...friend/Ned · At Two With Nature · June's stupid life

Oh, deer

Really, the most exciting part of yesterday was when we saw the deer not 20 feet from us.


See all three of them? The second fawn is sitting behind the bush, on the left. Oh, I kiss you all so bad I do!!

When I get back and have time to bore you with my every nuance, I will tell you all the stuff we've done so far, but yesterday we drove to Ann Arbor for the memorial. My stepfather was excited to see Una, my stepsister, and he only had, like, an hour with her. So Ned and I said we'd walk around town and look at things while the four of them drove around looking at things, because my stepfather had ankle surgery recently and can't walk anywhere.


Ned looked on his phone. "What're you doing?" I asked, annoyed. Why can't we just live in the moment and not look at a phone? "I'm seeing if there's anything near us to walk to."

"There's EVERYTHING to walk to! We're at University of Michigan! Everything's interesting here."

But Ned insisted, and he found a cemetery nearby, and we like old cemeteries. It really was only a block or two away, and when he looked at his phone to make sure we were headed in the right direction, I huffed again. "Can't we just get lost and have fun?" And here lies The Great Divide between Ned and me. Ned is precise. You may be stunned to hear that I am not.

But as soon as we rounded a corner, there was just a beautiful cemetery. We wandered around and admired excellent old names, possibly giggled at the Felch family, and in general I was elegant and sophisticated as I always am.


We were coming up to an incredibly ostentatious tombstone on our left when Ned gasped. I looked to our right, and there were the three deer, RIGHT NEXT TO US! At first I thought they were fake. I mean, there's no way a real deer and her two fawn would be right there in front of us.

If only I'd had my shotgun.

Ned and I stood as still as we could, which was easy for me as I am 90% statue, see above. Oh, it was so cool. Finally I couldn't help but whisper, "Hi, honey!" to the mom deer, and that is when she rolled her eyes at me and stalked off. She didn't run, she just walked away casually. One of her fawns did, too, but the one who'd been sitting all along was all, eff you humins. Delta Fawn not afraid of you.

I just came up with that name right now. The other one is Fawn Hall. I just came up with that, too. After I write this, Ima write self a most flattering sonnet.

Anyway, it was cool. And Ned was all, Who was right about mapping our walk?

It was one of those things we kept talking about all day after, and probably my mother and stepfather are sick of us.

Today we have a big get-together with our whole family, and I have already taken 8849393 photos of everything, and if I were you I'd just avoid this blog altogether till you feel like it's safe and I'll stop showing vacation shots.


June, signing off from bustling Saginaw, Michigan.

At Two With Nature · June's stupid life

Aw, nuts


Ned took this picture of Lu and me last night, while I was taking a break from packing. Whenever Ned and I start talking now, Tallulah nervously enters the room and groans. Then she walks between us and puts her paw on either one of us. I think she's worried we're gonna fight, which we haven't been, but apparently she recalls when we did. Isn't that awful? I hate that I've made my dog nervous.

I don't know why she sits with her back legs splayed like E.T., but she always has. I love that dog so much I can't even stand it. Sometimes now she even sits on my feet and looks out at Ned when he and I are talking. I know she loves him as much as she does me. He's in our pack. Of which she is the leader, who are we kidding.

Tallulah seems tough and stoic, but really she's a sensitive soul.

Speaking of sensitive souls, yesterday at work a bunch of us were on our three o'clock walk, and we were just rounding the corner to be done when I saw a little dead animal on the ground. "Oh, no!" I said, to four boys who were walking with me. "There's a dead baby animal!"

"Are you sure it's dead?" asked Austin with the funny Twitter page. He grabbed a stick and gently poked at it.

AND IT MOVED. Just like my dick.

"Oh my god!" we all chorused. A Greek chorus of editors. The poor thing was teensy, and hairless, and it was horribly, unseasonably cold yesterday. "We can't just leave it out here," said Austin, who SCOOPED IT UP WITH HIS BARE HANDS.

In unrelated news, Austin is now rabid. Don't play loud music near him.

Austin and I have never seen a tree.

I just happened to have three fur collars in my car, left over from various vintage coats I've had. I moved them here last year, and this year as I was packing I thought, When the heck am I ever gonna use these collars again, with all my crafting skills? So I had them on top of the pile of stuff I was taking to Goodwill. I mean, what are the chances?

We made him a little nest, and as soon as he got into his fur collars, he opened his mouth and wriggled around. I think he thought he was back with his mom.


We googled it and discovered he was a baby squirrel, and we named him Squirrelly Maclaine. I called a wildlife rehab, and one of the Alexes who leaves at 4:00 took him there, so he can rehab and get off drugs. Oh, I hope he lives. Poor little Squirrelly Maclaine. Normally they'd have had me put his little nest up in a tree, because his mom would likely come get him, but they said it was too cold and he had no fur. So.

One of the things they suggested was that I take him home overnight and try to put him in the tree today, and all I could think of was…

eyeriss dreem that you bring her take-owt.

All right, I'll talk to you tomorrow, from June's emporium of pain and wildlife rescue.

...friend/Ned · Aging ungracefully · At Two With Nature · June's stupid life · Music

Toot toot, heyyy, beep beep.

Yesterday at work, one of the coworkers sent an email to a bunch of us. "Anyone up for going to happy hour after work, for a bit?"

I immediately screamed back an email: "GOD ,YES."

An hour later, that same guy re-emailed. "So far, all I've gotten was a 'GOD, YES' from June. Anyone else?"

Corporate ladder. Climbing it.

Fortunately, other people wanted to go, too, so we all headed downtown to that brewery we go to. I parked where I always do, which is on the street near the antique store, where in the back of the store is the little courtyard that is my future wedding venue.

"OUT OF BUSINESS SALE" read a sign on the antique store.

Son of a–ARE YOU SERIOUS? Now I have not only a lack of groom, but a lack of VENUE? I feel like my wedding plans are falling apart.

I groused on into the bar, wondering what I was gonna do about that deposit on the polka band. We all kind of arrived at the same time, as did the rest of the world, because Friday at 5:30. I went to the bar with a coworker and waited an interminable amount of time because they only had one poor guy working, a guy with a ton of thick, wavy hair. I tried to picture our children, and came up with with maybe a Fabio and Bernie from Room 222 hybrid. A Berbio. As I turned from the bar to head back to my table,

there was Ned.

It deserved its own line. "Hi, Ned," I said, cool as a cucumber. Or as my mother said recently, calm as a cucumber. "This is my friend from work, Eugenia." Now I'm wondering if all the Alexes from work are gonna be mad I gave this particular coworker a whole new name, or they're gonna be grateful I didn't call them anything stupid like Eugenia.

Ned introduced us to his friend, who's in from out of town, and that was that. I returned to the coworker table no worse for wear.

"How do I look?" I asked everyone nervously. "You look beautiful," one of the nicer Alexes said, and clearly she had on her 1990 wine goggles, which is the last time I remotely looked beautiful.

Eventually, my boss came in and went to the bar. When he returned, he was all, "WHAT A SMALL WORLD! DID YOU SEE WHO'S HERE!? NED BOUGHT ME  DRINK!!"

