...friend/Ned · Eyebrows Light and Dark · I am a pleasure of life · I am berserk · I am high-maintenance · June can't keep a man · Travel

June sees a psychic. Finds out the future. So after today you won’t have to read this dumb blog anymore. You’ll know what’s gonna happen.

On Sunday, I went with my coworker Alex to see the psychic, the one from 2011. I don't mean the psychic was born in 2011, which would make her something of a prodigy. I also don't mean she's from the band Prodigy.

I mean that I saw her in 2011, came home and blogged about it, read that old post the other day, realized everything she said came effing true, and stampeded to see her again on Sunday. Is what I mean. Why you gotta make everything so difficult?

I'd love to tell you that I took pictures of said time at said psychic, but I forgot to do so, so excited was I to see Miss Stay-bility again. That's how my psychic pronounces "stability." "Stay-bility." She did it again this time. She is cute. I like how now she's "my psychic." Just the other day, The Poet and I were discussing what's the most annoying thing someone can say they have: My lawyer. My agent. My life coach. My pilot. "My psychic" is right up there.


Although I forgot to photograph the psychic, I did, however, manage to capture on film this sleeping pet condo scenario. I threw new sheets and a new comforter to put on the bed, left for ONE MINUTE (or maybe several hours. Whatdaya want from me?) and came back to find Iris asleep underneath everything and Edsel asleep on top of everything. I wish everyone here would get off the heroin and stop nodding out every second.

Okay, so here's what she said. She told Alex that her current boyfriend is a keeper, and I think he probably is. Very stable, manly, marriageable guy, if you ask me. Hot, too. But that is not the issue at hand. The issue at hand is what is going to happen to JUNE, as we are all invested in JUNE, the hero of our story.

She said I might do some international traveling this year, which, really? I might drink General Foods International Coffee, but that's it.

She said my whole heartbreak with Ned is stagnant right now, but by the end of February I'll be 100% glad I'm gone from that scene. She said more will be revealed that will make me say, oh right. I really did have to go. Great. I can't wait to see what miserable thing happens that makes me say THAT.

THEN, in the spring, your studly pal June will be juggling TWO men: a younger one and an older one. Neither will be quite right for me, but that is fine, as I will be busy being creative (writing a BOOK, maybe??) and having fun and getting my dollars in order.

THEN, and do you wish I'd stop starting paragraphs with "THEN"?

THEN, in 8 to 10 months, so September through November, I WILL MEET A MAN, possibly someone from my past with whom I had a bit of an attraction, and he will be THE MAN FOR ME and we will GET MARRIED NEXT YEAR!!!!

Married! I didn't even THINK to ask if I was gettin' hitched. I was just worried I'd be obsessed with Ned for the rest of time.


I called Tall Boy on the drive home to tell him everything. "You'd better get all thin for my wedding next year," I told him. "I'm not letting you be Maid of Honor if you're a big fattie." Tall Boy lost 28 pounds this past year, so you can imagine how he adores me for this. However, since he's Tall Boy and all, he discussed what kind of dress he should wear, and how he could get thin enough to please me.

What I like about myself is I stopped off and got two (2!!!!!) celebratory chocolate croissants after, KNOWING FULL WELL MY WEDDING IS COMING UP. I have to focus on the prize, y'all.

As soon as I'm done typing you, I am so starting up a wedding Pinterest page for my own self. What's the new trend in weddings? Because Mason jars at a barn is so done. I need something new. Should I tell the man I meet in 8 to 10 months about my Pinterest page on the first date, or just wait till date number two? Play it cool?

Should I invite Marvin to my wedding? I think he should make it a point to be at all my weddings. Oh my god, maybe Marvin could be mistress of ceremonies and perform the whole thing. Or he could play the music when I walk down the aisle. I've already decided to come down the aisle to Brick House. I mean, right? What else is there?

Oh my god, I gotta get my nose done TOOT SUITE before I have wedding photos that'll last till the end of time. Or, you know, the 20 years I have left till I fall over dead. The 51-year-old bride. Fuckin'-a.


Oh, this is such exciting news. This is all so sudden!

Ooo! Oooo! And I forgot to tell you. My new husband? HAS MONEY!!! "He's not rich, but he's good with money," said the psychic. Good with money! Just like me! We can sit around and enjoy our riches together! After I show him my Pinterest page, I can tell him how I put a visit to a psychic on my credit card!

So, there it is. June is betrothed. What should I do with my hair? I don't mean till then, I mean on the big day. Perm?

Speaking of my appearance, I forgot to show you before and after asshole bathroom selfie shots I took the other night, when I got ready for my big date.

Before. Hey, Haggis. Who would marry this tired person?

After. My best friend in high school's mom used to say, "A little lipstick. A little eye shadow. It's all you need." That and six pounds of foundation, and she's right.

So, anyway, save the date!



...friend/Ned · Aging ungracefully · Family · Friends · Hair · June's stupid life · Marvin · My pets · Not Grace Kelly · Travel

I have the feeling Ima be just as annoying in 2015.

It's the end of the year, FYI, and time for my end-of-year veedeo, and you've been around a long time if you know why I say "veedeo."

So long, 2014! You weren't all bad. (Click on the white "2014 Be Done" title at the top of the video, so it'll take you to YouTube, where you can CLICK THE DAMN X to get rid of the ad. THANKS, YOUTUBE.)


June's stupid life · Travel

This tastes awful–here, try it

I wrote something for Purple Clover and pretty much figured it'd get rejected, because it doesn't really have a Purple Clover angle. It did get rejected, so now I am showing it to you. Yay, you get my rejects! Really, though, I like it, my editor liked it, and I hope you like it.

Bookends. My Four Years in Seattle.

I got there by train, because I couldn’t afford to fly, and because I was too scared to drive through the top of America in December. Yes, I chose December to move from my relatively small Michigan hometown to Seattle, Washington. December, the month when families get together and throw snow at each other and exchange gifts and bake with glee. December, when no city wants to introduce itself to you, except for maybe Aspen. All the other cities are flurrying around with their 1960s Christmas lights hanging from downtown light fixtures and gloom in their skies. Moving somewhere in December is like dropping in on someone at 9 a.m. on a Sunday.

But that’s what I did, and I did it by train. The train ride itself was dramatic, with a near-derailment in Pocatello, Idaho and a weird encounter with two girls who’d just left a huge Baha’i convention. You know, I’ve always found the Baha’i religion sort of welcoming and fascinating, because among other reasons I think we should end more words in ’i. But lemme tell you. Those yahoos I met on that train ride were not what you’d call representin’ the Baha’is. They were a couple of screwballs, is what they were. But that’s a story for a different day.

My point is, I wish I had a tape of all the thoughts running through my head as I made that journey. I can’t imagine the trepidation and anxiety and excitement and downright hope I must have had. Since I was 13, I wanted to live in a real city, with tall buildings and weird people and underground clubs and not one person who wondered why I wasn’t coming ice fishing. I planned and I dreamed and I wished and finally, at the age of 27, I saved up $900 and got on that train. High on cocaine.

See. I wasn’t at all high on cocaine. I just wanted to reference that Grateful Dead song. And you know what I was looking forward to? Being able to say something stupid like that and not have everyone around me say, “?”

Where I grew up, in the middle of Michigan, people were…reserved. They were polite enough, but there’s this Midwestern stoicism that I simply never had. I do believe the last word you’d ever use to describe me is “stoic,” unless you went for “athletic.” Or “practical.” Or maybe “down to earth.” But that’s three words. The point is, I never fit in. And I knew I needed to go somewhere kind of big, to meet others like me. I figured the odds would be greater if there were more people to choose from.

I picked Seattle because they read more books there per capita than any other place. And because I like rain. And coffee. And Kurt Cobain. I knew one person in Seattle, other than Kurt Cobain, who of course I did not really know but who I’m certain would have had a great time with me had our paths crossed.

I got off that train in Seattle in early December, and by March I had a really cute studio apartment, a job, a whole passel of friends and a boyfriend. It seems like everything came easier then, when you weren’t looking for a home with good resale value or friends who were on the same spiritual wavelength or whatever. You wanna get a beer after work? Me too! Oh, and look! A place for rent that’s stumbling distance from the record store I like! Sold!

To say that Seattle was a success was putting it mildly. I remember going to an independent film soon after I got there. There was a line to get in, but of course there was a coffee cart for everyone waiting, because god forbid anyone in Seattle go eight seconds without caffeine. It was the first time I heard anyone order coffee in that ridiculous way people do: “I’ll have a half-caf, lowfat latte with light foam.” I was both tickled and appalled. No one here was going to pressure me to ice fish.

I also remember taking the bus to my new job, and seeing cab after cab lined up in the streets. I felt so big city. I felt like I’d done what I’d set out to do. The first time it was sunny enough to see Mt. Rainier, I learned it was possible to fall in love with a city.

