Aging ungracefully · At Two With Nature · Food and Drink · Fuck natural

Weathered Vain

“Leaves no oily residue,” my eye-makeup remover reads. I just read that this morning while I was washing off the oily residue from my eye-makeup remover.

Just tell the truth. Jesus. “Removes your makeup pretty cheaply because it’s the drug store brand.” You know what I really like is that Clinique eye-makeup remover, but it’s too rich for my blood. Even though I got new lips yesterday like I could afford it.

Wait. What?

On Tuesday, I had a consultation at the same place that I get m’Botox and m’Juvederm. In case you’re local, I go to Barber Center and I see Robin.

You know I hate my lips, right? And I already have a Gor-Tex implant in the top one, from 1998, and lemme show you my lips, former.

IMG_8846.jpg
Al Gore-Tex

Okay. Here’s me and my blemish and my lips, fmr. I took this Monday. I’ve no idea why. I’m certain there was a reason at the time. …Oh, I remember. Self-obsession.

So I went to the consultation on Tuesday, and this Robin over there, man does she look good. Not fake cat-lady good, either. The point is, she said, “Thin lips are really hard to bring out. We can add bloo-dee-blah and see if that works, and on top of that, add bleee-dee-bleep-bloo if we wanna keep going.”

That all sounded good to me, but she’s so in demand that she wasn’t available to do it till August 29. “That’s fine,” I thought, and don’t you hate people who say, “I thought to myself”? Who the hell else do you think to?

Anyway, my theory was that’d give me time to save my pennies.

Then yesterday at work, the phone rang.

“Robin has had a cancellation. Do you want to come in today?”

I wonder if we’ve met. Hi, I’m June. I’m impulsive. How do you do? LET’S STREAK.

I mean, I could have said, “Oh, I’ll wait till August till I’ve saved my pennies.”

“I’m taking an early lunch!” I announced, and hightailed it right to the office of beauty and naturalness. The building of aging gracefully.

While I was waiting in the lobby, my old workplace called and up and offered me a job. I am not kidding you. It’s the place I worked at circa 2008–2009. I demurred. Then I went in and had my lips done did. Talk about your dramatic day.

KVXQ50591.jpg
She don’t lie, she don’t lie, she don’t li-docaine.

This is what she used on me, and look at this bitch. If I had her regular lips, I’d be praising Jesus and all the saints.

“We’ll try Volbella,” Robin-who-looks-great said, (“Volbella.” Good lord.) “and if we want to keep going with other stuff, we can.”

First, I iced my lips, and I don’t mean I murdered them. Then she put this numbing cream on me, and maybe this process was the other way around. It was all a whirl. I woke up yesterday not knowing NEW LIPS were at hand.

IMG_8867.jpgHere’s me yesterday with the numbing gel, waiting for my million shots to the lips. SHOT TO THE LIPS, AND YOU’RE TO BLAME. Darlin’ you give aging a bad name.

I mean, I think you have to hand it to me that with all this last-minute-ness, I thought, Oh, shit, I’ll probably blog about this. I should take a fow-toe. So I did. And flattering lights in there? When the lights, shine down, on the biddy.

How much of that lidocaine you been takin’, honey?

Then she gave me the shots.

Mother of pearl.

Look. I get through Botox like it’s nothing. And I had Ultherapy and wanted to die (I think I’m beginning to see the results of that, by the way). This pain was somewhere in between.

Mostly, the fact that my lips were so numb freaked me out. It felt like they were 11 feet wide, and I worried, “Am I able to breathe? I can’t really feel my breathe parts.”

And then also, and I want you to brace your own self, but having needles poked right in your lips really hurts. But each shot included lidocaine (Take your silver spoon, dig your grave), so it got more numb as time went on.

Who here is hoping hard I keep referencing cocaine songs?

We used up the Volbella, and after some discussion, in which my lips did not actually move, we decided I’ll stay with just this for now, give it two weeks to settle in, and see if I want to add this other stuff on top of it.

IMG_8891.jpg
quack

So here they are now.

“It looks very natural,” my Aunt Kathy said, when of course I immediately texted her the results of my day of needles.

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” I wrote her back. “Natural is never my goal.”

IMG_8894.jpg
Lip, lack, love

So here’s before, with the flattering numbing cream, and after. I think I will probably go get more shit put in. Because last night Ned stopped by, which by the way, I pulled into my drive just as he did, because I had been out on a very important mission.

IMG_8900.jpgFaithful Reader and now Mother of One of My Foster Kittens LaUral sent me info on this: rosé vodka. You know in the cartoons where someone takes off in a hurry and there’s a little puff of smoke behind them?

“Hi. I’m a girl,” my new lips said to the indifferent woman at the liquor store. “I hear there’s a rosé vodka.”

She sighed and took me over there. To the vagina section of the liquor store. The only good thing that happened was this song came on:

and it turns out, we both love it, if you’ll forgive the pun. So we had us a little dance party in the vagina aisle.

Anyway, so Ned popped over, and I was all, “Oooo! I won’t say a thing, and we’ll see if he notices my new giant lips.”

He didn’t.

Oh, I was pursing them, and smiling with them even though they hurt. I was turning my head in every direction. That male, straight motherfucker.

Photo on 5-23-18 at 7.23 PM
wat rong wif U

Anyway, I can tell, but I will probably add to the lip sitch in a few weeks.

Oh, and yes to the rosé vodka! I tried it straight and it kind of tasted like rosé wine, but then I added it to my PowerAde Zero Fruit Punch flavor, and it was a dream. I hardly ever drink now, because I’m tryina be thin and also wine never fails to make my head hurt, so I think the last time I drank was that party back in early May. The good news is I have one drink and I’m all painting my body gold and singing Wild Irish Rosé.

Don’t give me any lip,
June

Beauty products · Fuck natural · Television

The June Channel

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.14 AM
Sans makeup. Blugh. Oh, but I DO have on sunscreen! Australian Gold tinted 50 SPF.

You know those annoying posts where I put on my makeup and talk to you, because I’m tryina do everything at once?

Yeah.

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.18 AM #3.jpg
Laura Mercier Secret Concealer for Undereye in 1.5. How can it be a secret if I’m telling you about it?

So, if you read yesterday’s post about my humiliation, you know I have TV now.

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.22 AM #2
L’Oreal Brow Stylist in Light Brown. I don’t actually like this stuff, but it’s what I’ve got. Does anyone like their eyebrow tint?

Turns out, TV SUCKS, man. I haven’t watched TV in, what, two years? Is that how long it’s been?

First of all, almost all the channels are just commercials disguised as channels. QVC, old-lady makeup network, a cheerful channel called Dealing With Cancer. What happened to, you know, shows?

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.28 AM
Chanel Perfection Lumiére Velvet in Beige

Then when you DO get a channel, like, I stopped on E!–E exclamation point–there are all these terrible POP-UPS at the bottom of the screen that distort the real show and distract you annoyingly.

Do TV people realize we can all just stream things now? That they should be getting BETTER, not worse? Why do we PAY for this bullshit?

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.33 AM #2
NYX Natural Shadow Palette. Don’t really like this, either, but it’s what I’ve got. I like the COLORS, but it doesn’t seem to actually go ON. It’s like, did I just DO anything, applying this?

One good thing I found was a network that showed me old Warner Bros. cartoons. I saw one where a poor homeless hound dog needed shelter, so he found a house in the woods that ended up belonging to a skunk, and the whole thing was the two of them duking it out and being friends in the end.

I guess maybe in retrospect, the skunk was squatting in the house same as the hound dog, because there was a vanity with perfume, and why would the skunk have a vanity?

IMG_8592.jpgAlso the next one was a dog who got abandoned in a field, and I WAS ALL NO YOU ARE NOT SHOWING ME THIS, who wanders over to Porky Pig’s farm and tries to get P. Pig to adopt him. The dog is all, “I’m 50% Pointer–there it is, there it is. I’m 50% setter (he sits down). 50% boxer (he starts boxing).” Oh my god, it was magnificent.

Also, Porky Pig is not humane. He was mean to that poor dog. I guess to be a pig who owns a farm you gotta be pretty cutthroat.

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.44 AM
NYX Retractable Eye Liner in Gray–they really make these labels on cosmetics for the young. And L’Oreal–although nowhere on this tube does it SAY that–Voluminous Butterfly Sculpt in Blackest Black, because eff natural. 

Finally, last night I watched Mildred Pierce on Turner Classic Movies. What happened to the old guy? There was always an old guy named I think Robert who introduced you to the film and told you the inside guff. Now they’ve got some preppy whippersnapper.

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.49 AM
Clinique Chubby Stick in Roomiest Rose. I don’t really like it, but it’s what I’ve got. Are you sensing a theme, English major? Also, I like how sometimes Eds is at the door, and sometimes he’s dashed outside again.

So I’ll probably get ridda TV once the royal wedding is done, because this is bullshit.

Television industry, you have one week to get me hooked again.

Luff,
June

P.S. Obligatory kitten picture:

IMG_8599.jpg
%@&$ kittenz.

 

 

Fuck natural · June's stupid life

Sleeping on top of the peacock

I’ve been up since 4:53 a.m. I didn’t even have to slop any hogs or anything; I just woke up. I’d been sleeping with Steely Dan, because he came in last night at a weird time (as in, at all. He usually leaves at sundown and never returns till dawn), and I wasn’t thinking, and when I went in to bed, there he was splayed across my new peacock chenille bedspread that my coworker Poochie gave me. Hang on, I’ll show it to you.

IMG_6708.jpgOkay, the bed’s not, like, display-floor made. I didn’t know I was gonna bring you all in here this morning.

Anyway, there he was. Splayed. And of course my first thought was, Oh, no. Because you know he eats m’clothes. But it appears he only slept on the peacock, as he was tired after his many roof adventures.
IMG_6619.jpg

IMG_6647.jpg
it exhaust to be steelee

The point is, he was so cute and sleepy, so I let him stay all night.

Here’s the thing. There are two kinds of cats in this world: head-butters and nonhead-butters. Sadly for me, 66% of my cats butt heads.

That’s two-thirds, right? 66%? Don’t ask me to do maths like this.

Solid, huge Steely Dan enjoys cramming his solid, huge head into my face, over and over, with his stupid always-wet nose, and this may be why I awoke at 4:53. Then, when I tried to go back to sleep, birds started chirping because STUPID SPRING and SD draped his tail across my face and then whipped it, because birds because STUPID SPRING.

Whip. Whip. Whip. Big huge solid tail.

The other head-butter, in case you were curious, is giant fat Lily.

The only cat who’s feather-light, who when you pick her up it’s like air and fur, is Iris, who never head butts, probably because she can’t see my head.

IMG_6613.jpg
eyeriss SEE thing. she just choowse not to sometime.

But speaking of Iris, I took her to the vet this weekend for her shots, as it was a year ago at this time that she was mauled by old Pitty and Chewie, over here, the neighbor dogs who got out. The vet said she looks really great, and then he said, “Wow, her teeth are wonderful. Have you had them cleaned?”

