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

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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.

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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.

Ferrous Sulfate’s Day Off

I decided what made me ill yesterday was taking my two iron pills way too close together on Sunday. Since I was all busy getting ready and visiting God and everything, I forgot to take it till late afternoon, then I took the other one before bed, and my stomach was all, "WHAAAT? I'm coming up there to talk to you."

I called my doctor, the one who didn't quit (did I tell you the doctor who did my surgery quit? That is, like, doctor number 40,000 now) to ask if I could start taking one effing iron pill a day now and she said yes. Mostly because I have driven her to the brink like every other doctor.

So yesterday I was too afraid to even take that pill, and now I have probably depleted my body of iron and am back to being ironless again.

zzzzzzzzzzzzz….

…what? Oh, my blog. Right.

See what I did there? I fell asleep. That was anemia humor.

Anyway I am mostly better although my stomach is still a little, "You better be good to me." Tina Turner is in there. With her spike heels.

I do not understand you people who can just barf and go on with your day. It is so TRAUMATIC. I mean, maybe it is for me because I haven't done it since 1982. And my record STLL HOLDS. But man.

In other less nauseating news, the dogs and I had some drama the other night.

Now that they have their ridiculous harnesses, which kind of help, I have their leashes all twisted up so it's like one leash for me to hold. I was walking them near the perfect-lawn guy's house, and right next door to him is this kind of shady house. They always have yukky cars in the driveway, and the house needs painted, and I always figure perfect-lawn guy is appalled that he lives next door to this Herman Munster home.

So we're walking past that unkempt house when all of a sudden a HUGE PIT BULL comes CHARGING out of the screen door, there.

Now, I say "huge pit bull" without being prejudiced, as my own Tallulah is part Pit. I am not trying to say, "You all know this dog is evil in its bones because it's a Pit." Although Tallulah is pretty evil in her bones. Basically any dog charging out the screen door would be disturbing, particularly a huge one. And this one was growling.

So without thinking I dropped the leash. Because Tallulah is 800 times nicer when she's not on the leash. If she doesn't have me to worry about me, she is not so rabid. Then I did what any responsible dog owner would do.

I covered my eyes.

"DANG IT, Heather! The dog is out! Nugget! Git in here!"

The least-sophisticated person you have ever seen in your life came running out of that house.

I peeked through my hands to see the anti-Coco Chanel, and Tallulah and the Pit Bull were sniffing each other's buttal regions. Edsel was standing there like a statue. He looked horrified. If he had been able to cover his eyes he would have done so, as well.

"NUGGET! CUT IT OUT!" cried Zelda Fitzgerald, as she approached her dog. It was at that point that the two dogs started fighting, and I really don't know who started it, so stunned and scared and fashion appalled was I by the whole scenario.

Oh, it was dreadful. Tallulah and Mr. Nugget Pit, of the Embroidered Mickey Mouse Sweatshirt Nugget Pits, there, did that thing where they made a tight circle and said, "ROWR ROWR ROWR" and showed their teeth, and poor Edsel, who was connected to the whole thing by a wound leash, was still standing there with his ears down going, "holy shyte. do anyone see Edsel?"

That woman may not have been Heidi Klum, but she certainly was brave. She got right down in the whole thing and PULLED THE DOGS APART.

"GIT YER DOGS! GIT.YER.DOGS!" she yelled at me. Now, I understand I had been standing there with my hands over my eyes pretty much the entire time and I was as useless as Edsel, but geez. Nice neighborly manners. It was HER mean dog who stampeded out there.

I stepped on the leash and gathered it up and explained about the leash aggression thing, and she was hugging her mean cruel red-eyed vicious snarling dog and said, "I unnerstaynd."

Without another word, I walked on, and it was a block before the shock wore off and I started shaking. I finally stopped and checked Tallulah for any injury. She wasn't remotely upset and she didn't even have any dog spit on her, so it must have been one of those things where they made all kinds of noise and showed possessed-by-demons faces but did not actually bite each other. Either that or she was the total victor in that round.

I kind of hope so.

