I am a pleasure of life · June can't keep a man · Religion · Television

Undercover June


Do I sound intimidating? I've been watching a lot of Undercover Boss, and thank god my weekends mean a lot lately. Undercover Boss is where a CEO or president or whatever hoo-hah of a major company (7-Eleven, 1-800-Flowers, Waste Management, the Chicago Cubs) (not that I watched 109 of these this weekend or anything) pretends to be looking for entry-level work at the age of 60, as you do, and then he's down with the people for awhile and sees what really goes on with his company.

Or hers. Every 10th show, an actual woman is in charge, usually because she started the damn company her own self. Like that jewelry company everyone is a part of on Facebook. Stanford and Dash or whatever.

Oh, it's fascinating. And I noticed once they're the hoo-hah again–and they call these poor unsuspecting workers in to (a) give them diarrhea and (2) to say, That whole time you were in a hairnet is going to be on TV for everyone to see–once they're CEOs again, they almost always walk in with a fairly unfriendly, "Morning." Like, I'm the CEO. I say when it's morning.

The phrase "good morning" annoys me anyway. And you know how I hate all men who send me good morning texts. 

So that sums up my weekend. Fascinating, June. Oh! And also, when I woke up yesterday morning, I realized I'd left the broiler on all night, and my mother just fainted, and I was all, Oh, damn. So then half an hour later I went in to "make toast."

I don't have a toaster. I got rid of it during my year abroad, and that toaster at Ned's house was Ned's. I've never gotten another, which is dumb because I make toast all the time, and all my LA friends are appalled I eat bread right now.

So I broil it. I put bread in the broiler and have to flip it, like it's steak. But it's bread.

Twenty minutes later, I was all, Oh my god I forgot the bread! But when I went in there, I realized I hadn't turned on the broiler. After having had it on all night. Goddammit. Ten minutes after that, I was all, THE BREAD! and I ran in there and opened the broiler.

I'd forgotten to put in bread. I'd opened the bread, forgotten to get any out, and put the bread away.

Dementia runs in my family. I will miss you all.

In other news, I went to the grocery store at 9 p.m. last night. That's the time to do it. Late on Sunday. No one else is in there except for other terribly single people who don't have to watch The Wonderful World of Disney with their kids on Sunday nights. If some cable show knew what it was doing, it'd rerun WWoD on Sundays at 7:00, so everyone could have that "It's Sunday and Wonderful World of Disney" is on dread.

I noticed, in my weekend of solitude and nothingness, that many of my friends have up and gone all at once. Jo lives an hour away now, and Naughty Professor moved to Charlotte with his man. Tall Boy is still here, but he has a girlfriend, so. BRF Alex works in Winston now, so while she's HERE she's still spending most of her time far away. Roy and Nancy moved to Pennsylvania, and Charlie moved to Boston.

Ned moved to ex-boyfriend world.

Ryan has a girlfriend in Raleigh, so he's always with her. And The Other Copy Editor and her spouse just bought a gigantic mansion that they're turning into a B&B, so they're busy, and no, no one has any idea how they can afford it, but there they are, having done it.

Fleeta left work Friday, as she is moving to China. CHINA! And the other Alex, who I do yoga with? Her last day is Tuesday, and she's also going to be working in Winston.

solitary, pink-haired June

I don't mind isolating, I really don't, but probably I should get out more and do things. I've been thinking of going to the Unitarians on Sundays, but why do they have to meet so godawful early? Whoever heard of doing something at 11:00 on a Sunday? Can't they have, like, later meetings for people who drink?

Come to the Unitarian church. We meet at 11:00 for normal people, and at 4:00 for drinkers.

Actually, as part of my big weight loss plan, I have not been drinking at all, except for weekend evenings. That's my rule. I've lost five pounds! Allegedly. My new digital scale seems to be all over the place. One day it'll read 120 and the next day 125.

Oh, did I not mention my digital scale tells you what you weighed in 1990? It's like Facebook's time hop feature.

