ADD is--oooo, shiny! · Aging ungracefully · Am British · Food and Drink · In the kitchen with June · My pets

Oh, you know. Just cats, The Simpsons, and blender-licking.

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You’d think Lily would bite his face off. But needy. Both of ’em.

Some nights, Edsel is just too much. With the flumping dramatically off the bed whenever I move a corpuscle. Then floomping back on a minute later. With the pressing his head on my neck as hard as he can, for pets. At 4 a.m.

So some nights I kick him out. Last night was one of those nights.

But I let Lily stay, which I rarely do, and last night I was reminded why.

Good lord. This cat has some sort of disorder. Some sort of friendliness disorder. You don’t get a cat so it’ll be friendly. You get a cat so it can lie sleekly across the room and glare at you.

“Yes, I’d like to return this cat? Yes, I do have my receipt, hang on. …Well, she’s too friendly. Something’s broken. She needs her bitch meter turned up.”

She constantly–CONSTANTLY!!–pushes her head into your hand. You have no idea how hard a cat can push her head into you till you’ve dealt with this one.

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fek yew

Actual, unretouched photo of Lily right this minute, making an elusive trip to the food bowl.

Meanwhile, in the back of my ranch, Edsel was left to his own devices. When I got up this morning, I saw he’d taken my robe to the couch and slept with it. So now I have to walk through this life knowing Edsel sobbed into my robe all night.

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fuk yew mean it

I just noticed that Lily has moved on to Iris’s dish.

And while nothing is more interesting than hearing about someone’s pets, let’s move on to talk about someone’s work. Wooo! Lemme get more coffee, June.

Busy, is what it was. I literally got 11 hours’ worth of work done in 8 yesterday, and also my blog post was published, the one I was kvetching about doing yesterday. So that was active. After work, I got my hair done because I was shooting moonbeams out my head and not in the good way. What roots?

I should just give up and go gray. If I didn’t dye my hair and didn’t get Botox, I’d save approximately 12 million dollars a month. But I’d look like hell and hate myself. But, see, I already look like hell and hate myself, just underneath “blonde” hair. I should just officially give up and embrace my inner old lady. Which is getting more and more to be my outer old lady.

One day I will look back at photos from this time and think, “I was so young!” That’s depressing.

You know, from age 12 on, I was under the misguided impression that beauty was just around the corner. That I’d just have to get through this one awkward stage and there it would be: my peak of looks. Except that never happened and I spent my whole life looking eh. Eh, she’s all right.

And now I’m on the downward spiral of age and it isn’t going to get better. Although do you watch the Real Housewives? How can you read this blog and not watch the Real Housewives, is what I wanna know. Anyway, Kyle looks particularly good this season, and not fake, either. So if I become a millionaire, maybe then I’ll start an upward spiral.

Speaking of which, I won a dollar playing instant lottery this week. Do you recall, in your Big Book of June Events, that on January 1 I won $100? And I was all, “It’s gonna be MY YEAR!”?

Turns out, it was really everyone’s year and not just mine.

Still, I hadn’t bought a lottery ticket since and the other day I had a dollar so I went to town on the machine at the grocery store and boom. Dollar. Clearly I am on some kind of streak. When I return to the grocery store–

and here is the part where my mother is shocked that two days have gone by since I last went. “Make a list, honey.” But really, what else have I got to do?

Anyway, next time I go to the store I will buy another lottery ticket with my last one, and this is how they get you hooked. Next thing you know, I’m Marge Simpson at the casino.Simpsons_05_10.jpgRemember when she got hooked on the gambling? What do you mean, you didn’t catch that episode in 29 years of that being a show? Is The Simpsons still on?

To be fair, I’ve never once watched an episode of Gunsmoke, which is the second-longest-running show after The Simpsons. But to be fairer, I was a zygote when that show started, and also, who wants to watch a Western?

There is nothing that will make me change a channel quicker than a Western. My grandmother was forever watching Westerns like they were good. Oh, look. A cactus. And a bar. And someone shooting someone. Say, is that an Indian?

HOW IS THAT INTERESTING?

Plus also, anything having to do with the courts or justice or law or murder mysteries. I just don’t care. I read some Agatha Christie when I was a kid because my Aunt Kathy loved then, and what I liked about them was her Britishness. I wanted to hear how she made a spot of tea. I didn’t care who lay prone in the drawing room.

So what I’m saying is, I have also never watched those Law and Onions or whatever they’re called. And those Murder, SUV or whatever. Of course, now I have no TV, so I watch nothing except binges of the Real Housewives, which is good because it’s reality, everyone. I only watch what’s real.

But truth be told, and pull up a chair cause I’m ’bout to tell you a shameful secret. Truth be told, those housewives shows are getting old. It’s the same thing over and over. Someone gets offended and then 8 episodes are devoted to the one woman saying. “We need to talk about how offended I was” and then they offend each other anew, or a new person gets mad, and really in the grand scheme, hoooo care. I just like to see when they pop into the plastic surgeon for a spot of collagen or when they show us how much they spent when they go shopping together. Whoever thought to always show us the cash register at the end is a brilliant person.

Also, Philip Roth died. Did you hear? I’ll bet he was a real fan of the Real Housewives.

All right, I gotta go. I realize this was a pressing post, but oh! My smoothies come today!

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I don’t know how I got to be part of this demographic, but on Instagram I keep getting the same ad, where this hot young girl in her 20s lives in this million-dollar clearly NY apartment and she gets up every day and inexplicably rubs her lips in her bathroom mirror. “Every morning, I do what I gotta do,” she begins, and apparently that involves rubbing her lips. And she looks good doing it. I’d look like I had a nervous tic.

“Then I have one of my smoothies. It feels like I’m doing something naughty.”

See. That’s how hot 20-year-olds think. I’ll show you something naughty, you vanilla whippersnapper.

Anyway, then she gets this delicious-looking smoothie out her freezer, and she makes it in a fancy blender, and then

LICKS

HER

FANCY

BLENDER

and manages to look adorable doing it. Then she kisses her teensy shitty little dog and leaves.

June. Losing readers with shitty small dogs, since 2018. Just get a cat if you need such a purse-sized dog. See above about what a pleasure cats are.

The point is, I watched this ad until I became convinced that if I just got these smoothies, my life would be transfigured and I would be cute and hot and living in New York with a nervous dog the size of a button. Hashtag goals.

I hope that model isn’t real and that that’s not her real dog, cause then I would feel bad. I guess that shitty small dog is someone’s dog, right?

MY POINT is that I signed up to get these smoothies, and allegedly here is a referral link that means you get three free cups and I do, too. I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you have to buy some, too. You’ll be stunned to hear I didn’t take time to read all about it.

