Catch up on June’s…animals (ya got all weekend?)

Before I begin delighting you all with pet speak, lemme tell you what just happened.

These past two days, I’ve been tryina keep up with reading blog comments, but it’s not easy. I tried looking at them here, not in email, and one thing that’s irking me is the comments are in order from oldest to newest. So every time, I saw the same comments and had to scroll endlessly.

From my phone, I tried to mess around with my comment display on WordPress, and you’ll never guess what I found.

IMG_9592.png

Apparently, there is someplace on my blog (not blog) that tells you, a faithful reader, that if you click here you can send a personal message to June, and that June will know this and read it.

Except I never knew this place existed till an hour ago. If you sent me a message there and you were all, What a bitch, you were right, but not about the part where I didn’t answer you. (And in fact, even if I had read these as they came to me, there’s no Reply button.)

I sat here for a whole hour reading messages y’all have sent me since day one of me being here on WordPress. And with no Reply button, I had to sit here going, “No! I didn’t block you on Facebook” and “I’m not an admin on Facebook of June!” and so on. Oh my god, it was like a nightmare! There were sweet comments and mean ones.

My favorite was the person who said, “Are you ever coming back? Because frankly, I’m getting tired of checking here all the time.” Well, if I wasn’t tempted to return before… Apparently, it’s right up there with brick-laying, checking over here.

What most of your messages were about, though, were why I’ve blocked you or refused to let you comment or go on my Facebook page. Every single person who wrote was someone I (a) didn’t actually know and had no hard feelings toward (2) did not block in any way from any portal of my life.

One lesson I offer is to not take things so personally. Because I left Facebook months ago of my own accord, and I stopped writing here months ago of my own accord, and it was not about you, 50+ people who assumed it was.

“JUNE. Why did you block me on Facebook?!”

“JOOON. I can’t see new posts. Did you block me from your blog?”

“JOOOOOB!!! Why won’t you let me into Pie on the Face? Why did you kick me off Pie on the Face? Why can’t I find Pie on the Face?”

So, in summary:

  1. I can’t block anyone from seeing this blog, or new posts on this blog.
  2. I am not on Facebook at all. I did not block you personally; I blocked myself from the whole organization.
  3. I am not on Pie on the Face, I was not an administrator of Pie on the Face for a very long time before I left, and it’s not called Pie on the Face. It’s called (Face)Book of June.

Good gravy.

Oh, and

4. Don’t contact me via that Contact Me thing, wherever that is, because I don’t know if I’ll ever find it in the bowels of WordPress again! That was nightmarish, seeing all those messages I blithely didn’t respond to!

I suppose I should figure out how to remove that, along with the Amazon link that no longer works. Oh, June. Blogging was supposed to be fun.

Okay, onto my pets.

When we left each other, handing each other our yearbooks and swearing we’d be friends forever, 2 Good 2 Be 4Gotten, I had Edsel, Lily and Iris. Steely Dan was missing.

IMG_7006.jpeg
Still have Edsel
IMG_7327.jpeg
yuuu will alwayz haff edzul

And he still has that loose tooth.

IMG_7461.jpeg
Still have Iris. She still has approximately .025 of an eyeball.
IMG_9137.jpeg
resent
IMG_9175.jpeg
And I still have the Delta Burke of cats, big giant rotund yet lovely Lily.
IMG_9262.jpeg
fek yew

Steely Dan is still missing.

I can’t even stand it. I left a note for the woman who bought my house, saying if an all-gray cat wanders onto her roof, he’s mine. I’ve checked the shelter 900 times because of course, I’m at the shelter 900 times a week. Or I was. For I was still fostering up until the very, very last minute of my move (they were kind of dicks about that, which I’ll tell you about further down).

IMG_6909.jpeg

In June, and who isn’t. Hrrrrrr. That was supposed to be a June’s hot love life joke, but IN JUNE, the shelter had me foster three ferals, and they broke my heart the most of all my fosters.

IMG_6936
God, I don’t miss that damn floor

Because they started out terrified

IMG_6928.jpeg
o fuq

and ended up being the sweetest three kittens you ever saw. They were so nice!

And how it works when you foster is this: You take them home for a week or two and medicate them if they need it and also fatten them up, like veal, then you go back to the shelter and they get booster shots. If they weigh two pounds, they’re officially adoptable. And for these three little shy muffins, they made it to two pounds way too fast for me. I was just getting them to trust me and then they were back on that adoption floor. I was haunted by the idea that they’d go back to terrified, but fortunately, you can refresh the shelter’s “adoptable cats” page like an obsessed person, and as soon as they’re adopted they leave the page, and they all found homes REALLY FAST THANK GOD.

IMG_7020.jpeg
wee totleee populur

So that ended well, but it was a rolly coaster, as one of my relatives would say.

Then at work, one of my favorite coworkers died very suddenly, in her sleep. It was awful. I’d been kibitzing with her on Friday and she died Sunday.

So my response? I got a kitten and named it Leonard, which is her last name.

IMG_7304.jpeg
hullo

And you remember the part where Edsel adores kittens? And how NINETEEN KITTENS that I can think of have passed my door this year alone? And he’s lived for them all?

He hated Leonard. I mean, he wasn’t mean or anything, but the first thing he did when I brought Leonard home was hide behind the toilet. He spent the next 10 days behind the toilet. I kept “giving it a few days” and there was Edsel, Eau de Toilette, getting tanked. He was flush with fear.

He was Kohl toward that kitten.

