Bye Bye, Pie!

I bought a toothbrush

Last night, I went to Ned's. He seemed to have packed a lot of living into his dwelling in the few days since I'd been there. A huge golf bag was in the living room, and some aloe vera gel was on the floor. And "Why is that ball in here?" I asked him.

"What ball?" he asked.

Honest to god, he did. "What ball?" Oh, never mind. I must be seeing things.

Anyway, I just got back from another ding-dang huge walk with the dogs, and now I must shower, as we are headed to Winston-Salem, for a change, because it's my friend Charlie's 30th birthday and he's having a partayyy. He invited us all on Facebook, and he wrote, "I'd send an invitation to each and every one of you by hand, but I'm paralyzed." I mean, you can't argue with that.

Ned hurt his back playing golf yesterday, and my plantar fasciitis will be acting up due to my long walk with these smelly creatures I call dogs, and I have work to do this weekend and I'd really rather just fool around and do dumb things.

Ned would rather sit around and listen to his old records with the turntable I got him, but even THAT isn't going so smoothly.

 

Yeah.

But my dumb smelly dog survived having an Easter Island head this week.

And despite our aches and pains and skips, Ned and I have found each other at this late stage in life, when we're practically dead and unable to see giant balls in the living room.

And I have a steady paycheck again.

And Charlie? Charlie slipped on a damn rock, and yes. He can't move. And it sucks. And he's pissed off. But he's here. He's here to make us laugh, and to still be cute as all getout, and to get the truth out of you even when you don't want to hear it.

There's something magical about Charlie. Something about his open face, and kind eyes, and total lack of judgyness makes everyone hold a mirror up to themselves, and, sadly for him, you end up telling him things you don't want to. Things you never even wanted to admit to yourself. It happens to him everywhere he goes, with total strangers and old friends.

So, yes. What happened to him blows. And he has yet to make sense of why this happened, and what it will mean for him in the years to come. But having Charlie on this planet is something we all should be glad about.

So we are gonna celebrate the shit out of his 30th birthday. Is what we're gonna do.

Then we might buy a toothbrush. I'm not sure.

Come on, Precious

I forgot to tell you that when I ran into that little kid the other night from the neighborhood, the kid who used to own Snowflake before his untimely postman-eating demise, she had a question for me.

"Do you have a lot of markers in your house?"

I mean, it was in the context of precisely nothing. We'd all said hi to each other, she'd asked if Edsel was still shy (well, let's see. The part where he's wrapped his leash around me 50 times and is behind me, trying to crawl up inside me, might tip you off, but whatever. Bright child.) and then she came out with that query.

In some countries, that is the traditional greeting. ¡Hola! How's it going on your number of markers?

"You know, I don't," I told her. "I don't think I have any. I don't have kids, so markers never really come up."

I may have alluded once or twice to the lack of brightness of these ragamuffins in my neighborhood, and I could see those wheels trying to churn.

"You don't? You don't have kids?"

"Nope."

She looked completely taken aback. "Well, when are you going to have any?"

Am seriously wondering if my mother hired her.

Anyway, hiiiii! How is everyone? It's the holiday weekend, so no one is going to read me at all, ever. You'll all be busy with the grilling and the eating of baked beans and the getting out your white shoes. Truth be told, I've been wearing white pants for a couple weeks, and I've been rocking them, too. All this in white pants, man. Woooo!

I've been working out 45 minutes, five times a week, due to this stupid challenge I'm in at work (my team is in second place) (have hired someone to bang Team #1 right in the knees, though), and yesterday I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror--

--I like that. "Caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror." Like I'm not Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs in that mirror all day. Anyway, I saw myself and man! I looked good! See? Am back to being Buffalo Bill again.

Come on, Precious!

Should I get that poor kid a pack of markers? Or will her negligent parents think I'm a molester?

But none of this is why I forced you to log on here today. I brought you here because Ned has Nedflixed the terrible movie we saw last Sunday, and man, was it terrible. It was my fault, too: I picked it.

 

Long ago, I dated someone who said I always wanted to see any movie that showed someone standing in a field. It was really one of the more astute observations anyone's ever made of me. And sure enough. Oh, field! I pick this one!

As soon as it was over, there was an old lady behind us, who said, "Jesus." Completely exasperated. We loved her. Anyway, here is Nedflix.