I mean, between the Ned sighting and my wedding venue and my boss turning all Benedict Arnold, which I just typed as Benedict Arthur, I was so ready for what was next. You won't BELIEVE what happens next. Click here.

There was a dance party at Proximity, the hotel I like to go to when I do my freelance whore work. Kaye and Marty Martin and I were all set to go. "Kaye is tired," texted Marty, at like 7:30. "She's going home."

"TELL KAYE TO SUCK MY DICK!" I wrote back.

"If you show it, she'll blow it," wrote Marty, and incidentally I love Kaye.

So that left just MMartin, Esq, who is not remotely an Esq., to get up with me at the dance party. We sat in the lobby of the hotel, where I sit to do my whoring, so I felt super comfortable. Actually, it occurred to me that getting a drink and taking it to the lovely lobby is a great date idea. Space to talk and still enjoy that nice hotel. Now I have a first date locale, but no wedding venue.

Eventually, the music started and we headed to the main room. This dance party was totally for people our age. It was like in the early '90s, when I had this old lady friend who asked me to take her out to a senior dance one night. I was the only person under 70 there, and you can imagine what a Scarlett-at-the-barbecue I was that night. It was so fun to watch my little friend Millie cut a rug. She could SUPER DUPER dance, the way old people can, like they know actual dances and stuff.

Anyway, at that dance, they played Glenn Miller and…other old people bands that I don't know. Plus Stayin' Alive. Last night at the pop-up dance, they played all songs from my youth, like Heart of Glass, Dancing Queen, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, and then also Stayin' Alive.

MMartin and I moved to a table right on the dance floor. We'd try to guess what song or artist was next (we were right about Janet Jackson). There was a foursome who were inexplicably visiting from Belgium, and they were good-looking and well-dressed. Then there was a guy who looked exactly like Benny from ABBA.


Seriously. Like, Doppelganger. Oddly, I am wearing a tshirt exactly like that today. I got Benny on the brain.

While Marty and I were dancing to Dancing Queen, this person got on the floor who looked exactly–EXACTLY–like Pat. From SNL. That Pat. I've seen this person out before, when I've been with Ned, and I was sorely tempted to text Ned but did not. Pat, as usual, had on a plaid shirt. It's like this person is TRYING to do a Pat impression.

"This whole evening is like an '80s prom and White Power," observed Marty. Mostly we spent the whole evening loving our own selves for our pithy observations. We listened to Bad Girls.

You ask yourself
Who they are
Like everybody else
They come from near and far

"Profound," I said to Marty. Really, the whole evening was fascinating for me. I loved watching all the old people such as myself cutting loose at a hotel bar. At the end of the night, the Pat character was grinding with Benny from ABBA. And the first person to wonder why I didn't take photos of real humans so we can all look at them gets a toot toot right in their beep beep.
I did get this oddly red photo of Marty and me. It was Simply Red. Which we also heard last night.
Now it's Saturday and it's rainy so I'm not sure what I'll do all day. Rainy days really interfere with all the outdoor athletics I like to engage in. It's not a day if I'm not rappelling somewhere. Or repelling.
With the wings of heaven on my shoes,
At Two With Nature · June's stupid life

14 joys and a will to be merry


Last night, I was in my green chair reading, and when I looked up, there was my Lily, looking all regal. I took her photo, as is evidenced by Exhibit A, there, above me, and put it on Facebook. "You are here and warm, but I could look away and you'd be gone," I wrote, getting out my clay so I could sculpt my own face. Hello? Is it myself I'm looking for?

Then I waited for someone to get the reference, the "here and warm" reference. Of course, the thing started getting Likes, because cat photo. You put your cat or your dog on Facebook, all the white people are gonna like it. I told you what Fleeta said, right? She said for black people, you get Likes when you mention God. Imagine if you could get hold of God's dog. EVERYONE would like it. Ebony and ivory, Click Like together in perfect harmony.

What breed would God own? We all like to think he'd be super altruistic and get a mutt, but what if he spent thousands of dollars at the breeder cause he's super into Shar-Peis or something?

The point is, I finally had to ASK all my white friends what song I was referencing.


Hey, do you have a little broom? I've left leaves all over my keyboard. Who goes around making videos, with bad font, of '70s songs? That's just sad. "Oh, for a hobby, I make YouTube videos using terrible fonts."

THE POINT IS, on Facebook, we started quoting this song, and I said we need to incorporate the phrase "Fourteen joys and a will to be merry" into more conversations. So go out and do that. Report back to me. It'll go over well, I think, like when I said I was thankful for Texas Kari at Thanksgiving.

What do you think the 14 joys are? Ima list mine.

  • Coffee
  • Cats
  • Dogs who are not Edsel

Oh, that reminds me! Do you remember a week or so ago, when I told you guys about the old dog at the shelter, and how it was killing me that he was there, and his stupid stupid asshole owners gave him up because he was "too old"? Adopted. He got adopted. Oh, I am so glad! I couldn't STAND the thought of him in there.

I guess I have 11 more joys.

  • Peaches
  • clothes just out of the dryer
  • thunderstorms
  • turning on the TV and seeing It's a Wonderful Life is just starting
  • kittens–which is totally different from cats
  • mashed potatoes
  • stuffing, except for when your own mother cockblocks you at Thanksgiving
  • hearing church bells as you walk by
  • trains in the night at a distance
  • crickets
  • when Tallulah climbs on me and sighs and falls asleep like a big hunk of yellow lead

I have no will to be merry. Clearly.

Oh, and speaking of not being merry, I had to shoot and kill a cockroach ALL BY MYSELF last night. I was in here on the computer, as I am wont to be, and I heard this…ruckus. I turned around, and the giantest cockroach ever invented was on one of the boxes. It was right near the door, so I wondered if he let himself in, made himself at home on one of my boxes. It's not like I have an infestation, what with all the food in this house.

So I did what any reasonable adult would do: I left the room. Went to the living room and read my book like anyone else. But I KNEW he was in here. It was like having a roommate you don't really like. First, I brought in Iris. "Go kill the cockroach, Iris!" I commanded. She'll go out and fang a goose, but a cockroach? Not interested. Speaking of which…


Iris was completely unimpressed with the violence last night. yuu want to see fang? eyeriss show you fang dat make impact on world.

Since my hunter cat was apparently out for the season or something, like an ice cream shop in a tourist town, I did what any reasonable adult would do, and maybe I should re-peruse my Reasonable Adult Handbook or something. I got my sophomore yearbook and threw it on the bug.

Then I waited, like I was baking a souffle, so he'd be good and suffocated under my Fair Isle sweater 10th-grade photo. Oh, it took ALL THE COURAGE THAT I HAD to lift that book. All the courage. Had I died doing this, I'd have needed you to say how valiantly I fought.

Ding dong, dudes. Cocksucker was dead.

Then I had to get ALL MY COURAGE again to sweep him up and RUN out of the house with him in a dustpan. I wasn't leaving it in the trash. What if he resurrected and had revenge on his roachy mind? The whole time I was carrying out my mission, my Operation Cockroach, I looked like this:


But i did it. It's my first murder and disposal of cockroaches without calling some boy to come over. SHUT UP. They scare me. Cockroaches, not boys. Although given my history, I should be scareder of boys.

