Removing the ’70s bush

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, it's so exciting.

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

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

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

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

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not to fuk wif edzul.

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

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

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

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we tuffer than dat

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

Bloomingly,

Jooon

Say “mulch” one more time

I had ideas about what I was gonna write about today and then I sat down and …blank. …Oh! Mulch! Yes.

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I came home for lunch and there was poor Chris of Chris and Lilly, unloading m'mulch. With a big pitchfork, like he was the devil. The devil who made my yard so pretty it's a sin!

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Mulchchritudinous.

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It's mulch improved.

While Chris was here, I went inside to have a delicious lunch full of nutrients, and usually I watch Gilmore Girls, but I got home a little late, so I flipped around, not literally, but with TV channels. And that is when I came upon a show called Paranormal Witness.

Mother of god.

So this couple? They had weird stuff going on in their house? I don't know what, cause I hadn't seen that part. What I saw was an exorcist or a priest–which isn't that the same thing?–or Judge Judy or someone came over and allegedly cleared the house of spirits. Mine is too. Totally out of wine.

So, the man was saying goodbye to the exorcist, high-crossing him or whatever, and when he came back in, his wife was sitting in a chair with her head down. Just still, in the chair.

"Honey? Are you okay?"

She looked up. Her eyes were entirely black.

MOTHER OF GOD.

"I'M FINE," she said, BUT IN A DEVIL VOICE. The devil uses Arial Black font.

And that is when I wondered if it'd be inappropriate to make Chris come hold me. It was the middle of the day! It was lunchtime! And I was frozen in terror.

I'M FINE.

MOTHER OF GOD!!!!!

Speaking of the devil, this morning when I went to photograph the mulch for you, and I don't know mulch, but I know I love you, I took this eight-second video of Edsel keeping his pimp hand strong.

 

Oh. It'd said 8 seconds on my photos, but once I got it up, so to speak, it was 44. Sue me. I love how she eventually turns away in fear. What the hell is he telling her with his subtle body language? Who knew Edsel had it in him?

I say "subtle body language" because my high school boyfriend Giovanni used to say, "When I'm with a woman, I try to use subtle body language," and then he'd point heartily at his man bits.

I've always known how to pick 'em.

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Also, I'm throwing in this mug shot of The Poet just because I love it. Don't eff with the poet. She will iambic your pentameter. She will meta your phor. There's no rhyme or reason to what The Poet will do.

This week is the meteor shower, the really good one, and it's been rainy and cloudy here. Annoyed.

Back when I was dating Marvin in the '80s, I schlepped out to a cow field with my mother and stepfather, and we got on the hood of the car and watched the shooting stars. I kept getting bored and looking away and missing every damn one of them. I came home and wrote Marvin, who was 50 miles away, a big letter about it, including a lovely stick figure drawing of me looking down while stars shot over my head.

When Marvin and I broke up that same year, he tore up and burned every one of my letters in a fit of drama…except that one. That one he saved. LITTLE DID HE KNOW he'd be temporarily married to me and would want those letters back.

Whatever, Marvin. Why don't you go to McDonald's?

I gotta go. I've got to get to work, where a huge group of people are meeting over how much everyone hates an article I wrote, so that'll be relaxing.

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hooo care

I'll talk at you tomorrow. Oh! My free digital scale came! Oh my god I have to cease eating. Also, Lottie weighs 34.8 pounds currently. Me too. If I were on Pluto.

XO,

Jooooon

The hole in your soul is shaped like a Ho-Ho

Because of the holiday weekend, I forgot that Sunday was Sunday and therefore I did not exfoliate using my microdermabrasion, but before you panic, I did remember today.

I should probably not scare you like that.

It's from Mary Kay.

I got gift certificates, two of them, awhile back. Long story.

I certainly do love it when you guys make me go back and give you the details. "What KIND of lip gloss, Jooooon?" OH MY GOD WHO CARES.

In unrelated news, today is EDSEL'S BIRTHDAY! Let's take a birthday photo RIGHT NOW of Edsel in his element. He's fighting with Lottie currently. On a new and different note.

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leef Edz 'lone, mom.