Pfft. Have I had them cleaned. I used to do that to poor Mr. Horkheimer, till I walked in one day when they were in the middle of cleaning him and it looked like torture. So no.

The vet said that in his experience, when cats have really good teeth, they seem to have good genes in general and live a long time. Yay. Don’t tell anyone, but I like this info because Iris is my f-a-v-o-r-i-t-e.

Anyway, I hope everyone had a lovely, you know, whatever holiday you celebrate.

IMG_6595.jpg
This was how I Eastered. I did not PASS OVER the chance to eat these.

IMG_6642.jpg

IMG_6643.jpg
This was also how I Eastered. THEY HAVE GLITTER DYE NOW WHY DOES GOD ADORE ME SO.

I’m tryina think of anything else I did.

IMG_6543.jpgMy mother sent me a dress that really goes for the JUGular.

Also, I went to the antique store near me, looking for lamps in all the wrong places. I say this because I didn’t FIND one. Also I can’t afford one, because do you remember when we had the $99 membership for another year of WordPress? They sent me ANOTHER bill for the upgrade I apparently also did last year.

Sigh.

IMG_6557.jpg
If this hadn’t been beige, my least-most-favorite color, I’d have like it.
IMG_6556.jpg
Sequence. Oh, kill me now.
IMG_6555.jpg
I’m really hoping this fox died in his sleep of natural causes.
IMG_6553.jpg
“I didn’t, hooman bitz.”
IMG_6561.jpg
“Hey, you’re sitting in our seats.” “I don’t see your NAME on…oh.”

I also once again left my house that had cats and coffee in it to go to a cafe with cats and coffee in it.

IMG_6567.jpg

IMG_6571.jpg
wat.
IMG_6576.jpg
dis ideea not my bag
IMG_6579.jpg
And I saw this sign and it made me sad.

And finally, after several months, I got a pedicure. I was scared to death it would pain my broken toe, but it mostly didn’t. Because powering through a pedicure with a broken toe is how I tomboy.

IMG_6594.jpg

For those of you who actually groom rather than proudly announcing you don’t, have you ever noticed that after you get a pedicure you are obsessed with your feet for a few days?

IMG_6599.jpg
Oh, look. M’feet.

I guess the same as there are head-butting cats and…not, there are women who love to groom and women who think it’s frivolous. I find wind surfing frivolous, but you never hear me saying that. Well. Except just now.

IMG_6707.jpg
Yu done tawking now?
IMG_6699.jpg
Seeryuslee, mom. Yuu done?

I guess I’d better shower and go to work. I have not one but two huge things due today, and they will both take all day, and yet somehow I must do both today. I do not know how I will pull this off, but no matter how I do it, I will do it complainingly.

Butting your head with my words,
Juun

...friend/Ned · Aging ungracefully · Fuck natural · I am high-maintenance · I like cats

The Weeknd (God, is June hip)

[Flumps coat and purse in first, slides into booth after.] Have you been here long?

Sometimes, on Mondays, when I haven’t written all weekend, I sit down here at my desk and think, What the fuck did I just do for the last 72 hours? Today is one of those days. Then what I’ll do (tell us more, June. This is riveting.) is plug in my phone to see what pictures I took, and apparently Friday just didn’t exist. I took zero photos.

Remember when the camera (and your flashbulbs) would be on top of the fridge or in a closet or something, and you only got it out at Easter? “Everyone stand in front of this wall, because that wall will be fascinating in years to come.”

Anyway, maybe I had a migraine. Maybe it’s Maybelline.

IMG_5603.jpgAt least I know what I did Saturday. I did Nancy. Call PETA.

IMG_5598.jpgIMG_5590.jpgI had to get my eyelashes redone Saturday, because I’m a deep person who does a lot for the world in her spare time. And who understands first- and third-person rules. Anyway, since I was out, I called Ned. “Can I come visit Nancy?”

She’d had FOUR DAYS IN A ROW of pooping in the box. When I was there, it was the start of day five. “Let’s move her up to the computer room now,” I implored, because it was up to me. Nevertheless, that’s what we did, and I hobbled up those steps with cat bowls and so on, and Ned got her all set up.

“Let’s let her wander around while you’re home,” I implored, because any of this was my business.

She was so glad to have the house to wander again. Cooped up in that stupid half bath. Actually, that was always my favorite room when I lived there. Had wainscoting. And a teensy chandelier. And it was my color.

IMG_1899.jpg

[teensy chandelier not pictured.] [also, this is when I lived here. Ned does not have a fruity pink flamingo or an Eiffel Tower ring-holder.]

Anyway, it was all going great with Nancy till at some point she pooped behind the shower curtain, so she’s in that computer room till further notice.

IMG_1896.jpg
hooo go der?

To find that photo of my bathroom, fmr., I had to scroll back to photos from 2014. This photo was taken on the same day, as I traversed the basement stairs. Back when m’toes functioned.

IMG_5645.jpg

Anyway, I got my lashes done, and I like how one has already fallen off, here. Also too I look fairly dead here.

When I wasn’t hanging out with my animals or other people’s animals Saturday,

IMG_5607.jpgIMG_5611.jpg

IMG_5623.jpg
Yes, I do know it’s probably nice enough out that I can clean all this furniture again. I’M BROKEN.

I finally got my broken-toe shoes that the doctor said I had to get. I’d been to all sorts of no-nonsense-shoes stores I never go into.

Dowdy ShoeWarehouse.

You Look Like Thom McCann.

Too Many Clarks Bars.

Wayless (attractive) Shoes.

REI‘m Butch.

Why do athletic, down-to-earth gals always hate me?

But I finally found luck (“luck”) at the Birkenstock store, where a young salesboy had to hear approximately 47,000 inappropriate Birkenstocks jokes from me.

“I’m not really a Birkenstock person,” I explained to him, first thing, as soon as I hobbled in, like I’m Zsa Zsa Gabor or something, with all this glamor. You know what that whippersnapper at the store would not know? Is who Zsa Zsa Gabor is.

IMG_5642 2.jpgThe point is, I got these, for a mere $138. I have $68 till payday now. Who knew granola women paid so much for shoes?

I’ve worn them all weekend, except for late Saturday night, when I was going to bed and stubbed my broken toe on the cat scratcher.

God

DAMMIT.

IMG_5653.jpg
Hot Saturday night at the Gardens house. The Gardens/Silverman/Frost house. No one here has the same last name. Well, Iris and Lilly both share “Frost” as a last name. What is wrong with me?

IMG_5655.jpgOn Sunday, I groomed.

Did some cleaning.

IMG_5658.jpgIMG_5659.jpgOf course he’s that cat. The play-with-sheets cat. Do you enjoy my Tums? Hot. Tums and enzyme cleaner for cat pee. Hotter.

The shelter wrote me this weekend to see if I wanted to take another mom and her four kittens. I said no. I am so not ready after that last fiasco. See? Sometimes I have impulse control.

Anyway, as I was taking recycling out or something, I looked over at Peg’s and noted…

IMG_5664.jpg…her tulip tree’s bloomed. She always bemoaned that tree, because it either didn’t bloom at all or it would too early and then there’d be a freeze and all the buds would die. I sent her this picture, through her daughter. I hope she likes seeing it. I know seeing her house gray will piss her off. She liked the yellow.

I also saw The Post yesterday afternoon, and I think that means I’ve seen all the Oscar-nominated films, including the shorts, so I am all set for Oscar night.

IMG_5661 2.jpgI even have the shoes.

...friend/Ned · Aging ungracefully · At Two With Nature · Beauty products · Fuck natural · Health · June's stupid life

In which aspic is mentioned

When we left each other yesterday, slamming the door and saying, “IT’S OVER! I MEAN IT THIS TIME!”, I was going to try to come back here and write you at lunch.

That didn’t happen. Work. Tis busy.

So here’s a two-day update on everything that’s happening in my stupid world. I wish to tell you about Ned and Nancy, my broken toe (surprise!), stupid cosmetic things I did and also Steely Dan’s shenanigans. This is like when you go to a fancy event and they show you a little menu of what you’re getting.

MENU

Fresh radishes
Liverwurst finger sandwiches
Aspic

No, I don’t know what kind of horrific imaginary fancy events I attend, either.

Ned & Nancy. An update.

I wanted to give you a visual, here, so I went to my pictures and searched, “cat,” and then my computer carried on with the guffawing. “Oh, THAT’S specific, June,” it said, as my computer is actually some kind of talking sarcastic animal like on The Flintstones.

IMG_4112.jpgHere. And lose the attitude, computer.

As you know–because for generations, your family will be gathering to tell my stories–Ned adopted Nancy, my foster cat. What with the losing her kittens and the going back to the shelter to get spayed and having a terrible time with her operation and possibly with being feral, she got to Ned’s and was not pooping in her box. Like, she was pooping all over yonder, including her food dish.

Ned did everything, seriously everything, so stop “Did he…”-ing me. The vet suggested he confine poor Nancy–which I just wrote as “poop Nancy”–to one small room, and leave her in there.

Guess what. It worked. It took several days, but for the past FOUR days, she has gone exclusively in her box. Ned is encouraged. “This weekend, I’ll move her up to the computer room,” said Ned. He gave Nancy a promotion.

Toe. An update.

As you know, because for generations your family will–oh, stop, June. M’toe is broken.

Yesterday, my doctor-recommended hard-soled shoes came. I worked from home yesterday, because I never thought about it much till it HURT, but it’s a long damn-ass walk from the parking lot to my actual desk, and it involves stairs, and ouch.

So I propped my foot yesterday, I was in the props department, and then when my shoes came, I hobbled to the door to receive them. It was like shoe communion.

Screen Shot 2018-02-21 at 7.59.15 AM

There they were. All flowered and shit.

And?

I can’t wear them. I can’t get my foot in that little hole. I mean, I forced myself into said shoe like a wicked stepsister, and then it hurt worse once it was in there. So this weekend, Ima have to hobble over to DSW and look for something clog-ish.

Dammit.

Also, the part where it was almost evening and I was putting on shoes sent Edsel into fits of WE GONNA WALK joy, and I had to crush his dreams rather testily, as I was in pain and he was IRKING me.

Also, this morning, I was drying off after showering

(I’ll give you a moment to stop being turned on.)

1200px-Marcus_Thames_Tigers_2007

and as I was drying off, I half paid attention (my epitaph) and sort of told myself, Remember your big toe is broken when of course

IT’S THE LITTLE TOE MOTHER OF GOD OW.

OWW.

OW.

So now it hurts even more.

And, scene.

June’s a grooming asshole. An update.

Recently, I noted that there are many cute local stores and boutiques near me that I never go into. I always breeze past them as I’m on my way to get something else, usually a sandwich. There’s one sandwich place that’s been there since 1977 and they’ve updated the decor not at all, and I’m deeply in love with the whole atmosphere. I feel like I should be in there with my rainbow jeans and my Bass 100s.

