It’s like I saw only 7 movies and they influenced my whole life

At the top of my new fancy blogging template is a button I click when I want to compose a new post. That button reads, “Write.” It has an icon of a huge pencil looming over a very square piece of paper.Screen Shot 2017-04-07 at 7.48.59 AM

Whenever I click on it, I think of Celie in The Color Purple screaming, “WRIIIIITE!!!” and Nettie screeching, “Nothing but DEATH could keep me from it!”

Which is how I feel about kissing kittens on the noggin.Continue reading “It’s like I saw only 7 movies and they influenced my whole life”


Would you like to know what annoys me?

"Wait. June. Something annoys you?"

When people use trite phrases. For example, remember in The Wizard of Oz, when they said, "Lions and tigers and bears–oh, my!" It bugs me when people paraphrase that. Linens and teacups and bags–oh, my! Hail and winds and rain–oh, my!

And this is why I particularly hated myself more than usual when I realized I was out of gel today and said to my own self, "Houston, we have a problem." You've no idea how much I loathed my own self right then, but we really do have a problem, Houston.

I'd turned it upside-down, the gel bottle, and it all ran out onto the sink's surface and dried like There's Something About Mary.

I wish I'd mention more movies today. I get paid thousands of dollars each time I throw one in.

I saw Carrie last night ($$$$!!!!) at my old movie theater I like to go to. I've never seen it in its entirety, and one of the bitchy girls in the movie is actually the woman who was eventually in Ferris Bueller ($$$$$!!!), the principal's assistant who says, "They all say he's a rightous dude."

Anyway, it's a good movie, Carrie is, and the insane mom of Carrie has June Hair. She's also probably younger than me now, which is sad. Everyone's younger than me. My doctor is still older, thank god. But he's, like, half-retired.

Did I mention sad?

Also, I need to work in the phrase "dirty pillows" when referring to women's breasts more often. That's what the mom with June Hair called them. That Carrie mom seemed to have some sort of disorder.

Other than that, yesterday yawned before me with screaming emergencies and then nothing and then another screaming emergency and then nothing again. It's like working in an emergency room, except with words. In between EMERGENCY! NOTHING! I talked to The Poet, and I was telling her that I knew I had to go to the store after work, because I was 100% out of something, and now the end of the day was drawing nigh and I could no longer recall what I was 100% out of.

"Pudding?" she asked.

Pudding. Because once you're out of pudding, you're out of groceries.

It turned out to be Prilosec, which I consume by the gallon, and I should probably really return to the throat guy. He's really tall and long. Wears a lot of turtlenecks. Anyway I never did get any, because I couldn't remember and then I had to scream to Carrie ($$$$!!!!), and now today I will GERD all day. I'll be the hurdy GERDy girl. So.

I wish I could stay and talk about the important issues of our time, but I must be off. We had a yard sale fundraiser thing at work yesterday and I got measuring cups and a bowl and a dish towel, all from my competition, The Pioneer Woman. My own workplace selling the competition.


That clock back there I got for five years of service. It's very heavy, like an Academy Award.


My coworker Slutty Pancakes won the bike. There was a pretty bike, and I wanted it even though I can't ride a bike. "You can put your dog in the basket!" I told her resentfully when she went to retrieve it yesterday. I'd already pictured Edsel in that basket.


"The only dog that'd fit is the cremated one," she told me, and when she got home she texted me this:


Dying. So to speak.

Okay, I said I was going 72,000 words ago.

XO, Joooon

June’s fog, her amphetamines and her pearls

Sometimes I sit at this computer and think, "What the hell was I gonna say today?" This is one of those days. I was worried about Lu last night, as she was panting and moaning just a bit. Going outside, getting on the forbidden couch, and even treats didn't seem to lighten her load any. Well. She lightened up for the treats a little.

Finally I decided to give her another pain pill, even though it wasn't time. Fuck it. Give my daughter the shot.

