Make June Do It

Almost rape-y

Yesterday at work, we had a gelato truck come at 2:00 (I had salted caramel. Griff pointed out that there's no such thing as just caramel anymore. It all has to be salted now), and then we had a department happy hour at 4:00.

I feel like Mike, formerly known as The Editor Who Sits in Our Row, is not a fan of tomatoes. Or maybe those are peppers. Whatever.

Still going to glean he's not a fan.

Here's one of the Alexes, trying to look bitchy and fooling no one, and there's Ryan, for your viewing pleasure, you buncha Mrs. Robinsons.

Griff's deep thoughts are deep. And look, back there in the plaid shirt is Neil, who I talked about yesterday! The circle of life. Boom.

I did not take a picture of myself at happy hour, as I was too busy being happy, and hourly, but I did take a picture of myself at work yesterday, as I was texting with my cousins and we all sent a picture of what we were doing at that moment. I pointed out to my cousins, who are my "little cousins," that the women behind me are younger than both of them, who I think of as children, but they're both in their 30s.

At the happy hour, I sat with some women down at the end of the table, a bunch of hens, as it were, and I'd like to take this moment to say hello to my feminist mom. So the skirts and I were talking, you know, about the only stuff women talk about. Jewelry, shoes, boys. The rest is just too hard.

But really, we started talking about how many of us had almost-rapey stories. Like, mostly they took place in college, and in our cases they all involved escaping, fortunately. I went to college with a woman who was just walking two blocks between these two houses where groups of of us lived unsanitarily–Division Street. I eventually lived in both houses on Division Street, and all of us who were friends just referred to the houses by their numbers. "There's a party tonight on 358." That sort of thing.

So, this woman I knew was walking from 545 to 358, when a man grabbed her from behind. "Don't scream," he said, gripping her. She didn't scream, but she sure did reach around and twist his man parts, hard, and he let her go. She ran as fast as she could to 358.

I can't believe I can still remember the numbers of the houses on Division.

I can't believe all I had to do was Google those addresses and I could get screen shots of 545 and 358. Dying. I so have a picture of me leaning on that tree at 358 right before I left for a date with Marvin; I'll have to find it. I was hot then.

My POINT is, do you have an almost-rapey story? Mine was that my roommate in the dorms asked me to leave the door unlocked because she was going to be late coming home. Why she couldn't just take her KEY is beyond me. There were some boys visiting someone or other in the dorms; I'd met them earlier in the night. I was fast asleep when one of them just walked right in and sat on my bed. "Hey, um…" I sat up.

I can't recall all that happened, exactly, just that it quickly became apparent this wasn't a friendly, "Hey, wake up and let's go get nachos at Middle Earth" kind of visit. We had a little walk-up grill in the basement of the dorm, this little connector hallway between my dorm and Marvin's, called Middle Earth.

Yes. Middle Earth. And this was in the '80s, when any Hobbit mentions were distinctly not cool.

"Friendship is offered to all who enter Middle Earth." That's what it said over the archway to Middle Earth, and I'll bet some hippie painted that in 1976, and here it was 8 years later, looking distinctly dated. However, I can still taste the blueberry yogurt I'd get down there at 10 a.m., to avoid having to watch my roommate watch Barnaby Jones reruns. Who in their right mind selects Barnaby Jones?

MY POINT IS, I told the guy to leave, and he got really angry really fast. I remember he said, "I hope you get raped by a black man," as though that would somehow be worse than being raped by HIS stupid ass, which looked imminent. So, a rapey racist. Even better!

"These walls are thin, and I am less than one second from screaming," I told him. I wasn't scared, I was pissed off. He got up and left, and I locked the door after him, and then I started shaking.

WHY do we have stories like that, most of us? How are we raising the men, that so many of them think this is okay? I wonder if that asshole went on to be a lawyer or some other perfectly acceptable-looking member of society, while in the meantime he got drunk and tried to force himself on women all over yonder. Did he grow out of it? Did he grow up to regret it? Or does he still feel entitled to aggressively pursue anyone he feels like having?