I'd better get to work. Tomorrow I have to be in my 8:00 for a meeting, which lasts till 8:45, and then from 9 to 5 I have a meeting. All day. 9 to 5. Lord.

I leave you with the caliber of messages I've been getting online…



Aging ungracefully · Gardening · June's stupid life · My pets · Religion

Say “mulch” one more time

I had ideas about what I was gonna write about today and then I sat down and …blank. …Oh! Mulch! Yes.


I came home for lunch and there was poor Chris of Chris and Lilly, unloading m'mulch. With a big pitchfork, like he was the devil. The devil who made my yard so pretty it's a sin!



It's mulch improved.

While Chris was here, I went inside to have a delicious lunch full of nutrients, and usually I watch Gilmore Girls, but I got home a little late, so I flipped around, not literally, but with TV channels. And that is when I came upon a show called Paranormal Witness.

Mother of god.

So this couple? They had weird stuff going on in their house? I don't know what, cause I hadn't seen that part. What I saw was an exorcist or a priest–which isn't that the same thing?–or Judge Judy or someone came over and allegedly cleared the house of spirits. Mine is too. Totally out of wine.

So, the man was saying goodbye to the exorcist, high-crossing him or whatever, and when he came back in, his wife was sitting in a chair with her head down. Just still, in the chair.

"Honey? Are you okay?"

She looked up. Her eyes were entirely black.


"I'M FINE," she said, BUT IN A DEVIL VOICE. The devil uses Arial Black font.

And that is when I wondered if it'd be inappropriate to make Chris come hold me. It was the middle of the day! It was lunchtime! And I was frozen in terror.



Speaking of the devil, this morning when I went to photograph the mulch for you, and I don't know mulch, but I know I love you, I took this eight-second video of Edsel keeping his pimp hand strong.


Oh. It'd said 8 seconds on my photos, but once I got it up, so to speak, it was 44. Sue me. I love how she eventually turns away in fear. What the hell is he telling her with his subtle body language? Who knew Edsel had it in him?

I say "subtle body language" because my high school boyfriend Giovanni used to say, "When I'm with a woman, I try to use subtle body language," and then he'd point heartily at his man bits.

I've always known how to pick 'em.


Also, I'm throwing in this mug shot of The Poet just because I love it. Don't eff with the poet. She will iambic your pentameter. She will meta your phor. There's no rhyme or reason to what The Poet will do.

This week is the meteor shower, the really good one, and it's been rainy and cloudy here. Annoyed.

Back when I was dating Marvin in the '80s, I schlepped out to a cow field with my mother and stepfather, and we got on the hood of the car and watched the shooting stars. I kept getting bored and looking away and missing every damn one of them. I came home and wrote Marvin, who was 50 miles away, a big letter about it, including a lovely stick figure drawing of me looking down while stars shot over my head.

When Marvin and I broke up that same year, he tore up and burned every one of my letters in a fit of drama…except that one. That one he saved. LITTLE DID HE KNOW he'd be temporarily married to me and would want those letters back.

Whatever, Marvin. Why don't you go to McDonald's?

I gotta go. I've got to get to work, where a huge group of people are meeting over how much everyone hates an article I wrote, so that'll be relaxing.

hooo care

I'll talk at you tomorrow. Oh! My free digital scale came! Oh my god I have to cease eating. Also, Lottie weighs 34.8 pounds currently. Me too. If I were on Pluto.



June's stupid life · Religion

Easter Par-Aid

Last night, even though it was two hundred million thousand below zero, Ned and I went to a restaurant whose name bugs me: Pastabilities.

Oh, stop. Pastabilities. However, it.is.delicious. You can't go wrong there. It is an impastability.

I had The Traditional, which is penne pasta that cost more than a penne, with pink sauce and heart-healthy meatballs. Ned had The Natural, which is Robert Redford ground up and sprinkled across your noodles.

"Do you wanna go to Rite Aid?" I asked, as the last of Bob was scooped up and swallowed. "I need a tongue scraper."