Anyway, a few Saturdays back I decided to spend the whole day just popping into all those shops I never go in, and that is how I discovered the grooming place.

They might as well rename themselves June Store.

They do Botox and microdermabrasion, facial peels and makeup. They do manicures and waxing, they do all the shit I blow all my money on. I was there, innocently getting Botox when I found myself signing up for eyelash extensions.

Yes.

It takes more than an hour, as you lie there and talk to a woman who sounds precisely like my pal Alicia, who is painstakingly attaching eyelashes to your lid, one by one. It lasts about a month–you’re supposed to go back and get touchups.

IMG_5384.jpg
goddamn nose

But the thing is, they mostly all fell out. And I was all, Well, THAT was a bust, but in fact they texted me to ask how my lashes were working out. And that is the kind of person I am. I get texts asking, How are your lashes working out?

Anyway I told them and they’re redoing them all for free.

The interesting thing, and I may be alone in placing this under the category of “interesting,” is that you’re not allowed to wear mascara with these on, and as these are falling out I’m still not using mascara, because rule-follower.

The point is, I can see my real lashes now, and this is the longest I’ve ever gone without mascara since I’m 24 and went through a hippie phase. I mean, allegedly I take my mascara off, but those of you who groom know it’s never really off. There are always remenenenenants.

My friend’s grandmother could never say that word, so now I can’t NOT say “remenenenants” as well.

THE POINT IS, it’s really off. I mean, I have no mascara on these lashes. And what a set of namby-pamby Melanie Wilkes lashes these are. Holy cats. Why do I have to have seven pounds of hair and caterpillar brows and if I don’t shave my legs every morning I’m Zira from Planet of the Apes but my eyelashes?

NO! Fine and blonde, those are.

WHY, GOD.

…Oh, right. Yes, I’d forgotten that. …Oh, that too? You’re still pissed about that? Geez.

IMG_5544.jpg

I see I’ve run out of time to tell you about Steely Dan, but I think you and I both know it would go like this:

SD is an asshole. We all love him for it.

The end.

Aging ungracefully · Family · Fuck natural · Health · June's stupid life

To Reader. Love Always, June

51JRcnwcwyL.jpg“I’m just calling to let you know the Russell Stover eggs are available,” I said to my mother, although in truth it was more: “Uh ussel oer eggs are aaailul.” As I was, of course, already eating mine as I pulled out the Rite Aid, there.

“I have four in my cupboard already,” said my mother, and it must be genetics that make those stubborn pounds stay on.

I’d gone to Rite Aid because I’m a glamor girl whose real-life adventures are not to be believed, but also because my coworker, Lottie Blanco, had brought me some soup that her wife, Lottie Blanco, had made, and

it

was

delicious

and I wanted to put something in the soup container when I returned it, to be a nice person. Yes, I did just feel that shift in the universe. Anyway, I thought candy would be sweet

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

so I went to the Rite Aid. Which takes fewer steps for the parking and the hobbling to the door, because in case you forgot, my toe is broken.

Oh, and speaking of which, speaking of my major injury, the doctor told me I had to wear hard-soled shoes, and this is where we left off yesterday, promising to write and leaving each other with framed photos of ourselves. “To Reader. Love always, June.”

downloadThe cute pottery-making-lesbian-folk-dancer shoes I’d planned to buy, that I showed you yesterday as you slipped your 8×10 colorized photo into a frame for me, were, in fact, not going to be available till MARCH FUCKING 8, and by then I will be over the novelty of my broken toe and onto something else.

Screen Shot 2018-02-21 at 7.59.15 AM.pngSo I got these Doc Martens instead. Aren’t they MAGNIFICENT? They will be here tomorrow. Oh my god, I will never be sad again.

…Good lord. Here I am, tryina have my morning and write to you about all the pressing news of the day, and I keep getting “Can you do this today?!?” emails from work. I worked last night, as well. What’s with the busy all of a sudden?

So I guess I’d better wrap this up early, so I can hobble to work, but I wanted to mention something that dawned on me: My grandmother–the nice one, not the one I turned into–was widowed when she was my age.

And she never dated again.

Maybe that’s me. Maybe I’m gramma. Maybe my days will be filled with having my grandchildren over, sewing and crocheting. Making big dinners that involve boiling potatoes.

…Oh. Well, crap. Hey, I can at least boil potatoes.

Anyway, it’s weird to think about, because at the time it never dawned on me that she’d want to get on a 1969 version of Match dot…well, there was no com. What the fuck does “com” mean, anyway? Communications? Commoner? Composed? Book of June dot commoner. No, I have NOT taken my Ritalin yet. Why?

The point is, maybe if there’d been online dating, she’d have been all over that.

“Five-two, brown hair that won’t go gray and why didn’t my granddaughter inherit THAT, loves Days of Our Lives, Cremora and covers for the Kleenex.”

f58da13663db52db04529696367ae7b4--tissue-box-covers-tissue-boxes.jpgBut I don’t think so. I think she was pretty much over men. And maybe I’m following in her arthritic footsteps. See, I DID inherit her knee arthritis.

Speaking of which, my elbow hurts like a motherfucker all the time now. I know I have a trapped ulnar nerve. I mean, I say I know that because I am a medical professional, and by “medical professional” I mean I Googled it.

And I do the exercises I find online, but I don’t see much change. You’d think with all the solid scientifically proven medical attention I’ve paid to this injury that it would be improving. I guess I could phone my beleaguered doctor, who’s probably already worried sick about how many ToeGate phone calls he’s going to receive.

All right, I’m out of here. Off to copy edit something.

IMG_5515.png

Naturally,
June

Aging ungracefully · Fuck natural · My pets · Other people's pets

June talks to you while she gets ready for her hot Friday night.

Photo on 2-16-18 at 6.11 PM #2.jpg
6:09 p.m. and I just showered.

I had two plans tonight: coworkers were getting drinks at 5:00, and then other friends invited me over at 8:00-ish. Don’t you hate people who add “ish” to a time? What are we, gay men in the ’60s? That outfit is fab, lover.

Anyway, I eschewed my right-after-work plans because I didn’t work today. I took the day off to go to the doctor in Durham about m’nose. I’ve waited TWO MONTHS to get this appointment to see if I can actually get it fixed, and how much would it be, and so on.

And? Migraine. Woke up with it in the middle of the night. ‘Twas a bad one. Had to cancel my damn appointment.

So, I spent the day instead sleeping till 10:30 and then trying to clean the smell of cat bodily fluids out of my bedroom. Fmr. Because cats.

IMG_5393.jpgI had taken 839395945 books and surrounded the bed, so they couldn’t crawl under there and poop, and instead all I did was make it so they could still go under there and poop, but I couldn’t get under there to clean it. So. Good work, June. Efficient! You can smell my German roots. They smell like cat shit.

IMG_5391.jpgSo I took the opportunity to scrub the empty bookshelves, which is a pleasurable way to spend one’s day off, and then I put the books back up but cannot recall how I organized them with all their gee-gaws and doo-dads that I also have up there.

Last time I arranged my books, my neighbor Peg was here to help me, and we drank wine and she ordered me around and it was a typical evening with Peg.

Now she’s in hospice. HAPPY FRIDAY!

IMG_5402.jpgAnyway, here’s the first bookshelf, and it really needs Peg’s touch, plus also I should always leave that clothes hamper right there. Hot.

So that’s done, and my afternoon of scrubbing the bedroom floor with vinegar, and then drying it by mincing around the room with a beach towel under me, and opening both windows, and turning on a fan, and Sharking it, all that resulted in guess what.

It still smells cat.

IMG_5401 2.jpgSo while the rest of my household, not including Steely Dan because please. It’s Friday, bitch. But while the rest of my household plans them a hot-in-the-city-tonight evening, I’m drying my hair

Photo on 2-16-18 at 6.28 PMwith my GODDAMN UNFIXED NOSE and then Ima put on some makeup and before my plans Ima head to PetSmart

and them Ima come back with some enzyme fluid and see if that works. If it doesn’t, I’m going with Faithful Reader Tee’s suggestion of uninitiated alcohol or whatever she calls it. Indentured servant alcohol. What the hell does she call it?

Also, I need lamps. I have no money for lamps this pay period, but lamps I need. I need one for next to the bed in the guest room, and now one for next to the bed in my room BECAUSE IT GOT POOPED ON, and a stand-up one in the living room for comedy, and maybe one back here because the one back here has no knob–it fell off–and now it flickers and I can’t do anything about that. Because no knob.

I have the hardest time finding lamps and clocks. Every clock I’ve bought for this house has ceased working eventually, and the Lenox clock they gave me at work? The fancy crystal one for 5 years of service?

Stopped working.

I think it’s my nose. It can stop a clock.

Seriously, was looking forward to this nose appointment for TWO MONTHS.

Photo on 2-16-18 at 6.33 PM.jpgIs this dry enough? It isn’t, is it. Goddammit.

Photo on 2-16-18 at 6.37 PM.jpg
Insert Jeopardy theme

So, other than my plans tonight, half of which I skipped out on, my only other big exciting thing Ima do is get my chakras read tomorrow. Of course I will report back to you. What are you, new?

The first asshole to point out how many lamps I can buy with a chakra reading gets cloudy chakras.

Photo on 2-16-18 at 7.07 PM #2.jpg…Okay, dry enough, man. PetSmart won’t shop itself. That made no sense. As opposed to the sensical smelling of my German roots.

Your number one. And two,
Nosily,
Joon

Beauty products · Fuck natural · I hate everything

World’s Worst Person Gets Her Nails Done

People at work have been talking about a new manicure procedure called SOS or S&M or whatever, and apparently it’s powder they dip your nails in to color them. Somehow this creates a manicure that keeps going for two weeks like a 17-year-old boy but allegedly isn’t as terrible for you as a gel manicure.

And that was the day June lost all her butch readers. And got arrested for pedophilia.

I remember one night, my high school boyfriend and I did it three times. THREE TIMES. I’m not talking 7 p.m., 1:00 in the morning and then at dawn. I’m talking, like, 8:00, 9:00 and then 10:00.

Hi, mom.

sns-gelous-color-real-nail-5-638

Anyway. Powder manicures are fun till you add the “gelous base,” and then it’s all “Where were you?” “Who was that guy I saw you talking to?”

Given that I like to spend my spare time playing basketball and helping others, I hadn’t yet experienced the excitement of powder nails, nails that have to take a powder, but seeing as that $100 I won on New Year’s Day was burning a hole in m’Kate Spade,

[Dear June: Be more basic. Love, Universe]

I decided to take myself out on the town and get one. A powder manicure. Keep up. No, I HAVEN’T taken Ritalin today. What? God.

So Friday after work, I headed out on the town, the manicure-choices town. I’d had a very deep talk with the receptionist at work about which nail place we like to go to. There are a hundred within a three-mile radius of work, and they all have “Nail” in the title.

“I don’t mind Glamor Nail, but Celebrity Nail seems kind of cliquish,” said the receptionist, who prefers a french manicure, whereas I always want something dark and mysterious, to match my exotic nature. With m’Kate Spade wallet.

