Right now, mostly I’m just waiting for my avocados to ripen. Continue reading “Jardins de tarte à la lune”
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.”
Yesterday, I got an overwhelming pudding craving.
I am outside in my pajamas and a raincoat. You would not believe this day already. Continue reading “And I think to myself, what a wonderful world”
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.
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.
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.
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,
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.
You can see Edsel was a big help.
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.
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.
I don't know if I told you my dishwasher broke, and guess what else I should have had Alf the handyman fix? Dang.
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.
Pile of crap, now with with cat tail!
Son of a–you guys. I just heard a ruckus outside. I know what that ruckus is. Guess who was on the roof?
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??
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.
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.
It was Lottie who tore this screen on, like, day one. See above ref to God's abhorrence.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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?
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.
Edsel and I went to bed so Santa could come. And he did! Mom sent strawberries.
Peg sent flowers.
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.
You guys know me too well.
I think I'm easy to shop for. Is it vintage? Well, then does it sparkle? You're golden!
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.
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.
That clock back there I got for five years of service. It's very heavy, like an Academy Award.
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.
"The only dog that'd fit is the cremated one," she told me, and when she got home she texted me this:
Dying. So to speak.
Okay, I said I was going 72,000 words ago.
Oh my god, Hazel is impossible to photograph. She never stops running around like a chilly fool. Until she's exhausted, and then she crawls up on your neck and purrs, and you can't photograph something on your neck.
Here she is eyeing Edsel suspiciously. kittee still not shuwer.
I went to PetSmart yesterday, for a change ("Do you think you go to PetSmart more than any other person on the planet?" Ned asked me yesterday, and I said probably. I think I've already made the joke that they should call it JuneSmart, and shut up. JunesMart. There. Now shut up really, for sure.) and got Hazel a pink covered kitty bed with a dangly toy in it,
along with two toy mice and two shiny crinkly toys. You know how you get toys for your pets, your ANIMAL COMPANIONS, and you bring them home and the pets go, eh? You know how that always happens?
Hazel could not decide which to play with first. And when I can't watch her, and shut her in that room, I hear her in there bopping everything around. I can't even find three of the four toys today, although I know they're in that almost-empty room somewhere. She even played with the bed's dangly toy. Who does THAT?
Playful. Active. Is what I am saying about this kitten. That black kitty I found was so docile, but this one? Yeah, no. Apparently the universe does not want to see me with any docile pets. Animal companions.
Also, that's what the universe is concerning itself with. My pet sitch.
So, I went to a cookout at Ned's this weekend. I know. I saw all of his family for the first time in more than a year. I don't know what all Ned told them about our breakup, but you know no matter what, you're always gonna take your person's side, so probably I am The Bitch Who Broke Ned's Heart. So I was kind of nervous.
But everyone was nice to me. His 16-year-old nephew told me I was weird for following his YouTube videos, but that kid is My People, and I think YouTube must have suggested him or something, because how else would I have known he was MAKING videos, and I could not help but keep abreast of that kid's hilarity. Anyway, hashtag look like a stalker.
Also, Ned made onion burgers and they were ridiculously delish. I brought pies (recipe: Get frozen pies. But them in oven. The end) and baked beans. "Oooo, how do you make them?" asked my mother.
My mother! Like she's never met me.
"You don't remember our old family recipe?" I asked. "You go to the store. You get cans of beans. You open them at home, and then you put them in a pot on the stove," I said.
My mother waited, as if there was more. As if I was gonna whip out my 11 herbs and spices.
"Then you put them in a bowl. Voila," I said. Or, waa laa. I love it when people think it's waa laa. Does not make me want to kill self repeatedly or anything.
The best part of Ned's cookout was that his nephew who now thinks I'm weird (news flash) saw a dead possum under the neighbor's gate, so naturally I went over there to look at it. It wasn't just merely dead. It was really most sincerely dead. He was not playing possum. He was a SKELETON, and his fur was puffed out underneath him, and
Oh my god, it was gross and fascinating at the same time, which could also be said of seeing me naked, but fortunately I was not stuck naked under the neighbor's gate. Those were the neighbors who hated me for the "barking dogs" anyway, so good. You know perfectly well I do not just let my dogs bark endlessly in the yard. I call them in right away because it annoys me as much as it annoys anyone.
Well. Sometimes I let Edsel bark at the gaybors for just a moment too long. Especially if they're trying to have people over in the back yard. Fuck the gaybors. Hashtag. "The rabbit dog." Fuck the gaybors hard.
So that sums up my weekend. Now it's Tuesday and I have to go to work, which I guess we all do unless we're Real Housewives.
Don't forget to not wear white pants.
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.
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.
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.
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.