To the Wonder

The name of Jesus Christ, delivered derisively from one of our fellow moviegoers in the back of the theater, was the first feedback June and I received upon the conclusion of To the Wonder, the new film by Terrence Malick. Malick is the director of such obtuse head scratchers as The Tree of Life and The Thin Red Line, and To the Wonder doesn’t disappoint in that arena. What it does disappoint in, however, is everything else.

To the Wonder stars Ben Affleck and Olga Kurylrnko as Neil and Marina, two young lovers with nothing better to do. Having met and fallen in love in Mont Saint-Michel, they return to Oklahoma to set up house. Life is pretty good when you’re hanging out in Mont Saint-Michel, falling in love and gazing off meaningfully with your own inner dialogue playing in your head. That shit gets old pretty fast in Oklahoma though, and Neil and Marina run into problems once reality sets in.

Rachel McAdams and Javier Bardem make inexplicable appearances in the movie, neither much affecting the lives of the main characters at all. Bardem’s role is not a small one, yet we see him with Marina only once or twice, and never do we hear his take on her situation. His role seems to be a parallel one with its own issues and crisis, but not one that makes much comment on the movie’s main theme. McAdams’ character has the good sense to walk away early.

Most of the dialogue in To the Wonder, as with many of Malick’s films, is delivered in whispered voiceover narration. While this device does significantly reduce having to listen to Ben Affleck flap his yapper, it gets old pretty fast as well. I don’t intrinsically dislike Malick’s films. They are always well shot, and I believe he has something to say. What he does say he delivers with subtlety and without clobbering his viewer over the head. Sometimes, though, you wish he’d just say it.

We admitted we were powerless

Last night, I came home from work and stampeded to the refrigerator as if I were an 8th-grade boy, and the light was out in there. "Well, crap," I thought. "I've never replaced a refrigerator lightbulb in all my days. Guess I'll have to go to the store."

I headed to the TV to watch my intellectual Long Island Medium, and?

Nothing. No TV.

In 1989, when that terrible San Francisco earthquake was happening, my then-roommate Sandy and I were watching TV. Probably intellectual A Current Affair, cause we watched that a lot. The point is, they interrupted to tell us about the earthquake. They interviewed a man who said, "I thought it was a plane flying over. But my wife said, 'No. It's an earthquake.' Right then I knew. It was an earthquake."

To this day, Sandy and I make fun of that poor quick man. Did you, sir? Did you know right then it was an earthquake? After your wife TOLD you? Did you? Every time something is obvious, Sandy and I will pull out that line.

"I searched my wallet and it was completely empty. Right then I knew, I was out of money."

"The panther leaped out from the dark and sunk its teeth into my neck. Right then I knew, a panther was attacking me."

"When I woke up, there was a big orb in the sky and the darkness was no longer there. Right then I knew, it was morning."

You get my drift. So after my fridge light was off and the TV was blank, right then I knew. I was out of power.

Of course, I had to go around flicking lights and looking at clocks and trying my food processor.

My food processor. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAA! I know you're probably worried sick about how I got dinner on the table, with no power. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA! again.

I got my cell phone and called Duke Energy. Oh, I was attitudinal. "Yes," I said, because I always start my I'm-calling-a-business phone calls with "Yes." "I just got home, and I have no power. This is unacceptable." In my mind, I'd turned completely into Miss Grundy in the Archie comics.

"Yes, ma'am. We cut your power off for unpaid bills. You haven't paid since January."

!!!!!!!!

Turns out, they'd been sending me electronic bills only. I ASSURE you I never said I wanted an electronic bill, because I know myself and I can be, you know, scattered, and there's no quicker road to disaster than to EMAIL me a bill when I get 20492404024 emails a day. I PROMISE you they tricked me into it, by offering it to me and if I didn't UNcheck a box they'd do it automatically or something.

And I remember getting those stupid emails, and once or twice clicking over to pay my bill online. It'd always say, "Enter your account number" and I'd always be at work NOT KNOWING my account number, so my theory was I'll pay it when the paper bill comes.

I guess I did that for four months in a row. And now I don't got the pow-a.

 

Seriously? You thought I could tell this story WITHOUT this stupid song?

So I paid the damn bill and ASKED FOR A PAPER ONE FROM NOW ON, and hung up and waited. They said I'd get power again around 9:30. Or possibly midnight.

My plan had been that I was gonna do 15 minutes on my new bike and 30 minutes of Tracy Chapman video, but that was out. So the dogs had their lucky day and got a 45-minute walk. And yes, I AM 100% completely totally crippled up today.