You'd think maybe the bloom is off the rose, seeing as I'm able to announce stuff like that, but in truth I'm still pretty bloomy and rosey about Ned. I just also have the utter inability to not tell everyone everything.

Fortunately, Ned was down with that idea, and even though it was right next door, I still drove over there. Because six hundred million thousand and two below zero. Before I gave up Facebook for Lent, I saw one of my friends, who grew up here, announcing a link with, "Here are some tips for getting through this deadly cold weather we're having."

Deadly cold weather. Like we're in Greenland or something. Dude, I'd spend whole seasons in temperatures like this. I walked to school in temperatures like this when I myself was a single digit. Here I still am. Alive. I think people in the South think if you walk outside and it's below 40, you might could die immediately, right in front of your silk-flower welcome wreath. Really, it's sort of cute.

Ned's mom called him earlier in the week to similarly warn him about the weather. My mother would have done the same thing. When she visits, she'll say things like, "Do you have your keys?" as we leave my house, as if the other 364 days of the year I am constantly getting myself locked out of my home because no one is there to warn me."Did you remember to put in contacts? Are you breathing? You have to breathe all day, honey, or you'll die."

I am just theorizing, really, but based on having a mother, I think mothers are physically unable to stop mom-ing, even when their kid is 50 and has jowls.

Anyway, Ned's mom said, "It's going to be really cold this week, so bundle up. This weather is no joke."

"Weather walks into a bar," Ned said, then gazed at himself fondly in a mirror.

Anyway, we went to Rite Aid, which was what I was going to blog about and here it is 900 minutes later. I found the tongue scrapers right away, and Ned found that Sports Illustrated where that model is showing us her cooch. "Have you seen this?" asked Ned, showing me the model showing me her cooch.


I wonder if "cooch" is not an acceptable term if one is a feminist. …Mom? What's your take on "cooch"? And yes, I will remember to go to work today and to wear clothes there and not show m'cooch.

The point is, right there in the aisle next to Cooch Illustrated, was a whole aisle of Easter stuff. EASTER stuff. Easter is 38 days from now. I know that because that's how many days till I can go back on Facebook. "Ned! They have Easter candy!"

I feel like this was less interesting information for Ned than it was for me, because he was on cooch watch, which if there's a DARK-CHOCOLATE COCONUT EGG in the other aisle, I don't see how you have to even think about which to attend to.

Neither did Ned.

The point is, that aisle was smokin'. Not literally, because scary. But dudes, they had a whole huge section, all the rows, of different Russell Stover Easter Egg flavors, one of which Ned put IN THE FRIDGE to eat "later" that I am desperately hoping he forgets today.

There was flavored Easter grass. FLAVORED! They had green apple, which is probably disgusting, and strawberry, and blueberry, which was the flavor I chose for my fantasy Easter basket that I began creating for myself, and guess who's gonna fire up her Pinterest for a brand-new Very Chubby June page?

There were not only your traditional Easter bunnies, holding those candy carrots that you always eat first, but also HELLO KITTY EASTER BUNCATS. Hell, I don't know what they were, cats or bunnies. Hello Kitty something Easter-y. Maybe it was Hello Kitty Jesus, which would be just like those Communists over in Japan to invent.

Are there Communists in Japan? I really have no idea. Perhaps if I spent less time in the Easter aisle and more time reading the paper.

But that's the crazy talk.

"Oh, wow, look at this." I showed Ned the chocolate cross they had. Seriously, how disappointed would you be if your Ned Flanders parents gave you a chocolate cross instead of a bunny? I feel like there's no carrot on a candy cross. No eyeballs. At least I hope not.

They also had candy bars that had Jesus on them.

"Oh, wow! I've never seen all this before! I am in the South," I told Ned, before I headed off to the chocolate cream Peeps. CHOCOLATE-CREAM PEEPS! Is it just me, or are they going crazier for Easter now? Have you seen all this religious-themed candy before? I mean, I get it. People who are religious are probably sick and tired of Easter meaning a marshmallow Peep. It's just the first I've noticed such a thing.