Four years later, I left Seattle to move to LA with my then-husband. On my last night there, I went to the train station to pick up a friend who’d come in from Portland to attend my going-away party. It occurred to me I’d only been in the train station on my very first and my very last nights of living in Seattle, like bookends.

I’d pulled into Seattle four years earlier with my nasal Michigan accent, a slightly closed mind and no idea of the kind of adventures I had in front of me. I left there four years later with my same damn accent, but also with a lifetime of memories of fun, laughs, heartbreak and friends I still have today.

The time I spent between those bookends is something I’d never give up. Not for all the half-cafs in Seattle.

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

Do you know what’d be hilarious? Is if I said, “Life’s a beach.” HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!

6a00e54f9367fb8834017d3ce54be4970c-800wiThat guy is screwed.

This weekend, Ned and I went to Wilmington, which in case you live in Poland or Ethiopia (I am HUGE in Ethiopia) (well, I probably would be huge in Ethiopia) or are just really stupid or something, Wilmington is a town in North Carolina that happens to be right next to the ocean.

And I like how I'm judging you for not knowing where Wilmington is, seeing as this weekend Ned, who is coming to Michigan with me for Thanksgiving–or THANKSgiving, as they pronounce it here–said, "Now, which Great Lake is closest to your home town? Is it Lake Huron, or…"


"Because Lake Michigan is to the west–right?–and…"


I mean, what was this, the SATs? Am I really supposed to know which GREAT EFFING LAKE is nearest to my home? Apparently, according to aghast Ned, I was. God. Everyone's so persnickety.

It's Huron. I Googled it when I got home.

At any rate, Wilmington is a cool town, and there were a lot of shops and restaurants and so forth.

IMG_2674I don't know what this was, but I liked it. I guess it was some kind of turnkey project. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA! With that and my hilarious Life's a Beach title. I am on FIRE today. El Fuego.

IMG_2673Oh, and you know what? The apartment building from Blue Velvet was there! We drove past it a couple times and finally got out to take a picture of it, and every time we passed it, I'd say, "Hit me, Jeffrey." Sadly for me, Ned did not chip my tooth at any point this weekend. Dull.

IMG_2683Look! Even the creepy back steps are really there! If you did not see this movie, you will be as lost as I was about the Great Lakes.

Which Great Lake is closest to my house. How many atoms are floating about in this CAR right now? Ned? God.

IMG_2679Fortunately, Ned is fun to walk around and look at shops with, although I did not become that woman who left him holding my purse while I went in and tried things on. I will NEVER be the woman who makes her man hold her purse while she tries things on. If you want to seriously shop, why would you drag a straight man along?

IMG_2678"But I would hold your purse if you asked me to," said Ned, who is officially a Nice Boy. A Nice Boy who I refuse to emasculate in that fashion.

IMG_2677By the way, I WANT ALL THESE. Ned kept encouraging me to buy the lovely quilted dress behind this one. But then I'd be too sexy for my dress.

BAHAHAHAHAAH! Ohhh! Woo! The "I'm too sexy for my…" joke! Somebody STOP me!

I'm telling you. I'm funnier when I'm not this happy.

The good news for all of us is I discovered that Ned–and WHY did this not occur to me?–is the kind of person who walks up to 29,0015,3949 restaurants and looks at the menu on the window and says, "Let's keep looking." Never mind that the person you are with has turned into a skeleton with kwashiorkor clanking behind you.

"Oh, here's another one! {stroll stroll stroll} {peruse peruse peruse}. Okay, let's look at this one across the street!" {stroll stroll stroll} {clank clank clank} (those were my skeleton bones).

So we did that during dinnertime and ended up at the LAST POSSIBLE RESTAURANT. I mean, in front of us was water, to the side of us was a bridge out of town. I am not even making that up. Happily, whatever Ned got was "godDAMMIT!" good, and he mentioned it a lot the next day, as he does.

But in the morning, and by "morning" I mean 2 p.m. because neither Ned nor I bound out of bed, and thank god he's that person, we were looking for a place to have brunch. We went back to the cool part of town we'd been in the night before, got out of the car, and when Ned said, "That looks like a cool diner" I said, "LET'S GO TO IT" and started to cross the street.

Oh, he was flummoxed. "But we…" "Are we just gonna…" "How about we…"

"NO!" I screeched, because I am a fun date. "This looks good. Let's just PICK it!"

And you know what? Do you?

"GodDAMMIT, that vegetable omelet was good!"


IMG_2680In fact, yesterday was kind of the perfect day. You're on the beach with someone you like, the weather was perfect, you find an old boo store.

Ned reads as much as I do, so we were in the Old Boo store for quite a long time.

IMG_2681Do you know what my dream job would be? Trophy wife. But other than that, my dream job would be to own a used bookstore, in an old building with wood floors and lots of light and a bookstore cat. Come see Iris, the blind bookstore cat! It'd be great. That's all I need.

After a long time, Ned found me nestled in the shelves, reading. "What'd you find?" he asked, his arms full of smart-people books.

"…..The unauthorized biography of Tom Cruise," I said.

"Out of all the books in this store, that's what you're reading?"

I guess he thought I'd be consulting a Geography of Michigan book or something.

Anyway, I got a very intellectual book about Wallace Simpson, and then it was time to head back home. Ned had to pack for ANOTHER WORK TRIP, and I had to do some freelance. Unfortunately for us, we drove back STRAIGHT INTO THE SUN, like we were Icarus or something. It was ridiculous. You have no idea.

"God, this is like Freewayhenge or something," said Ned, adjusting his visor fruitlessly.


IMG_2685On the way home, we used the facilities at the Sartre Rest Stop.

Have I mentioned how funny I am today? Hey, did I say Life's a Beach yet?


June's stupid life · Travel

I Heart Pie. Or, All Andy Griffith and Little Else.

I have to go to work today, and I KNOW! I just worked in JUNE. Do they expect me to have NO FREE TIME? God.

Okay, I've worked since June, but not on site, as I am doing this week. This is super not at all confusing, but today, tomorrow and Thursday I am going to my old workplace in Winston-Salem, the place where I got laid off two times ago. The place where I worked all spring of this year.

Then on Friday, I start freelancing on site for the LAST place that laid me off. The place just a few minutes from my front door. I'll be working for them quite a bit through the end of the year, apparently. And yes, I am still waiting for The Good Thing to happen, the thing I turned down the other job for. That thing is still in the running.

So are you totally clear and caught up now? Because it's not ridiculous and all over the place or anything.

I start at noon today. The place I'll be today through Thursday can be insane, and so I could be there noon till 5:30, or noon till 4 o'clock tomorrow morning. Seriously. And this impinges on my plans, because FR Laurie and I were going to the bingo at the Elks hall tonight, and no I did not just suddenly turn 82. I've seen the sign every week for years: "Bingo! Every Tuesday! Open to public!" And I've always wanted to go. Play some b-i-n-g-o.

So the one Tuesday I finally make plans to go, I have to work. Isn't that just the way it goes? What if I'd have gone to bingo and made MORE money than I'll make working?

IMG_2254In the meantime, Ned and I went to Mt. Airy yesterday.

Mt. Airy is basically Mayberry, as it is the place where Andy Griffith grew up and where he based his show. The Andy Griffith Show. If you are 16 and have never seen it, just don't tell me.

To say that Mt. Airy has capitalized on this fact is to say Liberace might not be a minimalist. Holy cats, with Mt. Airy. Every store is Andy Griffith themed.

IMG_2253"You know what this town needs is an Otis's Bar," I said to Ned. Ned said they could have two jail cells with small bars in each. And on Sunday they could have Aunt Bea's dinner special. Now if someone steals that idea I can sue them because I just put it in this blog.

IMG_2255Edsel is from Mt. Airy. Did y'all know that? I should have known right then that there's something wrong with Mt. Airy. Because you know what? Do you? Do you know what made me angry?

Mt. Airy, which was FILLED with other idiot tourists like us, was almost totally closed for Labor Day. The Snappy Lunch diner was closed, the gift shops you wouldn't wanna go in anyway were closed, the museum was closed. I totally wanted to see Barney Fife in The Scream or whatever they did to make it Andy Griffith-y.
Walter The Thinker. Whatever.IMG_2251What the hell? So to speak. Even Jesus wouldn't be back till 4:00.

"So, we're expecting others to labor while we have Labor Day off," said Ned, who has to be considerate and fair all the time.

IMG_2256"YES!" I groused, as we traipsed up and down looking for ANY FOOD ANYWHERE. And in case anyone was worried sick, my foot is much better. Not perfect, but better. And Ned the Aleve Pusher made certain I didn't have to walk far yesterday.

We finally went to the Bluebird Diner, which was not a luxury dwelling, but it was the ONLY PLACE OPEN in the whole city.
IMG_2242"What the hell are homemade mushrooms?" asked Ned.

