The loss of Joan Rivers. Felt most keenly on this holy day.

Edsel was just pawing at the door, rearing up on his hind legs like he’s Bonnie Blue Butler’s horse, so I let him out. For the second time this morning.

He TORE to the fence so he could bark endlessly at Jackie, the black-brindled, personality-free greyhound that belongs to my gaybors. Edsel bowed and he wagged, and yet his hackles were raised all the way to Kansas, and as per usual he bark bark bark bark barked at Jackie. Who stood on her side of the fence motionless, her sparkly collar glinting in the sunrise.

Look, Jackie the personality-free dog is adorable. I love her. I luff her long long neckeldy area. And her sparkly collar. But quirks and foibles? Poses and sounds? She has none.

And I can’t tell if Edsel wants to be friends or wants to eat her slim neck out. I can’t really read dog body language as fluently as I can cat body language. You show me a cat, and I know its every thought. For example…

IMG_5760 2.jpg…this is a cat who is sick of being Yoko’d every time a certain Hair Lady comes over.

Seeing as I don’t have TV channels, and Marty Martin never invited me over MARTY, I watched the Oscars at Ned’s, or I did till 11:00 when I had to give up and go to bed. Ned called me this morning to tell me who got Best Actress or whatever politically correct term we’re using now. Leading Actor Who Contains a Vagina. No, that wouldn’t fly anymore, either. Actor in a Leading Role, Who Identifies as Female.

Anyway, he also told me what won Best Picture, and I won!

28423241_602280480113263_8891999462346241902_o.jpgAt work, for the newsletter that I no longer edit (I was the longest-running editor. Gave it up this past spring), they interviewed people who went to a lot of movies to see what they thought would win Oscars this year. I not only said I wanted The Shape of Water to Win, I also got to pose for the movie poster! I have no idea who “Karen Sommerfeld” is in the credits, up there. Anyway, everyone who participated in the article got his or her picture made into a movie poster from the nominated films.

Especially touching was the presentation of all the posters Friday, when the editor who replaced me said, “We really wanted to make the newsletter something people actually wanted to read.”

June smiled wanly and tried not to think about the six years she worked sizable ass off to do just that.

As for the Oscars themselves, I was torn between thinking Nicole Kidman looked like a windup doll and thinking that color was stunning on her.


Why the red eyes, tho? Was she mourning the use of her forehead muscles? And why does her hair look like mine when I’ve worn a knit cap?

_100273998_c590d0f7-6bc0-48ef-804c-69620ec9bb7c.jpgDespite the Ipana chipmunk face she’s making here, I adore her. I adore her like she’s Jackie the greyhound, except she also contains personality. She looked fabulous.

_100273996_0785cc79-0df5-40e3-ad0c-3fb23857ba80.jpgLook. I don’t want men harassing women, but something about Ashley Judd getting involved feels opportunistic. Is it just me? Is she just sticking her face in front of us right now while she can, like Julia Roberts’ date in 2000 or whenever it was? Do you remember that? Julia Roberts was nominated for something. Best Rearing on Hind Legs or whatever, and she brought the appropriately named Benjamin Bratt. NOT ONCE did he let the camera rest on her without leaning over to also get in the camera. Oh, how I wish I had a blog then. Twas irksome.

The point is, Ashley Judd the Opportunist looked very pretty.

_100274134_gettyimages-927241618.jpgHoney, no. I WANT to like you, really I do, but less is more. Has no one told you this? Dial it back, Selma.

_100274254_gettyimages-927253908.jpg[Nudges her] Wake up, go upstairs and fix your hair. The Oscars are on.

_100274252_gettyimages-927251806.jpgSee. I would have loved this with Selma Hayek’s complexion, not Whitey England, here. Is she English? I guess I just assume. How is her broken toe not dying in those shoes? What do you mean, everyone doesn’t have a broken toe?

_100274249_gettyimages-927251718.jpgMade from the actual 1977 floor debris swept up from Studio 54.