I told Ned I'd buy him a Russell Stover Easter Egg, because hey, big spender, plus they were two for a dollar, and I couldn't very well gorge myself on two of them right there in front of Ned and my new tongue scraper. I like how the possibility of NOT buying two when there's a two-for-one special did not even remotely enter my mind.

(Oh, man, Ned just left for work and I think he didn't remember his egg! It's in the fridge so it shall not perish, but I feel like it shall disappear.

Sorry, Ned, Happy Easter.)



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

Also, Heinz.

IMG_0436I hope you had a good Easter weekend. Ned and I went to the cemetery.

IMG_0448Before you go getting all judgy, Jesus spent Easter weekend in a cemetery, as well, so. Get off your high horse.

IMG_0442Ned and I both like to go to old cemeteries. He seems to like to go obsess over how long people lived. "Geez, this guy was only 27. And look: these people had three kids, and not one of them lived to be three. God, that's terrible."

I like to look at cool names on the tombstones for future cat names.

IMG_0446"Are you going to be buried with your real name on your tombstone, or 'June Gardens'?" Ned wondered.

"Maybe both. I'll have myself cut in half and have two markers."

There were a ton of "Wife of" tombstones. "If you never remarry, can we put 'Wife of Marvin Gardens' on your stone?" said Ned, who is already erecting a memorial to his own self.

"Put 'Ex-Wife of Marvin Gardens,' like it's the only thing I ever accomplished," I said. "She managed to drive away Marvin Gardens."

IMG_0467So, the cemetery. Fun for everyone. Also, if anyone puts one single silk flower on me after I've thinned out, Ima haunt you by singing Lovin' You by Minnie Riperton each time you drift off to sleep.

We also went to see a documentary on one of the kids who really lived in the Amityville Horror house. Ned kept insisting this would not be good, and did we really want to see this, and in the preview they show a photo, taken when no children or pets were in the house, yet there is clearly a child standing there with glowy eyes. I kept bringing it up to Ned. "See, there were no children or pets in the house, was the thing, and yet–"

"STOP TALKING ABOUT THAT!" he'd screech, as manly-ly as possible when one is screeching like a girl.

So we went, then I got thirsty in the middle of the night and thought about that damn picture while I was in front of the fridge, and was too afraid to walk back through my house to go to bed for fear a glowy-eyed child would be somewhere.

IMG_0480On Sunday, we got up and colored eggs. Read your BIBLE, judgy. Why do you think Jesus got up so early that morning? He totally promised Mary Magdalene he'd color eggs with her, and you know how cranky she gets.

IMG_0487I totally made an egg for Edsel where I drew an underbite, which by the way isn't easy to draw. If you're me. And Ned made some kind of Nightmare Before Christmas pumpkin thing. Coloring eggs should be an all-the-time activity. You shouldn't have to limit it to once a year. Is my theory.

Once, when I was a kid, my mom and Aunt Mary and I colored eggs, and there'd been a big snowstorm that day because hello Michigan in the spring, so after we were done with the eggs, we took all the dye and threw it on our snowman. It was so totally cool, and that was before one took 36 pictures a day so there is no photographic evidence of it.

IMG_0488By the way, I'm feeling like the Paz Egg Color people are somehow in cahoots with Heinz, as they kept insisting nothing would be better than using Heinz vinegar, and also maybe we want to possibly use Heinz in those famous spring salads we all have, and also if you were feeling not so fresh? How about Heinz and water?! Subtle they were not.

After our eggs, we went to a documentary on terrorism in Israel. Yes, I realize it was a very documentary-y  weekend. Yes, I recall I divorced a documentary person for a reason.

Have you thought about using Heinz vinegar while you judge me? It might make it more pleasant.

IMG_0494Finally, when we got back last night after our happy movie, we saw an Easter bunny in the driveway. Naturally we shot and ate him.

You know what we sauteed him in? A little Heinz vinegar.

June, post-Easter. Out.

