Noon June

It’s Monday at lunch, and I tried to write you all this morning, but stuff kept happening and I never got around to it. But here I am! The one that you love! Asking for another dayyyyy.

In case you were gone this weekend, or trying heroin or the FedEx delivery man, I wrote about my trip to TinyTown this weekend. It’s the post below this one. I also just linked to it. So you won’t have to be all, What happened in TinyTown, JOOOOOOOOOON??? Why didn’t you write about TinyTown, JOOOOOOONN. In my head, the more I write “JOOOOON,” the harsher you sound saying it.

Other than that, here is what else I’ve been up to…

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Oh my god, June, NO ONE CARES.

I headed out yonder to visit my friends Chris and Lilly, who are 100% over me but have to tolerate me because they’re nice people.

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“Is she gone yet? Don’t look over there. …Did she go?”

They made a nice plate of snacks, which I was indulging in despite my clean diet.

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Anyway, there I was, indulging, when we all…smelled something.

“So you smell that?” asked Chris, and they probably worried about the contents of my adult diaper, so old am I compared to them. In the grand scheme of things, I’m Ruth Gordon to their Mia Farrow. Try the mouse.

“It’s just me!” announced their child, Z, from the hallway. She leaned into the room. “I just wanted a little company!”

IMG_E2467.JPGTurns out Z felt the…call of nature, so she brought her…call of nature chair into the hallway, right outside of the living room, to, you know. Answer nature. It was more a social event than a private event, for her. It was the social event of the season, really.

Also, I got my hair cut. I go to a regular hairdresser who colors and cuts my hair, but she doesn’t do the Deva cuts, which is a specific cut for curly hair that you have to get a certificate in and so on.

I could see my hair wasn’t…bouncing as it can, and the curls were getting heavy, so I Googled the closest place that does Deva cuts, made an appointment, and walked in this week…

…to an African American salon.

Okay. So.

I guess I never thought about it before, but once I walked into that place, the only BETTY WHITE in there, the only person who was BEYOND THE PALE, it dawned on me. I saw the light, and it was my skin. Maybe there are salons specifically for women of color, and maybe I just walked into one.

White girl walks into a salon.

But here’s the thing. A, they didn’t kick me out, and 2, they were really nice to me and 12, here’s my new hair:

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June. Stop.

No, really, HERE is my new hair:

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Right?

Here it is on another day:IMG_2458.jpgRight right? She did a great job! As Faithful Reader Fay says, I have gone black and I will not go back. I’ll still go to my color person, ironically, for color. But I’m sticking with this hairdresser for cuts.

Then finally yesterday, I tried getting back on Facebook after a few-week hiatus, but almost instantly, people started messaging me, which of course is why I got off Facebook.

(Just to catch you up, in case this was your season to try heroin, or the FedEx delivery man, a person kept sending me messages on Facebook, messages to do with Ned, and when I blocked her, she created a new profile and messaged me again. This gave me the PTSD any time my message indicator came on Facebook.

I wrote here, and on Facebook, and on the page Facebook of June, asking for people to not send me personal messages, but it kept happening. So, knowing I can’t change anyone, I just got off there. I was hoping when I got back on that I just wouldn’t get many messages, but I did, and they made me anxious again, so I left. Again.) (And shutting off messenger doesn’t help. It still tells you you have messages.)

So that was a long stint back on there. Hey, 12 hours!

And finally. In summation. To wrap up. You will note on the side of this page (if you’re on your desktop computer) or at the bottom of this page (if you’re on your phone) that there is a new feature here. It’s called From the Beginning, and it will eventually list all my categories in chronological order.

I have all kinds of stupid categories from this blog: Ned, my pets, my health, Tracy Quartermaine. But if you wanted to just sit down and read about a particular topic, you’d have to read from the present day and scroll down. Read backwards, as it were.

This annoyed me, which is saying a lot because we all know what a long fuse I have. But there’s a woman named Elizabeth who works for WordPress, who offered me her services when I came over here, and she has been magnificent, and I asked her, “Is there a way we can show some stuff in order, and not backwards?”