I’ll report back to you on if they’re good. You can choose what kind of benefits you want and they adjust the ingredients accordingly. I chose beautifying, because I want to be 20 and a millionaire.

Delusionally,
Joon

...friend/Ned · Aging ungracefully · Health · I hate everything · In the kitchen with June · June can't keep a man

Chubby stick

Does anyone recall, in your giant calendar of June events, back in September when I’d lost 10 pounds?

Do you remember that?

I went to the local Pride parade, and I was gonna carry a sign of my own that read, “Lost 10 pounds.” Do you remember that?

October 1 was when I had the latest Ned debacle, and since then I’ve gained it all the hell back.

Goddammit.

So, tips, please. Diet tips.

Roundly,

Joooooooooon

Beauty products · Friends · In the kitchen with June · June's stupid life

Because Prosecco

IMG_E3062.JPGHey, June, why so destined for hell?

So Christmastime is here, as the Peanuts would say high-pitchedly, and here’s what I’ve done thus far…

Yesterday, I got this urge to clean the house. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m pregnant and nesting or something miraculous like that. Maybe I’m about to give birth in a manger. The point is, I laundered and dusted and cleaned all fekking afternoon, and there I was, mopping myself into a corner, as I do, when the doorbell rang.

“WOO WOO WOO WOOOO WOOF!” said Edsel, who really has a limited vocabulary.

I literally had no way to get to the door without screwing up the mopping. “Who is it?” I shouted, the way Laverne and Shirley used to while they held their baseball bats.

“It’s Happy,” said Happy, who is a faithful reader and who somehow knows where I live, I forget how. I wish now that’d I’d thought to eat her, as then I could tell you she was my Happy Meal.

“Hang on!” I said, then mince mince minced over the chair and the still-drying floors to the door, which to tell you the truth now that they’re dry don’t really look any different. My wood floors don’t really shine anymore, and hey, Stepford Wife. Nice concerns.

IMG_3074.JPGThe point is, Happy feeds and takes in feral cats, and this one is living in her laundry room at the moment, and she wondered if Ned would want this cat, who looks like NedKitty if NedKitty had dipped her tail in ink.

I SO THINK HE SHOULD. And certainly this personal decision should be mine and not his. Anyway I texted the photo and he hasn’t said either way, which will stun everyone who knows Ned and his lightning-fast decisions.

IMG_E3076.JPGHappy also gave me this jaguar of color, because it reminded her of Steely Dan, and lemme tell you what. Every time I see that thing out the corner of my eye, I think it’s Steely Dan.

IMG_3136.jpgAnd the reason I keep seeing it out the corner of my eye is Dear Happy: I am sorry to tell you that Edsel is obsessed with Jaguar of Color. Obsessed. Like, he slept with it last night. Obsessed. I think you got Edsel a gift, after all.

IMG_3071.jpgAnyway, as the day drew to a close, I left Dickus Americanus, up there, during the .0007 seconds she sleeps a day, and stampeded over to my coworker Austin’s house, as he invited me to a little gathering at his house. Yes, I realize I just told you my coworkers don’t like me, but he resides in the minority. He’s like someone who voted for McGovern or something.

IMG_3083.jpgNot wanting to break our record, I put on my next Chubby Stick color beforehand, in  Mighty Mimosa, which is dumb because mimosas are orange, but I do have to say I enjoy me a mimosa, because getting drunk at breakfast is the way to go.

IMG_3085.jpgI also wore my ridik coursage that Ned’s stepmother gave me years ago, a corsage I adore but that I can’t pin on right, so as soon as I got to Austin’s it fell off and I stuck everyone with m’wayward pins like they were all my voodoo dolls.

IMG_E3088.JPGI like Austin’s friends. This is the guy who also likes old pictures of people he doesn’t know. His wife and I got into a very deep discussion about Highlights Magazine, and she expressed her disdain for The Timbertoes (“I don’t know what they are, and I don’t know what their message is”) and right then I knew, I loved her with all my heart.

timbertoes

Because she’s right. Why are they wooden? Why are they 1800s-looking? WHO THE FUCK ARE THE TIMBERTOES AND WHAT DO THEY WANT WITH US?

“You only ever find Highlights Magazine at the doctor’s,” she pointed out. “And that one Bible Book, which I read once as a kid, not realizing the stories would all have morals,” she said. Then she went on to imitate for me the drawings inside that book, doing a fine imitation of everyone at the crucial moment when they readjust their moral compass, which apparently happens in every story.

Unknown

“Oh my god, that book is ALWAYS THERE at the doctor’s and I never once picked it up,” I said to her. “It’s like those strawberry candies, where the wrapper looks like a strawberry? I sort of know its there, but I also barely even acknowledge it exists.”

There was another woman at the party who, when I asked how she knew Austin and his wife, told me how she was new to town and desperate to make friends, so after a few perfunctory meetings with Austin’s wife, she one day chased after Austin’s wife’s car with a post card, which she eagerly slammed onto the window.

“It had every possible detail,” Austin’s wife told me. “Her shoe size, her kids’ ages, everything.”

At the end of the night, when I was leaving, that same woman came up to me. “I wanted to slam a post card at you but I don’t have any,” she said, and we exchanged numbers and kissed.

Austin’s party gets hot. The real housewives of Greensboro.

IMG_3096.jpgSpeaking of hot, Austin had a fire on his TV, despite actually having a, you know, fireplace. “This is better than a real fire,” said Austin. “It got 5 stars on Netflix.”

This lead us all to want to see a 1-star fire, which we figured would be one guy trying over and over to light wet wood, and eventually just tossing in and burning a Solo cup.

IMG_3102.jpgAustin’s dog continues to be perhaps unhealthily obsessed with Austin, although she did, oddly, give me the time of day, which is rare.

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fuk yuu, laydeee. you fekkin timber tow.

IMG_E3109.jpgI also took time out of my busy schedule to admire Austin’s kitchen wallpaper, as I always do, and I see the Prosecco had set in at this point, because nice focusing. Austin and I spent about 45 minutes discussing the use of typography on said wallpaper, and would we, as a designer and a copy editor, have been okay with those equals signs, and the cursive/all caps fiasco, and the fact that there is clearly an extra space before “drops,” till finally I announced, “We are the two most boring people in the world.”

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You really are, June.

This is another friend of Austin’s, who I threatened to put in my blog last night, but I forget why. Because Prosecco. He’s the husband of Post Card Wife.

Anyway, I see I have droned on about Xmas Eve for too long, kind of like my stay at the Prosecco table last night, and I don’t have time to describe Christmas and this has instead become all about Eve, and I would take credit for that joke but really The Poet made that one up, and damn her and her writing awards.

Hey, June, is ensuring good sentence structure part of your job? Because, job. Well done.