The point is, she’s right. Any time I’ve ventured into Celebrity Nail, the owner is trés gregarious, and I feel like his claim to fame there is kibitzing jovially with the clientele. Whereas the place I usually frequent, and “usually frequent” is not at all annoyingly redundant.

What? God.

The place I usually frequent, Elegant Nail & Tan (Slogan: We don’t actually offer tanning) has a quiet, businesslike owner who isn’t that outgoing but gives the best massages ever during the pedicure process. I always pray I get him, but usually I get a small, rather angry woman named “Stephanie.” (Slogan: Not remotely really named Stephanie.)

The receptionist and I agreed the only reason we really ever step foot in Celebrity Nail is because it’s closest to work. It’s similar to the Chinese place I get takeout from. (Slogan: Not good, but so close by.)

And that is how I found myself walking into Celebrity Nail on Friday night, because traffic was irkedly snarlsome, and so was I, and I could not possibly have withstood traffic for the four more minutes it’d have taken me to get to Elegant Nail & Tan.

I really love that they don’t offer tanning. It’s like my favorite thing ever. IT’S IN YOUR TITLE, but tan schman. Does anyone tan anymore? I guess people spray tan. Elegant Nail & (Spray) Tan. There you go.

SO THERE I WAS–God, June–at Celebrity Nail, and as usual, the owner was loudly joking with a few customers. I mean, that’s nice and all, but if you’re not a regular there, you can feel a tad left out. I’d never really put a name to that feeling till the receptionist mentioned it. That happens to me a lot, actually.

“Any time I talk to her, I end up feeling bad about myself,” someone once said to me about a mutual acquaintance, and OH MY GOD was that true, and I’d just gone around feeling vaguely bad with that acquaintance and not really acknowledging it.

“This kung pao chicken takes like root beer,” my college roommate’s boyfriend once said to me, as we were eating at this place I went to at least once a week. GODDAMMIT. I hadn’t acknowledged it till he labeled it.

So there I was Friday, finally noticing that this place made me feel kind of bad, and also kind of annoyed. I come to the manicure place to read celebrity gossip, and choose nail colors like I’m making Sophie’s Choice, and to generally sit quietly, which for me is pretty much always my goal.

I go to work hoping to always sit quietly and concentrate. I get my hair done hoping I can sit quietly and have my tresses colored. I want restaurants to be quiet. Maybe I should just isolate more.

The point is, as the evening wore on and I…sat quietly with the manicurist I was given, who had a terrible cold and was spending an hour basically holding my hands, so that was relaxing. As we were over there being quiet, I began to notice one insider over at the popular table was being more…attention-grabbing than the others.

I tried to sort of turn in my chair and see her, but I couldn’t even determine her race. All I saw was a rather thick woman, with dark hair, who based on the tenor of her voice was probably middle-aged. As opposed to how young and svelte I am. BUT AT LEAST I WAS SITTING QUIETLY.

The first thing I couldn’t help but overhear, because she was practically screaming into my soul, was that Red Bull, the energy drink? She alleged it was made from bull sperm. She’d been reading something from the internet, that reliable source, says June, typing at you from the internet.

“WELL. IT’S NOT THE FIRST SPERM I’VE DRANK,” she announced grammatically. Everything was an announcement with this one. I expected, when I turned to look at her, that she would be just a mike and a brick wall behind her. Tip your wait staff.

She started talking about a guy at work who was “Chinese,” and the owner of the salon pressed her for more info. Was he actually Chinese, or was she using that term universally? “What’s his last name?” asked the owner.

“I DON’T KNOW. CHIN?” she asked. And that is about the time my annoyance turned to searing white hate.

“What do you feed your kids?” she eventually asked the owner, who had been joking with her the whole time. “Rice and soy sauce? HA HA HA HA.”

Cold Hands the Mucus-y Manicurist and I exchanged glances.

“You know, everyone at work loves my Asian accent,” she said, and that is when my blood turned to ice. No. No, she’s not gonna…

She did. In a NAIL SALON, with 600 Asian people working there, this stupid white BITCH ASS (I’m assuming she was white. Again, I never saw her. Though in my mind I’d punched her 12 times in her phantom face already) did an ASIAN ACCENT.

She did.

At the nail salon.

My nails turned out just okay. There are some spots that didn’t take the clear coating, and I’m not sure if this is how S&M nails always turn out, or if my poor manicurist was sick and perhaps distracted by the BITCH-ASS RACIST in the nail place.

I do have to say that eventually the outgoing owner said to her, “That’s so racist.”

“No it isn’t,” she said. Because that gets to be up to her, and not the ASIAN PERSON she just mocked.

Maybe they should have two sections at salons: Women who want to talk endlessly and loudly, and a quiet section. A nice-people section and a racist section. A nail section and a tanning section.

Maybe people should just shut the fuck up.

 

...friend/Ned · Friends · Fuck natural · June's stupid life

Mrs. Garrett was probably younger than me

On the first day of 2011, Ned got out of bed, walked into a wall and broke his toe.

And hey, June, this bodes well. A mention of Ned in the first sentence of your first post of the new year. Yeah, good moving on.

Anyway, he did, and he told himself, “Well, that’s a sign you aren’t going to have a good year. You’d better just keep your head down and muddle through 2011.” And he was right.

He was newly back in his hometown of Greensboro, having spent his adult life in Raleigh (inside guff for outsiders: Raleigh is way cooler to live in than Greensboro), he was working for the family business after a decade of doing something he truly loved

(he’d been a professional beer taster)

(he was hired full time to ogle women)

(they needed an expert salad-eater, and he took on the job)

(he wrote a weekly column titled, “You Know What I’D Do…”)

(okay, I’ll stop),

and he had zero girlfriend.

So he got through 2011, and on the fifth day of 2012, he met me. WHAT. LUCK. REWARD! SILVER LINING!

The point of me telling you this is the very first thing to happen to me today was that my clothes pole…thing in the walk-in closet of my bedroom? Crashed ONTO MY FINGER today. Then after that, all the clothes that had been residing on said pole similarly fell onto my finger.

Inside guff for outsiders: It hurt.

“Oh my god,” I told myself. “I’m Ned in 2011.”

I’d had such high hopes for 2018, too. As you may know, as I very subtly alluded to it earlier this week, I’ve had something of a cold. No big deal, really. I hate to cause a fuss. Anyway, yesterday I ended up being asked to a little celebration, a little reason for the season, and that reason is Prosecco.

But given the precarious nature of my health, I thought I’d better test my reserves, so I took myself to see The Shape of Water first, at the movie theater near my house. I figured if I could sit up and take nourishment (popcorn and a Dr Pepper) for two hours, maybe I was ready for the big leagues, aka a middle-aged mild New Year’s celebration.

First of all, The Shape of Water. Highly recommend. And not just cause everything’s midcentury and you know how I get about that.

So I slapped on the makeup and headed into the middle-aged night and rang in the new year and was in REM by about 12:01. Still. I got out. I didn’t even take 47 Kleenex.

Screen Shot 2018-01-01 at 9.14.16 PM.png

Me and m’New Year’s makeup and several heavy Instagram filters. You, too can feign rosy health!

So that all seemed to go so well and then boom. Pole on m’finger.

I did not go to my annual ironically named kindness meditation downtown, as it was 870 below zero today, and the only kindness I could meditate on was not doing that to myself given that I just got out of my iron lung with this cold. Instead I paid my bills, wrote in my new journal I got for Xmas (thanks, mom), checked my finger to see if it was turning black, and talked on the phone to my old LA neighbor Alicia for about 700 hours.

This time I wrote down some of the funny English-but-not-quite-English things she said during our 11-hour conversation. I have always loved the way she uses language. She’s like a little angry Spanish poem. Attached below, for your edification, are some of the things she said that I adored so much I wrote them down…

“She had to come up and tell me what she thought. She had to put her five cents on me.”

also

“I have bumped heads with that bitch for years.” This, by the way, was about someone famous, but I cannot, really cannot tell you who. BUT YOU WOULD DIE.

“Finally, we said okay. We bury the hatchets.”

plus also

“She was mad. She did not like that I was in her ass.”

And the grand finale:

“I tell her, ‘Stick it in your ass and shove it.'”

I’m just telling you now. “Stick it in your ass and shove it” is the new “Very nice, Coot.” Although I have to say I grow fonder by the minute of “bury the hatchets.”

I’d been guarding my pole finger jealously all day, assuming the nail was going to turn dramatically black, because I see my finger and I want it painted black. Nevertheless, my finger persisted, and while it’s SORE, it appears I may have exaggerated what I thought would be the effect of that ENTIRE POLE OF CLOTHES crashing down on it.

I took my black finger of death and all the rest of my digits to the grocer’s, and I like how all of a sudden it’s 1950 up in here, with my grocer. Mr. Hooper was waiting for me in his white apron.

Unknown

I got my usual Sad Single Girl items, such as Lean Cusine and cat litter.

(I have forever wanted to find this one Nick at Night promo ad they used to have with Sally from the Dick Van Dyke show. I know it went: “Sally is single. Single, single, single.” I can never find it. I always identified with Sally, the wisecracking writer, and now she’s dead and I can’t find that promo and my finger is gangrenous.)

The-Dick-Van-Dyke-Show-26

The point is, I bought my week’s groceries and got this urge to buy an instant lottery ticket. I almost never do this, because (a) I never have cash and (4) I just never remember we have machines at the store. But the universe colluded or whatever, or the Ghost of Sally came over me, because we all know how famous her character was for buying lottery tickets.

Anyway, I won $100. I bought one ticket for one dollar, and I won $100. Can you believe it?! I’m RICH.

I scratched off my ticket in the cold parking lot of the store, of the grocer, and ran back in to tell Mr. Hooper, who has apparently turned into a 20-year-old black kid. When young Mr. Hooper ran the scanner thing over my card, it played a little song and everything. It was so exciting.

“2018 is gonna be my year!” I announced to Mr. Hooper, and stampeded back to my car, where I excitedly plunked back down in the driver’s seat,

on right onto my glasses. Which broke into 90 pieces.

So, you take the good, you take the bad, you take ’em both and there you have 2018 so far.

Happy new year. I hope you will not feel the need to stick this year up your ass and shove it.

P.S. I imagine “promo ad” is redundant, is it not? Son of a bitch. Thank god I have all this money.

P.P.S. Super Strawberry. Dammit. I keep forgetting.

Beauty products · Fuck natural · My pets

June does her makeup and talks to you. Yes, again.

It will be 11 years Friday that I’ve done this dang…website. Other than June’s Live Sex Tape, I’ve pretty much done it all on this thing.

[Considers June’s Live Sex Tape.] [Step one: Get sex life.]

Photo on 12-13-17 at 8.18 AM.jpgWhen we left each other yesterday, dabbing at our eyes the annoying way the Real Housewives do: dab, dab dab–check Kleenex, we said every day we’d try a new lip color from my exciting Clinique set of 20 lip colors that I needfully bought. Because if there’s anything anyone needs, it’s 20 Chubby Sticks.

