Television – Book of June

Beauty products, Fuck natural, Television

The June Channel

May 14, 2018by June34 Comments

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.14 AM — Sans makeup. Blugh. Oh, but I DO have on sunscreen! Australian Gold tinted 50 SPF.

You know those annoying posts where I put on my makeup and talk to you, because I’m tryina do everything at once?

Yeah.

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.18 AM #3.jpg — Laura Mercier Secret Concealer for Undereye in 1.5. How can it be a secret if I’m telling you about it?

So, if you read yesterday’s post about my humiliation, you know I have TV now.

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.22 AM #2 — L’Oreal Brow Stylist in Light Brown. I don’t actually like this stuff, but it’s what I’ve got. Does anyone like their eyebrow tint?

Turns out, TV SUCKS, man. I haven’t watched TV in, what, two years? Is that how long it’s been?

First of all, almost all the channels are just commercials disguised as channels. QVC, old-lady makeup network, a cheerful channel called Dealing With Cancer. What happened to, you know, shows?

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.28 AM — Chanel Perfection Lumiére Velvet in Beige

Then when you DO get a channel, like, I stopped on E!–E exclamation point–there are all these terrible POP-UPS at the bottom of the screen that distort the real show and distract you annoyingly.

Do TV people realize we can all just stream things now? That they should be getting BETTER, not worse? Why do we PAY for this bullshit?

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.33 AM #2 — NYX Natural Shadow Palette. Don’t really like this, either, but it’s what I’ve got. I like the COLORS, but it doesn’t seem to actually go ON. It’s like, did I just DO anything, applying this?

One good thing I found was a network that showed me old Warner Bros. cartoons. I saw one where a poor homeless hound dog needed shelter, so he found a house in the woods that ended up belonging to a skunk, and the whole thing was the two of them duking it out and being friends in the end.

I guess maybe in retrospect, the skunk was squatting in the house same as the hound dog, because there was a vanity with perfume, and why would the skunk have a vanity?

Also the next one was a dog who got abandoned in a field, and I WAS ALL NO YOU ARE NOT SHOWING ME THIS, who wanders over to Porky Pig’s farm and tries to get P. Pig to adopt him. The dog is all, “I’m 50% Pointer–there it is, there it is. I’m 50% setter (he sits down). 50% boxer (he starts boxing).” Oh my god, it was magnificent.

Also, Porky Pig is not humane. He was mean to that poor dog. I guess to be a pig who owns a farm you gotta be pretty cutthroat.

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.44 AM — NYX Retractable Eye Liner in Gray–they really make these labels on cosmetics for the young. And L’Oreal–although nowhere on this tube does it SAY that–Voluminous Butterfly Sculpt in Blackest Black, because eff natural.

Finally, last night I watched Mildred Pierce on Turner Classic Movies. What happened to the old guy? There was always an old guy named I think Robert who introduced you to the film and told you the inside guff. Now they’ve got some preppy whippersnapper.

Photo on 5-14-18 at 8.49 AM — Clinique Chubby Stick in Roomiest Rose. I don’t really like it, but it’s what I’ve got. Are you sensing a theme, English major? Also, I like how sometimes Eds is at the door, and sometimes he’s dashed outside again.

So I’ll probably get ridda TV once the royal wedding is done, because this is bullshit.

Television industry, you have one week to get me hooked again.

Luff,
June

P.S. Obligatory kitten picture:

ADD is--oooo, shiny!, Film, I like cats, Television

Twirl her tiny mustache

April 25, 2018by June46 Comments

Did you ever see a TV show where the alarm goes off and the person shuts it off and immediately gets out of bed? Are there really people like that, or is it like TV gifts that are fully wrapped and you just take the top off ?

I used to think those Xs on the bottoms of Christmas trees were a fake TV thing, too, till I moved to LA and that’s how they give you a Christmas tree. Also, you haven’t experienced weird till the sun beats upon you while you’re getting a Christmas tree. With an X on the bottom.

Also, why do you guys let me do math? Why do you leave me alone with math problems?

Yesterday I said there were 108 lives in my house right now, and that I took forever to do that math. Today I woke up, by smacking the alarm and lying there forever like a normal not-in-LA person who has to cram her Christmas tree into an absurdly difficult Christmas tree stand, and figured out I did the math wrong.

Okay. Cats have nine lives.

I have three regularly scheduled cats.

Then I have a mom and seven kittens.

3 + 1 + 7 = 11.

9 lives x 11 cats is 99.

Right? But I said 108. And also, I kept thinking okay, there are 12 cats here (there aren’t) (I don’t think. Hell, if one slipped past the bouncer, who could blame me for not noticing at this point), so it’s 99 + 12.

But it wouldn’t be. It’s be 99 + 9.

Oh my god, hoooo care.

So, hi.

I have kittens.

Today at lunch I am going to scream down to the pet supply and get a bottle and mother’s milk. Like, from a cat, not from my own mother. I worry about this one, who is like a tenth of the size of her (his? her. Because tortoiseshell, right? They’re always girls?) siblings. Her name is Elizabeth–the youngest Walton. Look at her little mustache! It’s not so cute when I have one.

I tried to put all the other kittens in the carrier last night and give her alone with mom time, but she was so not into it. She wanted to wobble around and look at things teensily. Twirl her tiny mustache. And so on.

There’s a lot of competition for food. Not to be obsessed with LA today or anything, but it’s like trying to go to brunch in Santa Monica.

So that’s the update on foster kittens. The Foster Report®.

I wish I had some sort of…Foster Grant to cover the costs of this.

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Really, you have sent tips, kitten tips, and that is magnificent of you. Thank you.

Lottie Blanco, m’coworker, brought me cans of kitten food, which I am feeding to the mom. They told me to feed kitten food to nursing cats. And it’ll be a matter of days before they all start eating that food.

I took down my tip jar ages ago, when I put UP that link to shop with Amazon. It seemed annoying to have both. Maybe my problem is I’m not ambitious.