Furthermore, why am I straight, again?

If you have an almost-rapey story, tell it to us here, or if you're one of the .00006 men who read this, please pontificate on this phenomenon.

Friendship is offered to all who enter Middle June. Wait…

Iris growls, Edsel howls

You know how sometimes I tell you a bunch of things in one post, as opposed to those super-focused linear posts I usually do? And you know how when you're done you say, "Wow. I sure am glad I read all that. That was not a waste of my time at ALL"?

First of all, today is the anniversary of the loss of my virginity.

Oh, mom? Don't read this one.

I know you're saying, "Wait. How is that possible? This is June 6th, and your wedding anniversary is July 18!" And that is good observing, there, Sparky. In fact, when I got married AT AGE THIRTY-THREE, I was not, you know, a virgin. By a good 16 years I wasn't.

This is because in high school, my annoying boyfriend Cardinal said, "Come up to my room. It's cooler up there." And in fact, had I paid ANY attention in science class and not just spent the entire time writing "June loves Cardinal" on my notebook, I'd have known that heat rises and that in fact it was NO COOLER up in Cardinal's room. Ironic, no?

So there it is. There was .0037 seconds of my life I will never get back, that changed everything and set the course for the part where I had to wear fuchsia on my wedding day.

Also, in other less crucial news, and I understand that the loss of my virginity 384858583 years ago certainly falls under the category of "crucial," Iris found my feather pen, that literally has feathers on it. She ripped it out of the pen holder and then proceeded to hiss and growl at everyone who wanted something to do with it, which includes everyone with fur, over here.

Behold Iris' growly toughness and that lovely floor. Oh, and Talu's politeness. No one cares that Iris is blind. They are a harsh lot.

And speaking of my dogs, I captured their fisticuffs last night.

no, edzul NOT wish to tell it to butt. you in beeg trouble, lu!

no, YOU in beeg trubble! Lu go pit on edz azz!

lu alwayy say dat, and it neber skareee. edz go dingo on lu azz.

not no what deengo is. lu kind of skare.

edz win. edz tuff dingos.

The other day I was walking ridiculous dingo Edsel and some little kid asked, "Is he bleeding?" Believe it or not his eyes look better. Also, I finally did put that bathroom rug away. Who is over herself and her slobeldyness?

Okay, I am off to work out. Those were all the earth-shattering things I had to tell you today. I swear to all that is holy I just washed that concrete floor. It is constantly a mess. What was your concrete floor advice, again? I already forgot. It's hard to remember stuff when you have growling blind kittens and dingos all over the place. Plus, does anyone know where I put my virginity?

P.S. I almost forgot! In honor of it being June 6, I thought we should have "How I lost my virginity day" here at Bye Bye, Cherry Pie. Tell me in the comments. And if you want to be anonymous, go ahead. Like, let's say you're Faithful Reader Anita and you lost your virginity to the entire football team and you were on so many roofies you barely recall anything. Just sign in as Not Anita. See? Or even better, Anita could sign in as Hulk and tell her story. Easy! Easy as pie!

“DO NOT EAT”

I totally have sex hair right now.

Hey! How are you? It's a holiday, which means it's not the 16% reading, it's the .016%. But all three of you get to see my dumb hair. Congratulations!

So my plane ticket is purchased (thanks, Bank of Mom) (yes, I AM 46 years old and still needing my mom to buy me last-minutes plane tickets); I leave tomorrow, the funeral is Wednesday, and then I leave Wednesday night. It's kind of a whirlwind funeral tour. For a while there, it looked like …friend was gonna road trip with me to Saginaw, but he had a work thing. Stupid responsibility. Funyuns still outselling Responsibilityuns.

