Eyes that talk like cats

Turns out, I locked Steely Dan in the attic all night, so I’m feeling pretty good about my cat mothering skills.

I went up there for some paperwork, which I FOUND, by the way, and then I took it downstairs (there I go again, calling the attic “upstairs” like a giant nutbar) and pored over it obsessively. (I was trying to see how old my roof is. Let’s say it’s, oh, 21. Not only can your roof drink, but also your roof might need replacing, right?) (Crap.)

I didn’t think about how that gray ass GOES UP THERE, goes upstairs, every chance he gets.

Last night, before bed, I opened the front door and tried calling him in, a fruitless effort I make nightly. Well, he’s with his other family, I thought, shutting the door and giving up.

That’s why it alarmed me when I heard him meowing this morning. Usually when I get up, he’s staring at me through some window, with the intensity of a thousand suns. But he never meows to come in. That would be undignified. Unseemly.

“Steely Daaaan!” I called out my front door this morning, a reprise of last night’s siren song. Am certain the neighbors can’t get enough of me. “Who’s she gonna call next, Kajagoogoo?”

I was really worried. Why was he meowing so loudly? Was my gray prince of a kitten hurt? Don’t tell him I said that.

“Steely Daaaan! Kitty!?” I called out the back door, which is not a euphemism.

And then I saw the papers on my table. And right then I knew.

He wasn’t even that huffy about it, till he discovered I’m also out of canned food. After spending a night in an attic like a bat, he was rewarded with dry GIRL food that he only eats to annoy Iris and Lily. He enjoys sticking his head in their bowls when they’re eating, just to be an asshole.

The reason I’m out of cat food is I’m on a very strict $16-a-day budget till next Friday. I’m having a crown put on, and I think we can all agree I’ve deserved one of those for years. But it’s going to cost me $750 out of pocket–not that I ever put money in my pockets because look what happened to my ATM card when I put IT in my pocket on whiskey sour night–so in order to pay for  it, I have to live small this pay period.

So far, I’ve failed terribly at living on $16 a day. On Monday I managed till I filled a prescription at $22.

Then on Tuesday I ran out of gas. I don’t mean you saw me on the side of the highway carrying a can, but I was on the last dot of m’gage. So I pulled in to the dodgy gas station that’s on my way home from work, a gas station I almost never go to because they let some random dude run over and offer to fill your tank for you, a guy who doesn’t work there. And then I always tip him because he filled my tank for me and I know that’s how he’s eeking out a living, but the whole thing makes me uncomfortable, and it ends up costing me more.

But of course on Tuesday he wasn’t there. I guess he felt he’s earned vacation time. And this was the ONE TIME I coulda used that guy, because I put my card in, and it asked me if it was credit or debit, and then it said, “Card rejected. Please see cashier.”

Once, this friend of mine in LA asked me to take her to this event, and she lived seriously far from me, and driving to take a friend somewhere is no small task in LA. We’re talking this will be an extra hour both there and back. But I didn’t want to seem like a giant bitch (oh, June…), so I said okay. I drove an hour home from work, ate whatever standing up, then got BACK in the car to pick up HER ass so we could go to our event.

I ran out of gas that day, too, and had to go to this really dodgy gas station in Hollywood, and the next day my identity was stolen. There’s someone going around right now saying, “No, I’M June Gardens!”

So I’m suspicious of gas pumps in general, and I’m REALLY suspicious when it says, “Please see cashier.” So what I did Tuesday was, I got in the car and left.

With guess what. The flappy thing open on my car and the gas cap on my roof.

I drove about a block before it dawned on me I’d done that, so I pulled into a parking lot and walked along the gutter back to the dodgy gas station, looking for that cap.

I found it. It had been run over already.

So I took what’s left of my gas cap and went to the gas station I’ve always resented because they shut off my gas one time when I looked at my phone while pumping. Oh fuck you, explosion police.

So Tuesday cost me gas and a gas cap.

Yesterday I managed to spend nothing, but I did also manage to close my cat in an attic for 12 hours, so.

Just seven more days till I get paid again, but I still have to live small, because crown. I have to pay for this crown. On the 18th. The 18th is crown day. Oooo, what if the royal baby is born on my crown day? That’ll mean I’m royalty.

Oh, June. Delusional June.

Tonight, with my allotted $16, my pal Jo and I are possibly painting the town. Her brother died, which is really sad. I met him, and he was cool. The visitation is tonight, and I’m going to that, and then if there’s time, afterward we’re going to go to the First Friday stuff downtown so she can kind of have a break. We might even pop in on Kit, who of course has to work the First Friday stuff downtown, as she owns a, you know, store there.

Also, someone has moved into Peg’s. They’re busy unpacking and I think building something in the back, there. I’d introduce myself but every time I’ve seen them they look busy or I’m in a robe, so.

I’d better get to work. I have so much to do there that I forget to go pee. By the end of the day lately, my eyes are exhausted. They’re like, no to make us see to drive home. We done seeing.

Eye talk. I don’t know why eyes talk like cats. Especially 52-year-old eyes.

See you. BAH.
Joob

 

 

 

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Soaring highs, devastating lows

Yesterday was a day of intense highs and lows.

Okay, yesterday I had a high and a low. But everything with me is intense.

I’ve already done my stupid taxes with TurboTax, and I owe every year because freelance. What I parTICularly love is paying taxes and having to pay TurboTax on top of that. And then every five screens they’re all, “Here’s a way you can pay us MORE money!” Yeah, thanks. Cause we’re all not stressed to the gills already, fucksticks. Lemme get out additional bones to toss your way.

The point is, despite buying a new computer this year and painting this room (both deductible), I STILL owed like $1,700.

Last night I got home from work to STILL NO ATM PIN (see yesterday’s riveting account of that), but I did get a letter that said, “Tax information inside.”

Now what,” I wearied.

Turns out, I got a corrected Form 1098, and I know you’re all nodding your accountant-ish heads. Ohhhh, yes. A 1098.

It’s a form that says how much you paid in mortgage taxes. And as usual, one mortgage company bought another, a thing that’s happened to me at least 4 times since I bought my house 10 years ago. Dear money-hungry people who buy other companies and inconvenience the rest of us: Eat dung.

So I don’t even think I took off my coat last night. I got right on TurboTax and clicked the “amend my form,” added the new info, and now I get a refund.

Someone at some point sat down and wrote that little song. Like, they thought it up and wrote it. And every kid’s sick day from then on would have that song in it.

So that was exciting, to go from owing to getting, and I made myself some celebratory popcorn for dinner as a result and

CRACK.

Broke a tooth.

I’ve never played those two back to back before, and just now noticed the losing theme is the winning theme, just slowed down. With a little “you’re a loser” downward slide to it.

So now today I probably have to have emergency dental work, and why, God. I’m a good per–okay, …yeah, okay. …I see why, God. You can stop now.

The other thing is, I called SunTurst, and I am leaving it “Turst” cause that kills me, and said, “YOU’RE KILLING ME OVER HERE” and the nice man I was speaking to in Jamaica (I asked where he was. Then I pictured, like, Taye Diggs talking to me) said, “May I ask, why did you need a replacement card, mon?”

“I was delivering blankets to the children’s hospital and there was a whiskey sour outbreak and I lost it,” I explained.