Anyway, I still have a tip jar, it’s just not up. The link to send tips, just the tip, is still

https://www.paypal.me/JuneGardens.

Or,

Tips.

$10.00

But don’t leave a tip if you can’t afford it. I’m mentioning it now because a few times in the comments these past few days, people have wondered where the tip jar is, and that’s the answer. Maybe I should just put it the hell back up.

But we have other important details to discuss. Today we have:

Another poll.

Photos of my coworkers.

A rundown of the silent movie I saw last night.

And info on my high school boyfriend.

Oh, boy, June. Lemme get my coffee and we can get started. Even though you’ve already spoken for 626 words already.

Another poll.
You know my boss, fmr., whose clothes we vote on when she gets her StitchFix? She’s come into a little money as of late, a little pin money. Some hat money. Oh my god June shut up.

Should she:

…I just want you to know I can NEVER FIND where to add a poll to this blog, and I will not say the struggle is real but oh my hod. (Hod. What is WRONG with me? Oh my Hoda Kobe.)

Photos of my coworkers.
I have recently taken two coworker photos I’ve enjoyed. Here they are.

This coworker came over to show me her cat mug, because she thought I would enjoy it, and what I enjoyed were her pink earrings, pink shirt, pink lipstick AND her pink mug, all at once. So a photo was born.

My coworker Molly was excited about her new t-shirt, and I was taking photos of said shirt for her, but I like this blurry one best. Which is the story of my life.

Slivent Movie.
Slivent. What the hell is wrong with me? Have we discussed yet?

Last night, my old movie theater showed the silent film Sunrise, which I knew nothing about, but I did see the sequel, Sunset.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, June. Lemme get a tissue.

7cd7029ff6bd03a6466e5197176bce61

We have the original organ at my theater, from when it opened in 1927, and they have a guy come from Chapel Hill or somewhere to play it during the silent films. He’s really good. I mean, what do I know? But he adds to the suspense and so on with his playing.

Also, who knew this old movie would have me at the edge of my seat, barely able to concentrate on my peanut M&Ms?

There was one scene where some vamp-ish city folk, a word they kept capping in the subtitles, (“Come to the City.” “She was a fast City girl.” You know how lighthearted I am about things like this.) wanted to redo the hair of our country heroine, up there, and she had a fit and didn’t get her hair done. I was over there screaming, GET YOUR HAIR DONE, FOR GOD’S SAKE. I mean, silently. Because silent movie. Plus, peanut M&Ms in my mouth.

It really was a stupid hairdo. When she finally drowns at the end her hair looks way better.

Spoiler alert! You only had 91 years to see this movie, so I understand if your pressing schedule kept you from it.

I act like I didn’t just see it 12 hours ago.

High School Boyfriend
My high school swain, fmr., Cardinal, is in North Carolina, and we are getting together tonight. Naturally there’s something, like, dead in my house. There is this smell. I cannot figure it out. It’s not cat litter, although you’d think it was. The kittens don’t use a box yet, and I’m changing mom’s box twice a day and my OWN cats’ box twice a day.

I took out the trash and the recycling.

It’s driving me insane.

Anyway, this has become less about Cardinal and more about the dead thing that dwells under my house, but there it is.

I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when I hope to cover an equally dizzying array of the pressing topics of our time.

Shutting off the alarm and getting right out of bed. Also going to someone’s house to visit before work, like they do on TV shows and never anywhere else in life,
June

Money, Television

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

August 31, 2017August 31, 2017by June81 Comments

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!” →

Money, Television

In which June insinuates that she had a night of passion with her dog.

May 2, 2017May 2, 2017by June86 Comments

I have an exciting fact for you.

Continue reading “In which June insinuates that she had a night of passion with her dog.” →

Family, Food and Drink, Hair, I am high-maintenance, My pets, Not Grace Kelly, Television

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

February 16, 2017April 15, 2017by June96 Comments

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?

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.

Aging ungracefully, My pets, Proofreading/Copy editing, Television, Weblogs

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

December 14, 2016April 15, 2017by June61 Comments

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."

Sigh.

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–

goddammit.

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

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

…Oh.

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

Decadely,

June

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

...friend/Ned, June's stupid life, Television

The mother and childish reunion

November 15, 2016by June

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.

Fun.

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.

Same.

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.

Pop!

Goddammit.

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,

GODDAMMIT.

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.

Film, June doesn't know any ugly people, June's stupid life, My pets, Television

June goes downtown, which is not a euphemism

August 17, 2016April 15, 2017by June50 Comments

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.

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.

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

Undercover June

August 15, 2016April 15, 2017by June62 Comments

Morning.

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…

…yeah.

June's stupid life, My pets, Other people's pets, Television

[this space intentionally left blank]

August 10, 2016April 15, 2017by June39 Comments

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.

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

June's stupid life, Television

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

June 20, 2016April 15, 2017by June

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.

BINGE WATCHING

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.

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.

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

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.

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!

Responsibilityuns,

June

June's stupid life, My pets, Television, Times I Amused My Own Self

Can o’snake ass

November 13, 2015April 15, 2017by June97 Comments

Oh, look! We still have boxes in here! How do, like, Army people do this, where they move all the ding-dang time? It’s so taxing. But it really is nice to be here, at home, rather than a whole ‘nother place. This morning I thought about how when Ned and I got up, we’d open the bedroom door and there’s be a cacophony of cats the second the door was open. It was like snakes out of a can. You know how often you open up snakes in a can. I’ma open up a can o’snake-ass.

Anyway, I wish every ding-dang thing didn’t remind me of my old house. Plus every time I drift off, I see Ned with another woman and I wake up all panicky. It’s fun in my head right now.

The good news is, the Stanley Steamer men came yesterday, and “men” is a strong term. There was a young, gleamingly white-toothed boy who was somewhere between illegal and 22, and a young hot man of color along with him. Who wanted to paint herself pink and do a Neapolitan ice cream imitation with her young suitors, do you think?

Who’s taken two young men from the fine offices of Stanley Steamer and turned them into her “suitors”? Hey, lid-flipper. How’s your flipped lid?