Yeah. No. There's no getting him to pose-n-smile currently. He's in it, man. He's in the trenches. Look at his muddy feets. Look at the eternally-out broom. I Shark these floors every day. Every. Day. Lottie brings in sticks. Yesterday I mopped, left the room for one second, and came back in to a big pile of dirt with a branch on top.

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heer for all yer asshowle needs.

Anyway, now he is 6. My big Eds. Remember his puppyhood? I don't recall him being an asshole puppy, actually.

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Puppy Edsel.

Speaking of mud on my floor, ya got mud on yer face, ya big disgrace, I am obsessed with the lack of grass in my back yard accompanied by dogs running in an out and therefore mud on my everything. Wouldn't the dogs just trample ground cover? I've wanted to extend my deck, get a bigger deck, cause who doesn't like a big deck and oh my GOD, June, but it costs.

What the hell? This is the worst year I've had for lack of grass. The people who used to own this house must have done something to the lawn, or is it just that the trees have grown so much? But I WANT shade in the back, so what's a woman to do? Tell me. REMEMBER DOGS WILL TRAMPLE. And if you tell me to just throw a bunch of wood chips on my entire backyard I will die of depression. Hey, here's my wood chip back yard. I'm part chipmunk. Very proud of heritage.

Anyway, June, what else did you do this weekend? Glad you asked. Screen Shot 2016-07-05 at 7.47.11 AM

I cleaned my keyboard while Google was up, and this happened. heeeeeeee.

I should probably look into getting a life. IMG_0710 IMG_0711
I was worried about Lottie being scared of the fireworks, so I took her to the cookout I went to and she was perfectly fine. She sat on my lap while fireworks went off around us, but I gave her treats and talked cheerfully–a stretch for me–and made it seem like a positive thing that booms were surrounding us and the Yankees were coming, and she put her chin on her paws and sighed. She was more Melanie than Pittypat.

Also, I went to the attic and got down two old files of my paperwork, because I know years ago, years and years, this company came over and did a blueprint for me of stuff I could plant in my yard that'd do well given where the sun is and the shade and so on. Of course I NEVER FOUND THE DAMN BLUEPRINT, but I did find a bunch of other fun stuff, such as Anderson Cooper's kitten papers and Iris's adoption form where they call her deformed.

Humph.

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"Edsel is a handsome boy."
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Me in a play in 1988. Brighton Beach Memoirs. ("What PLAY, June?" Sigh.)

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This was on the back of one of my endless medical reports: A warm note to Marvin. If only all our notes and conversations with loved ones came with literal interpretations.

"So, you're going to that concert, then." (Literal interpretation: I feel neglected.)

"You getting something from the kitchen?" (LI: I feel empty inside and tried to fill the gaping maw in my soul with a reality show, but that's not working so how 'bout you bring me a Ho-Ho? See if the hole in my soul is shaped like a Ho-Ho.)

"Fine." (LI: This is the furthest thing from fine.)

"I went to the movies. Dogs have not been fed." (LI: This marriage is over.)

I gotta go. I got three meeting notices on my phone last night, at midnight, and I was all, "Oh, no, I have a meeting! I have…zzzzzz." Then the next one would beep in. "MEETING! I HAVE…zzzzzz." I wish I'd never hooked up my work email to my phone.

Exfoliatedly,

JOOOOOON

Right here right now

I left the nine hundred seventy billion thousand and forty-six dead leaves that I am attempting to rake up in the back yard and came in here to blog at you very fast.

Photo on 4-5-14 at 3.19 PM #4Here I am. The one that you love. Asking for another day.

I'm wearing a t-shirt from Ned's workplace, and the jeans I had on last night, on which I spilled some kind of bruschetta sauce. What's that black-ish sauce they put on bruschetta? I would get engaged to that sauce. Which would make for an excellent photo in the newspaper.

In my attempts to rake up the dead leaves in the dirty ground, I noticed some wild pansies growing in spite of themselves.

IMG_0219I brushed away the dead leaves and pulled the weeds around them, and I hope they'll grow and spread, or at least continue to stay alive, and make me happy when I look back there. You have to admire those little flowers for making the best out of their situation. For literally blooming where they are planted.

