Spend June’s $30

Today I hit “off” instead of “snooze” and then did the thing where you wake up and say, “Why is it so light out,” so I have to kind of hurry. I know this makes Faithful Reader Paula nervous, but it is the truth. Paula, you can read slowly. By the time you see this, it will be over.

Yesterday the car place called me, where I bought my car. “We found a ring in your old car,” they said. “And a compact. It’s kind of a sparkly pink.”

Gee. I wonder if that’s mine.

The ring, however, baffled me. I didn’t lose a ring.

So I drove down there after work and got my bowels-of-the-old-car stuff. Look who I saw.

IMG_4507.jpeg
why you bury me in the cold cold ground

Oh, I felt so sad. My little yellow car. Why do we get so attached to our cars? They’re still doing whatever they do to cars before they sell them.

Anyway, the ring is a gold man’s wedding ring. Not that it belonged to a gold man, although for all I know it did. Mr. Goldman lost his ring in my car. And you know, the whole time I owned that yellow car with a yellow-gold band secretly in it, I had the original owners’ last names and address. Their paperwork was in the glove compartment and I kept it with my own. When I traded this car in, the sales guy said, “Oh just throw away all that stuff.”

“But won’t the new owner want that repair info and–”

“Naw. Just throw that away.”

So I did and now I can’t call to say, I HAVE YOUR RING.

The pink compact was totally mine. News flash!

When I got home last night, I did all my regular things (scream at a soccer match, fix a broken pipe, play my bassoon, speak in tongues) and then I noticed the back yard had approximately 70 million fireflies in it.

Here is a 24-second video in which I don’t know if you can see fireflies or not. I can, but maybe you won’t. I sure know how to make this video sound inviting.

Poor Edsel and his gingerly-sitting-down self. Anyway, there were fireflies. Trust me. And then I heard thunder in the distance. “This is all my favorite stuff,” I thought. “Fireflies, thunder, a dog.” Even a cat was there, on a shocking note.

“The only thing missing are bats and a train. All my favorites.”

And then I am not kidding you, I heard the squeak of a bat and saw one just as it flew out of my sight, and then A TRAIN RUMBLED BY. I took video of that but it’s pretty much the same as above only with a train.

But that is not why I’ve gathered you all today in your metal folding chairs. I want tips. Not, like, tips you’d give a waitress but suggestions.

I am having a little game with self. Every time I travel home, whether it’s by car or by plane, it costs me $500. By car, it’s pet care, gas, hotel. By plane, it’s pet care and the ticket. It’s always $500. I been traveling to Michigan from North Carolina since aught 7. I know by now.

Anyway, I have $500.22 saved. I get paid Friday. I have $30 on me in cash. I have enough cat and dog food till Friday, although Edsel’s cupboard is looking a little bare but it’s enough, I think.

In my fridge, I have half a loaf of bread. I have 10 eggs. I have spaghetti noodles but no sauce. I have popcorn and I have peanut butter. I have two frozen hamburger patties in freezer.

What do I buy to eat from today through Friday night with my $30? I mean, I HAVE $500. I just want to not break into it before trip. I can if I have to, but I’m just seeing if I can go not doing so.

I will not say, “Okay, go.” I will also not say, “Aaaaand, go!” People who do that should be slapped with a fork. Or a mysterious gold ring.

XO,
June

June figures out where all her $ went

Of late, I’ve been better about money. I pay all the bills, have cash left over, contribute to my four oh wonk. But man, somehow I screwed up this pay period. Yesterday I had $17 to my name. I got paid today, thank heavens, so I’m flush again. I’m rolling on a floor covered in $50 bills as we speak.

But yesterday when I had my $17, I was out of everything. I was 100% totally for sure out of cat food. Like, there was no faking it with a little dry food and some tuna. No. Out.

I was also out of water, and I know this is ridic, but drinking from the faucet now makes me heave. I have been doing it the past few days because no choice, but heave. And the filter on my fridge has put on its red light, like Roxanne, so I couldn’t drink from that, either. (How the hell do you change your fridge filter?)

Also food. I was foodless Joe Jackson. I had some spinach and some frozen fruit and popcorn to my name. That seemed not adequate, unless there’s a Chef Tell out there who can whip something up from that and I’m just stupid.

So I minced to the store nervously last night, hoping to add up grocery prices IN MY MIND, with my MATHS, and not go over $17. I got six cans of cat food (one can each for dinner, one can each for breakfast). I got a large bottle of water. And I got a delicious Lean Cuisine. I brought everything up to the checkout clerk I like, this guy who wears false eyelashes and has pointy fake nails that are always an absurd color.

“How you doin’, honey?”

I told the clerk my story, as I am wont to do. The clerk had mostly sage-green fingernails with one silvery-gold glitter one this time.

