Xmastime is XXXciting

Okay, this isn't nearly as dirty of a post as my title made it seem. However, two of the young hot blonde Alexes came over–and, again, this is not a dirty post.

But they did come over; I never thought it would happen to me. (That's only funny if you enjoy the Penthouse Forum) (and who doesn't?!) They helped me decorate for Christmas, is what they did. And while I'd like to tell you all about it, first of all I got to bed late and couldn't find matching pajamas…

Photo on 12-1-16 at 7.39 AM #2
That's hot. Do you know who I don't miss? Is Paris Hilton.

But then I woke up late, in m'nice pajamas that even Edsel is appalled by, and got on the phone with Ned, and now it's after 8:00 and I've yet to shower. So here are the photos from last night without my brilliant comments and you are just going to have to adjust your expectations.

You know what I hate? Is any reference to "big girl" anything. But particularly "panties." In fact, if you say "panties" to me, you're pretty much guaranteed to go on my "I don't like that person" list. Merry Christmas!!

But really. Panties.

Speaking of bitchy and petty, what is your least-favorite Christmas song? We discussed this last night as we struggled to find any decent Xmas music online.

What Child is This. That's mine. Also Won't You See My Panties by Paris Hilton.

Okay, here are the photos from last night. We made Shirley Temples and I have never been so sugar high in my life.

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(Oh my god, dudes, Alex MADE ME THESE!!!!) At least I lit the photo well.

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(Hey, sheet curtains are trending.)


(I feel like I need to say that the flap on the back of this top is not flattering. Yeah, that's it. It's not the 46 pizza rolls I had for dinner.)


(Household tip: Leave your candles in the attic all year for new, fascinating, Santa-is-Beyonce shapes come December.)

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(Much like how when you take me to a restaurant I should just order a plate of mashed potatoes because that's why I'm really there, at Christmas, if you just give me five pounds of tinsel to decorate with, I'm good.)

IMG_3763 IMG_3759

Pink and sparkly. Because that's what baby Jesus is really all about.


Drag Queen June

If I kin hep ya

I don't want you to get too excited, and I realize you still have to concentrate on your families and jobs and so on, but I have an exciting update: I'm trying new deodorant.


I ran out of the stupid Secret roll-it-up-till-some-squishes-out-the-slots kind that I HATE, because it gets gummed up. So, last night, after I had coffee with Tall Boy, I stopped at CVS.


I know. I totally need to get past the senior picture poses. Now I'm forcing my friends into it, which, if you're my friend, you pretty much know you'll be doing something stupid. The Tall Boy got a chai latte, then afterward he scrubbed his vagina. I had a peppermint tea. The manly drink of choice at the coffee shop.

SO AFTER, I drove the interminable drive to Kaye's, which, Dear Kaye. Why? Why do you want to live in Tibet? Also, Dear Kaye, Thank you for the free place to stay for six weeks. Maybe I could shut the fuck up.

So I stopped at Outskirts of Town CVS, for all your outskirts needs, and you know how the new thing with stores now is they bellow at you when you walk in the door? "WELCOME TO MOE'S!" "Welcome to the coffee shop! We have buy one get one on chai lattes for your girly-man friends!"

Does anyone in the history of time like that or find it useful? The only people who like it are money-hungry marketing execs. I just said "execs." Who am I, TMZ? Baby bump. Gal pal.

"Welcome to CVS! If I kin hep ya, I sure will!" some poor person bellowed as I walked in. "Thank you," I said coldly, and I am the very person from the north that Southerners hate. It wasn't till I decided to just poke my head in the eye shadows that I glanced at the sales lady who'd yodeled at me.

Mother of God.

She was 70 if she was a day, and she had a HUGE wig on, Marie Antoinette huge, and it was curly and gray. Imagine if Ellie May Clampett went gray. I love that she went with a wig, but decided to stay gray. "Oh, you'll believe I have 50 feet of curls like I'm going to 1961 prom, but I know you know I'm gray."

Sometimes my Aunt Kathy and I will be being absolutely hilarious about something, and my mother hems us in with her Mature Voice. Her Voice of Reason. Her No-Shenanigans Voice. It's the biggest buzzkill in the world. As I perused the eye shadows, and now that I own The Nakeds I really have no reason to look at eye shadows again, and its like when I was happily married and literally didn't notice other men for 10 years. I don't even know why I was trying to get some eye shadow strange, because I really wasn't.

But as I perused uselessly, I got my mother's Reason Voice in my head. "June. Maybe she needs a wig. Maybe she's going through chemo and this was the best the outskirts wig store had to offer." See. Regular June argued that if you NEED a wig you might want to make some effort to get a GOOD one, but then mom voice, old Ma-tura, took over again and said, "Maybe this was all she could afford. Don't judge, June."


I am the only person who could turn deodorant purchases into a novella.

So I found these tall cans over at the deodorant aisle, and I love it when people on Facebook call it the grocery isle. Doesn't bug me at all. Allegedly this stuff sprays on without harming our ozone, says June, who recycles only when it's convenient. And it lasts for 48 hours, which, why would you need that? Are you some sort of filthy hippie?