So my hot young boyfriends, who both desperately want to marry me and whatever shall I do, came over with their big hoses and commenced to getting my furniture hot. And if you think I was ridiculous about them, you should have seen Edsel. “Please forgive my dog. He’s gay,” I said to the men, who looked concerned about both of us, mostly because we were both rolling on our backs exposing our parts.

Now that I have the gate up, all Eds could do is put his lovelorn paws up on it and move his eyebrows around suggestively. And show off his junk. behold edzul junk. hooo wants to brake off a peece of edz?

Once they…turned on their hoses and cleanser…gushed out, Edsel became less enamored of Crockett and Tubbs. He came in here–where I was having crucial IMs with Faithful Reader Fay–and pressed against me, while still managing to moon longingly at his ebony and ivory dream team.

“If Edsel weren’t so scared of all the noise they’re making, he’d so be carving Hello heads from clay,” I wrote Fay.

It’s not every day you see three Afro mullets in one sitting. I need to make that a goal. See more Afro mullets in my day. It’s like getting your flax, but superior.

Speaking of things from our past, and the issues of our time that everyone should know about such as the Hello video, I overhead at work yesterday, “What was Cheers about?”

……!

What was CHEERS about? It was about how makin’ your way in the world today takes everything you got. THAT’S what it was about. Oy!

Which then lead me to thinking about–noodling about, if you will, and I hope you won’t–TV theme songs. They don’t really do them so much now, do they? I so rarely watch regular TV. And I know I just sounded like an ass just then, whose monocle just fell off my eye. But in the ’60s and ’70s, theme songs were the shit. And they were RIDIK. Ridik, if you will, and I kind of hope you won’t.

Seeing as there’s ONE GUY at work who is my age, at least who sits in my general vicinity, we got on the topic of TV lyrics, in particular the Three’s Company theme song, and also the Eight is Enough theme song. Which are both ridik.

If you will.

Wait. When I was talking about Edsel sculpting heads like the Hello video, I Googled “Hello head Lionel Ritchie.” When I found the image above, I plunked it in here and didn’t look anymore, but just now when I went to Google TV theme lyrics, the Lionel Richie page was still up, and I saw all these ridiculous versions of Hello.

(Dear Mom: In, like, 1985, Lionel Richie, formerly of The Commodores, wrote a song that goes, “Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?” In the video for the song, a blind woman sculpts his face in clay and she does a terrible job, as blind sculptors are wont to do. XO, June)

So now I’m in hysterics. Hello. Is it pee you’re looking for? Right here in my pants. Don’t tell my suitors, Pete and Linc. Little Mod Squad humor for ya.

Anyway. TV theme songs. Which is the ridiculousest? Because Three’s Company is pretty stupid:

Come and knock on our door
We’ve been waiting for you
Where the kisses are hers and hers and his
Three’s company, too!
Come and dance on our floor
Take a step that is new
We’ve a lovable space that needs your face
Three’s company, too!

Yeah, shut up.

But really, Eight is Enough is way worse.

We spend our days like bright and shiny new dimes
If we’re ever puzzled by the changing times
There’s a plate of homemade wishes on the kitchen window sill
And eight is enough to fill our lives with love

Dude. If I ever start spending my day like a bright and shiny new dime, you are welcome to tell my boyfriends light and dark that I have expired. You are welcome to open a can o’snake-ass on me.

Bright and shiny new dime. Like that’s so exciting. What is this, 1932?

I gotta go. I’ve got a plate of homemade wishes on the kitchen windowsill and they’re attracting cockroaches.

June's stupid life, Sports, Television

Crying with Wolves

February 25, 2015by June68 Comments

I just woke up, which is dreadful. You know what's dreadful-ler? People who BOUND out of bed. There is no reason for those people, other than that we need firemen.

My point is, I got coffee, and brought the wolves up here to be blog muses to me, which is not working because Edsel has left the room and now I worry that he's either (a) eating cat litter or (2) rubbing his face raptly and repeatedly on one of Ned's shirts, as he is wont to do.

OH MY GOD MY POINT IS–no, hang on. I gotta find Edsel. What if he's doing both at once? Ned will not be happy.

…Although it's true that one of Ned's old shirts was lying in the hallway, which means either Ned had a dramatic makeout scene with himself and threw his own clothes off, orrrrr Edsel dragged said shirt into the hall to roll his face in it over and over again, with big hearts with "Ned" written on them dancing around his fool dog head. However, after the rapture, after the lovin', Edsel went downstairs and is resting nicely on his dog bed. He seems uncomfortable up here, like he knows I'm allowing it but technically it's against the rules, all of which is true.

Tallulah is absolutely fine with it. Is lying proud and tall on the bed in here.

She's done the shaking thing a couple times, and as my vet told me to, I call her excitedly over to get a treat. She'll DO that, but still shake while she eats the treat. So. That helps not at all.

OH MY GOD MY POINT. My point is that Ned got into the shower not till 20 to 8:00, and now it's quarter to 8:00 and he's done showering, but that is late for him and it negates any chance of a little Ned action before he goes to work, plus also it makes me late, as well. To top it off I'm late for work. Lemme tell ya what I say when I'm dealing with the funky sidewalk. Lemme tell ya how to walk when I gotta do my funky walk.

I say shhhhhhhhh sugar.

Have I ever mentioned all the things I could have in my head other than song lyrics? Things such as maths or geography?

Speaking of wolves, I have to watch that show Game of Thrones for work. It's a long story, and anyway I don't like to go into detail about work. But, really, I have to watch that show. So last night I saw the first three episodes, and NO ONE WARNED ME ABOUT THE WOLVES AND WHAT HAPPENS WITH WOLVES.

NO ONE WARNED ME.

Oh my god, you can't expect me to watch something like that. Ned was downstairs watching his sporting event, and all of a sudden I was screaming and crying, watching this damn show on my computer, and by the time he got up here I was hysterical.

Here is the deal: DO NOT EVER TELL ME TO WATCH A SHOW WHERE SOMETHING HAPPENS TO AN ANIMAL.