Turns out, when you just lose your card and it doesn’t get stolen? Your PIN stays the same.

THIS WHOLE TIME.

I COULDA BEEN USING MY CARD THIS WHOLE TIME.

Bonus-round high, though: Ned bought my Retin-A at the pharmacy the other night because I had no PIN.

It’s a roller coaster, over here.

That’s all I have to say on that topic, and I like how I act like I just covered one topic so far, like I just told you all you could ever need to now about sunflowers, and now I’ll go on to lint.

June starts a new topic. June has one subhead. Just like her topics.

Did anyone ever do something really rotten to you, and you were so taken aback that you did nothing at the time, and you’ve been telling that person off IN YOUR MIND ever since?

Many years ago, I invited several people to my home for a dinner, and one of the guests called me ahead of time. “Frankly, I didn’t want to come to this. But if I do come, I need you to do this and this and this.” She detailed things like, “Hide the cats.”

I was so shocked. Never in my life had I invited someone over and had them be so…not gracious. And all these years later, what I WISH I had said was, “I will spare you the agony of having to come to my home, now or ever.”

Instead, I hid the cats.

Have you ever had that? If so, what do you wish you’d have said? Because even now, I’m appalled that I let someone treat me that way.

I’ll talk at you later. I gotta shower and get attractive for the dentist. This is totally gonna ruin all my hot St. Patrick’s Day binge-drinking green-beer plans I had brewing. [Disclaimer: Have precisely zero plans for St. Patrick’s Day.]

Oh! Wait! I forgot!

Screen Shot 2018-03-16 at 8.35.12 AM.png

We finished our assessment, and Eds is a Protodog.

Oh, well. Thank heavens, June.

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Okay, once again they’re saying, “Y’dog’s a dunce, Joob,” but you know, since he’s likely a Carolina Dog? And they are the last of the wild dogs? It makes sense he’s kind of…a pioneer. He’s the Pa Ingalls of dogs.

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Here’s his little chart, listing his SAT scores. Community college, here we come. Good lord, the dog is me. Except he’s nice.

So there you go. I wish I could have also given Talu this test. I’d love to compare and contrast. Lottie probably wrote the test and did the HTML stuff for the website.

Okay, talk at you. I know you didn’t really want to come here and I need to hide the cats, so.

Luff,
Jude

Enjoy the organ

I could NOT fall asleep, so when the alarm went off this morning, I was exhausted and hit snooze 39493940 times. I went last night to the old theater to see Gold Rush, the Charlie Chaplin silent movie–and I guess ALL of his movies were silent movies and now I’m officially annoying.

Dear June:
We need to review with you the date you became annoying. You seem to think that occurred today, when in fact our records show it began somewhere around July of 1965.

Oh, shut up.

Anyway, maybe it was all that live organ playing (when I gave my ticket to the volunteer, she said, “Have a lovely evening. Hope you enjoy the organ” and then I giggled like the 7th-grade little bitch I am), but man, was I ever awake at, you know, MIDNIGHT and then ONE and so on.

So I wasn’t gonna blog today, because I seriously have no time to be sitting here doing this like the 7th-grade little bitch I am, but I knew it was payday last night, which I guess would make it paynight, and just now I checked my checking (heee) and dear June, please see above re date you became annoying.

$547! When I checked my checking in my checkered pajamas while I lay next to a Czech after a rousing game of checkers, I saw my Amazon payment came, and it reflects what you guys bought through my Amazon link in December, and I received $547 today!

Oh my god, thank you. It all goes to paying my taxes, which, wooo! But still.

So that is why I stopped in today, despite making self late for work and making no sense because DID NOT SLEEP for some reason.

Someone gave me a brilliant tip re my Amazon link, and I will share it with you now. Let’s say you’re on your phone and you want to shop on Amazon, and you wish to do me a solid and get to Amazon via my link. The blue photo of seaglass is RIDICULOUS to find on one’s phone. I mean, it even annoys me.

But if you go to the Menu and then the “About” page at the top of my not blog, the link appears right there, and you don’t have to scroll scroll scroll like the 7th-grade little bitch that you are. So that’s what I use, now, when I want to get to my damn link.

Ima actually shower now, and attend work, as I am wont to do.

IMG_5695.jpgI leave you with this. The latest work of Steely Dan, and you know, I thought my robe was safe. He’d seemed disinterested in eating it, but I guess he had a change of heart. Well. “Heart.”

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ask steeelee do he give one shit
img_5686.jpg
smell dis

From a small-ish town in North Carolina with a loving cat and a hole in m’robe,

June

P.S. I almost forgot! Due to a pertinent work conversation that involved fairly pornographic paper art of cocker spaniels mating (don’t ask), what do you think is the dog breed of each decade? Like, cocker spaniels. So the 1970s.

The ’90s. Labs.

What else?

 

401 kitten

Last night, I had a dream that Steely Dan was wandering the hallways at my work, which isn’t out of the realm. It’s only three miles from here. But anyway, when the alarm went off in real life, I opened my eyes to discover him standing on my headboard, peering down at me.

I managed to discuss my dreams and my cat all in one sentence, thereby becoming the most boring person on earth®, officially. Maybe next I’ll tell my stories with, “Wait, was that Tuesday or…?” And my giant favorite, “Let me back up.”

NO ONE EVER WANTS YOU TO BACK UP. FOR THE LOVE OF LEROY, CAN YOU NOT BACK UP.

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literalee can not back up, fozter mom

Other than work, cats and REM, I’ve got nothing more to tell you. Tonight I celebrate my love for you, and I need you all to go out today and light a candle and pray to our merciful god that I stop thinking of that damn song.

Tonight, I meant to say, a bunch of us from work are going to happy hour at someplace called the Crowded Goat or the Bleating Goat or the Got Your Goat. I don’t know. I’ve been there before. It’s got goat in the title. Other than that, the weekend yawns before me. Bleats before me.

Tomorrow morning, I take the kittens into the shelter for their booster shots, and I suppose there’s a chance people will tell me I’m the lucky one. And we’ve just begun. Think I’m gonna have a son.

Sigh.

They’ll tell me my little kitten heads are ready for adoption. Could they not? Could we just not yet? Please note they’re still pretending to eat titty dinner, even though Nancy is not bringing any milkshakes to their yard at present. But isn’t that reason enough that they should stay with her? Shouldn’t they stay with her until they’re not doing that? (June glues each kitten to mom.)

While I stared at my kittens, I also spent a long time on the phone last night, with the spouse of a friend. With the wife of a close friend, wife of a close friend.

I’m being intentionally vague not because I am having an affair with my friend’s spouse, but because I don’t want people to inundate him the way I inundated him. But to be fair, my friend called me after I wrote a post about how I worry about retirement, and she said, “Do you, you know, know what my husband does?”

“He works at a bank, right?” Turns out he’s a retirement guru.

She totally picked him up at work, by the way. She was in his line every Friday, depositing her check, and when she was ready to make her move, he asked her out. A truly GOOD boyfriend would have added a zero to her check before depositing it, but whatever.

Why is it I never get jobs at the bank?

So anyway, he and I made a plan to talk on the phone, old school, and when my phone actually rang, all four kittens and their mom startled.

IMG_4409.jpgFor, you know, like a second.

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wate. do kidden liff with bag laydee? why she talk retire?