I never had to clean up the back yard when I was married. I'd make it pretty in the front, but Marvin did the serious work. The cutting of grass and chopping down weed trees and so on. Now I have to do it the best I can, which usually means one hour of raking or ivy pulling before I drop dead. But little by little, the yard is getting better.

I have to go shower for Ned's arrival. We're going to grill something tonight, and I will show him my little wild pansies. What I like about Ned is that he'll actually appreciate them. You can always say to Ned, "Go to your window and look at the moon" or "Wow, that tree has hot pink blossoms!" and he'll always stop and admire whatever you show him.

I never thought I'd end up in North Carolina, divorced and fairly hideous and 48. But here it is.

And I'm doing my best to bloom anyway.

Cloris Gardens

First of all, you know how I said on Friday night I went to see my friend Charlie's art exhibit?

6a00e54f9367fb88340133f40e18e8970bSometime Saturday morning, Charlie fell and broke his neck. I KNOW! And I actually did that thing where I said, "But I just SAW him," as though that would have protected him from harm.

He's in a hospital in Charlotte with spinal injuries and Ima get over there as soon as I can. What the Sam Hill? He's currently in intensive care but will start rehab soon. That's all I know so far.

IMG_1129Jarring, is what that is. He's not even 30 and has to have something as dreadful as this going on. Poor Chas.

He thinks HE has problems. Look at the 79 vertical lines on the side of my face in that photo up there. Who am I, Cloris Leachman? You could store toast in those lines. And why don't you see people named Cloris anymore?

In other less awful news, I had a cookout on Saturday. Faithful Readers and Friends in Real Life Chris and LillyCloris came over, along with Ned, who brought me another oscillating fan. 100_1694Here he is putting the dang thing together, and I KNOW he wishes he had my reading glasses right then and I was too busy hostessing to think of it till just now. I also had to send poor Ned, who made the error of making the "On my way, do you need anything" call, to get more condiments, as all of mine had expired. Yes, I said condiMENTS, but go ahead with your hyelarious condom jokes.

Who has condiments that expire? I have to be the only person on earth. When ChrisCloris got here, bringing me 80 home-grown tomatoes, he said, "Oh, crap! We could have just made ketchup!"

…?

100_1696See. I might have bought one, you know, already assembled. And look how my yard has nothing but weeds. The yard guy said, "I'll be back in a week" in May. Maybe he meant dog weeks. And yes, I realize I am sitting here jobless with nothing to do and I could be weeding as we speak. I could also be throwing the discus but you don't see me doing that, either.

100_1692cut jibjab. let eat.

My dogs were incredibly well-behaved, as usual. People food running amok on the tables and outside? We NOT ALLOWED.

Mmm-hmmm.

100_1695Lu an Edz find mom rivteeng as person. Not as corn-shukker.

I don't know why my knees look like I have edema right there. Perhaps it was the salt lick I'd chawed all morning.

100_1697Eventually, Chris, who ends up doing all the work when he's here and my, it must be relaxing to leave all his work at their farm to come over, got out hamburgers that "we" made, and set the plate right near him. Who took a giant bite out one of the uncooked hamburgers, do you think? No, not LillyCloris. Stupid Edsel. That's who.

We had to cut that part off and I had to eat that one. My life is ludicrous. Also, how do I make grass grow in the shade of that tree? These pictures make my yard look depressinger than it is in real life.

100_1703Ned, bringing his point home. Yes, I made everyone drink from Mason Jars. Who's been reading too much Southern Living lately, do  you think?

100_1702lu not breeng up the part where jibjabber need to stop? put feeeedbag on lu.

100_1693Lilly the person really was there, but she hates pictures of herself, and that is ludicrous because she is really lovely. Lily the cat was there two and didn't give two shits if I took her picture or not.

…Hey! You know what just happened? My lawn guy just showed up! He said he'd been procrastinating because it was so hot, which hello, it really was.

Photo on 8-6-12 at 9.49 AMI'm glad he came by, because someone really needs to be enjoying this hair. Lindsey Buckingham called. Also, didn't I JUST get my roots done? That gray is like kudzu, man.