Also, I had to search for something to wear to this shindig. I really never wear dresses, because I'm such a tomboy. Get me out there climbing trees and catching a ball. That's where I really feel at home.

So my mother (Bank of Mom) sent me a dress not long ago, and it's black (yes, mom, it is. She insisted it's blue but it isn't) and it has stripes, which seems kind of festive for a funeral, but it's all I got. The thing is, it'd be super perfect if I had some Spanx, which, dudes, for YEARS I had some in the back of my drawer, and now that I FINALLY need it, do you think it's there? I'll bet you anything I said, "Oh I never wear this Spank" and tossed it. Is the singular of Spanx "Spank"?

Speaking of quotes,

I'd like to know who said "DO NOT EAT." Who said it? Who are we quoting, here? Or is it sarcastic and we should TOTALLY eat the delicious silica gel? Which is it?

What does desiccant mean? Are they saying something negative about Desi Arnaz? What can't he do? Or ccan't he do?

Do you know what I have? Is too much time on my hands.

You know who doesn't, though? Is Lily. She is a wreck with all her responsibilityuns. I kind of want to read that Vermont Country Store catalog, but I guess right now it's literally a CATalog. That made no sense, really. I mean, as opposed to all that Desi Arnaz stuff I said earlier.

So I will try to blog at you tomorrow and then the next day, but I will be on the road again. Just can't wait to get on the road again. The wife I love is making music with my friends. …Who said that? One of you said you thought those were the words, and it kills me. My point is, will post when I can.

In the meantime, I am off to buy a Spank, and coincidentally the second Shades of Grey book (I KNOW. But now I can't help myself), and some tanning lotion so if I DO wear that dress I do not look like I got bowling pins up under there.

Y'all enjoy the hell out of your Memorial Day. See? I am doing my part to remember what this day means. I am fighting the Battle of the Bulge, with my Spanx. (June. Completely not hilarious since 5.28.12.)

Money, Pinterest, and Tallulah in a flip

Guess who got a new app for her iPhone?

It has old photos and then you put your own face in there.

Apps. The new way to find yourself looking up seven hours later, going, wait, I'm supposed to be just be HOME FOR LUNCH! Crap!

I always kind of wanted my hair to do that wavy '40s thing. It's almost a mullet.

Anyway. Today I am actually asking for you advice, but JUST ABOUT THIS, so for those of you who cannot wait to get back on and tell me about how repugnant my personality is, forget it.

Remember a few weeks back, when I killed myself to edit a statistics textbook? I got paid for it, and now I can:

Pay off a credit card, thereby cutting my credit card debt in half, which has kind of racked up since Marvin left.
Go shop and have fun, which I haven't gotten to do since Marvin left, as I have been relatively destitute because I pay for everything myself now.
Pay a big amount on a credit card bill (or pay off all of one that has only a small total due) (I have three altogether: my vet credit card, the credit card I had to open when my computer broke, and my credit card I've had forever) and go shopping just a little.

What would you do? Or maybe the better Q would be, what would a sensible person do?

I must go to work now and pray that there is nothing to do all day, because not only do I want to play with my hair app, somehow I said, Oh, maybe I'll sign up for Pinterest, and WHO WANTS TO DO NOTHING BUT PIN INTERESTINGLY ALL DAY NOW? Holy cats.

Okay, so advice, please. Someone tell me to blow it all on shopping, because my wardrobe kind of looks like Door Number Three up there.

June bats her lashes at you. Not that you could tell.

Why do I always think it's gonna be okay to stay up late and watch MadMen? I understand that it is totally worth it, but you should see my bloated self. I look like I slept on a subway grid. Or maybe like I ate 15 Subway sandwiches. Stupid Jerrod.

Anyway I have no time, as I must head off to my job, feeling like Job, but you know what would be good? Is if someone did a Make June Do It re: Latisse.