Friends · June's stupid life · Religion


Yesterday I had brunch with Dick Whitman's mom. It was very pleasant to meet her.

Oh please. I LOVED HER!!! Wait. More exclamation points are needed! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I knew she'd be the bomb.

Mom and June2Every story Dick Whitman ever told me about his mom, I would listen and then say, "I love your mom." I think I said that from the first story. And we share a birthday. And she Facebook Likes all the pictures I have of cats. AND SHE READS MY BLOG.

What's not to like?

But then I got there and she was even better than I had imagined. Oh, she was charming, she was hilarious, she was thoughtful about the predicament Dick Whitman and I are in, with our new singlehood and all.

At one point, Dick Whitman mentioned my dogs for some reason. "She has one dog, Tallulah, who's a little wild."

I was about to yell at him when Dick Whitman's mom said, "No. Tallulah is the calm one. Edsel is crazy. I know more about her dogs than YOU do, and I've never been there."

Seriously. How could you get Tallulah and Edsel confused? I think Dick Whitman is indifferent to dogs. YOU'RE INDIFFERENT TO DOGS, DW!

She talked about how she tried not to interfere in her kids' lives, and how she was worried meeting me would count as interfering. How cool is she?

Anyway, I could have stayed there all day, talking about Dick Whitman's ear infections that he got as a kid, and which old movie stars we liked and who was stupid, and how chickens don't taste right now that they're pumped full of hormones and kept in a cage.

June BOCAnd there was an Art-O-Mat at the restaurant! Y'all know how I always have to put my $5 in there, and no I DON'T know why my savings account has $9.48 in it. What do you mean?

Art-O-Mats are old cigarette machines that some genius, meja, decided to turn into a vending machine for teensy works of art. So artists from all over, including my friend Charlie with the orange hair–who by the way now has a girlfriend with pink hair and thank heavens he went back to brown hair, because that combo makes me queasy just thinking about it–put their art in these machines.

Yesterday I got a teensy patron saint–It was St. Zzzzzz, for a good night's sleep. I need that. When you sleep with the entire animal kingdom, not to mention occasionally King Don, you don't always get your rest.


As if meeting Dick Whitman's mom weren't good enough, I got home and decided to pay bills, because they'd all been languishing on my secretary gathering cobwebs. I don't know why King Don doesn't just pay my bills. Shouldn't he be wealthy?

Anyway, I decided to check my bank balance before I went around paying bills all willy-nilly, and I had a TON more in there than I thought. This is because Google Ads just deposits money right in there, and no one had said, "Hey, June, you got paid for your ads!"

I could not even stand the temptation. I sat here and debated for awhile and finally called the Tall Boy. "I have surprise money. Should I go stampeding to the Apple store and get another iPhone?" I think I have whined about having no iPhone a mere 49493002202 times to Tall Boy.

"Yes," he said, sounding weary. "If I found out I had extra money, that's certainly what I'd do." Tall Boy is not what you'd call up on technological advances. In order to email him, I have to send a Pterodactyl over there to crank up his internet. He's, like, the only boy I know who isn't into all that crap. It is kind of refreshing.

So who went over to the Apple store on African American Friday, as Hulk calls it? Who is an idiot? I mean, other than Hulk. Dudes, there was a LINE, with a ROPE, like we were all trying to get into Studio 54, and will somebody PLEASE give me a club that has happened since 1977 so I come up with a better example next time this comes up?

I was behind a very cranky techno nerd who kept glaring at me when my purse touched him, and I'm SORRY I am not a motionless blowup doll like you're used to, and I was in front of two Asian girls who had some sort of cultural idea of personal space that differed from mine. Can only hope I gave them my shingles.

The point is…

Photo on 11-26-11 at 8.29 AMyay!

And I got the cheap old 3G, and that's all I need. Girlfriend's ad revenue isn't DOOCE good. But oh! How I played with it and tormented Tall Boy with photos of my car and my pets Petzand more of my pets and who wishes he'd said I should invest that money in bonds or something?

