Aging ungracefully · Health · June's stupid life · Marvin

Portret van June Gardens

I watch a lot of YouTube videos because any time I don’t know how to do something around the house, I just YouTube it. Once I watched a video titled, “How to take down a ceiling fan and replace it with a light,” and the whole video was a guy replacing a ceiling fan with another ceiling fan, and also not telling you to turn off the power first. So I’m not saying it’s always a stellar solution.

The point is, you’ve no idea how often YouTube tutorials start off, “Hey, guys.”

This makes me disproportionately furious. Hey, guys! Oh, shut up.

So, hello. Is what I’m saying. Hello. Is it me you’re looking for? …Why?

I thought I’d recap my weekend for you, which includes barf, so why did you come here, again?

FRIDAY

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On Friday night, because the world was my oyster and I’m living that swinging single life, I prepared my house to paint it Saturday morning. I’m not saying that I painted my house, just the living room. As I was moving shit around, I found this photo of me at a museum, lookin’ at a Calder. I guess this was before I figured out that modern art annoyed me.

I wonder if my parents went there to add to their collection of horrifically depressing art.

Anyway, I took pictures down, I filled nail holes, I scooched furniture, and generally by the end of it was in a mood. I believe I had popcorn for dinner and went to bed.

SATURDAY, or, if you’re something of an ass, CATURDAY

IMG_0122.jpegIMG_0120.jpegIMG_0132.jpegThe day dawned with Mr. Obsession obsessing over my every move while I tried to find the painter’s tape, the paint tray, the PAINT, the–OH MY GOD EDSEL GET A HOBBY.

Just when I said that, he came in here and began today’s baleful staring. I guess his hobby is whitening his face. Is he into kabuki theater, or what’s going on with that?

Dear June,
Maybe you could come up with a new line beyond that kabuki one.

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Anyway, I’d like to tell you I went crazy with the before and afters, but I was busy. To sum it up, the walls were beige and now they’re Alabaster.

Ooooo, I forgot one crucial thing! Careful readers will recall that I always go to Sherwin Williams, namely because the whippersnapper of color who works there and seriously I think lives there is hot hot hotty hot hot. Oh my god. I can’t tell how old he is, but somewhere between Jail and I Should Be Ashamed.

On Friday, I strolled in there for drop cloths–and I guess I didn’t cover the TV or the terrible pink dresser and oh my god, let’s fix that dresser–but the POINT is, I walked in Friday and he said, “Heyyyy! I know you!”

I mean.

I know maybe it’s because I PAINT CONSTANTLY and am my own Eldon, but it was still exciting to be recognized by a hot whippersnapper.

I had to return there Saturday, or if you continue to be assy, Caturday, SANS makeup or shower or anything, and I prayed to god he’d have the day off but he LIVES there, I’m assuring you.

Anyway he was still nice to me even though our 70 years’ difference was incredibly apparent. Hey, Russel Crowe.

I was trying to think of someone who always looks puffy.

Hey, country guy who hosts that one talent show people think is cute but to me, he just looks like a guy I went to high school with that I run into at a bad bar.

What’s that guy’s name? I can see him but have no idea. Those talent shows do nothing for me. I enjoy highbrow entertainment such as The Real Housewives.

Anyway, here.

White living room, now with terrible pink dresser!

First of all, I’m tempted to just mount the TV. I’ve been single a long time. Bah. No, I mean, why do I need a whole clunky thing there anyway? But I need the dresser in general, cause I don’t know if you’ve creepy-crawled my place in your spare time, but it’s not what you’d call roomy.

What did mill workers in the ’30s do with all their DVDs and workout t-shirts? Which is what those drawers have. I wish I knew some, like, organizer, who could come make better use of my tiny space.

I wonder what she’d say about the 700 books in the kitchen cupboard.

Anyway, after the paint was dry and everything was put back, I went out for awhile, even had a glass of wine. And here’s my problem. I don’t drink much wine anymore because it’s Russian roulette for me. You never know when it’ll give me a migraine.

Well.

SUNDAY
I woke up in the middle of the night, and man was I sick. I had a migraine, a bad one, and I was violently ill. Oh, it was not welcome news.

I had this friend who was on a dating site, and he’d dated this woman for a few weeks till he got a message ON THE DATING SITE, from the woman’s FIANCE. He said finding out they were dating was “not welcome news” and I always loved the understatedness of that term, despite the fucking stalking abilities of that fiance.

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Ugh. In case you’re wondering, though, that Thayer’s Witch (soundths like I’m lithping) Hazel is good, but don’t do what I did and get it in cucumber scent. I wanted it to be that delightful fake cucumber but it smells like, you know, a cucumber.

I spent a great deal of Sunday recovering from that awfulness. The migraine, not the buying cucumber witch hazel.

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Everyone was willing to lie around with me, and Edsel was able to meet his goal of staring at me for at least 70 hours this weekend.

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Milhous: do she alwayz barf? Iris: fek off

Also, Sunday was Marvin-my-ex-husband’s birthday.

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Finally, I rallied enough to go out and get a cheap throw for my new chair that the cats can’t seem to get enough of. Also, I got root spray because the last time I had my hair professionally colored was August, and I look like Shirley Maclaine in Terms of Endearment when Deborah Winger is dying.

Dear June:
Maybe you could get a new line for when your roots are bad.

Did anyone see D Winger being rude to Andy Cohen on Watch What Happens Live? Does she not realize the entire world is on his side?

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Anyway, I also got new slippers, and on Instagram I wrote, “New slippers, who dis?” and fell in love with self all over again.

Then as the evening drew to a close I once again got out the Google Art app and someone needs to do an intervention. As usual, I was not pleased.

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Goddammit
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Goddammit (June-hair edition)
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GODDAMMIT (Agnes Morehead as an old lady edition)

So I switched angles.

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God. DAMN. IT.

I gotta update my profile.

More hilarious humor and toilet shots on the next Bye Bye June’s Book.

Aging ungracefully · Family · Marvin

I love things in my own way

Good gravy, I had that migraine all day yesterday. From the moment I woke up till I finally gave up and fell asleep at 9 p.m.

That second sentence was a clarification, in case you were unclear what I meant by “all day.” Me and my big words. Continue reading “I love things in my own way”

Hair · Marvin · Money

Somebody better put your bag into your place

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was Marvin's handwriting.

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

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

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

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

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

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yuu may kiss steelee hand

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

See what I did, there?

Surreally,

Jewn

...friend/Ned · Film · June's stupid life · Marvin

The house began to pitch. And I’m a bitch.

"Marvin's getting married this weekend," I told Ned, "I feel nothing."

"See? That, right there. That scares the SHIT outta me. What if one day, after all this, you feel nothing for me?" I knew Ned was pointing at me dramatically, even though we were on the phone. He's in Kansas. Kansas, he says, is the name of his star.

Kansas, he says, is the name.of.his.star.

When I get to work today, Ima act like Glinda all day. I'll smile benevolently at everyone with my wand and sing in a really trilly voice. "Noon-ish, she says is the time of her deadline! Noonish, she says, is the time of her deadline."

"June, what time is the meeting?"

"Two two, two!"

My favorite line in that whole movie is, "Toto, too!" We need to incorporate that into our conversations today.

Also, I totally need a pink dress like that. What sleeves?

Anyway. He's in Kansas, Ned is, "slap in the middle of nowhere," is how he actually described it. I never knew I'd date anyone who said, "slap in the middle," but there it is.

And anyway, if you ask me, and you did by default cause you're stuck reading this, the HEALTHY response to your ex-husband getting married should be a feeling of nothing. I mean, if I felt rage or jealousy or deep sadness about the person I divorced five years ago, that might be a bad sign, right? Instead I feel a vague, Oh, good for him. And I'm Facebook friends with his new wife, and she seems cool. So what's the big deal?

Yesterday I had to write about 80 social media posts at work, not as my hobby, so I went to my hiding place. I don't know how other people get their work done in the open floor plan–I'm the only person I know who the headphones don't work for. You know how headphones are the universal sign for Do Not Disturb? About 60 times a day, I get someone gesturing at me between me and the computer screen, and then I take them off and it's all, "So how you doing?"

Seriously, why does anyone want to talk to me? I'm the crabbiest person you know.

So I can't work that way. That is why I got a hiding place at work.

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I sit in this doorway, near an emergency exit, and there's a long hallway before you get there, and no reason to go here unless there's a, you know, emergency. Sometimes squirrels and birds go by the door, which is always lovely. I consider this Second Desk.

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This time of year it's what you might call sunny.

Oooo, that reminds me, I get my hair cut and colored tonight. What a relief. Not only is it secretly gray, but it's all scraggeldy. I never did go back to the racist hairdresser–imagine how off the chain she is now.

Speaking of now, I've been watching all of the Mary Tyler Moore show. It's funny that they'd have a show they called that, but the lead character is Mary Richards. Anyway, on that show, they keep suggesting they do interesting things to the news, like give their opinion and not be neutral, or have funny segments, and those suggestions are always seen to be so outlandish. Oh, we'd NEVER do that.

…hunh.

Also, Sue Ann Nivens. Oh my god, she's the best.

Okay, I gotta go. Now that we've discussed the pressing issues of our time and all. I gotta slap something on, grab my wand and smile benevolently.

Tototoo

Okay, that was more fakely than benevolently.

...friend/Ned · Film · Food and Drink · Health · June can't keep a man · June's stupid life · Los Angeles · Marvin · My Bible and Wall Street obsessions · My pets

June’s going to kiss you. She won’t even wait.

I'm trying to think of anything of note that happened to me this weekend after The Hair Incident of Saturday, but mostly I had migraines on and off.