_100274212_gettyimages-927245620.jpgOh, honey.

_100274370_90a7dce1-3591-43a7-ab77-726e44c2c9c0.jpgMy favorite. Ooo, she’s perfect. And Ima go out on a limb and guess she didn’t have barbecue and chocolate cheesecake as a certain nonblogger did yesterday.

_100274258_gettyimages-927255942.jpgI fekking LOVE this head glitter! Oh my god, love. You know how I am.

Oh, also, I loved that what’s-her-name wore pants. Wilma Flintstone. What the feck is her name? That actress everyone loves. Emma Keys. No, that’s a hamburger place here. Emma Watson. Sharon Stone.


Emma Stone. That’s it, thank god. Anyway, I like how everyone on the set of E! gasped when they saw it. And speaking of that brain trust, I pretty much just had to turn the sound down on those four Rhodes Scholars. If I had to hear “Gore. JUSS” one more time.

“That dress is gore





I also had to hear “Stunn. NING.” 28 times. Giolinna Rancic or whomever is just bones and vapidity, man.

Oh! There’s one more I forgot I hated.

lin-manuel-miranda-emily-blunt- oscars-2018-06.jpgI love Emily Blunt, but she wore my 9th-grade Gunny Sax prom dress and didn’t even ask if she could.

do anyone eber menshun you annoy?

That wraps up Oscar 2018. Now I can stop with the pilates and eliminating carbs and go back to really living.

Trying to make a blog people would actually read,


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!”

Rare. In the bloody way, not the special way.

Do you think of yourself as normal? I have never once, for as long as I can remember, considered myself to be normal. And I'm glad of it, although I haven't always been. I doubt anyone else finds me normal, either.

There was one woman who was married to my friend, a woman who made it a real point to seem different, kind of like that What's Goin' On chick, you know who I mean? 4nb6

Like, the second you meet her, she's got so much "Look how weird I am" happening with her look that you can't help but think, Hey, bundle of insecurity, how's it going?

Four Non Blondes. That was the name of the What's Goin' On band. I can't tell you how delighted I am that they made "non" stand alone like that. Like the cheese. Standing alone.

The point of my story is my friend's wife–the Hey World, Look at Me wife–found me desperately boring. "Oh, a tattoo on your ankle. How original." Yes, if only I'd had the creativity to get that feminine neck tattoo, Grace Kelly doppelganger, over there.

Other than that bitch, no one finds me all that normal. I don't think. Maybe they do and I just think my insides show, like one of those refrigerators with glass doors.

This might be genetic, this thinking I'm a rare flower. My grandmother, the one I'm turning into–and let's just call a spade a spade and call her The One I've Turned Into already–went to a restaurant when she was a kid, and she ordered a steak, rare, because she thought it meant it was this precious piece of steak or something. That there was no other steak like it in the world. When this bloody hunk of meat appeared on her plate she about died.

I don't know how I got on this tangent, other than I met this man from New York on one of my dating sites, a man from New York who's moved here, and my first thought was why did some fancy New Yorker pick a gal from Michigan like me, who likes sparkles and Real Housewives, and then I remembered the whole not-seeming-normal thing, which is probably refreshing for a New York man surrounded by women with french pedicures, Beach Girl bumper stickers and monogrammed commuter mugs. That was a short sentence.

Not that I'm saying there's a romance brewing in a commuter mug, by the way. I have no idea yet. I was just more stuck on the New Yorker thing.

Did y'all have those York Steakhouses in your malls? Those all dark in there places? I think it had burgundy wallpaper. We did for awhile, and I remember it was delicious after a day of shopping for Lip Smackers and Andy Gibb 45s. Also, welcome to how my brain works. As if you didn't know already.