Anyway. We discussed ad nauseum my income, my four oh wonk (Oh, look. Another reason to scream out and light a stop-doing-that candle for June) and my expenses.

He added things, and estimated things, and he did it like he enjoyed it. In the end, he said I wasn’t in that bad a shape, but he said what would really help is if I’d pay off more of my mortgage each month. With all my extra cash.

So, I’ve canceled Stitch Fix. I KNOW! I loved Stitch Fix! But–and here’s where you probably won’t feel sorry for me if you live in, say, California or New York. But my house payment is $870 a month, and I’m tryina pay at least $1,000 a month for now.

“Then, if you can manage that, in a while, just add $20 more, see if that’s okay. It’s just twenty dollars, right?” said my friend’s spouse.

So that’s the plan. I already plop 15% of my check into my four oh wonk each paycheck, and I AM DYING OF LACK OF FUN, but I also don’t want to be babbling to myself with a shopping cart at 80, which let’s face it is (a) Nine minutes away and (b) probably gonna happen anyway.

I’ll just be blogging out loud, to myself, under a bridge. “Oh my god, how did I get on this tangent?” I’ll croak.

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serrryuslee, lady, you got cash to feed kidden, rite?
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can wee get new ritcher fozter mom?

Note that I don’t have to sit on the floor anymore, because everyone has learned how to get up on just everything. It was literally one day they couldn’t, next day they could. Oh my god, having kittens is the most funnest thing you could ever imagine.

All my chins and I agree.

Okay, I gotta go. I’ve got to get to work so I can get everything done in order to free up my schedule to get drunk like I’m 27 or something. Back when I was 27, we had a bar in our building at work, which was convenient AF, and then we had free bus passes, so getting home was a breeze. Man, those were the days. The says of busses and chablis.

Oh! Crap! Before I go, here’s an Amazon link. That extra mortgage payment isn’t gonna pay itself.

Six cats. Pfft. Amateur.

June wraps up her trip; bored nation rejoices

If you’re just getting back from your Thanksgiving holiday, and I say “holiday” like we’re all British, there are several days of my posts for you to catch up on and I wish you luck. I wish you luck mucking through all my ins and outs.

For the rest of you, who kept up with me like good readers, here’s the rest of my trip back to Michigan…

IMG_E2204.JPGWhen we left each other yesterday, saying, “No, YOU hang up,” Gus had been doing tricks in my mother’s yard, fmr., and then I might have kissed him with my red lipstick. I remember back in the ’90s, kissing my mother’s fluffy white Samoyed with my then-fushia lipstick, and my poor beleaguered stepfather in the kitchen, patiently washing it off that dog’s head.

Oooo, speaking of lipstick…

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Both on the way to Michigan and on the way back, I may have looked with rapt interest in the Mac store at Chicago airport, noting these lipsticks were all for sale as one unit, a unit someone might like, if someone were trying to determine what June Would Like For Christmas, a query that’s burning in the brains of just er’one.

I’d look like an asshole in the second-from-the-left one. That burnt orange look does not appeal. But speaking of needless purchases, isn’t it Cyber Monday? Wouldn’t this be an excellent time to link to Amazon, so you can purchase like a mo?

Oh, look! A book about how we shouldn’t consume, that if we click on it takes us to Amazon so we can consume. Oh, June, you’re so ironic. Don’tcha think. A little too ironic. Yeah, I really do think.

But I digress.

On Friday night of my trip to Michigan, my Aunt Kathy had us over for tacos, and by “my Aunt Kathy,” I mean my Uncle Bill made tacos.

IMG_2211 2.jpgSome families form a conga line. We form a taco line. [Insert taco/Katie-the-lesbian joke here]

IMG_2212.jpgMy Aunt Kathy, who is a Virgo, had already decorated for Christmas. Like, that day. She started the day with no Christmas, and by the end of the day she was swinging on her North Pole.

Do you remember that guy Ward who I went out with like three times or something, and then it didn’t work out? He texted me over the holiday (British), and I answered him, telling him how all the women in my family prattle endlessly and all the men are sort of quiet and introspective. Okay, not my Uncle Leo. But the other men. Anyway, below is yet another piano-playing video, this time not horrific like the last one, where one of the men is being deep and yet you can hear women prattling in the background. I recorded this for his listening pleasure. I think it was around then that he stopped texting.

In summation.

IMG_2217.jpgAfter dinner, my cousin Big June and her husband Hill came to surprise me, and it was so cute to see them. She gets migraines, too. Is plagued by them, actually.

Maybe had I not been named after her I wouldn’t have migraines. Maybe they could have named me after a tennis star or something instead. Step one: Get tennis star in family.

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fukking schtopz

Also, here is my aunt’s cat, Tom Thumbs. Did not at all follow Tom Thumbs around like an idiot, scooting across floor with phone out like a moron. That would not be fittin’. Did not at all call him kitty head or sweet kitten or kitty hitchhiker kitten face wif thumbses.

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Finally, it was Saturday and time for me to go, but not before Hulk rejected me for sports. Also, Dear June: *of.

IMG_2239.jpgI returned home without incident, late Saturday night. It was too late to get Edsel from daycare, so I slept with Lily, who was beside herself that I’d returned, and if you look carefully, you can see an extremely indifferent Steely Dan down the hall.

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hooo gif shit

IMG_E2246.JPGThe other, more normal, cats were happy to see me, in their cat way. “wee not say hi, but we sleep on you a lots.”

The cat-sitter told me that every day, SD and Lily would come blinking down the hall, like, O, do someone bee heer? And every time, Iris was asleep in the dog bed.

Speaking of my cats, I was writing you in my regular fashion, not that I’m pooping, when I saw this shadow…

IMG_2264.jpgHere’s the annoying part: I’ve already let him in today. But there he is, mysteriously on the other side of the door, as he is wont to be. And yet, he still wishes for me to get up and let him in the traditional way right now. Sneak out whatever way he’s figured out? Sure. But inconveniencing me to come back in? Oh, HELL, sure. So many sures.

IMG_E2274.JPGIMG_E2275.JPGAnd he wasn’t hungry; he’d already eaten. He wasn’t sleepy. Evil rarely sleeps. He just wanted to be sure to remind me that my coffee repels him. My coffee should be stopped. As soon as he can gather funds, he’s going to bribe a lobbyist to get coffee outlawed.

IMG_2278.jpgAsshole. Why do I love him so? This sums up all my relationships.

I’d better get to work, which I am actually looking forward to doing. Tomorrow is my mammogram, which has not haunted and terrified me since I made the appointment or anything. Do you all know from EMDR? It’s a kind of therapy they do for trauma. I really think I should get EMDR so I’m not so

EFFING

INSANE

during mammogram week. Am considering.

Meanwhile, here’s an Amazon link again, in case it inconveniences you to scroll up. I want to make it was easy as I can for you, so that I will become a millionaire. Also, I got my new credit score today, and it’s in the high 700s.

You know, at the beginning of the year, I made the New Year’s resolution to fix my finances, and I actually did it. I worked freelance jobs ALL YEAR LONG. And I got my debt cleared. And I upped my contribution to my four oh wonk.

I still don’t make a lot of money, but at least I don’t have debt haunting me. Just mammograms.

Anyway, here’s your second Amazon link.