So she made the little From the Beginning section, and we started with the …friend/Ned category, dating back from January of 2012 when I met his ass, and ending with whenever I last wrote about him.

As I learn how the hell to add the other categories, I will add them. She did this one for me, because did I mention magnificent?

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You rilly sort of dullist person on erf.
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do not bor furthir

So that SORT of sums things up, although I have other things to tell you, but I will save them up. Savor them. Build the anticipation.

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mom blawg. fale.

Talk to you soon, from the warm supportive bosom of my pet family.

Jooooooon

When a story really gels

I’ve not mentioned this, but work is busy. And this week, what arrived but a book, a whole book, for me to freelance copyedit. They wanted me to do that in a week, but I called that place and said YA TRYINA KILL ME? And now I have till the 17th.

The point is, when things get busy, I have some physical reactions, re-act-shuns, and that’s the story Ima tell you today.

So, for the last week, it’s been, you know, hectic at work. Stuff is coming at me before I even get there, then all day I think I know what I have to get done and that I’ve got it under control and then even more stuff comes my way.

We had a big meeting this week about how important it is that everything gets copy edited, yet there are still the same number of copy editors there, and mother of god.

And I agree, is the thing. Everything should get copy edited. So I can’t turn my back on my religion, there, even though it’s stressy.

Yesterday morning I was showering, and not at all thinking about all the things I had to do that day, when my bathroom door burst open. It was another one of those situations that let me know when a murderer really does burst in, Ima be frozen like a deer when your headlights are barreling toward it.

As someone was opening the doorknob, and I was recalling that I do, in fact, live alone, I stood naked and frozen in the shower. BOOM, went the door as it opened, and

TAAA-DAAAA

went the universe, as Steely Dan stood in the threshold, paws victoriously on his hips. heeeer i be.

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was thurstee

And go ahead. Notice that that bath rug should probably be exchanged for a cleaner one. My house is ludicrous right now, with the busy. Just last night I finally got sick of stepping over my open suitcase on the bedroom floor, and finally unpacked it all the way and put it away, in the closet. Those antlers had been staring at me judgmentally all week from the bowels of my case.

Anyway, all that cat wanted was to drink from the toilet, and he wanted it NOWWW, so he, you know, got on his hind legs and turned a crystal doorknob with his evil paws. As you do. When you’re thumbless.

The point is, that was the serene way I began my day, and it got better from there.

IMG_1526.jpgHere’s m’boss, fmr., and me, at a meeting yesterday. Apparently it was “Wear muted purple” day.

IMG_1523.jpgHere’s another coworker and me noting we have on similar shoes. Apparently it was “Wear pointy shoes” day.

Wait. Which?

Anyway, it was busy, which I believe I’ve mentioned, and if I DID pee all day, I don’t recall it, and the whole point of this story is it was 5:30 and I was getting ready to leave. I was at my car, in fact, with plans to go to the grocery store before going home. I  realized I needed to pee; went back in to do so.

It was then, finally, after a whole day of stressing, and knowing what happens to me when I’m stressing, that I looked in the mirror and

MOTHER

OF

GOD.

My hair.

My hair was insane. And no. I did not photograph it.

When you have ludicrous hair like mine, the latest thing is to use sulfate-free products, and to shampoo with conditioner (yes, it still has some cleansing agents), and so on. But every once in awhile you have to use a clarifying shampoo, because eventually your hair just gets kind of Rosie the Robot doing her impression of Miss Judy. The-Jetsons-and-Rosie-the-Robot.jpgDoes anyone remember that impression? Where she’s beleaguered and bent over and exhausted? I can’t find it online.

Anyway, yesterday morning I clarified, because what with the extra product that I used for making my Frida costume believable and so on, my hair was looking distinctly sad and hangdog.