Eventually, The Copy Editor Who Sits Behind Me came over, took one look at Leonard and took him home.

And guess what. Leonard CONSTANTLY bites her dog. Like, he’s just a terror to her dog. She’s tried everything and is hoping he gets better with age. Not biter with age.

Eds knew.

IMG_7110.jpeg
it were a diffkult time

As soon as Leonard was gone, I heard a screech in the night.

SQUEEEE!

MEEEEE!

SKEEEE!!!

“Did you hear that?” I asked my neighbor, fmr., who has a very cute cat named Oscar that Iris basically tried to kill.

IMG_7736.jpeg
eyeriss fury not be contain

“Was that a kitten?” asked my neighbor, fmr.

‘Twas. And for the next 87 nights, we sat outside of bushes and kneeled under his deck and carried on trying to get this bitty kitten to come to us, as it was clearly under duress, because did I mention

MEEEEEEEEEP!

It was so sad. I eventually put an ad on NextDrama, asking if anyone had a humane trap, and met a very nice retired math teacher who did. You can imagine the lively math talks he and I had.

Night after night I’d put canned kitten food in there like an asshole, and night after night I’d watch that slip of a kitten go in, eat the food, and walk right back out because he was too light to trip the trap.

The happy ending to that story, much like my massages, is that kitten never did get trapped but got totally friendly and up close and personal, and my neighbor, fmr.’s brother took that kitten and he’s a big friendly gray cat now. I mean, he always was a gray cat. You know what I mean.

IMG_7886.jpeg
why do I try to do art shots?

The summer ticked by and right when I was in my OH MY GOD MY HOUSE SOLD IN A MILLISECOND drama, the shelter called. They had three two-week-old kittens, and could I take them, and bottle feed them, and teach them to poop and pee, and

I

SAID

YES.

It was about this time that I convinced self that I am chaos junkie.

IMG_7812.jpgThey were so boopy and teensy at first! I put them in a laundry basket and they slept next to my bed. At first I’d get up in the night and try to bottle-feed them, but then I read if you feed them a bunch during the day, you can sleep through the night and I said Oh thank god.

IMG_7917.jpg

Their mother had been hit by a car, so I had to be their mom, and that involves stimulating their pee parts till stuff comes out, and it’s not necessarily as tidy as you’d like that process to be.

IMG_8029.jpeg
Now, DEESE kiddens okay

IMG_8060.jpeg

After weeks of mixing up formula and bottle-feeding them 20x a day and making them poop and keeping a warming disc constantly warm and JUST TRYING NOT TO KILL THE KITTENS, they stopped being personality-less lumps and started being fun.

IMG_8149.jpeg

IMG_8081.jpeg
rully. deese ones rully do be okay.

Edsel’s such an asshole.

IMG_8180.jpg

For six weeks, these three were at my house, just getting more adorable by the minute. Meanwhile, I’m tryina pack shit, and having three teensy kittens in the way was not great. I kept them in their concrete floor room when I packed, but eventually, I had to pack that room.

And that’s where the shelter sort of disappointed me.

Because often, in fact, every other time, if I took my fosters in for their booster shots and they weighed, you know, 1.8 pounds, they’d take them from me and make them adoptable. I was maybe a week from moving, I’d spent SIX WEEKS feeding and pooping and socializing and caring for these kittens DURING A MOVE, and when I

STEPPED

ON

THE

YELLOW

ONE

I called the shelter. And when I took them in, they said, “They aren’t exactly two pounds yet. Can you take them back with you?”

I had a friend at work who was definitely taking at least one. And I really couldn’t take them back. A mover was coming to get furniture out of that kitten room the next day. The boxes were sky-high in my house. It wasn’t safe there anymore, really, and I had too much to do.

So instead of saying, Oh, thanks for the

SIX WEEKS

of paying for food and litter and bedding and formula that cost $900 a can and for not sleeping, instead of saying thank you for all that? They took the kittens and huffed away.

Honestly, I felt horrible.

IMG_9595.png

I felt terrible for the kittens, and I felt like I let the shelter down, even though that was by far the toughest foster I ever did.

They were ready for adoption in like two days. And my coworker took the yellow one and the black-and-white one, and someone snatched up that tortoiseshell, thank god.

Which brings us to today.

I can’t foster here at this house, because there’s not a good room with stupid concrete floors that I can shut off, and after that last experience I’m a little…reluctant to help the shelter.

So last weekend I found myself missing kittens, and I went to the shelter just to visit. I’ve done that quite a bit, actually. Just go say hi to cats, pet them, get some strange and come home.

But on Sunday, there was one I really liked. He’s buff. Not that he works out. He’s buff COLORED. And he was so chill. He has a little white tip on his tail.

I left him at the shelter, figuring he’d get adopted that day.

When I looked at the June’s OCD shelter website on Wednesday, he was still there.

So I drove there Wednesday.

Turns out they were having a sale. Kittens are normally $75, but they were $13 that day. According to my maths, that’s 900% off.

IMG_9594.jpeg
fer sale. cheep!

And that is why I am the proud owner of an 11-week old kitten named Milhous. Get it? Do you? Milhous? Cause I live in a…mill house?

IMG_9579.jpeg
Edsel does not fear him, for he is a sweet puddin’ of a kitty, who is sweet.
IMG_9560.jpeg
injoy my white tip. dat nother nod to mom sex lyfe.

Iris and Lily’s souls died months ago. They’re like, nother kidden. hooo care.

So now you’re up to date on my animal sitch.