There's nothing like steak served cafeteria style. If there were a York Steakhouse, I'd march right over there at lunch today. Because ravenous. I did that damn high intensity workout again last night, with my tenant, fmr., and listen to this. We decided to go a little longer, like Big Red. "You want to try two minutes more?" I asked. Believe me, two more minutes feels like to kill you when you're at the end of that thing.

Nevertheless, we persisted.

In other news, not that I've given you even one piece of news so far, I saw this photo on Facebook–I think Faithful Reader Paula put it up–and was stunned to find Midcentury June. Everything about this photo is Midcentury June. I want to know everything there is to know about this woman. I wonder if she's still alive! She could give Late Century June some advice, such as never, ever get a Boxer.

I love that picture so hard. The more you stare at it, the more shit you find to love.

I'd better get ready for work, as I am wont to do. I finished my latest freelance assignment, but another is coming next week. And I still need to write a Purple Clover this weekend. I can't seem to figure out how to start this particular column. It haunts me. I should probably just start writing and I'll be fine.

Also, I wrote an animal behaviorist about making an appointment for Edsel, and got a VERY snooty note back about how my vet needs to recommend said behaviorist, that I can't just make an appointment, who do I think I am with my generic ankle tattoo. But then I read that Prozac takes 4 weeks to kick in, and it's not been 4 weeks, so I decided to see if he seems better in a week or two. Poor sad Edsel. How many times are we gonna say that? In this life.

He doesn't seem sad right this minute. He's over here developing a real crush on m'toast. Edz can see reel fewchur with towst.

I'd better go, but oh! Last night I started streaming The People v OJ Simpson OH MY GOD, riveting. They didn't make Marcia Clark's hair bad enough, though. I know from bad hair.

I'll catch you later. Let's all meet up at York's, near the Sears entrance to the mall.

June gives it up early. When I post this to FB, about 17 of my exes will nod their damn heads.

I'm just now forming the thought that all this time I've been feeding Steely Dan too much. I thought he was much younger, and those oh-so-easy-to-read instructions on his canned food said to feed him three times a day. But now he's seven months old, and I'll bet I don't have to feed him at lunch anymore.


I wanted to capture him looking incredulously at the camera, but instead he's editorializing again, covering my offensive coffee with his judgey kitten foot. Once he learns to talk, he'll probably be all, dat bad for yuu, yuu no. make yuu jittree.

I don't know why petspeak needs to be misspelled. They're not writing it.

Anyway, as you know from your Big Book of June Events, tomorrow is my 10-year anniversary of blogging, and I spent 87 hours worrying about which photos to put in my 10-year video, cause I'd be all, yeah, it's good, but is it TEN YEARS good. And then I realized there were about 15 pets to cover and who should I leave out and basically the whole thing was hard. Life is hard. The point is, I finally finished it and got it on YouTube only to break up with Ned and have all the photos of him piss me off now, but even still, the damn thing is a retrospective of my past 10 years and he's in my last five years, so.

THE POINT IS, you guys started LOOKING for it. A coworker, who's read me for like four weeks and doesn't know any of the players, was even all, "I went on YouTube to try to see that video early and I can't find it."


So yesterday I put it on Facebook, but here it is for the rest of us. Videovus, for the rest of us. You know I have no idea what that's from? I know everyone goes on about it and laughs and high fives, but I am clueless. It must be a show I never cared about, like that one show about radio with Maura Tierney or the one about people working in cubicles where Roy and Jim or Roy and Pam or someone were always about to get married or something.

Oh my god anyway, here, without further ado, a day early because you guys are terrible, is my video in celebration of 10 years of blogging!

Taa-daaaa! I love that the shot they used, here, is Dick Whitman's mom. Cutest thing, ever. Plus I look good. That's what matters. I remember this is before I met Ned, and I was dating a different boy, and that was the first day we ever Did It.

What's with my eyebrows in that photo?