And then when I was done clarifying, I realized, oh. I’m pretty much out of gel, the good gel, the sulfate-and-alcohol-free good gel, so I used this kind I hate. All that plus work stress, and my 5:30

MOTHER

OF

GOD

with my hair. It wasn’t just big. It was big and frizzy. It was big and frizzy and was seriously lacking in, you know, any shape. When I stress, my hair stresses with me. Always has.

This art guy was still in his office when I left the bathroom. “All day I’ve been looking like this, and no one said anything about my, you know, hair looking like this.”

The art guy looked at my hair awhile. “They were being kind, I guess,” he surmised.

Last night I bought the good gel, and even tried to come home and wet it and USE said good gel, but I couldn’t even get my hands through my… angry bush, there. If you’ll forgive the disgusting imagery.

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neeeedee commitee, um, sit heer. away from harr.

So that is why today, even though I don’t usually GET my hair wet two days in a row, I just got in the shower and began anew.

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After all, tomorrow is another hair day.

Wish me luck.

I ran out of Ritalin. You can totally tell.

I did something I wish I hadn’t.

I agreed via email, while at my regularly scheduled job, to take on a freelance project. I didn’t pay enough attention to the deets and dear June, please say deets, because please see above ref to regularly scheduled job and distracted. They offered me a flat rate, and I already agreed, and it’s not nearly going to be enough for the volume of work Ima have to do.

Crap. Contract is signed. Work is already with me. Crap, I say.

In the meantime, it will keep me out of trouble, and there is SOME money in it. Just not much.

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Me, at work. With Molly, of the at-work Mollys. Shown for no reason other than this photo kind of amuses me.

We had our annual pumpkin painting contest at work yesterday.

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I never participate, except to go out there and eat the snacks, and judge everyone’s work. I have no visual skillz. Like, seriously none.

Yesterday, when my day of judging pumpkins and pumping kin and so on was done, I meandered to our bustling downtown, which is sort of bustling, actually, and is generally pleasant other than the occasional crazy guy “Excuse me, ma’am”-ing you as you walk by. Maybe it’s because when I’m downtown, I drive all the old men crazy.

A guy asked me if I could get him something to drink. Someone had bought him a plate of Middle-Eastern food, and I could just see this white person, all proud of himself, not thinking OH MY GOD THIS WOULD MAKE YOU THIRSTY, and the point of my story was I ended up buying this man some very pretentious $2.50 water at the local bookstore.

But yesterday, I went down there not to drive all the old men crazy, although that’s a given, but to get my red coat.

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I’d admired said red coat at my friend Kit’s store, which you’ll be stunned to hear is called Design Archives. It’s a ’50s, swingy coat, a red-orange color, and I almost bought it but didn’t, because I already HAVE a winter coat, so why do I need another.

“Oh, hell, I’ll give it to you for [insert absurdly low amount here],” said Kit, when I messaged her later. “I’ll tell them to put it on hold for you.”

And that is why I was downtown, driving all the old men crazy, and Dear June: You are not Thin Lizzie. Stop. Love, Readers.

“I want to see your new red coat,” my friend Hamlet wrote me, because everyone must know my everything, so when I got home last night, I slopped the hogs, fed own self, drove all the old men crazy and finally came in here to take a webcam photo of said red coat, to not only give Hamlet the exciting sneak preview, but also to show all y’all today.

The goddamn webcam takes 87 hours to pop up on my computer. There have been plenty of times I’ve wanted to webcam you during a blogging not blogging moment, and said fuck it cause it takes too long. So last night I clicked on the icon for it, then prepared to wait the hundred hours for it to finally work.

When I DID see it was up, I noted that instead of the camera being on, the video thing, veeeeedeo thing, was on, and what I enjoy about myself is my rapid ability to show off.

I am reminded once again of my grandmother saying, “Look at her. She doesn’t need anybody else. Just sits with herself and laughs.”

Photo on 10-12-17 at 8.04 PM #2.jpgAnyway, here’s the coat.