And let me tell you what. IT WAS PACKED. "I've never had it this busy," said a waitress with a voice that carried, who must've been the owner. "But as my granddaddy always said, 'Make hay while the sun shines.'"

I heard her say this 58 times while I was in there enjoying my Coke out of a glass bottle, and I am here to tell you. Coke out of a glass bottle is 50 times more delicious than Coke out a regular bottle. Why is that? Ned had a Cheerwine out of a glass bottle. It just doesn't get any better than that.

IMG_2243Also? These were the best onion rings I have ever had in my entire life. And I've been to Paris.

That has nothing to do with anything, seeing as I did not find one single onion ring in Paris. Or rondelles d'oignon.

IMG_2250And I realize very little of my photographs show Andy Griffith things, although you can see his mug here behind the bad punctuation, but after we'd traversed the main street and driven around a bit, Ned said, "So it's basically Andy Griffith and little else," which is true. It's Andy Griffith and me wondering which house Edsel lived in. I am assuming the trashier side of town, not because Edsel has no manners, which he doesn't, but because I know his mom stayed out all the time and was not fixed, and usually that is not an "I'm-a-rich-person" move.

IMG_2249Very vintage AND old. They're talking about Aunt Bea here. BAH!

Aunt Bea is probably my age on that show, isn't she? I wonder, could you kill me now? "Oh, Andy. I have plantar fasciitis."

So that's all the complaining I have about Mt. Airy. Tune in tomorrow, when I will complain about having to work!

June. Mopey but not Opie.

June's stupid life · Travel

Dancing girls. At a burlesque show.

Today on Facebook, my old pal Marc wrote, "Hey, has anybody seen my black canvas bag?" and one of this other friends wrote, "No, and I haven't seen your Sweet Gypsy Rose, either." I do not know why this made me snortle like a hyena for the last 15 minutes but it has. You know how those hyenas snortle.

June's blog. Where you come to hear about Facebook.

Anyway, if that weren't enough, now I get to tell you that I'm not going to Hawaii.


I'm not NEVER going (nice English), but I can't now. I can't afford it. And I know, it's a free trip, right? But I already knew I couldn't afford to put the dogs in day care, so …friend/Ned was watching them, and even then I only had a few hundred dollars cobbled together for spending money. Then yesterday I said, "I'd better look at my checking account, make sure no scary huge check hasn't cleared or anything."

A scary huge check hasn't cleared. It was my stupid stupid stupid COBRA check for my health insurance. It's like $11,000 a month. Anyway I could have gone, still, but I'd be worried sick about running out of money the whole time AND I'd be completely at zero when I got back, and is that really a good thing to do to myself?

So the deed is done. The person who reads this blog who gave me the trip is rescheduling it, and ironically I'm thinking I'll be better able to go when I have a job.

I'll tell you who was bent out of shape over this was Ned/…friend. Perhaps he was planning a giant kegger at my house with 22-year-old dancing girls or something. 1920 called. Wants the phrase "dancing girls" back. "This is so AWFUL" he kept saying. He was very excited for me, and I was excited for me, but could we all not bemoan this and "June you have to go" this? I can't. Am cash poor right now. Am poor poor right now. Nothing is liquid. I never have any idea what that means.

The bright news is my interview seemed to go well yesterday. Five minutes into the interview, the HR woman leaped up and said, "Let me get someone to meet you." Then I met this other guy who was A DELIGHT, he really was. He told a story about how he has two big dogs, and one day a muddy kitten appeared at his door and why does that never happen to me? Anyway he took the kitten in, not wanting to, and that cat sleeps with the dogs, plays with the dogs, and goes outside with the dogs for pee time. It has no litter box.

It was a good story.

Anyway eventually they introduced me to another guy, who gave me a (wait for it) proofreading test, and after he LOOKED AT IT RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, and that wasn't nerve-racking at all, he said I did really well and he wasn't able to say, "You're hired" right then and there because they're interviewing 23 people for this job.


TWENTY-THREE PEOPLE. So the even better news is that afterward I went to my car, and the HR woman had said, "I love how your toenail polish matches your bag" which I hadn't even noticed but then I loved me, as well, and anyway the point is there I was in the car and I took a gander at myself, and guess what.


Photo on 7-31-12 at 3.52 PM #2
Photo on 7-31-12 at 3.52 PM
I had two COMPLETELY different earrings on. Completely different. Different. Earrings.

I had NO INTENTION of wearing the red one. I meant to grab the other pearl, and can you effing tell me how I DIDN'T NOTICE I wasn't putting in the other pearl? I'm certain this doesn't matter, because a proofreader isn't supposed to be good with details at all.

Say, has anybody seen my sweet welfare check? I am doomed.

So after telling Ned that I wasn't going to Hawaii, we decided to go eat at the restaurant we had selected as my yay-you're-back place. It's an Italian place near my house and Ned/… had never been there and I said, "Oh, we should go when I get back."

We thought we were HYElarious with the "Welcome back!" "Thanks, let me tell you about my trip!" jokes when all of a sudden Ned said, "There's midcentury modern guy." And honest ENGINE, you guys, there he WAS. Why do I run into this guy everywhere I go? Do you think he's following my every move? Eventually it was just Ned and me and Midcentury man and his date left in the place. We should have gotten a table and played bridge.

Midcentury guy needs to get over me. I am taken. Unless he's rich and can take me to Hawaii all the time or something. Do you think men who own furniture stores are rich?

See. Sadly, even if he WERE following me and even if he threw 12 million dollars at me, I'd still stick with Ned. Because I am smitty smit smitten. I am gross. Do you hate me when I'm this gross? I do. I would so hate me right now.

I had better go. I had my bag all packed and I should unpack. OH MY BAGS ARE PACKED. I'M READY TO GO. TAXI'S WAITING OUTSIDE THE DOOR!

You're welcome. Anyway I was pleased with myself that I had managed to get everything into one (huge) bag.

I threw in some t-shirts and two different earrings and I was ready to go.

June's stupid life · Travel

June and Sleeping Beauty go to the beach. Except she’s bringing her baby. How much sleep will she really get?

I woke up this morning and before I even opened my eyes, I told myself: YOU GOING TO THE BEACH, BITZ!

So here I go. If I can figure out how to send pictures to my blog, I will. If I can't, just picture me lying there getting melanoma. It's supposed to be sunny and 75 all three days.



Friends · June's stupid life · Travel

June avoids

Sometimes I sit here at my blank screen, and so desperately want to prattle on about what's really going on, but to protect the privacy of those around me I cannot. This is one of those times.

So in the meantime I will say that I am going to the Outer Banks in two weeks! Wooooo! In case you are not from here, and most of you are not because I have the Google Analytics and I know ALL ABOUT YOU, the Outer Banks are the, you know, banks outside of North Carolina. You have to take a big pretty bridge to get over there. And it's all beachy and such. I went there with Sleeping Beauty two summers ago and Sandy and her husband this past summer. I brought Sandy to the beach! Bah!

6a00e54f9367fb8834014e8ab50dab970d-800wiAnyway, Sleeping Beauty just asked me if I want to join her, her new squishy baby and her man, who I don't know if he's squishy or not because I am not a terrible friend. Oh, and her dog Puck, who is decidedly also squishy. He is a Lab. Do you think he'll enjoy the beach at all? They're pretty indifferent to water.

Once when Talu was still a pup I took her to the lake when my mother still had a place there. And could she have been more iffy about water? She kind of…waded in with all the enthusiasm of Katy Perry in a library. Talu. Not a water dog.

I have no idea what Edsel would do around water. He has Irish setter in him. Do they like water? Anyway it's irrelevant because neither dog is coming along. They get to enjoy the Outer Daycare.

So that'll be fun. I haven't seen Sleeping Beauty since her baby shower last spring. I drove to DC for it, remember?

My gift was the green and purple bag. I got her all breastfeeding-related things, and a onsey that reads, "I suck." Adored myself.

Now I have to go. I am still overwhelmed with the freelance work, which is good, but I am working 9 or 10 hours a day and am still behind. After the 10th hour, your proofreading skillz are not what you'd call up to par.

Is anyone doing anything riveting this weekend?

...friend/Ned · Faithful Readers · June's stupid life · Travel

June Gardens, gym rat

Can't talk long–I have to get to the gym. I know. You guys have spoken to me many times about my exercise bulimia. I mean, I just SAID I was going to the gym…never. In five years of writing this blog.

I did belong to a gym in LA, but you had to in order to get your driver's license there.

Friend in Real Life Kit–not that I have a kit that you put together and boom! you get a friend, which would be convenient, wouldn't it? Gee, I want to go to that new restaurant and everyone's busy. Hey! I'll get my Friend in Real Life Kit!

Am annoying today. It's the endorphins. They are pumping from all my 'roids.

My friend in real life, whose name is Kit, has a gym membership eight inches from my front door, and perhaps you wonder how I've managed to take photos out my front door without including a giant gym eight inches away.

100_1095Sryisly mom? Could be more annoyinger?