It was a perfect night for a walk, though. It was warm, but there was a good breeze. We were having us a time till we got to the cul-deeee-sac, as they say here, and a huge black Lab mix came barrelling out of his house. He galumphed over to us, then did that scary stand stock-still thing.

"YOUR DOG'S OUT! YOUR DOG IS OUT HERE!" I was screeching, when that black giant dog LUNGED at my dogs, and I dropped their leashes because they're less assy when I do that, and Edsel--

--yes, you heard me--

EDSEL got all up in that black Lab mix's business. He snarled and jumped RIGHT UP on that dog, pushing him over, and then they did that scary two-dogs-in-a-fighty-ball thing. I know! Clearly it's pets-out-of-character week here at House of June. Next Lily will have a bad fur day and look hideous.

Lu kind of barked half-supportively. "go, um, underbytey dog. you go--hay, we gots treet out heer, mom?"

"Ranger! Get back here!" The black dog's person came out and my racist dog stopped with the fighting. I was still a little shaken when I ran into the Snowflake kids. "HI ETHEL! HI LALUUUULAH!"

oh! dis be lu treet?

When we got home, I still did not GOT THE POW-A! and I will stop that now. I weeded my back yard until my back snapped off, then I took my sweaty self on my front porch and read a book for awhile (The Orchardist, by Amanda Coplin. Starts slowly but stick with it). I listened to the katydids and watched the swallows fly over.

When it got too dark, I went inside and ate some strawberries, and because I was sitting there in the dark, with absolutely no distractions, it was like I was eating them from a sensory deprivation tank or something. I was acutely aware of which strawberries were sweet, which were still too tangy, and so on.

While the moon shone into my bedroom window, I snuggled with Talu sideways across my bed and talked to Ned on my cell phone. "You don't have any POWER?" asked Ned, who'd probably never forget to pay a bill for four months. "You want to come to my house?"

"No, thank you. I'm happy," I said.

And I was.

The Resistance

Two German shepherds have moved in to the house around the corner, and their back yard faces ours. There used to be other dogs who lived back there, and Edsel and Tallulah would run the length of the fence with them in utter delight. Now that there are two new neighbors, and German ones at that, old Goofus and Gallant, here, need to determine who's boss, so now every time they go out they're all

WOO WOOO WOOO WOO WOOO! WOO! ASH HOLESES! WOO WOO! AND NOTHER TING: WOOO WOO WOOO!

So that's relaxing. And I love how tough they are when there's a fence separating them. If these medium-sized mutts met those giant German shepherds in REAL life, it'd be all, oh, haiii. you, um, sertenlee pretty, mr. and miss german shephurd! yes, dunka shane! dunka shane for showing nice teefs! we has to, um, oh, look at time! yes, teef pretty. okay, gooden tags or whatev!

In other news, I got an exercise bike off Craigslist.

Do you like my extremely realistic action shot, where I did not at all just get up right now in my robe and take a photo?

It's an Airdyne, so the harder I push on it, the more air blows back and it creates resistance. Sometimes I kiss the bike with my tongue so I have the French resistance. In other news, brain has officially snapped.

Ned and I sat here like idiots the other night, waiting for the woman who sold me the bike to show up. We were so officially annoyed with her, because she'd said she'd get it to me two weeks ago, and then she didn't and then she went to the beach, and in the meantime my plantar fasciitis wasn't going anywhere so THANKS, and then she was an hour late Monday night. But when she got here, she was super hot, so we had that as a reward.

And thin? I hope it was the bike that made her thin, but in fact she said she used it maybe seven times. I've used it once so far, I mean other than that official genuine workout I am doing in the photo above, and I do not look like her yet.

I guess that's all I have to tell you about my dumb life, other than we went to see an EVEN DUMBER movie last night, and in the past three days we have seen two extra-dumb movies. Last night's was a documentary on the making of The Shining, which seemed like it'd be interesting, but really it was made by someone who clearly smokes too much pot and has too much time on his hands.

"The number 42 shows up many times in the movie. It's uncanny." Then they show one time the number 42 shows up in the movie. Oh, and he counted.  There were 42 cars in the parking lot at the beginning of the movie.

OooooWEEEEEEEEEEoooooo!

But somehow in the course of the evening, Ned and I got to talking about aspirations. Not like when you get too much fluid in your lung, but I mentioned the Very Important Lesson I learned while watching LA Shrinks, and shut up it's a good show. The hot shrink with the lip implants said in order to be happy, you have to 

1. Have something to do (other than watch The Shining 3239320 times)
2. Have something to love
3. Have something to look forward to

"So, what're you looking forward to?" I asked Ned, knowing that what I was looking forward to was when we could leave wherever we were and go make out for 87 hours. Did I mention am still in ridiculous phase?