In case you are just reading me now and did not read me last winter–and wasn't it a cold, lonely winter without me?–I had this thing called Make June Do It, where you wrote in and suggested I do the stuff you were too scared to do: dye your hair black, get a Brazilian wax, scream "FIRE!" at the movie theater, whatever. Then we would all see if I would do it.

I tried the BumpIt. At the end of this post, you will see the category "Make June Do It," and if you click on that you can see evidence of said BumpIt. It was pretty. Is what it was.

We stopped Make June Do It when I was bringing in less dough, but now I am employed full time again so let's bring it back. Plus also, I want to try Latisse and it would be a lot less embarrassing if someone were making me do it.

Oh, and in case you were worried sick, Eat/Pray/Get on my last nerve with your smug horsey self was pretty good! And Julia Roberts (a) looked pretty and (7) was likable, two shocking pieces of information. I really really like the movie Notting Hill? But I can never figure out why Hugh Grant remotely likes Julia Roberts in that movie, as her personality is wanting. If you ask me.

Also, can someone tell me why Javier Bardem never calls me? Is there a Make Javier Do It on his blog?

Okay, bye. And don't forget the Latisse. If you make me get Latisse? And I talk my doctor into prescribing it? I will do a video of me doing the Brooke Shields jerky dance from the commercial. Plus I will come to all of your birthdays with a small shitty gift even though I am rich and famous.

The one where June suddenly says bank

When we still lived in Los Angeles and Marvin was going to school to become a teacher, he said, "Have you considered going back to work and getting a real job instead of freelancing? Because once I become a teacher, I will be making a lot less money."

I really hadn't considered getting a real job. Because I am a partner in life that way. But once he brought it up, I started looking. That was back when you could actually look for jobs and get them, and doesn't THAT seem like 50 years ago. I found a fabulous job at an in-house ad agency at a company that makes things you have heard of, including some pretentious water that if I named it, you'd say, "Oh, yeah! I know that water!"

It's really good water.

I know you think all water is the same, but this water tastes better than other water. For a while we did not get it for free at work, but then we did right before I left. Yeah, thanks.

Anyway, the point of my story is, I did make a lot more bank, and how much do you like me for saying bank, and before I forget a lot of people asked about Marvin's garage sale and he made SIXTY-FIVE DOLLARS this weekend. But back to my riveting story about my job in LA.

I loved that job so bad. We had free yoga at noon, an on-staff curator, free flowers we could take home, coworkers I am still friends with who read this blog (hi, Anthony!) (hi, Stephanie!) (hi, Virgo!), but the thing is, it was 16 miles away from my front door. Which translated to LA means it was an hour drive each way.

So I told Marvin I needed a satellite radio. Because otherwise I was going to be like Michael Douglas in that one movie where he gets a machine gun and blows everyone's head off on the LA freeway.

Then Marvin could not find a teaching job in LA because it is really competitive so I had to quit that job anyway and move here, and I insisted that I get to keep the satellite radio. Because now I am hooked.

Which leads me to the point of this post. My satellite radio has a '70s station, and also an '80s and a '90s station. It does not have a 70's station, because the '70s do not own anything, nor are we saying "70 is." Thank you. You want to send shivers down my bottle? Be sure to write 70's.

Because I spend an inordinate amount of time listening to my '70s, '80s, and '90s stations, I have been reminded of all sorts of times from my past, which I am sharing with you. Isn't it funny how a song will put you right back in a certain time? Here are some songs and here are their attached memories:

Bizarre Love Triangle by New Order. In the late '80s, my friends and I followed this cover band around every night from bar to bar. When I say every night, I mean we were there on Thanksgiving. I do not know if they played on Christmas, but if they did, we were there. We were obsessed with this band. One of the songs they played was Bizarre Love Triangle, a song I loved. Sometimes they'd play it as soon as we walked in, because they knew we'd dance to it. When I linked this song just now? I danced to it in my robe, with Henry looking at me.
Jealous Guy by John Lennon. Really, any song by any Beatle and there I am, back in my childhood.