Edsel is seeking therapy for his PTSD and is taking valium for the next week. Good gravy, he is a wimp.

Edsers "we all just get 'long?"

Before I go, I wonder if anyone can tell me what the teensy green bugs are on my climbing roses, and what I can do to gleefully murder them. Perhaps Nugget could come over them and chaw them with his flea teeth. Perhaps Nugget's mom could show the bugs one of her outfits and they would die of shock.

Suggestions, please.

Barf, poop, spiders, embroidered sweatshirts, 11 herbs and spices

I woke up this morning to the sound of Edsel hurling. I do not know if he 's hung over or what his story is, although he has relatively new puppy food–I got it Monday before I went crashing into everyone at PetSmart, there, with my auto.

So I got out of bed and dragged his poor self outside, only to see that Francis had barfed, as well, in the back room, and is there a VIRUS in my house? Also, there was a piece of cat poop on the floor and I'll bet you're glad you tuned into my delightful blog today.

If you are a cat owner, I know you know what I mean when I tell you I could tell Fran had not intentionally pooped on the floor, rather it was one of those, "I wish I could quit you" things that just wouldn't leave, that eventually fell off his large self on his way back to his angry chair.

Anyway, it was a charming morning and I hope I have many happy returns of it.

After cleaning both floors and washing my hands like I was Howard Hughes, I fed everyone and headed to the curtains to open them, only to see THE BIGGEST SPIDER IN THE HISTORY OF TIME on the wall.

This is when it hit me I truly do live alone.

I do not enjoy spiders. They are really the only members of the animal kingdom that I simply cannot warm up to. I mean, you will hear me say, "Hello, little slug!" and "Look at your lizard-y self!" But spiders? Uhhhhhhhggh. No.

"Tallluuuulah!" I called brightly, hoping she'd want to munch that disgusting thing. She ran over helpfully. "Eat that spider, girl."

She put her snout over by that tarantula, and do you know that creature JUMPED at my dog? JUMPED at her!

It's times like this I miss my old tough cat Mr. Horkheimer. Because he would have digested and passed that spider already. My Pit Bull, over here? Shirked and ran out the room.

So I did what any adult would do. I got the spray bottle of Murphy's Oil Soap and soaped that thing to death. Later I have to get up the nerve to vacuum its dead dangly spider parts. Ack.

Yesterday was a much better day. My friend The Other June and I went to an herb show, and by that I do not mean that several men named Herb exposed themselves to the old ladies wearing embroidered sweatshirts.

When do you reach the age when you cease to care about fashion and embrace the embroidered sweatshirt? Because my friend The Other June and I were the only people not wearing those at the herb show yesterday, other than a few hipsters who apparently are into herb gardens as well.

I remember when I was 20, and I used to get so annoyed at unfashionable people. "What is so hard about knowing what's in?" I'd think. "You just look at magazines and emulate the pages." Of course, I used to have instant coffee and potato chips for breakfast when I was 20 and I weighed 113, and I wish I could go back and slap myself, and my point is it's much easier to be fashionable when you are size nothing.

So is that it? You just get rotund enough that you're all, screw it. Ima pull on this embroidered sweatshirt and my mock turtleneck. That'll be cute. When does that happen? When you're 49? 58? 72? I need to know.

At any rate, I got a lavender plant, and I know. How cliche. There was a myriad of herbal delights for me to select and I get the old faithful lavender. I could have gotten Peaches and Herb, Herb Alpert, Herbal Essence, 11 secret herbs and spices. But I got an ENGLISH lavender plant this time, which is different from the French lavender plant I already have. So there you go. I'm mixing it up out there in the garden.

Afterward, we got Indian food at this buffet place right near my house and I wish I didn't know this buffet existed, because now I'm gonna want to go there for lunch every day. I could be their Norm from Cheers. "JUNE!" they could all yell, as I load up on the Tandoori chicken. Soon I'll be looking like Norm.

Do you think the Indian place sells embroidered sweatshirts?