Oh! And speaking of eyebrows, I think Ima make it till payday!! On Monday, I had $21 to last till Thursday, and then I went to see It's a Wonderful Life at my old theater because it's what I do, so with the ticket and parking I had $10 left, but here it is Wednesday and that $10 is in tact and I have fish and spaghetti and you know what this is like? Remember in It's a Wonderful Life when they had the two single dollars left at 6 p.m.? That's what it's like.

A few of you sent me donations to celebrate my anniversary of bothering you for 10 years, and that's exciting and very kind! It will be here in a few days and then I will be high on the hog, man! And I know you guys talked in the comments about everyone sending me 10 dollars for 10 years, but I know it's most expensive-ist time of the damn year, and I do not expect that at all. Just that you're reading me is nice. I mean, who wants to read my crap every day? You do.

I didn't want to go off on this tangent. Want to save it for tomorrow. So I will.


Paula H&B, faithful reader, found the most ridiculously wonderful collection of middle-aged women in mid-century standing next to ridiculous Christmas trees, and I am in love. I am obsessed. I cannot get enough of these photos. They're my favorite things ever.

You know how I get about old photos.

I finished my cards last night, no thanks to my roommates.


The entire time was me moving cat bodies. Oh! And here's Austere Deer card. Chris and Lilly, don't look.


Do you really believe the "joyful" new year part? Cause those cards are staring at you in Personal Growth. (It's a When Harry Met Sally line. Sue me.) Those cards are the cards that insist you put on sunscreen before you can run out to the water. Those cards are first in line for flu shots. Those cards would never be 51 and living on $10 all week.

Also, I take issue with those cards capitalizing "New Year" the way it's used.

I'd better get in the shower, and I want you to–



He's up there eatin' the big cats' food. That jerk. Look at his little back footie, though.

IMG_4067 IMG_4061
Why do we have to have all these cats? [Looks behind her at whomever's responsible.]


Talk at you tomorrow. As I have done almost every day for the last 10 damn years.



P.S. Look up there at my goddamn nose. Son of a BITCH I hate my nose.

The mother and childish reunion

In a fit of fiscal responsibility, I canceled my cable about a week ago, and then last night I realized I was gonna miss the intellectually stimulating Real Housewives of Orange Country reunion special.

I wasn't even gonna see Ned last night, rich Ned with his cable. Ever since Ned and I decided to do our 90-day, same-as-cash reunion, we've been gone. Either I'm out of town or he is. So I got back to town Saturday, and he leaves this morning. Then he gets back Friday and leaves Saturday.


The point is, as soon as I got home this Saturday, we saw each other, and then again Sunday, so on Monday night he called me after disk bulge physical therapy. "What do you want to do tonight?" he asked.

"Ned, I know we're not gonna see each other till Friday, but I am exhausted," I said, and I can't imagine why. Couldn't be m'diet. "Do we have to do something?"

"Of course not," said Ned, who announced he was going home to feed his cat, then to dinner.

So when I realized I was going to miss the reunion last night, and that a mature individual could wait till the next day and watch it on her app–and yes I have a Bravo app and why don't you shut up–I called Ned back. Because there's no point in pretending I'm mature.

"Hello, Ned," I cooed, trying to sound seductive. Maybe if I seemed hot, he'd be amenable to letting me watch his very least-favorite show of all time at his house.

"Are you okay?" he asked, as I sounded vaguely like I'd swallowed hot mustard.

"Yes, I'm fine," I snapped. "But the Real Housewives reunion is tonight."

"I TOLD you not to cancel your cable," said Ned, who is my immaturity enabler. I'd already eaten, so Ned said, "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll leave my back door unlocked and turn the TV to Bravo, so if you get here before I'm done with dinner, you can just come in and start watching."

And that's just what I did. If you break all laws, you can get to Ned's in just four minutes, so I left my house at 7:55 and got there just before it started. Oh, it was exciting.

NedKitty ate my hair while I watched, and eventually Ned got back and looked at the TV a second, shook his head disapprovingly because sporting events are so much more honorable to watch, and went upstairs to pack for his next goddamn trip. They should stop calling them "trips" and just call them "professional cockblocks."