When my white-'fro parents were not listening to the Beatles, I was at my grandmother's house, and my aunt and uncle were blaring out the Beatles over there. I'm sure my grandma was thrilled. She was hanging her goat high.

I really like the song Jealous Guy, and I also like the song Junk by Paul McCartney, but apparently Paul McCartney has, like, Fort Knox on all his songs and you cannot put them up on any blog. Lighten up, Paul. Don't you think you probably have enough bank?

Tempted, by Squeeze. There is NO SONG, no song, that transports me to college more than this song. I am in my boyfriend's dorm room, watching his put Spritz Forte in his pompadour. I am sitting on the floor with my housemate Edie, screaming the lyrics drunkenly. I am bartending at Small Planet, dancing to this song and pouring beer. I mean, Tempted. So college. Love this song.

Yes, I DID decide a perm was a good idea when I was in college. A PERM. Maybe I wanted the 'fro to be like my parents.

Black, by Pearl Jam. One of my favorite songs, anyway. But I moved to Seattle right when the whole grunge thing was happening, which I did not do on purpose. This song reminds me of getting to Seattle, and falling in love with it, and going to clubs, and wearing black and trying to seem deep and depressed and not naive and Midwestern which is what I really was.

Let Love Rule, by Lenny Kravitz. In the summer of 1990, I studied in London. I had a stupid boyfriend who was an archeology student, and he was going to Mexico all summer to dig something up. He never called or wrote the entire summer. Not once! It was hard to get ahold of him because he was in the middle of nowhere, so I spent all summer worrying he didn't like me anymore.

One of the guys in my study group knew I liked the song Let Love Rule, and one afternoon he stood under my balcony and played guitar and sang it. It was so cool and it cheered me right up. Every time I hear that song I remember that beautiful sunny afternoon in London, in the middle of the park where I lived, that goofy guy singing Lenny Kravitz to cheer my ridiculous self up. I was in LONDON! I was YOUNG! I was CUTE! Why didn't I just lighten the eff up?

Okay, obviously I am at Stonehenge here and not London. Same summer, though. Nice front butt. Maybe I wasn't as cute as memory serves.

What songs remind you of stuff? Do any songs remind you of making bank?

Ooh baby before you bump it won’t you shake it just a little for me. (Make June Do It.)

In our second installment of Make June Do It, your faithful servant June has used the Bumpit.

The Bumpit is apparently something they advertise on infomercials, and frankly June is surprised she has not (a) seen said infomercial and (b) been wildly tempted to purchase it, because you give June EIGHT SECONDS with any infomercial and she desperately needs whatever product they’re selling.

Ohmygod, I SO.NEED. that dog dehydrator! My dog is way too wet. And what? They’re throwing in the menthol grater? MY MENTHOL HAS NEEDED GRATING FOR SUCH A LONG TIME.

Seriously, I cannot tell you how they can show me something I do not remotely need, and they have me hypnotized instantly.

Did I ever tell you about when Marvin caught me buying the Escape Your Shape videos at 4 in the morning? In one of his better lines, he said, “You’re gonna WANT to escape your shape when I get done with you! Hang up that phone!”

His menthol is so never getting grated, is all I can say.

At any rate, when several of you asked me to try the Bumpit I did not know what it was. Fortunately, Faithful Reader Shana had not only heard of it, she was sucked into buying it and gladly shipped it off to me. I forget if her hair was too silky or she never got around to it or what the story was. Whatev. The Bumpit was mine.

There are like 79 pieces to this item. It was like getting Lincoln Logs or something. I had to read the directions before I began.

Who is 892 with her reading glasses? Who might as well hang it up and just join one of those Red Hat Societies, with her super super colorful busy reading glasses?

Anyway, here’s one of the pieces. You pull a bunch of your hairs up and stick it in there, and because my hair is the consistency of a pipe cleaner, that’s no issue.