IMG_0909.jpgAfter I got my designs from the archives last night, and before I came home to show off for company, I headed back to the bookstore to sit in the window and watch people. Judge their pumpkins. I like how I show you instead a view INSIDE the store, but whatever.

IMG_0906.jpgOooo, also, I forgot to mention that when I took a walk with m’coworkers yesterday, I saw a KITTEN, a black-and-white KITTEN, under a car. “KITTEN!” I said, racing toward it.

“How did she see that?” I heard someone ask.

Anyway it ran away from me, and into these woods, and after work I returned to said woods and “kitty-kittied” myself hoarse and no kitten. Annoy.

The rustling through the woods and the walking downtown in the rain and Dancing This Mess Around and driving all the old men crazy resulted in end-of-day hair that looked like this:

IMG_0915.jpgDear God. Yes, I DID have that shirt on inside-out. You know how I am.

So that about sums it up. I got a weekend yawning before me, as I do, and that’s just fine. I don’t know why no one will dance with me.

I ain’t no limburger.

June, driving all the old men crazy, since whenever I became obsessed with that line.

Me and you and a dog with Blu

I did many things this weekend, but one thing I did not do was much sleeping.

Internet: Why, Joon?

Joon: Noneya, Internet.

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Vintage June sports her vintage slip on Friday.

On Friday afternoon, I was toiling at m’desk when the phone rang. “WHAT.” I thought, as I am cheerful and elegant about being interrupted when in a flow.

It was my doctor’s office. I’d had an appointment for them to see how I was doing on my Ritalin. I’d gotten scattered and forgotten. Hello, irony? Are you there, irony? It’s me–OOOO, SHINY THING LOOK!

Fortunately, he’s right across the street, my doctor is, so I screamed over there. He just wanted to see me in personal (did I ever tell you that story? Of the prisoner who wanted to get to know me “in personal”?), just to see if Ritalin made me, you know, too peppy.

Apparently it doesn’t, and he doubled my dose, and we’ll see how it goes from there. The good news is, I took the new double dutch bus amount right away, and screamed home after work and got a lot of freelance done before having fun that night. I never do that. It’s either, Ima go out tonight or Ima freelance tonight. BUT I DID BOTH!

Oh, Ritalin. [Chucks Ritalin under chin]

On Saturday I got a manicure (kind of a green/blue. I know that’s my new color. ….Really? Okay, hang ON).

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I know you can’t get enough of these me-in-the-Laila-Ali-hairdryer shots

Oooo, it’s on sale right now! Click this picture to get to it on Amazon. They, the Amazon people, the Amakazons, sent me a very vague email about how I’m not doing something, and maybe it’s that I’m not touting the wares enough? It was purposely obtuse, if you ask me, and this whole not blog is me assuming you’re asking me everything.

Anyway, on Saturday night I saw Ward, this man I’ve gone out with a few times who came up with the blog name “Ward” without knowing my blog name is June, a thing that sent all 10 of you abuzz.

The point is, Ward has met the animals, and the animals have met Ward. Need I tell you Edsel’s reaction?

damm et, mom
leaf lone, mom

I went outside to try to get Edsel in a “EDS IN LUFF O EDZUL GOD” photo, but he’s out there quite involved with Blu and hasn’t time for us right now. Behold a photo of me taking Blu and dangling it over my head, just so that damn dog would pay me any mind.

Anyway, Edsel has asked for his own Facebook account just so he can update his status to IN RELASHION WIF WARD. Oh, he simpered, he offered his ears up for pets, he’d walk away and come back to be sure of Ward, he flumped to his bed and gazed at him. Edsel is Violet Bicks. He likes every boy.

The good news is, Ward came up with the best Steely Dan voice, sort of a “If Barry White were from Louisiana” thing that OH MY GOD IS SO STEELY DAN’S VOICE. It is totally that cat’s voice. Low, manly, lazy, not-give-a-shit-y.

Perfect. So, now SD has a brand voice.

On Sunday, I gathered up my freelance and headed to the coffee shop, where I get more done because there are distractions here. I can sit down to do my work and realize I’ve spent 21 minutes playing with Edsel’s teeth.