So she got a 30-day pass for me, Kit did, and asked me to join her at said gym. I have always wanted to join that gym, actually. It was the one Marvin went to all the time. Do you remember that? How he was always traipsing off to the gym at like 9 p.m.? Maybe you got here after Marvin. [A.M.] Anyway trust me. That happened a lot.

How did I pick a grownup cat and a baby cat who look so ridiculously alike? Kills me.

And in other nice-things-people-are-doing-for-me-because-people-are-nice-and-what-gives news, someone who reads this blog, with whom I have corresponded many times and become friendly with, emailed me a few days ago. Seems she kind of added up in her mind the whole year of shingles, dead cats, gone husband, surgery, lost job, broken heart, ass of a time I have been having and she wrote me.

"You know," she said, "I get frillions of miles from my job. I will never use them all. Why don't you go somewhere? Get out of town," she said, but not in that "get out of town" way people are always saying to me.

"Miles of what?" I wondered.

Anyway, my point is, I am going to HAWAII. And LOS ANGELES. To see my friends. Can you even stand this?

CAN YOU EVEN STAND THIS? Really. Can you? Because I am still in shock. Do you have any idea how bad I need to see my friend Renee, who had to go and move to Maui like it's pretty there or something? Renee was my best friend in LA, and we moved from there at the same time. Every story about us ends in us in hysterics on my kitchen floor, on in a spa's quiet room, or on a running trail. Or in a dressing room. Or at a hospital. Twice. Still. Hysterics.

I met Renee when we were both training for a marathon, back in 2000 when I was not a lumbering pituitary case. Do you like how I've blamed the pituitary and not chilupas? We were in a running group that met desperately early on Saturdays to run ludicrous numbers of miles.

My cat, Francis, had this thing called pica, where you eat stupid stuff, and his stupid thing of choice was plastic. I barely knew my running group, but there we were, the dawn barely breaking. "Huff," we'd say. Then "huff." I couldn't stand it so I broke the silence.

"I pulled a dry cleaner bag out my cat's ass before I got here this morning," I said.

Renee was the only one who had to actually stop running because she was laughing so hard. She was all doubled over and I said, Ooo, good audience. And a friendship was born.

Anyway. I am planning to go in August, in case I get this job for which I am interviewing. It is technically a 6-month-plus contract job (yes, mom, with benefits, through the agency) and so I thought I should plan for six months from now. I know that's a long way to wait but just the THOUGHT that IMA SEE RENEE, then IMA SEE LOS ANGELES AND ALICIA AND MY FRIEND DAVE AND IN-AND-OUT BURGER AND WHY IS MY PITUITARY ACTING UP is so exciting.

Does it seem like I am a person who gets really good and really bad things? Not just, oh, I won six dollars playing Lotto. Oh! I caught a cold.

Speaking of which, and then I have to pull on my sports bra and gee I hope it's clean (bah!), as you know I have this…friend, of whom I am not speaking in order to try not to JINX it like I have done with everyone else. On Sunday, Dick Whitman and I went to a movie, and it was a French movie with subtitles so needless to say the room was not packed, in fact two people were in the theater. Guess who one of the people was? Was it my…friend?

So we all sat together. It was beautiful.

Then last night, I went to the cool Carolina Theater with said…friend. It's one of those old wonderful theaters. My point is, we get in there, and WHO IS IN THE NEXT ROW? Was it Tall Boy? I mean, can I go anywhere and not run into someone I've dated? I've hardly been Fonzie this year. I haven't dated THAT many people. And yet here they all are, like it's This is Your Stupid Slutty Life or something.

Okay, I gotta hit the gym. I am going to end every post like that from now on.

Friends · June's stupid life · Travel

Who dat?

Hey, did you hear I went to New Orleans?

On the first night, on my way there, I stayed with Faithful Reader Sadie, who coincidentally has a dog named Sadie. You'd think she'd name her dog something different from her own name, but who am I to tell people what to do? Anyway, I had never met Faithful Reader Sadie nor her dog Sadie nor her cute husband Mr. Sadie, but she has been commenting forever, so when she said I could stay with her on my way to New Orleans, I trusted that she would not kill me and indeed she did not.

Look at her! This is Sadie the dog, not the person. Anyway, I got a charge out of them both, because Sadie the person was all, "I got you Pop-Tarts, and I know you take your coffee half caf and half decaf, so I got that, and here's a tiara in your room if you want to play with it."

June's blog. Making her an annoying fussy guest who you have to get special things for since 2006.

Friday morning dawned early, as opposed to it dawning late, and Sadie the person and the dog made me a ltitle bag of treats to go and why does anyone like me, is what I want to know? I just come over, eat all the food, take some to go and shed everywhere. I am a delight.


I stopped off at a truck stop in Alabama, or maybe Mississippi, for some boiled peanuts and coffee, as you do, and met this nice kitty there. The owner of the truck stop told me the kitty lived there and everyone fed him, otherwise who'd be owning Alabama kitty? The whole time I was petting him, I could hear Hulk's stupid voice, which sadly appears in my head way more than I wish it to: "%#@@&. Only you could find a #@$$&# cat at a truck stop."

I stay friends with Hulk out of pity, because no one else really wants to hang around him that much, owing to the fact that he says things like, "Percent pound sign at at ampersand." I'm really one of the only people who'll tolerate it.

Foodgroups(Hulk's three food groups)

At any rate, I got to New Orleans and had to drive through the city awhile before I got to the hotel, and I am telling you, I saw the phrase, "Who Dat?" 94933939495595595593837374755753 times in the first 10 minutes.

When I got to our room, Donna answered the door and I said, "Am I already sick of the phrase 'Who dat?'"

You know what you don't want to do? Is tell Donna you are sick of something. Every 20 seconds, for the rest of the trip, Donna said, "Who dat!?" We'd be looking at a menu: "Who dat! What you gonna get?" We'd be wandering the streets: "Who dat! Did you see what she had on?" She'd walk in from the shower: "Who dat?"

No one on the planet is having a greater love affair than the one Donna was having with herself each time she irked me anew with "Who dat?" She is currently out purchasing a diamond eternity ring for herself, to show herself she'd marry her all over again.

Who dat?

And really, she is lucky she lived through the whole trip, not just because I was going to stab her through her who dat head, but also because everywhere we went, someone was trying to shove shellfish down her allergic gullet.

We decided to eat at the bar (no, I DIDN'T have a drink. Calm down.) at this restaurant because it faced outside and we wanted to people-watch. You could sit there for the rest of your life and stare at people in New Orleans and never grow bored. Trust me. There are men in sparkly bras, women practically naked, people dressed as trees. One person was dressed as a piece of poop and I am not making that up.

Anyway, first Donna had to try to find something on the menu that would not kill her. "Oh! There's shrimp and clams! Or I could have scallops with lobster! How about the crayfish!" We were in hysterics. Even her old favorite, potatoes (you have never known a person to be more fond of potatoes. She would MARRY potatoes had she not already married herself over the Who Dat thing) (She would be Mrs. Potato Head) (She would be Mr. Potato Head's other woman. Mrs. Potato Head would come make hash browns out her ass. Girlfriend likes her a potato, is the point I am trying to get across to you) were cooked IN SHELLFISH.

Finally she got the catch of the day, which believe it or not did not come in a shell, and we were enjoying our dinner when WHOOOMP! The bartender slapped a gigantic thing of oysters on the bar and started, I don't know, shucking them? Whatever you do to oysters. And we thought it was maybe a one-time deal, but girl. It was like he was Sisyphus or something with the boulder and the hill. WHOOMP. Another tray of oysters. He was never-ending with his oysters.

"You know, I don't have an Epi-Pen," Donna said nervously.

ShelldonnaAnyway, she lived, obviously, or else I might have led with that.

WeddingOther than nearly killing Donna, New Orleans is a festive town. In case you didn't know. There seemed to be a tradition of people getting married and inexplicably parading down the street with their guests as a band played jazz, and every time one of those bands went by us, I'd say "I could go for some Zatarain's."

Donna usually answered me "Who dat?" Really, it is never good to have two people who get such a charge out of their own selves together like that.

BeadsandcrownOne of the wedding guests threw his beads at me, probably because I was standing there with my hoots just out and proud. Anyway it gives us all ample opportunity to enjoy my metal crown.

BookkittySpeaking of New Orleans traditions, am I the only person who goes there and heads to the book store?

RollykitAnd finds a kitty to love? Hi, Hulk. "Ampersand pound pound."

I also wanted to go to the voodoo shops, and at some point Donna actually had to work, which is why she was there (whatEVER), so while she did pesky work, I asked the concierge to send me to a real voodoo place, outside of the touristy area.

I took a cab to a real neighborhood, and went to this shopping center that seemed to cater to liberal white people. It had a yoga studio, a food co-op, a healing arts center. You know the drill. Then right in the middle of all that was a voodoo priestess's store.