“Ten dollars, honey!”

“Wooooo!” we both said. Fortunately I now grocery shop sort of in the hood, and I see people paying with their food stamps, and I’ve seen people put in their debit card and not have enough and put all the food away and just get the beer. At my OLD grocery store where everyone was so snobby and, you know, employable and everything, and that never, ever happened.

Anyway at this store it’s perfectly acceptable that I’d have $17 before payday.

My point of all this is that macaroni and cheese Lean Cuisine and a spinach salad isn’t very delicious for dinner, and also that I was curious about WHERE THE HELL my money went this time, so I looked it up.

The first thing I did when I got paid way back on March 15, the Ides of March, was to set aside $350 so I can pay the woman who’s recovering my chair.

Dear Woman Who’s Recovering My Chair:
I had to …dip into savings. Please don’t finish that chair yet. Love, June

I have all my bills set up for auto payments with the exception of the water bill, which refuses to let you do that because it’s 1952 over at the water company. I’m always horrified I’ll forget to pay it and come home to unresponsive faucets.

The first of the month my mortgage comes out, and on the 15th, all the other bills are paid. So the stupid gas bill gets paid, and I don’t even WANT gas.

The Duke Energy bill gets paid, and I’m always out of energy, so why I gotta pay that? Also? When you call there? The recording is this very professional-sounding woman who then says, “Thank you for calling Duke Innergy.” People in the South really don’t hear the difference between “e” sounds and “i.”

I also have the payments for my internet and phone taken out. And that pesky car and pesky auto insurance.

This month I also had to pay my lawn guy extra because we’d done nothing all winter and there was bush trimming to do (not a euphemism) and edging to do (not a euphemism) and then I bought flowers to plant in the yard now that spring is here.

Total for all my bills and lawn stuff? $888.

Then also too I had two doctor bills. I found out THE HARD WAY that my copay at my new, not-dead, not-quitting so far, not-banning-me doctor (if you just got here? I have trouble keeping doctors) is A HUNDRED DOLLARS A VISIT.

And? AND? I have to pay the chiropractor $55 a visit. Fortunately we’re at the end of our rainbow and I won’t have to go so much anymore.

Total for those two things? $265.

I believe we’re starting to see our problem, here.

Also? I’m supposed to be on this diet, and every morning I’m drinking smoothies–hence the having spinach and frozen fruit part of this scenario–and then making salads and cooking a damn chicken breast and so on, but MAN did I eat a lot of takeout this month. I went to Jimmy John’s–and I don’t even LIKE Jimmy John’s, but on days I’m really busy I order it to come to work, and once it’s delivered, I take it and scream home and eat it while I let the dog out.

I went to Panera. Three times. I went to WENDY’s. I ordered PIZZA.

Say, why hasn’t this diet worked?

Then when Marianne was here, I bought a vintage lavender cardigan for $18, and on that same day I apparently also spent $20 at some other vintage store and I can’t for the life of me recall what I bought. I doubt a robber stole my identity and bought something at a vintage store for $20 and stopped. Although that’s the kind of robber I’d be.

Finally, I had my monthly filling up the car with gas for $29, and I know you abhor me for having to get gas once a month but you too could live in a marginal neighborhood and have a six-minute commute. Save on gas and be conveniently located to meth!

So there we go. There it is. I guess the only thing I can do is avoid doing shit to my lawn and having doctor visits in the same pay period. I could just eat the grass and stay healthy and kill two birds.

Thank you for joining me on this trip through my checkbook.

Flushly,
June

P.S. I know the last time we talked about growing out my gray. I know you aren’t going to believe me–I don’t quite believe it myself. But I got my roots done three weeks ago tomorrow and I just got a ruler and measured my roots: My hair has grown half an inch in three weeks. HALF AN INCH of roots already! So I’ll start growing it out for reals. See what happens.

June-o Vannelli

A. I’m dyeing my roots.
B. My mouse battery is very low. This means (I’m not gonna say the struggle is real. If you hear me saying the struggle is real, I want you to impale me with 10 mouses) THE STRUGGLE WAS REAL even getting on here, and it took ages, and NOW I gotta stop and rinse my dye.

I just gotta stop. And tell you what I feel about you, babe. I just gotta stop. The world ain’t right without ya babe. I just gotta stop.

And rinse my roots.

Did EVERYONE have a perm in the early ’80s? Was it the LAW? (June acts like she wasn’t sportin’ the perm. Say it loud, I poodle and I’m proud.)

…Okay. Roots, rinsed. Self, cleansed. Laila Ali hairdryer, on. Looking, fetch.

What’s with me and all the predictable jokes today? Fetch. ’80s perms. Any ref to the ’80s at all.