I went to a coffee shop downtown, where everyone pretends to be involved with his or her laptop but looks up any time anyone walks in, lest they be pickupable. Of course, seeing as I’m 89 years old, I do not fall into the pickupable category.

I had a cafe au lait and a chocolate croissant (say, just-not-mentioning-it-to-my Weight-Watchers-app, how’s the cheating going?), and got all my work done, because Ritalin.

It was raining hard out, so I sat on the leopard-spotted couch and watched the rain come down, and the people passing by downtown, and thought about how lucky I am.

And now I must head to work. It’s still rainy and no matter how hard Laila Ali blows me, Ima be frizzy today, but it’s Monday, Blu Monday, and there’s not much you can do about that.

XO,
June

Ion the greatest

Photo on 9-21-17 at 7.57 AMI’m blogging (not blogging) at you while I’m drying my hair with my new Laila Ali ionic bonnet dryer! Oh, June, will your riveting ionic adventures never end?

As you know, I have hair. And my choices before work are: run some kind of water through it and look vaguely okay, if looking like King Charles II qualifies as “okay.”

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Also, Nair.

And we’re talking that’s if it dries well. Because let’s say I don’t add enough gel, or I drive to work with the windows down, or I ACCIDENTALLY TOUCH IT STOP DON’T TOUCH IT STOP DON’T TAKE THE CAR, YOU’LL KILL YOURSEEEEEEE…

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You touched it. You touched your hair. Now Peter Frampton knows you’re imitating him, and he has to show you his junk. And borrow a shirt from Strawberry Shortcake.

Also, “Don’t take the car, you’ll kill yourseeeeee” is from my favorite public service announcement:

Just one iota of a second. That’s all they needed to do, was cut this one iota of a second later, and I wouldn’t have spent the rest of my life obsessing.

Anyway. My other option is to wash my hair entirely, which means my coworkers have to watch in horror as I arrive to work with completely wet hair, even though it’s usually been two hours between the time I’ve washed it and when I actually arrive.

They’re still watching in horror at noon.

Or, I could blow it dry.

Troy-Polamalu-gets-hair-insured-1million-dollarsBut Faithful Reader Beverly, who is in the same Women With …Hurr support group on Facebook as me, uses a bonnet dryer, and because I must BE Beverly, and live in her skin, I decided to get one, too.

Behold the Laila Ali Ionic Soft Bonnet Hair Dryer, below. I’m glad it’s ionic, because I enjoy irony as much as the next person.

And of course this is a link to Amazon. You know what a marketing genius I am.

When I first got the idea to live in Beverly’s skin and be her hair, I got on Amazon (not through my blog, because who has time for that bullshit?) and searched for bonnet dryers, and the first one to appear was this one above.

The fact that Muhammad Ali’s daughter was hawking hair dryers was kind of funny to me. Would this make me tough? She’s also pretty–would I be pretty if I used it? That’s generally my question for everything, though. If I use this/spend all my money on this/withstand this horrific outpatient procedure, will I be pretty?

But something came over me, something adult-ish this way comes, and I said, No. I’m not just going to impulsively purchase the very first bonnet dryer that the Ali family trots out, like some kind of willy-nilly bonnet purchaser. Ima be more like Ned, and research, and take my time, and never commit to just one.

Bitter? The Bitter party? Your table’s ready.

So I looked at reviews and read up and researched, and?

It said to get the Laila Ali Ionic Soft Bonnet Dryer. I got it on sale, somehow, and I see the one I linked you to is $45, and I’m sorry. It’s the only one they gave me to give you. Clearly Laila Ali and I are in cahoots, and we are fist bumping as I speak to you, and also, were you aware that sitting under a bonnet dryer makes you sort of sweaty?

When my grandmother, the one I have officially turned into®, used to sit under her bonnet dryer, one of her many cats would come sit on her lap, next to the dryer, I think because it was warm.