And also? That day?


PittyHello, pitty pit pit! I love you and your big big head! I hope a white liberal person gives you a home very soon.

Anyway, I went to the voodoo shop and oh, I looked in there for probably an hour. There were powders you could bathe in to, like, put a spell on your own self. There were candles you could buy shaped like a person, and then you buy oils and anoint the candles. So, if I wanted Hulk to love me, which I do not, I'd buy a boy candle and then I guess love-me-Hulk oil and put it on the candle or something.

Oh that store was packed with voodooy thingamabobs. Finally I was drawn to a pink envelope. "What's in here?" I asked the priestess, who looked like a liberal white person. "There's an amulet in there. It draws love to you."

"How much?"

"Three dollars."


So I bought my three-dollar amulet, and sat in the food co-op and read the directions. You had to read the little chant that went with it, so I did, and I put the amulet in my wallet and went outside to hail a cab. A truck with two men riding in back went by, and one whistled while the other screamed out, "I LOVE YOU!"

So there you go. I got my three dollars' worth.

ArchHere's a place where I stopped off for a decaf after my dabble with the dark underworld…

Coffeekitty…and here's the kitty I met at the coffee shop. "Pound pound pound sign! Percent!"

On my last night there, we were pretty tired, and we went down to the hotel restaurant to get a late-night salad. Partayy! We ate up at the bar, where AGAIN I did not have a drink and I really wish you'd relax, and some drunk guy next to Donna said, "So what are YOU two planning on tonight?"

Donna didn't tell me this till we were back up in the room. Not wanting to let on that we were the most boring duo in New Orleans, she said, "We're going up to the room to discuss our game plan" knowing full well that without a word between us, we were headed upstairs to put on our pajamas and sit on our beds and talk, which was precisely what we were in the midst of doing when she relayed the story.

"After careful consideration," she said hysterically, as we fluffed our pillows to lean up on them, "I think we're staying in."

Donna had to go back to work the morning I left, so I penned a note and left it on her bed.

"Hey Donna," I wrote. " I can't believe I forgot to ask you this, but,



Friends · June's stupid life · Travel

Big easy June. Wait.

I am leaving later today for New Orleans! Wooo!

I picked a fine week to stop sniffing glue.

And guess who has not packed one iota yet? I hear you need plenty of iotas for New Orleans. I mean, I kind of packed in my MIND already. Does that help you organized people who are itchy at the prospect of my unpacked pink bag?

I am going to New Orleans because my high school best friend, Donna, is there on business. Why anyone needs to go to New Orleans on business is beyond me. She is a professional crawdad-head sucker. That sounded disgusting. Actually I think she is allergic to shellfish, and are crawdads shellfish? Because am I going to spend the entire trip jamming Epi-Pens into her leg while they make us eat crawdads? Isn't that what you do in New Orleans other than expose your hooty-hoots for beads?

Do you like my detailed knowledge of where I'm going? Do you like all the research I've done? Hell, I'm just putting it in the GPS and asking for the good voodoo shops once I get there.

Anyway am excited. And this blog will go quiet for a few days. I still do not have a ding and dang cell phone, so I can't keep up with you, and I haven't had time to look around for old posts to post.

SORRY. Geez. You know, some people go MONTHS without posting, Miss Doxie. Ima go four days and y'all are gonna have 88 fits, aren't you?

I am bringing my camera, and I will not even DIGNIFY your hysterical, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THE PETS?!?!?" questions. I am putting them in the bedroom and closing the door. Survival of the fittest. Roger will be fine when I return.

My best friend from high school, Donna, and I met the very first day of school. They put us both in the deaf homeroom. Is it okay to say "deaf"? They change what's sensitive and what isn't, but I think you're still allowed to say that without someone sending me a scathing email. Anyway, I swear to you it was all deaf kids and the two of us. I was sitting there, in the first five minutes of high school, thinking, This is awful. Everyone in high school is so QUIET. Is this what it's gonna be like?

I saw a girl near me who had hair EXACTLY LIKE MINE who seemed to be thinking the same thing. Hours later we were in gym class together, and we had EXACTLY THE SAME fine physical prowess, meaning the gym teacher would just shake his head and let us play badminton in the corner all year, and anyway we came to the theory that they took the loudest girl from North Junior High and the loudest one from South and put them with all the deaf kids so they couldn't disturb anyone.

We still managed to bug everyone else at school.

And now we can irk everyone in New Orleans, and I assure you there will be a minimum of 15 times that Donna and I will be giggling until we have no breath. Because we may be middle-aged now, and she has a fancy job and two kids and so on, but we both still HAVE THIS HAIR and neither of us has matured an iota.

Even though I am packing iotas, I will not get them out.

So have a good weekend, y'all, and I will tell you about my trip when I return. Unless it makes it on the national news before then.

I am berserk · June's stupid life · Travel

Butt Tour 2011

Zzzzzzzz–oh! Is mom's computer finally ready? I logged on in 1712.

I know I never complain about the slowness of this computer. And in general, I have such patience. Instant gratification takes too long.

Anyway, I'm here. I drove straight through. And do you know what I had? Was a lack of ridiculousness on that drive.

I decided to get the oil changed before I left, seeing as I was gonna drive 730 miles and such. The last time the oil had been changed was when Marvin still lived with me; he did all the car things.

So I'm sitting there at the Jiffy Lube, and I thought, you know what I should do? Is check how much money I have. I thought I had about $600 to my name, which was gonna be more than enough for gas and a room, should I not make the whole drive.


That's what I had in checking. A HUNDRED THIRTY-EIGHT DOLLARS.

Do you know who has a tight grip on her finances? Is your pal Money Wizard June, here. Once I perused my account, it made sense. Oh, yeah, I had my roots done. Oh yeah, the emergency vet bill. Oh, right! The lacy bra that was $58.

You know, once you start spending money you chip away at the $600 you were thinking was in there, like an unmoving lump.

Money tips. By June. I am so starting a new segment of this blog.

This $138 cash flow influenced my decision to not stop at a hotel, and also to have a Peanut Buster Parfait for dinner.

So I'm screaming along through 86 states to get home, and I had stopped a few times: for gas, to a rest stop, to get that Peanut Buster Parfait, and I noticed my seat felt kind of, I don't know, sticky.

"Wow, these pants feel like a leather seat," I thought, continuing my vein of smartness.

Edsel had chewed a giant hole in the buttockal/girl parts region of my yoga pants. The yoga pants all the men at Jiffy Lube saw. Basically it was a whole June's Vagina Exposed tour.

I had to pull over, drag my exposed sugar walls to the trunk, get out a skirt, and do the whole "slip on the skirt/slip off the stupid half-eaten yoga pants" move.

I abhor Edsel.

After that I decided I needed caffeine as a reward, and yes I AM supposed to not drink caffeine. Shut up.

I bought the coffee, left the coffee on the counter because I was busy reading emails, had to go BACK INSIDE and get my coffee while the coffee woman–who had star tattoos on the side of her face–laughed at ME, and get in my car.

Fourteen seconds later I spilled the coffee all down the front of my white tank top. I looked like poor Jackie Kennedy's suit when they swore in Lyndon Baines Johnson.

So basically? Fun trip. Good times. Relaxing. I did find a channel on my Sirius radio that is an all-book channel, but they read one book for an hour and you get all into it and they read another book the next hour. Chaps my hide. Well. My exposed buttocks on my hot leather seat is what chapped my hide technically, but still.

The wedding is at 6:00, so maybe I better start worrying about that. It's only eight hours away. Gotta primp.

After all, it's my day.


June's stupid life · Travel

In which June blows off the South to be the bland Midwesterner she’s always been

I'm getting ready to get in the car to leave for Saginaw, and by "getting ready" I mean I'm sitting here blogging.

Somebody just pulled into my driveway to turn around, and I don't know about you, but if we were all in the car in high school? And we pulled into someone's driveway to do that? We'd all shout, "GET OUT THE BEER AND PRETZELS!"

Because, you know. We might be unexpected company. See.

No, I didn't grow up in a totally blue-collar town, with the beer and the pretzels. Why do you ask?

Also? A thing that makes me shudder and wonder why I am here talking to you about all the pressing details of the day? Is the memory of me in the car with my high school friends. Holy cats. We were one of those "Don't Drink and Drive" videos in the making. Sometimes the whole point of the evening was, "Let's drive around and drink!"


So on that note, I'm about to get on the road for 13 hours to be home in time for my cousin's wedding. Yes, I know she already got married in India. We don't believe her and we're making her do it in front of our own eyes here in America where it counts. We all have shotguns and torches.

I have packed nothing and you know that means I will do it hurriedly and get there and realize I forgot my arms.

One thing I did manage to do was ask Marvin if he could come stay with the dogs rather than me taking them to daycare, so I don't have to endure Vomitfest Deux when I get back. He is annoyed with me because today is the first day of school, but I hardly see what one thing has to do with the other. Just show a film strip. Geez.