TAAA-DAAAA! Thanks, June. Thank god I'm here today. Took time out to visit yer ass.

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Yesterday was finally a nice day, after 46 days and nights of rain, so Edsel and I took a long walk, and then practiced our non-expressions.

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Then we practiced our "stuffed and mounted" look.

It really was an excellent day yesterday. The kind of fall day where it's still warm, but not remotely oppressive, and you think, "Do I need a coat?" because it's breezy, but then you don't. I had to get some work done yesterday, which sucked because who wants to think of work on a Sunday. Even God doesn't. Even God's all, screw that. I'm restin'. Sittin' on the sofa on a Sunday afternoon. Goin' to the candidate's debate.

But I also went to a very bad movie. It was called The Last Film Festival and even though Jacqueline Bissett is on it with her hoots, it was not worth it. Her hoots are still fabulous. Girlfriend must've had 'em lifted or whatever. They were divine.

The movie was not.

Also, I have to sneak my own popcorn into the movie now, as I am not allowed to eat movie popcorn on my migraine diet. Except the thing is, my popcorn that I make with Parmesan cheese and nutritional yeast is 48 times better than that block of salt they sell at the movies. Shoulda been doing that all along.

I remember one of my very first conversations with Ned was about what we eat at the movies, and he was big into his ice (he likes that choppy ice, what's it called? Where it's like little slivers that you can't avoid? I hate that kind of ice). Re popcorn, we were both strongly non-butter people.

But even without that disgusting butter, eating movie popcorn is like after you've made out with Lot's Wife.

How much have you missed my Lot's Wife humor?

I remember having this conversation with him and being excited that he was rich enough to get snacks at the movies. Marvin used to discourage me from snacks. "Why do we need popcorn?"

We're divorced now.

Did I ever tell you about when we went to the movies in LA, and the ticket taker greeted us from behind the counter? She was seated. "Oh, don't get up," Marvin said, really snotty-like.

We walked over there and she tore our tickets from our wheelchair.

You know that feeling where your blood turns to ice?

Anyway, in summation. BYOP is better than BYOP. Bring Your Own Popcorn/Buy Your Own Popcorn. Down with BYOP. Yeah, you know me.

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In the meantime, I'm trying to find ways to keep the World's Most Rambunctious Kitten amused. He is the cat version of Lottie. I can't have a sedate pet. No one mention Stanley, a thing I regret EVERY DAY. Anyway, he likes bird and squirrel videos, SDSilverman does. He acts just how you WANT a cat to react to them. All my other cats have been bored and look around at everything else when I get these videos out. Not Steely Dan.

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Also, no one wants to play with that spitty ball, Edsel. No one.

I'd better go. Did you watch the ridiculous presidential debate last night? When did we all stop being grownups?

Dignifiedly, in her smoking jacket and ascot,

June

P.S. After I'm done writing these posts, I always go over to my categories and pick some that apply. It just occurred to me that it's the same as hashtagging. God, I'm annoying.

Aging ungracefully · Busy busy busy busy. Thank heavens for Angie's List. · I am a pleasure of life · June can't keep a man · June doesn't know any ugly people · June's stupid life · Marvin · Snakes

Mike and the bittwersweet croc

7:19 a.m.

This morning I was peeing, and Lottie ran in, took the toilet paper off the holder, and ran off. You know how all your life you've said, How can anyone beat a puppy? I have your answer.

Numbers sign TeamLottieAbandoners. Did you know if you type a hashtag and write something right next to it now, it immediately turns into some kind of bold link? I could get all types of people coming over here right now with my stupid hashtags.

sex

mesothelioma

(I've heard that used to be a popular search term. Marvin told me. Marvin, that social media expert.)

#Taylorswift

Well, why didn't that last one work? Goddammit. Anyway, hello, sex and mesothelioma lovers. Welcome. This blog discusses neither, seeing as I have neither at the moment. Life could turn on a dime, though. Why, just tonight I could have sex and catch mesothelioma all at the same time. I know you're kind of hoping for the latter, if you have mesothelioma and came looking for answers. Incidentally I'm something of a dick. Welcome, again.

Wouldn't it be funny if I had sex with Taylor Swift tonight? I wonder if she'd leave me any Thunderstruck? Do you like how I subtly linked to my Amazon wish list, right there? I'm learning about this sort of subtle linkage in my writing. Marvin taught me. Bah.

Anyway.

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I'm still looking through every damn piece of paper I own to find that damn blueprint for my yard that that garden store made for me in 2008. I've looked through all my papers (see mom being hilarious, above), and then just this morning I woke up and said, "I'll bet I put it with the big buying-my-house folder." And I'll bet I did.

Oh, and I forgot to say, note the time. I put the time at the top of this post, and I like that idea. To note the time I'm writing. Of course, I'll forget tomorrow.

Anyway, speaking of forgetting, I couldn't blog yesterday because I had one guy over named Mike who was looking at my deck, and then we had to dicker and deal and talk on the phone 50 times. Then I had a guy named Mike who came over to look at my grandmother's chair to tell me about recovering it, and he left his Reptile Collection II book here, and who on this earth selects orange reptile Naugahyde? Who? Anyway, I gotta call him but I'm riveted by this book and loath to return it. I've been poring over it when I'm not meeting Mikes.

Because there's a guy named Mike who came over to measure my door to put a new screen door in, a gift from my mother for my birthday.

Do you see what I did, there? I'm linked in. I imagine always talking about it detracts from the subtlety just a titch. It's like how any time Marvin and I ever Did It OVER THE COURSE OF SIXTEEN YEARS, he had to mention the next day that we Did It. "That kind of reminds me of last night. Heh."

Then he invented Facebook, because social media guru. "I should call it sit-on-my-Facebook. Kinda reminds me of last night. Heh."

Dear Mike Zuckerman or whatever your name is: Do not sue me. I was being hilarious and in no way did Marvin invent Facebook. Can I introduce you to my lover, Taylor Swift?

I couldn't help myself. I just perused Mike's Reptile II Electric Boogaloo book one more time.

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Yes, I wonder if you could sign me up for the aubergine bi-crock fabric. Thanks.

I wonder what riveting reptiles, what scintillating snake fabrics were featured in Reptile I? Coral Cobra? Bluest Black Snake?

Anyway, it's been a time, getting all kinds of phone calls that start out, "June? Mike." and then I have to wait to see if he's gonna talk about doors or chairs or decks. So that's why I couldn't write, because I got Mikes. Which would be exciting except Taylor Swift is a jealous lover. So much for being bi-crock with Taylor and all the Mikes.

I really abhor when people say "lover." Stop. If you say "lover," do you know what I will never be?

So it turns out I'm getting the deck, which will cost my every last dime but the one I have is literally falling apart, and as a result I can't afford the chair. And I'm gettin' the door because mom.

In the meantime, while I was doing all that, I asked you to tell me what to blog about, which you will see I mostly ignored, but Becky BadHair wrote in and sent us a link to a personality test that is just grand. Almost as grand as Lime Emu fabric, which I hate to tell Reptile II is not a reptile. Here: 16personalities.com.

Go take it! I did, and I am a campaigner. Which makes no sense at all if you think about how often I've linked to my wish list today. This last link, here, really is to my personality profile, though. Oh, it's great. And so detailed!

The ENFP personality is a true free spirit. They are often the life of the party, but unlike Explorers, they are less interested in the sheer excitement and pleasure of the moment than they are in enjoying the social and emotional connections they make with others. Charming, independent, energetic and compassionate, the 7% of the population that they comprise can certainly be felt in any crowd.

Don't I sound magnificent? I know I think so.

Aw, hell, I gotta get in the shower and go. But here are some photos and things I found while looking for that damn blueprint, which better be effing worth it when I do find it.

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Paula's Christmas letter where she details her Heart fascination. It never stops amusing me, her look of pure Edsel joy when she's watching Heart for the 93424056th time. Also, both her boobs are featured back then! It's good we captured them on film. We didn't know we'd be missing one. I wouldn't say I've been missing it, Bob.

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Mr. Horkheimer.

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Article–hard-hitting article–about my Aunt Kathy being in Paul McCartney's DVD. Apparently I know a lot of people featured in concert DVDs. I have said DVD, and Aunt Kathy has signed it, "All my lovin', Aunt Kathy."

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Me with a boot on my car in 1992. That goddamn place. They gave you a ticket every four minutes. I remember that dress cost $110, which was unheard of at the time. Except by me, who gladly shelled out $110. To be fair, I wore it for about 10 years, and then I wore the cardigan portion for even longer.

I was adorable. I would say I didn't appreciate it, but I kind of feel like I went around thinking, "I am adorable." So.

And responsible!

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Cousin Katie and me, circa 2003. I loved that purse. Not that Katie was a purse. The purse I'm holding. Garment district, LA. Was a regular there.

And here's the piece of resistance. Heh.

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The list of my ideal man, created after Marvin left me to pursue his social media passion. Hey, did I want to find a rich man, Daidle deedle daidle daidle daidle deedle daidle dumb, at all?

Dear Bald Steve: Yes, I just quoted a musical. Shut up. Love, June.

I need to make a new list.

Okay, I'm really going. Go take that personality test. heeeee. No, really, here's the link. It's riveting.

Let's just open Mike's Reptile II book one more time. See what we get. IMG_0762
Well, that 'bout sums up my life. A bittersweet croc.

XO,

Jooooooon

June's stupid life · Marvin

June has dinner with her ex-husband, who had a raging temper and was a philanderer. Alternatively, it just didn’t work out.