P.S. Confidential to my fellow intellectual RHoNY watchers: Ramona is SUCH a B. I cannot believe she gave skin cream to that interviewee.

Spring. A lovely time to deal with your fibroids.

Spring in the South is lovely. My feeling is for every time you have to see a Confederate flag, you also get to see this:

Bloomy
That's one of the trees in my front yard. Isn't it pretty? And pink?

Also, my next-door neighbor, Peg, has a white dogwood mixed together with a pink dogwood and my purple-y tree is hanging right next to it like this:

Pinkandotherpink
Okay. Trust me. It's more exciting and blossom-y in real life.

Fleurs
Look at that rogue dandelion trying to be all casual back there. "Me? No! I'm not a bad influence on the other flowers! I won't SPREAD everywhere and be a menace! I won't invite the wild onion into your yard! What you mean?"

Whatpile
Also too, the City offered free wood chips to anyone who wanted them, and our whole neighborhood looks like an ant farm. We all have these mounds of chips that no one can use up, and everyone is getting terribly generous with their wood chips all of a sudden.

Don't you hate it when people say "all the sudden"? I also hate it when people say "regiment" when they mean "regimen." "I've been using my skin regiment for years, and I still break out."

Sigh.

Anyway, I am having a wood chip giveaway, if anyone wants any.

Also too too, I am having my delightful fibroids removed next Thursday in an outpatient procedure. They are kind of shaving them off. I'm certain you want to hear every detail. The day I get my fibroids removed coincides with the day Marvin leaves, so I lose fibroids, cats and a husband all on the same day.

My mother is coming to town that day, anyway, and we were planning on getting the HELL out of here so I don't have to watch Marvin go. So after my procedure, we are staying at a fancy hotel nearby where I can recover.

The bright side of all this is that I will no longer wake up to this every day:

Sink
See the sink? See the dishwasher? See how close they are?

See
Let's review. Sink.

Sinkndwasher
Dishwasher.

WHY CAN'T MARVIN'S DISHES MAKE THEIR WAY IN THERE? They are AN INCH from the dishwasher! And yet every morning I get up and put his dishes in the dishwasher, as they are in the sink. So I know there is one week left of doing that. Perhaps every time I get sad, I could refer to these pictures.

Kind of like the Confederate flag/spring blossoms thing.

 

In which you all come charging at me with torches if I mention the “h” word again

FIN!

Fin
Ima keep it just like that, with nothing on it or in it. I worked so hard on the thing; I'd hate to ruin it with stuff marring it.

Hutch
Okay, here it is with stuff. Marvin has packed a lot of his doo-dads, and it turns out a lot of them resided on this here hutch, so it's emptier than it used to be. Knowing me and my old lady knicknack self, it will fill up again in no time.

I do not have an official "before" picture, because believe it or not I do not live every moment with thoughts of my blog in mind, but I culled my photos and found one of our hutch, when it resided with us in Burbank back in aught six or so:

Oldhutch
I know! You can't see the old handles. They were brown and tarnished. And kind of '70s-looking. Like Tony Orlando.

In other news, and I know you're sad to move away from the topic of the hutch, The Other June and I went to the farmers market yesterday and I bought a bird house that will supposedly get bluebirds in it. It was seven dollars. I thought I took a picture of it but apparently I did not. I culled my iPhone shots and it was not there.

"Culled" is a big word with me today.

At any rate, it basically looks like this:

Mrbluebird I was thinking I might…

…paint it.

I KNOW! I'm OBSESSED. When did I become Junebrandt?

Also, while I was there, I got something I have always wanted to get. I have always always always wanted a St. Francis statue for my yard. I never got one because (a) in LA I never HAD a yard, (4) Marvin never seemed keen on having a saint in his yard once we DID have one and (12) they were always $9,000 when I saw them. But yesterday I found one for a good price and yes I do know that I am unemployed.

I was so excited to take old St. Francis home and plop him in my garden.

And guess what.

Edsel is terrified of him.

He's the patron saint of ANIMALS, for goodness sake. Why is Edsel scared of him? Is Edsel the devil? Does everything named Francis horrify Edsel? Does Edsel think I have actually put a miniature person under the azalea, back there?