But I think it has to be bigger than that, the thing you're looking forward to. It has to be loftier than yay, in a few minutes I get to make out with this boy I adore. I should be planning a trip to Spain, or entering Edsel in a Best in Show competition, or  making a line of June wigs or something.

Do you have any aspirations? Any big ones? Anything to look forward to? What are they? And what should mine be, do you think? And if you HAVE aspirations, what's stopping you from achieving them?

Crap. My extremely tough dog just let himself out the screen door to continue yelling at the Germans. I'd better go give this my undivided achtung.

XO, June

Just Bee

I'll tell you what. Yesterday I told you Tallulah wasn't feeling well, but I did not know I'd be BURYING HER IN MY MIND by noon.

Tallulah had been kind of shaking her head in this weird way over the weekend, and on Saturday it was subtle, probably something only I would notice. On Sunday, after Ned and I went to the worst movie of all time, the plan was that I was going to run home and spend some dog time, then go back to his house. But when I got home, Talu's head shake had become really pronounced.

"I have to stay home with this dog," I told Ned, who offered to come over for moral support, and perhaps I have not mentioned he is the nicest boy, ever. But Talu and I forged ahead on our own, and then she did the thing where she wanted me to hold her head all night.

When I came home from work yesterday morning to take her to her vet appointment? Her whole face was swollen. She didn't even LOOK like herself.

That is when I started to panic.

The head shake thing had scared me over the weekend. Does she have meningitis? I wondered, having no idea if dog meningitis was even a thing. But I worried there was something wrong with her brain, because god forbid I ever be calm and try to think positive thoughts. And THEN, when her FACE was distorted? I figured this was it. This was the end of my beautiful doggie girl.

I cried the whole way to the vet, and every time I looked at her face, all puffed and weird, I got upset again. When we got to the vet, she calmly got out of the car and walked right next to me, not pulling on her leash. There was a small schnauzer in the lobby, and Talu was perfectly fine with it.

That made me even more upset.

The tech saw us when we walked in, and said, "We're going to take her right to the back." Usually, you go to a room, talk to the vet, and THEN they take her back to another room to do god knows what to her. But this time they ushered her right into the back room.

At this point, I was in full-on panic. They hadn't even waited for the vet to talk to me. Talu hadn't tried to eat the schnauzer. Her face was so swollen she looked like a different dog.

There was no way my dog was going to make it through the day. I just knew it. I just knew the vet would come in all solemn and say, "You have a very sick dog." Oh, how I cried in that damn vet's office. I curled into a little ball and just sobbed.

I can't live without Tallulah. What, I'm gonna go home and use EDSEL as my primary dog? Seriously? Edsel's gonna have to pull all the dog weight? He'd crumble in a week.

Would I bury Talu in the yard, or have them cremate her? I decided I'd cremate her, and plant a dogwood that I'd scatter her ashes on. I would go to her tree every year on this day and remember how I lost her so soon. I had no Kleenex in my purse, so I got one of the unforgiving brown towels from the dispenser, there.

I couldn't sit still anymore, and I thought maybe if I went to the hallway and paced near the back room where they were working on my expiring dog, she could maybe smell me, and that would be a comfort. So I went to the area and paced. Pace pace paced. Would I go back to work that afternoon, or just lie on my living room floor and scream? Would I ever get over losing this dog? Would the awfulness of this ever cease?

"Are you okay, ma'am?" an 11-year-old tech walked by in Disney-themed scrubs. She's the one who answers the phone there, and she has the worst, most screechy, cloying, loud voice possible, and I always wonder why her workplace or loved ones don't tell her. Her voice is really just awful. It's like a whine and a screech and a wail, all at once, and at top volume. She makes Rosie Perez seem like she could make a hypnosis tape.

"Tape." 1982 called, wants its audio device back.

"No, I'm not okay," I said to the town cryer. "My dog is in there, and it seems bad, and I'm standing here so maybe she can smell me."

Screech touched me on the arm. "I'll go back and check on her," she said.

While I waited, I heard another ridiculously young tech on the phone. "This is Whooo-De-Whoo Animal Clinic. We need an antigen, it's the blahhh dee bleee blahhh antigen. Do y'all have it?"