Would you like to know what bugs the shit out of me? When people make everything about the ’80s. Blue eyeshadow. NOT AN ’80s INVENTION. I remember traipsing to the drug store in the snow to get me some baby-blue eyeshadow in the late ’70s. What might be more accurate is electric-blue eyeliner. Now, that was some ’80s shit.

Anyway, I’m tryina think of what’s new. Oooo! I know one thing.

This weekend, I knew I had to pay bills. Although I’ve read online that least one of you was “so sick” of hearing about how I didn’t have money, and what a strain that must have been for you, to hear about how my husband left me when I was jobless, and how my mother offered to buy my house from me but I wanted to remain independent, so somehow I MANAGED TO NEVER MISS A HOUSE PAYMENT even though I was unemployed. I’m so sorry that annoyed you. Let me guess, husband has always had a good job and you live in a cookie-cutter modern house? Talk-to-the-manager horseshoe hairdo?

June is feisty today.

Anyway, I hadda pay my bills, including the mortgage, for the first time since moving in here.

When I first sold my house and moved in here, I sat in a Subway parking lot during one lunch hour and paid off bill after bill. $500 I owed the lawn guy, boom. Doctor bill I was trying to make payments on, boom. Stupid Ultherapy that didn’t work, boom.

Bill after bill after bill. They were mostly $500 here or $250 there, but they were all over the place. Then I waited for my credit score to go up (why does a BAD thing affect your credit almost immediately, but a GOOD thing takes 60 days to make your score go up?).

But I kind of forgot I did all that as I sat down with my pile of bills. Truthfully, every bill time, I had to set aside several hours, first to gird myself for how anxiety-inducing it was, then to be in a bad panicked mood after. I did that this past Sunday. I had several hours no one expected to hear from me.

So. Mortgage first. …Oh, okay, that’s right. It’s lower than it used to be. Maybe I’ll round it up to the next hundred. Put that on the principal. Principle? Which is it for a mortgage? I’ll round it up to the Mr. Dixon. Because Room 222 references are fetch.

Then I paid the water bill. The electric. My phone. My internet.

Well! But…

I looked around me. I went back to my bill box. There was one thing left in there, under my alarm instructions. A check for $250, something about overpaid mortgage from the last house.

I paid all my bills, have emergency savings, a credit score inching up toward 800, 15% a pay period going to my four-oh-wonk,

AND I HAVE MONEY LEFT OVER after paying the bills.

Oh my god! Who even am I?

Afterward, I celebrated by painting the dresser pink, and that was a mistake. I’d show you photos, but my mouse is hooked up to the same little cable thing that my phone hooks up to the computer with, and there was a marvelously constructed sentence.

The point is, I’m scared to UNplug my mouse to plug in the phone and upload the photos for you.

Anyway, I hate it. Ima try to repaint it Kid Glove, the white-ish color, and I act like something can be white or sort of white. I guess it’s more of an ivory, merchant.

I must go, as it is 7:42 and I have to be at my desk at 8:00, via my new hours. I have no makeup on, and in the ’90s–not the ’80s–when I ventured out sans makeup and just a little sandalwood oil, I was all fresh! and natural! Now I look like I was pulled from the river. On Sunday afternoon I stopped at a coffee shop sans makeup, and a handsome age-appropriate man was walking in as I was walking out. I smiled at him and he looked down, like he’d turn to stone if he looked at anyone that hideous.

No, mom. He was not intimidated by my beauty. Also, he was not gay. Mom pulls out all the stops before she admits someone just wasn’t that into me.

Also, I like how I leave the impression I was there for coffee and not a chocolate croissant. Why so not fetch?

I’ll talk to you tomorrow when I hope I can report I have a fixed washer. The owners, fmr., of this house, left the washer and dryer at my request, but I do believe they’re from the ’70s, not the ’80s, and I washed my comforter in there and broke the damn thing. So my sensible reliable handyman is coming today, because nothing is clean and I have to wear the calf-length teal dress I wore to 10th-grade homecoming to work today, along with the nude low-heel shoes that went with said dress.

That was in the ’80s.

I see pictures of people’s kids at homecoming now, and they’re all hootchie-gootchie girls, and I dressed like one of the Golden Girls at 17. Dear Matt Rick, my homecoming date in 1982: I am sorry I dressed like Rose Nylund and not a go-go dancer at homecoming. At least my Princess Diana hairdo was fetch.

Okay, really going now.

Juan

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

 

 

 

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!

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We finished our assessment, and Eds is a Protodog.

Oh, well. Thank heavens, June.

Screen Shot 2018-03-16 at 8.36.13 AM.png

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.

Screen Shot 2018-03-16 at 8.37.56 AM.png

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

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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.”