Eatfrancihed
Anyway, here was my first attempt to take a photo, but as you can see, Edsel has alarmed St. Francis considerably.

Bluebird
Oh, look. I DID take a picture of my new $7 bluebird house. Nice culling. It is next to the 33 million cans of paint and ruined shelf, there, because EVERYTHING HAS PAINT ON IT NOW.

Francistrepidation
Anyway, here is a better photo of St. Francis, who is still wishing he were back at the garden store and not being constantly sniffed and barked at by a dog. He is so rethinking this patron-saint-of-animals thing.

And after the farmers market, Other June and I went to a bookstore that inexplicably also sold kitchen supplies, and I bought a tea kettle. We don't have a microwave anymore, and I needed one for my Cream of Wheat and tea and general water-heating needs.

Yes, I am aware, once again, that I am unemployed. SHUT UP.

Teateateateateatea
Isn't it lovely? Isn't it cheerful? Don't you just want to heat up some water and serve tea to St. Francis? While admiring my hutch? And waiting for bluebirds? And my unemployment check?

Okay, off to chase Edsel around with a statue.

Team Fibroid

Beleaguered April, the nurse who assists my doctor, called me at 3:18 yesterday. "Miss June? You got a fibroid."

Well.

I'm glad I spent $900 to learn WHAT I ALREADY KNEW. Okay, you spent $900 so I could learn what I already knew. Still. At least it wasn't, you know, a bomb or anything residing in there. My doctor referred me to a gynecologist and we go from there. I'll either have outpatient surgery or a giant hysterectomy, but either way it will be fine.

Maybe I am eating too much fiber. You think? Hence the FIBroid?

So that problem is solved. I mean, sort of.

Also, I know it's Pieces of Wisdom day but I'm not in the mood. Is everyone okay with that? I do not wish to be wise this week. Next week we're going to work on Faithful Reader Hulk's dating life, a thing that needs fixing in the worst way. It needs the loving hands of all the yentas who are up in this here blog.

In the meantime, even though I got 99 problems, my garden ain't one.

Bloom
Despite the 94852445 dead leaves that I keep raking and yet hey! there's more!, my spring flowers are blooming. See my purple hyacinths hither and yon?

Jonquil
Being pretty. It so exhausting.

Yes, my flowers do talk like Tallulah. I know it's a coincidence.

Pink
Hya! I a 'cynth!

Good Lord, I need to leave the house.

Talu and Edsel still have free dog day care visits left, and seeing as Edsel has already chewed (a) a pillow, (b) a shoe (c) Winston and (d) my favorite sock and (e) yes it IS sad that I have a favorite sock, I am taking their houndy selves to day care. Then Ima paint this DANG HUTCH, which WILL NOT LOOK GOOD and I am going to have to call Starsky for advice soon, and there, folks, is my day. Oh, crap. And I have to take a copyediting test for a freelance company.

I just learned copyediting as a verb is one word. It used to annoy me when people made it one word then I looked it up. Oops. Looking things up. A thing copy editors should probably do. FYI: "copy editor" is two words, still.

Isn't this an informative place? Remember when I used to feature Ask June, and you would ask me grammar questions? Then the other readers would complain that that was boring? Whatever with them. Grammar and spelling are fascinating.

As is having a favorite sock.

 

Straight outta the garden

It's Saturday. Yesterday it was 72 degrees here, and it is sunny and warmish here again. Do you feel like you are reading the diary of someone from 1912? Why did they always report the weather?

The point of me telling you this is that it gave me ample opportunity yesterday to pull ivy. And once again I'd like to THANK the person who introduced it into my yard in the first place. Really.

Thanks.

Anyway, as usual I could not find my gardening gloves. I have 900 pair of them and WHERE DO THEY ALL GO? I looked all in the shed, convinced I was gonna stare a family of copperheads in the face at any minute, and I found neither heads of copper nor gloves.