She would always have on her zip-up robe during dry-the-hair time–my grandmother did, not the cat–and always, always with her open-toed slippers.

Those kinds of slippers are exclusive only to grandmothers, as are zip-up robes, for that matter, along with those hard candies that have the strawberry wrapper on the outside, Pond’s Cold Cream, and disposable rain bonnets.

il_570xN.354520724_3iioI adored these, and my grandmother had them at the ready, inexplicably, because it was important that y’do stay fresh when you are 3. Maybe my grandmother didn’t want to sit around till noon watching my hair dry.

Also, try cramming that cute rain bonnet back in that container. No, go ahead. I’ve been trying since 1968, but go ahead.

Okay, it’s been half an hour…

Photo on 9-21-17 at 8.32 AM #4Oh my god, m’hair’s dry! And it’s cute-ish!

Thank you, Laila Ali. Thank you and your whole overachieving family. You are an ionic family, is what you are, and my hair appreciates your efforts.

Curlishly,

June

Cream. Get on top. Cream.

Three entire days of a holiday weekend. Twenty thousand climbs up m’stepstool. Five trips to the paint store. Nineteen inappropriate advances made on young paint salesboy.

And? Continue reading “Cream. Get on top. Cream.”

Turn around, bright eyes

Look at the sun, up there. Soooooo smug. Oh, Ima shine on you all day. Like I always do. HAH! We, the audience, know better.

Anyway hi. I’m not at work, and I was luxuriating in bed, thinking how lovely it was to, you know, luxuriate in the bed, when I remembered you guys saying, “The first thing I do when I wake up is read Book of June!” “My day isn’t complete without Book of June!” “I keep an asp in my hand, and if Book of June isn’t up, I let it strike me.” Continue reading “Turn around, bright eyes”

Somebody better put your bag into your place

Yesterday's family stories were hilarious. I knew I'd like them. All day I wanted to tell you my friend Dave's family story, one of 3949493944 of them that he has, but I was doing that pesky work thing, and then right after work I had my hair, so hello, home at 8:30.

I mean, I always have my hair. You know what I mean.

Also, Dear Mom. I drove home and let him out to pee, then I screamed to the hair appointment 10 minutes late as a result. So you can stop feeling sorry for Edsel.

IMG_5866
nobody no. the trubble edz seen. no body no. edz sorrooo.

Oh, but the story, which I've probably told you before.

My friend Dave has, like, 97 sisters, all of whom are married except for one. When Dave, who is gay gay gay, goes home for Christmas, he and the unmarried sister have to ride everywhere with mom and dad, like they're still kids cause they never married.

One Christmas they were headed somewhere, and we're talking Michigan in December. It's fucking freezing. They stopped to get gas, and Dave's dad was at the pump when his mom noticed dad had a nosebleed. "Your father is bleeding," she kvetched. It was literally too cold to roll down the windows, so she was desperately trying to signal him, to no avail.

As soon as he got back to the car, she announced, "You've got blood on your face."

"You big disgrace!" Dave's sister yelled out.

"WAVIN' YOUR BANNER ALL OVER THE PLACE, SINGIN' WE WILL WE WILL ROCK YOU!" Dave and his sister began singing, delighted.

Their parents ignored them. Most stories like this involve the beleagured, Catholic, we-had-19-kids parents ignoring the shenanigans in the back seat.

That video looks like it was filmed in December in Michigan.

As I was looking for that picture of Edsel all happy on the bed, I came across these images, below. I'd forgotten that the other night, I had a dream that I met Heidi Klum and Seal, except they were literally Heidi from the book, and a seal. I was all, I thought they'd be different.

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What the hell is wrong with me? Like, really, what the hell is wrong with me. Who even thinks about Heidi Klum and/or Seal anymore?

Oh, and I also saw this photo, from last night.