Resent. Also, wish Crazy Cat Lady ornament did not look so much like self.

Sanely,

Juuun

P.S. Someone will ask, so I will assure you I got the Eds from daycare Sunday, and he was…enthused about seeing me.

IMG_2249.jpgI had a migraine (thanks, world), so he spent the entire day with his snout up on my berobed self. No, seriously. THE ENTIRE DAY.

IMG_2254.jpgSteely Dan made barf sounds from across the room and rolled his orange cat eyes.

1136 words, dear god,

Jooon

June wakes up to $15,000 in her account. I’M RICH!

Despite paying off almost all my credit card debt (I think this next check from my last huge freelance job will do it!), cash can sometimes be a tad low right before payday. For example. i.e. To wit: Yesterday I had $5 in checking. Continue reading “June wakes up to $15,000 in her account. I’M RICH!”

You’re never too old for a fur ball.

I’m trying to think of what happened this weekend, but it’s such a haze, what with the heroin and all. Or, alternatively, 18 bottles of fizzy strawberry water.

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I’m OBSESSED.

Continue reading “You’re never too old for a fur ball.”

Spa Day

Thursday, August 3, 2017

6:30 a.m.: Alarm goes off, hit snooze.

6:39: Alarm goes off, hit snooze.

6:48: ”

6:57: “…..

7:33: OH MY GOD. SERIOUSLY? Scream out of bed, dash to shower. Wash hair.

We curly people don’t wash our hair every day. Many of us have a concoction we create in dollar spray bottles purchased at Target. The concoction contains water and lavender oil. Or water and conditioner. Or water and gel. Or water, conditioner, gel and flax seed. Or whiskey.

Some of us have had all of those iterations in our spray bottle from Target. We spray our hair, scrunch it, and go the whole day with our hair looking like shit.

Since I’d had Bernie from Room 222 hair all week, and current references for four decades, yesterday was an actual wash-and-start-over day.

7:45: Put hair in careful microfiber towel for curly people, make coffee, feed animals, go outside with Edsel to watch him pee, as is required by law, lest you deal with a dog who will not go outside ALL DAY, and who hovers near you underbitedly wishing it be tyme to go out and watch Edzul pee alreddy cause he relly haff to go.

7:50 Begin blogging.

9:01: OH MY FUCKING GOD HOW IS IT ALREADY–

9:02: Throw on anything, pop in contacts, pour more coffee, scream out door. Catch reflection in car mirror.

Hair still completely soaked.

9:05–9:11: Drive to work with sunroof open and all windows down. Get to work and glance in mirror.

Hair still completely soaked.

9:12: Turn on computer hurriedly, glance at boss to see if he’s absorbed in work and not noticing lateness (NEWS ALERT: Boss is always absorbed in work), begin five-article project you promised another team that you were supposed to start the day before but were too busy.

9:13: PING! New deadline assigned.

9:14: PING! New deadline assigned.

9:15: PING! New deadline ass–

WHAT THE FUCK.

At work, we have software that, once your part of the task is completed, you check off a box and the next person in line gets an automatic email saying it’s their turn and with a deadline for their part.

Often, for some efficient reason, these deadlines are mythical, so the person before you will then email you personally to say, “Really, this has to be done tomorrow at noon.”

9:16: PING! New deadline assigned.

9:17: PING! New–OH STOP.

Then I started getting the personal emails. Hey, June, don’t make it bad. Take a sad article, and make it better.

In half an hour, I had 11 new assignments. Eleven. I won’t get 11 in a week sometimes. Those were followed up by “These deadlines are legit” emails from the editor before me.

9:30–12:30: Begin work on the 11 new deadlines, ignoring the five articles you still have to do for the other team. Get one done.

12:31: Realize you haven’t peed. In bathroom, glance at self.

Hair is still completely soaked.

12:35–1:30: Drive home, let Edsel out, stand watching Edsel pee as is required by law, realize you’re standing blankly thinking about all that you need to do back at work. Eat something that’s 15 Weight Watchers points (Amy’s Organic 3 Cheese and Kale) because there’s no time to think about thawing a chicken breast right now and that 15-point concoction is right there smiling at you kale-ly from the freezer.

1:37: Return to work, begin slaving on those five articles.

2:09: Email, “Is there any way you can get those articles done early?

2:10: Email from another team: “Did you forget you were going to proof our presentation today?”

3:00: Party for leaving coworker. Everyone heads to conference room to celebrate, except you and your boss. Boss has as much and very likely lots more to do. You sigh, pound your hands on desk, throw head back in annoyance, swear, and at one point, glance over at boss. He’s calmly typing, absorbed in work.

3:11: During yet another dramatic sigh and head throwback, glance down at boss, who is typing and sipping water calmly, like he’s on a meditation retreat or something.

“HOW CAN YOU BE SO CALM?”

“I internalize everything,” says boss, never looking over at you and your still-soaking-wet hair.

‘That’s why you will have seven heart attacks one day.”

Boss finally looks over. “If you have so much to do, why are you talking to me?”

“What’s the point of you being the only person here if I can’t complain to you?”

3:12: Feel like boss is 100% over you.

4:50 p.m.: Person who asked if you’d do the five articles for her, and then if you can do them early, comes over. She is a good sort of a person. Have commiserative talk about how busy everything is, discuss who has cried at work today, smile wanly at each other and continue.

6:35 p.m.: Four of the five articles are done. Sure, there are the 10 others, and that presentation you forgot and have to do Saturday, but four of the five articles are done.

6:37: See The Poet in parking lot. Have commiserative talk. Realize Poet leaves every day at this time, then goes home and writes deep poetry. Realize Poet never once throws head back dramatically at desk.

6:40: Glance at self in mirror of car. Hair has dried into a ‘do not unlike Gene Wilder’s.

6:52: Plunk bag of carrots next to work computer (see above ref to 15-point kale) and begin freelance work.

8:30: Try to stop freelance work.

8:32: Feel too squirrelly about stopping now, when you could finish this whole project tonight.

8:52: Get email from woman at work who you did four our of five articles for. “I hope people tell you how much you’re appreciated.” Smile warmly at email. Coworker is good soul who never writes things like THANKS!! : ). Coworker writes in English. Coworker is bomb.

10:20: Finish current freelance assignment. Email Tank the Miracle Angel Baby, whom you’re working with on said freelance gig, to tell him. “That’s great!” he writes back. “We have one that’s five times as long as that one that we plan to get to you Tuesday.”

10:21: Mentally count dollars. Mentally tell self that if you can’t drive with broken back, at least you can polish fenders.

10:32: REM.

P.S. I forgot the good news, that at lunch, while I was staring blankly at Edsel, I also called my bank and set up a savings account, an account they will automatically add a certain amount to every 15th and 31st, an account I cannot access with my ATM card. Am practically Suze Orman. Plans to smile manically under corporate haircut and tell you all YOU can’t afford it, appearing forthwith.

 

June’s Room of Her Own

Do you ever wish everyone would just stop talking to you? I don’t mean blog comments–I can honestly say that there hasn’t been one time I’ve gotten a blog comment and gone, UGH. A COMMENT. Goddammit. Not once. I’m always glad to get those. Continue reading “June’s Room of Her Own”

June must think of title. June not feeling it right now. June hits Publish anyway.