"Who's that one with the lips?" he asked once he'd packed. The one with the lips. Oh, that narrows it down. I think he meant Kelly. So then I had to tell him just how horrible Kelly is. Kelly says really, really mean things and then when people accuse her of going too low, she repeatedly asks, "Are there rules? Are there rules that say I can't fight dirty?"

Yes. They're called the rules of human decency.

Kelly is lucky she doesn't have blonde hair and brown eyes, is all I can say.

"Is that Vicki?" he asked later. "The one who lied about her boyfriend having cancer?" Last night, Vicki actually told one of the other women to get off her show. Her show. Hey, nutty. How's your grand delusion?

"It occurs to me, Ned, that you got a whole year of missing all the housewives," I noted. I wouldn't say he's been missing it, Bob. Ned once said that the formula for these shows is you take a bunch of pretty women and shake 'em up–with a bunch of bees. See what happens. Really, the best part of these reunions is watching Andy Cohen's bemused face as he mentally counts his cash.

Anyway, that was that, and now tonight Ima go see Rocky at the old movie theater. When I was a kid, we lived near a movie theater; you could see it from our house. So in the summer, when I was bored, I'd go to the dollar movie during the day, in the air conditioning. I saw Rocky approximately 20 times. I am not kidding. Same with The Sting.

The Sting is a really hard movie to understand, so it was good to see it that many times.

Also, Robert Redford.

Oh! I almost forgot. I was so busy informing you of the pressing events of our time. I wanted to ask you about two things today–you can respond to either or both.

First of all, have you or anyone you've known been in a relationship that hit a rough spot–you know, like being broken up for 14 months, just to throw a scenario out there–and survived? I want success stories. So far things with Ned are great, but I'm realistic. We're in the novelty of the reunion. Yes, we've got a plan in place for how we're going to do better, but do these things actually ever work? Do tell.

Also, we talked yesterday in the comments about things that make you irrationally angry. Like, FR Paula H&B said she gets irrationally angry when her purse falls off the car seat as she drives.


But I get angry all the time. I have a temper like a, you know, temper person. If I were a mattress, I'd be a Tempur-Pedic. If I were a band, I'd be the Temper-tations. If I were a magazine, I'd be Mad. I've always been that way. My aunt, when she visited recently, talked about a time I was 3, when I stormed down the hall to my room, stomp stomp stomping all the way, and I slammed my door pointedly, just in case everyone didn't know I was furious, and the door popped back open, so I slammed it again.



So, yes, the purse off the carseat does make me angry, as do things I try a couple times and fail at, such as securing a necklace. I'm normal maybe three times, but if I still can't clasp it the fourth time,


Oh, and if I get too many calls, texts and emails in a row. Like, the day I got back to town, I was just trying to unpack and settle back in, and every time that phone dinged at me I was furious. I mean, I had the choice to ignore said phone, but I still got mad.

Why? Why so cranky?

So now you go. Relationship falter/success stories, and also stories about what makes you irrationally angry. Do tell.


June goes downtown, which is not a euphemism


Yesterday I had to go to a building downtown to attend an all-day meeting. This is the view from the balcony behind the building. Went out there to smoke my 'rette. Man, I was having a nicotine fit.


It was really cool there. They took this whole back area and made it pretty. They took a nothing day and suddenly made it all seem worthwhile. Well it's you, alley, and you should know it. Also, Dear Fay: I will never want that wagon wheel …wagon wheel. Love, June.


Inside were all my loving teammates, and we spent the whole day coming up with new ideas for what we work on, or as I'm sorry to tell you, "ideating." Every time I hear that non-word, my soul dies a little more.

Speaking of soul-killers, because I was gonna be downtown all day, I took Lottie to daycare, and so did the Alex Who Sits Next to Me, the one you helped get a dog a few months back. I mean, she took her OWN dog, not my dog, to daycare. On breaks? We'd whip open our laptops and look at them on the webcam?