We’ll talk soon. Be sure to write in and ask why I blocked you from Pie on the Book.

Furrily,
Juan

It’s Britney, bitch

I’ve sat here for two days making little changes to this now-defunct site. “Should I start this up again?” I ask myself. Then I think about all the ways people could be unkind and I walk into the next room, all sweaty.

To be fair, I’m menopausin’, so I walk into every room all sweaty these days. Mother of GOD.

While I menopause and reflect, I also think about nice people. The nice people outweighed the not-nice ones up in here. Not literally. I mean, I don’t know how much you weigh. Maybe that would be a nice place to start. Let’s all get reacquainted by writing in and saying what we weigh!

Yeah.

So if I do come back, what do you want to know? Because I could sit here and recap the whole dang four and a half months and bore you to tears if you wanted. Also, the good news is, maybe five people will even see this site is up so there won’t be that many questions, and maybe I can write one nice, concise, here’s-what’s-you-wanted-to-know post and we can move forward from there.

Meanwhile, what’s new with you, five people? Tell all. Including your weight.

Love,
Jooob.

I seriously didn’t mean to write “Jooob,” with a b, but it was nice to get that typo back, just like old times.

img_9457
yuu way HOW mutch? eyeriss can’t see it. think yuu look grate.

Toasted since 1964

I just timed how long it takes for me to take care of all the current animals: 15 minutes. I didn’t get any time to just sit with and pet all the kittens, so without, you know, being kind to kittens, just basic feeding and scooping and changing water, it’s 15 minutes.

I guess that’s not so bad, except the whole getting-ready-for-work thing is always something of a rush, especially if you’re someone who also says, Hey, I guess I’ll sit down and write about my life to a couple-thousand people before I dash off to work.

Anyway, here’s what I did this dang weekend. What about you?

Friday.
IMG_7929.jpgIMG_7934.jpgIMG_7936.jpg
My coworker had a partay, and do you wish I’d stop saying “partay” already? Anyway, she did, and careful readers will note I go to this party (partayy) every year at this time, as it is this coworker’s birthday but she never says that.

IMG_7954.jpgI’d planned to stay maybe an hour or two, then get back to my 97 kittens, but careful readers will see that day turned into night, night divides the day. Try to run, try to hide, break on through to the other side.

And yes. That is a coworker with a light balanced on her head. It seemed to be the thing to do.

img_7943.jpgI left that to the younger crowd.

IMG_7961.jpgI got home to my kittens and their kitten crumbs pretty late, and the mom was waiting for me with a rolling pin.

IMG_7970.jpg
“ware you bin?”
IMG_7981.jpg
“yuu haff any ideeee wat time it be?”
IMG_7969.jpg
“it okaaa. mom do it all herself. she fine. …SYYYY.”

Saturday.
When my high school swain, Cardinal, was here a few weeks ago, he told me about this really cool cemetery in Milton, NC, and you know what sounds good are pastries from Milton the toaster. Hey, June, how’s keto going?

Still on it. But I’d slap your grandpappy’s half uncle for a Pop-Tart.

So I drove there. To Milton. Hoping to meet Mr. Toaster. Tell me I’m not the only person who remembers Milton the Toaster.

PT110.jpg

He always seemed to have a touch of the rosacea.

I remember this one just bitch of a reader, who couldn’t wait to say mean things to me whenever she could, and what is that? What makes your life so empty that you take time to find a blog, then hate what the person wrote, and stick around so you can be angry?

Anyway, I had some makeupless picture up and she commented, “Is that rosacea?”

I’m tryina think of the other bitch-ass things she wrote over the years till I blocked her. But that’s the only one I can recall now.

I also recall in my first year of being separated, dating someone for, like, a week, and it didn’t work out, but that same weekend of deciding that torrid one-week affair wasn’t going to work, going on another date and kissing that second date goodnight, and coming back here to tell you all that it went well, and someone said they’d never read again because “all the drama” was “dangerous.”

Good lord with people. Good lord with my short sentences like the one above.

But back to my cemetery.

IMG_7999.jpgBefore I got to get in the car and head to the dead, I had to take Cora Godsey and her seven Walton children to the shelter, for their checkups and shots. Steely Dan didn’t join us. But I like this photo of him. When he’s indoors, he’s just longing to go out.

IMG_8013.jpg
ruk roff. eeeting.

So he can do this. He caught some sort of rodent Saturday morning, and what berserk eyes of murder? Good lord. More delightful updates on that in a moment. Stay tuned!

Anyway, I took the 2,000 kittens to the shelter, and they’re all doing well. I go back in two weeks with them for another checkup, and I would not be surprised if by then they will be adoptable. That’s also the day of the royal wedding, and also the baseball thing here (Official Name®) is giving away Prince Harry bobbleheads to the first 1,000 visitors and of COURSE I’m going, so two Saturdays from now will be big with me.

After I got 101 Kittmations back home and situated, I got on the road to see the dead people.

June, knowing how to throw down. June, toasted like Milton the toaster, since 1964.

The drive there was all country roads, which I love.

IMG_8028.jpg

And the town of Milton was cute!

IMG_8034.jpg
Keep scrolling. BAHAHAHAHA.
IMG_8035.jpg
I guess I should’ve, you know, stepped back, but these are trees growing out of an old building.

IMG_8033.jpg

IMG_8030.jpgI even met goaties!

IMG_8039.jpg
“You come here often?”
IMG_8047.jpg
I promised I’d send them this after I took it and still haven’t.