I worked till 10:00 last night, on freelance stuff, and my real work was busy yesterday, too, but at one point one of you wrote me. "I left you a tip."

"Oh, you did? Wow, thanks!"

Eventually, I got over there, to m'tip jar, and you'd left me enough tips that I don't have to borrow from any random well-off exes! Yay! Thanks, you guys!

Just today, I went to Steely Dan's hallowed Feeding Area® and noted he was on his last can of food. He wouldn't have STARVED, I have dry kitten food, made from real kittens, but he was gonna have to wait on the cans. But now? Cans for that assy cat!

I mentioned this on Facebook yesterday, but I noted yesterday that he is apparently jumping to the shelf atop the closet and chawing the fabric below. "So he's a moth," one of you said.

Yes. Yes, he is. WHY would you even WANT to chew fabric? He's not teething; he already did that, unless he's getting a new row like a shark, and I would not put that past him. A couple times now he's sauntered past me of late, and for a second there I'm all, "Who is that man?" He's getting big, is what I am saying to you.

You know, I love nothing more than a baby animal, yet why do I always own animals that get big in 14 seconds? Roger, Lottie, SD.

Anyway, so now I can, like, get dish soap and more allergy meds and I can LIVE! Live like a regular person who can buy staples! Yay!

Oh, and the other good news is, I know I told you Ned paid that doctor bill for me that inexplicably went to his house even though I have never been to that doctor before last month and there is really no reason they think his address is still my address. But whatever. The point is, him doing that tipped me over into meeting my ridiculous $2,000 deductible already this year, so yay!

I have a lot of yay today.

ALSO, I heard from the headache study I'm doing, and the first part is over–on to the second part. I am not taking any drugs or changing my diet, but that's all I can say about it. This is a whole new approach that I've yet to try, and I'm curious to see how it works.

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And finally, I hate to tell Lily that she can't really see anything. "Lileee patrol yard tooo." Hey, maybe before spring gets here for real (Okay, it IS spring. Shut up.) I can get that screen replaced. What say you? As soon as I do that I'll find a puppy again.

Screen Shot 2017-03-22 at 8.21.42 AM

Or adopt this pittie, with whom I am obsessed. "Cat curious." Oh my god, that kills me. Clearly she's in college. In her experimental years.

Okay, I'm leaving. Oh, one last thing. I got home and started working right away last night, resulting in me forgetting to feed dinner to the pets, which, I KNOW. I'm lucky to be alive. The point is, it was such a nice evening, and at one point I got up to stand on the deck and stretch, and everyone was out there together being so quintessentially themselves.

Edsel kept picking up Blu and dropping it, over and over. Steely Dan kept running at the big tree, seeing how high he could jump on the trunk, then jumping down and trying again.

Lily was on her back, legs splayed rolling in the dirt.

Iris sat on the deck with her paws crossed, surveying her domain. Sort of. As survey-y as you can be when you "can't see fukkin theeng."

So that was cute.

Okay, bye.

Living like a college student w/out the cute body I had in college

I'm $54 overdrawn in my account, I get paid in TEN DAYS, and I just called Ned to borrow $100.

I KNOW.

You guys. I cannot keep living like this. If you wanna call that living. Seriously, though, here's how it happened: I got paid last Wednesday. I paid the mortgage because it was due that day. I got my contacts, because they were ready and I hadn't worn contacts in weeks. You'd think I could just blow that off and be glasses girl, but I really have trouble copyediting with glasses on, cause I have to take them off to really see, and scootch way up to the computer, and plus also it hurts to wear headphones with them on, a thing I have to do because open floor plan.

So I got the contacts. Paid the mortgage. Got groceries. GOT THE SIX-DOLLAR EYEBROW WAX.

Then I had $54 till the NEXT payday, which I could deal with, and boom. Auto insurance. Automatic withdrawl. It overdrew me, and the FUCKING BANK charged me $36 for it.

God I hate banks. Why they gotta be such dicks?

The point is, I'm 51. This is insane. I spent until 9:30 last night working, trying to make extra money, but I can't keep working 11-hour days forever. I mean, I guess I could, but I assure you a tired copyeditor is a shitty copyeditor.

And remember when that realtor came? My house is creeping up there in value, but it's still not worth what I paid, and I wouldn't make any money selling it. So that's out.

Anyway. At least I'm rich in pet food. One of you sent me King Kamehameha amounts of it, and this morning I saw Edsel's food tin was low, and I panicked for a minute, but I looked in the closet and there was a huge bag of his Just Sex. I give him this Rachel Ray food called Just Six, but my hilarious joke with myself is to call it Just Sex. I know. All this talent, and I'm destitute.

I don't even know what else to do, you know? I've cut out all fun. I have no TV, I buy groceries and eat at home. I'm devoid of all injectables, which if you ask me is the biggest tragedy. I know a lot of other people feel the same way. Thank heavens we have a new administration to take us in an exciting direction.

…heh.

So say what you will about Ned, he's the only local friend I have who's sick with cash, and he offers to help constantly and I say no constantly, at least I did back when we used to speak. I didn't even know if he'd answer my call, but he did and didn't hesitate to loan me the money, and he also told me that my allergy bill came to our old house (why? I never went to that doctor before. Why did they think that was my house? why??), and it was $250 and he just paid it.

So that's going on. I always get smug judge-y people when I talk about m'cash flow, but my determination is to tell as much of the truth as I can on here without ruining anyone else's life.

Oh, also, Peg's daughter messaged me on Facebook. I'd told Peg my new number but she must have forgotten, and in desperation the daughter found me there. Apparently my full name is on Peg's power of attorney stuff, which I'm glad of.

The point is, in case you're not on Pie on the Face, Peg has been in hospital–as they say in England–and then at this rehab place (she's not DRUNK. Physical rehab) recovering from her ailments, and then yesterday she had another surgery. Peg's surgery yesterday went well, and soon she goes BACK to the rehab place.

Her daughter, who lives in Virginia, I think, has been schlepping here weekly and staying at Peg's, and I told her I'm right next door and can do whatever when she's not here. I also invited her over for coffee and kvetching if she needs to, and she said yes to that, so that'll be nice.

I hope I'll have coffee. "Hi, come on in. I have negative 14 dollars, so do you mind water? If they haven't shut off my water?"

So that's that. Also, we've had big, big changes at work, so that's been kind of stressy. Is the moon in Africa or Saturn or something? Are you going through chaos and upheaval as well? Cause this is weird. Everything's all fruit-basket upset.

I used to have this boss, who didn't like me, and that was a huge phrase with her: fruit-basket upset. It killed me. I'd have said, "fucked up," and right there's the difference between the two of us, and no wonder she didn't like me.

At least I have my youth.

Wait.

…I just got up to get more fascinating decaf (I'm almost totally decaffeinated now! This is the first time since I'm 16!), and I saw two riveting things. First of all, Steely Dan was chewing my flowers, that pretty pink plant Chris and Lilly got me a few weeks ago? (Big Book of June Events) I brought it inside cause it's been so cold, and there was SD, all chawing it, and I did the whole HSSSST! sound I do to scare the cats.

And he looked at me with nary a flinch. Kept chewing. HSSSST! has ALWAYS worked, even on Mr. Horkheimer, but SD? Nary.