Anyway, that's my story. Yesterday Ned and I went to the movies (Citizen Gangster. I recommend. Ben from Felicity is the star! I mentioned this pertinent fact to Ned, but you can imagine how he already knew, what with the hours of Felicity marathons he enjoys) and then we drove around the rich neighborhood and bemoaned our fate, then finally we got something to eat. I had ahi tuna, which by the way, would marry ahi tuna were that legal. June Dimebag Ahi Tuna. Nice.

During that same meal of ahi love, I was telling beleaguered Ned about the trip I took to London when I was 25. "I saw a double feature of Kafka and Sarte plays above this pub," I began, getting ready to launch into how existentially depressed that made me. "OH MY GOD!" Ned started, because there'd be nothing he'd like better than an evening of absolutely bleak plays like that. Unfortunately, in his Pink Floyd excitement, he inhaled a crispy noodle and spent the rest of the evening trying to hack it up.

Talk about No Exit.

Hey, you know what you can look forward to? Photos of my yard tomorrow after Lawn Boy does all the work today. Woooo!

Throw this lifeless lifeline to the wind. Or, June does flowerspeak.

I went out for a giant Americano with Dick Whitman yesterday, at 5:00 p.m. Guess what was a stupid idea. There I was at midnight, like Bono.

"I'm wide awake! WIDE AWAKE! WIIIIDE AWAAAAKKE! I'm not sleeping."

Did he really need to throw in that last line? I think we got it when you screeched at us about being wide awake 14 times. Imagine being his wife.

 

Are you shocked I threw in a U2 YouTube? Please enjoy Bono's mullet. You think you're wide awake? Vidal Sassoon hasn't slept since you got that thing.

June. Using current hairdresser references since 1979.

So. Trouble falling asleep. Is what I'm telling you. Thanks to D. Whitman and his giant black coffee. He was working in Greensboro yesterday, which he does not normally do. We were celebrating this fact. Woo!

Other than that, I sat around and waited to get jobs. Which I did not get. I mean, I didn't officially NOT get any, and I didn't get any. So to speak. And I read all of that Jeffrey Dahmer's dad book, which was sad. I mean, you feel terrible for the guy. "Hey, Jeff, why'd you get a freezer?" I mean, he actually asked him that. Ack. Right there is why I never wanted kids.

Of course, then God saw fit to bring me Francis. Who given the chance would have poured acid into as many head holes as he could.

Franhateyou@#@&%*@, mom. And who the blynd cat you got there now? She a wimp.

IMG_0567eyeriss heer you, and she NOT A WIMP. ded cat. ded cat in yardd.

Iris is getting big, and every so often one of the cats will walk by and I'll think, wait. Was that Lily or Iris? I have to see if the cat in question has eyeballs or not.

Anyway, I am (wait for it) going to do freelance work now, but Ima do it outside because it is OUTSTANDING weather. I know it snowed, like, three days ago. All my daffydills are up and yes, I am annoying for calling them that.

IMG_0558We up. Now what?

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Hiya, 'cynth!

Sadly, I believe I made this funny funny joke last year. I like this photo because Edsel's snout just barely made it in. We were going for a walk and I decided to take a picture first. You can imagine how this pleased him, seeing as walk time is NUMBER ONE TIME EVER! EVER! WALK BEST TIME! I'M WIDE AWAKE! WIDE AWAKE!

I'm not sleeping.

Okay. June out. Somebody tell me about anything interesting they're doing this weekend. I have Dick Whitman tomorrow night and an Oscar party on Sunday. You?

P.S. I want a cool nickname like The Edge. I realize I just said I want you all to call me Nippy. But now I want to be "The" something. The Nippy makes no sense.

Did I mention I hate my computer?

Blogging from work would be wrong. And that is why I am not doing it right now.

Computer COMPLETELY dead at home. Dead. Dead dead dead. Stick a fork in it. The fat lady has sung. Unfortunately, that fat lady is me.

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I blame work. If someone is gonna BRING chocolate-chip cookies stuffed with Oreos, what am I to do? IGNORE them? They won't be IGNORED.

Also? While I am not blogging from work? I have had this photo on my desktop for the longest time…

6a00e54f9367fb88340133edb07250970bOh. Wait. That is not the picture I wanted to put in…

Photo(7)Here it is. This is my coworker TinaDoris' puppy, with the toy I gave her. My dogs never once played with this and my mother spent $800,000 on it. You are supposed to put treats in the bottle and the dogs are supposed to figure it out. The dogs reacted the same way I do when I see Sudoku.