Jesus Christ.

So after that, I brought the dogs up here and held them both on my lap and watched the rest of the show.

Before that trauma, Ned and I went to yoga last night, and there was just ONE OTHER COUPLE in the whole class, which I attribute to the fact that it MIGHT snow TONIGHT. This is how much people panic about weather here. Oh, there may be weather in 24 hours. We'd better stay in. Get prepared.

And I don't mean we're taking some kind of dippy yoga class for couples, like people who get couples massages or anything. That's always bothered me. Get a massage by yourself, codependent. I just mean that the other two people who happened to attend class happen to be married, a fact I know because I work with one of them. I work for a big place. But I'm the only person there who had to go home and get sad about wolves last night.

Oh my god.

Okay, I have to go to work.

Howl at you later.

JooooooOOOOOOOooooon

P.S. Oh! I almost forgot! Last night Ned went to the store, and I requested more lemonade, and it wasn't till I gorged myself on TWO GLASSES of it that I noted it contained grapefruit! Ned is trying to kill me.

Health, June's stupid life, Television

June. Peeping surreptitiously since 2006.

December 3, 2014by June117 Comments

My last post mentioned my good deeds project. If you want to participate, two important things:

Read the post before this to participate, and tell me you're in on the project there, not here.
You can see only 100 comments at a time, so scroll to the end of comments, click See More Comments at bottom left, and keep scrolling and clicking till you read the last comment. You'll know you're at the end because it won't tell you to see more comments anymore.

Your partner is not Missus B. I promise you it's not Missus B unless you were comment number 101. She had the lovely opportunity to be commentor 100, and she now has so many partners I fear for her dance card.

So that's that, and if you have already done your good deed, you can start telling from this post on. I will allegedly compile them and list them all at Christmas. Oh, hey, I have an idea. Tell me your deed and at the end write "KEEK!" just like that, then I can do a search and find good deeds easily.

Keek is a Scottish term that means to peep surreptitiously. You know how that happens.

In the meantime, I have a cold and yesterday I had a delightful biopsy, so that was all a great time. I was supposed to go see a play with many of the Alexes, a play called The Snow Queen, which I keep calling The Drag Queen just to annoy everyone. When I'm not KEEK!ing I'm saying Drag Queen.

Oh, lord I just thought of something. Don't say KEEK! in your comments UNLESS it's a good deed report. See what I've done to myself?

The point is, I had my annual girl exam and the results came back wonky, so yesterday they did a biopsy, but while my doctor was down there–and imagine THAT gig. I'm June's vagina doctor!

While she was down there, she said, "Well, you have a boring cervix. I don't even see anything to biopsy. But what Ima do is take this putty knife and remove your entire insides just to be safe." Comfy.

I never. I have always thought I had one of the more engaging cervixes. Ned just emerged from the shower and said he doesn't find my cervix boring at all. He said he's a big fan of my cervix. What does that doctor know?

Anyway, I guess that's a good sign, that it's boring, and speaking of boring, instead of going to dinner and a play with my friends, I went home and had a BLT and watched a movie on Sundance. When did Sundance get commercials?

Speaking of which, the other night I tried to watch something on Oprah's channel, I forget what, and EVERY SIX MINUTES they broke for 700 commercials, which weren't even real commercials, they were ads for shows on Oprah's network, over and over and over again. Yes, I already KNOW, Oprah, that Nate is heading over to Iyanla's house to fix it. He should work on fixing her name, too, because IYANLA?

Yes, Oprah, I already know that sitcom with the bad acting is having a Very Special breast cancer episode this week.

Dear Oprah. You've already got money. Give it a rest with so many commercials. God.

Yes, God wrote that, because even though he and Oprah are like THIS, even HE is irked at all the damn commercials.

I guess God wouldn't say "damn." What if you met God and he swore like a sailor? That'd be unexpected. And way more interesting than my cervix.

Okay, I'm dragging my cold ass into work. Yesterday we switched seats, which makes it the sixth move I've had in three years there. I no longer sit next to cute Ryan, and ironically he now sits where I used to. Everyone was talking about the end of our work marriage, and when he came to my desk to get my old desk key, you couldn't have beaten the comments back with a stick. "Ohhh, they're not even trying the long-distance thing." "Oh, it's really the end." "Who you gonna marry now, Ryan?"

Everyone's a comedian. Except my cervix, which apparently is Easter Island.

Okay, go do your good deeds. Go do the right thing.

Love,

Dr. June

Food and Drink, June's stupid life, Sports, Television

Ban de Soliel, for the Saginaw tan

July 25, 2014by June

Well, it's back to work today. My water and I are back to work. By the way, I still look completely the same. It's day five! Shouldn't I be miraculously young-looking and incredibly hydrated by now?

Instant gratification takes too long. (c) Carrie Fisher, my favorite person on earth now that Nora Ephron is dead.

Yesterday, I schlepped over to Winston-Salem, for a change, and got my free facial. Well. It wasn't free. I bid on it at Charlie's fundraiser in January, but whatever. Anyway, this woman with sophisticated glasses and cool hair came out. "Joooon Giirdins?" She had the strongest Southern accent humanly possible. It was hilarious. She was all sophisticated on the outside and sounded like Junior Sample from the inside.

"Let's tauk about yer fayce," she began, so I told her my woes. She looked at my skin under a magnifying glass that can pick out each atom. Yeesch, that thing was huge. Turns out I have sun damage. Hunh. That's not possible. Pay no attention to the reflective mat and 0 SPF Ban de Soliel I slathered on myself all summer between ages 12 and 25.

Sun damage. Pfft.

Then she had me close my eyes while she wafted "thrieeeee sceynts" over my nose. I picked the first scent, which turned out to be lavender, and I am nothing if not sort of consistent sometimes.

Anyway the whole thing was lovely, and I bought some sensitive-skin facial wash that I just completely forgot to use in the shower.