Anyway, finally I found the cemetery.

IMG_8065.jpgIMG_8070.jpgIMG_8055.jpg

IMG_8060.jpgIf you ever want to be horrible to me, like if that “Is that rosacea” woman is in charge of me after I depart the earth, put me in a treeless cemetery with fake flowers on the graves. THAT would be horrible, to me.

Sunday.
On Sunday, I acknowledged the 900 animals here.

IMG_8123.jpg

IMG_8083.jpgIMG_8107.jpgFaithful Readers Happy and LaUral both came by to see kittens, and you know, I CALL them faithful readers, but I have no idea if they actually read my blog/not blog or just saw kittens on Instagram or whatever. Hoooo care.

IMG_8141.jpg
[Potentially] FR Happy, whose philosophy is, Why photograph a kitten when you have your thumb?
IMG_8162.jpg
[Maybe] FR LaUrual, who is not going to be IGNORED by Eds.
Anyway, LaUral was somewhat in the market for another cat, because you can never have enough cats, just ask me. And she landed on MaryEllen.

Not literally.

IMG_8180.jpg
MaryEllen is brave, and seems to be good with dogs, which is good because LaUral has a giant white 4,500-pound dog, so.
IMG_8203.jpg
And they have similar coloring.
IMG_8195.jpg
Family portrait. It’s Olan Mills at my house. That’s a fake bookshelf behind them.

Once I take the kittens back to the shelter, I’ll tell them I have a person who wants to adopt one, and they’ll set it up. Just six to go, plus a mom!

img_8149.jpg
kittee feeel confident she find home. look at all dis.

IMG_8140.jpgThe rest of the afternoon was quiet, and as evening approached, I headed to the grocery store to buy more damn keto food. Steely Dan was hunkering over by the trash cans, which isn’t like him. I petted his velvety head and left.

I ran into my doctor at the store, of all things, and he was glad I was going keto. “It really burns fat if you stick with it,” he said, as he reached for skim milk and I reached for heavy whipping cream.

When I got home, SD was still by the trash cans. Was he injured or something? I had to take the trash cans out of there, anyway, so I went over to talk to him and he seemed fine.

Then I rolled the first totally full recycle bin. I rolled it

OVER

A

BABY

CHIPMUNK.

That’s why that jerk was stationed at the trash cans! For at least 45 minutes! That’s why! And I FINISHED IT OFF FOR HIM with my trash can!

Oh my god, I was devastated.

You shoulda seen that evil cat, poking at the poor thing. he really ded? 

That cat practically high pawed me. Gave me the high four.

We’re like Bonnie and Clyde now.

Goddammit. I will never get over that. I feel horrible. Also, this is three dead rodents in a weekend, and they may all have been chipmunks, and is there some kind of chipmunk colony in my yard? If so, they picked the wrong yard.

IMG_8153.jpg
Edz didn’t get to eet any chipmonks

I gotta go, but I guess I’ve filled you in on all the happs over here. Also, Dear June: Don’t say “happs.”

Happs,
June

The stitch has been fixed. The eagle has landed.

I ended up getting invited to two things last night, because apparently Tuesday is the hot night now or something, and the point is that over the course of the evening, I had a glass of Prosecco and then two glasses of chardonnay, because I’m a girl. Then at my now-usual wakeup time of 4 a.m., I had a splitting headache and slept in this morning.

There was a time I could have three drinks in preparation for my workday. When did I get so wimpy?

So write fast I must, but I hated to leave you without the stunning results of our StitchFix polls yesterday. It would appear that about 355 of you voted, which is a pretty good turnout when I had (lemme go see) 1,430 readers yesterday. According to my maths, 407% of people participated.

img_6725A stunning 88% of you voted that my boss, fmr., keep that bird shirt. I hope she perches on that decision and spends some bills on this shirt.

The distressed jeans caused some distress, and oh, lort, June, are you gonna do this throughout? Only 55% said to keep them, which distresses me out. June stop.

IMG_6717We were double-breasted on the coat, too. It was pretty much half and half (49% yes, 45% no) on whether it should stay or should it go, now. If it goes it will be double (breasted) and if it stays it will be double (breasted, still).

That’s it, June. I’m leaving.

IMG_6731At least we were all in agreement that we hated a wrinkle in time, over here. A weird 1.36% voted she should keep this. I’d like to hear from this elusive 1.36%. Do you also hate chocolate and Tom Hanks?

IMG_6722And, finally, we didn’t link to this cuff much. 58% said to unhand the cuff.

Oh, June. You shoulda stuck to waitressing. For you were a stellar and unharried waitress with the patience of Job and the focus to remember what your tables wanted.

Did I ever tell you about the time I cried because the soup changed? Remind me.

Sometimes I have nightmares that I’m waitressing again. I’m at some soda gun going, How did I get back here?

Anyway. Thanks for participating, you 355 or so who did. Why didn’t you others? What a bunch of cranks. Perhaps the rest of you are men.

Yesterday, my boss, fmr., and I were discussing her photos on my blog, and the reactions we were getting to the clothes, and my boss’s boss, also fmr., happened upon us.

“I’d rather…go to the dentist, yes, go to the dentist, than have a bunch of people tell me what clothes to buy,” he said. Keep in mind this was the guy who gave me the eagle calendar. All of a sudden we gotta listen to THIS guy.

Boss, fmr. and I stared at him blankly.

“Well, then how do you shop?” we asked him. Pretty much at the same time, like those twins in The Shining.