Do you enjoy my gray robe and t-shirt from The Turkey Roost, which is only the best restaurant in Michigan? If you are in Michigan right now, get in the car and drive to Kawkawlin. You will not be sorry. Try not to picture my I-just-got-up hair when you are eating.

Oh! And Dick Whitman's mom said I have to stop complaining about my hair, as she thinks it's lovely. "You don't think it looks like George Washington?" I asked her. She paused, realizing it totally does. "Well. Now you're just looking for flaws."

June2 and Mom-1

So there it is. Would totally marry Dick Whitman to get to his mom. We could each date whomever we wanted, and he could continue to think Tallulah is Edsel. Sounds promising!

I'll email you the wedding photos from my iPhone.

Beauty products · June's stupid life · Religion

June has first-world problems

In case you were fretting and wringing your hands, I seem to be on the mend.

I realized, being home all these days in a row, that I don't get to see a lot of pretty-things-the-light-does in my house, because I am off toiling all day. At least my iron gets to appreciate it.

I also had much time to enjoy Roger and his tail. Seriously, that tail is frightening. You know how sometimes cats are born with two faces? I think he got the tail of some sibling in the womb. Just added it to his own. He can leap from the counter all the way across the room to the top of the fridge with no effort whatsoever. He is a chimp. A kittemp.

"Kittemp" makes a ton of sense.

I did drag myself up off the couch yesterday to go to the movies. I saw 50/50, that movie with Seth Rogen where his friend has cancer. You know how I am–a cancer movie is just my style. Anyway, it was really good and I highly recommend it. One barf scene.

Maybe this should be my new calling in life, alerting you to barf scenes in films. Except then I'd have to sit through barf scenes, which is why I have never seen Stand By Me or Bridesmaids.

Oh, and also? My new phone came, and I desperately miss my iPhone. Am unsure if I can go on with this barbaric phone. I mean, there's starvation and war and pestilence, but come ON. Those things are bad, but living without an iPhone once you have tasted the sweet plastic or whatever? There is nothing worse.

Oh! And in other pressing news, I got my check from Google ads (thank y'all), and I stampeded to the bank to deposit it last night (my mail now comes after 5 p.m. It used to come at 10 a.m. and then they laid everyone off or something and now it's practically dark out by the time I get my mail. First I have to tolerate no iPhone and then THIS? I am practically The Little Match Girl at this point.) and as luck would have it, you can SEE an Ulta store from my bank. Now, you know I detest the Ulta since they screwed me over last year.

However. I got my annual Allure Best of Beauty edition this month, and let me tell you, there is no porn in all the world as exciting as Allure's Best of Beauty edition. This year they featured 193 beauty products that they think are the best right now.

Each year I pore through Allure's Best of Beauty like it holds the secrets to the universe. Because it does. And what Allure told me was that Ulta had the best nude lipstick, and that it was less than three dollars.

So as much as I detest Ulta, I went in. I have been battling with myself for weeks now–should I go in or not? There were my principals, but there is also the part where if I just found the right nude lipstick my life would be complete.

So last night I did it. I went to effing Ulta. And do you know they have all kinds of things that are new in there? Oh, I had fun. I forgot I felt ill. I forgot I hated Ulta. I forgot I am broke, despite my giant Google ads check.

I fell in love with this perfume even though it is called So Hooked on Carmella and I really have no wish to smell like Tony Soprano's wife.

I had trouble finding the Ulta lipsticks, because they differented everything up in that store since I last stormed out, but finally I did, and guess what. GUESS WHAT.

That lipstick and that less-than-three-dollar-price did not exist. And THIS is why I hate Ulta. And also Allure's weird tie to Ulta.


I found an Ulta lipstick for $8 called Pink Chocolate or Chocolate Pink–whatever–and oh, did I like it. And this is JUST WHAT ALLURE WANTED ME TO DO, was to go into that satanic Ulta and end up spending more than three dollars on something else.


But oh, that Pink Chocolate or Chocolate Pink is an excellent color.