Since I was in W-S, I emailed Dick Whitman ahead of time to ask if he wanted to meet at the coffee shop after. When I got no answer after several hours, I called him. After my facial, I checked my phone. No response. So I called one more time and decided to, oh, kill some time at the shoe store. Zero shoes and zero calls from DW, I called again.

"Hey, Whitman, I guess you never saw my messages, so I'm headed in to Trader Joe's. I won't be able to meet now because I've gotta get these groceries home." (We don't have a TJ's in Greensboro, and there was one a block from me in LA. I was sort of indifferent to it in LA and now I miss it all the time.)

I got 250 frozen items for $38 and was headed home when my phone rang. "Are you still here?"

…..

Don't you hate it when people don't listen to your messages and just call back instead? Why do people DO that?

"No, Whitman, I TOLD you that in my last message."

"Oh, I didn't listen to it. I just called."

…..

I like my angry new ellipses effect.

The point is, we're allegedly getting together tonight since we're both dateless. His woman is at some kind of How To Deal With Dick Whitman conference and Ned is at the beach. He texted me last night from the front porch of the beach house and we had a pretty scintillating conversation that mostly went, "I miss you," "I miss you, too." "I wish you were here." "I wish I were there, too." I did, however, fill him in on last night's Andy Griffith.

Oh, it was a good one. This man drove by and told Aunt Bee he could see aphids on her roses, and while he spread cancer-causing chemicals all over them, he charmed the housedress off Aunt Bee. Is it Aunt Bea or Bee? Anyway, Andy was suspicious at first and what I liked is he surprised Aunt Bee by coming home midday, saying, "I decided to come home for a hot lunch" and she scurried on into the kitchen and came out with a plate of food.

If anyone came to my house thinking I just had a meat loaf going for lunch at all times, they'd turn into a skeleton tout suite.

The point is, he hung around for days, that handyman did, and both got charmed by him (I have no idea where Opie was. Maybe rehab) until someone mentioned that for a handyman, that drifter sure had soft hands. This hadn't occurred to Andy, the detective, till then, so he got Sarah to call over to Mount Pilot and talked to the sheriff there, who confirmed that guy was a scammer of the worst sort.

Ned has as much fun hearing about this as you are.

Anyway, poor Aunt Bee. She should totally have gotten on Mayberry Match.com or something. Mayberry Grinder. Aunt Bee on Tinder.

Name: Bee Taylor

Turn-Ons: Pie, pearls and a hot lunch.

Turn-Offs: Clara's prize-winning pickles.

Looking For: No Barney Fifes. And no mama's boys. Looking at you, Howard.

I know too much about the Andy Griffith show.

I have to go, and I know it's a tad sick, but I'm glad to get back to work and see all the Alexes. But before I go, I do have to tell you I had a my-dad-and-the-pot-pie thing happen. I know I've told you this before, about how in the '70s, my dad was downstairs watching sports, as he did, and now that I know Ned I understand that apparently you must sign some kind of contract promising to scream the swears every five minutes when you watch sports, seeing as this is what they both do. It keeps the show on, somehow, like how in the Flintstones there's some animal turning a crank somewhere.

The point is, dad turned on the oven to preheat it. Then after that finally was ready, he put in a frozen pot pie, and you had to let it cook, like 45 minutes or something. No microwaves. He got hungrier and hungrier while he shouted his turn-the-crank swears at the screen, waiting for his pot pie. I have no idea where I was. Maybe rehab.

Finally, it was time. He ran upstairs to the kitchen, opened the oven to pull out the pie, and?

Splat.

The whole thing fell upside-down onto the kitchen floor.

Oh, I am glad I missed the dad tantrum that ensued, and have I mentioned Ned has the same charming temper?

Yesterday at Trader Joe's I saw the green chile tamales, which I had TOTALLY FORGOTTEN about. Marvin and I got them every week. Oh, they're good. I preheated the oven as I have no microwave (really? Is there really anyone who doesn't know this already?), finally put the tamale in, wait wait waited till it was ready, and?

Splat.

And instead of falling onto the floor, it fell in the crack between the bottom of the stove and the door.

Have I mentioned I have my dad's and Ned's temper?

An hour later I saw Tallulah's snout pressed into the crack of the stove like she was an anteater, chawing with her flea teeth to get each green chile.

So. Yeah. At least I had water.

Talk at you. Tune in tomorrow for another Andy Griffith recap!

Mayberrily,

June

I am high-maintenance, June's stupid life, Television

First prize

March 11, 2014April 15, 2017by June

Since I joined Weight Watchers on Feb. 28, I have lost 7 pounds. Which, you know, yay.

So on Sunday I had the day drinker try to pick me up in the parking lot of my pedicure salon, "salon" being a strong word. Then yesterday a construction worker acknowledged me ("Hello, Beautiful!" he said into my car window as I drove past slowly because his partner was doing something sketchy-looking with telephone wires. My irresistible beauty probably cost that coworker use of one side of his body.) Also, a coworker said, "Wow! You're losing weight!"

Then last night I was headed to Ned's, where Ned may or may not have been lucky enough to catch the season finale of Real Housewives with me, and I called him before I got there. "I'm going to the grocery store. Do you need anything?"

"Can you bring wine?" asked Ned, who serves communion to his entire apartment complex. Ned is extremely spiritual.

My point is, I got carded. "Let's see if you're 21," said the nine-year-old whippersnapper at the checkout stand. "Oh, I like you a lot," I said, handing over my ID, which is a nice picture of me if I do say so myself.

The nine-year-old whippersnapper got serious. "Really, though, ma'am, we have to card anyone who's under 30."

UNDER 30!!!

What I am saying to you is, who knew that I was seven pounds from being the world's most attractive woman? Who knew there were only seven pounds between me and kicking Halle Berry's ass in a beauty contest? She would so be getting that Monopoly card and collecting $10.

Imagine how irresistibly radiant Ima be in seven MORE pounds of weight loss! Will the world even be able to handle it? Will the world smell what The June is cooking?