You'll be sad to hear Marvin didn't wear plaid.

Marv
I hauled my arse all the way to Chapel Hill, and who knew Chapel Hill was so cute? Turns out it's where University of North Carolina is, so it's full of the quaint shops and hot college girls. I kept trying to point them out to Marvin and he kept missing them. He was never an elevator eyes type of guy.

I parked in a lot, and there was a line of 500 people waiting to pay at the auto pay thing. "What's going on?" I asked, irritated. Like, did the people at the front just not know how to use the machine and they were holding us all up? Because irritating. Am always looking for new opportunities to be irritated.

The man in front of me turned around. He looked sophisticated, but had some sort of can–a can!–of alcohol, open, at the ready. I mean, he was well-dressed, like he was on his way to dinner. He sized me up. "Where are YOU headed?" he asked, standing too close.

You know how I am. "Well, I'm on my way to have dinner with my ex-husband," I said. "We get along just fine. Haven't seen him in about a year, and I'd like to not be late." If Can Man got any closer, he'd be my unborn child.

"You're not late till you get there," he said, and apparently Can Man was full of the wisdom. Or the canned liquor. Really, what man tries to be smooth with a can of open alcohol on the street? Say, Catch.

Eventually I gave up and decided if I get a ticket, I'd fight it, because no one could work the machine.

Chill

I walked to Tallula's, and there was Marvin.

When the waiter came, he explained he was new and someone would be tracking his every move, and what would we like to drink. Marvin got water. If only he'd have asked for a can of alcohol.

When the waiter brought our drinks and some EFFING DELISH BREAD, I asked, "So, how long you been working here?"

"…a while."

"And they still have someone tracking you? Well, you're doing great." You know how I am. I'm surprised I didn't tell him Marvin and I used to be married and we get along fine.

After he left, Marvin waited. "That was a whole 'nother guy," he grinned.

"NO!"

"Yes, that wasn't the guy who first came out." Marvin giggled–GIGGLED!–at my humiliation. See, that sums it up. Marvin loves to watch me suffer. He also reminded me of the time on our honeymoon when the bee attacked me and he "couldn't" help. "I had ice cream!" he reminded me.

Our EFFING DELISH food came, and as it did, there was a plunk on our table. PLUNK.

Then another one. PLUNK. A squirrel was right above us, dropping seeds or nuts or cannons or whatever on us. We could SEE him up there, the little fucker, giggling at us. "That be a diffrent wayter!" I heard him say.

When the meter maid came, Marvin dashed up and slept with her or something, and got me out of a ticket. I contemplated waiting for him to get back till I ate, but Miss Manners says if food is hot you don't have to wait. I decided to remind Marvin of this when he returned.

He ran back to the table to see me eating. "Miss Manners," he said, sitting down. It's so convenient when you've known someone for 30 years and lived with them for 16. You almost don't have to talk.

Me

"Do I look depressed and haggard?" I asked Marvin. We didn't suddenly start eating in an open floor plan. I took this unsmiling selfie before I let, for the head of our department, who even though he's in New York working, managed to ask me how my blowout went. Maybe I tell too many people my everything. Anyway, I sent him this, because am certain he was not busy or anything.

"No, you look good," Marvin said, but then again Marvin fears me. I tried to get him to tell me the same things I always want to know: How many people has he slept with since we broke up. When did he start Doing the Deed. He'll never tell me, or he'll tell me such a stupid number I know it's not true. "You'll tell all your blog readers and it'll be published all over the world."

Well of course it would. I may have even emailed the head of my department about it.

So I still don't know.

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After that it got pretty late, and we both had to go, but it was great seeing Annie again. I realized what a terrific person she was, and how much fun it was just knowing her. And I I thought of that old joke, y'know, this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doc, my brother's crazy; he thinks he's a chicken." And, the doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn him in?" The guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs."

I guess that's pretty much now how I feel about relationships; y'know. They're totally irrational, and crazy, and absurd, but I guess we keep goin' through it because, uh, most of us need the eggs.

(That was only funny if you're obsessed with Annie Hall.)

June's stupid life · Marvin · Other people's pets

See You This Tuesday

Maybe other people would find it depressing to live alone in a pet-free house after a breakup, but I gotta tell you, I just loves it.

That's a line from The Color Purple. Celie asks Shug how Shug can stand to sleep with Mister, and Shug says, "I just loves it."

If you didn't see The Color Purple, that whole sentence was gobbeldygook. I know a person who constantly tells stories about people you've never heard of as if you should know who they all are. "Greg told me he's seeing a therapist." "Who the fuck is Greg?" "Oh, he's my dentist." I mean, HOW WOULD I KNOW THIS? Why don't you say, "My dentist told me…" or "My coworker said.."

Anyway, I just loves it. I don't know how YOU recover from things ("PJ says she recovers from things by…" "Who the hell is PJ?" See, I don't do that. I say "a reader." "A reader tells me she has sex with her husband six times a week."), but for me, the thing I do after is isolate. Preserve myself in amber. I mean, I'm in that HORRIFIC OPEN FLOOR PLAN all day, so people people people people all day long FUCK ME, and I did talk on the phone to my friend Nadja for the whole drive home yesterday, but then I got here and bliss. Silent bliss.

This entire time I've been blogging at you, my former spouse Marvin has been texting me weird names of people he keeps finding on Facebook. Someone with the last name Rotund-Tushmie. Someone named Janpledawarbaangerrujigu Angar-ijuut, and in parentheses she calls herself "Warba." "Why not just Jan?" asked Marvin.

"Janpledawarbaangerrujigu told me that she…" I told Marvin just now to stop texting me, as he KNOWS it's my blog time. He started this nine years ago. He should know.

Speaking of people texting me, The Tall Boy did so this weekend to see how I was doing. Which was nice. "Who's The Tall Boy?" "Oh, he's this person I dated for 28 days, like a menstrual cycle, and then we got over that and became friends."

Anyway, at some point in the coversation, he found his emojis on his phone. Emojis
I told him "rectangle back at ya." And then I found a rooster and a lollipop. Have a good weekend, [rooster/lollipop]," I wrote, feeling myself deeply. Seriously, I was giggling like an idiot. Fukemojis

Chicken pop. Good gravy. Feline cutlery. Emojis are stupid.

Oh, but the only thing is? She says, going back to the topic of living here completely alone like she hasn't talked about 80 other things since then, is I keep thinking there are cats. I hear the heater click and I assume cat walking somewhere. I see something out of the corner of my eye, and to me it's gonna be a cat. Kaye had two cats who lived here till they got old and died. I wonder if they haunt the place? I would love them. I would love the ghost kitties.

I like how my phone identifies Tall Boy as "Tall" when we're texting, like that's his first name. And we weren't talking at 7:30 on a weekend morning. It was more like 4:00. But that's when I took these screenshots. See what I do for you people?

Oh, and you asked to see what color I got at yesterday's pedicure, so hang on…

Feets

I'm so texting Marvin to tell him to be sure to read my blog today. Do we know anyone who has a problem with cankles? We should call him or her, too. Do you have any friends who have weird phobias or things they just can't stand? My friend Donna hates the word "toilet" and also "rash." She also hates rashes. Not just the word, the thing. Rashes, the thing. I should be a writer.

Henhenhen

Look what else Marvin sent! Along with another Facebook name: This one was Ms. Blazin Badonkulous. Anyway, Henry. Look at him. He's never taken a bad picture even once in his orange life. Oh, Henry. See what I did, there?

I'd better start driving to work. It takes 20 minutes from here, as opposed to 6 from my last house. My house that I own has a similar 6-minute commute, so I can't complain about that. Although I will. I'm really starting to plan my move back. Ima repaint the bookshelves, just to freshen them up, and one of the Alexes is gonna help me paint the bedrooms. I want to paint them a color I love and that everyone else will hate. Or at least that I love. Hooo care what anyone else thinks? No one's ever gonna see those bedrooms anyway, except the dogs, who are colorblind. I wonder, if I let Edsel and Tallulah pick the colors, what they'd pick? I feel like Talu would pick some goth, senstive, Pink Floyd Is There Anybody Out There color, and Edsel would paint his room tinsel.

I will talk to you later. I wish I could have covered more things in this post.

XO,

Blazin Badonkulous

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · Marvin

If Ned and Marvin got in a fight, who do you think would win?

Last night, I was still at work because HELLO BUSY when Ned emailed me. “I’m not going to the gym tonight; I’m coming straight home. Want to go out to dinner?”

I guess he read my blog yesterday. Now I feel bad. BUT THAT DAMN GYM!

I went home and there was Ned, which was exciting. It was like seeing a unicorn, with Ned being here before dark. “Where do you want to go?” he asked, knowing I’d say Filling Station, which he hates. “Filling Station,” I said.

Ned hung his head in agony. “Okay,” he sighed. He doesn’t like it there because they don’t serve anything healthy. I like it there because they don’t serve anything healthy. I get this turkey on a croissant? It has honey cream cheese and a thinly sliced green apple.

I just noticed I’d typed, “he signed,” instead he “he sighed,” like he was Marlee Matlin or something. But I fixed it, because I KNOW HOW YOU ALL LOVE TO POINT OUT MY MISTAKES IN TYPING THANKS NO REALLY THANKS.

Finally, we decided on the Mexican place, where Ned gets a fish taco, so to speak. I get taquitos. Right there is the difference between Ned and me. Ned was excited because they’d be showing his sporting event there. Did you know that there’s, like, literally one day a year that sports aren’t on? Did you know that all the other days, sports are on?

Our therapist suggested we get two TVs.