I got to the counter with my new can of deodorant, thinking this is the purchase that'll change everything. Now my life has taken a turn. Yep. New deodorant. It's all up from here!

The woman with the wig? The old lady?

Sparkly blue eye shadow. False lashes, which I think, I THINK because I tried not to stare even though I wanted to get out my sketch pad and capture her in charcoal, I THINK her lashes had sparkles, too.

And right then I knew, she was my people.

Oh my god, I LOVE her. I want to be sparkly blue eye shadow lady when I get old. "Get." Sad.

So that's that story, Be sure to email me to ask which eye shadow, which CVS and which deodorant. I love that.

June's Coworker's Senior Picture Poses


If you could read my mind love, what a tale my thoughts could tell. I wish I had words to tell you HOW MUCH this Alex and I hearted ourselves for this senior picture pose. If it were possible to change our Facebook statuses to In a Relationship with Ourselves, we would.

I gotta get to work. It's Halloween at work, and I was going to be a sugar skull, but effort. So instead I'm going as a doddering old crank who's one more failed relationship from sparkly blue shadow at CVS. Anyway, kids are coming and I'm handing out candy and there's a costume contest with the coworkers and so on.

I'll let you know how the new deodorant pans out.

June strikes her own fancy

On Saturday, I decided to take myself out for a drive to see color, and not men of color as I did Friday, but rather reds and yellows. And I mean leaves. I'm not dating the Wee Pals all of a sudden.


Would you like to know who my number-one fan is, over here, for thinking of Wee Pals? You're looking at her. I am so opening up my heart and letting myself in. Spread your wings and let me come inside.

It's a wonder I turned out at all, with songs like Tonight's the Night playing on my transistor radio while I sunned to make myself look 50 at 13. Say, good influence, Rod Stewart! Do you know what annoys me about that song? Don't say a word, my virgin child/just let your inhibitions run wild.

If your inhibitions are running wild, then you're really really inhibited. Why would you get her all drunk and loosening up her pretty French gown if the next step is to make her inhibitions run wild?

Anyway, back to how much I love myself for thinking of Wee Pals. To celebrate my love for me, I took myself on a long drive Saturday, to look at leaves, and I made the deal with myself that any little town that had an appealing name and/or sign, I'd stop off. I popped into antique shops like a gay couple, and I walked down main streets. I took pictures of anything that struck my fancy, which you'd think would mean I mostly took pictures of m'self.


Taco Oldcar
Really, I had a fine time, and I let my inhibitions run wild. I took myself upstairs before the night got too old. Like Rod Stewart was when he was bagging that poor drunk virgin.

But here's where I made my mistake. My error of my ways, if you will. Because while driving down country roads and enjoying leaves and smiling at the FUCKING INSANE PEOPLE you find in every small town was a delight, on the way back I decided to pop in to Winston-Salem.


Okay, Winston-Salem wasn't all bad. I did see this drag queen dancing outside a store, singing to ABBA, which is about as good as it gets for me. It's the free-kitten-with-your-nose-job day that I dream about, really.

But Winston-Salem was our joint, Ned's and mine. I walked past bars where we had big talks, and restaurants where Ned got goddammit-good pieces of fish and so on. There's one bar we went to early in the relationship where I asked him who the love of his life had been. "I believe the love of my life is still ahead of me," he said, and since I was already FUCKING CRAZY about him at that point, I remember silently praying, Let it be me, let it be me, let it be me.

And it was. But now it isn't.

So. Yeah. Crap.


But I did find this tiki bar that I've never been to, and hashtag goals. So wanna go there soon! Who's in, from real life? Who's driving? It sure as hell ain't me, if there're mai tais involved.


That night, my friends asked me to go to the gay bar, and you don't have to ask me twice. Behold my gay bar makeup, but not my outfit. Although I'd make a fine lesbian, my Michigan State sweatshirt is not what I sport on a Saturday night.

I got the text that everyone was gonna be there at 9:00, so because I am super cool and all, I got there at 9:05. You know, to seem not eager.

Nine at night in gay time is like 3:00 in the afternoon for you and me. I was the SECOND PERSON in there. There was one rather terse lesbian attached to her phone, then me and the two bartenders. One was dressed as a woman with electric-blue pointy nails. Why are pointy nails the shizz now?

The other was wearing the teensiest shorts imaginable. That was it. Maybe he had on shoes, but honey, I was not looking for shoes. Holy god, he was lovely.

The two of them were chopping fruit, literally and figuratively. They were talking shit about all the other gay boys who work there, and I really should have gotten my pen, because they were hilarious, and they were killing me with their bitchy talk and I should have gotten it all down. As it was, I told them, "I don't care if no one shows up for the rest of tonight. I could sit here and listen to you two till close."

And right then is when my tenant walked in.

You know how some people you see everywhere? My tenant not only dwells, you know, in my home, she then got a job at my job, and then I see her at Target, at restaurants, and now she sees me alone at a gay bar.