IMG_3185I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when I will describe my not-at-all-chaotic Christmas with a Kitten, volume 3949294. ‘Tis not my first Xmas with a kitten. Probably won’t be my last. That doesn’t mean it’s never a pain in the Prosecco, though.

Yule see me later.

June

Family · In the kitchen with June

June blogs from the guest bedroom

Kim Jong-il in da house.

“So where all have you gone since you’ve been back in Saginaw? Which bars?”

….?

I’m 52. People keep asking me all about the nightlife I’m experiencing here in the mecca of nightlife that is Saginaw, Michigan, and so far my answer continues to be, I’m 52. Show me that bar scene! Fifty-two-year-old, tearin’ up mid-Michigan!

So it appears that it’s Thanksgiving, or it was, anyway. My Uncle Bill, seen here kibitzing with my stepfather who is a saint, got here early to bring a roaster and also too the turkey, which was convenient. Then it was ready before everything else and every time I looked over at my Uncle Bill, he was eating that damn turkey. By the time dinner was served, there were merely the picked-clean bones left by Uncle Vulture.

Speaking of people my Aunt Kathy has been married to, my Uncle Leo also arrived, with sweet potatoes. My mother somehow scammed all the men into cooking, with her ERA bumper stickers and her consciousness raising and so on. We were all very Free to be You and Me at House of Family of June today.

Dooooods. I so totally wanted to insert an Amazon link right here (for Free to be You and Me, of course), because it’s Thanksgiving, and you’ll be shopping soon, and what a fine time to remind everyone I have an Amazon link. But apparently I can’t do that from my phone. Remember there are links to Amazon on the sides and bottom of my page. I am a terrible marketer.

You really are.

Aunt Kathy made pie, and also a salad with walnuts and apples in it, which was delicious. Mostly my part was I ate things, and got in the way, and kissed Gus.

Finally, it was time to eat, and my mother and I had to sit at the kid table while the adults talked stock markets and war. I’ve really no idea what adults talk about.

I took selfies after we ate, like I was Kim Kardashian. Kim Kar-sit-ian.

Uncle Leo and me.

Aunt K and mom and, you know, me.

Mom’s friend Gwen and oh look. Me.

Gwen is an excellent audience. She laughs at all my lines, whereas the rest of my family is over me.

After dinner, my Uncle Leo and Gwen and I were in the kitchen, and my Uncle Leo set up the scene for what looked to be a very long story. He started talking about his family history, and who begat whom, starting from when his family were cave people and so on, and then he paused and asked, “What story was I going to tell?”

And that sums up my family.

Gus not no you peeple.

The evening was drawing to a close and everybody was getting their coats off of my bed, because God forbid I have a room of my own, and someone asked, “So, you going out dancing tonight?”

I’M 52!!!! I’d break a hip. Going out dancing. Who am I, Lola the Showgirl?

Dood get lyfe

So that was Thanksgiving ’78 or whatever year this is. I’d stay and talk but I gotta pop a coupla mollies and hit a rave.

Go buy things via Amazon.

Love, 52

Busy busy busy busy. Thank heavens for Angie's List. · Chicken · Faithful Readers · In the kitchen with June · My pets

I’m in my prime. You are too.

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

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

Joe Lies

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I be Hutch. Wear be Starskee?

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hahahahahaha

Anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Name that movie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What do you think?

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

Your friend and mine,

Juan

Health · In the kitchen with June · June's stupid life · My pets

3/3/17

I am still sick. I know, man. This it it. Elizabeth, I'm coming to join you, honey. I'm going to the doctor at 4:00. IF I MAKE IT THAT LONG.

In the meantime, a Realtor, and yes that really is a proper noun, is coming at noon to see what my house is worth. I'm hoping $800,000. Dream big. Last night, feeling precisely poopy, I came home and flopped exhaustedly on the couch when I realized this place looked like hell.

So I tidied. Yes, despite being very seriously ill.

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After I took this photo, I put away the cat toys on the floor too. Tidy Tess! Also, nice symmetric pulling of the blinds.

You can see Edsel was a big help.

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That box on the table is cause a faithful reader sent me retro makeup and candy–thanks, FR! I don't want to say her real name, cause I don't know if she uses that as her screen name, and that's always a thing. I don't want to ruin anyone's life, so we'll just call her a faithful reader in case she's an underworld spy or the wife of a close friend.

Wife of a close friend.

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It's not a table unless a cat is on it. I have four people coming for dinner this weekend who are all like, "Yeah, great" right now.

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wut we havin for dinnur?

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I don't know if I told you my dishwasher broke, and guess what else I should have had Alf the handyman fix? Dang.

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I see I still have to wash the cupboard doors, there. Honey and lemon juice from a goddamn piece of salmon the size of a Munchkin's dick. That's what spilled there.

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Pile of crap, now with with cat tail!

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Cat found under pile of crap; story at 11:00.

Son of a–you guys. I just heard a ruckus outside. I know what that ruckus is. Guess who was on the roof?

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As soon as I went out there, he jumped down, and yet refuses to come inside. He just stares at me rebelliously, proudly stomping about, and runs away when I approach him. Asshole. HOW DID HE GET OUT??

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I know this LOOKS like a request to go in, but really he just wants to balance on the screen like he does. Show off his skillz.

IMG_5765
Action shot. Edsel is appalled.

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See? That's all he wanted. He won't come in. This cat is a bigger asshole than Lottie was. Why does God abhor me so? I'm a good per–okay, that's why God abhors me so.

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It was Lottie who tore this screen on, like, day one. See above ref to God's abhorrence.

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not rilly in mood to come in, thanks all same.

Fuckstick.

IMG_5755 IMG_5760

Anyway, so now the place is tidy-ish and I will alert you forthwith re if I am going to sell my cute house, which I really don't want to do.

Oh, also, they're moving my workspace. "Seems like June has told us that before," readers are thinking, sipping their espresso and vodka. Yes, it's true. I haven't worked there six years yet and this will be my 10th move. The exciting news is I'm movin' on up. I've spent lo these many years in what they call the Garden Level, which is a delightful euphemism for The Basement. We have been visited by black widows, and I don't mean Coretta Scott King, snakes, mice and also a lack of windows.

I strolled up to my new spot yesterday and…windows!!! I have a window now! Now I gotta obsess about where Ima park. It'll be a whole new world. Also? Closer to the vending machines. Score!

All right, I'd better go. I look forward to conversing with you later, and for the more hysterical of you to worry about Steely Dick Dan, who is clearly magic and we all just need to accept it.

Sniffle-ly,

Juan

In the kitchen with June · June doesn't know any ugly people · June's stupid life · My pets · Neighbors of June

Merry Christmas Edible

I thought of writing you during actual Christmas, but I figured you had enough to do without checking in on my ass. So here's how Christmas went, and I'm sure you're pulling the chair in closer so you don't miss a word.

