I got bored of writing down each state (I loved it when people said things like, "I'm from Esentbergstein!" with no state name, like I'd know where that was. I also got people saying things like, "Hailing from the Emerald State!" and I'd be all, Oh, crap, now I gotta look that up).

(It's exhausting to Google. I'm all in.)

Anyway, last I checked, 40 states were representin' and also 1990 called and wanted its phrase back. Plus also too, we had seven other countries checking in! We are all so totally the It's a Small World exhibit right now. You're welcome for that song in your head, which will stick there like tar in the recesses of your brain for at least the next nine days. Fucking Disney.

Oh, the other countries were Germany, Australia, Denmark, New Zealand, England, Ireland and Canada. Oh, Canada.

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Faithful Reader Amish Annie made a map with fuckstick hearts on it, and I stole it from her yesterday afternoon and it isn't up to date, because Fawn Amber checked in from Alabama and there isn't a fuckstick heart on Alabama. Plus also, only four Post-Its for other countries. So. GOD, Amish.

Do you know what I hate? Oh, wait. I should have told you to brace your own self. I hate something.

I hate it when people call them "Stickies." What the fuck. "Post-Its" has the same number of syllables, so you can't say you're pressed for time, and IT'S THE RIGHT NAME. "Will you hand me the yellow stickies?" How 'bout I hand you my dick?

I seem to be big in this state, North Carolina, and let's face it. I'm big everywhere. Do you have any idea how many Weight Watchers points are in Pop Tarts? I FOUND OUT THE HARD WAY.

"You're not supposed to eat first and look up the points later," my mother said. Also, every man at work, when I complained about this, said, "Points?" Fuck men. Which I will never do, because big in NC.

Anyway, I also had a lot of readers on Texas and California, but they're big states, so.

Have you ever noticed when people say where they're from, they often tell you the region as well? "I'm from southern Illinois." Oh. Hunh. I mean, if you were from NORTHERN Illinois, then we'd have to get ready to rumble. I remember my idiot neighbor in LA, Rik, telling me he was from northern Italy. Oh, NORTHERN Italy. Well.

And just one more thing and I will drop the Map Talk With June. I look on Google Adsense, and every day (not weekends. So not every day. Whatever. Hand me a yellow stickie) it says I have around somewhere between 2,000-3,000 readers. Wait. Lemme go check.

…Okay, yesterday I had 2,555 readers, with 315 comments.

Do I really only have 300 readers, who check back in so many times a day that it counts as 10 times that much, or do I really have somewhere around 2,000 readers and most of them won't comment? I read somewhere that you usually get about 10 percent of your readers to speak up.

I don't know. That's only interesting to me, so I will mull it on my own.

OH MY OWNNNNNN! How I wish musicals wouldn't pop into my head.

In the meantime, the guy who power washed my house just texted, and he's on his way over to paint the porch today! Does anyone else watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills? Any time I say "paint the porch," I hear, "pat the puss, pat the puss…"

https://vine.co/v/iA7tEIYQi2E/embed/simple
https://platform.vine.co/static/scripts/embed.js
 

(The first person who doesn't know how a gif works gets stabbed with a yellow stickie. CLICK ON IT to get it to stop, if that is distracting you.)

It'd be sad if I were the only person in America watching Real Housewives and they kept it on just for me.

He had the flu last week, my power wash guy did, and then it rained, and it's finally pat the puss day. I'm so excited. He's also gonna cut my lawn, which sounds like a euphemism. According to my mind, I have a big day ahead of me, what with the puss pattin' and the lawn cuttin'. Really Ima just go to work and come back to a white house. With black curtains. At the station.

That's white room, isn't it? Dammit.

I'd better go to work. Other than hearing from people all over the world yesterday, it was a pretty copacetic day, oh, other than that a Golden Retriever followed us on our walk and I thought Edsel was going to have some kind of breakdown. He kept looking behind us and whining, and pulling, and making groan sounds like Regan in The Exorcist.

The Golden Retriever was lovely of course, all gleamy and long-furred, and the asshole girl walking him (TAKE ANOTHER STREET. You can tell my dog is obsessed. GOD) was young and cute. It was like our more-attractive selves were walking behind us. Some young perfect blonde girl in her running shorts, walking perkily, then my hagged-out 50-year-old ass galumphing with underbite dog.

Next time I'll let Edsel go, let him kick that golden dog's magnificent ass.

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Oh, and Iris relaxed. She's exhausted at night these days, it being her busy season and all.

Okay, goodbye America. Other than the Dakotas. Go fuck yourself, Dakotas who don't read me.