So at least Penny, here, likes the rope part. I love her.

I know! June loves an animal! Sound the alarm!

I had better go, because I have to, um, go to work. Because I am not at work already. Nosir. But before I do I want to tell you that (a) I am getting a new computer TOMORROW after Tallulah's vet appointment (nothing wrong with her. Just general shots and telling me she weighs too much and sticking something up her bung to check for worms. Basically she will adore me tomorrow) and (4) I see The Fireman tonight.

Oh! And I was in the spare room, not to sound like The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe, and I saw this outside my window:

Fleur
Oh, piffle.

Fleur
There we go. Geez. Blogging from…home…certainly is an adjustment. 

Anyway, how pretty! In all the overgrown jungle that is my back yard a flower has grown! A flower grows in Greensboro. And yes I DID traipse out there in this driving rain, in case anyone is local and knows of the monsoon we are experiencing currently.

Okay, I'd better…get to work!

 

 

One of those annoying posts where many topics are discussed

1. Last night I was chatting with The Fireman, and I said, "I have to go. I have to pull weeds before it gets dark" and he said, "Again? You seem to…do that a lot."

I have only known the fireman a short time, and already he has noted my yard obsession. But DUDE, you go out there and get eaten to bits by mosquitoes and then you have to run inside screaming as dramatically as you can.

Being my neighbor is fun. And yes, I DO use Off. On me it doesn't work. Anyway, I was pull-pull-pulling when I looked at the front of my house and saw this:

Howmucharethosepetsinthewindow Can you see everyone? Tallulah is on the left, Edsel on our right, and Roger Dodgerhead is in front of him. I've no idea where Anderson Cooper was. Perhaps he had news to cover. BAH.

I am just saying. Am I that exciting? "let watch mom pull weedz." I mean, really? You can't hump each other or eat some kibble or chew the couch? That wouldn't be more rewarding?

2. I have spoken about my Uncle Leo many times. He married into our family in 1971, but when he and my Aunt Kathy divorced in the mid-80s, we liked him so we kept him. My Uncle Leo is ridiculous. He is the HAPPIEST person you have ever met. Nothing fazes him. In fact, he has had three brain operations in his life and says, "This is great! I get to retire! I get to see the world! Everyone should get to have three brain operations!"

He is the pinnacle of optimism.

So he, along with everyone else I am related to, went to India for that wedding I have now mentioned 994934 times, and I know you wish I'd bring it up MORE OFTEN. The point is, everyone else was back WEEKS ago, but not Uncle Leo. No. He was gonna spend a MONTH in India.

Yesterday I got an email from Aunt Kathy: "I don't know if anyone's told you that Leo is in Mt. Sinai in NYC."

That was it! That was ALL she told me! Why was Uncle Leo in the hospital? Why the hell was he in New York when he lives in Saginaw? Was it his brain? Is it something so serious he had to be, I don't know, TRANSPORTED to New York?

Seriously. What the frosting? (A commentor taught me that phrase.)

I desperately tried to get ahold of everyone on planet Earth through email, because guess who hadn't brought her iPhone with her to work? And was NO ONE online?

You know who would have been online because he is all the time? Uncle Leo.

Crap.

Turns out? He was coming back from India and decided to go to New York for a spell, because his head is a bowling ball with the three brain operations and he can do what he likes. Except, apparently, keep anything in his body, because he just started getting VIOLENTLY ill and he got so sick and so weak that he called an ambulance for himself.

Now, if I had called an ambulance it'd be no big deal. Daniel Boone said the ambulance just stops at my house several times a day on its way back from calls to see if it's needed. (Yes, I did just mention D. Boone. Hang on.) But for my UNCLE to call an ambulance, he must have been near death. And in fact he was. His potassium level was 2. Which I guess is, you know, not good.

So he's weak and feels dreadful and just wants to sleep, but they have managed to unnauseate him for the most part. They do not know precisely what is wrong yet but hello India. Hello Indian parasite.

One of my friends said, "They should check his wrists. Maybe he got an Indian burn." Everyone's a comedian.