An antigen? AN ANTIGEN? Was that for TALU? I don't even really know what an antigen is, but if Lu had gens and they needed to get anti, I was worried even sicker. An ANTIGEN? Did she get bitten by a copperhead? Had she eaten poison? Oh, wouldn't you all make fun of me if my DOG got POISONED, JOOONNN!

Bob Marley's Wailer came out of the back room.

"Your dog is fine," Screamora said. "She got stung by a bee. We're giving her a shot and she'll be good as new."

I have always liked that tech. That needle-across-a-record, cat-in-heat-voiced tech. I was so relieved.

Even as soon as she came from that back room, where I had doomed her to live out her last moments, Tallulah looked better than she had. And she was wagging and looking like she actually had a personality, like maybe now she'd eat the schnuazer, if there was any left. I took this picture when we got home, and I don't even know if you can see any swelling at all. I can, but I'm her mother.

"Usually dogs don't take two days to swell up like that," said my vet. "But this steroid shot should do the trick. She'll be fine."

I mean, honestly? I had already anticipated a halved dog food bill. I was already planning to walk just one cur each day, and have that much less fur on my couch. Really? She was going to be fine?

Well, okay. I mean, I figured she would be, but.

So that's the story of my dog's brush with...you know, a bee sting, and the part where I killed her in my mind. Because I'm not one to get hysterical or anything.

Dramatically, June

The one where PJ wears a June suit

Tallulah is sick, and we are going to the vet at 11:00. All she wanted to do last night was squish up next to me and have me hold her hot pitty head. Do dogs' heads get hot when they have a fever? Cause I swear she felt hot.

Anyway, further reports as developments warrant. Also, that floor is GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME. I just was on my knees scrubbing it on Friday, due to the bird carcass that had been in there. And look at it. It looks filthy because of the chipped paint. What was it I was gonna do with it, again?

So here it is Monday, and you may have a Nedflix to look forward to, because we saw the dumbest movie ever made in the history of time ever, at all, ever, yesterday, and I really think it needs to be Nedflixed. So we'll see if Ned'll write one.

I bought a used exercise bike off of Craigslist and it arrives tonight, and Ned is coming over to make sure the deliverer of said bike is not some common murderer, but rather a rare distinctive murderer. The point is, I will nag Ned about Nedflixing that brilliant, sensical, not-at-all-dumb movie tonight.

(Did I ever tell you about when my grandmother was young, and she ordered a rare steak because she thought "rare" meant precious and special? She nearly died when they slapped a big bloody slab of meat in front of her.)

I figured an exercise bike would be a good way to work out with the plantar fasciitis. I know it's what my pal Dick Whitman does, and he looks good. He also eats three peanut M&Ms and then cuts himself off, but I like to think it's all exercise bike, all the time.

But none of this is why I gathered you here today. I GATHERED you because I am finally gonna answer Faithful Reader PJ's questions that she asked me in the comments the other day. Here are her Qs again:

June, I would love to hear about pivotal moments in your life. I would like to hear about how you think your sense of humor developed and who influenced you. Pets! What is the most exciting that that has ever happened to you? What's your biggest challenge in life? Books! What you're reading, recently read.

PJ is clearly obsessed with me and would like to skin me and wear a June suit. And I am just fine with that. Any attention is good attention, if you ask me.

Let's see. When I think of pivotal moments in my life, the following come to mind.

I was, believe it or not, a very shy kid. My parents wanted me to go to an integrated school, because it was the early '70s and that's what you did. So we lived in this mixed neighborhood, and I am glad about that because, for example, I never think the way a friend of mine does: She told me that if a black man is approaching her and no one else is around, she is more afraid than if a white man were approaching her.

That is unbelievable to me. I mean, sometimes men are walking toward you and you just get a bad feeling about them. Once when I lived in Seattle, I was doing a work errand and I cut through the park IN THE MIDST OF DOWNTOWN in the MIDDLE OF THE DAY, and this (white) man was approaching. Every fiber of my being got tingly and alarmed. Lucky for me, someone came out of the park to my left, and do you know the guy who'd been approaching me saw that person coming from my left, and did an abrupt turn BACK INTO the woods? It was so effing creepy.

Anyway, my point is, I got sent to this mixed-race school and that was fine, but by third grade I was pretty much the only white kid, and all the other kids resented me because we were more financially stable and I had lots of clothes and so on. So I got picked on A LOT, and eventually my parents sent me to a private school, and then I had a whole NEW crop of adjustment/fitting in problems, so I decided to become funny.

Am still trying.