So I took the plant back outside, cause it's supposed to be 79 today anyway, and as I was walking back in here, I saw Lily in the back yard, Lily my cat, which is good because if Lilly the person had driven 25 minutes to just stand in my back yard I might get more than a tad creeped out.

The point is, she was all hunched in a hunting position, Lily my cat was, twitching her ample hips this way and that. So I watched to see what would happen next. If I'd been online I'd have clicked here. You won't BELIEVE WHAT–anyway.

She pounced. On nothing. Then she tore away sideways, her ample everything swaying in the breeze.

So that's what Lily does in the yard. Hunts nothing. Somehow this is not shocking information for me.

I'd better go, so I can get to work and maybe scrounge some free food or something. Did I mention I cannot keep living like this? Maybe some 20-year-old college boy needs a room to rent. That sounds really sexy till his first night of binge drinking.

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Fruit-basket upsettedly,

Juan

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

Take a survey; control June’s life

I haven't wanted to ruin what I'm certain has been a stellar weekend for you, but I've been under the weather. I know. See? I knew your mood would plummet.

Turning to your Big Binder of June Events (at this point it pretty much has to be a binder), you'll recall that my throat hurt earlier in the week, and then I rallied, and then boom. I had a sinus infection. I won't disgust you with the details, but I am not bringing sexy back. I never even purchased sexy in the first place, this weekend.

But my chills and aches are not why I brought you all here today, although you'll surely catch those now that you're Inside June. I brought you here today to help me with my windfall. M'windfall, as some might say. And those some are assholes.

I hunched out to the mailbox yesterday afternoon, because when I fell ill it's important that I walk all hunched over, so the cats feel bad for me and so on. I almost didn't open the letter from my mortgage company, because all I do is save the unopened bill to remind me to pay it, then pay it over the phone each month. But for some reason I did open it.

A check fell out.

I figured it was one of those phony checks, where if you get yourself more into debt you can cash it. But in fact, just like in Monopoly, they overestimated my escrow, whatever that means, and I had a big $524 coming to me.

If you're as broke as I am, this is big news. So now the check is just sitting there, waiting to be spent, and I can't decide what to do with it? Do I save it? (borrrrrring) Do I throw it at the credit card debt, which by the way will be a spit in the ocean but still?

Do I spend it on things that need doing around the home? For example, my motion light at the side of the house burnt out, and my handyman Alf will have to get up on big-ass ladder or a cherry picker or something to replace it. Also he found a screen in part of the roof that fell out, which could be the gateway to hell for Steely Beelzebub and his great escapes.

Alternatively, I need my chair recovered, which is supposed to cost $700, but I could throw $524 at the problem and come up with the rest.

So, what say you? Fortunately, here is a survey for you to fill out, and if you have an alternative suggestion, you could leave that in my comments.

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Click here for the link to the survey.

Thanks! Come back tomorrow for my snotty comments on the Oscars, both literally and figuratively.

Lily meowed the whole time I wrote this. Annoy.

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Having a kitten isn't as much fun as they tell you it's gonna be. I'd like to speak to the manager (swings horseshoe hair).

6OYh9uQ

Anyway. Why would you even WANT to attack the paper towel roll? At least it wasn't one of my highfalutin Alyssa Milano paper towels, from the Alyssa Milano Collection. I want you to know nothing kills me more than Alyssa Milano having a "collection" of anything, and I wish to collect anything she collects.

But I can't. Cause broke.

This is why I gathered you all here today. My last-minute trip to Michigan for my grandmother's birthday (+ pet-sitting); my next trip for my mother's [insert major number here] birthday (+ pet-sitting); my beach trip (+ pet-sitting), which I'd planned for ages; my sudden purchase of a car; plus the part where I no longer write for Purple Clover mean I am not as wealthy as I'd been. Wealthy. Pfft.

I maxed out my credit cards when Tallulah got sick. They'd been at zero, all three of them at zero, as of the first of this year, and it was January 1 that I came home and saw for the first time that Lu had peed on the floor. "Well, I wonder what THAT'S all about?" I remember thinking. I knew Edsel hadn't peed, cause he'd have turned into a guilty letter C. He did today when I walked in on the claw-ridden paper towel extravaganza.

So. Yeah. Broke. Sucks.

I wanted to ask you about your money sitch, not how much you make or anything like that, but how do you feel about it? Do you feel secure? This week when I got home from my trip, I called around all afternoon and canceled all my extras, which I had done months earlier with Kaye, but there were some things that I'd set up when I moved here last November that I was stuck with till the year was up, and now it's November again, so. So no cable at all, slower internet than I already had (I'd knocked it down a peg when Kaye did my budget), I'm polish-less, with no future manicures or pedicures in sight, and I'm thinking of looking in the want ads to see what Edsel can do. Maybe he could do dog modeling. You think?

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O. AbfoLOOTlee.

Oh, and also, my blog dues are up. Every year, I have to pay Typepad $180, and I have to do so around November 15. I can ill afford this right now, but will try, but I know some of you hit the tip jar from time to time, and if you can afford it, please consider throwing money in there. You know I don't enjoy asking, but right now, $180 is a ton for me. If you can't afford it, for heaven's sake, do not donate.

But let's discuss. Do you feel like, yeah, I'm okay with money, or are you still shaky after the whole 2008 debacle? I was already kind of hurting in 2008, as we'd just moved here from Los Angeles and I was just starting a new job and we bought a house. But things really got ugly once Marvin left. I had no job, a mortgage and a COBRA. I can't help it–no matter what I have to have my snake.

When I moved in with Ned, I was golden. Oh my god, I remember buying clothes at the real store, not Target, because we each paid $600 a month in rent, and my car was paid off, and Ned made more than me by a lot, so he paid for dinners out and so on. Those were m'salad days, and that was how I got all my cards paid off.

Then we broke up. And I moved back here. And Tallulah got sick.

So what about you? What's your story with cash money? Are you as vulnerable to what's happening outside your world as I am, or do you have a solid plan in place even if the dog gets sick or the move is inevitable or what have you? And if so, why are you such a goddamn grownup?

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In summation, I leave you with this photo of Iris in disguise. Apparently it fooled Steely Dan. ware eyeriss be? wish to bop her face relentless-lee.

I'll talk at you tomorrow. Oh! And I voted yesterday, and there wasn't even a bad line, and why they had cocaine at the voting place was beyond me.

Hilariously,

Jooooon

June. No longer a Bug. Now more of a Mini. A chubby Mini.

When I woke up yesterday, I did not know I'd be buying a car. But there it is.

Now my life is officially a country song: the man I loved done left, m'dog died, and my VW Bug up and quit on me. I just need a train off in the distance and a jail sentence.

It didn't officially quit, but the "Check Engine" light came on, which is always slightly horrifying.

"Maybe the light itself is just broken," I told myself, because I'm good at denial. "Maybe a wire got crossed or something."

Yeah. That's the ticket. You go, June.

I had a bunch of writing to do for work, so I just took my laptop and went to the car place. I was able to finish everything, in fact, while I was there. A whole car place was quieter than the open floor plan.

Finally, they called me over. "Ma'am? It isn't good."

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Oh! Just $2,753.81? Pus tax? Is that all? I have that on me.