Anyway, as we were headed out, I got a bloop on my phone. Marvin Gardens was commenting on Pie on the Face, the Facebook page for people who read and abhor this blog. Oh my god, we have a new tag line.

I’m back! announced Marvin.

He’s back? He’s back from where?

“Marvin’s on Pie on the Face,” I said to Ned, then had to explain what Pie on the Face was, and given his deep interest in Facebook, I had to explain what Facebook was a little, too. “See, Ned, you can have private groups on Facebook.”

“You can?”

Yes, and you have to ask to join, and no one else can see it and so on.

Ned seemed unimpressed.

“And now, MARVIN’s on there.” I said.

Ned likes Marvin. I mean, they’ve met twice and barely talked both times, because Marvin’s band was always playing. But as you can imagine I have a million Marvin stories. The time Marvin changed his birthday on Facebook so everyone would say happy birthday to him.

The time he changed it again, later that same year.

The time my brother-in-law, who is shy, asked Marvin what to call my stepfather, who goes by Harry. “Call him Harold,” said Marvin, and my poor shy BIL went around calling him Harold for like six months.

Any time I tell a Marvin story, Ned laughs. “I think in different circumstances, Marvin and I would be friends,” he said. I guess it’s hard to be friends with the guy who’s tapping your ex-wife, although I don’t see why.

Anyway, Marvin got on PieFace and announced his triumphant return, which who even knew he was ever a MEMBER of Pie on the Face, and then he further announced he’d be having a question and answer period between 7 and 8 Eastern time.

Marvin will be here between 7 and 8 PM Eastern time to answer any questions you may have about his life, loves, and current whereabouts. Be sure to tune in!

About seven million of you gleefully participated.

“Marvin’s having a Q and A,” I said to Ned as we drove. “What the hell is he up to?”

I spent the whole dinner waiting for Ned to be interested in his dumb sports so I could surreptitiously glance at my phone.

If someone wants to start a Facebook event for this, be my guest, wrote Marvin, right before the big Q and A. Marvin. Good gravy.

Q: Is the Marvin Q & A going to be here on this thread or are we moving?

A. We’re coming over your place.
 
Q. Is it 7:00 yet?
 
A. Yes. Next question.
 
It went on like that for some time. People asked how many women he’s had since our breakup and he said nine, which, pfft. They asked if he missed the dogs and he said “one of them,” and poor Edsel. “Edsel’s a dick,” said Ned, when I read him the answer, and right as I did, Marvin wrote, “Edsel’s a dick.”
 
Q. Ginger or Maryann?
A. Ginger on Maryann.
 
“I’m using that answer from now on,” said Ned.
 
So, that was our entertainment while we ate, and I guess Marvin’s on PieFace now, so it’s like Pie on the Face, Extreme or something.
 
Oh, and I have some good news for you.
 
Photo on 9-3-15 at 6.00 PM Photo on 9-3-15 at 6.03 PM #2 Photo on 9-3-15 at 6.04 PM #2

TA DAAAAA! I put the suitcase away, and also that pink sweater that’d apparently been hiding under said suitcase. Am amazing. I also helped Ned make the bed in our room this morning.

 
“I’m coming in to help you make the bed!” I announced. I’d burst in with my arms wide, all announce-y.
 
“Why?”
 
“Because I’m a magnificent girlfriend!” I said, still holding my arms wide. Ned came over and kissed me. “You are.”
 
Then a second later: “But really, why?”
 
I guess Ned thinks I have an ulterior motive.
 
Have a good weekend of remembering Labor! I can’t wait to sit down and watch the entire Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon! I got my popcorn, I got my–

What? When did THAT happen?

Crap.

...friend/Ned · Faithful Readers · June's stupid life · Marvin · My pets

Comment drama, and dog drama too. Plus, a migraine!

Yesterday's comment section was most dramatic. I got a migraine, and did not check them all night, so when I got up this morning, I was all…

52825901Yesterday, I asked you what you wish your significant other was doing that he isn't, and we got some interesting responses, including, "I wish mine weren't dead." Which is awful. I felt bad for everyone who said that one. I would feel bad if Ned were dead. You know. -ish. Do I have to raise his cat? I'll bet I have to raise that fucking cat. Just what I need. Imagine if I were dead. Ned would be saddled with four new children, including Edsel!

One woman in the comments yesterday, Lonely Heart, commented, and I read her comment thoroughly and felt sad for her. Well, then ANOTHER commentor said she was angry that no one responded to Lonely Heart, and that my comment section is a giant clique, and I thought, "It is?"

Then YET ANOTHER commentor said, "Someone DID respond to Lonely Heart. Look at comment 117." And I thought, "There were 117 comments? Dang." I see the comments in my email, and rarely go to my actual blog page to look at them. In fact, I STILL haven't looked, so for all I know there WEREN'T that many and I'm making shit up.

Anyway, here's what I think, since you asked. I think people who've been commenting forever tend to respond to each other more often because they know each other well and know what they can get away with. Like, I knew I could tease Cheech about her poor dead boyfriend, and I know I can tease bettydh about having sex with her husband 47 times a week. I know they won't get mad.

As for supportive statements, I don't really go in for that sort of thing. I'm more the cynical, make-fun-of-you type. I know. I'm horrific. But it's the way of my people.

It's like that time my Aunt Sue won a bunch of money at the casino, and she called my Uncle Jim to tell him, and to let him know she was on her way home. Then later she called, really upset. "There's been an accident," she said. "The car tipped over. It was really scary. I thought I was gonna die."

My uncle said he sat on his end of the phone wondering how soon he could ask about the money. "How's the money? Is the money okay?" he wanted to ask. He knew inquiring right away would be crass. Ten minutes in? Would that be acceptable?

Finally, Aunt Sue said, "I didn't lose the money."

"Oh, who CARES about the money!" said Uncle Jim.

See. That's my bloodline. So.

And I have seen people, like Sadie, welcome new commentors, and I think we can all make an effort to be more welcoming to new people. Do I have to be kind and fake at first? Do I have to be all, "WELCOME!" or can I be all, "You got any treats?" Which is what Tallulah would say.

Oh, and Marvin commented for the first time in years. WELCOME, MARVIN! You got any treats?

Speaking of Tallulah, she and I schlepped her stigmata foot to the vet yesterday. You should see it. It's just this big hole in her footie. And a terrible rawness on her pad, too. Talu knows each trip to the vet means a Happy Meal after, so she was down with it.

When we got there, this old lady with a fat dog was CRAWLING into the lobby. I was just there to drop Lu off, and get her at noon, because work is particularly insane right now and I can't take time off. But you know how Lu is when shes's on a leash, and I just wanted this woman to whip in there and get a room. So to speak.

But no. She was all stopping and talking to her fat dog. And playing with him, and I'm all, "GET THE FUCK IN THERE WITH YER FAT DOG ALREADY." Finally, I choked up on Lu's leash and walked in, holding Lu zero inches from my body. I sort of shouted to the receptionist. "Yes, I'm here to drop off Tallulah?"

Of course they weren't ready yet. So I had to stand there and hope my dog didn't go over and murder Fat Dog in cold blood. Truth be told, she wasn't even acknowledging him, and it might be that Edsel brings it out in her, and vice versa.

Then of course someone came OUT of a room with a Schnauzer. She seems particularly hateful of Schnauzers. "GodDAMMIT," I thought, getting sweaty.

When some asshole with two teensy dogs walked in, and I like how I get mad at people for taking their dogs to the vet like I'm the ONLY ONE WHO HAS THE RIGHT, I shouted over to the receptionist again. "Can you just call us from the parking lot? My dog is gonna have a fit with all these dogs in here."

IMG_5509

In the meantime, Talu was like this. She was calm as you please. I know I looked like a total asshole, but she gets one low growl going all of a sudden and then it's devil chaos dog.

"We can put you in a room right now," they said, and I know everyone in there thought I was an asshole, plus also THIS WAS A DROPOFF. But they did get her pretty quickly, and I got her at lunch and learned she has, um, something with lick in the title. Lickalottapuss or something. In other words, she liked a hole in her foot.

Now my dog is as neurotic as me. It was probably from allergies, which she's always had. Anyway, now she's getting drops, and antibiotics and pain meds. Poor Luis.

But then we went to McDonald's! I told the Millennials at work that's what I was doing, and you'd think I'd have said I was taking her out to a field and shooting her. "So, she gets a clean bill of health and you take two years off her life."

Oh, fuck you. One little Happy Meal a year won't kill her. She dines on cat poop on the regular. Oh, but a HAPPY MEAL. People need to calm down.

Here's Lu, all Happy Meal anticipatory.

IMG_5517
it so wurth goeeng to vets

IMG_5528 IMG_5537
Have you ever tried holding half a hamburger in one hand and photographing your eager dog with the other? Do you people even appreciate what I do for you? Do you? It's all for you, Damien. All for you.

Last night, when I was felled with that migraine, Ned brought me some ice and my pills and sat next to the bed. "What'd you do to get a migraine?" he asked. "Did you eat anything bad?"

"No," I said, my hand dramatically resting on my head.

"What'd you eat today?"

"Well, for lunch, Tallulah and I had Happy Meals."

"Wow. What about dinner?"

"I had Spaghetti-Os."

Ned shut off the light and left the room.

Aging ungracefully · Current Affairs · June's stupid life · Marvin

Celebrity Gossip with June

I just read an article yesterday, in my hard-hitting Entertainment Weekly, because I think it's important to stay abreast of the news. In it, a gay actor (that guy from Girls, you know the one? I love him) said young gay people don't go to gay bars anymore. They make fun of gay bars.