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I was preparing poses for my book jacket, if I ever write a book. I'm like Annie the maid in It's a Wonderful Life. "I was saving for my divorce if ever I get a husband." Also, here is proof I got my roots done yesterday. The straightness. For one night every six weeks, I'm straight. I like just men. I'm strictly dickly.  Then I wash my hair and go back to diggin' the ladies.

I don't have Latisse anymore, part of m'paying off the credit cards, and look at my sad little lashes. It makes me feel incomplete. Sometimes I reach up and touch my little nubs of lashes and grow sad. I realize I need a life. So bad, I do.

Oh, but speaking of getting a divorce if ever I get a husband, the other night for the first time, I signed onto the bank that gives me my car loan. Last month I called them and made them help me set up an account online, so I could pay my bill like it's 2017 rather than mail a check. I was having the hardest time creating an account last month, so I called them in a huff.

I signed on, and it said, Hey, girl. Here's how much you have in checking, and in savings.

I don't have checking or savings at this bank. I have a car loan. Or as some people say, a car note, which always kind of cracks me up. Dear Driver: You have to pay for me now. Love, Car.

"Do I have an old account I forgot about? Cause, ye$!" I thought, literally saying. y-e-dollar sign in my head. I clicked into checking, saw that a literal check had been written lately, so when I clicked on the screen shot?

There was Marvin's handwriting.

Somehow, the goddamn bank had combined my car note with his checking and savings.

Also, Dear Marvin: Since when do you have savings?

"Would you like to pay your bill using one of your BB&T accounts?" the screen asked me.

Why, yes. Yes, I would. Just take this payment out of Marvin's SAVINGS, why don't you? I never sued for alimony.

Of course I did not do that. I paid for my damn car NOTE out of my own money, money that could have gone to something reasonable like Latisse. Then I texted Marvin to alert him to this, and to point out that I am a magnificent person.

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yuu may kiss steelee hand

Oh, crap, I'd better go. Damn work, then after work I have my hair.

See what I did, there?

Surreally,

Jewn

Marzo Thomas

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Look how well my daisies are doing! …I got flowers for our receptionist on Valentine's Day, and I over bought and couldn't fit all of the flowers into one vase, so I was all, "Guess I own daisies now." And it's, according to my math, 279 days later and just look! My fancy flowers I got from one of my many many admirers already died. That was more ranunculus and larkspur, so. Is it possible the daisies grew? Cause I swear I made them shorter than that when I cut them.

June's blog. Come for the flower talk. Stay for the skull talk.

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See? Skull talk. As you know, if you whip out your June's Events Binder, I purchased a Day of the Dead calendar this year, and it's ALMOST as exciting as that vintage Better Homes & Gardens calendar with which I was so enamored in aught eight or nine.

Here is March. I mean, the month and also the skeletal image. Nice, eh? And look at the happy skeletons on bikes down at the bottom! Charmed! I'm sure!

What language is Marzo for March? Is that Spanish? June's blog. Stay for the bilingual action.

Speaking of skeletal, I'm on yet another diet and it's driving me berserk. I eat and then I think, "Wow, when can I eat again?" Every time I think that I think of my mother, who owns Weight Watchers, and who always says, "You shouldn't feel hungry."

WELL I DO. But I'm not on WW. I'm following a diet I found online. The first person to ask what it is has to make me food. Why do you guys do that? WHO CARES? It makes you hungry. Don't go on it.

Basically it's a menu of a few choices for each piddly meal. In the morning I have a smoothie with HALF a banana. Oh, fuck you. Half a banana. Then at lunch I have the saddest little sandwich you've ever seen and at night I get, like, the THOUGHT of salmon or chicken, really just a memory of them, and another goddamn salad.

Last night at around 9:00 I considered which pet to eat first. Lily, obvs.

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we not like way yuu look at us

Yesterday when I got up, I came in here to blog at you, and the Internet would not work for me, so I went ahead and started my foodless day. My Biafra day. Who can take a Biafra day, and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile.