So I didn't sleep well, because I kept reaching down to make sure I hadn't OD my own dog, so that was restful. She seems okay today, if groggy. She did a groggy harrrrr. So.

The other disturbing news is I'm worried I missed my hurr appointment. I think maybe it was the 15th. My hairdresser, the HAIRDRESSER I share with my coworker Austin, who insists she's a barber, with her aromatherapy salon, usually sends me a reminder, and I didn't get one, so maybe I'm making shit up. But I got roots, man. I'm Alex Haley. I know I make that funny joke every time.

Photo on 2-17-16 at 8.28 AM #2

I was going to show you my roots, but then I got involved with how pretty Lily looks in the sun. You know how gray hair is suddenly the color for the young set? Why can't gray roots be in? I should set a trend. Wait. I think I already am. It's only been six weeks, but there is snow on the silver mountain. I know I also make that joke every time. How sick of me are you?

Actually, someone said something interesting the other day.

That's all. See you tomorrow!

No. Someone said they liked breezy, rambling posts. But then the other day on Pie on the Face (a group on Facebook where you all gather to talk about how much you love my blog, which you never really do, but rather you send in cat videos, which is preferable anyway), someone said they particularly liked that day's post because I stuck to one topic the whole way through, that topic being my dying dog which is hard to not dwell on.

So which do you like? What kind of posts are you all, "Oh, good" and which are you, like, "Jesus, shut up, June. Ima go look at The Bloggess." Is that how you spell it? I love her. She trumps Dooce and her world travels and secrecy about the boyfriend any day, if you ask me.

Once I read someone say that she stops reading a blog if it gets popular. Which annoyed. Hey, I like your blog. But if other people do, I'm out of here. I don't know why I'm talking about blogging today, seeing as four people do it anymore.


Last night I went to the old theater I like. Up in what they call The Crown, which is the top floor and not a literal crown, which, disappointment, they show art films and the like. Last night was a great documentary about this eccentric old guy who was an artist, who these filmmakers stumbled upon at a Pirogi festival, and whom they filmed for years. They were there for questioning after the movie, and it was great. Don't ask me what it was called. Google fucking it.

I also received an email receipt for my purchase at the concession stand and why so chubby, which was disturbing because I didn't tell them my email address. I paid with my ATM card. How did they know my email address? And they were all Thanks for your purchase of old popcorn at The Crown. Sorry your dog is sick and stop stress eating. You look roomy about the ass, June. You're never gonna catch a man with those hips. Hips don't lie.

I know I make that hilarious joke every time.

So, like, that was weird. About the receipt. I also did my taxes yesterday, AND I finished my statistics textbook and what amphetamines? Go, June. The point is, I perused all last year's bank statements to add up my medical expenses ($4,800. Thanks, kidney stone.), and I was stunned to see what I spend my money on. My bank statements go like this:


See what I did, there? I made a Large Marge joke.

Anyway. My bank statements, and say "bank statements" one more time.

  • Movies
  • Movie concessions
  • Fast food
  • Fast food
  • Another movie
  • Music on iTunes
  • Fast food
  • Movies

My friend Sandy says she's actually surprised I'm still alive. Oh, also, I owe money for taxes. Goddammit. I did a TON of freelance last year. And go ahead. Tell me I can deduct this room of the house. Do it. I will be so pleased.

The other night at that dinner party, someone mentioned a scenario in which a person was avoiding capital gains, and I said, "Oh, wow! Is that what that means when people say capital gains? I never knew."

I always thought it was when you got a particularly good bottle of laundry detergent.

"You're HOW old?" one of the Baby Boomers at the party asked me. "Thirty-nine? Forty? You should know this stuff by now." She thought she was chastising me, but really I was just excited about the part where she thought I was 39 or 40.

I gotta go. I know a lot was said in this post, and we need to really take some time to step back and think it over calmly.


See what I did, there? I wasn't calm.

Fast food. Fast food. FAST FUD.