Hello? Is your Bumpit running? Do you have Prince Bumpit in a can?

Did you really think I didn’t have to fool around with it first?

Ohhh, cherie! Come to zee Bumpit and we will zee Paris! (I have no idea why this is French.)

LaVar Burton called from the starship Enterprise. Wants his glasses back.

Okay, anyway, I finally put it in my hair. Won’t you enjoy the many natural colors of my hair? Who lives in a pineapple under my hair? Spongebumpit Squarepants.

Aaaaaand scene. There it is. Wow.

I see you! You look all bumpy!

Really? It wasn’t that dramatic. I kind of have Heather Locklear hair. Right after this I slept with Tommy Lee.

Here’s the Bumpit the next morning after my walk of shame from Tommy Lee’s house.

Yeah. So, I tried the Bumpit. I can see where it might be kind of cute if you didn’t have enormous hair like I do. It wasn’t so noticeable on me.

There were also little Bumpits? That apparently you added to the side of your hair? Yeah. Didn’t stay in my head.

I hope you’ve enjoyed your journey with June. I hope you’ve enjoyed making June Do It. Enjoy your bump day! Get it? Cause it’s Wednesday?

Oh, bumpit.

I got 99 problems but a stitch ain’t one

Okay, who is obsessed with the "99 Problems" song?

Really, though, the first Make June Do It activity was a bust. Faithful Reader Laurie suggested I go all day today completely unclothed. First I made sure Marvin's friend Ron was not coming over. Because I feel right at home around Ron, but come on, now.

Also? I made Tallulah be naked too.

No, really.

I took her collar off. I figured I shouldn't have to do this alone. I think she is a little worried that it's bath time, to tell you the truth.

Anyway, I got up and took off my pajamas and paraded right into the kitchen, where Marvin was completely indifferent to my Emperor's New Clothes state. Who is over me and my shenanigans? Is it Marvin? Whose fault is it that I have a blog? Is it Marvin's? Suck it up, Marv.

So here's what I have to tell you. You make coffee, sweep the floors, and fluff the couch pillows all naked? Yeah. It gets COLD.

Maybe we should have done this in August. Because, brr.

I felt bad, because I logged onto Facebook, and Faithful Reader Paula From New York's status update was that she is wondering how my naked day is going.

Maybe we all need to be a little worried about Paula.

Oh! And while I'm up, she is our commenter of the week. For something she actually said on this blog, not because she is thinking of me undressed. Go look at Special of the Week on the right column to see her funniness.

So anyway, I am berobed now. Sorry, Laurie.

Oh, and I did keep my necklace on. Which I guess isn't fair because Tallulah had to take hers off.

If I have time today, I will stampede to the Bumpit that Faithful Reader Shana wants me to try for my next Make June Do It. Mostly today I am reading, though, for my OTHER book club. And that reminds me!

Don't forget to finish The Fountainhead soon, because we are having Mince Words with June, my book club, on September 30 at 9 p.m. Eastern Time. Bring your Ding Dongs, as they are the official snack item of Mince Words with June.

This is naked and ashamed June, signing out.

Her name is Rio

Dear people who go to Target,

News flash. We DO NOT WANT TO HEAR YOUR PHONE CALL. Really! We don't care that "Ohhh. Ohhhhh. Oh, that's so sad. Yeahh." You know, it kind of sounds like an emo call. Maybe you could, I don't know, CONCENTRATE ON YOUR FRIEND AND NOT SHOP AT TARGET AT THE SAME TIME!

How much do you like me for saying "emo"?

Plus also, remind me to never, ever go to Target at 5:30 p.m. on a weekday ever again. When I was little, my mother said I used to sit in the grocery cart and screech, "Get out of my way!" at the crowds. I really feel exactly the same now. Maybe I'll CALL SOMEONE AND DISCUSS IT IN THE CARD AISLE.