I did what any adult would do. I texted Marvin, because he was in charge of Car Things, and he was in charge of the purchase of this car eight years ago. "Get a Mini Cooper," he said. Marvin was never one to avoid buying a car. He knows I love Mini Coopers.

I called my stepfather. Told him the deets. He asked me to never, ever say "deets." Then he said, "Sounds like maybe you should just trade it in and get another car."

When we hung up and I was talking with the car place, my mother called. "FIX THAT CAR!" she said. My mother always goes for the thrifty option. Although in this case it was hardly thrifty. I mean, my fear was if I got all these repairs, and the car is almost nine years old, won't it need expensive repairs in another year? That was my fear.

Anyway, after a whole day of obsessing about it, and asking the boys I work with because they're boys, and also asking Ned, who of course suggested I think on it for a month and a half, I did this…

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I traded in my poor yellow Bug and got a yellow Mini Cooper. It's actually one of the larger Mini Coopers, so it's, like, a not-so-Mini Cooper. It's like this one woman I worked with, who dressed like Li'l Kim, only she had some curves, so the guys in the copy room called her Medium Kim. I bought Medium Kim.

I was certainly enjoying not having a car payment every month. I went one year not having one.

Turns out, to have avoided this problem, every time my dealership sent me those phony, "It's time for your 30,000 mile checkup" or whatever? I should have actually gone to those. Who knew? See, this is why I need adult supervision.

So I'm a little sick about having to have, you know, BOUGHT A CAR, but oh god, it's cute.

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hullo, I'm cute!

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even my dashbored is cute! meedyum kim almost do pet speek, but it car speek insted.

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even my kee is cute!

That's the key! You slide that disk in and push a button. It's like the future!

Anyway, I had to clear out my regularly scheduled car, and it made me so sad. Why do we get so sad about our cars? I was in the back seat, which I hardly ever was and then I felt sad about never being in the back seat all those years, and I was pushing the seats forward to look for odds and ends that had dropped (found one Mary Kay mascara sample and this Weight Watchers key fob that looked like a sex toy) and I saw all sorts of Tallulah fur under the seats. Oh, Talu.

I also found in the back pocket of the driver's side the large book of maps Ned wasted his money buying me. Also the tire inflate-y stuff and some spare motor oil. Do you think maybe all that time Ned thought I was a lesbian? Oh, lemme get m'map, and while I change the oil, I can find out how to best drive us to the Isle of Lesbos.

I had that Bug a long time. I got it in August of 2008, when I was still married. 6a00e54f9367fb883401bb0798f0e5970d-pi

I found Tallulah in that car. Oh, wait. No I didn't. I found her in the blue Bug. Okay, but I drove Tallulah around in that car. I made out with Ned in that car. We'd meet at our old movie theater, and I'd drive him home afterward, when he lived downtown. We'd kiss in his parking lot. Which probably delighted that guard who had to work there all night.

By the time I actually made the decision and signed all the papers and so on, it was dark, so before my Aunt Mary gets here today Ima read the manual and find out where all the things are on it. Like, how do I switch over to Sirius radio, which came free? The important stuff.

Oh. Have I not mentioned my Aunt Mary is coming? She is, along with my Uncle Stuart. They'll be here through Tuesday. I took today and tomorrow off, which turned out to be stupid because their flight doesn't get in till 3:30, and really I shoulda taken off tomorrow and Friday. But there you go.

Oh, and thanks for telling me your ages and so on yesterday! I never looked to see how many comments there were total, but "a lot" seemed to fit the bill. One person was all, "I can't wait to see the results once you compile everything!"

COMPILE everything? What am I, made of time? Good gravy. Here's what we know: two of you are men. The rest of you are chicks. Amen.

I'll talk to you later. Maybe I can have Aunt Mary do an interview for my blog. I remember back when she came to visit me in Seattle, a bunch of gay guys I was friends with threw her a little party, and included an Aunt Mary handshake. Then we took her to the gay bar and then bowling, and she had a great time.

This time she gets to look at my car and meet 8,000 pets. Ain't we lucky we got 'em. Good times. Yeahhhh.

Car-ily,

June

It turn out, puppies do be annoying

I gotta go in early today, but last night this happened:

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Also, I think SiriusXM is sort of scammy. I called to cancel day before yesterday, and they said yes, okay, you're canceled as of the 17th. But then on the 17th, not only did I have Sirius Radio, I got CHARGED for the month.

I had to call them last night, and go through that whole rigamarole (account number? I have no idea. Marvin got me Sirius Radio on my 40th birthday. We lived in Burbank. I have no idea what our phone number was back then) ALL OVER AGAIN, and finally when they found me, they would not take no for an answer.

I got really mad. "Look (you always know you're a business in trouble with me when I say, "Look."), I called you two days ago to cancel. I shouldn't have to go through this all over again. CANCEL ME. I don't know how many other ways to say it."

"Okay, but ma'am, let me just give you one final offer."

Oh my god.

Do they not know that when they do this shit, we can all go on our social media and tell everyone else? We can literally go tell it on a mountain. So I Google fuckinged it, and sure enough, other people had the same complaint. At this point, it'd take Howard Stern knocking on my door to get me back.

Anyway. Now I've carried on, my wayward son, and I have got to go.

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I'll talk to you tomorrow. I just wanted to mention, just one more thing before I go–and now I'm in the door with my purse and you're standing in the cold with no shoes–that at the end of the night, after Lottie has torn around here and annoyed just everyone, she gets on the couch and nests under the pillows. She makes her own den. Soon she'll order some wood paneling and build her own.

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eyeriss show lottee her bitchz fangz. fuk off, lottee.

No Need-y, No Buy-y

Do you remember a few days ago, when I said I wanted to get my affairs in order? Not because I'm going to croak, although I do feel a cold coming on. I said I wanted to get better about my finances, because I kind of live payday to payday, and do you know what I wish I had right now? Is a Payday. Oh my god, salty nuts AND nougat.

Why so shubby?

Shubby. Oh my god, why so type-y.

And didn't I just say last time that I had 79 dollars or something, and it was payday? So, see?

Well, my friend Kaye, of Marty and Kaye, wrote me the day I posted that. "I can help you get your money straightened out," she wrote me. "I can do all that. Marty can be your fun friend. I can be your practical friend."

Really, all my friends are my practical friend. Unless I start hanging with Courtney Love, that's probably always gonna be the case. Just the other day, I asked one of the Alexes I'm friends with at work for some advice. "I need a grownup," I said to her.

She's 27.

Anyway, so Kaye and I made a plan that she'd come over yesterday and we'd make, like, a … what's it called, a fudge it or a budgie or a bundt or something? This thing? With numbers? Where you plan what you're gonna spend? I don't know.

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Kaye came over in stern taskmaster mode, and now I'm making this sound like it's about to turn into a story from the Penthouse Forum. "I never thought this would happen to me."

She had charts and folders and things, because Kaye's the kind of person who'd come over prepared with charts and folders and things. "So, you don't have to tell me how much you bring in if you don't want to. People get touchy about money."

Oh, please. Have we met? I told her all.

"Oh, okay. So you have quite a bit to work with. It's not that you don't bring home enough, June," she said. "It's just that you're spending too much. Let's go over what you spend each month."

"You wanna start with personal grooming?"

"I thought I'd save that till last," she said, looking peaked.