Okay, I have to go to work. I'm wearing a sweater dress in which I look reasonably chunky, but wearing large sweater over it so NO ONE HAS TO KNOW. I hope it's not take-off-your-sweater-day at work today. Ooo! I just remembered it's food truck day, though!

Cause. Effect.

June, buggin' out.

At Two With Nature · June's stupid life

Cordless mouse

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

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


The Count, throwing up his gang sign or whatever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


said, "We should get a humane trap."

A humane trap.

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

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

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

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

Really, my workplace is full of fascinating people.

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

In the meantime, I named him Condoleeza Mice.

The mouse, not Griff.

At Two With Nature · Books · June's stupid life · My pets

The one where it snows in North Carolina. EVERYBODY PANIC!

Dis offend Edzul dellikit sensibilitys.

We had something of a storm. It's not so much how many inches we got, which is the story of MY life, but rather that after it snowed, it then hailed, hailed, the gang was all here, and sleeted, and generally the weather was a dick. We didn't have work yesterday, but I still had to work. They'd told us all to take home our laptops "just in case." Then we got the email that the office was closed, followed by an email from the head of our department, who said, "Stay in your pajamas all day, but keep IM open just in case."

There were a lot of "just in cases" going on in my life yesterday. I got all that info before 8 a.m., and kept the phone with me and decided to rest my eyes just a bit longer. And what woke me up was damn Bitchy Resting Face Alex emailing me some work.

What a jerk.

She'd asked me earlier in the week if I could look at her deck. A deck is a presentation, but we never ever call anything by what it is at work, and you spend the first year there wondering what an MCOW is or a POD. Anyway, all week she was updating me on the condition of her deck, and you can imagine the appropriate responses I sent back.

"Your deck sounds really hard."

"Can't wait to see your deck. Can you send a deck pic?"

But her deck kept not being ready, despite the pills. She was a real deck tease. Finally, of course, when I'm supposed to be drinking spiked hot chocolate (step one: get hot chocolate) (step two: get spikes) IN MY PAJAMAS BECAUSE MY BOSS SAID, instead I spent all afternoon on that damn laptop studying BRF Alex's damn deck.

The BEST part, the VERY BEST PART, is when I was almost done and Iris sat on the laptop and erased everything and I had to start over. I AM NOT KIDDING YOU. Iris is a total deck block.

Anyway, through all that it snowed. Then tinkled icily. All day. Sometimes it was really loud and clanky and disturbing.

Iris considers.

Iris decides.


I went outside in my pajamas, because my boss said, and crunched around in it for awhile, refilled the bird feeder, checked if it was good packing. It isn't.


I guess a sensible person would have put those chairs up so they wouldn't get snowed on.

Tallulah isn't really eating that much, which worries me, and she's shaking, which similarly worries me, and it dawns on me if she gets really ill, we're stuck here. I tried to leave the house yesterday just to see if I could, with a whole, "Pfft, I'm from Michigan" thing going on, and I got stuck in my own driveway, which is a metaphor for everything in my life.


She keeps going outside and squatting, often to no avail, and the silver lining is with the snow, at least I can tell when she's successful. The most heartbreaking thing was watching her squat while ice pellets fell on her. I wanted to go out there with an umbrella, like she was P Diddy, and she's Pee Didn't right now, but I knew that would just freak her out and she'd walk away from me.

I guess a sensible person would have brought in that water dish before it became a snow bowl.

Oh my poor Lu. Can't wait for the advice on this. I called the vet, but of course they're closed. So.

So that's the news over here. It's snowing, but I've got a good book (Purity, which I borrowed from Ned and hey, healthy boundaries) and I have a new paint-by-numbers to do because artist, and also my dog to obsess about. I'm all set! You should have heard my mother the night before the storm. "Have you got cat food? Dog food? Litter? Food for you?"

"Pam, I'm 50," I told her.

"That's not seemed to matter so far," she said, and remember when Dorothy used to threaten Sophia with Shady Pines?



At Two With Nature · June's stupid life · Munchausen's by Proxy · Other people's pets · Times I Amused My Own Self

The one where June makes hilarious Presidents Day puns

Edsel doing his sled dog impression. Or his Mushmouth impresh. Whichever.

It snowed again, which is very exciting for us here. My work is delayed a crummy hour. Given how much sliding down my street I did last night, I thought maybe they'd close the whole thing down. But no. I hope this weather won't interfere with all my day-after-Valentine's-Day flowers I am to get at work. My Presidents Day flowers. Because I'm a capitol gal.


A lot of this weekend involved watching old movies while trying to avoid my statistics textbook, and feeding Talu whatever she wanted. She's been on this pill for a few days that's supposed to shrink or at least slow her tumor, and she seems to be feeling much better. She even harrrrrred yesterday. That's this thing she does where she buries her snout in the carpet or bed and snurfs around and eventually falls down and rolls and says, "Harrrrr, HARRRRRRR." She's always done it and I have no idea what it's about, other than happy.

Remember when I called that pet psychic the other day? She emailed me to ask if she'd sent me the CD of our session. "No," I wrote back, "but I also haven't paid you. I'm so sorry." I told her about Talu and how I'm forgetting everything other than staring at my dog. "Oh, my god, don't even worry about paying me," she wrote. "Let me talk to Tallulah."

Later, she sent me an email. She said she told Tallulah that her tumor was inoperable, but I would make her comfortable and that a nice woman was coming over to peacefully let her go when it's time. (That same poor soul who used to come make house calls for Francis.)

Then she told me that Tallulah said thank you for telling her what's going on, and for making sure we have more time together. That she will be appreciative when the woman comes to the house to end her pain. She said to tell me she has loved our time together, "You've given me so much" and that she will always be my Tallulah. "I trust you with all of me," Tallulah allegedly said.

OH MY GOD. So that was a sobfest. Despite Lexapro.

Really, I feel like if Tallulah could talk, it would mostly be about food. But what do I know? I see her being food-driven like Ned. "Do mom remember that grouper Lu had in May of 2013?"


People have sent Lu treats, and tons of emails, and my coworker Slutty Pancakes gave me this Talu picture. Everyone feels bad about dead dogs. That's just how it is. Dogs are so much more appealing than us, I guess, even the bite-y ones.


ded dawgs. hooo care?

Lily, sittin' on my statistics. Because cats don't give a SHIT what you're doing or when your deadline is.

I did take my statistics and my ass downtown Saturday afternoon, and did my work at the bookstore, where they have coffee and some food. I got (and I hate to sound like Tallulah and Ned) an absolutely delicious ham and cheddar sandwich on focca–foca-foocaa–flat bread. The side was grape tomatoes with olive oil and basil, which I put ON the sandwich and holy mother of Christ.

I sat in the window, not that I'm a bird or a mannequin. They have little tables in the window. I wasn't there 10 minutes before I saw someone I know, and had to converse, but after that I spent three hours in peace, doing my work. There was an unlovely couple there, clearly on a first date, and they seemed to be having a good time. They were similarly unlovely, but as I watched surreptitiously from my table, they both got lovelier because they both seemed to be getting happier as the date went better and better. It was really very sweet, although if you ask me, it wouldn't have killed the woman to have put on something cuter and to knock it off with all the talk about her kid.