In other news, somehow we have a slide show now when our computer rests, which happens about .0004 seconds a day. What did Marvin and I do before we had the Internet? You know what? We never did. I remember I moved in with him and he had to show me how to use it. And I found Jennycam and that was it.

Did anyone else watch that? It was this totally regular woman who had camera in her house and you could watch her all day. I.Was.OBSESSED. Ob.SESSSSSSED. with Jennycam.

Anyway, so somehow we get this slide show of our pictures and you have no idea how many times we have sat here like morons looking at all our old photos. Finally I said, "Where ARE all these pictures?" and Marvin said, "I dunno" and so I searched and found them. They were in this file called "Pictures." I know! I am Miss Marple.

Here are some pictures I found.

There's Marvin at our goodbye party in LA. Lookin' manly.

There's me. I'll bet everyone misses my bra strap.

Remember when we first moved here, and I lived here alone and Marvin had to still live in TinyTown for two months? All I had was this chair, the dog, and my computer. I totally sound like The Jerk right now. "All I need is this remote, and this thermos!" Anyway, look at who is little.

Awww.

I guess most of the pictures I plucked out for you from the mysteriously titled "Pictures" file are all puppy pictures of Lu. Look how she was the same size as Winston. Winston would give his left patoo for that to still be the case. Tallulah ate that bed soon after.

Speaking of patoos, if you didn't read yesterday's post you do not know that I proposed a fabulous new idea called Make June Do It, where you have me do things you've always wondered about but for some reason didn't do. Don't annoy me like the cell people at Target; go read yesterday's post so you'll know the rules.

Anyway, it would appear that a great many of you want me to wax myself bald on my lady parts (and I use the term "lady" sort of loosely) and also use some sort of hair implement called the BumpIt. Faithful Reader Shana, you'll be pleased to hear, is sending me her BumpIt. Also too? I told Marvin I had to get a Brazilian.

"No, you don't," he said.

"Yes, I do. I said I'd do whatever as long as it wasn't scary like bungee jumping, and about 8 million people said to do it."

Don't men LIKE the Brazilian? I thought that's why women did it. I have the only husband in the world who prefers the Jiffy Pop look. Nevertheless, I'm gonna do it. Balance Day Spa does it for $50, which is $10 over budget. I will keep you posted re this important topic.

Oh! And one more thing. We are having people over this weekend, so at Target I got some wine, then as I was leaving I almost forgot it. The checkout girl said, "Don't forget your wine! I know that's important!"

Okay. Do I look like WC Fields? Do I have a bulbous red nose (don't answer that)? Why do I look like wine is important? Is it my corkscrew tattoo and "I Heart a Beaujolais Buzz" t-shirt?

She knows wine is important.

Maybe it was my cell phone ring tone that played "Red, red wine."

Why is it already 6:56 a.m.? Usually when I write you it is much earlier. I guess I was listening to my talk radio too long. The hosts are Democrats, and you can imagine most of the listening audience are Republicans, and OH! the drama. It's fun.

Anyway, since I can't talk, I will tell you my new idea. What if we have Make June Do IT?

Like, say you wanted to try a new product. You sit through a whole infomercial and you really want the item but don't dare buy it because your husband would smack you in the snout. Write in and make me do it!

Perhaps you have always wanted to try hot yoga or that Brazilian hair straightening or a chicken curry recipe but are afraid you'll hate it. MJDI!

I don't know how I'd do this without going broke. Maybe we should have a limit, like, I can only spend $40 a month on Make June Do IT.

If you write in with a MJDI, I can compile a little list, or maybe get a (shudder) button that you could click to see what assignments I have. And I could cross out the list as I go.

I will not do anything scary, though, like bungee jump. I have the right to say no, I won't do that. But other than, you know, parachuting or anything horrifying like that, I'm pretty fearless.

What say you? Should we Make June Do It?

(I have just had dreadful visions of "June, I have always wanted to sleep with the FedEx guy…")

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