We talked mortgage and insurance and cable and pets (Kaye has one measly animal. One! Can you imagine? Who lives that way? I told her what I spend on vet bills and food and flea meds so everyone can get bladder cancer and boarding and bowls and treats and collars and at the end of that, she was all, "Are you sure? Wow.")

She asked about hobbies, and I was all, see above. Fur is my hobby. Lately, with all the proliferation of puppies going through here, I've been a fur trader. And then I said, "You want to get to personal grooming? Because, hobby."

But no. She wasn't ready. We talked Four Oh Wonks, and it's funny every time I make that joke. We talked Amazon Prime and Sirius Radio. We talked Weight Watchers.

We talked about what I'd be willing to give up and what had to stay. Like, she was all, can't you cut your own grass? And do you remember that one picture where Edsel was a puppy, and he wanted to play with the squirrel toy, and it looks like Tallulah is laughing about it?

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That's how I was about cutting my own grass.

Also, puppy Edsel.

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Anyway, we finally got to personal grooming. "So what do you spend a month on it? I'm ready," said Kaye. So I listed the stuff I do, amortized. The Botox, the Juviderm, the pedicures, the manicures, the waxes, the highlights, the base color, the Curly Girl special shampoo/conditioner/gel. The impulse buys of makeup.

"Now, this is me living cheaply, because I'm single now, so I don't go to the department stores at all anymore," I smugged, not noticing that Kaye had gotten sort of wan. I mean, 20 minutes earlier I'd been discussing Tallulah's illness, and how it had cost me, and she'd been like, "Wait. Wait wait wait. Do you not have any sort of SAVINGS?"

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Poor Kaye. Once the personal grooming portion of our day was over, I said, "Was that as bad as you thought?"

"It was actually worse. It was worse than I thought." Whatever with Kaye. It costs a lot of money to look this cheap.

Anyway, then we got down to brass tacks, which it turns out I can't afford. I had to agree to give stuff up, in order to have, you know, savings. Savings. Pfft. So we discussed, and Kaye made me a list. She called it: No Need-y, No Buy-y. This is why I'm the word person and she's the numbers person.

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I agreed to no more Juviderm right away. It doesn't make that big of a difference. And no more calling Jimmy John's from my desk at work and meeting them here, which is my little challenge several days a week. Can I beat Jimmy John's? I am BANNED from Target for six months, because I go there for a Glue Stik and come home with 47 throw rugs and lamps and eye shadows. Oh, and no new makeup till I run completely out.

No pedicures. I am allowed to purchase ONE SAD NAIL COLOR to do my nails myself. "Well, I also need a top coat," I told Stern Taskmaster Kaye. Down-to-earth women never get me.

Anyway, we're gonna meet again in a month and see how it's going and have I saved any money. I already know I'm capable of doing this, because I did it before. Of course, then I was married, and not trying to reel in any men. This is why I feel strongly about keeping my Botox. But maybe I'll get so excited about having savings that I'll give that up and go around looking rich but frowny, much like Queen Elizabeth. She's married, isn't she?

Further report$ as development$ warrant. See what I did, there?

See you in savings,

June

Xeralpholopia

I'm home for lunch. I didn't blop at you this morning because I was up till freaking one in the morning. A, I wasn't tired and 2, I was doing statistics proofreading. So my point is I didn't bound out of bed this morning like a fireman, as I usually do. Go, mornings!

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You want to be me right now. So bad, you do. Let's get to my freelancing and my money sitch in a moment. But first, yesterday was one of the Alex's birthdays. She's 23. We had lunch, as she is finally able to eat solid foods now.

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Look at me, frowning at the idea of youth.

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Look at youth, frowning at me.

Twenty-three. I don't even remember BEING 23. My diary had to be written on cave walls, so it's hard to go back to refresh my memory. I do remember school dances, though.

Dancers

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"Our lives are ahead of us! When we go to your funeral, we STILL won't be as old as you are now!"

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I gotta start hanging around people my own age. Except that would require me to spend time at the old folks' home. Or be an extra in a Dannon Yogurt commercial. See, that's only funny IF YOU'RE OLD.

Anyway.

Oh! And before we discuss my freelance sitch, one other thing I wanted to mention is just now, when I got home for lunch, I strolled on down to Ava's new house o' Jews and checked on her. The brother in the family answered the door. "Oh, she's great! Come on in!" he said. He walked me to the den, where Ava was sitting on the couch. She'd been watching TV with him, all snuggled on a blanket. She already looks a little bigger. I told her Edsel said snap.

So that's good.

But now let's talk money.

First of all, I have enough. I didn't used to. When Marvin left, and I was laid off, and I had a house payment and had to COBRA my insurance, and so on, oh, things were rough. Bank of Mom.

Thanks, Mom.

But I've been working for five years at that job, and have health insurance thank god, and I refinanced my house. Plus, that year abroad really helped me financially. By the end of last year, I was in zero debt other than my house payment.

Then Tallulah got sick, so I'm back in a little bit of debt, hence that I'm fucking killing my own self doing this statistics book right now. That'll pretty much get me back to zero, which, yay!

But, like, how do I do better? My credit rating is good, I have a Four Oh Wonk, my car is paid for and I will once again have no credit card debt. But I want to fix my deck, and get a second bathroom, stuff like that. How the heck do I get cash to do that? I'm sure there are ways I could do better. I can't technically work more. I write for Purple Clover, I do freelance statistics stuff, I freelance for another company in LA that I used to work for, and then there's my pesky regular job. So.

If one person says the words Dave or Ramsey to me, I will Ramsey something right up your Dave. I read his book, got to, "Step One, just go get a thousand dollars," got overwhelmed and never did it. I mean, I must have picked up that book five times and read that and put it back down.

Also, nixing my Botox is not an option. It isn't. It's $275 every four months and IT WORKS.

So other than that, what else can I do to do better with money and save more so I can do the big stuff like sit on a big hard wooden deck?

Oh, speaking of me making everything dirty, at that youth lunch yesterday, we talked about how many people we've kissed. One person had made a list while she was on a 12-hour car ride. So I made a list too, as best I could, and it had things on it like, "Kathy D's boyfriend" and "Guy at that burnout party" and I came up with 53 people.

I have kissed four people with Ned's real name, and four people named John, which is creepy cause my father's name is John. But, I mean, common name, so I needn't Freud all over myself. If my dad's name were Xeralpholopia and I kissed four people named Xeralpholopia, then we'd have an issue to contend with. Mostly that there were people in the world saying, "We should totally name the baby Xeralpholopia."

Also, it was 1984, but I still feel bad about kissing Kathy's boyfriend. She was away at college. She'd been my friend, and there I was, all kissing up on her boyfriend in his car after a football game. I suck. I mean, not literally. I only kissed that guy. What the hell was his name? My name is mud. Because who does that?

I have kissed precisely one person since Ned and I broke up last September, and do you know what I was not ready for? Oh my god. I sat through that whole kiss going, This is weird. This isn't Ned. Here I am, kissing a non-Ned person. I wish this were over because, hey, not Ned. So.

Hot.

Maybe I could raise money via a kissing booth.

So what are some tips? Some money-saving tips? Because my current deck is sagging. My deck is limp. And my deck isn't big enough. I want to get a bunch of people on my deck. Okay I'll stop.

Kisses,

June