"I'M NOT A BIG LEZ!" I screeched to her across the room, something that probably delighted Terse Lez in the corner. Why go to a bar if you're just gonna look at your phone all night? What could she have been looking up? Photos of her living room? I mean, go home, cranky lesbian.

Of course, she was the only actual homosexual patron thus far at a, you know, gay bar, so maybe this is what pissed her off. My tenant was there for a bachlorette party, and they'd just been to a two-hour pole dance class. Eventually, the drag queen mistress of ceremonies at the bar, who is hilarious too, insisted that the bachlorettes all get on the pole on the dance floor and show us what they learned, which was fabulous.

The bride-to-be had a large curly straw for her drink that spelled out "Bride," and it dawned on me to get one and sit alone in my house, drinking wine through my Bride straw. I'm trying to go for the Most Pathetic 2015 award. How'm I doing?

"Y'all got more dick straws?" the mistress of ceremonies called out to my tenant's table at one point. "The guys in back want all your leftover dick straws if you've got 'em."


There was a drag show, of course, and I just noticed I captured my tenant's table and some of the dick straws. Look at June, bringing it all together with her fine photography.

Eventually, my friends did show up, and I was–well. I was gonna say way less pathetic, but really I was slightly less pathetic than when the evening began. I was still a 50-year-old straight woman in a gay bar, with no love in sight and a hankering for a dick straw. So.

I'd better go, and do my real-life things, and stop telling you about my weekend, which was, you know, okay.

I've been wanting to mention to you that Kaye's house has a front door and a back door, which unless you live in an igloo, is probably the case with all of us. We got any igloo dwellers in da howse? You chillin' back at your igloo?

The point is, as soon as we got here, I took Lu and Eds right to the back door and let them out. And since then, every time. EVERY.TIME. I ask those dogs if they want to go out, Lu trots to the back door and Edsel noses the front door. Every time. He never catches on. I mean, I guess I should be grateful he knows that at least one door exists and that it goes outside. Still.

Poor Edsel.

Talk to you later, wee pals.


I’m just a mirage in your kiddie pool

Yesterday, I ended up working out for 100 minutes. I don't even know what to tell you. I got inspired. It was a dumb inspiration. My muse is an asshole.

Before. I've no idea why I look like I'm preparing to be slaughtered. Except MAYBE I KNEW.

After. Note the addition of a sports bra, which was the only wise thing I did yesterday.

I look vaguely insane in the "after" picture. And let me tell you what. No one, in the history of time, has enjoyed a turkey burger on two pieces of toast more than I did last night.

After all that mess, I came up here and started scrolling listlessly through my photos while I dried from a shower. Not that I NEEDED a shower. Americans are so hygiene-obsessed. Anyway, eventually I did a thing where I'd scroll to the count of five, then when my scrolly thing stopped, I'd count the fifth picture in. These are the photos I landed on.

Here's my friend Jo and my dog Tallulah, back at my old house. Two of my favorite yellow-haired people.

The sparkly reindeer Kelly gave me! I'd FORGOTTEN about them, which is why it's fun to unwrap your Christmas shit, if you ask me. You get pleasantly surprised by whatever sparkly, drag-queen thing you bought the year before. Also, Jackie Kennedy had a TV special once: Christmas Shit at the White House.

Three enthusiastic baby shower guests at TinaDoris's shower. I could not be more in love with this picture. That shower was actually really lovely. Sitting with three bitches made it funner-er.


Oh. My old haus. My old flowers. My old serial-killer neighbor across the street. Actually, near the end, there, when I had a moving sale, he came over and was quite nice. YOU HAD SEVEN YEARS TO INTRODUCE YOURSELF.

New haus. Ned. I have always liked this picture.


Me, in case you wondered who this was, at the Scrabble tournament in 2014. Nerd Tournament, 2014. As opposed to the cool cat I am now. I lost that necklace and I loved it. I also had a tank top that same color that I ALSO lost, and have no idea where. Am guessing some hotel room somewhere, which makes it sound like I'm a call girl, and I wish. Could use extra cash.

Did I tell you about the $900 error I made with m'fine math skillz, resulting in me having $76 from last Friday till this one? I managed to go all weekend without spending one dime.

The best part was when I so smugly called the bank. "Yes, I put in a deposit from my tenants a few days back. I put the same check in each month, so why is it taking so long to clear this month?" I had my snippy I'm-calling-a-business voice. The one where you always start by saying "Yes" before you launch into your story.

"Ma'am, that check cleared three days ago," said the teller. They probably all have a warning flyer at their call centers. IF JUNE GARDENS PHONES, IT IS NEVER THE BANK'S ERROR.

"But how [scrolling through online statement]…holy cats, it did clear! I have $76 IN REAL LIFE?"

Fortunately, I had Bank of Ned and also a freelance check came in this week, so I'm golden again. I think I'll go spend $900 of it god knows where without noticing.