Don’t be rash

I just used the new shampoo and conditioner that my aunt sent me–it's fancy stuff–and then when I emerged from the shower, I said. "What's that red dot on my arm? …Hey, what's that other red dot on my arm?" Then I looked in the medicine cabinet mirror, and fortunately Glen Close wasn't behind me (hashtag Ruined Since Fatal Attraction in 1987), but I was covered–covered!!–in a rash on my back, shoulders, arms and face.

I guess I'm allergic to the shampoo/conditioner. I even checked that it didn't have grapefruit in it! And no, I can't take a Benedryl. Thanks for the advice. Benedryl gives me migraines, so I don't own any.

So while I wait to die of anapyhlactic shock, I'll blog at you.


One of the Alexes at work is in the midst of a long breakup, so I made her do what I always do to mend a broken heart: see a psychic and sign up for OK Cupid. You can see how well that's worked for me. The very day Ned and I broke up, I stampeded to a psychic, and she told me Ned would get a new girlfriend right away. Thanks. Feel better. Glad I came here.


But anyway, I made an appointment for Alex at the psychic place, and you know it's genuine because they use purple. And prayer flags.


Plus, the receptionist/cashier is a Kitler. Do you guys remember four years ago when I went to this place and he was a kitten? A Kittenler? If you kept up with your Big Book of June Events, you'd remember. I'll bet faithful reader Steve's Wife Beth remembers.

Oh my god, my throat feels all irritated. This is probably it, when the allergic reaction has hit my innards. Elizabeth, I'm comin' to join you, honey.

If I died while blogging, I'd get so, so famous.

I went to the tea shop to wait for her to be done, Alex, I mean, not Steve's Wife Beth or Eva Braun, and I don't know why I can't just stick to the topic at hand. I had to pee when I got there, so instead of ordering a peppermint tea before I did that, I stampeded through the empty shop and to the restroom. Then when I emerged, I had to wait for a guy who was practically buying a condo.

"How much caffeine is in the bark mousse tea? Oh, yeah, I don't want that much caffeine. The eggnog existential crisis tea, is that spicy? Can I make that into a latte? What sizes do you have? Do you have one the size of my man bits, which are clearly lacking and the only solace I have is this tea?"

He's lucky I'm on Lexapro, man, or there would have been a TON of passive-aggressive sighing while I waited.

Anyway, the psychic told Alex she's got to get over the last guy and make a decision to move forward, which, wow, psychic. And that once she does, she's going to meet a chiseled doctor. I'm not even kidding you. A chiseled doctor. When I went to that psychic in September, she was all, yeah, I don't see anyone. Nope. No man.

The only time I'll see a chiseled doctor is when I see him for this rash.

A chiseled doctor. Why am I friends with that dick, Alex?

So then right there at the tea shop, Mrs. Doctor Alex and I got on her new OK Cupid page and watched the hellos parade in. IMG_7063
If you're on a dating site currently, and you hover near my age, here's the part where you go ahead and kill yourself with allergic shampoo. She got 120 messages right away. Like, not even day one, hour or two one.

So I feel like she'll be okay.

I gotta go. If my airways stay clear, I'll head to work. Oh my god, I just remembered that Dooce had an allergic reaction not long ago. Even my diseases are derivative. No wonder I can't score a chiseled doctor. Or anyone.

Actually, though, last night after I left Alex so she could get ready to meet Noah Drake, I came home and fed the pets, then got online to peruse vintage plant stands (I want to make this back room into a plant-y room, I mean if I live through being Rash Bridges right now), and then I lost all track of time till it was time for Girlfriend's Guide to Divorce, and as I headed to my TV I thought, God, this is marvelous. I forgot how much I like living alone. I really do.

Although it'd be super convenient to have a doctor in the house right now.



Prickly Pear

IMG_2859Every morning, after Ned leaves, I let the dogs upstairs while I blog. I tell them they're my blog muses. They somehow understand that they are NOT to go into the real bedroom, but that it's okay to lie on our old double bed, where the three of us crammed in every night for years. They also understand, for the most part, that they are not to chase NedKitty.