They were friends! They hung out together all day! They'd never met before! It was so cute. Out of all the dog daycares in all the world (Greensboro), Alex had to take her dog to mine.

So that was adorable, plus also her dog is an adult and totally looks like Lottie of the Future, so Lot recognized her own kind. Sort of dog-ist–breed-ist–if you ask me. Lottie would build a wall to keep out anyone who didn't have a brown snout. But still.

After our day of "ideating," which was actually pretty fun, we all went two doors down to the brewery, because it was the Alex in the photo above's last day. I screamed over to daycare and got the Lot, and she joined me for, sadly, her fourth time at that pub in four months of life.

Lottie totally needs rehab.

She was pretty good, meeting people and buying them drinks and giving out her dog digits, till some asshole had the nerve to bring his dog in. God. Whoever heard of someone taking their dog to a pub? Lottie had been splayed on the floor asleep and she JUMPED up. BARWARWARWARWAR! BOOF! She's a big "boof"-er. That thing where you don't really open your dog lips all the way, you bark and poof out your cheeks. That. She does that.

Anyway, I got her distracted by upside-down margaritas and next thing you know she was flashing the room for beads, so. Crisis averted. look at lotee teetz!

When I got her home, she kicked off her shoes and was so exhausted she could barely eat. Then I got the brilliant idea to Yoko her and take Lottie/June shots. Because humane. Also, I really need to give up the ghost on those black flats. They are wore out from the floor out.

can lotEE pleeze go bak to sleep now? we stop beeng at olan millz?

do anywon no number for peeta? lotteee beeng waterborded

Finally I gave up for more dignified pursuits.

IMG_1743 IMG_1746
Oh my god, I give up.

So that's that. There was an Abbott and Costello movie last night at my old theater, but I was tired and I'd been downtown all day, anyway. Tonight's Beach Blanket Bingo, and I'll probably bing-go to that. Except you know what? Tonight's my Hollywood Medium, and I hate to miss him as soon as he airs. God, what a dilemma. How do I juggle it all? Annette's teetz or my little twink's talks with the dead? Goddammit.

Stay tuned for the stunning conclusion tomorrow.

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…



[this space intentionally left blank]

There are two birds singing outside the window, and some sort of low-buzzing bug. Nope, there's a crow. So now it's three kinds of birds. Iris is quietly eating in the kitchen window. There's a plate of homemade wishes on the kitchen windowsill. And eight is enough to fill our lives with love.

I'll bet I could cure colds if I didn't have lyrics all up in my head, ruining everything.

My kitty left yesterday. I keep thinking he's just down the hall, and all I have to do is open the bedroom door and there he'll be, with his big orangey-green eyes and his little teensy meow when he sees me.

IMG_1585 IMG_1590
You know what, though? I think he's gonna be good.

So, I guess that's done, till I find some other animal god knows where.

In other news, Chris of Chris and Lilly is coming over today to mulch my yard. Since I couldn't afford a deck and it's still muddy as shit out there, this was the best compromise. He came over the other day to check out the yard and give me an estimate, and he was pretty impressed with my manly alarm system.


Look how muddy that damn door is. SEE WHAT I MEAN? Mud. Dogs. Dogs and mud. Christ.

Anyway, that's mulch to be excited about. You're welcome. I'll stop with mulch jokes. I know you'd mulch appreciate it.

In other other news, I am BESIDE OWN SELF about Tyler Henry, the Hollywood Medium, coming back on TV tonight. Oh my god, are you watching that show? He's even better than Teresa Caputo, and why don't you shut up, lofty judgy? You know if either one of them stopped you and said, "I have a message from beyond" you'd be all Oh my god, from WHOM??? I'd get one from someone I don't care about, such as Jerry Garcia. "He says to tell you he's still a filthy hippie with old bong water on his coffee table."