Step one: Get one chubby stick.

Hey, mom. [Sees mom in her head. Sees mom’s pursed lips. You know what would unpurse them? A Chubby Stick, by Clinique!]

Photo on 12-13-17 at 8.21 AMSince we all know this exciting post is going to end in me showing you today’s color: Fuller Fig (as opposed to yesterday’s color: Richer Raisin), I thought we’d put on our makeup altogether together.

Oh, June. With the play on words.

So I started up there with my grocery-store-purchased Revlon Brow Fantasy, and if you’re really having fantasies about eyebrows, consult your nearest medical professional.

I am using Light Brown, or as the fancy people call it, Brun Clair. Why is my eyebrow pencil also French? Do a lot of your French folk schlep to the grocery store for their cosmetic needs?

In real life, when I have the dollars, I prefer the Anastasia brow products called DIPBROW™. Look at me, even adding the TM.

Photo on 12-13-17 at 8.27 AM #4Laura Gellar Baked Balance-n-Brighten, because you know how much I love anything with “n” instead of “and” in the title. My Aunt Mary, whose initials are QVC, sent me my first compact of this in 2015 and I’ve been using it ever since. It’s easy and it works.

Also, since I moved my computer in my quest to photograph anything OTHER THAN THE RAYS OF THE SCREAMING SUN, please note my poor succulent back there. It seems to be drooping. As you can see, it’s not like it’s NOT GETTING ANY SUN, so does anyone have succulent advice? I know to not water it often; that’s why I HAVE a succulent. Have you met my attentive nature?

Photo on 12-13-17 at 8.32 AM #2Laura Mercier Secret Concealer for Undereye. It’s not a secret anymore.

I wonder if Laura Gellar and Laura Mercier duke it out in my cosmetics bag?

Photo on 12-13-17 at 8.34 AM #2I really meant to go to the store last night and get root touchup. GodDAMMIT. Anyway, Bobbi Brown eye shadow in Gray. Because it’s my prerogative.

Do I make that joke every time? What do you want from me? I’m an old woman. Also, note my gray eye shadow and my gray roots do not match. Apparently there really are 50 shades of gray.

Photo on 12-13-17 at 8.38 AM.jpgI like how my blog about me is showing pictures of me with a reflection of me in the background. Also, carry on, my wayward sun. Jesus, with that sun. So to speak. Talk about your father, sun and holy shit it’s bright back here.

Anyway, Revlon ColorStay eye pencil in Black/Brown, or as they also like to call it, Noir/Brun. Okay, Revlon. Get over your not-French self.

Followed by DiorShow Blackout mascara, and the color is apparently 099. That’s warm and personal.

Ninety-nine. I’ve been waiiiting so long. Oh, 99, where did we go wrong. Oh, 99.

We need to hear more from Toto. Whatever happened to them? We cast aside our musical heroes so fast. Toss ’em aside and call them 099.

Incidentally, while I’m writing to you and doing my makeup, what I know for sure is that eating six Jeno’s Pizza Rolls for breakfast is not good for you.

That is why I’m having six Totino’s Pizza Rolls.

IMG_2616.jpgTAAA-DAAAAA!! FULLER FIG, which I just typed as “Fuller GIF.” Again, it’s not bad. I don’t wanna marry it, be June Fig. But it’s okay.

What’s not okay: gray fucking roots.

So there it is: A simple makeup routine that, if you also blog about it and photograph it and eat pizza rolls during it, takes a mere hour and a half.

IMG_E2612.JPGI leave you with this portrait of ennui that I took last night. Apparently there was a staff meeting no one told me about. Perhaps they’re planning a takeover.

Fine with me. I hate being in charge around here. Let THEM figure out how to afford flea meds for four.

Talk to you tomorrow, when we shall delve into the exciting world of Clinique’s Whole Lotta Honey.

WAYYYYYYY down inside. WOman. Youuuuu neeeed.

LOOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV….

XO,
June Fig

Fuck natural

Brought to you by Hudson’s cosmetic counter

I blogged yesterday, and included my end-of-the-year video along with a few photos of gifts I’ve gotten recently that I don’t know who sent. So scroll down when you’re done here for

MORE

RIVETING

JUNE.

Also, yesterday I bought makeup. I KNOW!!

I have always been a makeup person. My grandmother had a vanity covered in lipsticks and powders and “creme” eye shadows that were stupid. Really, there is nothing more stupid than creme eye shadow. Hey, color that smears off in minutes! What a genius idea!

I realize, in retrospect, that most of those perfumes and mascaras and so on were left over from the various women who’d lived at gramma’s: my mother, my aunt, my uncle’s wives, or girlfriends who hung around a lot. This gave me a magnificent array from which to choose. Pale blue eye shadow left there in 1969, or the burnt-orange lip cream in a pot some feminist hooker had forgotten in 1972?

That is the only person I can think of who’d wear orange lip cream in a pot, which I distinctly recall being one of my selections. I also remember a lipstick I really liked, kind of an iridescent one called Moonglow. I liked the name, and also it looked fabulous on my seven-year-old lips.

By the time I’d finished at gramma’s vanity, I was the template for Jon-Benet Ramsey.

They were an odd family, the -Benet Ramseys.

Anyway. The moment I had any money whatsoever, like, if I earned $2 babysitting, I’d scream over to the glamorous Sears cosmetic counter and get, oh, a Bonnie Bell Lip Smacker, or a Max Factor face mask. Nothing but the best for me.

There was also a drug store I’d frequent, and admire the lip glosses in rectangular tins, the Ten-O-Six lotion, the Love’s Rain Scent.

a8af431337f0fe3f6a89cd49d4eef2c8

The good news is, my city got a fancy Hudson’s at some point, and I realized there was more to life: Halston nail polish, and Clinique, and OH MY GOD I WAS TRANSFIGURED.

Also, I am not making it up that Halston had nail polish, for a brief sojourn, there, in maybe the late ’70s/early ’80s, aka THE BEST YEARS EVER despite the fact that I looked like a man. A man who wore makeup. I was Victor/Victoria, brought to you by Hudson’s cosmetic counter.

However, I can’t for the life of me find a sample of it. It had a heart-shaped top.

77fa20bdf47578aa9f2ae7625bd2d7ee.jpgOh thank god. I’m not crazy. Also, this is a terrible ad. Hey, don’t show the product.

I was friends with this terrible girl, who was way richer than me, in like 8th and 9th grades. She had this really lovely turn-of-the-century house and her parents were still married, and everything. And yet she insisted I shoplift one of those nail polishes from the sample counter. I kept saying no, so finally SHE took it and gave it to me after. I always felt bad using it.

She was an odd duck, that one, and had very bad hair.

Continuing on, says Pot. Hey, odd/weird hair, you’re black!

Once I married Marvin, and we had some money, some moola, some cash flow (not much, but enough), and I was living in FREAKING LA, I could not even with all my makeup choices. There were high-end boutiques that sold all the never-heard-of-it shit you read about in Elle. There were FREESTANDING MAC stores. There were department store cosmetic counters to fucking die for.

I proofread for this one company for years–still freelance for them, in fact. They paid me for my commute so I’d keep working for them, because trust me, that commute was a bitch. So I’d walk in having already earned a big $20. Then, if there was a lot of work, I’d always stay late, and we had an agreement that if there was nothing, I could go.

Some days I got to leave at 10:30 a.m.! Not often, but maybe once every few months. I was already over there on the highfalutin’ side of town, and was gonna get paid $20 for driving there and $20 for driving back, so on days I got out early, I’d go shopping in Santa Monica or Beverly Hills and even now, the thought of the really good makeup I bought makes me all screamy.

Then I got divorced and poor.

For the last six years, I’ve mostly bought my makeup at the grocery store. Since I love cosmetics so much, I’ve read up on what’s good for cheap, and I’ve made do.

This year, I’ve freelanced like a demon, and yesterday I went to Belk and Sephora and shopped for cosmetics, giving myself a dollar limit and a list of good stuff I wanted to try. It was like the best day ever. Wedding day schmedding day.

Below are (sit down) Amazon links to what I bought. Also, someone recently told me they “don’t understand how” to shop my links.

There will be a photo that I will tell you, hey, this is a link to Amazon. Click it. You’re on Amazon. Buy anything at all.

That’s it. That’s the whole process.

So, hey, below is a link to Amazon…

I got a sample of this stuff. I also got a sample of…

(Say, June, is that also a link to Amazon? YES!)

Then I actually went to town and PURCHASED that big tray of Clinique Chubby Sticks that I admired, which I am sad to tell you does not come as an Amazon link, probably because it’s an on-sale-now, limited-time, Christmas thing.

IMG_E2398.JPGI was really excited about it, but you know what? The consistency of them is weird. They’re very waxy and just barely go on. I’ve had that problem with Clinique in the past–the eye shadows, it’s like you’re playing house. NOTHING GOES ON. Same with some of the eye pencils.

Stop being so fucking hypoallergenic and just get on me.

Here, above, is another Amazon link to the concealer I bought. I covered my weapon with it.

And finally, people are forever droning on about Diorshow mascara. Remember that year Obama’s State of the Union was only about Diorshow? I’ve tried it before and was all, eh. Yesterday I noted in the checkout that they had different iterations of Diorshow, so I tried the volume extra hold the phone Hoda Kotb wow lookie there kind, put it on in the car because I’m a freak and

HOLY CATS

that stuff is magnificent. I looked like a fuckin’ drag queen, my lashes were so long. From now on, the only show for me is a Dior show.

So that’s it. Oh! No. That’s not it.

I always wear Bobbi Brown eye shadow in Gray, which apparently Amazon doesn’t have a link for, they just have links for Bobbi Brown palettes, and GOD, Amazon. I like how they had links for every other freaking thing and I get all mad about this. Anyway, I got me some new Gray, because I am riveting.

IMG_2400.jpgBehold a photo of me yesterday with day seven on a migraine, no foundation, that DiorShow mascara and one of my chubby sticks in something-or-other caramel.

Wow, June. Now I’m inspired. You’re a dream.

Okay, I gotta go. It’s been lovely talking makeup with you, and you know what I always say…

Fuck natural.

Friends · Fuck natural · June doesn't know any ugly people

Kahlo of the wild. Or Fridatlanta. What do you want from me. I’m hung over.

Back when I first became a blogging person, in eighteen aught six, someone told me about another funny blogger named Miss Doxie.

What I just did, there, was call myself “funny” again, and that’s twice in a row, now. But I’ve only called myself funny twice since eighteen aught six, so that’s saying something.

The point is, I took to reading the Miss Doxie, and I was what you’d call a big fan. Oh, she was hilarious, and like me, was also incredibly successful and ridiculously pretty.

The day June lost eighteeen aught six readers.

Eventually, Miss Doxie and her long-term boyfriend, who never deserved her, broke up, and she met a new boy, who did. Deserve her, I mean. Whereas the first guy was not as…pretty as she was and also was a commitmentphobe, the new guy was cute cute cute, and proposed in less than two years, I think it was.