They never call things "beauty contest"s anymore, do they? We have to be all evasive and call them scholarship competitions, or Miss Jane Hathaway County or whatever. Let's get back to calling a spade a spade. We lookin' to see if you ugly.

Now that I am superior and seven lbs. lighter, I can be bitchy this way.

Oh! And speaking of bitchy, this is confidential to my fellow intellectually advanced Real Housewives fans: Everyone needs to leave Lisa Vanderpump alone. She did not do anything. Why is everybody always picking on her?

I'm on my way to her house now. I'm going to discuss the challenges of being so hot in today's society.

Sizzingly,

June

Oh! P.S. Are you leaving comments and they aren't showing up? I've had people tell me their comments disappear. Obviously, email me to tell me this, and don't leave a…comment. Which will just disappear, there, sparky. Geez, I hope you're as pretty as me, at least.

June's stupid life, Television

Hold me in your armchair you can feel my disease

March 3, 2014April 15, 2017by June42 Comments

Last week, Ned told me people at his workplace were sick and missing work, and on Friday night when we were out, he said, "I feel a little something in my throat, but with MY great diet and MYYYYYY workout schedule, I know I can beat a cold."

That's what Ned said. He did. And you know what one of the seven deadly sins is? Yes. Ned said that sentence with such avarice, that the next morning he woke up miserable. "Ohhhhhh," moaned Ned, and then he sniffed. And that pretty much encapsulates the rest of my weekend: old Ned and his wrath. I was just trying to think of another deadly sin.

Wait. I thought pride was one of the seven deadly sins. That's what this whole joke was based on, that Ned was all prideful with his baby lions about how well he takes care of himself and that's why he was struck down with a cold. Well, shit. Really?

By the way, I really like what Sloth is wearing.

Anyway, poor burning-hot Ned and his sniffy self was the focus of my weekend, and I forced him to go back to bed and not try to do stuff when he couldn't even keep his eyes open on the couch for 10 minutes. "You know you're going to catch this," said Ned as he clutched his Kleenex like he was on a reunion episode of The Real Housewives. "I know," I said, because I catch everything cold-related. "But this will be great for your Weight Watchers' points, because you won't want to eat anything," he said.

So old Gluttony, here, looked forward to that, because finally on Sunday evening I had to depart the company of Shelly Hack, over there, and head to my friend Marty Martin's house, where he'd been planning to host Ned, me and his most excellent girlfriend, Kayeeee, for an Oscars party for quite some time.

Two years ago, Marty had us over for the same reason, and Ned and I had only been dating about a month. I'm pretty sure it was the first time I ever took him to meet any of my friends. Ten seconds after we got there, Ned proceeded to break M. Martin's corkscrew, which as you can imagine was mortifying for him. Marty kept insisting the corkscrew broke all the time, and not to worry, but Ned felt awful.

This year, Marty said he was going to arrange his corkscrew so that it fell into 20 pieces the minute Ned touched it, and he was going to add a tag: To Marty, From Grandma. He planned to talk about how that corkscrew was the last thing his grandmother ever gave him. Because you know how your grandma was forever gifting you with wine openers.

But all that was for naught, because Ned couldn't go.

Which is a shame, as M. Martin rolled out the red carpet for us.

And wore his fancy movie shirt. He told me the dress code was "two degrees above slovenly." Which is apparently the memo Whoopi Goldberg got, because ?.

Soon Whoopi and I can share clothes, because I brought Weight Watchers-unfriendly mini quiches, which melted a little on the way over to become Salvador Dali quiches. I also brought brownies I made, and chips with lime, and guacamole and salsa. Marty had chicken drummettes and some sausage cheese dip, as well, which resulted in a day of me consuming 3949394920201 points. I am set for WW points till August.

But it's always a glamorous time at Marty's, and we all filled out a ballot, voting for all the categories. It was frightening how many of the movies Ned and I actually saw this year, as we go to the movies once a week, minimum. We saw the shorts, the weird foreign ones, only one documentary because they just didn't come here, those documentaries. We are happy to announce we did not see Frozen.

We even called Ned at home to get his sickbed votes. I stayed for the whole red carpet, where no one had anything interesting on other than Matthew McConaughay's wife.

Naturally he wouldn't have married a dog. But when's he gonna put back on the weight? He still looks too thin. He should have come to M Martin's. Fluff him up a bit.

Oh, wait. I also liked Cate Blanchett's dress, and I really love it when people pronounce her name "BlanCHETT."

Charleze Theron looked like two Nik-L-Nips. Remember, the wax bottles you bite off the top and drink the liquid? That's what her dress looked like.

Anyway. A little after 9:00 I went home and let the dogs out, then schlepped back over to Ned's to watch the rest with him while he coughed and moaned. And it turns out we both won the voting at Marty's house, with 17 correct guesses each. We rule.

Then this morning I woke up? And guess who's ill? Guess whose throat has daggers in it, with aches and tiredness? Could it be immune-to-nothing June, over here? So that's that story. If there were Oscars for Best Dramatic Reaction to a Cold, I'd so be thanking my agent right now.

Hack.

June.

P.S. I almost forgot. I took a picture with the Manicure Cam, which is officially the Stupidest Thing Ever Invented(R), to show off my very pricey Oscar party rings.

Film, June's stupid life, Television

Cubism

May 15, 2013April 15, 2017by June

God, I love coffee. Don't you? I have never understood those soda-in-the-morning people. Blech.

June's blog. Getting shut off one-handedly while people hold their Diet Cokes in the other hand, since 2013.

I do, though. I love it. And I even have to have tamped-down half-caf coffee because of my migraines. Okay, technically I'm supposed to have NO coffee at ALL, not even decaf, but that's just the crazy talk. That's like Sophie's Choice or something. I just can't do it.

Anyway, before I wax on about coffee some more, I wanted to tell you the exciting news that I got moved into a cubicle yesterday. Sadly, it was my work friend Vilhelm Oyster's cube, as he got moved upstairs to another department. Nevertheless, this means I am no longer just OUT THERE, the the OPEN ROOM, like I'm Mary Richards or something.