Said the person who spent 89 paragraphs on her dog.

Other than proofreading statistics and staring at the dog and watching old movies, my weekend culminated in going to my friend The Other Copy Editor's house to attend her Valentine's Day dinner party last night. Before I got there, I headed to the inconvenience store on my corner, which never has anything except they do have Kendall Jackson Chardonnay, which is good. I don't know if anyone remembers Valentine's Day 2012 in your Big Book of June Events, but Ned and I had just met, had had maybe three dates, when he was felled by illness right before V-Day. I remember he sent me an e-card, and later told me he was in bed that whole day, and the only time he got out was to send me that card and fall back into bed.

Anyway, it was just me and me that V-Day, so I went to the inconvenience store for a romantic dinner with my good friends Kendall and Jackson and maybe some salt-and-vinegar potato chips. There was Harry, the guy who was always my guy at the inconvenience store. He called himself Harry, but his real name was something like AbuDabuGaneshapur or something.

Was that racist?

"Oh, June, are you alone on Valentine's Day?" he asked me.

"Well, sort of. See I've just started seeing–"

"Oh, I am alone, too, Miss June. I am so lonely," he told me. "Why don't I bring a bottle of wine to your house after work? We spend this day together."

And that is how I ended up pulling my car as far up the driveway as possible, to try to hide my YELLOW FREAKING BUG from Harry in case he went looking for me after his lonely shift.

The point is, Harry wasn't there last night, although I was kind of hoping he would be, to bookend that event. Instead it was a kind of hot girl of color who was funny, but that's neither here nor there.


The inconvenience store was out of Kendall Jackson, clean out, so I had to get some shitty Chardonnay and head to TOCE's house. It was just starting to snow when I got to her street.


But it was so cozy at her house.


I love how the Baby Boomers are having a conversation and the Millennials are looking at their phones. Hello, stereotypes.



I don't know how I managed to get myself in focus and everyone else is a soft blur, but it kind of sums up all my relationships. The food at that party was so good that it was the kind of thing where you just want to be alone with it and stroke your plate lovingly. I'd have gotten up for fourths if I could have. Holy crap.

IMG_7859 IMG_7860
I was there for two hours and it managed to snow like a banshee in those two hours. Then I had to slide home terrifyingly (yes, I HAVE forgotten I grew up in Michigan) and had to clomp through this tundra in high-heeled boots to take out my trash and Peg's trash, forgetting that today is Presidents Day and fuck.

I know you wish I'd talk more but now I have to go to work. Happy Presidents Day. In honor of it, I'm Lincoln to my latest Purple Clover. In which I talk about naked teenage boys of color. So. Hope you think my article is da O-bam-a.

Don't Washington your hands of me. I'll Fillmore of your needs tomorrow. And I'll be Nixon this kind of talk. It's Tru, Man.

At Two With Nature · Food and Drink · Fuck natural · June's stupid life

Literally wearin’ the green

Aye! See, I want to talk Irish to you but I keep sounding like a pirate. Ahoy! It's St. Patrick's Day, matey! Arrrrrr!

As I told you yesterday, with my cliffhanger headline, my Aunt Mary sent me a box of pants. She loves to shop, see, it's kind of her hobby, see, and now she's retired. This means she has all kinds of time to peruse her closets and her tubs of clothes from other seasons–yes, she's one of those people who has to put away winter clothes and get out summer clothes and probably fall and winter clothes–and she found all kinds of pants in my size with tags still on them.

"I have all these pants. Want me to mail them to you?" she asked me. Of course I did.

The point of my story is (a) pretty much my whole life, my Aunt Mary has dressed me and (2) among all the pants was a silky tank top that's bright blue on one side and green on the other. It's reversable, see, and I don't know why I have to keep saying "see" all the time. IMG_8343
eyeriss resent.

So I now actually have a green thing to wear today, which is exciting, because in general I don't, as green is not my color, and most of the rest of the year I will wear the blue side of my tank top because I look good in blue.

People also seem to like me in brights, further proving the '80s were right about me being a winter. Plus I'm as cold as ice. I'm willing to sacrifice our love. I never take advice. Wow, that really is my theme song.

Anyway, aye! I be wearin' the green, Katie Scarlett. For land is the only thing that matters.

You should talk to me in real life. All my accents end up sounding like Rik, my idiot Italian neighbor in LA, or Ville, this Finnish guy I went to school with. Finnish-ing school.


This day gets my Irish up.

I remember my grandmother, not the one I'm turning into but the other one, the nice one, getting ready for some event on St. Patrick's Day. She had on a green rhinestone pin I was seriously wanting to single white female her on, and she was spraying on her signature Emeraude, and I thought, "St. Patrick's Day is my favorite holiday." I was forever making sweeping statements to myself like that, as opposed to now, with my I'm gonna lose 30 pounds and so on.

Actually, I've done pretty well sticking to my Weight Watchers, except for Famous Amos, who lives in the vending machine to fuck me up. This week it's double chocolate Famous Amos, and what Amos is gonna be famous for is sucking my dick, with his cookie deliciousness. Also, someone brought in delicious macaroons to work yesterday and I had almost a sexual reaction to them.


Oh, mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law.

They weren't on the "anyone can take it" table, so all day I thought about them and wished for them and looked up how many points they'd be, and at the very end of the day, the person at work WHO I DON'T KNOW offered me one, because I must have been looking at her like Tallulah. Do you think the part where I kept putting my paw insistently on her was unprofessional?

That macaroon was delicious. It was every bit as good as I thought it would be, and so what. Oprah's eating bread on Weight Watchers, and right now bread is a Nazi, but of course sugar is currently Beelzebub, so you can't win.


Anyway, spring is here in North Carolina, and I can't wait for the Facebook updates where everyone capitalizes the word "spring." On our three o'clock walks at work now, we walk through the neighborhood near work and it's lovely. All the ducks are pairing up and it's only a matter of time before I become obsessed with duck babies. Also I'd like to note ducks can find a mate and I can't.

I'd better duck on out of here and go to work. I hope no one fucks me up with any macaroons today. It was like the last temptation of Christ up in there yesterday.

Chubbily, and arrrrrrrr!


Lillee celebrate spring with delish uss bird in her teef.

At Two With Nature · June's stupid life

Work Hymor

Back when I was pretty persnickety about these things, like, college, when a man called a grown woman a "girl," I'd say, if she menstruates, she's a woman, not a girl.

So does this mean I'm back to being a girl? Because yay. I enjoy being a girl.


I've been meaning to show you this text forever. I was texting with Cardinal the day Tallulah died, as opposed to the day the music died, and I want you to know I hate voice texting. I know I should be all delighted by the miracle of life or whatever, but if you give me new technology, I want it to work. I particularly like "for fucks fake."

It's been one of those spring weekends that's sunny and lovely, and just a little too cold in the shade. I've been gardening all weekend, pulling that infernal ivy I can't get rid of. Attached above, please find my neighbor's tree, which has these lovely weird Dr. Seuss blooms this time of year.


The blossoms blow into my yard, and I love it.

No idea what this tree is, so don't ask. Gardening, with June Gardens. Ironically.