But NedKitty's so tempting. What's she doing in the hall alone at this hour, anyway? Dressed like that.

Hi, Ned.

I'd say the part where I call the dogs my blog muses is kind of a bullshit excuse so I can bring them up here, but look. I just got several paragraphs out of them.

IMG_2863 we mewses.

And no, Pesky, I haven't heard about Talu's thyroid yet. Geez. It's been ONE DAY. Hang on. So far, she hasn't been shaking again, so maybe that was an isolated incident and I dragged her off to the vet like I have Munchhausen by Proxy. Which I probably do, let's face it.

Due to ICE! OHMYGOD ICE! ICE IN THE SOUTH! I don't have to go to work till 10:00 today, and I promise you I will find a way to be late, anyway. I tried to lure Ned, who had to be at work at 8:00 like a normal person, back to the bed with me to make him be late, but he was having none of it. 


Truthfully, I really wanted a lot lot more snow and drama and icicles off the roof and so on with this "storm." And all we got was a little snow and a little ice. Darn, that's the end.

Ned and I did 12 more questions, of the NY Times article questions, last night. Here are the next 12 we answered:

13. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?

14. Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?

15. What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

16. What do you value most in a friendship?

17. What is your most treasured memory?

18. What is your most terrible memory?

19. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?

20. What does friendship mean to you?

21. What roles do love and affection play in your life?

22. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.

23. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?

24. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?
The one I answered that surprised me was what do I value most in a friendship. I never thought about it before, but the thing I value most in my friends is they know when to leave me the fuck alone. I'm a prickly pear. I am not Oprah and Gayle, yakking on the phone every night, discussing their every detail. You have something major going on? You call me. We talk. Six months later, I call you because I have something major. 
This whole checking in all day thing makes me want to take my life. I think I blame this blog. I already check in, and tell my every detail to all 20,000 of you. Do you like how I just upped by numbers dramatically and made myself Dooce? So, I mean, I guess I don't need to check in all over again with one chick on top of the 9 million chicks who read this blog. All of a sudden I'm HuffPo.
So, I don't know. That's what I value in my friends: a lack of neediness, yet dependability. Does that make me weird?
Speaking of weird, I just went downstairs to get a delicious bagel, and I see that Ned was in there at some point, in the bagels, and he took half.
Half a bagel.
It's a sad day when your boyfriend eats like a chick and you eat like a longshoreman. Because I was considering eating the whole sleeve, like they're Thin Mints.
Half a bagel. Jesus. Even Jesus would take the whole bagel. You know what Jesus would never do? Tell anyone they needed to eat less and exercise more. That's what Jesus would never do. You never saw that, even once, in the red font in the Bible. Does Jesus get the red font, or does God? Remember that time Marvin was mad at me because I wanted a puppy, and he said, "I HAVE SPOKEN!" and then whenever I quoted him on this blog I used red font?
Tonight, I celebrate my love for me, Tonight, there'll be no distance between me.
All right. My blog muses and I have to go. Some of us have to work, and some of us have to fall into a dead sleep till the mailman has the nerve to show up. We should totally switch that up and see how The Guy Who Sits Next To Me reacts to a dog tapping at the keyboard and snorfing his snacks.

The one where June can’t blog because she has to be interviewed about her blog

Here's what I'm wearing. ("Sometimes I vary it a little." "Which part?" "What I'm wearing.") (Name that movie!)

MeI will alert you as to how it went. I wasn't nervous till I started talking about it just now ohmygod.

At least I'm "funny," so if I'm not hot, it's fine. I'm Phyllis Diller.




For almost eight years now, I've had a blog that I write on pretty much every day, and then after I write, I get comments. I might have been really interested in how many comments at got at first, although I don't recall being all that interested in numbers, per se. I just liked it when someone said something funny, or insightful, or whatever. I also liked it when anyone said things like "per se."