“How you shop is, you decide you need something, and you go out and get it.”

We stared at him blankly some more. Kind of like those twins in The Shining. Still. Occasionally, after that stunning announcement, I’d kind of see my Eagles-Loving Former Boss’s Boss and then an elevator with blood pouring out of it would cross my vision.

“Now, what now?” I asked.

“If I’m shopping alone, I at least take a selfie in the dressing room and send it to someone for their opinion,” I told him.

“Yeah, of course,” agreed my boss, fmr.

“You’re kidding,” said my boss’s boss, former, lover of eagles. And their calendars.

Later, I asked Ned about this.

“How you shop is, you say, wow I’m out of blue jeans (Ned always calls them “blue jeans” like he’s Grampa Joe or whatever) and then you go out and get the same kind of blue jeans you’ve been buying since 9th grade,” said Ned.

Blood. Elevator. Somewhere in Florida an old man is having a vision under a painting of a naked woman.

download

“How is it that we even exist on the same planet?” asked Former Boss of All Eagles.

Anyway, I gotta go. If I’m going to have a wine headache, I’m going to have it at work, where I can complain about it to the world at large.

Givingly,
Joon

IRL

I feel like no one reads me anymore.

I mean, “no one” is a stretch, but there are definitely fewer people around here, at least comment-wise. I know back in this not-blog’s heyday, like 2011-2012-ish, I’d get hundreds of comments, and around 2,000 readers a day.

But then sitemeter died, and we in the not-blogging world were all left bereft, because that thing was excellent. It told you how many people were on right then, it used individual IP addresses with cities, so I saw when Ned’s ex-girlfriend started reading me. I saw when NED was reading me.

It was a great stalking-who-stalks-me technique. But it died. And I’ve been without sitemeter for at least a year.

Then this year I switched over to WordPress, PressingWords, and the meter is either a lot more sensitive (like, if you look at me twice in one day, it knows your IP address and won’t count you as two readers) or else no one likes me anymore.

What do you think it is? Is it that no one blogs anymore, so they don’t come over here in hopes I come over there? Is it boring that I’m single and not all that ready to mingle? What gives, do you think?

This also leads me to to ask this question: If you know me  in real life, leave a comment today. I mean, really, leave a comment. You don’t have to leave an email address to leave a comment even though it says to.

I was wondering who, in real life, still reads me. Because when you write about your everyday life every day, it can be awkward with people who really know you.

Like, you meet up with a person and start telling one of your better stories, and you get the sense they want you to wrap it up because they’ve already read this. “Oh, did you read about this already?”

“Yeah.”

But see, how do you know? You can’t ask every person, “Do you read my stupid blog?” cause that seems like pressure.

But then, like, you’re talking to your grandmother or someone and they say, “Oh, you and Ned broke up?”

Or, “You have a dog?”

And it’s like, DO YOU NEVER READ ME OH MY GOD.

So, two things: Why is my blog boring now, or else why are my numbers down, and (2), if you know me, please really leave me a comment today. You don’t have to say your name, just how we know each other.

“We had a one-night-stand at Michigan State, June.” That sort of thing.

Meanwhile. And don’t you hate people who say, “Meanwhile, back at the ranch.” Oh, har har har. HARRRRR de HAR.

Meanwhile, back at my ranch-style house…IMG_2879.jpgI present you with Mega Melon. My lipstick, and also m’boobs.

IMG_2881.jpg
not in MUUUUUD

I was taking a selfie, when a little orange sprite caught my eye. She really is a little sprite. So full of the vim. Look at her already learning how to reject my advances.

I am the Harvey Weinstein of kitten.

IMG_2882.jpg
Every cat. Always, with that window to the kitchen.
IMG_2883.JPG
Where is the kitten? Has anyone seen the kitten?
IMG_2887.JPG
THERE she is! Say, guess who’s an asshole around kittens?

IMG_2859.JPGAnd because we don’t talk about animals enough here, someone else brought her dog to work. Nothing says “dedicated to her work June” more than someone trotting an animal past me.

BLUE EYE AND BROWN EYE!!!

IMG_2862.jpgI love you so BAD.

IMG_2857IMG_E2853

Also, Faithful Reader BamaCarol sent me a leopard coat that happened to be on June Gardens’ Amazon Wishlist! Oh my god, I was so excited. I didn’t think anyone would actually GET it for me. It was a pipe dream! I was dreaming of pipes.

IMG_2871.jpgI better go. Last night, I closed myself in the bedroom to do my freelance work and hang with Jodie Foster, and maybe an hour in I thought, Hey, where IS that kitten, anyway?

She’d slipped under the door again. Was hanging with the big pets. I WAS IN THERE ALONE.

IMG_2873.jpg
heeee. jodeeee foster kind of a dik.

Talk to you later. And don’t forget to comment if you actually know me.

Really, how well can you know another person?

Deeply,

Juan

My 404 Not Found Error

IMG_E0891.JPGI stood in my backyard just now and watched several leaves fall from the branches of my tree and sway all the way to the ground. It was so pretty that I got the phone so I could show you, but of course once I got the damn phone, the leaves stayed tight.

weee not leaf-ing. heeeee!

Leaves are dicks. Nevertheless, I made a video, hoping to capture a leaf falling, like you’ve never seen that before, but instead my video is more let’s say meditative. Till Edsel. You’ll see.

I hate holding the phone vertically to take a video, but the first time when I went up then down to look at the dog, it got sideways.