Junetouchesbull When I went to the movies with Dick and his Whitman the other night, we stopped off and looked at this inexplicable bull. I liked him because he has a barrel chest like Tallulah.

Lu dere statoo of talu somewheres?

Do you like how she was RIGHT NEXT to me and still I could not take an unblurry picture of her?

Anyway. I had better pack. Last time I forgot to bring my migraine meds and I had to seduce the woman at Target pharmacy to give me pills and then I never got a migraine. Annoying.

Okay, I'm off. Carry on.

Friends · June's stupid life · Travel

Love my home-y but where’s my beaches?

You know who I feel sorry for? Is my friend Sandy's husband. Who just wanted a nice week on the Carolina coast, getting away from his demandy-pants job (he took like 87 conference calls while I was there. Do you know where I am rarely needed? Is on a conference call.

In fact recently at work I walked PAST a conference call on my way to make tea, and a Very Important Person said, "June? What are your thoughts?" and I stood there and peed right through my work pants and onto the floor. My THOUGHTS? My thoughts were I might make green tea or perhaps peppermint.

"Oh, we were talking to June on the phone, not you, June," said Very Important Person at work, as he observed me peeing like Edsel and growing an underbite and putting back my tall ears.)

Anyway, Sandy's husband, who Ima call Trojan Horse, is just the nicest person you could ever hope to meet, and let's discuss how Sandy ALWAYS has men who treat her like gold. I mean, this is the first person she actually married, but throughout college and afterwards and so forth, all of her boyfriends were cute, successful and totally, "What can I do for you NOW, Sandy?"

In college, Sandy and I lived in an apartment with her pre-med Rob Lowe-looking boyfriend, who used to get up before she did to make her coffee and scrape the ice off her windshield and warm up her car.

Thirteen years of marriage Marvin never even scraped the ice off my personality. How does she manage to score these men?

Anyway. My POINT is, Trojan Horse, Sandy's husband, was trying to relax and be on the beach and enjoy himself, and he had to be with old Lucy and Ethel, here, giggling and doing EVERYTHING POSSIBLE to stress him out.

When I first got there, I told him he was gonna need a blog name and he said, "Oh, no. Blog names should not be chosen. I should earn it while you're here." So finally at some point during my stay, he was actually getting a word in and telling some story, and he was struggling to find a phrase. "Oh, you know," he said. "It's that thing where something is inside something else."

"A parasite?" Sandy and I both said helpfully. At this point we were just saying the same thing at the same time, having reverted back to being the same person, as we had been in college, except for the part where she is impossibly hot. Yes, STILL.

"No, no," he said, dismissing us and continuing with the story. Then a few minutes later he interrupted himself.

"A TROJAN HORSE! That's the phrase I was looking for earlier."

Sandy and I stared at each other for about .008 seconds before we fell over in hysterics. "In a million years, I'd have never come up with Trojan Horse," I said. "Something that's inside something else. Yes, that says 'Trojan Horse to me," said Sandy, and poor Trojan Horse didn't even get to finish his story.

In other we-are-annoying news, we had been lying on the beach for 79 hours in a row, which was smart of me and my Irish.French.German self and who forgets that she is out there sunning with Armenian Sandy? Is it me? Have I forgotten this since we first laid out together in 1984? Is she always brown as a little toasty tidbit and am I always a bloated red Western European person at the end of every tanning session? Who learns, ever?

So I decided to go inside for a spell and my Pal from MA called me, because it's important that Pal from MA keep me abreast of her every move even when I'm on vacation. Sandy had come up, too, but was going back out, and said to me while I was on the phone, "Bloodey bloo bloo dee bloo key."

"Okay," I said, concentrating on Pal from MA.

When I was going to go back to the water, I thought, gee. I wonder what Sandy said about the key. I looked on the table by the door but only saw the rental car key. I called her on her cell, but she didn't answer. I locked the door and went to the beach.

"I locked the door," I announced proudly.

"And you brought the key, right?"

We stared at each other, horrified, each hoping the other was joking.

Who had to get a WAGON, with WHEELS on it, and scale the balcony of our condo like he was Spiderman? Was it beleaguered Trojan Horse? Who wanted to stick my face in the ocean till I stopped squirming, do you think?

And then do you know what happened? DO you? DO YOU? Poor Trojan went back to the water, probably to swim out his annoyance, and he got STUNG BY A JELLYFISH!


It was probably a jellyfish named June.

He came inside and showed his injury to us. "Can't you die from those?" I asked helpfully. "No, those are man-o-wars," said Sandy. "Or maybe it's Trojan Horses," I said, loving myself. Sandy and I giggled and carried on while Trojan went inside to Google "What to do with a jellyfish sting."

"I'll pee on you!" I called to him.

It was maybe 20 minutes later Sandy and I were talking, on a shocking note, and I said, "Poor Trojan Horse."

"Why?" she said, having already completely forgotten his injury.

Do you know what I should do? Set up a tip jar for Trojan Horse. Not that he needs it. Just because at this point I know you feel as bad for him as I do.

Plus, he had to look at my beach hair the whole time.

One thing we did NOT do to poor Trojan Horse was involve him in the wine shenanigan. Now, let me add the caveat that Sandy is the least alcoholic person on the planet, even though this story is gonna sound like we should get our Ouija Boards and call up Betty Ford.

It was 4:00 p.m. and Sandy said, "I think it's late enough for wine, don't you?"

"Oh, absolutely," I said, ever the enabler. "Let me get you some out the fridge, here."

So I got a bottle of white out, and we worried for a minute there wouldn't be a corckscrew at the condo. There was, but it was one of those very rudimentary ones that had no leverage to it, you just screw and pull. Screw and pull.

Story of my life.

I don't even know what Sandy was doing, although I suspect she was playing with my makeup, as Sandy and I have always been obsessed with each other's makeup and will some day give each other pinkeye and die. Or perhaps Trojan Horse. So there was me, screwing and pulling, screwing and pulling, screwing and pulling, and that DANG CORK would not come out.

"What is going ON over there?" she asked eventually.

Girl. I cannot begin to tell you how bad that cork did not want to come out that bottle. That cork and that bottle were in love. They had made a lifetime commitment. There weren't NUTHIN' gettin' that cork out that DING and also DANG bottle.

Here is an action shot of Sandy, hacking at it with a knife. This was seconds before she said, "You'd better not be photographing this for your blog."

Oh we did everything. We Googled it. We called my mother (not home) (I.am.sure). We called my old boyfriend who owns a brew pub. "The cork is dry," he said. "You know, many good wines these days come with a screw cap; it no longer means it's cheap."

Because that was helpful.

Girl, we were IN it then. We were getting that DANG cork out if it was the last thing we did. And I am happy to report we never once forced Trojan Horse to come in off the beach.

Finally? We managed to shove that in-love cork into the bottle and we strained the wine using the coffee filter. I told Sandy she had better enjoy every.drop. of that wine.

And she did.

Over the course of three nights, because who is a lightweight? "Oh! I've had communion! I have to lie down in the snow! I'm so dizzy!" Who must have been a delightfully cheap date in high school?

So it was a fun trip. It was good to get away from it all. With our cells, our iPhones, our iPads, the TV, my blog comments, and free wi-fi.

It's the simple things that make you happy.




Family · June's stupid life · Travel

I’m back in the South where I belong. Where’s my fatback? Oh. It’s attached.

I have returned, without incident. Except for the part where my smoke alarm went off at 3:17 this morning. It just went off for maybe three horrifying, jarring beeps then stopped. And it was not the "I am running out of batteries" beep. It was the real thing.

So after being RIPPED from sleep, I had to lie there and think up horrid reasons why that happened. Was the fire smoldering and would start back up any second? Was there an intruder blowing smoke into the alarm so I'd get up, then he could hack me to bits? The whole thing was restful.

I did notice that both dogs and both kittens were sleeping with me–Anderson and Roger in a tight little kitten ball. They recovered from the smoke-alarm-alarm sooner than I did.

At any rate, I must scream off to work now, but before I go, here is what I did in Saginaw, other than visit 49330932444 people in 48 hours, and I cannot TELL you how I enjoy people emailing and calling, "I see you're coming to Saginaw for three hours! Any chance we can get together?" NO! There is NO CHANCE I can cram ONE MORE THING IN when I come back for these teensy visits. Why must people LIKE me?

I bought me a ring.

My Aunt Kathy has this ring, and her daughter my cousin Katie just loved it and used to borrow it all the time, so eventually my Aunt Kathy got one for her and for her other daughter, my cousin Maria. Everyone was sporting their pretty diamond all weekend and I said, I WANT ONE! so my aunt and I headed to the jewelry store and I swooped in and bought it. Like I'm rich or something.

Oh, it was on SALE. And they have this year-to-pay-it-with-no-interest thing. Look, any store in my hometown is just excited anyone is buying anything. They'll cut you a deal.