So I went bareback. And oh, I pulled. I yanked and I clipped and I tore and I tugged that ivy. And after filling a whole barrel, I stood up, and the tiniest section you ever saw was cleared.

Carp.

Then I remembered we needed cat litter, so Edsel and I got in the car and went to PetSmart. I cannot take both dogs with me somewhere when it is just me, because are they a couple of rambunctious dicks when they're together?Are they Lenny and Squiggy?

Helloooo.

So I got the 25-pound box of cat litter, which some A-hole in the packaging department over at Tidy Cat–and there's a job, "I'm in the packaging department at Tidy Cat"–decided a small, thin, sharp plastic handle would be good for lugging that heavy box.

Imagine spending two hours tugging ivy–and incidentally also poison ivy, which thank God doesn't affect me–for two hours with your bare hands. Then imagine having a pulling, rambunctious German shepherd puppy in one hand, and a 25-pound shard of plastic in your other hand.

Such was my joy yesterday afternoon.

"Ma'am, do you need help?" a young boy asked me as I minced to the checkout counter.

"Yes, I do, and I can't tell you how I like you Southern men," I said, looking un-insane with my red-dirt pants and my Annette Benning hair and my Ouiser jumping dog.

The nice guy, who he told me has a German shepherd as well, helped me all the way to my car, and since it was daytime and teeming with people I figured he couldn't kill me or anything. Plus I had that tough Edsel for protection. I noticed he had an LA hat on. "Are you from LA?" Nothing gets past me.

Turns out he was from Compton, which is, like, the worst neighborhood in the universe, and his parents sold their house there and bought their house here for cash. I almost said, "You can even sell a house in COMPTON and get a house for cash here," but I caught myself. However, that's exactly what Marvin said when I relayed the story.

 

Anyway, it was nice to be helped by a nonSouthern boy, and this kid was not black, so the part where I just said "boy" is not as awful as it sounds.

I am going to put on winter gloves today and hack at the ivy again. Once I get started on ivy I get obsessed. My hands look like Scarlett's when she visited Rhett in jail.

In the meantime, comment of the week goes to my personal friend–which kind of makes it sound like she is my vibrator but she isn't–Pal from MA, who discussed my pie panting and used the word "cooter." Click on This Week's Special if you need to see the use of the word "cooter" in a sentence. And who doesn't?

June cleans

I wish I could begin to tell you how many hours I spent yesterday trying to get stubborn soap scum off my bathtub. I realize this makes me (a) boring and (b) boring, and also a Stepford Wife who is incidentally boring.

I went on the Internet for tips on how to remove said scum, because the Internet tells me how to do everything, and it said to make a squirt bottle of dish soap and water. So I did that and it didn't work. Why would soap remove soap?

Then it said to heat up vinegar, so all of a sudden it was Easter egg season in here. I sprayed warm vinegar, let it set…and NOTHING.

Then I made a paste of baking soda and water. Then I used the Kaboom I got sent for free for touting it in this blog.

Nothing and also nothing.

Finally in frustration, Tallulah and I went to the store, me in my sweat pants that had dirt all over them because I had been pulling wild onions in the yard earlier. I feel like I live in the only part of the country where it was 63 degrees yesterday.

Anyway I looked good, is what I did. And didn't smell like I'd had a Kaboom and vinegar onion salad or anything. I was sincerely hoping it was Jon Hamm day at the market, because did I mention how good I looked?

To wrap up this scintillating story, what finally did the trick was the Magic Erase thing, which I think is infused with satanic power, which I just misspelled stanic power. It is infused with the power of Stan.

When Marvin got home hours later, I was still cleaning and I said to him, "I want you to go into the bathroom and look in the tub. I know you never noticed the soap scum in there, but I want you to act like you see how clean it is now and tell me it looks good."

"…Well…" said Marvin, holding up a bag from Home Depot. He had caulking stuff and was planning to recaulk the tub. Now it is all dirty again with caulking things.

I hate everything.