Ned having a fantastic time at my mother's house. This could have to do with the fact that she only fed him peach pits and water the whole time we were there. She used that deviled egg to taunt him.

Ned, at a hotel bar in West Virginia. As you do.

Edsel looks like a '70s ad for Bain de Soleil.


I totally used Bain de Soleil, for the Saginaw, Michigan tan. I looked exactly like the above photo. And by "above photo," mean the one of Edsel.

All right, I have to take my sun-damaged skin to the shower now and go to work like a normal person. I mean, relatively speaking. Tonight we have Dazed and Confused at our old movie theater, and tomorrow it's a Grease singalong. Ned says he refuses to sing along, but even I can't resist a few bars of Hopelessly Devoted, and I abhor musicals. So I think he'll sing along.

If not, I'm totally forcing my coworker Fleeeta to go. Fleeta will be in the middle of the workday and for no reason start screaming out DO YOU BELIEVE IN LIFE AFTER LOVE? She has musical Tourette's.
Okay, now I'm totally in the mood to go dance at the gay bar.



If you were the opposite sex all of a sudden

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"It really pisses me off that Bruce Jenner is prettier than me," I said, while I was out with some friends.

"Ain't it the truth?" said my stupid coworker Vilhelm Oyster.

"You're not supposed to say that. You're supposed to say, 'That's nonsense. Of course you're prettier than Bruce Jenner,'" said The Guy Who Sits Next to Me, who is a newlywed. He married someone at work. I don't mean they had their ceremony in the office, like how everyone did everything at Arnold's on Happy Days. But he MET her there, is what I mean.

"It's Caitlyn, not Bruce," said someone else, who is politically correct. And Caitlyn IS prettier than me. Goddammit. You already got to be a really handsome man, and an Olympic gold medalist, and on the cover of Wheaties, and you got to bang Elvis's girlfriend Linda Thompson, AND Kris Kardashian in her prime. You also are rich and famous.

Now you gotta be prettier than me as a woman? You heifer. That wouldn't work for me at all. If I tried to become a man, I'd look like the least-manly, foppiest man possible. I'd look like Ashley Wilkes.

6a00e54f9367fb883401348884a904970c-pi"If you became the opposite sex, what's the first thing you'd do?" I asked everyone.

One guy said if he became a woman, he'd never leave the house till he got a repetitive stress injury. Another one pantomimed feeling his own boobs up constantly.

I'd judge these men, but my first thought was glory hole.

"Why would you automatically be gay?" someone asked me.

"I wouldn't, necessarily, but I'd want a sure thing. If I just went to a bar and tried to pick up a woman, there's no guarantee." I am extremely pragmatic.

"Don't you want something more intimate?" asked one of my sensitive men friends who is annoying.

"It's my first day with my penis. I want to show it a good time. Still, I don't even know where a glory hole IS in Greensboro," I said, and that is when we invented an app to find glory holes, and then we had to name it, and we came up with names like Hole-istic; Find-a-Hole; Glory, Glory Hole-alujah. (That was Ned's contribution.)

"Well, I'd go right out and try on clothes," said one guy, who's super metrosexual. "I'd finally get to go to Victoria's Secret without feeling like a perv." He also said he'd befriend his wife as a woman, so he'd get to know her from a different angle, as it were, which I thought was really sweet.

Ned said he'd head right to the shower at his gym, hang in the locker room after. Then he'd find a lesbian bar.

Almost every woman I asked said something about peeing, which I also found appealing. I'd write my name in the snow. I've always wanted to write my name in the snow. Maybe I'd do it after I left my glory hole, using my great new app, Hole in One.

The whole time, my ridiculous coworker Griff, who says so many ludicrious things that he gets his own Twitter page, was silent.

"What would YOU do, if you woke up and you were a woman, Griff?"

"Drive from the women's tees," he said.


June’s Lesbian Adventure

"I'm boyfriend-free this weekend," one of the Alexes at work wrote me. "We should do something fun."

What does it say about me that as soon as you say "something fun," dancing at the gay bar is the first thing that comes to mind? It says I'm a big fat homo, is what it says. Although, to be fair, I did ask my heterosexual partner if he wanted to join us, and I guess going to a gay bar during the basketball high holy days–or whatever the HELL is going on right now that basketball is CONSTANTLY on my TV ALL the time ALWAYS–would be super gay.

"Get here at 9:30," I told Alex, who at age 28 balked at doing something so late, and honestly, what is WRONG with this nanby-pamby generation? Do a bump like girls in their 20s should. God. It worked for Stevie Nicks.

When she got here, I had on no pants, like a lesbo Donald Duck or something. Donald Dyke. "I had no idea what to wear," she said, plunking a huge bag on my bed. "I brought a wardrobe change just in case."

Jesus Christ. She is SUCH a lipstick lesbian.

The point is, we were both finally ready and I put on pants and everything and beleaguered Ned took a picture of us when really all he wanted to be doing is screaming at the TV, which is apparently part of High Holy Month.