I just love it. I stared at it the whole way home on the plane. I am certain I did not look touched in the head.

Okay, my ring and I must go to work.

Family · June's stupid life · Travel

It took me four days to fly out to Saginaw

I am here, finally, because what a smooth, unharried journey. Holy sheep dip. Also, I am typing like the wind because my cousin is in the shower and as soon as she is done we have to scream on over to the pedicure place, then over to the shower (I know! We just TOOK showers! BAH) and then I have to drive to a whole 'nother city. My visits home are never what you'd call lazy.

My first flight was delayed, which was fine because it meant I could just hang at home and kiss Anderson and his tapeworm and so forth. Which is gone, because I had time to get him to the vet and dewormed yesterday.

Also, I wish every0ne in my family would stop being jocular and talking and so forth so I can blog in peace. It's quite distracting.

Anderson was quite popular at the vet and everyone loved his name. I was careful to say someone from my blog named him, and they all sort of ignored me like I was crazy. Good LORD how much talking must everyone DO in this house? Can't we all catch up with each other silently?

Anyway, after the fun trip to the vet, I checked in online, paid for my bag online, resented paying for my bag online and finally drove the 10 minutes it takes me to get to the airport. I found parking about 30 steps from the gate. Did I mention I love living in a small town? Go to hell, LAX.

When I got inside, there was a line like everyone was waiting to get on The Matterhorn, and again I am certain that is a hep reference to an amusement park ride. I do not go in for amusement parks. My brain is an amusement park.

I am sorry to tell you I went into the first-class line and insisted they take my bag because I had already checked in online. And can you believe they did it? Obviously they knew the star quality they were dealing with.

Then I got searched at security. They picked me randomly, because I am clearly a terrorist. I was standing behind the posts, waiting for my anal glands to be expressed or whatever, and the woman behind the xray thing said, "Ma'am, which shoes are yours?" "The pink ones," I said. Then some wise guy said, "NO! THOSE ARE MINE!" Everyone's a comedian.

The fact that I am writing you not from airport prison may tip you off to the part where I made it through. But when I got to Detroit? THAT flight was delayed. I was 90 minutes from home and I sat in the airport for two hours and changed gates twice.

Some guy tried to pick me up on that last flight. "I'm gonna turn off my Blackberry," he said. "When there's an attractive woman next to me I'd rather talk." He asked me where I was headed, and I said Sagianw, which made sense because why the hell else would I be taking the Detroit-to-Saginaw flight, and he said, "Lots of black there." He did that thing where he whispered "blacks" like it was a bad word, or a thing he KNEW he shouldn't say but of course it'd be PERFECTLY okay to say it to me, the white supremicist that I am.

Yeah. THAT'S the way to charm me, you racist eff. He went on about welfare and irresponsible people and I grttted my teeth and picked up my book, and he TURNED THE PHONE BACK ON while we were taking off. Talk about responsible people.

Anyway. Now I am here and my cousin Katie (of "Aunt Katie, are you a lesbian?" fame) is staying at my mother's house so we can see each other and she has come in twice while I have been blogging and I AM TRYING TO BLOG NOT BE INTIMATE WITH FAMILY. GOD.

Okay, off to get my tones done.


Family · June's stupid life · Travel


Well, my bags are packed. I'm ready to go. Taxi's waitin' outside my door. If by "taxi" you mean my own car.

Anyway, here we go, off to my Aunt Kathy's house. Which by the way is not in Michigan, for those of you thinking I was going to Michigan. Such as Hulk. Hulk was out getting a bikini wax thinking he was gonna see Marvin and me this weekend, but he is not.

We have to stay overnight at a hotel on the way to our destination, and yesterday Marvin said, "I got us a hotel in a town called Charleston–"

As soon as he said that, I started doing the Charleston.


"–they take dogs for an extra $25 a night. Edsel doesn't weigh more than 35 pounds yet, does he?"

"Why aren't you saying anything about my Charleston?" I breathed.

"I had no idea what you were doing. I was hoping it would just stop," said Marvin. Who is no fun. And who might as well have lived in the depressing '10s or some other dull decade.

Anyway. My Aunt Sue will be there, at Aunt Kathy's house, so I can blame her for anything that goes wrong. Also in attendance will be her grandson Devon, as well as my Uncle Bill who you may recall needed a job but has FOUND ONE, yay, and he is all fancy in his gainful employment.

Plus also my mother and stepfather will be there. My stepfather just had to call in my migraine prescription in for me because my regular doctor flaked on me.

Also also plus also will be my stepsister and her husband, who happens to be Marvin's best friend. Once many many Thanksgivings ago we had my stepsister come to LA, and she met Marvin's best friend right there at the dinner table and the rest is history. And my mother and I were not obvious and obnoxious about fixing them up or anything, once we saw a spark between them. No, sir.

My point is, there will be many family members there. And for that I am grateful. I am also grateful that I will be introducing them all to Edsel, because what could be better than that?

I am also too grateful for all my readers, faithful and not-so-faithful, and for my commentors who leave me a-chucklin'. I have no idea why I just became Ma Kettle.

I am grateful for my little family, even though most of them are made of fur. I am even grateful for Francis. Who is made of fur and hate. (He would not want me to tell you this, but on Sunday I had work on my lap, and he came and sat on me for an hour, purring and pawing and drooling and being essentially a lovey kitty. If this gets out past you and me we will all be shot.)

I do not know if I will be able to blog from Aunt Kathy's or not, but I have set up some old Junes that I think are funny. And no, I did not rerun the "Tallulah ran away" one again. Lest you kill me dead.

What are all y'all grateful for this year?

Have a fabulous Thanksgiving, everyone, unless you live somewhere not American, in which case have a great, you know, Thursday. Hey, should we do good deed exchange again this year for the holidays? Let me know.


June's stupid life · Photo essays · Travel

In which June remembers she forgot

I just remembered that I forgot to ever tell you about our trip to Savannah, which I realize we took 11 hundred weeks ago. I also remembered that I told this woman at work that I'd help her write a mission statement and then I never remembered it again. You know what I am? Good at keeping track of stuff.

Also, when were we gonna do our next book club? Because I have not even PURCHASED March yet. I have been working on a freelance assignment and also reading the very important Keith Richards autobiography, so there you go. That's what I've been doing with MY time.

Anyway, so yeah. Last month Marvin and I went to Savannah. Where everything is historic. Because somehow they forgot to burn everything down there during the Civil War. Perhaps one of my ancestors was in charge of that particular city or something.

The canines and the felines got to stay home, as my Tea Partier dog-sitter cared for them. No. Wait. See, it was so long ago I have already forgotten. My actual friend in real life Laurie, one of the 87 Lauries who comments here, watched them, and then when we got stuck in traffic on the way home, the Tea Partier helped out. It's all coming back to me now, and I know you all look like Tallulah does here, reading this so-far scintillating post.

Don't you hate it when someone is telling you a story and they sit there going, "Wait, was it last month or in May? Wait, was it Bob or Joe?" and you're all WHO CARES? Just TELL THE STORY.

Do you know what I need, is a dust ruffle or something on that bed.

Anyway. Here was our hotel in Savannah. It was  pretty. It had many floors. Are you jamming out to my exciting writing style right now?

Here was our room. It had a bed. It had a wall. It had a dresser. What if all my posts were like this? How soon would you come over and bang me up the head with concrete?

We had a little balcony and a view of the water and this boardwalky thing, which seemed like it would be nice but in fact we could hear people partayying all night, which got annoying. Here I am before I knew that dreadful fact.

Marvin realized he could stand there and look down women's shirts, so his vacation was all set.

I kept trying to look down men's pants, to no avail.

One thing you do not want to do in Savannah is sport your stilettos, and you know how I am always traipsing around in my spike heels like Carrie Bradshaw. Not only were the roads, you know, cobblestoney, there were 8 million hundred narrow teeny "hello I'm from 1812 and malnourished and my feet are size two" steps everywhere.

We did not actually visit Sylvia, nor Sylvia's mother. Which is a Dr. Hook song. And I am as old as Savannah, with the knowing there is a Dr. Hook song called Sylvia's Mother.


Dr. Hook also sang my 9th grade prom song, Sharing the Night together. Which fortunately for us all I will not share with you tonight together.

But speaking of songs no one should ever have to hear again, Marvin got up before me, as he is wont to do, and FOUND A SALE ON CDs in Savannah. It's like the man can sniff these things out. He has CD-dar. He brought back this disgusting bag of CDs that–guess what!–were $10 because no one on earth wants them!

Oooo! I am thinking giveaway!

For instance, who doesn't want to sign up to win the original soundtrack to Sex, A Lifelong Pleasure? It is SO much better than those bootleg versions.

Marvin immediately popped in, so to speak, the Ally McBeal soundtrack. Because do you know who I've missed? Is Vonda Shepard. Do you remember how ridiculous Vonda "never heard of her before or since" Shepard was on every episode of Ally McBeal, singing at the bar they managed to get to EVERY DAY despite their busy legal careers?