I think every year at this time, I show you my Dentyne-colored azaleas, and bemoan the part where whomever planted azaleas in my yard picked ALL THE COLORS. Who decided ALL THE COLORS was an idea? Couldn't we have just stuck with one?


I'm also pretty sure that every freaking year I try to show you this pretty blossom and the goddamn camera focuses on my house instead. But this gives you yet another opportunity to give me ideas for what color to paint the door. It gives you another opportunity to ignore that I'm going for "cottage-y" and say, "Paint it pumpkin, Jooooon!"


While I was in the yard, my photographer's assistant was with me.


Amoeba kitty.

not to cramp eyeriss style, mom. to put eyeriss down now. rooon eyeriss street cred.

Oh! Also! See my damn Fitbit? Yesterday I walked 9,997 steps. Goddammit. THREE MORE STEPS. Come ON.

Also also, today is my weigh-in day for Weight Watchers, and three weeks into it I have lost seven pounds. I know, man. I'm starting to look sick, right? Go ahead, ask me if I'm okay. Hashtag goals. After I'm done writing this, I'm headed to the store to get more WW groceries, weird things like grape tomatoes and baby carrots. The frozen burrito aisle misses me so.

I'm going to what my former student used to call the Ghetto Lion, which is the Food Lion that might be a trifle tacky. But it's cheaper than Harris Teeter. Still, whenever I'm in there, I totally think "Ghetto Lion" every time.


Last night I was eating three cups of popcorn (4 points) and watching a movie, when I saw Lily go all the way up on her back legs just so she could rub against Edsel. Naturally I missed capturing that, but those two are so in love it's ridik. I'm glad Edsel has a cat friend in his hour of need. Any time I cry about Talu these past 11 days, he runs in and presses his head on me. He's a good boy. In his own way.

nobodee welcome. eyeriss destroy.

Yeah, I KNOW I gotta paint the porch. So go ahead, tell me what colors. I still like the idea of gray. To match my cats. And hair. Check the roots.




...friend/Ned · At Two With Nature · Books · June's stupid life

835 Glorious Words


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

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

Speaking of which, last night I was walking Edsel.


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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


She's like 27.

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

Crap. It's 8:31.



...friend/Ned · At Two With Nature · June's stupid life

Karl Not So Young

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


NO NO NO, the BUSH with FLOWERS on it.

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



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


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

Photo on 4-18-16 at 8.23 AM

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

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

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

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

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

Screen Shot 2016-04-18 at 8.29.04 AM

Talk to you soon. On a granular level.


Am British · At Two With Nature · June's stupid life

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…


About a week after that…


Last week…


Last night…


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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


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.


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.


Jooooooon and her vibes

At Two With Nature · June's stupid life · Music · Other people's pets

June’s milkshake brings all the calves to the yard

"Oooo! I know!" I said to my friend. "Let's drive out to the country to that ice cream place, where you can pet cows and eat ice cream they made right there on the spot!"


For me, there's a whole afternoon. There's a black-and-white cat who lives there, and I think it's so cute they got a cat with cow colors. And there are Border Collies, or were. Now there's just one who lopes around without a care. Also, peahens.


So we went.


I don't even LIKE milk. Wouldn't it be awful if you produced milk and you didn't even like it? She asks tens of readers who've had kids and produced milk all over the place.


Oh, it's lovely there. I ordered the kids size, meaning, apparently, they give a scoop of butter pecan that is the size of a child between the ages of 18 months and 11 years old. Then you get to sit on chairs and eat your ice cream while grownup cows meander across the street, and the Border Collie lies in the middle of the road.


Alternatively, you can go kiss the BABY COWS! Guess who I was obsessed with. Was it old brownie, here, wif her eyelashessses? Was I obsessed at all? Was I an idiot? Did I knock a few kids aside who had the nerve to want to come near my new baby cow baby of all babies?

Caffie be cute.

Oh my god. I was obsessed with her. Did I mention?

do Caffie look hot?

The whole time I'm writing this, I have the back door open, and that is not a euphemism, and as I write I hear {quiet} {quiet} then GLUMP GLUMP GLUMP {quite} {quiet} GLUMP GLUMP GLUMP. The dogs are doing their full-speed circle around the yard, and when they hit the deck they galumph across it, then tear across the rest of the yard, and soon they'll both burst through the door and drink 79 gallons of water and tear out again.

The point is, I act like I don't already LIVE IN CHAOS and here I am thinking, I could totally get a brown cow baby.

O, you culd. Caffee agree.

Cow selfie. It went well.


Anyway, it was a good day at the creamery. I was nuttery. And that's a surprise.

Everyone's in now. This whole back room is all, "Henh, henh, henh…" Oh, they just went back to the water dish. I'll bet it's tidy and not at all splashy around that dish right now. But yeah, get a baby cow, June. Good plan.

So that happened. And then we went to dinner, and at the restaurant they were playing all grunge songs, like they had some kind of "Gritty Soudns of the 90s" soundtrack on their Pandora or something. But then, after about a hundred SoundPearlPilots songs of Nirvana, they broke into Led Zeppelin.

"What is this, the soundtrack of my life?" I asked, because hey, June, try to be more self-centered. "First we're in Seattle and now we've gone to all the high school basement parties I ever attended."

This got me thinking about if I were going to make a soundtrack of my life, what songs would I put on there, and it's sort of riveting to mull. Here are a few I've thought of so far.


Swear to god, this is the first song I thought of, and it's a jingle, and you know, Laura Ingalls Wilder's soundtrack would not include a jingle. But I can hear this playing from the living room TV while I tried to sleep in my room down the hall.

Anyway, it's kind of a fascinating thing to think about. The soundtrack of one's life. So far I'm at toddlerhood, where I was between 18 months and 11 years old.



Oh, shit, Lottie's crying. Gotta go break that shit up.

lotEE good! she totlee good! she go bak out now?

...friend/Ned · At Two With Nature · I am berserk · June's stupid life · Neighbors of June · Other people's pets

Old Limey Checks In

7:05 a.m. (Hah! Remembered!)

If you tuned in yesterday, you'll recall, with your sharp precision that knows no bounds, that I said, "I haven't saved the bird yet or seen the muskrat or closed down two more places or gotten to Peg or talked about Boomer the big-headed dog, so I guess I'll write more tomorrow."

Well, here it is. Tomorrow. Let's not adieu any further. Which I think means "goodbye" so that made no sense.

After my near-brush with lawn-guy death on Saturday, Ned and I returned to my abode and did not bid adieu but instead let out aLottie. See what I did, there? We got the leashes and took everyone on a walk, and by "everyone" I don't mean you were the only one not there. I just mean in my dog kingdom.

So we'd rounded the corner toward the park for The Seeing of the Chickens in That One Back Yard That Faces the Park, when I saw a bird just motionless in the middle of the road. "Oh, no," I said to Ned, handing him Lottie's leash without another word. Ned used to walk the dogs with me all the time, although they contained a calm Tallulah and not a berserk Lottie. But he's used to my oh no-ing and handing the leash off thoughtlessly. I'm just glad he didn't lose a hand since our breakup, and my thoughtless leash-handing would have resulted in tragedy.

Why does my brain work that way?