XO,

June the puss

P.S. Updated map at 9:27 a.m., thanks to Amish Annie…

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Juno

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You've no idea how much time I spend watching this now. I count how long she squats, how successful she is. Also, why the hell don't I have grass anymore? What are you supposed to do about that?  There used to be grass back there.

The vet gave me some choices, and I'm opting for the change-her-diet, test-for-cancer option. The other was to drive her to Raleigh and get all sorts of dye x-rays and so on. The reason we didn't do the cancer test in the first place is it's, (a), $200, and (2), has a lot of false positives. But it if reads negative, it's really negative, so at least we can rule it out if it's negative.

So, to get that test, I had to do the urine test on my dog. It was almost impossible to get her to sit on the toilet and pee in that cup.

What I HAD to do, smarty, is follow her around, which I've been doing anyway, and put a tray under her. Worked like a charm. We squatted out there for a century while she strained, and her thigh muscles must be bangin' cause good lord. Then when I finally captured her urine on film, I dashed to my deck where I had a syringe, got it in a test tube, put it in a huge baggie and rushed to the vet, which was closing in 25 minutes.

One of my coworkers said, "Your neighbors must have been so glad when you moved back." I mean, really, I must provide hours of entertainment and dog barks. "Jeb, get to the winder. What in THE hell is Neighb-hair doing now? She got a baggie of pee."

I got there just in time, saw all the techs and receptionists, with whom I am best friends now. There's the one with the snake necklace, the one with the horrific voice and her loved ones should tell her. The older sensible lady with the tight perm who you want on your side when it comes to your pets.

I've been tempted to give you all the number of the place, so you can hear the one with the awful voice answer the phone. She's also the person who does the loudspeaker stuff. "We need Tallulah Gardens to come to the front, please." Oh god, it's high-pitched, it's cloying, it's loud. It's everything you don't want in a voice. She's nice, though. Dat voice, tho.

Also too, today at 2:00 I get a crown put on. Because I am a princess. I need TWO crowns, and I could have a new nose if you combine all the Tallulah dollars and the dental work. My appointment is 2/2 at 2:00. For my TOOth. See what I did, there?

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I was about to upload pictures of my grandmother that an old family friend sent, but I saw this and had to show you. Lu and her hoof. She freaking loves that awful hoof.

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My grandmother, at work, when she was about 53. Smokin' at work, man. That's where it's at. My aunt said that was a Pendleton jacket, and that jacket is so her. Plaid and sensible. With beige. I dress nothing like the grandmother I'm turning into. She'd be appalled at all my pink. She'd call it "jakey." Whatever that meant.

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I wonder if my hair is that gray. Oh, hell, of course it is. Maybe I should get all unfussy on your asses and let it grow out. Hang my gray flag high.

That's never going to happen.

We should really bring back goldenrod curtains.

Anyway, it was nice to see photos of my grandmother that I'd never seen. That's always such a cool idea, sending someone photos they may've never seen. Dear Enormous Member Steve: Do you still read my blog? I have pictures from Charlie and Sue's wedding that I'll bet they've never seen. I caught the bouquet. And a mere seven years later, I was married. It DOES work!

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I've got to stop playing with my makeup app. This thing is my crack. What do crack addicts say? This thing is my coffee. This thing is my Breaking Bad. Maybe they just go ahead and say "crack," too.

I leave you with one final thought: I hate Siri. You speak into her, she screws it up. You type, she autocorrects so you look like you've had a stroke. Here's me trying to text with FR Fay the other night. Here's me trying to tell her someone is moving to Massachusetts.

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Goddammit. I kept screeching into the phone, "MASSACHUSETTS! MASS A CHUUUU SETTS!" How do you get "Mickey said she was sick it's" from MASSACHUSETTS?

"Jeb, git over here. She's gone and done lost her mind. She's in her house screaming, "Massachusetts. Damn Yankee."

And here was me trying to say, "Fuck," which of course Siri corrected to "Juno," as you do, and then "goddammit." Siri cockblocks my cursing.

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Juno. How often does anyone not in Alaska say "Juno" rather than "fuck"? Juno you, Siri.

Okay, talk to you when I'm rockin' out with my new crown out.

Princess June. Juno. Fuck.

The pot returns

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

It was Ned.

Dun dun DUNNNNN.

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

There's a story behind this chair. See.

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

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

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

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Nope.

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

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

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

What? Son of a …

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a thrill went up over the land.

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

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Breaking the friction barrier!

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

It was like when EF Hutton talks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lufff,

Jooon