Sadly, I must YouTube the Ally McBeal theme song starring Vonda  Shepard now, because you have completely wiped it from your memory and you must relive it as I did.


"I believe I am ready for love hasanskafjkld." What does she say there? WHAT?


And what $10-per-disgusting-bag collection of useless CDs would be complete without a Mev Griffin CD? Yes, it IS like a dream, Merv! And look! This originally went for $14.99! So we got a deal with this CD alone! I mean, except for the part where the WHOLE WORLD went, "pffft!" at that price.

At any rate, thank heavens the rest of the trip involved walking around and eating things and shopping and eating things and stopping for things to eat and touring old stuff and maybe getting a bite to eat, maybe.

Once, Marvin was trying to make a serious point and I looked over and his teeth were all red from his cherry shave ice, which by the way, Marvin will ALWAYS stop for a shave ice if it is there. Anyway he looked like when we were kids and they gave you those red tablets you swished in your mouth that checked for plaque. Do you know what I'm talking about? Or did I dream that with Merv Griffin?

At one point we were, oh look!, eating something, and I realized Marvin had never tried coffee. He always says he HATES coffee, and yet has never tried it. So I made him try mine.

That went well.

So then I made a list of all the foods Marvin hates. You know, he really is a picky eater. You'll note I crossed out Spatz bread. That is this Saginaw bread that he hates, but he said he WOULD eat it if there were no other bread. I hardly think that counts and it should stay on the list, but what are you gonna do?

We went walking one night and passed a band playing in a bar. The guy on drums had a fake butt on. Loved him.

On our last day, we went to one of the islands off of Georgia, and the best best best thing happened.

For ten years, I lived in LA. And I have been to Mexico. And I was in Wales, too. NONE of those times did I ever see a freaking dolphin. I ran TWENTY-THREE MILES along the Pacific Ocean once, and all my running mates kept saying, "Oh! Did you see that dolphin?" and NO! No I did NOT!

I was beginning to think dolphins were this huge joke the whole world was playing on me. Once my father and I went to Cancun, and as SOON as we got there, I went to the bathroom and he said, "Dolphins were swimming in the ocean while you were gone!" and do you think I saw any the whole trip?

Last summer when I went to the beach with Sleeping Beauty, I was famous at my motel for wanting to see dolphins. People would pass me and say, "We saw some over yonder!" and me? No.

Well. On this day, I was watching a pelican, that's all I was doing, when this BIG OLD FIN jumped out of the water!

"OH!" I said. Then I saw it again! "OH OH OH!" I said, evidently becoming Dick and Jane.

Two little girls were playing nearby and I said, "Did you guys just see those dolphins?" "Where?" they asked, and right then, we saw them again.

"Look! Oh look! See see see!" I said, grabbing Puff and Spot.

I saw eleventy dolphins that day and I do not know why I got so lucky.

Marvin didn't see any.

Anyway, that was our trip. I bought a lovely ring at a museum, too, by the way.

Okay, now really. That was our trip. The end.

You totally have the Ally McBeal theme song in your head, don't you? HAH!

June's stupid life · My pets · Travel

In which June wrestles a pickle and accuses her cat of white supremacy

Marvin is getting poor Henry right now; he stayed overnight at the vet. His little cat leg is not broken–he has an abcess. Which means someone bit him (THREE TIMES!) and he got an infection. Now, it could have been one of the cats here when they were playing, but there's also an orange cat he spars with outside.

Winston is friends with this orange cat, so I don't know why Henry isn't. Is it because Winston and the orange cat are both stripy? Is Henry a white supremacist? Are Winston and Henry gay, and the orange cat is interfering with their love?

Perhaps I have too much time on my hands.

Anyway, $400 later, he had to be sedated and given an IV of antibiotics for his pain and fever and also shaved and drained, which I'm sure will be pretty.

In the meantime, hey, did I mention I went to our nation's capitol? Unless you are reading this in another country, and you're all, no, you were in Dublin?

I have no idea if Dublin is the capitol of Ireland or not. Hi, Faithful Reader Gra. And will you send me your address so I can mail you your inflatable fruitcake or whatever you won whenever you won it?

At any rate, here is Sleeping Beauty in front of the Capitol Building. And right here is where we lost her boyfriend in the ridiculous crowd at that rally. Because what people? Holy mother of pearl. And do we continue to think we're funny, with the always showing Sleeping Beauty asleep? Who adore themselves?

Despite the hundreds of thousands of people, everyone was pretty nice and said, "Excuse me" and so forth, but I'll tell you what. We could not hear or see a  thing. I mean, other than other people. It's not like we were hearing total silence. Can you hear total silence?

So we went to a nearby pub and watched the whole thing on their TV. I know! But we were with a big crowd there who had done the same thing, so it was still exciting and fun.

Drink But here's the thing. I realize I have become Southern. Which, I know to actual Southerners I will never be Southern because I was not born here. But we had walked a long damn-ass way to the rally, then again to the pub, and it was packed, and we stood at the bar to watch the TV, and there were MEN sitting in the chairs.

I stood there fully expecting that at any minute, the men would see us and offer their chairs. And they DIDN'T! And I know you're gonna tell me that Washington, D.C. is the South, but trust me. It isn't. People do not wave when they pass each other. Because they would be waving all the time. And no one says "ma'am" or "sir."

Anyway, those men never offered their chairs. And I was getting SO MAD. Then two more chairs opened up, and two YOUNG men RACED to get them! I was appalled. Chivalry is dead.

Then yesterday morning, I had to take the subway to the train station because Sleeping Beauty ran the Marine Corps marathon, and a nice man with luggage offered me his seat. His bag read Georgia.

He was my people.

Finally, I did want to tell you I cheated while I was there.

I met a Mastiff. His ridiculous name is Pickles. Who loved him more than life itself? Who weighs 190 pounds? No, not me, you dick. And you know what's smart? Sticking your face in a giant strange dog's face.

Also wrestling with a 190-pound dog.

He WOOFED and the whole floor shook.

Anyway. Want a Mastiff now. How do you think that request is going to go?

Okay, must attend to old bald-armed Henry now.

June's stupid life · Times I Amused My Own Self · Travel

Don’t get Madison, but I don’t Lincoln to anything in this one. Quit Reagan on me!

I'm in D.C. and I'm having a capitol time! Bah!

The train ride was kind of fun. I got to sit and watch the world go by. The only part about the train is, why do other people have to exist?

The old lady next to me was just fine. I had no issue with her. Well, every once in awhile she would kind of suck her dentures in this disgusting way, but what are you gonna do? It was the least of my worries.

All around me I had people speaking on their cell phones at the tops of their lungs ("NOW, THIS IS CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION! BE SURE TO MARK IT CONFIDENTIAL!"). Then the woman behind me made friends with the people across from her, and she was one of those people who only talks about herself. Says the woman with a blog about herself.

But really, she would tell something about herself ("I have horses! My stallion, he likes to show off! He sure does. I walk up and he goes, 'Neeeiiighhhh!' He sure does. Umm-hmmm.") and her neighbors would politely say, "Really! Wow!" and then there'd be a pause. "My husband, he likes my hair long. He says, 'Don't never cut it, Sheila!' Nope!" (He is NIXON any plans for her to cut her hair.)

You know, not, hey, do you guys like horses, or how do you guys feel about stallions, or do you like the Italian Stallion? It's called CONVERSATION. It's not just running commentary about YOU.

Says the woman who is providing running commentary about her.

My HipstaPrint 0(3)
The Greensboro train station was pretty, as was the one in D.C., although as you can imagine, dramatically different in the busyness factor. What people here? Good gravy. Last night Sleeping Beauty and I walked down to CVS and I had to wedge through nine hundred million people to get an eyebrow pencil, and wait in line seven weeks.

My fake Chilean miner mustache is annoying, so tonight when we go to Halloween parties I am drawing one on. In case you were worried sick about why I went to CVS. (I don't have enough HARRISON to sport my own mustache. BAH!)

Sleeping lives in a cute neighborhood across the street from a store called "Convenient Store." She knew I would be pleased about that. And not so convenient, as they did not have eyebrow pencils. And they never offer to CARTER bags home. Woo!

Also too, look what she has!

My HipstaPrint 0
Does she have a pooky bear puppy noodleyhead? Is he big big big? Do I love him so bad? His name is Puck. He is wearing a jaunty Halloween court jester collar. He is BUSHed.

Last night he slept on me. Splayed all across me. All 70 pounds of him. I was so HAPPY he picked me. I love him so bad. Did I mention that?

I had better go get ready so we can rally and take lewd pictures with the Washington monument and so forth. Sleeping Beauty and Puck are out having their morning CONSTITUTIONal. Get it?

Oh, with the Washington humor. I should BILL you for it.