I mean, this is good. I like it that gay and straight people are living in harmony and teaching the world to sing and gay people don't need their own bars anymore. But man, do I love a good gay bar. Plus, gay bars have those great names: Woody's (there was a Woody's in my old neighborhood in LA), The Empty Closet, The Bangkok. Fudge.

I guess nothing stays the same. I should have lived in New York in the late '70s, when all the gay men were the most fabulous and still alive. How a 14-year-old could have afforded her own New York apartment is beyond me. Brooke Shields did, though.

I just started the last four paragraphs with "I."

Oh, speaking of The News, a reader, and I forget who, emailed me awhile back and said, "Joooooon. Have you looked at that gossip site, Crazy Days and Nights?" She said it was written by an entertainment lawyer or something, and they have a section called Blind Items Revealed that is to die for. Navigating the site is a NIGHTMARE, but it's full of the gossip.

I knew about poor Jennifer Garner and Ben Affliction or whatever months ago. I also knew about Jon Hamm.

Because Jon Hamm is available, did you see that? Okay, he's 90 days out of rehab. Hooo care? Actually, I'd be interested to know when exactly they broke up, because your first year of sobriety you aren't supposed to break up with or meet anyone. So I'd love to judge if he's doing it wrong. Poor Jon Hamm.

Actually, what I read was, he told his girlfriend of SIXTEEN YEARS that he doesn't want kids after all, and girlfriend is 42, so what's she supposed to do now? I mean, ship has sailed. You know what the very worst thing would be? Is if he meets someone else, marries her right away, and they have kids. I've heard of that happening. I don't know how, if a man does that to you, you can stop yourself from driving over to his house and killing him right in the head.

Fortunately, the siren song of having children never called to me, so this was never an issue. But did I ever tell you about how I got pregnant when I was married? Oh, I was so annoyed.

I've never wanted kids. Not once. Not for an iota of a second. Someone in my family did a family tree, and it's amazing how many of my women, back in the 1800s and early 1900s, didn't have kids, either. My Aunt Mary also doesn't have kids. We have no maternal gene.

Anyway, when I was 31 and already dating Marvin and it looked marriage-y, I got my tubes tied. The pill and Depo shots gave me migraines, and insurance covered it. This was back when insurance covered stuff. Remember those heady days? The whole operation cost me $40.

That was in 1996, and in the year 2000, I ran a marathon in Chicago. I got back November 1, I remember this, and hadn't seen Marvin in a week, so boom.

It was less than two weeks later that I started to feel what you might call logy. I'd get out the car to go to work and it seemed like the whole parking lot was tilted. Dizzy? You don't know the half of it. I'd get off the elevator and even though I wasn't in the door of the office yet, I'd think, "God, who brought doughnuts? Yuck." I could smell

EVERYTHING

and everything made me sick. "I think I'm pregnant," I said to Marvin, who didn't want kids either, and that's why I married him. Well, that and Annie Hall was his favorite movie. "You're not pregnant." Marvin stampeded to the computer to Ask Jeeves or whatever we did in 2000. "There's a .05 percent chance you could ever get pregnant after a tubal litigation." Marvin was forever screwing up words and finding himself hilarious.

I called my doctor, who has now quit the profession, and she said the same thing, but to come in and they'd do a blood test because it was too soon to tell with a urine test back then. I'd had my period during the marathon, which by the way was a lot of fun and super convenient.

I continued to smell each cleaning product, individually, in the grocery aisle, and in fact, I was AT the grocery store when I saw a homeless man holding and rocking an invisible baby. "That is IT," I said, and bought a pregnancy test.

I got home and peed on a stick, and I'll bet you're glad you tuned in today. June's blog. Come for the body fluids. So to speak.

When that damn test showed a plus sign, I screamed. Screamed. Then I ran into the dining room, where I remember Mr. Horkheimer sizing my screamy self up. "God. Get hold of self, Hair."

Right then the phone rang, and I sobbily answered. It was my doctor. "Honey?" she said, and I KNEW BY HER DAMN HONEY that she had what was for me bad news. Goddammit.

And here's the worst part. The part I will never forgive. NEVER FORGIVE. When I called Marvin with my news, he was all, "Really!?"

HE WAS HAPPY. HE WAS GODDAMN HAPPY.

Oh, I was mad at him. The whole POINT of Marvin was that he didn't want kids, either. Next thing you know he'd be telling me his favorite movie was really Cocktail.

So, I decided I was going to have a baby. Oh, I didn't want to. I was bracing myself. I figured I was financially okay, I was happily married, I was an adult. Ish. And right when I accepted the idea, I had a miscarriage.

Dear God: What the hell?

So that's that story. I will not go into what happens next, but it involved Marvin sitting on a bag of frozen peas for a weekend.

Heck, it's 8:32 already. I was gonna tell you how I went to the movies last night and saw Pretty Woman, and guess what? Early '90s fashion. Not good. Not good at all.

IMG_4690

Love, Joooooon

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · Los Angeles · Marvin

June Recaps Her Weekend; Nation Riveted

I did a lot this weekend. See, the obvious joke would be to say something about Ned now, under the category of Things I Did. But I will not. Because dignified. I'm dignified like Rip Taylor.

Rip Taylor-1

Anyway, I have a lot of weekend to tell you about, and Ned is right this second complaining about work things, as I am TRYING TO WRITE, and he knows the rule and yet has clearly disregarded said rule. Before we moved in together, I said, If I am at my computer writing, there is no speaking to me unless something or someone has actual flames bursting out. Not Edsel's-acting-a-little-gay flames.

Speaking of which…

IMG_4269New dapper collar for Edsel. "Man, that is one gay collar," said Ned, and by that I think he means happy and whimsical and nothing that smacks of homophobia. Because Ned is NOT homophobic, although he has never kissed a man. I asked. Am I the only one who figures all boys kiss and play swords and so on? And yet hardly anyone I've dated has admitted to such a thing. 

One of the things I did this weekend, obvs, was to think about gay young boys and also go to PetsAren'tSmart and get flea meds, because nothing strikes fear into Ned's heart more than the idea that we get infested with fleas. He's very tidy, Ned is. My point is, I am physically unable to walk into that store without lusting for all the pets. It's like going to a strip club, looking at some strange.

IMG_4248This trip to PetsDescartes did not disappoint. Kitlers!

IMG_4242Stripey kitten who may have resulted in this conversation: "Can I have that kitten?"

"No."

"PLEASE can I have that kitten?"

"NO."

"There is nothing I like more than a knobby kitten head," I announced to Ned.

"Wait," said Ned. "More than a puppy head? More than Violet?" That was the PetSmart where someone put Violet in my car. That was an excellent day, that day was.

"Yes, more than a puppy head. Puppies are a close second. But nothing beats a teensy kitten. Why can't I have a kitten?" I said. I see no reason I can't have one.

IMG_4219_2"You have 11 perfectly good cats at home," he said. I pointed out that they have fully grown heads, and that's boring. Somewhere three miles away, Lily resent.

IMG_4275 IMG_4271
The point of this whole story is my dogs got super-ludicrious collars, and both abhor me today. Nothing says "Tallulah" like a huge pink bow.

"I feel like if it were up to Tallulah, she'd wear a plain brown leather collar," I mused.

"If it were up to Tallulah, she'd ride bareback," said Ned. "She'd be free of any collar." He's right.

I act like that trip to the pet store was the highlight of the weekend, when in fact it was a blip. On Friday night, we went right after work to this brewery to meet up with some of the people from my work, and at midnight, those same people had ended up on our front porch and Ned made jalapeno margaritas. Our porch is perfect for entertaining. I mean, it's small, so "perfect" isn't really a word that's remotely accurate. Our porch is pretty good for entertaining.

IMG_4241On Saturday, Ned and I drove to Raleigh to celebrate his niece's high school graduation. I love how Ned's sister-in-law added teensy graduation caps to everything all over the house. Killing me.

IMG_4234Nothing says "graduation" like a phallic balloon.

I like Ned's people. They are always nice to me, and they aren't all uptight or anything. I once dated someone whose family was really quiet, and I was nervous as a cat around them.

IMG_4232This is one of Ned's nieces; she got a kitten with a knobby head two years ago and now she wants a dog. She is my people. If you're wondering who did the damn ears behind me…

IMG_4225…it was this kid, who is frighteningly one of my people. I mean, you should meet him. He is our people. Trust me on this.

IMG_4228Ned's brother and sister-in-law have a dog with the cutest feet ever invented on a dog. He growled at me, though, because I had the nerve to get too close to his food, like I was dying to reach in there and grab some dog kibble when I had a big dish of macaroni and cheese available to me on the table. Whatever with that dog. Still. Muppet feets.

IMG_4261On Sunday, Ned and I schlepped to Winston-Salem to see a dumb French movie with Catherine Deneuve, that of course had naked people in it, because French, but they had those depressing real bodies, not Hollywood bodies, so eh. Plus, that theater usually had excellent popcorn, and yesterday it was clearly old. Attached please find Ned telling a story about someone dancing, I forget who.

IMG_4266 IMG_4267Attached please find Ned laughing because I showed him how I'd managed to capture on film the elusive Ned dancing moment. Look at that floozy with the legs a few tables back. I admired her shoes throughout.

The restaurant we went to had an Art-o-Mat machine, which I've told you about before, GOD. They took old cigarette machines and put in little boxes of art you can buy for $5. Naturally, I bilked Ned of five dollars and screamed on over to the Art-O-Mat.

IMG_4250I had no idea what this was going to be.

IMG_4251Oh, EARrings! Cool. My hair is incapable of looking not chaotic.