We got off work early on Christmas Eve eve, so I went to the store (what crowd?) and got stuff to make Christmas lasagna for myself, then I schlepped to the wine store (what white crowd?) and got wine to take to the parties I'd been invited to. June, popular since never, cause frankly she's a pain in the ass, but people felt sorry for me.

IMG_4437

I hustled home and Lily gave many shits about my arrival. This bed was for Steely Dan, who I thought was a girl and he couldn't be more of a boy, and therefore gave up this bed after about one try. He sleeps on beds of nails and the talons of dead eagles he's slaughtered and so on. So Lily was happy to take over his girly bed. His Helen Gurly Brown bed.

Anyway, the next 24 hours were something of a blur, and to tell you the truth I was looking forward to the weekend being exactly what I had planned: parties and then me getting to be alone. But I hardly DID get to be alone, with the "Can I drop something off" people and the dropping-in people and the calling-me people and I REALLY AM OKAY ALONE IN FACT I RELISH IT.

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My mother sent me money to buy a new back door, so on Christmas Eve I got my eyebrows waxed, then I went to Lowe's, and every time I thought about asking about my back door I got the giggles. I was also just drawn to the mirrors, like a crow.

When I finally peeled myself from the mirrors and stopped giggling over "back door," I sauntered to a cute 17-year-old salesboy, asked about back doors, giggled, then coquettishly let him show me his back doors. [snurfle!]

We talked about back doors [heeeee] for quite awhile, and after I'd convinced myself he was dying to come home and see my back door for himself, I paraded hotly through the store, got to my car, and once I saw myself up close, I gasped. The aloe on my eyes from the waxing had moved all the eye makeup directly onto the center of my eyelid, making me look precisely insane.

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I'D HAD A MIRROR AT MY DISPOSAL! WHY DID I NOT SEE IT? Anyway you can't tell up there but trust me. I looked ridik.

Merry Christmas.

Photo on 12-24-16 at 6.08 PM

I cleaned myself up and put on a dress and headed to my friend Ian's party. I work with him, and I've been knowing him and his wife for awhile now. Back before they moved into the (ADORABLE) house they live in now, they had the apartment next to Ned. Remember Ned? That guy I went out with for awhile?

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Here's Ian's wife, who you would love. You would. You would love her. They are both from Puerto Rico, and they know how to host, man. I was the only non-family member there, and I quickly realized I was the only one without an Ivy-League degree, so I was sort of the village idiot. But when am I not?

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They have the kind of house you never want to leave, and EVERYTHING.WAS.DELICIOUS. Everything. "Have you ever tried hooo de blodoo-oo?" they'd ask, handing me some Puerto Rican dish. "No!" I'd say, then die at whatever new good thing I was eating. Mother of God.

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It was, like, the perfect evening. His whole family is our people.

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Edsel and I went to bed so Santa could come. And he did! Mom sent strawberries.

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Peg sent flowers.

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wat anyone send edzul?

This was the first year I got more gifts from readers than from people I know in my actual life. Just proving that in real life, I am not likable.

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Dear Faithful Reader who sent me the '50s swan decals: I'm fuckin' framing those. Oh my god.

You guys know me too well.

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I think I'm easy to shop for. Is it vintage? Well, then does it sparkle? You're golden!

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As usual, my friend Dot sent me a card with her dog on it, and not her kids. Everyone else gets her kids.

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Someone was a Christmas dick.

So, it was a good Christmas, and my lasagna was delicious, even though I realized too late that my whole recipe box is apparently at Ned's. Remember that guy Ned I dated briefly? I did not call for it, but soldiered on with no recipe, and it turns out I know how to make lasagna in my head. Not that I cooked it in my head, cause weird.

Also, I'd like to point out that I moved out of that place 14 months ago and just now noticed my recipes are gone.

Oh, god, loading all these pictures has taken forever and I gotta go. Tomorrow I will show you The Great Dismantling of Christmas and also how I rearranged the furniture. Helen Keller is coming and I want to drive her crazy.

Hope your holiday was snazzy, and that you all got ponies.

Luff,

Jooooooon

Death · Dooce envy · Friends · Hair · In the kitchen with June · June doesn't know any ugly people · Other people's pets

Pudding?

Would you like to know what annoys me?

"Wait. June. Something annoys you?"

When people use trite phrases. For example, remember in The Wizard of Oz, when they said, "Lions and tigers and bears–oh, my!" It bugs me when people paraphrase that. Linens and teacups and bags–oh, my! Hail and winds and rain–oh, my!

And this is why I particularly hated myself more than usual when I realized I was out of gel today and said to my own self, "Houston, we have a problem." You've no idea how much I loathed my own self right then, but we really do have a problem, Houston.

I'd turned it upside-down, the gel bottle, and it all ran out onto the sink's surface and dried like There's Something About Mary.

I wish I'd mention more movies today. I get paid thousands of dollars each time I throw one in.

I saw Carrie last night ($$$$!!!!) at my old movie theater I like to go to. I've never seen it in its entirety, and one of the bitchy girls in the movie is actually the woman who was eventually in Ferris Bueller ($$$$$!!!), the principal's assistant who says, "They all say he's a rightous dude."

Anyway, it's a good movie, Carrie is, and the insane mom of Carrie has June Hair. She's also probably younger than me now, which is sad. Everyone's younger than me. My doctor is still older, thank god. But he's, like, half-retired.

Did I mention sad?

Also, I need to work in the phrase "dirty pillows" when referring to women's breasts more often. That's what the mom with June Hair called them. That Carrie mom seemed to have some sort of disorder.

Other than that, yesterday yawned before me with screaming emergencies and then nothing and then another screaming emergency and then nothing again. It's like working in an emergency room, except with words. In between EMERGENCY! NOTHING! I talked to The Poet, and I was telling her that I knew I had to go to the store after work, because I was 100% out of something, and now the end of the day was drawing nigh and I could no longer recall what I was 100% out of.

"Pudding?" she asked.

Pudding. Because once you're out of pudding, you're out of groceries.

It turned out to be Prilosec, which I consume by the gallon, and I should probably really return to the throat guy. He's really tall and long. Wears a lot of turtlenecks. Anyway I never did get any, because I couldn't remember and then I had to scream to Carrie ($$$$!!!!), and now today I will GERD all day. I'll be the hurdy GERDy girl. So.

I wish I could stay and talk about the important issues of our time, but I must be off. We had a yard sale fundraiser thing at work yesterday and I got measuring cups and a bowl and a dish towel, all from my competition, The Pioneer Woman. My own workplace selling the competition.