Oh, it was exciting when he proposed. So there I was, all caught up in someone else’s life story, and her wedding day was almost as exciting as my own.

cemeterywedding_lytlefoto043She got married in a cemetery, and Dear Miss Doxie: I stole this off the internet please do not arrest me.

The point is, she was someone whose blog I read and occasionally commented on, and then one day in 2011 I was at my lawyer’s office, commencing to get a divorce and I get an email from her.

From her! From Miss Doxie!

I can’t recall what it said, exactly, but I know she told me she read MY stupid blog, and boom, there it was. We became friends. I visited her in Atlanta later that year, and we stayed in touch, and she’d say, You have to come back and visit, and I’d say yeah.

This weekend, she had her annual oh-my-god-this-woman-loves-Halloween Halloween party, and she invited me, and I said, You know what? Hell yes Ima go. So I slapped on some antlers and drove six hours.

img_1467.pngI went as Frida Kahlo. I mean, for Halloween. Not as a houseguest. Yes, I’ll come visit, but you must call me Frida all weekend.

If you’re not familiar with Frida, and really?, you may wonder why I had the antlers going. Sometimes she painted herself with antlers, but I did not have time to search for Frida photos for very long, because it turns out I took 168 pictures this weekend, which took 800 years to upload, it took eighteen aught six hours to upload and oh my god now I’m in a hurry.

IMG_1275.jpgMiss Doxie had moved since I last visited, but as I pulled onto her street, I pretty much knew I’d found her house.

IMG_E1276.JPGNo scary stone was left unturned, man. Miss Doxie is in the details.

IMG_E1334.JPGIMG_E1289.JPGIMG_1291.jpgThe best part was, you never knew which thing was just gonna START ANIMATING when you walked up to it. A bear rug would start roaring and glowing red-eyed at you. A fucking creepy-ass doll would follow you and whisper.

IMG_E1323.JPG

Or, for that matter…

I got to stay in the guest house, which was pretty cool, man. Miss Doxie is an excellent hostess, on top of all the other, you know, positive qualities and so forth. I eventually retired there to get ready for the shindig, because I’m from eighteen aught six. The jamboree. The gala.

IMG_1310.jpgI remember somebody once telling me that getting ready for the prom was the most fun part of prom. I kind of feel that way about getting ready for a party. This part is just so anticipatory.

IMG_1312.jpgOne hour of makeup, three hours of shopping at basic-girl stores for jewelry, half an hour of Amazon shopping for antlers and flowers, and zero time spent at the waxer this month, and fin. I am Frida. Where is my Diego?

IMG_1319.jpg

IMG_1329.jpgIMG_1339.jpgIMG_1318.jpgI was pretty pleased with other people’s costumes, and it should be noted that Doxie’s bartender came, which slayed me, and he was downstairs at her bar and said, “Let me make you an old-fashioned.” Who was I to argue? I’ll tell you who I was to argue. How about an adult who should know her limits? Maybe that’s who I coulda been. Later, a friend of Doxie’s said, Let me make you a spiced rum-and-cider drink. Who was I to argue?IMG_1451.jpgOh, June. That’s not actually a person, June.

I was having a high time, till somewhere around midnight, that six-hour drive and oh, possibly the eight gallons of alcohol hit me, and I was bone tired. Tired. In m’bones. I tried to go tell Doxie I was wandering back to my Fonzie guest house, but she was saying goodbye to people at the door.

I got in my pajamas and as I told her the next day, left a Shroud of Turin on her washcloth, washing off that Frida makeup.

I was just drifting off when my phone buzzed. “We’re just girls left, and we’re having girl wine!” Doxie texted me. “I’m already in my pa” I wrote back, then fell into a dead sleep till morning.

Turns out, she stayed up till 4. FOUR! Who is a pussy? Is it me?

IMG_1463.jpgEven little girls drank harder than me. Had I had any more alcohol, I’d have been less Oz and more paging Dr. Oz. So.

IMG_1284.jpgIMG_1283.jpgThe point is, I survived, and got to kibitz with her dogs, and her spouse, and her people, and it was so worth driving 12 hours in one weekend.

And the possible alcohol poisoning.

Now tomorrow I gotta, you know, put that outfit on again, as it is actually Halloween.

IMG_1337.jpg

But I can do it. I’m not a Frida-cat.

Self-portraitly,

Traveling June

IMG_1469.JPG
Miss Doxie, the very reason I have a “June doesn’t know any ugly people” category.
Fuck natural · June's stupid life

Qualified June

Amazon is being a dick. They sent me this long email that said nothing, about how I need to have “qualified sales” and that I don’t, and I don’t know what “qualified” could mean, seeing as you guys buy a lotta stuff. (Say, thanks!)

I wrote back, and they answered with another vague email (“Once you’ve had three qualified sales…”).

There is an ad for Amazon either on your sidebar or at the bottom of this blog, depending on if you’re on a phone or a desktop. If you’re on a phone, you have to scroll forever to see it–I don’t know why. I asked WordPress to help me, and they did get it so the ad’d show up, but you have to REALLY MEAN IT to see the Amazon ad on a phone or tablet.

The point is, maybe they’re going to cut me off. Without a cent. And they won’t speak English and tell me why. Why aren’t my sales “qualified”?

Oh, look! A link to Amazon! IS THIS A QUALIFIED SALE if three people click on it and buy something on Amazon today? I DON’T KNOW. Because they WON’T GIVE ME A SPECIFIC ANSWER.

Lu annoy.

In other news, I was rejected three different ways yesterday. I can’t go into specifics, but three. I was doing okay with rejections one and two, but once three hit, I was all, COME ON, GOD.

I didn’t even INCLUDE Amazon threatening to reject me.

IMG_0831.JPG

Also, this happened. My friend Hamlet and I often send each other images from our thwarted attempts at love, by texting each other the sad/offfensive messages and photos we get from our online dating swains. I recently sent him my nice message from Luv2PutItInU. Which is still not as good as my all-time favorite, G-Spot Hunter.

Hamlet’s latest was a clearly crazy woman in a tiara. Sadly, I happened to have a tiara right at my desk, on top of my Hello Kitty coffeemaker, so I could reenact said photo. There is really no telling which be-tiara-ed woman was really crazier yesterday. Say “really” one more time.

Also, I am sorry to tell you this, but Ward and I did not work out. I know the tone of this post makes it seem like he was one of the rejectors, but he was not. It was me. It wasn’t him, it was me, literally.

But look. It was a short-lived thing, and that’s too bad, but that’s what dating is. You see how it goes with people and you make informed decisions before you get too caught up. I might know from caught up when you shouldn’t be. I might know from that.

I might.

So I may be erring on the side of caution a lot these days. Sue me.

IMG_E0840.JPG
wat hell, mom? hooo you to be pickee?

Note most of the photos of this creature are when he’s about to eat. This is because it is the only time he is home.

Other than my rejection and my annoyance at Amazon and my slight sadness that it didn’t work out with Ward and my deep and abiding affection for my friend Hamlet and also Steely Dan, because I choose the wrong mencats, I got nothing. I’m not really blue, per se, just sort of stung.

Mencats is totally a thing.

So let’s just scroll through old photos and clap ourselves out.

6a00e54f9367fb883401543275c461970c-800wi.jpg
Awwww. This is at the very top of my photos. Roger.
100_0734.JPG
heeeeee

100_0698.JPG100_0714.JPG

100_0398.JPG
MISS DOXIE! I should probably not pose with her.

100_0926.JPG

100_0418.JPG
Seriously, June, stop posing with the Dox

100_0788.JPG

100_0999.JPG
Kitten Iris

100_0901.JPG

100_1982.JPG
Lu. Delighted about Violet since never.

100_2005.JPG

100_1356.JPG
Marvin and Henry in their early-divorce bachelor pad.

6a00e54f9367fb8834011571f8c1c9970b-800wi.jpg

6a00e54f9367fb883401053617105f970c-800wi.jpg
heeeee (again)

6a00e54f9367fb8834014e601553e2970c-800wi-1.jpg100_2112.JPG

I’ve plowed through a lotta pets.

Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Try not to reject me today, would ya?

Luff,

Joooooon

 

 

...friend/Ned · Beauty products · Busy busy busy busy. Thank heavens for Angie's List. · Fuck natural

Freelance work is here

For the next week, I will be proofreading a textbook when I'm not at my regularly scheduled job. I will not be here a lot, and also if you know me in real life, I will not be phoning with you a lot. I'll be back when I can!

I took photos of my toilette this morning to tide you over. I know, man. You are welcome.

  Photo on 3-17-17 at 8.19 AM #2 Photo on 3-17-17 at 8.21 AM #2 Photo on 3-17-17 at 8.23 AM Photo on 3-17-17 at 8.25 AM #3 Photo on 3-17-17 at 8.35 AM
TAAA-DAAAAA! (I really don't look good in green. I cheated with kind of a teal today. Also, today marks five years since I've had sex with anyone but Ned. Add THAT to your Big Book o'June Events. Also, mark a spot up ahead, will you? Cause this is bullshit, man. We must work to remedy this sitch.)

(Hi, mom.)

Eyebrows Light and Dark · Food and Drink · Friends · Fuck natural · I am high-maintenance · In the kitchen with June · June doesn't know any ugly people · Neighbors of June

Joe Lies

IMG_6113
I be Hutch. Wear be Starskee?

IMG_6109
hahahahahaha

Anyway.

I hadn't had my eyebrows waxed since Wilford Brimley was a child, so I went to Elegant Nail & Tan, which I realize suggests all kinds of featured services that do not seem to include waxing, but you must trust me on this. While I was waiting, I got to know a woman sitting next to me. We talk talk talked and we're the same age and both single and finally we exchanged numbers and picking up women is super easy.

Why can't I get my eyebrowns, as they say, to look at good as they get them to look? It's completely worth the six dollars.

Other than that, I went to the grocery store and loaded myself up with frozen yogurt bars for the next two weeks, and because I try to get in plant-based foods, one of the boxes was strawberry flavor. The other bars were vanilla, and isn't the vanilla bean a plant? I think it is. So. Diet. Complete.

I have never seen a tanning bed at Elegant Nail & Tan. I'm not saying there isn't maybe one back there, but I've never seen it, and I've never heard anyone come in there and say, Yes, I'm  here to tan? Maybe they need to rethink their moniker. Elegant-ish Nail & Old Magazines.

IMG_6091

At my old seat at work, I looked at an Impressionist-ish painting of fall trees against a blue sky, and now I look at multiple Os. That picture of me on my bulletin board is from this time we had to take selfies for a client presentation, and one day the janitorial staff left a note that read, "Is this trash" on a box, and some jokester put that note on my selfie and an eternal joke was born.

I meant to Google why companies move you around a lot, like, what's the benefit to them, but I forgot. If anyone knows, I'd be curious. Some people at work are really traumatized over it, if they've been at their desks forever and so on.