SapphosI have no idea why it looks so red under my nose. It's like I was doing bumps and I was not. Actually, I look sort of pale and glassy, and now I'm convinced I am dying. I will miss you all. It's probably that ovarian cyst.

Oh, and before we head off to the gay bar, speaking of Ned screeching like a fishwife at the TV, I took this series of photos the other night of Lily trying to fall asleep and having her serenity disturbed by a yell from Ned.

IMG_3181lilee schleepeeng.

IMG_3176unkle ned yell. lillee disturb.



Anyway. We got there and decided the whole room was abuzz about us, which let me assure you. No room was abuzz about our white, straight selves remotely. That did not stop us from deciding that everyone must have thought we were on our first date, had not remotely done it yet, and I'd scored myself a young one. I'm a regular Meridith Baxter Birney.

"They probably think you're after my money," I said. "Boy, are YOU gonna be disappointed."

It was free body paint night, and there were two drag queens painting people, neither of which was the drag queen who saw my vagina, but that's a different story. The important part is that one of them was clearly more skilled than the other, the skilled one doing this whole tribal look on everyone, whereas the unskilled one made people look like Rio from the Duran Duran video.

"Oh, I hope I get the good one," said Alex, who until 10 minutes before had not even anticipated getting herself painted, and now it was the most crucial thing she had going on in her life, other than bagging old Meredith, over here, her Sugar Momma. I would literally be a sugar momma, because did I mention my alarming glucose levels?

When it was our turn, I was BEING POLITE and told Alex to go first, but that meant she got the Rio painter, and I got the talented one, and she could not WAIT to call me a bitch as soon as we were done.

"Yours looks great, and mine looks like some kind of money shot with this one white streak!" she said. I am so not asking her out again.


IMG_3198I mean, define "looks great." Although it's true you can't even tell she had ANY paint put on her, bitch still looks cute and I look like I've had some kind of psychotic break.

Speaking of psychotic, then it was time to dance. It took forever for your gays to get out on the dance floor, but as soon as anyone even remotely looked a little sway-y, we cut a rug ourselves. Then we danced. BAHAHAHAHA.

They played one song the whole crowd knew except me, because old. But now I love it. Have added to iTunes. It's 100% totally safe for work. Be sure to turn it on loud so your boss can hear.

Do you feel like maybe the breakup wasn't amicable? The whole room was singing this, and there was twerking, although not from me, thank god.

IMG_3196What did come from me? Dancing the pole. I know. You can't take me anywhere.

Oh, but where you CAN take me is to the bathroom. I'd had 47 cranberry and sodas and also waters with lemon to attempt to get rid of the rock that still lives inside me, and the bathroom was occupied forever. Finally, a drag queen opened the door, her girdle halfway up. "Oh, come on in, honey, I'm getting ready in here. Just pee in front of me."

So there in that tiny room, I peed in front of a drag queen pulling on her Spanx. God, I love the gay bar.

We stayed till close and I crawled into bed with fast-asleep Ned after 2:00.

You can imagine his delight when he woke up to my painted face today.

Screaming in to say ho. Which is not at all polite and who needs to type better, do you think?

I really meant to type "hi," and my nails have grown too long. I've had a gel manicure on them since Thanksgiving and all of a sudden I'm Cher. Remember how she had the nails? God, I wanted nails like that in the worst way. I had no idea in 1975, when I was lusting for them, that they'd really interfere with my blog.

We got home at 1:00 a.m. today, having gone to Raleigh for not one but two celebrations, because we're Kim and Kanye. First was Ned's family party, that always takes place first in a bowling alley–a really cool old one where you have to keep score by yourself and what is this, 1974?

IMG_2247That's right. You see it. Kind of. Shut up. Anyway, 103!!!! What a bowler. Maybe it's because I already bowled this week. I'm a professional now. June's Photography and Bowling Tips Seminar. Sign up now! Seats are going fast.

After the bowling portion of the day, we all schlep on over to Ned's brother's house for Christmas. Every year there's a theme, and this year the theme was White Trash, or as Ned's sister-in-law called it, Anglo-Refuse-American.

Yes, I DO love Ned's sister-in-law. Why do you ask?

IMG_2249No stone was left unturned, and the sad part is, EVERYTHING WAS DELICIOUS, if you ask me.

IMG_2250Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, pork rinds, bologna, cut-up hot dogs on toothpicks, Ritz crackers and spray cheese food.

Hell, yeah.

IMG_2256Look at June, all bonding with children like a normal member of society. This kid is particularly cool, and she laughs at my jokes, so. Plus, we look related, don't we?

IMG_2253What's sad is I absolutely know Ned's family poured out that beer to put in the beef jerky and lottery tickets, when I'd have been happy to take that PBR right off their hands.

IMG_2269Ned's mom (left) and stepmother really like each other. Isn't that cute? They went to high school together, so it's funny to hear them talk about some girl they both didn't like, or whatever. It'd be like if my friend Dave Newman married Marvin and I got to come to their events, which by the way, Dave and Marvin, if you two decide to do that, I cannot think of anything more fun.