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That clock back there I got for five years of service. It's very heavy, like an Academy Award.

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My coworker Slutty Pancakes won the bike. There was a pretty bike, and I wanted it even though I can't ride a bike. "You can put your dog in the basket!" I told her resentfully when she went to retrieve it yesterday. I'd already pictured Edsel in that basket.

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"The only dog that'd fit is the cremated one," she told me, and when she got home she texted me this:

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Dying. So to speak.

Okay, I said I was going 72,000 words ago.

XO, Joooon

In the kitchen with June · Lottie = El Diablo · Web/Tech

Cracked

BOOM!

That's what woke me up today. Lottie did her usual crying to get out of her crate at 6:30, and I was half-asleep when I took her out, fed her, then slammed my damn bedroom door so I could sleep JUST A LITTLE GODDAMN LONGER, PLEASE GOD.

And I did sleep, knowing full well she could be out there wreaking all kinds of havoc, but there's no bringing her to bed to nap with you, unless you find having your face bitten soothing, and putting her back in the crate would have been repeated renditions of Yappy Days Are Here Again. So.

BOOM!

Goddammit.

I got up, wondering if perhaps she was dead, and then I could get the sympathy vote and some sleep. But no. There she was, smiling at me as soon as I opened the bedroom door. Often she sleeps up against the door of the bedroom or bathroom if I close her out, a thing that always charms me before she twirls in the air and bites my face again.

"What did you DO, Lottie?" She pranced down the hall, having completely forgotten whatever she'd done.

Photo on 7-23-16 at 11.22 AM #3

Cracked. The screen of my nine hundred million dollar iPhone. Cracked. She knocked it off the couch.

By the way, I was having trouble finding a screen that was blank enough to show you the cracks, so I went into my notes and erased one. This page was me coming up with puppy names for that pitty puppy I almost got. One of the choices was Lottie.

I really thought I'd thought of that on the spot, when I found her in a…lot. You know, I've never looked to see what the name of the business was that she was trespassing on. I wonder if it was Demon, Inc. or D. E. Ville & Miss Jones Advertising or HELLena Rubenstein or something.

I'll go look today.

So I have an appointment at the Apple store today. $129 it's gonna cost me to fix this bullshit. It's coming out of that dog's allowance.

Since I was up, I made spaghetti for breakfast, because I was out of everything else, and I did two loads of laundry, organized my unmentionables, which I just mentioned, so in my case they'd be my mentionables. I put my shoes back in order and came to the conclusion that I really need new shoes. They're all in terrible shape, Lottie hasn't chewed any, yet, but she's peed on two pair. I just got a refund from the state (I overpaid my taxes. It's like I got a good Community Chest card).

But right then I remembered. Fucking $129 for my iPhone. Goddammit.

Anyway. I also swept the floors and Sharked them. El Diablo is napping. The beast builds her strength for the next terror.

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Oh shut upz

My iTunes is workin' it today. First it played…

 

which I've shared with you before. I love that song.

Then it played…

 

which just about kills me whenever I hear it. Then it was all,

 

I feel like my iTunes has a sense of humor. Hey, high school. How's it going? Lemme get on my reversible raincoat with whales on one side and we can go.

I have to get ready to appear at the Apple Store. Appearing now! June Gardens at Apple! Then after I have a little party, a little soiree, and how much do you abhor me for saying soiree? Anyway, I do have one to go to, and I plan to raise the roof and bring my hands together and make some noise.

I can't think of who I was talking to recently (I suspect one of my interminable OK Cupid dates) who hates it when you're somewhere and they say, "Are ya having a good time?" and the crowd is, like, "Woooo!" And they say, "Not good enough. I said, ARE YOU HAVING FUN?"

Whoever it was said he hates that like hell. Don't TELL me how much noise to make. Don't RATE my woooo. And now I will feel the same way.

What's your hobby, June? Oh, I gather things to resent.

I will talk at you later. Who wants to place bets on whether June relents and gets new shoes anyway, while she's in the same shopping center as the Apple store? And…go.

Food and Drink · I am berserk · In the kitchen with June · June's stupid life · My pets

The kind side of June. HAHAHAHAHA.

Photo on 6-26-16 at 11.33 AM

I went out last night. Slept in m'pearls. I also took Lottie with me, because I'm living like a HERMIT not going places because I feel bad about putting her in a crate too much. And unlike my mother, who has a dog-sitter come all the time when she goes out, I can't do that because not rich.

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So she went with me. I was like Paris Hilton or some similar asshole. We had a good time, and she was fairly well-behaved, actually, but we got home after midnight–we'd let it all hang out–and she went straight to her crate and passed out. Drunk. She had on a little party hat, streamers all over her ruff. Dog phone numbers written on her paw.

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Probably no one does that anymore, look desperately for a pen and then write your number on someone's hand. I remember having a phone number on my knee once, and getting up and heading straight to the pool the next morning, then finally looking down and going, Whose fucking number is that?

Nice. I hope my Lot doesn't have a number on her knee.

Speaking of Lottie, slutty Lottie who may have a drinking problem (she's in there gulping water like a banshee as we speak), I took another laundry basket shot of her.

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May 19. May 19. Well, we can't dance together. No, we can't talk at all. Please take me along when you climb on down.

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June 5. Say, Lottie, why don't you try changing dramatically?

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June 26. She's also grown a fifth paw. Helpful.

Also, in much more important news, this is happening… IMG_0547

Oh my GOD, my life is complete. Remember when I had that idea to feature June's Junk each week, where I review junk food so you don't have to? I wanted to start with the Frito Burrito, which was the greatest thing ever invented and why so chubby. But NOW. NOW we have something to live for. I will report back to you forthwith. Oddly, they're coming out with it on a Monday, which, why?

But now I live for Monday. And the deliciousness that awaits me. There was a Burger King at the end of my street till a few months ago. It closed after more than 30 years. Ned told me that in high school, he and his friends went there for lunch every day. All the other kids went to McDonald's, but they were the alternative kids who went to BK.

Anyway, now it's gone and it's the only time I've needed Burger King. Will do Google search forthwith. Forthwith is a very big word with me today.

In other news that's not nearly as exciting as deep-fried mac and cheese dusted with FUCKING CHEETOS TEENSY ORGASM COULD NOT HELP, I have a friend who's going through the shit right now, the shit that life throws at you sometimes, so yesterday we had lunch and went to the cemetery. Because what's more fun than that?

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As usual, I took photos to keep on hand for potential cat names. Behethland T is a perfect cat name.

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These are m'cats, Bill Friddle and Myrtle Cheek. You totally pictured orange tabbys when I said that, didn't you? Those are orange tabby names. (June makes new plan. New cat import plan. June notes there is no one to stop her.)