Do you think she ever got sick to freakin' death of having to talk to Murray all day? And what if her bra strap needed adjusting or some similar quandary? There was NOTHING SHE COULD DO.

So yeah. Less Mary Richards today. More Milton from office space. I told my coworkers I was going to decorate my cube all bachelor pad-y, the way Howard did on Andy Griffith once his mom moved out, and guess who needs to watch less TV?

Howard's mom got married and moved to Mount Pilot, so Howard decorated with those bead room dividers and so forth. I totally want that, and shag carpeting, and an oil fountain with a naked couple embracing and possibly one of those funny funny "Hang in There" posters with a kitten.

What?

So that's my big news. Got me a cubicle.

Also, I'm in this fitness challenge at work, which I've told you about already but no one pays attention to me around here. I am supposed to work out for 45-minute increments, and I get a point for each time I do, with five ADDITIONAL points if I work out five times in the week.

On Monday, we turned in our points for the week, and do you know every single one of those heifers on my team did the five days? GOD. Who knew I'd be with a bunch of overachievers? I did three. Three days. So I got three points. They all got 90 points apiece or something. So last night I took the dogs on a 45-minute walk, with my plantar fasciitis, although the plantar fasciitis was feeling better. Until I walked for 45 minutes with the dogs. Usually we do, like, 20, if I can walk them at all these days. I know. My poor dogs.

At any rate, it was fun to see Edsel look actually kind of tired at the end of those shenanigans last night. His tongue tends to ROIL out once he's tired. He can't just hang it out like a regular dog. It was to ROIL dramatically to the side like he's the TIREDEST DOG ON EARTH, and I don't know where he gets this dramatic streak.

Lily seemed annoyed that her 45 minutes of peace was over when we arrived back to our abode. She was all, Oh, look. It roil tongue. Good.

I guess that sums up what's new with me, other than I rented Bridesmaids last night, which I've been wanting to see for quite some time other than the barf scene, which I screamed past with steely determination. Anyway, it really was funny and I knew it would be.

Why they gotta put barf scenes in every movie now?

I will go shower now and get ready to work on a cube. You have no idea how exciting working in a cube is once you've worked in a desk sitting in Grand Central Station all day.

Squarely, June

...friend/Ned, June's stupid life, Television

Upstream

April 18, 2013April 15, 2017by June

I have to be at work–work work, not fake work, and yay!–in 20 minutes, so I must hurry.

I went out with Ned last night, to the salmon salad place we like. I usually eat half of that giant salad with an enormous piece of salmon on it, but I did Tracy Chapman workout first so I ate the whole damn thing. That piece of salmon must have been terribly popular in school. He was all big and substantial. He was probably big man on fish campus, like a fishy Doug Simpson. And then I ate him.

Dear Mom, Doug Simpson was the big man on campus on a Brady Bunch episode. He asked Marcia out. Hilarity ensued. No, I WON'T ever get over The Brady Bunch, mom.

Anyway, since I have to go, I bring you this.

Wait. First I bring you my nose and my new hair, as I was rushing out to meet Ned. Please note that although I have on a light sweater, it's managed to slip off to reveal that SAME DAMN PINK BRA I showed the other day. I cannot win. Am strap exhibitionist.

Anyway, one of you told me to watch this the other day and now I am obsessed.

Also, I love this.

Okay, bye.

...friend/Ned, June's stupid life, Television, Times I Amused My Own Self

Tyrannosaurus Ned

March 23, 2013April 15, 2017by June84 Comments

I meant to write sooner today, but apparently MTV feels the need to distract me with retro episodes of The Real World, in particular The Real World Las Vegas from 2002.

"Trishelle's hawt." There's this poor awkward kid from the Midwest on Real World LV, and do you like how I've become so familiar with it that I abbreviate it, kind of like when people call it "Idol," which by the way makes me wretch. "Idol." Shut up. Anyway, the poor awkward kid says that 9,000 times an episode in TRWLV. "Trishelle's hawt."

And she was kinda hawt.

Back when this was a real show, Marvin and I would go around saying, "Trishelle's hawt" in that poor Midwestern kid's voice, and guess who needed lives so bad? Was it Marvin and me?

Also, I love how on this show they fight over use of the phone, because no one had cell phones. That was only 11 years ago. I'm telling you, styles are kind of the same, music is kind of the same, TV IS KIND OF THE SAME, but technology? All over the place. It's the only thing that seems dated from then: the lack of technology.

OHMYGOD none of this is why I GATHERED you here today, though. I GATHERED you here to update you on Ned's condition, and to tell you about Chris and Lilly's baby, and all I can think about is Trishelle and her cell phone.

What kind of bullshit name is Trishelle, anyway?

So Ned, who seems to have no opinion on Trishelle, but maybe that's because I've never asked him about his feelings on Trishelle, went to get his dang wisdom teeth out yesterday, and I took him. When you go to Ned's–and why are you at Ned's? What are you doing with Ned? I could kick your ass, you know, you giant tramp–you have to call him so he can let you in to the Fort Knox Gelatin that is his apartment. You'd think he was storing gold or Trishelle up there, so secure is that building. The point is, I was just gonna call and he was gonna come down and then we were gonna schlep to the dentist to remove his parts. But when I called, his "Hello?" sounded so scared and beleaguered that I just felt terrible for him.

Ned. Looking forward to having his teefs out since never.

When we got there, I planted myself in the lobby, where I'm delighted to tell you a sporting event was taking place on the lobby TV.

The dentist really went in for the "we're in a cabin somewhere" scheme, by the way. To the left, there, is a canoe book shelf. I am not making that up.

Here I am, thoroughly enjoying said game. Note also the canoe lamp behind me. My ex-best-friend Esmerelda (the first person to ask gets impaled with a pine cone. I've told the story 40 times. Google ByeByePie + lost my best friend. You're welcome) used to sell Precious Moments figurines, and they had an anniversary figurine of two Native Americans, "injuns" as Hulk and his offensive Indian tattoo would call them, and the figurine read "Many moons in same canoe. Blessum you."