I’ve been trying to be meditative lately. As you might know, I had jarring news last week, and you only know this because I wrote about it on the Facebooks, on a page called (Face)Book of June, and what was warm, what was really lovely of you, were the four people who joined the page, read my tale of sadness, then promptly quit it again.

So, no. No, I’m not adding anyone else to the page at this time. It was supposed to be for friends of this page. Friends. Of this page. So. I’m a tad wary right now.

But anyway, if you “Don’t have Facebook” (say, Madame 1800s, how are the 1800s going? Is there penicillin yet?) or whatever, suffice it to say that what happened was that I was on the mend, I was headed toward moving on from my last “relationship,” if you even want to call it that. I think I may just refer to that time as, “Those five years and 10 months that I was gravely mistaken,” but that takes too long.

Those years when I had Stockholm Syndrome?

My Not Found 404 Error?

Anyway. I thought I was moving on from it, whatever it was. It officially ended in 2015, but then it kept …hovering there, and I started it back up again last year at this time, then it ended again, badly, in December and I thought, Okay, this is really it.

But then it hovered again. And it’s hard to convince yourself a relationship is over when someone is constantly coming back, telling you he loves you.

Until you find out he doesn’t.

I found out some stuff, some you-were-not-loved information. And I wasn’t told because there was guilt or so much respect that anyone needed to come clean with me.

I found out because the other woman contacted me.

So.

I’ve been in a limbo for two years. A purgatory. And one thing I like about myself is my ability to not be dramatic about everything. But really, this half-broken-up shit is wearisome. So it’s kind of like I’m in a new breakup.

Again.

But since I’ve already spent much time grieving and mourning and feeling incredulous about everything, it’s moving along faster than you’d think, this time.

The point is, I’ve been trying to be meditative. When I walk Edsel at night, I’m paying attention to what I smell, what I see, what I hear. And it helps. Because otherwise I could be walking around with my brain spinning, as it has spun each day since I stupidly convinced myself I was in love, way back in March of 2012.

When your overwhelming feeling is more of anxiety that you adore this person and you worry they won’t adore you back? That’s really not so much love as a neurotic coupling. Must remember this.

You must remember this, a diss is still a diss. A lie is just a lie. The fundamental things apply, avoidant guy.

But I’m doing okay. I’m no longer in denial. Well. I’m 99% not in denial. I think I so dearly wanted some way that this would work out that I never quite accepted it was over.

Till now. I accept that it’s over. My plan is to never say one word to my 404 error ever again.

Oh! But while we’re on the topic of that (Face)Book of June page, I noticed yesterday a few people on there with the Facebook silhouette

Man_Silhouette.

And one person in particular with that image, and no friends, and the only info on her Facebook page was where she went to school. I say “she” but it’s a clearly fake, neutral name.

It worries me.

Look, I’m over there being me. My real name, my real details. I know this may come as a shock to you, but I’d rather tell that stuff to real people.

Anyway, this particular person has been on my readers-of-my-blog page for six years, so I didn’t just delete her right away. I messaged her. Said the stuff I just said to you, about real and so on, and how it worried me that she/he had no identity. “Is there anything you can tell me to put my mind at ease?” I asked.

No response.

So I removed him or her, and also someone who had no info on her page except a picture of the Verizon chick from the commercials. Then I announced on the page at large that if you had a fake profile, or no profile pic, I was going to have to remove you, because it makes me uncomfortable.

Here’s what happened.

“I have a picture of a flower, June! Don’t kick me off.”

“See, no,” I’d explain, “I’m saying if you have NO photo at all, and NO friends, and NO posts on your wall that I can see. That’s when I’m removing folks. Because how is it fair that you set up a fake account so you can lurk my life? No. This page is an exchange,” is what I said.

Then three comments later, I’d get, “I hate how I look, June, so I have a photo of a soccer ball. Please don’t take me off this page.”

“Yeah, see…” I’d say, and explain it all again.

Ten comments later, guess what.

So that was my day yesterday, until finally last night I was face-down on my living room floor, just typing “please scroll up” every 14 minutes or so.

Cats. You’re all cats. I herd cats in my real life, I herd cats in my online life. But I do heart you all, those of you who are real with me, I mean. I know I haven’t met most of you, but dear god, are you part of my every day.

I’ve watched you lose tons of weight, or a husband, or your jobs. I’ve seen your family members get sick or well. I’ve seen you have rotten days and great ones. And even though it’s weird, and impersonal, our relationship, it’s also sort of very personal.

Thank you to those of you who’ve been real, and have seen me through this stupid 404 error, for screaming at your computer DON’T HAVE DINNER WITH HIM, JOOOOB! all these years, thank you. I’ve tried to be as real as I can, and I appreciate how real you are all being, as well.

I guess that’s all I have to say today. My freelance work came early, goddammit, so I ended up having zero free days after all.

IMG_0894.JPG
no fotoz, pleez. bitz.

Edsel just let himself and all the cats in, which was convenient for me. Last night, late, there was another NextDoor about a “sweet cat” and I didn’t even have to open it. Of course I did.

“This sweet cat followed us home. Is he yours?”

Ima just brand that asshole with my address and a DON’T FEED. Also, “sweet cat.” Could it be possible that he has multiple personalities? Or maybe he just turns on the charm when a potential new food source rears its head.

I can’t solve every mystery today. I gotta just keep moving on.

Moving the hell on.

Mendingly,

June.