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Another excellent cat name. I see a tuxedo tabby. You could even say, "Wherefore art thou, Romeo?" even though that doesn't actually mean "Where are you, Romeo."

Anyway, my friend came up with his own tombstone idea, which will be the Google Map red pointy thing, all shiny and red, with "He has reached his destination" on his tombstone. Which, really, is an excellent idea. "What do you want on your tombstone?" he asked.

"I told you I was sick," I said. Too quickly. Have given too much thought.

We strolled around and decided any time someone had an image on their stone, it was a clue to how they died. One person had a sand dollar on her tombstone. "Someone in her family threw one at her and accidentally sliced her head open," said my friend.

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"Bad frog legs," I said, then planned my own commitment ceremony.

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"Butterfly attack."

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"Her dog ate her."

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"Died from clapping," said my friend, and I honestly don't know why he and I are having stretches of bad luck right now. When bad things happen to good people.

Anyway, I'm just saying, I don't know why more people don't hang at the cemetery, because I just loves it. I invite everyone to come make fun of my stone once it gets here, which will be sooner rather than later once I get addicted to deep-fried mac and cheese.

Dusted in Cheetos. Maybe that should be my epitaph. Dusted in Cheetos.

Anyway, I gotta go. I'm teaching that sensitivity seminar, and then I have my healthy cooking class I lead on weekends.

XO,

Myrtle Cheek

Beauty products · Fuck natural · In the kitchen with June · June's stupid life

Windows 9.0

Some mornings, I feed the cats while Iris is still out for her morning constitutional. My theory is she makes her rounds of all the baby nests in the area, patrols for new life and squelches it. Anyway, that was the case today, and when she finally hopped up into The Window That All Cats Sit In at my house,

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her breakfast was already there.

But this morning, she sat there uneating. Her food right below her. "Iris, your food is already there. Are you blin–oh."

Sometimes I forget.

Note I have zero pictures of Iris and Lily in that window.

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I have a shit-ton of these, though.

They only ever go up to that window to eat, these particular cats do, not hang like all the other cats did. And before you ask, in order from top to bottom, those cats are

  • Henry, Winston, Francis
  • Anderson, Roger
  • Winston, Anderson
  • Roger
  • Ruby
  • A cat named Edsel

This house is bad luck for cats. No one tell that to my flower cats, who, really, have managed to survive longer than everyone else here, despite my throwing Lily onto the streets for 52 days and poisoning Iris with dog flea meds just recently, here.

Anyway, if you're wondering how June's Big Life of Budgeting is going (scroll down to yesterday's post, Annoying Pants), yesterday I went to a poetry reading, to see my friend The Poet read, and in case you thought they sold tickets to poetry readings, they don't. "Hey, man, you get tickets to that poetry reading? I gotta get scalpers or something. They were sold out."

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I love this thoughtful art shot of The Poet. She's probably thinking about dicks.

Clearly right then she wasn't, you know, reading her poetry. Maybe someone else was, and I was politely taking photos with my cell phone, which I would never do, because appalling and awful. I think we were on a break. A poetry break. Anyway, that was free. And after, she came over, also free. I made her pay admission to enter my esteemed home, actually. So, profit.

Oh, and Faithful Reader Deb is sending me two (2!!!!) nail polishes to do my own pedicures. She wrote me and we picked out colors together. We gathered together to ask the Lord's blessing and also select nail colors. Here they are…

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This is Fancy.

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And this is Broody, and those pretty much sum me up. If only they carried "Bitchy."

"Fur-covered."

I wonder if, when I wear Butter nail polish, I'll talk like Butters from Southpark. I can only hope.

I gotta go. I spent more time looking up cat-in-the-window shots than I did writing today, and that is somehow your fault. I forget why. But I'll never forget it, and how it affects our whole family.

I'll talk to you tomorrow, when I guess I'll finally get around to telling you about the following…

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Anne Frankly,

June

In the kitchen with June · June's stupid life · Sports

Super Bowel

I never even ATE a brownie last night, but this morning I was pleased to see there were some left over and my guests left me an edge. Oh, HELL yeah. Brownie edge.

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I had a few people over for sports night, because sports, and I made a couple plates of vomit.

Actually, this was seven-layer dip, which was seven layers of disappointment. I adore seven-layer dip, you might even say it's my super food, and this was my first sojourn into creating it myself rather than scarfing it compulsively at someone else's party, and eh. I don't know what I did wrong. Too heavy on the beans or something. I don't even think I LIKE refried beans. And refried anything might be my super food, so.

I was gonna have a lot of people over–14, to be exact. But once Tallulah got diagnosed, I felt sad, and could not imagine getting it up to clean intensively and cook a million things when all I want to do is kiss her ears. So I canceled the party, but some of my close friends such as Marty Martin said fuck you, we're coming over anyway, and Kaye said if she saw ONE THING look clean, she'd be mad at me.

So I made chili, and brownies, and bad seven-layer dip, all of which took maybe an hour to prepare, the worst part being I HATE EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING AT THE STORE OH MY GOD. That fucking store on Super Bowl Sunday, when it was our city or county or something that was in said Super Bowl. It was worse than Thanksgiving. Or THANKSgiving, as they say here. Jesus. It was full of the hot sports men, though, and there I was in my Smitten With My Kitten SPCA LA shirt on. Tempting. Come break you off a piece of this.

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So it ended up just being Jo, of course, and Marty and Kayeee, and also my coworker Austin, whose family just moved into my neighborhood this weekend and he just needed a break from moving, already. Please note how when you're at my house, you have no choice but to be Uncle Billy from It's a Wonderful Life at all times, with the animals upon you.

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Why does anyone want to be my friend? Note how the animals migrate from one guest to the next. You may be wondering where the hell Iris is. I ground her up, made her one of the seven layers.

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I don't know why they thought begging would come to fruition. You know what a well-oiled machine these dogs are, with the discipline. "Anyone who wonders if Talu gets treats is high," I announced. "Tallulah gets whatever the hell she wants." Ahead of time I told her to pull out her cancer card as often as she wanted. She asked me to get her a bald wig but there wasn't time.

She did, sadly, pee twice on the floor while people were here. I felt so bad for her, because usually she has dignity. My poor sick Lu.

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Here I am, with my chin. Good lord. Underneath the looming cooter. I hate to sound like The Dude (no, I don't) but that painting really ties the room together. I love my living room now. It's 100% me. Meaning blue and sort of vaginal.

I have no idea who won or lost that sporting event. My favorite commercial was the Sheets one with the asses. Because ass jokes.

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Kayeeeeee and I had cup exchange last night. I had managed to both steal a cup and leave a cup when I stayed with her in the fall. What we did NOT know is this mystical thing would happen with her cup matching her shirt when I returned it to her. Blue and gray stripes are a big thing with Kaye. They are her super foods.