Now I'll get hate mail from Nigeria, and RIGHTFULLY SO. Once years ago I mentioned the potato famine here, and got some scathing, 80-foot-long email from an Irish person, who was hardly magically delicious. "What if I mentioned the Twin Towers?" he leprechauned at me. I mean, okay. The potato famine was 150 years ago, but sure, there, Peter O'Tool.

Someone was cranky without his carbs.

The point is, I'd wanted to tell you that Edsel's vet called day before yesterday, to see how he was doing on Prozac, and I was all, eh. And the vet suggested I get an adult dog for him, which DON'T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT, so instead Eds went to daycare and seemed to have a high time. Maybe that's the solution.

After, I took him out for a pup cup at a fast food place, which now that I think about it was my last decent meal before Calorie Fest, over here, with my "Snacks: apple or hot water" diet.

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It almost looks like he's my conscience, here, on my shoulder like in a cartoon.

Anyway, it cheered him. Stay tuned for me caving and getting an adult dog soon even though I've found a practical, workable solution.

And speaking of my pets ("WHAT? You're speaking of your PETS?"), Alf my handyman came by yesterday and I want you to understand I know Alf is not one of my pets. Also, that really is his name. Alf. And I let him be around the cats anyway.

Bah.

As you know (June Binder), I've had a windfall, not to mention your Wind Song stays on my mind–

Wind Song. How did I go my entire adolescence without thinking about how hilarious the name Wind Song was? Oh, excuse my wind song. I had cabbage.

Anyway, windfall, and as a result I asked Alf to (a) fix the motion lights at the side of my house, especially now that my Next Door informs me this creepy guy is back in the neighborhood. Also, (b or not 2b), fix the DAMN screen thing that is missing from the roof, that we assume Steely Dan is using to escape.

Oh my god. I'm so pulling on my Gloria Vanderbilts right now.

Look how they spelled Escape. Annoying. Lu annoy.

Naturally, when I came home for lunch, there was Alf, who always manages to be at my house right when I'm there, trying to enjoy my one fleck of tuna on a communion wafer, and maybe I should just join one of those dating sites for men who like…curves. That's what we'll call them.

He was on the roof, replacing that screen thing, and we were kibitzing, when he said,"Oh, look at tree cat!"

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Goddammit, Iris.

Anyway, all the things Alf fixed were way cheaper than I thought they'd be, which gave me money left over to (wait for it) (biscuit is on your nose right now) (wait) (wa–oh, fine) TRANSFER MY BLOG over to WordPress! There's a guy at work who, you know, can do this sort of thing and he's working on it today!!!

We discussed it yesterday, and he said, "Go on WordPress and select a theme."

Oh my god.

I obsessed for HOURS about a theme. HOURS. I hope you like my theme. It's not up yet, but the address is gonna be EffJune.wordpress.com. Don't go over there NOW. It's precisely nothing right now.

"Do you really want it to be Eff June?" he asked, because he's a decent member of society.

Okay, I'd better go. I already put this on Facebook, but enclosed please find a photo of Eff June at a party in 1984.

Photo on 2-3-17 at 8.36 PM

I clicked the wrong goddamn photo, but why so angry, June? COULD IT BE HUNGER?

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Here we are. Giovanni Leftwich, my boyfriend ca. 1981–1989 (it was on and off. Thank heavens I have mature, stable relationships now) found this in an old box. At the left, there, is my high school best friend Donna, who I wish would have a drink and loosen up. In the middle was our good friend's girlfriend at the time. We loved her. And there's old chicken hair at the right. Wow.

I remember the shoes I had on that night. They were from the '60s, slingbacks, silver sparkles. I loved those fucking shoes. Also, every single thing Donna has on belongs to me.

Including that girl. She was MY experimental years girl, not Donna's.

I never had experimental years. Did you? Do tell. Let's have lesbian reveal today at the Pie, soon to be Eff June. I'll still keep the name Bye Bye, Pie, don't worry. EffJune was a shorter address, though.

Okay I have to go. Next time we talk I will have eaten maybe a plum and a nut.

As god is my witness,

June. Of the Eff Junes