The poor thing was motionless, with his beak open like he was gasping for air, although he didn't seem to be. I used the (unused, calm down) poop bag to try to pick him up, he wriggled away, and so I sat and talked to him for awhile.

And that is when he started following me around.

Oh, it was cute. I'd walk a little and he'd hop after me. Finally I got him, took him to the shade under a person's bush, and I mean, like, foliage, pervy. Then Ned and I screamed the poor dogs home (Edsel was all, wak abort again so mom can save dum burd), got water and a shoe box Ned punched holes in and drove back to the spot.

Ned parked and stayed in the car to search bird rescue places and I got my shoe box, my cup of water, my tiny dish and spoon and was hunching in the bushes talking to a bird when the people who owned the house with the bush drove up.


You know how this hair looks crazy anyway? IMG_0810
"Oh, hai. I was just talking to a bird under your…your…trying to capture and rehabilitate…okay, nice to meet you." Once they arrived, the bird flew off, so then I looked COMPLETELY sane. I was just talking to this imaginary bird in your bush. Hey, you on NextDoor? Me too! Looking forward to the warning about me on there!

Are you guys on that thing? Go see if you have one for your neighborhood. You get all KINDS of good gossip, and all sorts of drama from busybodies. They should've named it Gladys Kravitz, not NextDoor. You also get to see people pictures so you can check if you have any hot neighbors.

News flash: I don't seem to have any hot neighbors. A lot of very involved 42-year-old women, though. "Did anybody hear those sirens? Is everyone okay?" Oh, please. You don't give one fuck. You just want the guff. AS DO I.

After I, you know, got up from under those people's bushes and said my name was Peg so she'd look crazy and not me (and there's a giant chance they'll mistake us at the next block party), Ned and I decided to go ahead and walk in the park anyway, even without my poor dogs, who were probably home ordering giant bones online.

"heyyy. bonez dot com do not haff anytheen edzel wan–well, hai, fyrmenz!"

"Oh my god!" I screeched, and Ned is used to my random screeches as well. But in the creek, there, was a swimming little muskrat! Oh, he was cute. We could see him all sleek and swimmy, and then he got out and showed us his little muskrat head, and I got the water and shoebox and tried to convince him it was great at my house.


I Googled to show you a cute picture of a swimming muskrat and came across this horrific picture instead. Are those, like, his innards up top? What IS that? Somewhere, Muskrat Susie is very sad.

Finally, Ned and I stopped looking at the muskrat, and went to our respective homes and showered, because neither of us had yet that day, and it was 10 p.m. when we finally went out to dinner. I'm sure you recall, from your Big Book of June Events, that in June of 2012, we went to a restaurant and sat clean in the dark. Like, they'd failed to light the damn outside portion of the restaurant, and so we sat in utter darkness and despair. Except we didn't, because we'd been dating six months and it wasn't complicated then and oh, June of 2012. How I miss you.

The point is, we ended up closing that place the other night, although this time it was at least lit. This town goes to bed early. Then after, we wanted to try this new brewery, but first I wanted to come home and check on Lottie, and guess who's a pain in my ass.

So when the doorbell rang and it was quite late, I was glad Ned was there. Because scary.

It was Peg. Of the kneel-in-the-bushes-in-people's-yards Pegs. "My lights are out!" she announced, stomping in defiantly. "I see yours aren't."

Ned called Duke Energy, and it turns out most dukes have a ton of energy, and also it turns out 35 houses in my neighborhood were out of power, as was the blinking light on our corner. Something about a bird coming back to life and wreaking havoc on the power lines.

I told Peg she could stay at my house and watch TV, but she demurred. "I'll just go to bed," she said, so Ned and I headed to the brewery. Which we closed down.

And also, at said brewery, right next to us, in a chair like he was a person, was a big big big, big-headed dog named Boomer and I LOVED HIM SO BAD. I  tried to act like I was taking an asshole selfie and get him in the background, but the angles didn't work. OH HE WAS A PUMPKIN.

I kept hearing people ask Boomer's owner, "What kind of dog is that?" and she kept saying, "He's a mix." Yes, we KNOW he's a mix, but get your hundred dollars together to find out he's a Boxer/Pit/Shep/Lab/Golden mix when you know perfectly well he's a Blackmouth Cur and they don't test for that.

Not to be specific. Which of you emailed to tell me Lottie's a Blackmouth Cur? Because I think you're right. Here's a regularly scheduled BMC, below, at three months old.


Here's my "shepherd mix" at three months and 19 days.



Anyway, that sums up my adventure-filled Saturday. Yesterday I found a tick on me, so now I'm Yolanda from Real Housewives. You have THAT to look forward to.

From my cryogenic tank,


P.S. My latest Purple Clover, about the day I called all my exes and discovered I'm crazy.

At Two With Nature · Fuck natural · June's stupid life

Everyone’s a comedian

I posted last night–I gave some aptitude tests to Lottie that I shared on film. Yes, you really ARE welcome. Scroll down to see.

But I gathered you all here today to hear about my severe eye injury. I was walking with my coworker Austin yesterday, through the park. Usually a big group of us walks but everyone was too busy or they thought it was too hot. Ninety-seven is a lovely temp for a stroll.

Anyway, we were almost done when


a bug flew right into my eye. Right into it!

"Ow!" I said. And then I smelled that smell Stink Bugs emit.

And right then I knew. A fucking STINK BUG had flown into my eye. And emitted its…juice or whatever right into my socket.

"Goddammit," I said.

It seemed like an inconvenient truth, but that it'd be no big deal, no bug deal, but it turns out stupid Stink Bug juice REALLY EFFING HURTS when it's sprayed into your EYE, and all of a sudden I was Juice Newton, over there, with the burning and the watering and the pain, oh the pain.

Naturally I took this opportunity to tell just everyone at work, because when bad things happen to marginally good people, it's cause for sympathy-eliciting.

The point is, I was back at my desk, trying to see out my eye, when my coworker Fewks came over.

"Hey!" he said. "You givin' me the stink-eye?"

And that is right about when I stopped liking Fewks.

Anyway, today it hurts to the touch and it's slightly purple, but I think I will, you know, keep the eye. You know I hate to make a big deal out of things. I'd hate to bug you.

Doin' the stanky leg,


...friend/Ned · Ask Lu · At Two With Nature · I hate everything · June can't keep a man


I don't get why people like fantasy and science fiction. It's so not interesting to me. I don't see how you can get riveted by things that don't exist. Oh! There's a curse from the Land of Dumblethworp and it's going to affect all the Kasimotos!

Who gives a fuck? I don't even know the name of the street a block over from me. I'm supposed to remember who the Kasimotos are?

My cousin Katie, who similarly teaches tolerance, sent me a text this weekend that merely read, "I don't understand gladiator sandals."

Actually, while we're on the subject of my love-everyone friends and family, I got a SERIES (a SERIES!!) of texts from my friend Paula in Seattle. She was out to dinner with her husband Saturday night, and they pretty much spent the whole evening detesting the annoying hipster woman (redundant) next to them.

First, the woman told the waiter her husband wanted "a simple wine," while she wanted "something more structured."

