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.

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

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.

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.

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 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.)

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

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.

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.