I was never that caught up in how MANY comments, is my point.

That is why it was so weird last night when I went slightly viral on Purple Clover's Facebook page and sort of lost my mind.

Okay, "viral" is a strong term.

But, as you know because I never stop plugging it, I write for this website called Purple Clover, which is aimed at women who are, you know, my age. They put out new articles every Sunday night, and it's nearly impossible to leave comments there.

However, they have a page on Facebook. I don't look at it all the time, but occasionally I'll notice they'll run a column I've written. They reran the one about candy from my childhood, and they ran the one about how I love the gay bar. The one about when poor Marvin left me at that marathon got all sorts of controversial comments. It was weird to see total strangers weigh in on Marvin, and on my mental state, and on who of us was the horrific person.

The point of all this is, last night I was looking at Facebook and I saw the article I wrote a few months back, the one about being polite. It's titled something like. "Will You Kindly Shut the Hell up?" (oh, that damn loweracase u. Dear Happy: Guess who spent last night looking at her numbers and not on her new keyboard?)

Screen Shot 2014-11-26 at 8.17.12 AM
The article as it appears on Facebook has a photo and also introductory sentences, which are an excerpt from the article. They chose two lines I wrote about going to restaurants when there's a large party right next to me, and how annoying that is.

Oh my god, the Likes and comments just flew in. Some people clearly did not read the article at all, just the intro sentences, and they were all "She should just stay home. She is a horrid person!" Then other people were all, "Clearly no one ever invites you anywhere and you are bitter!"

The people who didn't actually read the article reminded me of when my cousin Katie was little and I found her "book" report on gymnastics. The book was right there, cleverly titled Gynmastics, and had a picture of a girl in a leotard doing a back bendy thing on a bar. You can tell I was way into gymnastics as a child.

The point is, Katie's book ("book") report was also there, and no one has more obviously just looked at a cover and written a report.

Gymistics is hard. (She spelled it "gymistics.") To do gymistics, you need a yellow leotard. Gymistics hurts your back.

I remember the teacher had written a note, gently inquiring if Katie had actually read the book.

That's what those commentors reminded me of.

The point is, Ned came home from work and I was on the couch with my phone, like one of those people who endlessly sits on her couch and stares into her phone. "What are you doing?"

"My article on politeness went up on Purple Clover's Facebook, and in one hour I've gotten more than 200 Likes."

You see what I mean about "viral" being a strong term? If I write something on Facebook about my dog, I can get nearly that many Likes in a hour. For some reason, I discussed this with my coworker Fleeta once, about how if you want a lot of Likes, put something up about a dog. She said with black people, it's God. Put something up about how God has done something for you, and your Likes will go through the roof.

White people=dog

Black people=God

Which reminds me of something that gets on my nerves. How come if you're trying to prove how not racist you are, you always have to use the color purple? Not like you're Celie, I mean that people always say, "I don't care what color you are: white, black, purple, you still…" People always go for purple. Okay, sometimes they also say green. How come no one ever says, "I don't care if yo're white, black, eggshell…" "White, black, maroon…"

I guess maroon is almost purple. See? It's impossible to not pick purple.

MY POINT IS, you could not drag me from that computer last night. I sat there like an idiot, while perfectly cute Ned was right there to make out with, staring and refreshing and wasting my time arguing in my head with complete strangers who don't know anything about me other than two lines on Facebook.

The internet, man. It's a weird place. Doesn't matter if you're black, white or mauve.

June’s all-new blog, featuring puppies, cats and 7th-grade humor.

I forgot to tell you that last week, Bitchy Resting Face Alex brought her puppy to work. That dog got more women on him than Fonzie did when he walked into Arnold's.


IMG_1999 IMG_2007In case you were unsure, I LOVED that puppyyyyyyy! Also, that camera is shitty. Dooce would have images of each detail of that sweet puppy. Each whisker would be evident. Why don't you go on over to Dooce if you're so obsessed with her?
IMG_2004yeah. weee not need your pikee foto critik ass. go see doowse. sifflitik whoore.