3. I am going to Raleigh this weekend to see Daniel Boone. Oh, get your knickers out their twist.

In case you are just tuning in, Daniel Boone is someone I like like liked for three weeks, and we broke up and it got ugly.

When we broke up, I deleted all of our emails, and in three weeks' time we had emailed each other over 200 times. What Daniel Boone and I did? Was talk. Talk talk talk. We are the same PERSON, including the verbal part. And the part where we think we're hilarious. Sometimes his emails make me have to lay my head on the desk, I am laughing so hard.

After our hideous breakup, we went two days without talking and on the third day he emailed me to kind of scold me. I scolded back. We talked. And talked. And apologized. He apologized many times. And the other day I deleted our emails again because I can never FIND anything on my email, and I realized that since we broke up last month we have exchanged 500 additional emails.

Did I mention we talk?

And I am over him. I do not have a romantic interest in D. Boone. I just really dig the guy. We have fun. And because we talk everything TO DEATH, we know this is gonna be a platonic visit. Which will be, you know, interesting. See him in a new light and so forth.

And that is all I have to tell you about that.

4. The Real Housewives reunion. Riveting AS ALWAYS.

5. Maybe I'll go pull some weeds…

RIP. Not so much.

My weekend? Pretty good, other than when the dogs dug up my dead cat. Yours?

I KNOW. How ludicrous is my life? How ludicrous is poor Frannie's death? He never did like those dogs. Guess who got the last laugh in THAT relationship.

When Francis died on Friday, I had to come home and become June Gardens, Grave Digger. And I do not know if you've ever dug a hole like that, but MAN is that hard. I mean, I dig holes all the time. I'm always out there in my garden. But a BIG hole?

And apparently the site I chose was brought to me by Alex Haley. Because every three inches there was another ding-dang root. I had to PLY stupid roots out with my shovel, or cut them out with my 1942 clippers. I was sweating like Meat Loaf by the time I was done.

You know when you go to join a gym, and they give you a tour, and they're all, here's the spinning room and here's the weight room? They should have, "Out back, here, is the pet grave digging area. We add new roots every week!"

I wanted to put Francis near his angry chair, only, you know, outside the house. My mistake was to put him on the INSIDE of the fence, where the dogs were, and not outside. Because yesterday when I ventured into the back yard, and saw the dirt thrown hither and yon, and SAW POOR FRANCIS…

Well. It was traumatic.

They didn't drag him around the yard, thank heavens. That archeological team just found him and reported the results to National Geographic or whatever. And do you know I tried to elicit Edsel's help with that hole in the first place? He had been standing there with his mouth gaping, watching me, and I actually got down on all fours and dug like a dog, and said, "Come on, Edsel! Help me dig a hole!"

But Edsel kind of whined and placed one delicate paw in the dirt, then said, "Eds just got clawns clip at day care. Not wish to dirtee."

Oh, but when digging the hole was on his OWN time! SURE! Then he could mess those precious "clawns" up.

I am irritated with the dogs right now. Can you tell?

So anyway, I called Marvin. Have you ever noticed the only times I call Marvin are to say things like there's a scorpion under the corner cabinet, or Tallulah's missing, or my dead cat has been dug up? Who probably enjoys my number flashing on his screen?

So I tell him this lovely tale and I say, "I really don't think I can bear to, you know, excavate Fran and move him to a new place. Can you come do it? I'll dig the hole. I just need someone to move him."

"I'll come dig the new hole," said Marvin. "Geez, how long has he been in there, again?"

"He died on Friday," I said, "and on the third day, he rose again."

We toyed with the idea that maybe Fran was trying to rise from the grave because he was pissed off about the kitten, and we discussed how the dogs managed to move that giant, heavy St. Francis statue I had put over the cat, and anyway, in due time Marvin came over and did the deed. And he got to meet Roger Sterling, whose obligatory blurry photo I will add now:

Pouncy
Here he is pouncing on my robe tie. Do you enjoy my cowboy robe?

Anyway, Marvin buried Franics–again–around the corner, so really Fran is even closer to his angry chair than he was before. He inexplicably put a giant flat weight on top of the site, which is a lovely tribute that makes no sense. I guess he really was worried Francis was doing the kicking of the soil.