I am also not making that up.

Fortunately, Ned's appointment went quickly, and I was never so glad to see someone's cute face as I was when he came out of that room. I'd been trying to read but really the whole time I'd just been nauseated for him. Really, I was nervous as a cat, because he was. But he was at the desk paying and I mouthed, "You okay?" and he nodded yes, because of course he was clamping down on 50 yards of gauze. Really, dental procedures are barbaric.

We had to go fill his prescription for pain meds, and even though he was clamping, he managed to chatter like a magpie the whole way. "Aaat rully wonn't so ad," he said.

"You should probably try not to talk," I said.

"O ay." [Eight-second pause.]

"Eally, o. It wonn't at ad."

"Okay, good. But TRY NOT TO TALK. Just clamp."

"Oot ooo you aaant oo oo now?"

"OHMYGOD, CLAMP. We aren't gonna do anything now but get you home. Geez."

Eventually, we got home and Ned changed his disgusting awful gauze and got all woozy about it and asked for a chocolate shake. Ned never wants bad things like chocolate shakes, and I was glad to go get him one. But right when I was leaving, I got a text that Lilly had had her baby! And they wanted me to visit right then!

Ned said he'd watch his riveting sports and sleep and to go ahead, and I was kind of worried he'd expire from tooth removal, but I also really wanted to see Lilly for the FOURTEEN SECONDS they keep you at the hospital anymore, so I said I'd scream over there, stay for 15 minutes so as not to be the rude overstaying visitor, then get Ned his shake.

On my way to see Lilly, I remembered I forgot to sign that contract for the Exciting Thing Ima tell you about eventually, so I stopped at home, let the dogs out who were totally confused by me being home at 4 p.m., signed and scanned and emailed said Exciting Contract, then scream scream screamed over to the hospital that is eight inches from my front door, and also where I left my fibroids last year. And the year before.

Clearly I have boomerang fibroids.

And oh! Lilly's baby is cute! And thank heavens, because Lilly had SAID she had a cute baby, but she's the MOM. If that thing had come out looking like Marty Feldman she'd have thought it was cute.

Okay, here's the story. Lilly said I could put the baby's picture on here, and I KNOW Lilly HATES her own picture, yet I ASSURE you she looks REALLY VERY LOVELY in this one, but I cut as much of her out as I could so I wouldn't piss her off and yet still include the baby. Whose name is Zella Grace. It's a family name. Isn't that a cool name?

Also, Lilly got a beautiful diamond necklace from Chris, for, you know, passing a huge baby head out her parts and so on. Which by the way Lilly did not exactly enjoy. Wasn't what you'd call a relaxed evening, her evening of giving birth. Am thinking surrogate motherhood will not be on L's list of hobbies anytime soon.

Childbirth. Apparently it hurts.

Naturally when I got back to Ned's I showed him this photo of me holding a newborn necklace. "You deserve a diamond necklace too," said Ned, who I doubt is out getting me one because he clearly said that while under the influence of morphine or whatever he took for his teeth. "When you have my children, I will get you a diamond necklace."

See. Someone just got away with murder, there.

The point is, after I did all those things like sign contracts and visit babies and covet diamonds, I schlepped to the shake store and got Ned's treat, only to DROP IT LIKE IT WAS HOT when I got to his house.

Best.girlfriend.ever. And yes, I DID go get another one. And yes, I DID swear like a madwoman. I'd like to take this moment to thank my dad for teaching me all the really good swears, because man did they come in handy when I dropped that @&%# shake.

So there it was. Ned survived. Lilly birthed. It was a big day. Other than the part where I didn't get any diamond necklace.

The rest of the evening we spent quietly, because Ned was told he couldn't eat anything but mushy stuff, and he couldn't drink alcohol, and he couldn't have…raucous activity, so that pretty much ruled out anything we WOULD have done on a Friday. Usually Fridays find us eating a whole mess of peanut brittle then slam dancing in a mosh pit.

Generally on Fridays we have a who-can-chew-the-biggest-piece-of-ice contest and then we head to the bumper cars.

Fridays? That's our eat gravel and box each other night.

Okay I'm done. So what we DID end up doing was eating split pea soup and talking.

"If you be named after something, what would it be?" I asked Ned.

"A beer. No, wait. Beers are too transient; they come and they go." Tell that to Mr. Bud Light.

"A comet," he amended. "But not one that hardly ever appears. A comet that shows up every four years, like the Olympics. …Or a dinosaur. I'd like to have a dinosaur named after me. What about you?"

"Lipstick or a sex act. Except with my luck, it'd end up being one of those sex acts involving poop. 'I'm never seeing him again. He wanted to June Gardens me! These are Egyptian cotton sheets!'"

I finally settled on a rose. I want a rose named after me. Wouldn't that be nice? The June Gardens pale pink rose. With sparkles. Maybe you could plant it and add a little glitter to the soil and it'd grow all sparkly. Do you think?

Anyway. He feels sore today and a little tired, but I think Ned will live. And Lilly is home already, of course, because WHAT IS WITH HOSPITALS TODAY? Lilly mentioned that Zella hated her first bath, and I suggested she might be French.

With that, I bid you adieu. June and her rose, out.

I wonder what we'd name after Trishelle? A hot plate. The Trishelle Hawt Plate.

P.S. Chris and Lilly just sent this picture. thurtee-ate hourz of lyfe all it take to be totlee sik of ant joon blog.

Category: Television

The June Channel

Twirl her tiny mustache

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

In which June insinuates that she had a night of passion with her dog.

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

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

The mother and childish reunion

June goes downtown, which is not a euphemism

Undercover June

[this space intentionally left blank]

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

Can o’snake ass

Crying with Wolves

June. Peeping surreptitiously since 2006.

Ban de Soliel, for the Saginaw tan

First prize

Hold me in your armchair you can feel my disease

Cubism

Upstream

Tyrannosaurus Ned

Click here to shop Amazon:

Archives

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Click here to shop Amazon:

Archives