June picks a bad day to stop sniffing glue

Yesterday, I wrote about some, oh, personal stuff, and then I felt bad about it being so public, so I deleted this post and pasted it to (Face)Book of June, a secret page on Facebook.

For awhile, (Face)Book of June was just a closed group, meaning no one could wander over there and see all our top-secret thoughts. Sometimes it’s the only place we can safely complain about the people in our lives, as those people are often found on the REST of Facebook.

So, your drunk uncle is pontificating on your Facebook wall? You get to come over to (Face)Book of June to kvetch. He can’t see it!

But then we made it a secret group, which means you can’t even search for it. “CAN MY UNCLE SEE I COMPLAINED ABOUT HIM?”

No. He can’t even see this page exists.

We’ve waffled with it being closed/secret for awhile, and I just couldn’t recall our current status when I posted yesterday morning, and I had to go.

So when I deleted the post here (and yes, thank you all [all] [allllll] for telling me the email subscribers could still read it. That’s fine. I just didn’t want the…person at hand to read it, nor that person’s people, and if they’re weird enough to email subscribe to me, then that’s their problem), and announced it could be read on (Face)Book of June, I then screamed over to the courthouse for jury duty, a place that absolutely 100% totally for sure forbids any phone use. I guess I assumed everyone knew that, but apparently not.

In the mid-morning, they give you a break, so I turned on my phone and oh my god.

JUNE! I CAN’T FIND YOUR POST!

IT’S NOT THERE, JUNE!

WHERE IS FACEBOOK OF JUNE, JOOOOON?

I had written that you should EITHER look for (Face)Book of June (and say that one more time) OR FRIEND REQUEST ME, but no one got to phase two. Instead they contacted me and bellowed.

So here’s the story. I accepted friend requests and added folks to the secret group as much as I could yesterday. There are still some outstanding and I will get to those as soon as I can. But I am vetting you first.

But if you have no profile pic, or a picture of the sky or something, and you have 0–10 friends, you ain’t gettin’ in. If you aren’t a real person who’s on Facebook already, I do not trust that you are joining this group as “Oh, I’d love to add Book of June shenanigans to my already rewarding Facebook time.” I think instead you may be a hater, or a lurker, or just someone nefarious who is going to sell us Ray-Bans.

Also, if you “can’t figure out Facebook” or how to add a friend or whatever, I am sorry, dude, but I picked a bad day to bring all this on myself, and you’re gonna have to adult and figure it out on your own. I’m just a blogger with a full-time job and a murder trial on her hands. I am not the IT department or a life coach.

Oh! And also! If you were a member before and you left, you can’t get back on. I can’t add you, and since it’s secret you can’t request to be added. Sorry. That was a snafu I didn’t know about. Also, why’d you leave, ass lips?

Thank god I just spent 600 words on that riveting topic.

The other news is, I am done with jury duty. And yes, it was a murder trial. I was excused because I just don’t believe in the death penalty. But I was in that courtroom all day Monday through Wednesday, and I heard a lot, and I am glad I didn’t end up being on that trial. I think I’d have ended up traumatized, and I just accidentally wrote “Neded up being traumatized” and thank you, Freud.

I was done around 4:00, so I didn’t head to work, I just came home and sat here, rather drained. It was a lot. I can’t imagine the toll it will take on the actual jurors.

IMG_0734.JPGEventually, I got up to walk the cur, which always makes me feel better unless her eats a baby or whatever.

IMG_0736June. Now with less drainage.

IMG_0726.JPGIt really alleviated my stress when I shot the dog. Just what the doctor ordered.

(He and Tallulah were big on rubbing their faces on the ground when that Gentle Leader is on. I know that thing must be annoying. But please note: If he’d had it on that one day, he’d never have gotten loose to attack that dog, so.)

IMG_0746.JPGAlso, do you have these all over yonder in your town? These are bikes anyone can use; you just have to scan something or other with your phone, and they charge you. I was tempted to put Eds in the basket and Wicked Witch all through the neighborhood.

IT PUTS THE CANINE IN THE BASKET.

OR ELSE IT GETS THE HOSE AGAIN.

Thanks, June. It’s been too long since you’ve needlessly referenced a film. One of the same five films you ever reference.

IMG_0765.PNG

When I got home, I texted with my pal Hamlet, which resulted in me giggling like an idiot. Murder, she texted! Heeeeee!

I finally get to go to real work today, and I am glad. First of all, driving downtown is a pain in the ass. Parking downtown is worse. Having to be in a courtroom and not snack or pee when you feel like it is a real pain, as well.

I’d better get in the shower, and I know the idea of me naked has you all twitterpated now, and I’m sorry to get you in a lather. See what I did, there?

Your Facebook friend, unless you have a scammy profile,

June

I’m in my prime. You are too.

First of all, before we all up and forget, it’s Steely Dan’s birthday. He is one, according to the estimated birth date the vet gave him back when I first brought him in. I would take a picture of old Steely Dan, but he’s outside tripping the elderly or whatever the hell. Continue reading “I’m in my prime. You are too.”

byebyepie + 10

Today is the 10-year anniversary of me blogging, and I am certain you are delighted that day is finally upon us, as you are sick to death of my shit.

6a00e54f9367fb8834019101fdbefe970c-800wi
(These are pictures I found when I Googled byebyepie + 10)

I didn't plan what I was gonna say today, nor did I plan this BRILLIANT idea of Googling "byebyepie + 10," but I did think about these 10 years a lot in the context of this blog.