We finally got to the presents part, and I wish you could have seen how far into the room the gifts extended past that tree. Good gravy. Anyway, Ned and I got a big speaker for our TV, which is great, because as a housewarming we got Chromecast for the TV, so now we can scream our music from our computers out the TV, and won't you be over soon to hear Dancing Queen come out of the TV?

IMG_2285We also got this CUTE CUTE CUTE birdhouse from Ned's mom!

deeR Ned MoM,

theenk you fer burdhouwse. delishis.



Last night, Ned's sister-in-law was trying to refer to all our pets, and she called my cats Blindy and Other Cat. They are so going by those names from now on.


IMG_2278The Other Cat.

What fur everywhere? What you mean?

You know what's easy? Taking photos of your cats when they're just running around living life. Lily (T.O.C.) likes to sit under the shower curtain on the bathroom rug, and that would have been an ADORABLE picture, but guess who ran as soon as I lifted the curtain? Dick.

IMG_2292Ned's stepmom was at an art show with her son, who normally lives in England but is home for Christmas. They came across a table that had all vintage wreaths and corsages, and she picked this one up and said to her son, "You haven't met June yet, but she will love this." You can imagine his trepidation at meeting me.

Dood. LOOK AT IT! Look at the one angel, who has angry dark eyebrows like I do now. IMG_2263Behold the brows. Ned's stepmom = prescient. Even better? IT JINGLES. The corsage, not my brows. There are BELLS in it. In my world, every time a bell rings, a drag queen gets her wings.

I pinned that MoFo right onto my coat and we went to the party at Ned's friends' house. I love Ned's friends. They're always really nice to me, plus also everyone was way up in my nice corsage. At the end of the night I told someone we had to go, because I had to return my corsage to the Minimalist Museum.

There were three dogs at the party, and as you know, I base my time at a party on how many pets there were and did they let me pet them. One grumpy large dog showed his teeth to us, so B+. The other dogs were muffins.

I gotta get ready for Chris and Lilly's party now, because Kim and Kanye. I totally called it–I'm Kanye.

Ima let you finish.



It's Sunday night and I'm bloging now, because I know I have to spend between 8 fucking a.m. and 8:30 fucking a.m. Monday on the phone to my mortgage company, because their fucking website will not work and I can't pay my mortgage and it will be considered late on the six fucking teenth and I will have a late fucking fee.


So knowing I have to do that tomorrow, I'm blogging now with a special post titled, Don't Say Fuck a Lot.

Anyway, the point is, busy weekend. This does not mean I did not take time out to do some Nedding, because for some reason Ned and I Nedded six times this weekend, all told, and I do not know really what is wrong with us but I can't complain.

When I wasn't Nedding like a common tramp, I was partayying, and there's really nothing more appealing than someone aged almost 50 who says things like "partayying."

IMG_2168We had a stupid busy week at work, and we've been pounding the grindstone or whatever, but then Friday afternoon they were doing such obnoxiously loud construction that it was impossible to even think. I took my work to my car and did it there, but here is Ryan at 5:00, ready to call it a day with his cool sunglassed ass.

Ryan, Ned and I headed over to one of the Alexes', who had a celebrity-themed party for her birthday and also because she'd bought a fabulous dress at a theater fundraiser thingie and needed to show it off.

IMG_9622Look at that perfect bitch, in her dress. Could she look any better? And how much do you love her paparazzi thing on her wall? Dying. I refer to her boyfriend as Shoulders, and I think he hates it but I think he hates how I use every opportunity to feel him up even more. "Oh, hello Shoulders! [hug hug hug]." "Oh, Shoulders, you came back from the bathroom! [hug hug hug]." You'd never know I hate to hug.

I can't even imagine how awful it is to have some shameless old huzzy feeling you up every second but that is the hand he's been dealt.

Oh, and let me tell you a story about that dress. So it was some kind of buy-vintage-clothes-raise-money event, and Alex was there, looking at dresses. She put this one over her arm to try it on and the woman working there said, "Oh, that's an 8 according to the tag, but those vintage dresses run really small."

Alex, who is less than a size 8 (bitch), said okay, she'd like to try it on anyway.

"Okay, but they really run small. I don't know…" I mean, the saleswoman would NOT let it DROP and she CLEARLY thought old heifer Alex, here, would never get her fat ass in that dress.

LOOK at her. Her waist is smaller than my conscience. Size 8. Pfft.

The point is, Alex tried on the dress and it was everything she could do to not whip open the dressing-room curtain and say, "BOOM!" Instead, she just humbly purchased it and made us all depressed at her party.

IMG_9598Well. SOME people were depressed. When you have All This, you can't GET threatened.

And yes, someone else took these pictures. Alex's roommate Megan is into the photography and she had a huge fancy camera and shut up about how her photos are so much better than mine.

IMG_9591I know every one of you Mrs. Robinson pervs just died over Ryan in a suit. Oh, and see that butter? Alex has that butter blended in coffee every day for breakfast. That's it. She claims it fills her up. You know what else is filling? Bacon.