I guess this puppy is related to Violet. Or maybe all puppies swear like longshoremen.

In other news, I seem to be having a problem with itchy eyes and a stuffy nose whenever I…go home. Both of my parents are allergic to cats. What the hell am I gonna do if I'm allergic to cats? I'm sitting here right now wanting to pull my eyeballs off and replace them with new, nonitchy ones. I feel like if we took a family vote, Ned would have me put down and not his cat. Am doomed.

Photo on 10-22-14 at 8.17 AMyuuu no it, bitz.

Claritin? Should I take Claritin? This is awful. How could you be allergic to something as cute as this?


IMG_2020Iris' little crossy paws kill me EVERY TIME. Did I tell you Lily and Iris were in the hall the other day, sitting right next to each other, and they freaked me out in a Shining kind of a way? Come play with us…

While I'm not rubbing my eyes till they're about to fall out, I am looking at the new girl at work, who I will call Mona Lisa, because she doesn't work full time, and all of a sudden I'll turn around and there she is, or I'll turn to say something to her and she's gone. She's very mysterious. She told me this is the first time in her life anyone's found her mysterious.

IMG_2012The point is, she has June hair, and also an enviable necklace. She is a copy editor, like me; she's not remotely mysterious, like me; she is funny, and we all know I am 100% hilarious all the time; and plus she has June hair, like…June, here.

We are either going to fall in love and have one of those lesbian-late-in-life things or we are going to hate each other's fucking guts.

I think that's all the news I have for you. I have absolutely zero air passages at the moment. Can you just up and get allergic all of a sudden? Maybe I should have one of those prick tests. So to speak. Oh, I have so many horrific things I could say now, but all I can picture is my mother sitting purse-lipped at her computer when she reads anything I wish to type.

"Tsk. Jooooon. That's real crude."

So just know that side-stitching prick jokes are growing inside me. That's it's hard not to tell prick jokes. I keep going back and forth on telling them, but I won't take the plunge and shoot one off.



Bye-bye, pie

Dooce did a juice cleanse for several days and feels great. I tried to buy an almost-expired blueberry pie on sale at the store last night, but my ATM card was rejected. So I came home and ate Kraft Macaroni and Cheese that I already had on hand.

That about sums us up.

So what's new with everybody? Doesn't blueberry pie sound delicious? In unrelated news, did I tell you all I joined Weight Watchers at work? We had the introductory meeting last week, and this Friday we officially start. When I was getting ready to go over to the meeting, I told a few people in my department so they'd know where I was. I kept hoping someone would say, "Oh, June. That's ridiculous. Why are you going to a Weight Watchers meeting? You'll waste away!"

No one did.

Anyway, if anyone has experience with this program and can recommend to me anything good I can eat that's worth negative five points on the Weight Watchers' plan, please alert me forthwith. Fortunately I still have three days in which to eat like a sailor on leave. A carb-addicted sailor on leave.

Tonight I'm going to one of my friend Jo's BookUps, which is where she invites everyone to come to some public place and read a book. She got sick and tired of people saying they didn't have time to read, so she set up a night a month where that's what we do. Tonight we're meeting at the new local bookstore, which sells coffee and wine and black pretentious beer and has tables and so on.

Two years ago exactly I went to Jo's BookUp at a restaurant right across the street from Ned's house, and then afterward Jo and I walked across the street to have coffee right next to Ned's apartment. I was nervous as a cat the whole time that he'd see me and think I was stalking him, so I remember emailing him to tell him these were the things I was doing and not to think I was, you know, stalking him.

"Oh, not at all, don't worry," wrote Ned.

"Great, great, what a relief," I wrote. "And when I'm outside your second-story window in a cherry picker, I'm not stalking you then, either."