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After everyone left, I found Tallulah drunk in a nest she'd made. Nests of pillows are Talu's super food.

Okay, I'll stop.

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I had a talk with Edsel this morning. We sat on the floor and had an awareness session, like my hippie parents used to do with me. I totally need to look into getting some zigzag carpeting. Anyway, I told him that while I know he knows Tallulah is sick, I need him to be strong right now, and be okay with less attention sometimes.

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fuk dat

By the way, I Googled "byebyepie + zigzag carpeting" and came across a photo of Ned, and thanks, God. Have I ever asked you this before, if you've ever Googled "byebyepie" + any other word and hit "Images" to see what you get? I think we did do that before. Anyway, for me it's fun, except for when I land on the Ned pics. Which reminds me that this weekend, Edsel was sleeping splayed on his back, and I was racking my brain trying to think of which friend I could text a dick pic to, except it'd be Edsel's dick.

I couldn't think of anyone, but now it occurs to me I totally coulda sent that to Faithful Reader Fay. You gotta pick and choose who you share your tasteless jokes with, man. Pick and choose.

In sports,

June

Aging ungracefully · Food and Drink · Friends · In the kitchen with June · June's stupid life

Bleak History Month

I feel like I have 109 things to tell you, which probably strikes fear into your heart. If you had one. You cold wench.

First of all, Edsel barfed last night, I heard it while I was sleeping, which is always relaxing, and now I can't find where. Which is similarly relaxing.

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You can see Tallulah is on the edge of her seat about it. Talu seems perkier, and on Saturday morning she peed an actual amount, like normal dogs! I hope that's a sign that she's fine. It's almost cruel to see signs she's fine, because then I get on the, "See? She's FINE!" train, and get all hopeful, and what if my signs are wrong?

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Also, Iris is back to her old, pre-mom-poisoning-her self, which is a relief.

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Here she is bogarting my yoga mat yesterday.

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Which leads me to my next topic, and that is that I am trying to lose weight. All of a sudden I'm Mama Cass, over here, and you all know how I eat right. So I went to the grocery store and got all healthy things, and whenever I get on one of my "go to the store and get all healthy things" obsessions, I am always astonished at how much cheaper my groceries are. Whole-wheat mini pitas and grapes are so much cheaper than fish sticks and pizza rolls.

So mostly this weekend I did a lot of that hose beast Tracy Anderson, with her blank expressions, and wished I could eat again. Oh, and I started binge-watching Transparent. Are you watching this show? Am obsessed. Between that and Girlfriend's Guide to Divorce, which I also watch, I'm seeing a lot of people flitting around Los Angeles like it's possible. Oh, I live in the Palisades and you live in Silverlake. Let's meet for coffee before we go to work. Yeah. Okay. If we meet at 4 a.m. and still have an hour to spend driving. Gimme a break.

Latest

We don't spend enough time thinking about Nell Carter. That's some dress. It's from the Hollie Eating is My Hobby collection.

I'm going to hell. And I'm one to talk, what with my latest high weight. And I ate a lot of flax fucking cereal this weekend, and burgers made from vegetables–you know what word I'm trying not to say–but then my friend Charlie had a party yesterday and hello, pizza and Pepsi. Because apparently I'm 10.

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Here's me and m'girth with Charlie's girlfriend Vanessa, whom I love. Lovelovelove. We had a discussion with a straight guy and a gay guy at that party, about which movie star we'd switch over for. The gay guy said Emma Stone. Then I said Emma Stone. Vanessa said Cate Blanchett. She's too classy for me. She'd want high-thread-count sheets and brunch after.

The straight guy said Daniel Day Lewis, I think. Or maybe he just liked DDL. I can't recall now. It was someone I'd never sleep with as a straight woman.

I also had a discussion with a woman there who pointed out how fucked up it is that Lucy is the one who holds the football for Charlie Brown and screws him up by pulling it away, and then she's the one who charges him 5¢ for psychiatric advice. She's the one who screws him up, and then she tries to make him well? I'd never considered that before.

Oh, and I fell in love at that party.

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His name is Dewey, like the decimal system. I want to be Mrs. Dewey, like the berserk system. He's so calm, and has the expressive eyebrows.

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 lu dreem that mom headed for cheetin' side of town

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After the party, I got up with my friend Vogue June. She was a model in the '70s and '80s, and has been on the cover of Vogue and so on. Naturally, we had a lot to talk about re that. Like the time we were both up for the cover of Heifer Magazine and I won out. Anyway, I told her I'd like to try a new restaurant in Winston, as I am forever eating at the same four places, and the place she picked was right next door to Charlie's, which she did not know, but which was pretty convenient for me, anyway. Which is what matters. "Yes, this house is lovely, but is it convenient for June?" "We probably should consider having children, but how will it affect June?"

And finally, for once, I am remembering to direct you to Purple Clover this week. Ima start writing for them every other week now, rather than killing myself every week to think of an idea, so I won't write one tonight and you don't have to be all snippy with me next week when I don't link you to anything.

Photo on 2-1-16 at 8.26 AM

I see that today's Needy Committee meeting has commenced, so I better clear the room.

The rhythm is gonna get you.

Tonight.

Friends · In the kitchen with June · June's stupid life · My pets

June decides to blame it on the boogie

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This is the best picture I could get of Tallulah enjoying her a burrito last night. It's hard to feed your dog a burrito and take a photo at the same time. Need to go on Amazon and order the Indian goddess arms.

So, I know I wrote briefly yesterday, but what happened was yesterday morning I took Tallulah to the vet for her ultrasound. Hey, did I mention how everyone needs to email me personally with advice re this? On the way there, I kept petting her head and hugging her, which I'm sure was safe, but she was cold and nervous and was shivering so hard her dog teeth were chattering. Poor Lu.

Just as we neared the damn vet, Landslide came on. The good version, not the one where the Dixie Chicks fuck up the lyrics. Dear Dixie Chicks, singing, "even children get old" ruins the meaning of that line, you fucking idiots.

I edit our newsletter at work, and this month I did a roundup of all the employees asking, Which musicians have influenced you? I asked it right after David Bowie died. Anyway, lots of people responded and because EVERY MONTH my coworker Griff adores telling me about an error we missed in said newsletter, I have of late been asking him to take a gander at it before it goes to print.

"Hey, June, you wanna know what you missed? Hey, June." Oh my god, every month he does that.

Anyway, he's really good at catching errors and being a dick, so it's been great. This month he kept coming over to me. "June. Hey, June, this guy's wrong about this band he likes."

"Griff, we can't fix people's opinions. Could you just look for spelling and grammar mistakes? If I gave someone the wrong job title?"