IMG_9633Who's your favorite celebrity couple? We're the Clark Gable/Carole Lombard of our time. Or Heidi and Spencer. You pick.

It was fun, and we didn't go to bed till after 2:00, and we felt all rock star youthy, is what we did, and then the next night was our gay bar extravaganza.

Sadly, I wore the sparkly cardigan both nights. Kind of a Mr. Roger's Gayborhood look going.

IMG_2193Oh, sorry. One more picture of how cute Ned is at Alex's party.

Lots of Nedding. Because look how hot.

IMG_2210Saturday night was kind of a blur. BAHAHAHAHA.

Really, though, my slutty makeup and frilly dancey shirt and I took just everyone who would go and we headed to the gay bar to see drag queens–one of whom I became obscenely enamored with because she was hilarious–and also to dance. Drag queens and dancing. I really require little more.

IMG_2213Before we got all gay, a bunch of us went over to Bitchy Resting Face Alex's house for a little gathering. Here's The Other Copy Editor falling even more in love with himself than ever before.

IMG_2214Here's this copy editor following in his footsteps. And see? Same sweater. What do you want from me? But look at my fancy cocktail ring and purse! How bad do you wish you weren't a gay man right now and could swoop me right up?

A lot of straight men came with us, but only because they were spouses of women who wanted to go. All in all, I think I dragged (get it? BAH) 10 people to the bar with me, including Ned.

IMG_2216I don't know what everyone else did all night. I know I danced like an idiot. I danced to Lady Gaga. I danced to Rhianna. I danced to some video that was just all men's butts jiggling in tight under trousers. I didn't care.

I danced till my feet fell off. I danced till my old knees were aching. I danced till I said, MOTHER OF GOD I NEED FOOD. DONGER NEED FOOD.

IMG_2219And that's when we headed to an all-night diner. Nothing's better for your figure than biscuits and gravy at 2 a.m. I'll bet Alex and her white dress plow through 86 of them a week.

That night, Ned and I got to bed at 3:15, and we've made a plan to only have one ridiculous night per weekend from now on, as we are old. And tired.

Actually, I feel not tired at all. I feel sort of happy. And I'm missing my sparkly cardigan.

So that's my story of my weekend. Hope yours was equally gay.



P.S. Today marks my 8th year of blogging. Holy shit, that's a lot of droning on about one's self.

My bones and silver purse

I have a cat on my lap and one meowing because she's not on, and I'm a little insulted that everyone seems to think there's room for JUST EVERYONE up here.

But that is neither here nor there. I must hurry, as Ned went home to shower and then we're (brace yourself) going to a movie. I wanted to briefly run down for you my ludicrous night and depressing day.

In what seems to be my new signature move, I schlepped on down to the gay bar again last night

(Ned watched basketball),

in order to see Jujube, who is apparently a famous drag queen, as drag queens go. I guess she's on RuPaul's Drag Race, which I have never seen, and any time anyone remotely implies to my pal The Naughty Professor that you've never seen RuPaul's Drag Race, he gets this huffy look like you've just said, "You know, I never watch the news" or "You know, I don't really give to charity."

So nobody tell Naughty Pro that I've never once watched that show, otherwise Ima hear it from him and his attitude. It's kind of like the attitude I get when someone says, "I don't watch the Real Housewives of anywhere." Oh shut up. YOUR LIFE IS THE POORER FOR IT!

At any rate, not only did I go last night, but so did other people from work, including TinaDoris, who also brought her sister, who was visiting.

We danced to this:

(Ned still watched basketball.)

I did not take photos of my evening because I brought the World's Tiniest Silver Purse, in which I placed only my $10 to get in, my lipstick and ID, in case I went missing and they found my tiny silver purse hanging off my bones later. I had on my gray skirt, the one I couldn't find on my first date with Ned, resulting in me having to wear schlumpy jeans instead but as you can see Ned went ahead and pursued the free milk, as it were.

I also wore my black boots that Marvin always said made me look like a Nazi, and my red low-cut top that showed off the hoots, and hey, 48-year-old. You divining water, there, or…?

When I walked in, rocking out with my hoots out, the local drag show was already starting, and that Gloria Estefan song was on, the one that goes, "One, two, three, four, come on baby say you love me five, six, seven ti-iimes." If I were a drag queen I'd dance the SHIT out that song.

After a few performances, they went back to music and dancing and we all had to wait for Jujube, who was scheduled to come on at 12:30. As you do. It's Gay Time, folks.

The point is, this gave me awhile to become completely obsessed with TinaDoris' sister, who is not only hot, and who not only had a fabulous spangly ensemble on, she was also hilarious and I followed her around like she was me and I was Edsel. I'd have rested my snout in her lap and looked up at her had she let me. Oh my god, she was THE BOMB. She was so bomby that gay men kept asking her to dance, and she'd grind all up on them, and all I wanted to do was grind a gay man.

(Ned was still watching basketball.)