This started as a way to record my then-husband and me during our year of not spending any money. I know we got a down payment for our house out of it, but after re-reading during this whole, "Wow, 10 years!?" reflection, I see we'd saved TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS by APRIL! Jesus! What the hell with us! I don't even bring home $10,000 by April now.

6a00e54f9367fb883401348412d352970c-600wi

The point is, that's how I started blogging, and I sent my first blog entry, on the hard-hitting Blogspot, to about 18 friends and family. I remember the day I figured out I was getting 30 unique visitors a day. And you wouldn't believe how many basic visitors I got. They all read me at Applebee's.

Bah. See. It was humor like that that kept 'em returning.

6a00e54f9367fb883401b7c6cca560970b-800wi

I kept blogging after that first year, and made friends with other bloggers–Musings of a Housewife and The Nester. (Oh my god, look how highfalutin' both their WEBSITES are, and here I still am in Typepad.) Two women I had nothing in common with–they're big fans of God–and yet I loved them both dearly. I mean, I really did. They were funny and sweet and MAN did they help me. Musings taught me how to link other sites, for heaven's sake. Nester mentioned me on her blog and 3949349402 people stampeded over that day.

I think I went from, like, 100 readers a day to 250, after that Nester boost. Mathfully, that's a bump of 900 thousand percent.

6a00e54f9367fb88340115707bf057970b-pi

(Here we pause for June to be annoyed by how thin she was, and how Topamax stopped working for her that way, and why isn't life fair? WHY MUST LIFE PULL THE MIRACLE-PILL RUG OUT??)

Pretty soon, people were emailing me for love advice (they don't anymore, obvs) and cat advice and just writing me in general. They'd write long-winded emails about their lives, because I think it seemed like I became a friend. I was like an unattractive Jennifer Aniston.

At first, it was such a novelty, hearing from readers, that I'd tell Marvin–my ex–about it, and we'd be delighted together and so on. And then I started talking to my readers more than I did Marvin. Which is not why we got divorced, but it is telling.

I remember looking at my reader numbers and having a little test with myself. If at 3:00, I had 300 readers that day, I was cool. I highly recommend little tests like this; they are marvelous for your self-esteem. Always look outside yourself for your self-worth.

Self-Esteem Tips That Probably Are Stupid, by June.

6a00e54f9367fb8834015435da59d8970c-800wi

It was when Marvin left that my already-growing numbers of readers shot up, and I promise I won't just be all JUNE'S RISE TO FAME. BY JUNE. IN A BLOG ABOUT JUNE. I'm about to get humble, I assure you.

But in the year 2011, I was getting–wow, I don't know–sometimes 4,000 readers a day? It was a lot, for me, anyway. I'd get hundreds of comments all the time, like it was nothing. I remember being at work and looking at my Gmail, and there'd always be 20 more emails to read from my blog email–those would all be comments.

It was exciting. I got gifts and emails from people and Marvin and I both got recognized out in public. Woo, it was a time. I grew genuinely fond of some readers, they became friends. I still haven't met most of them.

Then I blew it. Please see: June: Everything in her whole life.

6a00e54f9367fb883401bb08609dc7970d-500wi

I think it was my temper, as it always is, and my impulsiveness, as it always is.

Here are the ways I am shitty: I have a terrible temper where I fly off the handle. I make impulsive decisions I later regret. I say things I think are hilarious and end up hurting someone's feelings, going for the funny instead of thinking about being kind.

Those are m'big three. My Achilles' heels, which are not nearly as cute as my sparkly ones up there.

One day I asked everyone on this blog to tell me where they lived. Hey, here's where you're all from! That kind of thing. The next morning on my way out somewhere, I recorded hundreds of answers and hit "Publish."

So, in a hurry and then also maths. Plus geography.

I went out to lunch with the Tall Boy, I remember, and when I came back I had all sorts of fairly whiny comments. I'm SORRY, but they WERE.

JOOOOOON! You didn't mention my state!

I'm from Ucatabwah and you didn't mention it!

JOOOOOOOOOON! You added wrong! I sat here all morning and added them myself and see you said 14 people are from Hoodehoochville and it's 15!

So here's what I did. Here's my stellar, mature response and I want you to know I'm WORLDS different now.

Heh.

I pulled the post.

I just yanked it down, in a huff, the way my grandmother would have, and went about my day haughtily. FINE, then. You know I'm in big trouble when I say to myself, "FINE, then." Something impulsive this way comes.

My numbers have never been as big since. Well, I say that, but I don't really know that. Sitemeter went crazy on the hair-oyn and left town years ago, Google Analytics made itself way harder than it needs to be, so I…yanked myself off it it in an impulsive huff. (Shut up.) So now I don't even know how many people read me, and really, who cares? Asks the woman who just went on about it for 90 paragraphs.

6a00e54f9367fb883401310fb5fa40970c-600wi

But here's what I learned. I learned that people will come and go. They will get over you faster than a Wacky Wall Walker. And you have to treasure the ones who stay around, even when you are not charming. Those are the people who matter.

So, thank you to the ones who've stuck around for 10 years, even when I was boring that day or so full of myself that you felt barfy. Thank you for staying through dead pets and relationships and trial puppies and migraines. Thank you for staying through all the selfies and my selfishness. Thank you for watching my goddamn videos and for never saying, "June, stop dancing."

Because I will always keep dancing.

 

I will continue to be all the flawed things I am, and it's lovely to be loved through them by all y'all all.

Your close, personal friend whom you've never met,

6a00e54f9367fb883401bb08e59acc970d-pi

June