Griff has been an editor for 20 years.

"Hey. June. We can't let this guy say this. He's completely wrong. This band was not the quintessential…"

"GRIFF. GRAMMAR. SPELLING."

Awhile back, I told Griff about this asshole who'd written me on OK Cupid to say, "While a lot of men would be turned off by your profile, I found it wonderful."

Wow, thanks, backhand.

"What's your profile like?" asked Griff. "Is it really, like, bossy and masculine?"

Yeah.

Oh my god anyway. So Landslide came on, and it made me sad, although I have to say so far I haven't cried about all this because nothing's official and also Lexapro.

 

I feel like Lindsay Buckingham is a whiny little bitch. Also, that hairdo has to go. Art Garfunkel called.

Talu went cheerfully with the vet tech, since they're all starting to go way back, as often as we're in there. Lu's all, "hey, sheeela, how's the fammlee?" I tried not to feel tragic while I drove to work, but the truth is, I do. I took my phone with me everywhere yesterday, and when the vet called, what she told me was while everything else looks good, Tallulah has a thickening in the trigone part of her bladder, which is where bladder cancer starts.

It still COULD BE a really bad UTI, she told me. It still could be. We're gonna look again when she finishes her antibiotics.

But after we talked, I googled, of course, and bladder cancer rates are high in Beagles, which she is along with evil Pit. Also, man, she's been on these last-chance antibiotics twice a day since Monday. And she still can't pee. Plus, I did not find one thing on Google where someone was all, My dog had thickening in the trigone and it turned out marvelous. Not one.

What I'm saying is, people who're dismissing this to make me feel better aren't helping. I know I can be, you know, dark about health things, but I've pretty much known in my heart of hearts that something's really wrong since that Saturday she walked up to me, shaking.

Maybe my heart of hearts is wrong because I'm me. Maybe. But what helps is not telling me I'm wrong and she'll be fine. I don't think she will.

If she does have bladder cancer, which by the way COMES FROM GODDAMN FLEA MEDICINE, and can I sue someone? If she does, it's not curable. And I won't put my dog through all kinds of shit just so I can have her longer. She's a dog. She won't know why she feels like crap.

So, we wait for her antibiotic to be done. When that's done, I have to follow her around the yard like an idiot trying to catch her urine. "Oh, my vet told me to just do it with a ladle," said my Aunt Kathy. "Just get one of your ladles…"

One of my ladles.

After Lu's celebratory burrito last night, she and I drove to the store and got water buffalo hooves, I am not making that up, for her and for Edsel. Edsel, who may have to rise to the challenge of being only dog in this house when he's spent his whole life being a Pip, and god help us, everyone.

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Every morning now, after breakfast, these two meet on this chair for their Needy Committee huddle. That chair needs recovering so bad. Those two need Pip recovery so bad.

ANYWAY, after I did all that last night, I headed to The Other Copy Editor's house, as she had invited me before all hell broke loose. TinaDoris was there, too.

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I'm hoping my sweater is just unflattering, because when did I become everyone's wide friend? Anyway, we literally had girl talk. Vaginas, breast feeding, menopause, breasts, catty talk about other women, hair. Then The OCE's husband came down and we had to curtail all that. Talked about sex after that. Which is how it always goes with TOCE's husband.

Okay, I gotta go. I've committed myself to three sets of plans tonight, as I am wont to do and who needs a calendar, a Hallmark datebook, which is what I picture when I say that, and hey, 19. I feel like I will bail on all three. Am reading Mr. Write's book and want to finish it. Is it wrong to tell someone you can't go out with him because you want to finish his book? Really, I do just want to stay here and stare at my dog.

Oy.

Bladderly,

June

In the kitchen with June · June's stupid life

If you liked it than you shoulda put a…oh, put this.

Today is my department's annual ugly sweater and breakfast, and I am cooking sausage biscuits. And by "cooking sausage biscuits," I mean I'm throwing some frozen sausage biscuits in the oven in 10 minutes. I had originally signed up to bring "attitude and fruit," but once I got to the store last night, the fruit looked depressed. The fruit needs Cymbalta.

At least I'm still bringing the attitude.

One guy signed up to bring Texas Pete. Like, he's bringing a bottle of Texas Pete. Maybe 24-year-old boys should not be allowed to participate in the work Christmas potluck. Then again, maybe 50-year-olds should do more than throw frozen sandwiches in the oven for 10 minutes. Hey, I have to wrap EACH ONE in foil. Exhausting.

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As for what Ima wear, two years ago this very lovely woman at work loaned me her nice Christmas mock turtleneck and sweater vest. She loaned a similar one to The Other Copy Editor, who doesn't even work there anymore, so we would be a matching set. I am assuming The Other Copy Editor returned that nice outfit forthwith. What I did was keep that ensemble in a drawer till October of the following year, when I moved it to the house I lived in with Ned. Then I moved it BACK here to this house, and then I had the nerve to ask her if I could wear it this year and return it after.

I'd have punched me right in the cock.

That's TOCE and me, up there above, with our proofreader gang sign we made up. It's a caret. Proofreader humor is the best kind of humor.

Oh my god, anyway.

Other than that, I've been reading my statistics textbook at night, and I know you envy my pre-holiday excitement. I also keep meaning to do a whole photo montage on Facebook, with "Christmas 2015" as the title, and then just room after room of my completely not decorated house. Fuck it. I'm not in the MOOD to decorate. I think we should all be lucky I don't impale myself with a wise man.

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There. I just put it back on. This means I'm not wearing a dress today, but maybe I'll come home at lunch and change so I am still Dresscembering. Jesus, with my many activities. It's never-ending. Dresses, statistics, ugly sweater parties, impaling self with myrrh. Hey, you wanna drive yourself berserk? Try spelling myrrh. One year I should insist my family get me nothin' but myrrh.

…I just cut my goddamn finger on the tin foil serrated edge thing. Goddammit. Fortunately I was able to put a little myrrh on it. Good as new. If you liked it then you shoulda put some myrrh on it.

Now I just gotta wait for my biscuits to cook, and how often do you hear me say THAT? You must be sick of it already. I finally got my baking sheets back from Ned's house; I'd left three of them there, plus a muffin tin, because you know how famous I am for my muffins. So to speak.

I hope somebody else makes something actually good. Did I already tell you this, that Bitchy Resting Face Alex said when she attends a potluck, her goal is to make the thing that everyone goes, "Wow! Who made THAT?" I'm like, really? That never occurred to me to think, ever.

…Okay, they're ready. Edsel let me know, by getting up on his stupid hind legs, that if I wanted help ingesting these, he's here for me. I gotta drive to work with sausage biscuits.

It's the most stupidest time of the year.