Dear annoying hipster woman (redundant): Yes, it's Saturday night and I'm trying to wait on 50 people and there's a line out the door. But let me sit around and decide which of our wines has more structure.

Then she regaled the waiter with all of her idiosyncrasies during her second glass, when she wanted just "something red."

I'd give her something red.

Finally, (in between those, Paula texted me that her asshole had permanently puckered. This was a nod, a structured nod, to my grandmother, who when she got mad said things made her asshole pucker up and twitch. Which reminds me, I watched a documentary on Jackie O last night, followed by one on Princess Diana, and it was pretty much my ultimate evening other than no one handed me a kitten at the end of it).
Lottie. So not into Jackie O or Princess Di, since 2016. Currently she's all head, like one of those parades with all the, you know, big heads.

Oh my god, back to my sentence. So, finally, at the end of the meal, the annoying hipster woman (redundant) claimed to be too full for dessert, unless the waiter had "something that amazes me."

OH MY FUCKING GOD I'D HAVE CHOPPED HER UP AND PUT HER GIZZARD IN THE PIZZA OVEN. You know what amazes me? Is that she's still alive, and no one has seen fit to chop her face clean off.

The best part of all this is picturing my already-cantankerous friend Paula getting cantankerous-er by the minute. And her husband's such a lover of people, as well. Oscar the Grouch's character is modeled after her husband. He was five at the time.

Other than that, I pretty much photographed the whole weekend for you; scroll down to this weekend's posts if'n you don't believe me.

Here's one I took with my desktop camera, wherein I must have heard something interesting. Lu was the queen of the head tilt. She did it all the time. She did it when you said "Obama." I don't know why. She never told me.

Oh, also this weekend, I woke up in the middle of the night to hear Lily having one of her Vietnam flashbacks. Ever since she ran away for those 52 days in 2014, she'll have an occasional middle-of-the-night meowfest, where she makes this noise she never makes any other time. It's awful.

Anyway, she was doing that in the night, and when I half woke up and heard it, my instinct was to call her. Not on the phone. Hallooo? You haff reeech Lilee voice mayl.

To call her into the ROOM, genius, but I didn't wanna wake Ned. I could feel him pressed up behind me and I knew if I called Lily in, he'd wake up. Just as I was thinking that I heard a dog moan, and I realized it was Edsel up against me.

And right then I knew. Ned and I broke up 11 months ago. He hasn't been in the bed since God wore the short trousers.

That was disconcerting. And sad. Which sums up my life.

I leave you with some sounds of not silence. I filmed, for your pleasure, a ribbed, six-second video of the cicadas last night.


It was way louder in person. And whoever that car was, I hate you. It was probably the annoying hipster woman


driving by. Also, I did not at all come home from walking Lottie, sweatily take her leash off her and sweatily put it on Edsel, caring not for his humiliation or anything.

Also, this morning, speaking of sounds, as I was typing you, there was some sort of crow fest outside and I recorded that. It's super Hitchcock creepy, if you ask me.


The most important thing to take from this video is, what the fuck kind of a name is "Tippi"? Was she the family dog?   

I guess that's all I have to tell you. Tomorrow I'm taking the afternoon off to start a headache study, and remind me to tell you about that. How many days in a row do you give me to forget before I tell you? I say the study will be over before I remember.

Go off and prosper or whatever science-fiction bullshitty thing you want me to say,


At Two With Nature · Fuck natural · June's stupid life · Lottie = El Diablo

June Brought the Rose (Gold)

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

IMG_1639 IMG_1638

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

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

That was relaxing.

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



Organ meats.



Anything burned.

Mayonnaise-based salads.

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

Do you know what I'm never dying for?

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

Welcome to the Midwest.

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

Screen Shot 2016-08-12 at 8.19.36 AM

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

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

Lottie is an asshole.

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


My asshole dog and I will talk to you later.


Pink June

Aging ungracefully · At Two With Nature · Death · Film · Health · Other people's pets · Snakes

Like I blister in the sun

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

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

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


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


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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

edz kind of theenkeng mom reep wat she so.

Oh shut up, Judge-y Edsel.

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

...friend/Ned · Aging ungracefully · At Two With Nature · Death · Hair · I am a pleasure of life · I am high-maintenance · June can't keep a man · June's stupid life · My pets

It’s a pretty good crowd for a Saturday

Yes, I'm posting on Saturday. Hello! {hello hello hello hello} Echo! {echo echo echo echo}

I don't know why I bother. But hello, one and a half people who are homebound for whatever reason.

I guess now that it's half an hour away, I can tell you that I am supposed to be in New York right now, for a friend's surprise 50th, and I'm so sad I'm not there. His wife invited me, and I wanted to bring our mutual friend Sandy to doubly surprise him, but I just couldn't afford boarding Edsel, flying there, staying in a NEW YORK HOTEL HELLO EXPENSIVE, and so on. I tried. It makes me sad. I'd love to see his face when he gets surprised today. It'd probably be the same face he got back in college when he learned everyone didn't have a maid.

So, crap.


Yesterday at work, we got surprised as well, except I knew about it cause I planned it. But an account we work on at work has a dog model, a 176-pound dog model named Moose, and I wrote a story about Moose for said account, and got to know Moose's owner, who is local. He offered to bring Moose to the office, and I knew that would be a big hit, but I had no idea how big of a hit.


Fucking EVERYONE got up to meet Moose. And there's really no way to show, to scale, how dang big that dog is. On his hind legs, he's 5'10". And he's just so docile. It was like Snufalupagus came in to work. "hullo. moowse heer. sigh." He is the very definition of laid back.


I listened to people ask his owner the same questions over and over again. How much does he eat? How old is he, again? Where does he sleep? (Not that much, actually, 7 and a half, and on the bed, natch.)

Oh my god, we all loved us the Moose.


Petite. That's what he was. A mere slip of a thing.


My mere slip of a thing seems to be doing better since his shots took everything out of him. And Iris seems to be more resigned to her little-brother fate, although she's still giving one last hiss before she walks out the door. If she were in a band, she'd paint her face black and white and join Hiss.

If she were a holiday, she'd be Hissmass.

She's thinking of running for off-hiss.

You get my drift.

She puts on a blue conservative hissmass suit and a floppy tie, because she's a hissmass woman.

I need to get over it.

If she drank beer, she'd drink it out of a growler.

Dear June: We hate you. Love, Readers.


When I got home last night, it was an exciting mail day. I got my new phone cover, which makes me officially Single White Female-ing Faithful Reader Beverly. She got one first. Is my point. If she were Iris, she'd say, "Firsssssst."

Don't you just loves it, though? Oh my god, how bad do you want to be me right now?

Don't answer that.


I also got my first Stitch Fix box. It's this place? Where nobody dares to go? You needed the world to know. They are in Xanadu.


Oh my god.

So, at work, I edit the company newsletter, because powerful, and when I was planning September's issue, I emailed the newsletter staff with "September newsletter: Fashion Edition" just to be funny.

See, most fashion and beauty magazines have an extra-thick edition in September, ya lesbian, full of the latest styles and trends and so on. This came in real handy during my coming-up years in Saginaw. "Oooo, I'd better tear this open, read it cover to cover, then head to the mall for more Sasson jeans and Candies."