I danced till I was covered in sweat and looked like Meat Loaf in drag. Finally, 12:30 arrived and they told us all IT WAS TIME FOR JUJUBEE!!!!

But first? We all had to leave, because there were too many people in the building and the fire marshall was there, and we all had to re-enter while they counted us, one by one.

Guess who fucked that noise. Was it your old pal, June? I got to my car and saw old Basketball Jones had texted me (had text me), so I went over there, where I was given homemade soup and where Ned's cat played with my tiny silver bag.

Then today, and I like how I was gonna briefly touch on everything, seven hours later. Today the Realtor came over, and yes, that is a proper noun, Realtor is, and she said the ceilings need painted, the front steps need painted and suggested I do this distressed look with them, that the house smells like dog (hunh), the baseboards need work and the arbor needs to be fixed. Other than that, everything is fantastic. And I will not get what I paid for this house, even after I do all that.

Oh, and I have to make the floors shiny, which dude, I have tried to do and never can.

"Does my house smell like dog to you?" I asked Ned, who was here while the Realtor was, and the moment she left he turned on the TV to watch basketball.

"No, but I'm always here," said Ned, his eyes glued to the screen. Ned should just go ahead and marry a basketball. Or maybe he should court someone named Annette.

I just slayed myself with that one.

So, if I do anything, I will just rent out this house, which the capital-R Realtor suggested I could do and probably get a decent price for. I still have to get the dog smell out, and I don't even know how you do that. I'd also like to point out that Houndy and Scenty just rolled through dead leaves on our walk, which probably does not give this place the peach potpourri aroma I was longing for.

Okay, I'm out. Thanks for stopping by for this brief rundown.

June goes dancing with the Naughty Professor. A gay old time.

What I did not know about gay bars here is that they have dancing boys. Wearing just skimpy underwear. And put down the phone. I don't mean they were seven years old. I mean these boys were born in 1991, as was the person standing in line behind me to get in to said excellent gay club I went to last night.

I KNOW, man! By 1991 I was a fully formed, destroyed person.

Also, when you go up to slip them a dollar, the dancing boys, you don't have to be all polite like you do at a strip club with those pesky, fussy women. You can lie on top of them, or pantomime oral sex, or just hump them in general. Yes of COURSE I did all those things. Because there's nothing a hot muscled 21-year-old gay boy likes better than Delta Burke, over here, humping on him.

When we first saw the dancing boys, Naughty Pro stopped short. "Do you have any smelling salts?" he asked me. "I'm not sure my heart can take this."

So, yeah. Yesterday I asked the Naughty Pro, my friend from work, if he'd like to go out dancing, as there is some Very Important Basketball Event going on in Ned's world and basically Ned is dead to me till Monday. And because the Naughty Pro has zero interest in sports–and that is why God put gay men and Marvin in this world–he said yes of course he would.

"You know, things don't really start up till after 10:00," he warned me.

"Yeah, I figured that, so I plan to take a disco nap after work." And I did. Talu and I got right up on the pillows and took us a hard snooze for maybe an hour. Then I got up and commenced to putting on seven feet of makeup. Because if there's anything muscled 21-year-old gay boys care about, it's how much makeup old Judy Garland is sporting, over here.

IMG_0003I love everything about this picture. I love that I'm taking an asshole selfie in the mirror, I love seeing all my beauty products ("all" is a strong word. I did my makeup at my magnifying mirror, in the computer room, so really this is just the dregs), I love my slutty heels, which was the point of this shot, and my also-rans clothing choices strewn hither and yon.

And I love how Talu has already made her pillow nest, because you wouldn't catch her at a gay bar in the middle of the night for all the kibble in the world. Talu arbors loud music.

Oh, and my nice blind. With the broken part from where Edsel sticks his snout through to yell at cats in the bushes.

Anyway. The crowd ranged from hot young boys born in 1991 to old men with earrings to really beautiful drag queens, one of whom if I could have taken her I'd have stolen her high-heeled, to-the-knee boots and pink Guess hobo bag.

And we danced. To people I always hear about but never actually listen to: Nicki Minaj, Rhianna, Cher.


And we listened to this, which I liked so much I wrote it down in my phone. Because I'm tech-y like that.

Oh, we had fun. "Wouldn't it be nice to bend over and have your stomach stay flat?" I screamed at Naughty as we watched the dancing boy move. We both agreed that would be lovely, and that we hoped we weren't huring a hip dancing so hard.

There were straight couples, threesomes who were going to be threesomes in a bigger way later, lesbians, pretty boys, friends like Naughty and me, all dancing. "I'm so glad I'm not in a Muslim country," said Naughty, looking around. "God bless America!"

"In nine months, that wall is gonna give birth," I said, watching the dancing boy onstage get to know the curtain behind him a little too well. I told this to Ned several hours later when we talked on the phone in the wee hours. "You're assuming that was a woman wall. It was probably a gay male wall." He's probably right.

So, yeah.

IMG_0014We're definitely going back. And maybe next time I'll have fixed the damn flash on my phone.