IMG_6089
Others of us are excited to be reunited after being ripped apart. Like Joe and I were ripped apart.

Name that movie.

Anyway, other than that, I have a gigantic freelance job coming up starting tomorrow and going until next Friday. So if I up and disappear, it means I'm behind and I'm frantically working to get it all done. So be sure to pepper me with IMs and emails. WHERE ARE YOU, JOOOOOOOOOOOOOON? Are you dead, JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON?

I have already gotten my delightful credi card debt down to the next number. So, like, if I were 11,000 thousand dollars in debt, which I'm not thank god, I'd be down to 10,oooo now. Yay. So I keep plugging away. Which doesn't help pay the bills at all. "June keeps unplugging and plugging her appliances, yet she still has debt."

Shouldn't Tallulah have to pay this? Someone wake her up.

IMG_6098
Iris and me having an Elliott and E.T. moment. Beeeee good. She's always good. I mean, to everyone but baby birds. And adult birds. Or anyone rodent-ish.

Also, I've noticed that there are always cars now at my next-door neighbor Peg's. Sometimes just one extra, sometimes two. Someone's been rolling her trash can to the curb, as well. This worried me, so I called her, and she's never called me back. It's been, like, a week. I don't want to be all Gladys Kravitz and go over there, but I feel like something is definitely up. There has never been a time Peg hasn't called me back.

Maybe she has Noro virus. Hey, June, you ever gonna get over Peg giving you Noro virus?

What do you think?

All right, I have to go to work, try to find my new desk.

Your friend and mine,

Juan

...friend/Ned · Aging ungracefully · Fuck natural · I am a pleasure of life · June's stupid life

What is a “capade,” anyway? Are there ever Land Capades?

IMG_3906

"Oh, good. It's that time of year that June makes us look at her daily Christmas cup. And also at the makeup smudges on her desk."

And her beaming-up dog.

Yesterday was Tallulah's birthday, but I tried not to dwell on that lest I fall into a sobfest. It was also Steely Dan's final round of shots, which looked liked no fun for him. They took him in the back, as they mysteriously do now, and brought him right back. "I'm so sorry," said the flustered tech. "He saw this little dog back there, just a tiny dog, and jumped right out of my arms after it. He arched up and hissed."

They decided to do his shots right in the room. Steely Dan is a bad ass.

He also weighs 7 pounds. Which is not what a 4-month-old (16 weeks) kitten should weigh. See what I did, there? I did the weeks to be annoying. You and your 37-month-old child. They took a gander at his teefs, a thing that similarly thrilled him, and determined he was not born July 11, but May 15.

"That makes perfect sense," I said. "He's so totally a Taurus and not a Cancer." I had to explain, then, that I used to live in LA and we needed to know all the astrology in order to get our driver's license.

While SD and I waited for the vet, he mostly leaped. The cat. Not the vet.

IMG_3849

He leaped off the table.

IMG_3851

Then on.

IMG_3856

Off.

IMG_3852

On.

IMG_3855

You get my drift.

IMG_3853
how bout dis? dis for jumpeeng? it be anytheeng?

Anyway, after they gave him his horrible rabies shots (he bit a guy at work just minutes before his rabies shot. Am looking forward to that guy foaming today) and boosters and deworming medicine, they said, Hey, give us 288 dollars and you can go. (I also got his flea meds.)

The GOOD news is, because he's older than we thought, he's all set for neutering December 30. Yay! New year, no sack. No baby new year for THIS guy. And yes, I am having a de-sacking party for him, as I did for Edsel seven years ago.

I took that poor soon-to-be-sackless baby back home and got to work, and then at lunch I busied myself arranging all my apps by color on my phone.

IMG_3878 IMG_3877 IMG_3876

RIGHT? How bad do you want to be me right now?!

It's something of a tradition that they let us out early to get ready for the work Christmas party, and yes they call it a Christmas party, so I hurried home to see if the baby kitty was okay, and I couldn't find him and grew alarmed. I looked in his kitten bed…

IMG_3867

…but as usual, Lily was bogarting it.

IMG_3872

I was hoping he was resting in the sun, but it was Iris was in the bedroom, on my oh-so-neatly-made bed. "If you make your bed, the whole room looks neater," Ned often smugs. "It's the biggest piece of furniture in your room."

Oh, shut up.

IMG_3875

Finally, I found him, with an eye mask and a Do Not Disturb sign. Poor Steely Dan. He never did rally, all night. He's a little livelier today, but hasn't eaten much. He thought he wanted to eat, then looked at it and said, Yeah, no.

IMG_3881

Then, I got up with some of the Alexes at the manicure place. They both got a deep burgundy, but one got glitter and one didn't. aka worlds different.

IMG_3883

This Alex had trouble deciding, and finally the manicure lady was all, "Just let your spirit be free," a thing she said with the enthusiasm of a tree sloth, and right then I knew, I loved the manicure lady.

Until, at the end, when all the fun was had, she asked, "Was that your daughter and her friend?"

I mean, YES, I could be their mother, but I get drunk with these people. Dang.

IMG_3902

Old mom, here, got navy nails with one gold glitter nail on each hand. Note my Princess Diana/Kate real sapphire ring not at all from QVC, which is where they got theirs.

IMG_3884

It went with my navy-and-champagne-polka-dot frock I got from Stitch Fix. Also, my vanity mirror is still not put together, and the light bulb is burnt out in the other room with a full-length mirror, so getting ready was a pleasure.

IMG_3885

I put on enough makeup to join the Ice Capades.

IMG_3886

And waited for my Mug Shot date. I just want you to know in real life, he laughs and smiles. You get a camera out and he's all Cell Block H.

IMG_3890

The work CHRISTMAS party is no small feat. It's at this elegant hotel, and everyone's kids are invited, and there's shrimp and that one kind of red meat that's on that giant slab of meat and someone stands there and cuts it. What's that called? And there are presents for everyone under 10, and since I'm a 10 I didn't get one. Anyway, behold The Poet and Jane West, feasting. That is Ned's beer and not The Poet's. The idea of The Poet grabbing herself a brew is just about killing me right now.

The bartender got the beer out the ice, then smacked it onto a napkin and rolled it up. "Did you SEE that?" I asked, Ned, delighted. I don't get out a lot.

IMG_3900

It's also dark in that room. Look what a wide load I am next to skinny Alex. Jesus.

The little kids were all dancing during the dinner music, throwing themselves across the dance floor and sliding and so on. You have no idea how bad I wanted to join them. But I'd have looked drunk, even though I wasn't.

There's one kid I've always been enamored with. I've put a picture of her in here, from a Halloween party in 2011, but I don't have time to search for it because Ned just called me to talk about his fancy president things he has to do, and one person you should really rely on for how to president is me. Nancy Reagan, over here. Just say yes.

If I were First Lady, which one would I be? I want to be Jackie, but let's face it, I'm Betty Ford.

Anyway, she's outgoing and delightful and she wears glasses, this kid who's at every Christmas party. I'm forever asking her dad if she's gonna be there again that year, and I'm certain at this point he's all, What the hell with June and her obsession with my kid?

But she gets out there in her little Christmas dress and leads the kid dancing every year.

This year, she came right over to my table. "I like your polka-dot dress," she told me. Then she turned to Ned. "Hi, I'm Morgan, " she announced confidently. Oh my god.

Anyway, we danced, Kid of Confidence and me. We danced to some song I've never heard in my life, because old and no mainstream music exposure, then we danced to some song from the '70s I was thoroughly enjoying and can no longer recall. Play That Funky Music? I really can't remember. It was 10 hours ago.

"Did you have fun?" asked Ned as we drove home. We were the last people to leave. Poor Ned.

"I did. Except…" I hesitated.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I don't feel like there was enough exclaiming by everyone over how pretty I looked."

And that is when Ned decided to just drop me off at my door.

Releasing the splendor of me,

June

...friend/Ned · Fuck natural · I am a pleasure of life · My pets · Times I Amused My Own Self

Retro June

Yesterday at work I went back to copy editing. I asked if I could do so some months ago, and they said okay, but you have to wait till we get other editors in here, so I waited, and then without further ado or fanfare, it was all, "Can you copy edit this?" and by the end of the day I'd copy edited three and a half articles and three decks. I know that might mean nothing to you, but trust me, that's a lot.

Oh my GOD, it was wonderful. I didn't have one meeting to go to all day! Now, today, I have to write again, so it's a gradual process, but oh it was nice to see my old friend the AP Stylebook, and worry about spaces before ellipses and how do you punctuate an episode of a TV series, not the show itself.

I liked doing the writing, I really did, but the stuff around it was so stressful. Meetings and people wanting to consult with you all the time and having to be creative on demand in a loud room. It just wasn't me. It'd be like asking a chihuahua to do disaster rescue.

I need a quiet little job, where I can worry about teensy things like apostrophes. My insides are loud and chaotic enough as it is, without my outsides being the same.

And the good news is, I still get to do a wee bit of writing, which I did really like, but without the "Get to this meeting, get to this one, think of this idea NOW you have two hours, go" thing. So, best of both worlds!

I guess I'm kind of returning to my old life, aren't I?

I used to be a copy editor, then I switched, and now I copy edit again.

I used to date Ned, then I didn't, and now I do again.

I used to live here, then I didn't, and now I live here again.

I used to have a dog and three cats, then I switched it up to two and two like I was Chuck Wollery, and now I have a dog and three cats again.

God, I'm so retro.

I'm so 2009. Without the husband part. When do I get to the husband part?

And you know, I'm rethinking the husband part. Especially yesterday after you all told me the things that made you irrationally mad and so much of it was, "When my husband … ." I love comment days like that, and I know I irk the people who work around me when I read your comments and laugh out loud. I ell oh ell. I refuse to write those three letters even in jest.

But really, I am, you know, an irritable person. Maybe I'm better off living alone. I adore living alone. I can't begin to tell you how happy it makes me to come here and have my time to myself. Last night I got home with the intention of leaving again and going to the old theater I like and watching Rocky. I even had a brilliant idea: I'd go into the theater with my popcorn, pretend I was looking for a friend, and yell

ADRIAN!

YO, ADRIAN!!!

I was cracking my own self up, for a change.

But then I decided to stay home and do my goddamn stupid yoga DVD that really namas my stay. "Expand your heart, and root down with your shin bones."

What?

The shit they say during a yoga class is ridik. "Really plug into the back of your heart."

Okay, plug into the back of my dick. Can't they just say what they mean? Like, literally, where do you want my leg to be right now. Don't tell me to "root down" anything unless we're suddenly digging for truffles.

I'm the only person you know who gets even angrier when she does yoga.

The point is, I stayed in, and after "really bringing [my] glow forward" texted with my friend M, who comments here sometimes. I met M when we were both single and ready to root our chakras, and plug into our heart center, back last year. He lives in Florida, but he saw my profile, and when you have All This…

"I live in Florida, so we'll never meet, but your profile is great," he wrote me. What kills me is we both shut down our dating sites with a flourish sometime later, so neither of us knows our anniversary, but we know it's sometime in October.