I guess that sums up my weekend, but oh! Marvin went to LA and just knocked on the door of our good friends Robe and Beige, to surprise them, which KILLS ME and I wish I could have been there, except how weird would that have been. Hey, Ned, I'm headed to LA with Marvin like the old days. You don't mind, right?

20150607_193723They all went to Antonio's, which is where the six of us would meet up. Look, there's Marvin in the back, there, with his two man dates. Then in the gray v-neck is my stepsister, Mil, who married Marvin's best friend Bill, the guy who's feeling her up. At the front on the left is my friend Beige, whose songs I use a lot for my end-of-year slide shows, and her husband Robe, who I would get on the phone to call Beige and end up talking to him for six hours then saying, "I have to go. Tell Beige I said hi."

Oh, I can't even stand it. Marvin also went to our old house, where we lived under Rik, and sent me photos of that.

Sigh. I miss LA a little.

Okay, bye. Here's my latest Purple Clover, which I revamped from a blog post I wrote awhile ago. I can't wait for Purple Clover to put it on Facebook and see the comments. "Those inflatable men are funny!" I adore people who just looked at the picture and didn't read the article. ADORE.

Wordily,

Jooooooon

...friend/Ned · Aging ungracefully · Family · Friends · Hair · June's stupid life · Marvin · My pets · Not Grace Kelly · Travel

I have the feeling Ima be just as annoying in 2015.

It's the end of the year, FYI, and time for my end-of-year veedeo, and you've been around a long time if you know why I say "veedeo."

So long, 2014! You weren't all bad. (Click on the white "2014 Be Done" title at the top of the video, so it'll take you to YouTube, where you can CLICK THE DAMN X to get rid of the ad. THANKS, YOUTUBE.)

 

June's stupid life · Marvin

Marvin is 48. Why does that sound young all of a sudden? Crap.

Today is Marvin's birthday. In case you just got here or something, Marvin is my ex-husband. The former little missus.

6a00e54f9367fb883401a3fd371fcf970b-800wiI met Marvin in college, on the first weekend before sophomore year. We'd all schlepped back to school, and my roommate said, "I know a bunch of guys who've moved into what will become a truly unsanitary house. You wanna go see them?"

Of course I did, because remember college, when you didn't have anything to do but get in the car and drop in on a group of 19-year-old boys? I do that now some Saturdays and it's never as comfortable.

6a00e54f9367fb8834011168cf2780970c-800wiOh, how I loved me some Marvin Gardens the second I met him. Look at him, all deep and unsmiling and playing his guitar like life is unsmileworthy. He was just my type. He was indifferent to me, which made him even more my type.

It took me that whole school year to get Marvin to ask me out–he thought I was obnoxious and too funny. Can you imagine? You all know for a fact that could never be true. Look at all this nonobnoxiousness.

I would also like to point out that he liked me only after I'd gotten a nice perm and went to the tanning booth. So I was hotter, is what I mean, because who isn't made hotter with a perm and a fake tan? I'm getting a little hot just THINKING of myself.

Anyway, I finally reeled him in, and I was berserk about him. You don't even know. Oh, I thought Marvin was the bomb. Once, I drove over to his unsanitary house–and you know what? He never drove over to my house. What the hell? Why'd I put up with that? Anyway, I drove over there, and all his unsanitary friends were on the roof drinking beer, which is a good combo, almost as good a combo as a perm and a tan. I waved at them and went to the front of the house to join them on the safe roof, which I'm sure was structurally sound.

The point is, there was Marvin, at the front of the house, sitting alone playing his guitar.

Tom-And-Jerry-Cartoon-Characters-Pictures-And-Wallpapers-201I was obsessed.

Of course, it took me 10 years to get him to marry me. Ten years and three geographical relocations. He left Michigan State to go to college in Boston, and I pined for as long as you pine when you're 20 years old. I think I pined for a good month or two. After Boston, Marvin moved to LA, and I eventually moved to Seattle. We'd talk maybe once a year, and every time I talked to his morose self, I'd think, Oh, THAT is the man I love.

Finally, in October of 1996, Marvin came to Seattle to visit me.

6a00e54f9367fb88340120a5ab09e9970c-800wiDespite the fact that apparently I was a lesbian in Seattle, Marvin and I fell back in love that weekend, and in less than four months I'd moved to LA, and a year after that, we got engaged.

6a00e54f9367fb88340120a5549afc970b-800wiMarvin sneaked this picture onto my camera the weekend he visited me in Seattle. When I developed the film, there it was. Marvin, you could totally use this for your OK Cupid profile pic. Nothing's hotter than a selfie in the bathroom. Except for a perm and a tan. I also recommend that.

What I wanna know is what would make you say, "Oh, hell yeah" about a woman with that shower curtain? "Yeah, she's got taste like an 89-year-old. Break me off a piece of that."

6a00e54f9367fb883401287670e820970cAnywa, y'all know the rest. We were married for 14 years, I flared my nostrils and had mom hair while we lived in LA, then we moved to NC, and it was fun.

6a00e54f9367fb88340133f2114370970bTill it wasn't.

And you know, these things happen. Neither one of us was a terrible person, although out of the two I was terrible-er. But we didn't cheat on each other or smash each other over the head with plates or anything dramatic like that. It just didn't work out.

But I have nothing bad to say about Marvin, not really.

6a00e54f9367fb88340134840e61ea970c-800wiIn fact, I'd write him a letter of recommendation, should his next wife require one. I'd say,

Dear Marvin's Potential Second Wife:

You could do a lot worse. This person will make you laugh, and bring you surprise gifts, and tell you just what you need to hear when you're feeling bad. He stays in pretty much the same mood all the time, a mood I like to call amusing Eeyore. He'll call just when you're thinking of him, and he can play any song on any instrument, just like a little human juke box. Okay, yes, you have to listen to Rush. But the position of second wife is a position I highly recommend. You will never be bored.

XO, June.

So, happy birthday, Marvin Gardens. I am glad to be in your life. A perm part of your life, if you will.

Tanly,

June

...friend/Ned · I hate everything · June's stupid life · Marvin

A party! A death party! (Remind me to tell you that story.)

I forgot to tell you that last week, my boss's boss went on vacation, so naturally we all blew up 84895949 balloons and filled his office with them.

IMG_1526Mature. We all gave ourselves aneurysms blowing up that many balloons, and I truly felt I was going to faint dead away like someone wearing a corset, which let's face it, I should. Hey, Dumpy, have another football-shaped cookie in the break room.

The point is, my boss's boss, who is from Iowa or Kansas or Nebraska or somewhere else where it is flat and you don't get excitable, walked in Tuesday morning, opened the door, and said, "Golly!"

IMG_1560Then he murdered all the balloons. Is there anything more dejected-looking than dead balloons? Nothing says "The party's over" faster. I mean, other than the balcony breaking and everyone falling to their death. That also wraps up a party.

Maybe I'm hanging around Ned too much.

In unrelated news, my cats just had tuna for breakfast, because organized. I am also completely out of toilet paper and have one of those small packets of Kleenex on the bathroom sink, for all my toilette needs. Did I mention because organized? At least I finally bought hair gel. FOUR DAYS I went forgetting to buy more of that, till finally the police came and said the neighbors were complaining,

Hey, I'm moving. My "because organized" is even worse than before.

Ned brought over even MORE stuff last night, in the rain, and now my house has end tables, chairs, Ned's round bachelor bed, his ceiling mirror and pink champagne on ice.

If Ned had had a round bed, how quickly would I have dumped him and stampeded here to tell you all about it, do you think? Like, eight seconds after seeing the round bed, is that about how quickly you think Ida gotten over here to tell that roundabout tale?

I have made myself go up to the attic every night to organize it, and now it is mostly filled with Xmas decorations, which I am keeping, and empty boxes, which yay. The point is, last night I got down these:

IMG_1562When Ned got here, I pointed these out. "Here are all the journals I have kept since 5th grade, and there are two more on my bookshelf right now. When I die, you may read all of these, and then you are to burn them. Okay?"

"But what if you're famous? Won't these garner me a lot of money?" Ned asked. I told him that if it makes him rich, he can indeed publish these and humiliate my corpse for all eternity. Then I told him to select a journal and hand it to me, and I read one page from a night fraught with agony in 1987, and we made fun of me just like we made fun of Kafka the night before.

I also found a birthday card some girl wrote to Marvin, in which she was all, "May all your birthday wishes come true! : )!" and then I SWEAR TO GOD on the other side was a note dumping him. "I've had a great time being with you, but I can only offer you my friendship at this time."

Okay, friend, thanks for not being able to get a SEPARATE PIECE OF PAPER and having to dump me on my birthday card. Wow! Naturally I phoned Marvin, read it to him, and made fun of him, which put him in the me and Kafka category.

I have been finding cute and hilarious letters from Marvin's old students, and some test papers, like this:

IMG_1564Talk about needing your gas mask

I also located a Victorian wedding book, which although it is not signed, most certainly came from my mother while I was engaged, and it had some pretty stringent rules about when to get married.

IMG_1566 IMG_1567I mean, what about if you marry when the reception space is available? No mention of that? And I'd dismiss this, but I married in July and labored for my bread constantly. So.

Laura Ingalls Wilder married in August, and she went from a small-town pioneer girl in South Dakota to a famous author during her marriage, so again, "so."

IMG_1568Dude. Seriously. With the doom. Who wrote this, Kafka? When did HE get married? So now if I ever get married again, save the Wednesday in April date! Fucking fuck. Stupid Victorians.

There was also a whole diatribe about what color to get married in, and I have saved myself THIS long, and when the big day gets here I am so wearing white.