I am very linky today. I am Linky Tuscardero.

Have I already done that one? I know in the past I have been Abraspam Lincoln and Link Martindale. It's hard to keep track of all my hilarity.

So I guess that is all I have to tell you about my purchases and lusts and willingness to forget my principals.

Oh! And comment of the week goes to Amy in MD. I do not know if Amy is literally inside a doctor or what. But for some reason her little quip cracked me up.

Carry on.

Beauty products · June's stupid life · Marvin · Religion

Post. Posty post post post.

Sorry to take so long to post today, and I like how I have to apologize for not POSTING first thing in the MORNING on a SUNDAY when people like Miss Doxie go a year between posts and I post every day, and I wonder if I could cram the word "post" into this sentence one more post time post?


I was at church. I am not even kidding you. Yes, I did look at the ceiling to see if it was caving in.

My friend Ann said I should go to church with her some Sunday, as she goes to a traditional church but it has an all-inclusive feel to it that appealed to me, and this week when I was waiting for that company to call me for an interview, I promised God that if they called I would go to church.

You really don't want to renege on a promise to God. Especially the day before a job interview.

And I really liked it there! The minister was a woman, and she had a lot of interesting things to say, and everyone was friendly and just like my church back in TinyTown, there was food after. Which you know matters to me. Because you get HUNGRY sitting there that time of day. I think bagels should be a traditional part of a church service.

Anyway, I have to post post post this post and then leave again, because another friend is having a show at a gallery, and I do not know why I know so many artist types when I cannot draw an asterisk that doesn't look drunk.

So yesterday I managed to work nine hours, because did I MENTION I have to proofread five textbooks first if I get this job, and then I also dashed off and did some intense shopping for my interview outfit, and I also weeded the yard for a sweaty unbelievably humid hour and all in all it was a relaxing day.

Marvin took apart our whole archway thingie in the back yard where our gate is and then put it back together, because he claimed it was "falling apart." Things are forever falling apart, according to Marvin. This is a common refrain from him. "We should get a new whatever for the whatever," I'll say, and you can imagine it's fun to be around me when I speak so specifically. "Why bother?" Marvin will say. "That thing's falling apart."

I'd like to take Marvin to some ruins one day, so he can see from falling apart.

Anyway, he drilled and he hammered and he moved and he got all flushy, and at the end of the day he said, "Look at the arch! Doesn't it look good now?"

He was so proud. You guys. It looked exactly the same to me. I feigned thrilledness, though. "Looks great!" I enthused. "Yeah, it was falling apart," said Marvin.

It was getting dark, and we had both worked like pooches, and I said, "Would you like to sit on the porch and watch fireflies with me?" So we sat there, and a breeze finally kicked up, and the katydids started chirping, and there went the fireflies. Henry and Winston were hiding on each other in the monkey grass, so every once in awhile a cat would BOUNCE UP out of the jungle to land on the back of the other.

It was so nice, but I was parched and tired. You know I don't drink, but you know what sounded delish to me right then? Was a big giant beer.

"God, I wish I had a Bud Light," I said. Because I am from Michigan. Our first instinct is for a domestic beer. Sue us.

"You want to be a firefly?" asked Marvin, who have I mentioned 20 times is hard of the hearing?


Really looking forward to when we're 80.

At any rate, here's what I bought yesterday in my intense hour of shopping:


I bought some blinds. No, no. I bought this necklace, to go with my new jacket and new black pants, which, why do they make pants so ding-dang LONG now? I'll need stilts tomorrow.

Also, I purchased this stuff to color in my gray roots. Because naturally they popped out right when I got this interview.


And finally, I got these shoes. So I'll have on a black jacket and pants and these red shoes. I am excited. Maybe I'll put my feet up on the table so everyone can appreciate them during the interview process. Do you think?

I had better go look at art then return back here for 22947439 hours of proofreading. I guess if I don't get this job, I'll be way ahead on my work, at least. And I can sit around the house in my red shoes. And sweats. That'll look nice.

P.S. Post.