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!



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.)


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.

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?


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.

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 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.



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?

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.

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,