So that's the dirt. Bah.

Sigh.

June gets picky

I'm up. It's 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday.

Apparently I am easily trainable, like a German shepherd. I do have a lot of German in me. So to speak. But one week of getting up at 7:00 and whooo! here I am. Up at 7:00 on Sunday. Nice. Relaxing.

So far I have taken out all the trash, done some laundry, put some clothes away, organized (but not paid; don't be silly) the bills, fed the pets and realized I could just stuff Francis' pill in his deer food and not spend nine hundred thousand dollars on pill pockets for him. That was a revelation.

Yes, he's eating DEER now. He grew tired of the bunny. He only wants to eat things that were cute, which makes me feel terrible. Can't he get a hankering for Donald Trump meat?

See what I did there? I went for the Donald Trump joke. That is what happens when I wake up at 7:00. My humor lacks considerably.

Anyway, Tallulah spent the greater part of yesterday catching up on her beauty rest and I was quite tempted to make her get up and wash the car or something, the way parents of teenagers do when they know their kids are hung over.

Nevertheless, I let her sleep, mostly because Edsel ate our bucket so Talu COULDN'T have washed the car. I was in the yard clipping things with my stupid hand-held 1942 hedge clippers, which make my wrists shake after about an hour and yes I do realize I am a giant wuss and this is where Edsel gets it.

On the side of my house is this giant heater/air conditioner unit, and also 80,000 feet of very scary pricky climbing rose bush action, and it is trying to bloom but there were all kinds of weeds getting in the way. So I climbed the ding-dang air-conditioner box and hung precariously off of it and got completely attacked by prickers while I attempted to cut ONLY the weeds and not the pretty roses and every time I came up with a pale pink rosebud I felt bad.

I was in the midst of this unrewarding task, so covered in prickers I was mistaken for a porcupine by my neighbors and shooed away, when I heard rustling in the leaves. I figured it was one of the 8,000 bunnies we have, but when I turned around?

It was a little apricot-colored dog.

You know I don't know from little dogs. It was a Yorkie, I think, or maybe a Pomeranian. Anyway, it was smiling up at me and woooshing its huge feathery tail, obviously attracted to porcupines, and when I said hello it ran away.

I uncontorted myself from my air conditioner and when I got to my front yard, there was nobody with the dog. There she was, running up and down my yard like a crazy person, if a crazy person were six inches tall and feather-tailed.

Then she headed straight to the busy street where Tallulah had gotten hit.

Honestly, is this an epidemic?

So me and my prick suit ran out there and called her over to me just as she was inches from the road, and unlike my OWN dog, she turned around and smilingly ran right into my pokey arms. She let me pick her up and I could feel she had peed herself from all the excitement of meeting a 5'6" porcupine.

The whole thing was pleasant.

I walked down my street, where I had traversed at least 10,000 times this past week looking for Lu in all the wrong places, and there was a family in their back yard, hanging on the hammock, barbecuing, and when they saw the human pincushion with a Yorkie or a Pomeranian or whatever the hell they screamed, "SUGAR!" or some equally dumb name.

June. Losing readers who've named their dog Sugar since 2011.

Their dog had escaped and they hadn't even noticed, which I guess can happen when your dog weighs .06 ounces. They were very grateful and said, "Aren't you the person who lost Tallulah? We heard she came back." Clearly we are famous in this neighborhood. Perhaps I am known for my prickly personality.

BAH.

Oh, and speaking of which, I got a card from the girl I ran into. Remember last month, when I was shopping and my car rolled into that poor girl in a parking lot? She sent me a card saying if anyone was going to hit her, she was glad it was me. So that was nice. It's not every day you get a card from someone you smack into and dent.

And speaking of nice, thank you all for caring so much about Tallulah and her bad self. Thanks for the suggestions about getting her home, and for willing her to come back. I wonder if that's what did it? She was out there having the time of her life like Patrick Swayze, but she kept getting the feeling she should come back to Kellerman's and do the last dance with me.

Someone has seen that movie too many times.

I carried a watermelon.

Anyway, thank you again. Oh, and happy mother's day! Am going to spend today avoiding all restaurants. Because I'm social that way.