In other news, Marvin put this picture up on Facebook:

Childhood
Here is my childhood in a nutshell. This was my sixth birthday. That is my father's best friend in the purple, there. Nobody in this picture has reached the age of 25, and when I think of how young my parents were and that they were in charge of my small self it makes me unable to breathe a little.

Or maybe that's just the Kaboom fumes.

I gotta make like soap scum and get out of here.

Cranky June

Oh, please. Like I have time to blog. Do you understand just HOW MANY Sopranos episodes there are?

Also too, Marvin and I are cleaning up the back yard, which looks like depressed drug addicts own it. Depressed drug addicts who enjoy disemboweling plush toys. Then I have a movie with my friend Hammy this p.m. (we're seeing some British film at the fancy foreign-film place) and THEN I have a 1920s theme party to go to. Well, and so does Marvin, if he can get his zoot suit in order.

I have no idea if zoot suits are from the '20s.

In the meantime, don't forget to take a photograph tomorrow and email it to me with your name, blog link, where you live and what time of day itwas. And no, you can't send me one on Monday instead. And the first person who sends me one Monday and uses the phrase "late for the party" has to EAT an inflatable meatload.

Meatload. Oh that is disgusting, whatever it is. Meatload. Look, my wrists are already tired from using the giant hedge clippers in the back yard today. Do you have any idea how many fricken weed trees are back there?

Anyway, Siren is comment of the week, because she is so uplifting and chipper. She is kind of like Snow White. Or Francis. I heart you, Siren.

Fred

Is nothing sacred?

Insill
This is where the cats are supposed to perch, not the dogs. Plus, I love his "What'd I say?" piano-playing feets.

He was being more than bad. And pianistic. He was being a tattle-tale. I was in the kitchen and he was trying to alert me that terrible things were happening in the sacred cat room.

Everyonesbad
SOMEONE, and my guess is Winston, believe it or not, knocked over the cat food. I don't think Edsel would have told had Talu not been curling her lip satanically every time Edsel tried to join in on the eating of the prey. Pack animal indeed.

Poor Henry is trying to guard his empty dish. "go on, odsell. sometime fud grow in here."

Anyway.

Yesterday, Marvin and I went to the Bodies exhibit, speaking of prey. Have you seen this thing?

Halfthemaniusedtobe It's real humans, all dead and dried out and kind of plasticized. You get to see just everything: brains, livers, the circulatory system, dangling man parts. It was at once totally disgusting and fascinating.

Supposedly, everyone in the exhibit had donated their body to science, although they also had fetuses and Marvin asked, "When did THEY sign the consent form, exactly?" The whole thing was disturbing. I kept thinking, What if one of MY relatives were on display in this thing? Still, as I said, totally riveting.

It was exciting to see spleens, as I do not have one. Ditto the dangling man parts. Although I feel sorry for the Chinese women of the world, as all the bodies were Chinese men. Or Chinamen, as Marvin's politically correct grandmother would say about every Asian person.

I am just saying. There wasn't much to write home about.

"Dear Mom. Saw the dangling man parts of Chinese men. This will be a small letter. Love, June."

After that, believe it or not, we went for some gelato, because you can see how that would lead to craving gelato, and then to the world's most pretentious grocery store. They play classical music and have three-dollar bottles of water. Have you seen this new bottled water called Fred? The bottle is shaped like a pint. Nice. Fred. The water for upscale homeless people.

Bottled-water-pic9 Who is their demographic, exactly? Pretentious people who think if your $800 bottled water is called Fred that you are all ironic and not a tool? Guess again, Fred drinkers.

That said, I kind of wanted to buy one, because the bottle is cool-shaped. Am I a hammer or a chainsaw, do you think? Or just one of those crude caveman tools, like a big rock or something?

Finally, and this is very exciting and I hope you are holding on to your hat, I am going to plant a climbing rose today. I know! I have been waiting for months, because for the zone I live in, which is the danger zone and I've taken the highway to it, you plant your climbing roses in January.