Anyway, they're finally taking 30 minutes out of the relentless All Kardashians All the Time schedule on E! (Dear E!: Fuck you with your konstant Kardashians. I mean, I'll watch a Kardashian. I'm not above it. But ALL THE FUCKING TIME? Did Ryan Seacrest lose his mind, or do the Kardashians own E! and have no sense of how to back the fuck off or what?) to show my show tonight. I don't even know what time yet. I'm even missing Grease at my old theater, though, so I don't miss a moment of Tyler Henry.

All right, I gotta go. It's a big day. Mulch and mediums, man. Mulch and mediums.

P.S. Lottie was near her laundry basket–she has a ton of clothes–so I took another measuring picture.

June 26

August 10

A loafing June, a jug of La Croix, and thou

I got a lot accomplished this weekend, and by "accomplished," I mean I watched 10 hours of the new season of Orange is the New Black. I'm kind of disappointed in myself that I didn't get all 13 episodes in, but you know, you do what you can to accomplish your goals and if you fall a little short, you reward the effort, not the failure.

I should totally make those awful inspirational posters for work. Like, with a picture of an eagle in flight.


Reward the effort. The effort of moving less than someone in a coma. All weekend.

Anyway I was toiling away at work on Friday when I remembered it was my BIG DAY, my day that OITNB was coming back. Oh, I was excited. I got everything done as fast as I could and sneaked out of there early.

Rebel, rebel, you tore your dress.

But I had to do a bunch of stupid STUFF before I could commence watching, and how ANNOYING.


Things like give my stupid animals stupid FOOD, which, really? Can't you order in? Orange is back. Orange is the new back.


Goddammit, Lottie. I gots no TIME for you to eat the cat food. MY PRISON SHOW IS JUST WAITING FOR ME. You get the trots, you're on your own. Cause m'show.


JEEEESUS, it's practically SATURDAY by now.

IMG_0480 IMG_0481
I also had to let their stupid asses OUT so they could PEE, which actually probably happened before they ate, but what do you want from me? I downloaded a shit ton of animal pics to my desktop just now. IT'S HARD.

Lottie needs to figure out those ears, man. Like, pick a direction already.

IMG_0487 IMG_0488

All I wanted–ALL I WANTED–was to have a nutritious slow-cooked dinner and watch my show. Stupid life. Stupid responsibilities.

Screen Shot 2016-06-20 at 8.03.26 AM

Then I had to walk the goddamn dogs. Who INVENTED this life? If I were one of those hairless-homed people with zero pets, I'd already have been heavily into episode one. Probably already gotten to see some prison titties. But no.


And walking in such an orderly manner, thanks to June's Iron Fish of Discipline.

Goddammit. FIST. Not June's iron fish. What even is that, even?

Lottie needs to figure out those ears. Did I mention? Say, I know when she could do it. HOW ABOUT WHILE I'M WATCHING ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK?


Son of a…fuck YOU, Tracy Chapman! Fuck you all to fuck.

Finally, FINALLY, I could watch my show, and YES I DOWNLOADED A NETFLIX, KAYEEEE. I don't even care. It's my show.

IMG_0498 IMG_0500
Fortunately, the rest of my cast members participated in my binging. My pets: enabling me since 2016.

In summation, I watched a lot of TV this weekend. And I'd like to thank the reader who sent me that TV when I moved in here. THANK YOU, reader! You are a good person, and I am able to isolate like a DEMON with that TV.

I gotta go work now, but I need some help with an article I'm writing. It's about how we aren't grownups anymore. Like, where did all the Walter Cronkites go?

I have some good examples, mostly having to do with what idiots we are about politics now (yes, coming up with a brilliant name such as "Obummer" is so much more effective than discussing the issues we disagree on) and about the delightful men I've met online. (And my example in the article is actually about how idiotic Trump protesters are being, in case you think I'm being one-sided.)

But what else? Can you think of other examples? THANKS!