Anyway, we've become friends. In much the same way you and I are, in that we've never actually met. I know all his stupid shit and he knows all mine, and there it is. Anyway, it was a fine evening, hating yoga and hating my friend M because he hates Say Anything, and how can I even be friends with someone with such bad taste in things?

So what do I want to get married for? I might not. I'll let you know if I do. I told Ned I might be just fine if we were just engaged and never went through with it, like Oprah and Steadman. I'm trying to still diddle Gayle, is the point.

Photo on 11-16-16 at 8.03 AM

The whole time I've been writing you, Sir Dickus R Puddingcup, over here, has been prancing past me, walking across the keypad and generally getting in my way, as cats are wont to do. Why do I always get the most jerky pets? This kitten is what Lottie was to puppies. Aka, world's most rambunctious. Look at his Great Horned Owl look, up there, and he'll get a REAL horned owl look when I throw him outside for pickup. Old Screechy outside will take this kitten to his nest.

Yesterday I was in the bathroom, and he ran in and leaped onto the shower curtain, and just hung there like a moth, just to see if he could. I watched him sway in the breeze a little, just hanging on the curtain.

IMG_3468
wee exhaust, mom. kittee exhaust.

I gotta go, but I did want to show you the photo Ned just text me. Here is the breathtaking view from his hotel room:

IMG_3475

Ooooooo! God. Lucky. I wish I were president of something and got to travel.

Okay, goodbye. Be sure to root down through your tailbone today. Namaste here and laugh at you when you do.

Fuck natural · Hair · June's stupid life

House O’ Hurr

Yesterday I got my 10,000 steps in, did 35 minutes of Tracy Chapman, and then sat down to watch Real Housewives with a bag of Fritos. And this is why I hate myself.

Oh, also I walked Edsel yesterday, and the people on the corner have an 8-week-old BABY GERMAN SHEPHERD PUPPY. As opposed to an adult puppy.

They did the thing. They were all out in the yard, letting it run free, so I made Edsel stop. "He's okay," they said, meaning their bitty puppy. Sigh.

"He's NOT," I said, meaning my dog-eat-dog-world of a dog. Jesus Christ. Ima start a national campaign. STOP LETTING YOUR DOGS BE LOOSE. NO MATTER WHAT.

My dog is following the rules. He's on a leash. If your free-to-be-you-and-me dog runs up to us, your dog is done for. AND THAT WON'T BE MY FAULT.

If Edsel had eaten that bitty German shepherd puppy snickerdoodle I'd have died of sad.

In other news, this is my last day of work this week. Tomorrow I go on my vacation to the beach. It's supposed to be in the 70s and sunny all week, so yay. I really didn't take vacation this year, except to kill my dog and take Ned to his colonoscopy. So.

Oh, and I meant to ask you. What should I do for my 10-year anniversary of blogging? It's December 15, and I thought I should do something more than what I did for the two-year cotton anniversary in 2008.

6a00e54f9367fb88340105366a399b970c-800wi

Nice. Also, while I was Google Imaging "ByeByePie" + "Cotton," I found this…

6a00e54f9367fb88340133f2c1e493970b-800wi-1

Did I once give away cupcake floss? Because mmmmmm!

Also, "give away." Did I once promise and never send someone cupcake floss?

Anyway, my 10-year anniversary. Should I have you all over? Should we all go to Hawaii together or something? Do tell me your ideas. A lot has happened in these damn 10 years.

Also too also, I am sick of my hair. I been doing the same damn thing to it for ages.

6a00e54f9367fb883401b7c87a0ebc970b-500wi
My hurr, in 2014

6a00e54f9367fb88340162fceec52b970d-pi
My hurr with DW's mom, in 2011

6a00e54f9367fb883401901e26d5ee970b-pi
My hurr, 2013. How bad do you want me to stop saying "hurr"?

My friend Jo called last night, ironically, to ask me what she should do with her hair, and one place to go for all your hair advice is my house. June's House O' Hurr. Anyway what she told me is "not a damn thing. Don't change your hair."

Basically Jo doesn't want me to go changin', to try and please her. I've never let her down before.

Oooooo.

What say you? I mean, if I cut it short I'll look like George Washington. If I blow it straight I'll look basic. I can't win.

I gotta go. This whole time I've been trying to write you, a teensy annoying gray paw has been striking me from behind the computer. Is there a 24-hour drive-through put-your-kitten-to-sleep place near here?

I probably won't blog from the beach because I used to be able to email this blog and post that way, but now Typepad claims you can do that but it never actually posts what you emailed. So. I also can no longer reply to comments unless I get on here and comment directly, a thing that always looks good at my desk in the open floor plan.

Talk to you later, when I'll be sure to say hilarious things including "Life's a Beach." Maybe I'll even get one of those "Life's Good" stickers that don't make me want to kill everyone around me or anything. Here's what happens every time I see one of those stickers:

Sticker: Life's Good! : )

June: Fuck you. You fuck sticker.

XO,

Jooooon

Friends · Fuck natural · I am high-maintenance · June's stupid life · My pets

Today I can’t think of a title. Post-migraine fog.

I had this snappy plastic lid that I used to cover the other half of Steely Dan's canned food, as he eats half a can at a time. Correction: he WOLFS half a can at a time. There's no trouble with SD's appetite. He is not a finicky eater. And every time he devours another bowl of food, I make a big fuss. "Oh, what a good kitty! You're going to be so big and strong!"

SteelyDankitten
tell steelee dan something he don't no.

Anyway, Edsel ate the lid. He got up on his stupid hind legs, took the goddamn lid off the counter, and chewed it up. Now it's a plastic waning gibbous on his bed.

Goddammit.

I had to leave work with a migraine yesterday. I went to lunch in the park with my coworker Molly, and I could feel it coming on then.

IMG_2877

By midafternoon, it was a screaming migraine of alarming proportions.

So I left and slept all afternoon, which was good, and when I woke up, the headache was gone, which is also good. But then I had the lethargy, where I just sat here like a lump, a personality-less lump, till it was socially acceptable to go to bed. I don't know who I was trying to impress. Iris couldn't even SEE me. Or the clock. So.

IMG_2879

I just noticed this in my downloaded pictures from yesterday. This was what I woke up to yesterday afternoon. I don't even remember taking this. Edsel should really look into getting a more pathetic look about him. Probably SD had been pouncing on him all afternoon and I'd slept through it. I can also see that my shirt is at the end of the bed, so I just ripped off my clothes and threw them anywhere before getting into bed. That's always a good sign.

Do you have any bad signs like that? Like, right after Ned and I broke up last year, I went to bed with my trench coat still on, stayed that way for about three hours.

Not a good sign.

Or if the clothes just get tossed to the floor (or, as seen above, the bed) before I fall asleep, I was either sick or drunk. I usually at least attempt to throw them in the hamper. I mean, the tights might be dangling off the sides a tad or whatever.

I keep meaning to tell you that when SDS pounces on one of the big cats, in other words 20 hours a day, and the big cat–whichever disgruntled one it is at the moment–growls? Edsel runs over there to break it up. I think he doesn't want anything happening to his kitten. No matter where he is, he tears into the room and gets between cat and kitten to protect Steely Dan, who if you ask me doesn't need any protecting. That cat is all boy.

Once at a funeral I met a woman who'd babysat Ned when he was a kid. "Oh, I remember you," she said. "You were all boy."

No one's ever said that about me. You know what else no one's ever called me? A tomboy. I know this comes as something of a shock. There was nothing worse than when the only kid available in the neighborhood was one of those awful tomboy girls.

"You wanna climb a tree, break an arm, then shoot something?"

Yeah, no. I got a whole apple barrel full of relatives' leftover makeup, a Barbie that's just DYING to put on some heels and a sparkly dress, and a tape recorder so we can act the whole thing out. Dafuq's wrong with you, teensy lesbian person?

"Ya wanna ride bikes down the trail and play kickball?"

Jesus. [Takes spangled lipstick brush and goes home.]

Don't you wish you could do that now, just go outside and meet friends? It was so easy. Marvin once told me about a new kid in his neighborhood, whom he met by riding his bike past the kid, yelling out, "Gay rider!" and then asking, "You wanna be friends?"

This charming opening line worked, and Marvin is still friends with that guy, as far as I know.

I'd better put on some clothes and get to work. I hope my head doesn't come back. Return of the Head. I went a good two months with zero migraines. SO WHY NOW? WHY? I've no idea.

Did I mention to you that I'm going on a vacation next week? I am. I'm going to the beach. I had no vacation this summer, so I'm going. The only days I took off were to kill my dog and take Ned to his colonoscopy, and this year I have three weeks of vacation so I'm taking advantage. I can't afford it, but I'm going anyway. Fuq it.

I will talk to you tomorrow, gay riders, and I can only hope tomorrow's post will be as pressing and necessary as this one was.

...friend/Ned · Fuck natural · June's stupid life

June gets on her soapbox

Lemme tell you how Ned has ruined me. In case you wondered, "Gee. How has Ned ruined June?"

Today I was in the shower, and please try not to get too distracted by the hotness.

Dickinson-dressed-to-kill-shower

Do you know she was 48 when she did this scene? That's Angie Dickenson, for anyone reading this who's 19.

Anyway. I was in the shower today, and my soap is at that point where it's a mere sliver of itself. I always feel bad when I'm at that point, because I hate to waste any of it, but when it keeps SLIPPING OUT OF MY HAND, I get annoyed. I generally have a three-slip rule, and then I throw it away. But today, even though my soap is the size of a quarter, it hung on. I kept the sliver, but once I was out of the shower, I got a new box of it out and squooshed the new soap onto the old and put them in the shower thingie®, that metal thing that hangs over your shower head. Angie, what is it? You're in the shower, up there.

Is Angie Dickinson dead?

HOW NED HAS RUINED ME is that the box? I have to recycle the damn box now, the box the soap came in. Back during my year abroad, the shower was upstairs and the recycling was downstairs, and Ned would keep his empty box of unscented soap for sensitive skin on the windowsill for weeks, on its way to the recycle bin downstairs. I was often tempted to throw it out, but I never did cause I didn't wanna hear about it.

It just seemed so over the top, taking that small box all the way downstairs. It'd be like throwing an anniversary bash for your hamster. I don't know.

And now? I recycle the goddamn soap box. I mean, I'm all on one floor, so. If it were a monumental struggle like taking it all the way downstairs, I'm not sure I'd be so earth-friendly.

I guess that's all I have to tell you. I got paid last night, THANK GOD, and at lunch Ima go get my browns waxed, because Wilford Brimley. Ima see family I ain't seen in five years, and I don't want them to be all, Poor single June. With her pets and her Wilford Brimley eyebrowns.

"Well, we had a nice time at the party, except for June and her eyebrowns."

Who needs to get over saying "eyebrowns," do you think?

Okay, talk at you. I'll be flying tomorrow so maybe Sunday if there's time.

Travelocity-ly,

Joon