Everyrosehasitsthorn
Isn't it lovely? Isn't it wonderful? We went to the garden place, and Marvin was all, "It's dead!" Someone has no vision. It is HIBERNATING. I have to soak it for a few hours, then I plant its ass and in the spring, it'll look like this:

  Newdawn
Won't that be lovely? Marvin will eat.his.words. I just have to watch it and water it with a little Fred and it'll be loverly.

So that is all that is happening over yonder.

Looking forward to the inevitable cleanup of cat-food barf later today.

Your friend and mine,

June

 

It’s here! Wake the kids! The day June talks about her bulbs!

I worked until 11:00 last night. And what I am today? Attractive. Also? Perky. Plus? Attractive.

Also incidentally, could it be raining any harder? I know some people say the rain helps them sleep, but I just splayed there in the bed, pinned by animals, so I wasn't all that splayed really, wondering when it was going to STOP WITH THE RAIN NOISE.

One time Marvin and I stayed at a hotel right on the ocean, and after day one I was all, "Can we get that crashing waves sound effect turned off?" Irritating.

I noticed, while I lay there last night, that every time I move in the slightest, Tallulah sidles up to me in her sleep, and once she is sufficiently pressed against me again, she sighs, "Hmmmmmmmm." It's so cute. You'd never know she was this cute when someone has the nerve to walk by with a baby stroller. (strollers dive her bats. she sounds less like a cute doggie and more like a 200-pound Rottweiler. who hasn't had its rabies shots. )

Oh! And I know you are all breathless with anticipation and this is like when they keep talking at the end of Miss America without announcing the winner, and you JUST WISH I'D TALK ABOUT MY BULBS, but I did want to mention book club. Before I forget. Because have you met me?

Officially, book club is this weekend. Click on Mince Words with June for details. Which is something Faithful Reader Paula H&B REFUSED to do, and just because I said I THOUGHT book club was NEXT weekend, she has not stampeded her way through Little Womenses like she ought.

Did the rest of you do this? Were you all silly enough to think I knew for sure when book club was when I said I THOUGHT it was the 10th and not the 3rd? What I'm saying is, we can have it next weekend if we need to. Your thoughts, please.

Okay. It's finally here. Strap yourselves in.

So, in the spring, I get daffodils in droves, as does anyone who remotely plants one daffodil in the South, as it must be the ultimate place for daffodils or something. So that's good, but I wanted a little, you know, variety in my garden come spring.

So this past weekend (not the one coming up that may or may not have book club), I went shopping for bulbs. And I had NO IDEA they came packaged like this.

See. Here is where I thought it'd be pretty to hold up my packages of bulbs against the rising sun (there is. a house. in New Orleans.) (they CALLLLL the RISING SUN!) (what an irksome song that is), and yet when I got up this morning?

Rainforget
Rain.

It rain. Forget.

That is one of my favorite of Tallulah's Facebook status updates, which yes, I know I write her status updates so once again I am amused by my own self, but in her status update, she keeps asking to go out ("Lu go out now? How 'bout now? Lu stare at you while you watch Real Housewifes. Out now?") and then she finally goes to the door and says, "Oh. It rain. Forget."

(Tallulah is listed as Tallulah Gardens on Facebook and would love to be your pal.)

Today Marvin had to literally pick her up and put her outside so she'd pee. It rain. Forget.

At any rate, did you know they make packages of bulbs that tell you when to plant them and in which order they'll bloom? So you can have hyacinths and peonies and tulips and other bulby plants all spring?

Okay, well I didn't know, Smuggie.

First
Here is a really good picture of my bulbs. Apparently my bulbs are ghosts.

Second
Do you like my robe? It's Marvin's cowboy-pictures robe.

Third

I cropped this one. It's from the agrant collection.

Blubs
Obviously I am into the idea of hyacinths. And I think these might be guaranteed to bloom. I am unsure.

Anyway, I will plant them this weekend and am beside self. Now I just have to wait six months and whoo! Reward. Almost as rewarding as this post.

Okay, let me know when you want to have book club. And no matter when I happens, I look forward to the people who comment and say, "Now I wish I'd have read the book!" JUST READ THE BOOK.

Your cheerful pal,

June