I didn't hear from him the rest of that day, I remember. How I managed to snag Ned is beyond me.

By the next month's BookUp, things were heating up between Ned and me, and he met me at that month's BookUp across from his house. We barely looked at our books. Instead we laughed and talked as a huge thunderstorm boomed outside.

2012-03-20 18.42.42Jo took this picture, and it's the first picture I have of Ned and me, and it continues to be my favorite. Mostly I'm glad someone caught me talking. It's like a shot of the Loch Ness Monster or something. You don't see that every day.

I remember we went back to his apartment after this and made out for about 47 hours. Hi, mom.

At any rate, we've been to several BookUps together since, and tonight Ned had tickets to a riveting basketball game, but he's coming with me to the BookUp instead of going to said sporting event. I love Ned.

I'm going to be bringing the book I'm just about finished with, One Foot in Eden by Ron Rash. We all read Ron Rash here on this blog, when we had a book club. We read Serena. Remember? I read that book in one weekend, and I'd have read Ron Rash's book in one weekend had there been time. As it is, I'll finish it tonight and I only started it on Saturday. I think I like Ron Rash. Way more than, say, a heat rash.

I have to get ready for work now, and try not to think of blueberry pie, which I'd be eating the shit out of had I not had -$7.12 in checking. Damn you, bank balance. Damn you, lack of blueberry deliciousness. Violet, you're turning Violet.

June, rolling out.

In which June was robbed, and man bits on trucks are mentioned.

First of all, I won't have a new Purple Clover article out today because they inexplicably printed two of my articles last week. Second, I am eating toasted cheddar cheese and sun-dried tomato bread I bought at the local bakery along with not-perfectly-round, scarred, EFFING DELICIOUS tomatoes I got from the produce truck that comes to work on Fridays. Which pretty much makes me the luckiest heifer on earth.

Oh, except for the card fraud. My bank called me yesterday to ask if I'd purchased $217 of groceries in Reston, Virginia yesterday and–news flash–I did not. Who buys $217 of groceries? So they're going to replace my money, but it'll be FIVE DING-DANG BUSINESS DAYS, so I'm glad I have my pretentious bread and delightful tomatoes at the moment.

After my initial annoyance and general, "How did they GET my card number?" and trying to picture how you buy groceries with no physical card, it occurred to me that whoever this thief was purchased GROCERIES. Not naked-girl mudflaps or testicles for his truck. "Maybe they really needed the groceries," I told Ned. "Maybe they hate to commit a crime but their family was starved."

"Maybe they bought $217 worth of beer," said cynical Ned.

Okay, maybe they did. But if they bought food for their people, and the stupid bank–who let's face it, are bigger criminals than MY criminal–is going to foot the bill and I get reimbursed? I'm fine with it. So in order to not get furious, that's how I'm thinking about it.

Otherwise, here's a wrap-up of my weekend.

IMG_1423Iris continues to have the big personality around here.

IMG_1445Lily continues to be a big slutenheimer for her Uncle Ned, whose back hurt him all weekend and you see he isn't thinking about it, here. Lily is a trampy tonic.

IMG_1463And I saw this on a menu. I did not order the Uncle Ned, but I am often a crab cake.

IMG_1460…or are you just happy to see me?

6a00e54f9367fb8834019104228659970c-800wiTallulah was just interested in Ned as a person. His handling of raw hamburger was irrelevant. Also, could there BE more alcohol in this picture? In my defense: red wine purchased for Ned WEEKS ago and it's sat there untouched for awhile. Tequila for Ned's jalapeno margaritas for his birthday. Corona was in the moment. Ned likes pretentious beer unless it's hot out, then he likes Corona. Still. Who are we, the Days of Wine and Roses? George and Martha in Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolfe? Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald?

Okay, I'll stop.

IMG_1451And finally, someone did not want to wear birthday tiara. Someone is so not Chuck from Dooce.

That's pretty much all I have to say to you. Hope your weekend was snappy.

XO, June.