Anyway, I wrote that as a joke, but then decided it'd be fun to have a fashion edition of the company newsletter, so I went around randomly interviewing and photographing my coworkers. Two very cute women said they got their outfits that day from Stitch Fix.

So, you go on the site, and the first person to not just Google fucking it gets stitches after I visit your abode, and tell them a bit about yourself (Dear Stitch Fix: I am old and fat) and they send you clothes you can keep or return.

Right? I know!


Oh, you're welcome.


I got this pretty gold necklace, and BRF Alex always wears gold necklaces, and she's fashionable, and now I wonder if I should be like her, except old and fat. It's like how my cousin Katie orders things from Athleta and once she puts them on, she's all, "Oh, look at the fat girl in athletic garb."

Anyway. I took pictures, and none of these look flattering in the pictures but they really are cute in real life. As real as this life is, what with my denial that I'm a homosexual man and all.


I love this little top, and I think maybe if I didn't wear it with blue cargo pants and a black bra…


Polka-dotted shirt, also cute if I had anything form-fitting on with it and didn't look like one of those clowns they're finding in the woods.

I like the idea of this dress, but it looks like someone threw up flowers on it.

steelee dan waring his gray sweater again.

That placemat never looks filthy till I photograph it, and then it always looks like I'm feeding animals in a Third World country or something. Note that SD is generally eating all the time. Also, what do you think of canned food for kittens? I hear it's healthier. I've never done it but I keep reading it's preferable.

After I tried on all my ensembles, Ned wanted to go to the goddamn folk festival. "We can walk from my house," said Ned, like that'd be fun.

Last year, we went to the folk festival, had a terrible time, and broke up the next morning. Not because we had a terrible time, but because, well, you know sort of all the reasons we broke up. Anyway, it's exactly a year later and Ned was hoping we could redo it or something.

One way to put me in a sparkling mood was to make me walk in the 90-degree heat to TIBET and back, only so we could stand in a crowd and then walk home again.

But I fucking did it. Oh my god, I was cranky. My feet were scraping in my shoes, even though Ned insisted I wear tennis shoes, and it was hot, and THAT WALK WAS INTERMINABLE. Also, I am a good sport. Is the thing. I go along to get along. That's me.


When we finally got downtown, a hundred and ninety seven years after we took off from Ned's house of torment and bad ideas, we stopped in to see Kit at her store.

"Remember last week, when I was cheerful and drunk?" I asked her. My hair had gotten sweaty and it was 75 feet wide. When I told her we'd walked from Ned's (she lives in Ned's neighborhood), she was appalled for me, and that made everything worthwhile.

"You should get drunk again," she advised.

Ned made me go to THREE FUCKING STAGES to see THREE FUCKING BANDS ("If we weren't already broken up, I'd have broken up with him over this," I groused to Kit.), and at the third stage, we noted that's where we'd been last year when we were having a rotten time. In our 2016 version of Going to the Folk Festival, Ned had found us drinks, and we were sitting on the grass playing "Would You" with all the people walking by. News flash: Ned and I mostly "would" with anyone under 30. Also, I totally "Would You'd" both men AND woman, but Ned stayed steadfastly pervy about women.

"Last year we hated each other, and this year we're picking out people to fuck," mused Ned.

"It's like we're growing," I said, looking for a first aid tent so they could amputate my legs after that walk, kind of like that poor guy in Gone With the Wind.


We noted we were right near the ironically named Goodyear sign, having just had a shit-ass year. Neither of us have met anyone else, and apparently Ned is still trying to kill me for it.


On the equally interminable walk back, we stopped at the neighborhood bar that still counts for Ned as a neighborhood bar, and for me as a "bar from my old neighborhood."

Ned paid. Damn straight he did.

So that's my weekend. Ned wants to walk back to the fucking festival today, and let me tell you who's Hans Solo today. Let me tell you who will never walk alone, except he's walking alone today. Let me tell you who said "folk you" to Ned.

Talk to you later.



At Two With Nature · Gardening

Removing the ’70s bush

I know you're sick of hearing me talk about how I'm eating the flaxseed muffins I made myself yesterday, with whole-wheat flour, which who even knew that was a thing. But lemme tell you, I outdid myself. They.Are.Delicious.

I've been eating this damn healthy food for two weeks now, and you all keep asking if my headaches are gone. NOT YET. I mean, I have only had one mild one, on Friday, after that disastrous day, but that's not an unusual amount for me. I can go two or three weeks, and then I'll get 800 in a row.

The point of this study is if this diet affects my head long term. And for all I know, I'm in the control group and I'm doing this stupid whole grains, fresh fruit, lots of fish crap for naught.

In the meantime, let's talk about my yard. Ooo, June! Don't ever stop! You rivet me!


So here's my yard now, and I know it's cute and all, I do. But remember how my back yard was mud, and all I had was mud, and my name was mud, and if I sang the blues I'd be Muddy Waters? Remember that? I had a series of men come over and tell me what I should do, and one guy had suggestions I didn't want, but when we walked back to his truck, he said, "You know, I could make your front yard so cute."

Then he started telling me his plans. Like, making the monkey grass, there, more symmetrical, and once he mentioned how asymmetrical it was I got bothered by it. And getting rid of my '70s bushes and putting in low hydrangeas and wrapping jasmine around the white posts and I WAS SO SOLD.


Seventies bushes. Gone. And I'm getting a flower box under the window in the top photo!!

So, first of all I hired him to cut my lawn and he does 20,000 times better of a job than the last guy, who was a nice guy but he didn't edge or blow and this all sounds dirty. My yard makes me pleased every time I come home.

New Lawn Guy (let's call him Lawn Greene) came over this weekend, and drew me a little plan, which I am now obsessed with.


I mean, I can only pay him do to a very little at a time. Like, step one, go get the jasmine. That's it for now. So, all told, this will take around five years, but what else have I got to do?

Oh, it's so exciting.

I invited the guy in Saturday, so he could draw me his little blueprint, and naturally Edsel greeted him at the door with something in his mouth. Edsel cannot go to the door empty-mouthed, it just wouldn't be fittin'. So instead he brings his toy, or my shoe, or if he's desperate, the remote or a piece of paper.

"Oh, he's friendly now," said the lawn guy.

"Does he bark at you when you're here to cut the lawn?"

"June, I wouldn't be surprised if this dog killed an intruder. He goes to the windows and snarls and shows his teeth and even drools. I've actually seen his dripping fangs."

not to fuk wif edzul.

This dog. This dog right here. With the doilies and the simpering and the, okay, few puppy attempted murders under his–well, he'd never wear a belt. Under his Ashley Wilkes milksop gold sash.

Edsel is a man of many mysteries. He's a boiling caldron under that rangy frame.

Yesterday was our six-year anniversary, Edsel's and mine. He and I have had quite a stupid year. It was also the one-year anniversary of when I moved out of my year abroad and into Kaye's, a thing I hadn't noted till Google Photos showed me what I was doing a year ago. I think that's a good sign, that I didn't note it and sit in my rocker and be Miss Havisham about it.

we tuffer than dat

All right, I've got to go. How many of you think I will forget to bring the laptop back to work and have to turn around and go get it once I've arrived? How many?