Okay, I have to go. Remind me to tell you all the songs I found written by my landlord in LA, Mr. Kaiser. He wrote one called Vibrator Rock, and I wish I were kidding but I am not. It failed to penetrate the masses, that song did. There was very little buzz about it.

Someone hit my off switch.

June

June can't keep a man · June's stupid life · Marvin

Dis blu

Thanks for your help on whether Ned and I should move to Winston or not. We decided not. So now we're back to no house to move to. The problem is, the first one was so perfect, so every time we see a cute one, Ned says, "Yeah, but if the house on Victoria came back, we'd take it, right?"

I wonder if he did that with me? I wonder if every time he started liking me, he'd think, Yeah, but she's not that old girlfriend with the huge bazooms. Okay, there's no way he had any girlfriend ever with more bazooms than me. But something.

Anyway, no house. Someone find me an old house with charm with a fenced-in yard. Is that too much to ask?

God, there's nothing worse for me than hearing "brand-new." Blech. I want little nooks where you used to place a phone. I want a breakfast nook. Nooks are very big with me. As are crannies.

In other news, Marvin came to lunch yesterday, as opposed to Sidney Poitier, who clearly came to dinner. Marvin got a job in Atlanta and is moving there, although he'll be traveling back this way as often as he can to see his fiancee, who has a house and a child and can't just throw her troubles in an old kit bag and follow Marvin everywhere (the way I did).

IMG_0871hullo dad! hullo hullo! hullo! edz show you blu. you eber meet blu? Dis blu. hullo dad!

Poor broken-home Edsel. Marvin got there before me so he could enjoy my tidy dining-room table, which from what I can see, here, has Sunday's New York Times in it, Marvin's sunglasses, his phone, a towel–and I happen to know there is also a large box titled "House papers" that I am going through and stamping out all info and tossing out. I mean, I tossed our 2005 tax info. Maybe that makes you nervous but I assure you no one is gonna want my stunning tax info from nine years ago.

So we had lunch and said goodbye and that was it. Marvin was the whole reason I moved here, and now he's off to the big city. In my head, I played the big city theme song like when Barney Fife goes to Raleigh.

I have to go, as I have wet hair and need for it to be, you know, not wet. Plus for some reason this goddamn computer is CRAWLING today and it irritates. I wrote my Purple Clover article yesterday, for next week, and I wrote it about Lily. I included this picture of her.

IMG_2377Look how beautiful. I can't even stand it. People at work I think are going to stop asking, "Did the cat come back?" It's too awful when I say no. Ned is going to print flyers for me today and Ima put one in each person's door in case anyone took her in.

On that happy note, I am off.

Oh! How do you not kill a jade plant? Dear Jane West who gave me a jade plant recently: Please do not read the previous sentence. Love, June.

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · Los Angeles · Marvin

Branch manager

This morning I saw a branch in my driveway. Being a branch manager, IMG_0666I went out to investigate.

"Branch manager." How do you stand the hilarity?

IMG_0667It turns out a huge part of my cool old tree fell down. We had serious rain night before last, and I have no idea why it waited till last night to collapse, but what I can say is Dear Ned. You gots you a tree to clean up. I tried to move it myself and pfft.

IMG_0669It even (ethen) uprooted my lavender. I LOVE my lavender. That tree is on my list.

As I was photographing this disaster in my polka-dot robe, guess who just waltzed out the front door? ware mom? ware mom? need mom. ware–chitz. she see edz.

IMG_0670 IMG_0671Here's the part where he turns into an ashamed letter C, like he does. edz so sorry. cannot express.

Oh, come here, you moron.

IMG_0672 IMG_0673
IMG_0674oh yay oh yay oh yay. MOM!

I just want you to know that after I put up that last picture, my mouse stopped working, so I changed the damn batteries and…nothing. NOTHING. I did the technical trick where you beat the crap out of the mouse and still, nothing. So I did the obvious thing. I called Marvin. He made me unplug my computer and plug it back in, and for a terrifying moment there was blackness, just like in my soul, and then boom. Computer was on, mouse worked.

So now I'm pressed for time, and wanted to tell you how I went to yoga in the park with Bitchy Resting Face Alex and TinaDoris last night, but now there's no time to tell about it. Fleeta had also said she was gonna go, then said she had plans. "I'm gonna have to blog about you canceling," I warned.

"Go ahead, but if you put in that awful picture you always use for me, I'm gonna kill you."

So I got up and took a picture of here right then and there, and here's Fleeta's Official New Photo®.

IMG_0661Cute dress.

Tonight Ned and I are looking at a house to rent, which we will probably not take because they want nine hundred million dollars a month, but OH, it's lovely and is half a mile from my work and also it has four bedrooms so we can ignore each other if we want. So what'll happen is I'll look at it and get emotionally attached and then feel bad I can't live there. Kind of like every time I visited San Francisco back when I lived in LA.

June, branching out.

...friend/Ned · I am berserk · June's stupid life · Marvin

Yogurt, furnaces, the Greeks, bawls

The yogurt I'm eating expires today, so if I begin to die, please tell that to the paramedics so they can treat me for expired-yogurt disease. Thank you.

Remember when we all ate Dannon like it was a thing? Stirred the fruit up from the bottom? I never liked doing that–too much effort. When I was 15 and 16, and visiting my father all summer in Dallas, I'd get up and eat half a Dannon blueberry yogurt for breakfast and half for lunch. Then a sensible dinner of nachos or something. I weighed 115 pounds all through high school.

Now I'm depressed.

Anyway. Now we're all chawing on the Greek yogurt like we're Socrates or something. He was famous for enjoying him the Greek yogurt. I never trusted any of those philosophers because they all wore such stupid sandals. If they can't even be trusted to pick out a nice shoe, how are we supposed to believe, for example, that  the unexamined life is not worth living? Examine your strappy sandals, there, dude.

I seem to have gotten off on a tangent.

Last night, I came home and was immediately covered in cats, which is what happens at this house.

IMG_0460I'd been mulling going to last night's Fitness in the Park thing, but this time it was circuit training, and that sounded hard, and because I am a Greek philosopher with cute shoes, my philosophy is the hard things in life are worth ignoring. Besides, I'd been planning to go with Alex #42016798 and she begged off.

But then I got a text from her. "I decided to go after all!" I wrote her back that it was too late for me to get there and I was covered in cats. A few minutes later…

"I can't find this @##&$* place where the fitness is gonna be. I've driven everywhere." So I asked if she wanted to come do yoga, because that's what I'd been planning to do: a little yoga time with my Gurpmaloni Fonda DVD. What was his real name, again? He told me and I told you, but now I just call him Gurpmaloni Fonda. I feel like that's not right.

Tamal Dodge. I just looked on the DVD case. Okay, I was close, at least.

Anyway, Alex 42016798 said she'd be right over. I pushed all the furniture out the way and decided she could have my yoga mat and strap and I'd use a towel and a towel. This yoga workout calls for a strap, which might be a nice thing to tell us before we order it but whatever. I had lying around blocks and straps from the LAST time I tried to do yoga. I couldn't believe I actually found the strap I'd purchased in 2008, but there it was in the living room closet.

Alex 42016798 brought her own yoga mat, because apparently she's the kind of person who gallops around town expecting bring-your-own-yoga-mat situations. And seeing as she just walked in and did this, maybe she runs into those situations more often than you and I.

IMG_0464lu appall

So we laid our mats side-by-side and I handed her the yoga strap. "This isn't a yoga strap, this is a dog leash," she said, only she's from Jersey so she said dawg leash."No, it–oh, God, is it?" I asked.

For the last few weeks, I've been yoga-ing with a dog leash. That's not even kinky. It's just depressing.

IMG_0465Anyway, we got centered and released our hips (my friend The Poet does yoga at work, and one day she returned from class and said they'd worked on releasing their hips, and if her hips don't come back to her they were never really hers anyway) and I tried not to look at ALL THE DOG HAIR EVERYWHERE.

Gurpmaloni Dodge was going to town on his poses, throwing his legs this way and that. "Gawd, look at his bawls," said Alex 42016798, and then I giggled like I was 12, which I am, other than my unreleased hips.

That purse behind Alex 42016798 is left over from Saturday, when Ned, boyfriend fmr. and I went to see Marvin's band play. I was so caught up in my life's drama that I never told you about it, and now it seems kind of posthumous, but I will show you photos from that night anyway.

IMG_0440My dang flash on my camera still doesn't work, but here's Marvin pretending to strangle Ned. Good times!

IMG_0438Here we have Marvin with alcohol and Ned with water, which, wait. Marvin has alcohol? It's not a beer. Don't be silly. He's drinking a hard wine cooler, or something. 

I also met Marvin's fiancee, and she was a lovely person. I know! I'd been such a nutbar when Marvin got a girlfriend EIGHT SECONDS after he moved out, but, you know, time marches on. She was very kind to me, and no, I did not say, "Hey! Lemme get a photo of you so I can show it to tens of readers!"

IMG_0442I also captured on film–and HOW DO YOU FIX THE FUCKING FLASH ALREADY?–Marvin jamming out on stage.

And Ned, boyfriend fmr., took pictures of me at dinner before we hung our goats high watching Marvin.

IMG_0433
IMG_0436 IMG_0431See? It's not just me. It's hard to take unblurry pictures, especially when you HAVE NO FLASH. You want excellent photos? Go on over to Pioneer Woman. See if I care.

I like that furnace-filter shirt. I had a similar furnace-filter skirt in the '80s, but it was magenta. I could not wear a furnace-filter skirt now, as it would look like some sort of mishap happened with your heating and cooling system. A mishap has happened with mine.

Okay, I'm off to work. Tonight I have therapy, and the good news is tonight she will not be bored. Last time I saw her she kept having to do the "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?" thing because I had nuthin'. Just the general Hi-I'm-crazy stuff, and that gets old fast. So.

June, unfiltered.

...friend/Ned · Friends · June's stupid life · Marvin

A whole new world

It's Sunday afternoon, and it's raining, and this is the time of week I love. I adore Sundays, and I guess it's because I'm lucky enough to not hate my job. So I don't get that awful Sunday Wonderful World of Disney feeling where I dread the next day.

It was a busildy weekend, and in an hour Ned will be back over here to go to a movie. For a change. We thought we'd see how we enjoy attending a movie together. Once I tried to figure out how many movies we've seen, and I know it's more than 100 in the last two years. When we first met, and had had maybe two dates, I ran into him at the theater. If we ever break up, god forbid, Ima have to start going to movies on Wednesdays in order to avoid him.

Do you enjoy my cheery personality? I love Ned, and yet I have a Ned-avoidance plan for if we ever break up. I used to look at my beloved cat Mr. Horkheimer and picture his demise, too. "Oh, look at him," I'd think. "I just love that big solid cat so much. One day he'll be dead."

Nobody wants my brain. Nobody.

At any rate, yesterday afternoon I got up with one of my TinyTown friends, and it was delightful. He was in Greensboro to shop for something you can't buy there, which pretty much includes anything you can't get at a Walmart. So after his shopping extravaganza, he came over and we headed downtown to eat lunch outside, because it was nice out.

The whole world was eating outside, because we finally could. I slid the cucumbers off my sandwich and admired the dogs people had with them. IMG_0030I wish I had the kind of dogs you could bring to a restaurant, who would not spend the whole time barking and glaring and grimacing and shooting cannons at the other dogs.

"You don't like cucumbers?" asked TinyTown pal.

"I see no reason for them to be invented," I said decidedly. "I guess you don't like cucumber sandwiches, then," he offered, as if this comes up for me a lot, seeing as I'm at every tea and garden party in the area so much.

"Those I can get behind. I mean, you can barely taste the cucumber, Plus, cream cheese. And I'm classy, too." It was at that moment that I gestured and spilled my Coke clean across the table, all over everything, including my child's menu and crayon that I had specifically requested. (That maze is a sonofabitch, and if your child can solve it he needs to be in MENSA.)

We sat in the sun, and gossiped about TinyTown, and caught up on each other's lives. "Aren't you going to eat your pickle?" TinyTown wondered. "Oh, RIGHT. It's a cucumber!" he said, sliding it off my plate.

Truthfully, I don't mind a pickle. I guess my abhorrence of the cuke is mighty selective.

On our way back to my place, my phone rang and it was Marvin. "I'm driving though town! Are you home?"

So that is how I replaced one guest with another. Marvin pulled up as I was pulling wild onions out my garden, and if anyone knows how to get rid of GODDAMN wild onions, please alert me forthwith. "Are you in the same place you always are, then?" Marvin asked me. In the final days of our marriage, I may have…spent much time in the garden so I wouldn't have to talk to Marvin. It's sad, but my yard never looked better.

IMG_0036Tallulah was ridiculously happy to see her daddy, and I remain guilty that I gave my pets the same hand of cards that I was dealt: being from a broken home. Poor Tallulah.

IMG_0026Iris, who never lived with Marvin, didn't give two shits that he was over.

IMG_0020grow pair, talu. chit happenz.

As soon as Marvin was gone, Ned was here, because his Important Basketball Stuff has come to a close. His team, which is…um, red, I think, lost whatever it is you lose and he was sad, Ned was. I hate to see Ned sad. So we made out. Because I am the ultimate consolation prize. I am the Rice-a-Roni.

IMG_0050Then we got in the car and headed to Winston-Salem, for a change, and got up with Faithful Reader LaUral and her husband, Gumbo.

I just made up her husband's name just now and am so in love with self that I may have to write a sonnet on a doily and mail it to me with a dozen roses.

IMG_0046LaUral and I got blackberry juleps, and they were goddammit good. Ned said there was a lot of estrogen in those glasses, but I'll have you know he took two sips of mine. Because, goddammit good.

IMG_3111I don't know if I told you how many branches fell dramatically in my yard after we had an ice storm recently, but a lot of branches fell dramatically. One fell and IMPALED itself into the ground, like a whole new tree.

A WHOLE NEW TREEEEE!!!! What is that stupid song? Is it from Aladdin? Why do I even know that song?

My point is, the branches needed gathering. And I needed someone manly to do the big ones.

IMG_0053And that man was Ned. Oh, he was back there sawing and dragging and hauling and so on. I was back there, too, picking up the twigs like it was exhausting. The dogs ran back and forth, following Ned as he dragged huge branches.

"The dogs seem to be your branch managers." I said. I've named bench in a park after myself, and soon will pay for my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. "Have you been waiting your whole life to say that?" asked Ned, who seems less pleased with me than I am, and that is his personal failing. I can't help it if he doesn't know funny when it's Shekky Greene-ing him right in the face.

So that was my weekend, so far at least. I will alert you if anything else happens, such as if I'm hilarious again. Which, come on. I can't help it.

Socially, June

...friend/Ned · June's stupid life · Marvin

What do the crippled folk do?

It "snowed" here.

IMG_2864dis it? even edz not impress.

Edsel somehow manages to look more dignified when he's outdoors. Maybe it's because his underbite isn't as apparent, or his ears are dwarfed when you compare them to the solar system. I don't know. But can you see he has snow on his snout? There's dignity for you.

"You're a good-looking dog, Edsel," Ned always tells him. I'm not sure if he's being sarcastic or what. I mean, a yellow Lab is a good-looking dog. A black German shepherd is a good-looking dog. Edsel is more cute and ridiculous, which makes him even more cute.

But discussing whether Eds is a 10 or a 7 is not why I gathered you all here today. I wanted to discuss the blizzard that tore apart our nation. They've delayed my work till 10:00, and god, I love the South. I made a WHOLE pot of coffee, and let's not discuss how I am not supposed to be having caffeine, and some brown-flaxy-wheaty-heavy-I-grew-up-in-a-hippie-home toast with almond butter.

The dogs are having the crusts. Talu never, ever misses when I throw food, and Edsel never, ever catches it when I throw food. Fortunately he's learned to retrieve it quickly, as Tallulah is capable of catching the thing I threw for her and also swooping down to steal whatever bounced off Edsel's teefs.

But I did not gather you all here to talk about what a dick my dog is. I gathered you here to discuss the blizzard that tore apart our nation.

IMG_2860Here's Ned, traipsing through the blizzard that tore apart our nation to get me through the gate that leads to his labyrinth apartment. Let me tell you. When I had a sprained ankle? What was fun was that 87-minute, 14-different-flights-of-stairs walk to Ned's place. What do the crippled folk do?

The snow started yesterday afternoon, after, I'd like to point out, I did a snow dance at work, where my coworkers may have been laughing less with me than near me. BUT I MADE IT SNOW! And they let us go early, and I took this early dismissal seriously by being very cautious. And by "very cautious" I mean I hauled my slutty ass to Ned's. Where we discussed moving in together, and we're leaning toward it, but if you read my Purple Clover article, you know I don't want to fix anything that isn't broken.

I love Ned TO DEATH, and I don't want to ruin that. But I love Ned to death, and want to move forward with our relationship. BUT WHAT IF I RUIN IT?

Quandary. I guess there could be worse quandaries. Oh, she loves someone to DEATH and he loves HER and they want to BE TOGETHER. That poor thing. Still.

And speaking of the person who put me in this quandary, I spoke with Marvin this week, because he had to text me to tell me about BARRY GIBB'S CONCERT TOUR!

After the excitement of that wore off (pfft. Like the excitement of THAT will ever wear off), I said to him, "Will you send me some of the videos we took in the '90s, when we were first married, so I can edit them and put them on my blog?"

I mean, come on. Don't you guys want to see me in an overall dress and brown lipstick? You know you do. "Yeah, sure," he said. But then the next day I wrote him again.

"You know, when we separated, I asked you to write me one last letter." Marvin had written me a lot of great letters over the years, and I have them all in a box. "I wanted one last letter, and you never wrote me one, and I've never mentioned it, but what I'm saying to you is I really want those videos. I don't want them to go the way of the one last letter," I wrote.

Marvin wrote back. "F," was all he wrote.

 

God, that app is the best thing that ever happened to me.

Anyway, F. Okay, that was funny. Still.

Oh! I have to go get ready for work, because I'll still find a way to be late even if we don't start till 10:00, but this morning I saw these tracks in the snow, along with the tracks of my tears.

IMG_2866DOOD! What is that? Do we have antelope? Is that it? Is it DEER? Do the deer and the antelope play? I can guarantee you that somewhere in this house you can always hear a discouraging word. Usually "Get the fuck off the couch, goddammit." But sometimes it's "What am I, a marsupial?" Oh, you should have seen me try to find an outfit for that book event I went to this weekend. Just me, my hair and the cannon I was apparently smugging in my abdomen. Holy crap. And I like how I'm all baffled by it when I ate two boxes of Girl Scout cookies last week.

A sleeve is a serving.

Oh my god, I really have got to go, but tell me what those tracks are. Here's another shot. Another professional shot.

IMG_2869Do you like you my wellies? WHAT IS IT? Could it be Pan? What are those tracks? Someone nature-y tell me!

You're a good-looking reader, Reader.