I guess another pivotal moment was when I was 12, my parents had just gotten divorced, because turning 12 isn't hard enough, and at a family get-together, I fell off a balcony and got very hurt and nearly died. I think this accounts for my personality, which is sort of nervous, I think. (That was a line from Annie Hall, but still. It applies.)

I see that I have only answered one of PJ's Qs and we are on, like, paragraph number 679 of this post, so I'd better wrap it up and answer her others tomorrow. But I think other pivotal moments in my life were when I left Michigan and headed to Seattle, knowing only one person there. It was one of the greatest things I ever did. I'd been wanting to, you know, NOT LIVE in Michigan since I was 13, and at 27 I finally did it.

There was also a horrible, terrible, obsessive, all-consuming, not healthy, not good relationship I was in when I was young, and I was completely obsessed with the person but we made each other absolutely miserable, and I made the decision to get out of that relationship, and it was SO HARD TO DO. He would call in the middle of the night, or come over and knock on the door, and I would lie in my bed and will myself not to get up, because if I did we'd only get back together for the 394584829494th time and it'd start all over again. The part where I was able to really break up with him? Pivotal. Did not know I had it in me to be that strong.

Also, am certain my divorce was pivotal, but I don't have enough distance yet to see how. I DO know that I cannot remember a lot of 2011, when Marvin left. Isn't that weird? I look at old posts from then, or old emails, and I think, " I said that? I went to that place? I have zero recollection of that at all." So, yeah. Probably pivotal.

I will catch you all tomorrow, and I will fill you in on poor Talu's illness. She keeps sort of shaking her head, like she's Katherine Hepburn, and also smacking her lips. She ate this morning, but she had the enthusiasm of a tree sloth.

Poor Lu.

Okay, then. Pivotally, June.

We Be Free

I just got back from getting my roots done, which interfered with my usual going-to-the-movies-with-Ned thing, but you'll be relieved to know we're going to a movie today anyway. I don't know what we're going to see: we have a depressing deep movie we're considering, and then a depressing deep movie. I will let you know.

I had a fine weekend so far, starting with Ned cooking for me, and what is a shame is there weren't enough green beans. After we ate this, we went out to eat. I am not making that up. We went to the hotel restaurant I like so much, where we had our first date, and got a tomato plate and a little pan of roasted almonds. We were both still totally hungry after our mound of green beans.

I also got Ned some strawberries, because a farmer came to work and sold us all a bill of goods, and also many delicious strawberries off the back of his truck. I ate so many I felt ill, and what I like about me is my ability to know when to say when.

The other thing that happened this weekend is Ned and I went to my company picnic, which was fun, and after we took a walk in the park, and no, I have no idea why these poor deer are here.

They had all kinds of parts missing; one had half an antler, and the other had no tail. It was, like, the most depressing collection of deer statues, ever. And that's saying a lot because deer statues are kind of sad in general.

At the picnic, we sat with Ned's next-door neighbor, who also happens to work with me. He and his wife are from another country, and I am being purposely vague in case they're all, DON'T BLOG ABOUT US. Anyway, they've lived all over the place and are interesting people, and also incredibly good-looking, which is what I require in a friend. We made plans to all go out to dinner at this African restaurant we've all wanted to try. They have kids, so they said, "We'll get a sitter. What night do you want to go?"

Ned was all, "Don't worry about us! Any night! Any night is fine! We've got nothin'! We'll just pick up the phone when you call and get right up and go! That's us! Free as birds! No obligations here!"

Could he have driven the point home more that we don't have kids and they do? Nope! Nothing to tie us down! Not us! CHILD-FREE! That's us! Able to take off at a moment's notice! Yep! We.be.free.

Anyway.

After our picnic and walk, we headed to the Apple store so Ned could fix his iPod, and then I suggested we get ice cream.

You would have thought I'd suggested we head to the premie ward and scalp day-old infants. "WE CAN'T DO THAT!" said Ned, who is really too healthy for his own damn good.

We got frozen yogurt instead, and I really don't see how cake-batter-flavored yogurt can be that much better for you, but there you go. Also, if Ima hang around healthy Ned, why am I not a size two yet?

Pay no attention to the cake batter yogurt.

So, I guess that's all I have to tell you, except that I inexplicably took pictures of all Ned's shoes last night and now I guess Ima have to blog about them since they're sitting there in my Photos file. Also, I KNOW I have to blog about the stuff PJ asked me the day I asked you guys what to blog about. I will do so tomorrow! I promise! I also have to tell you about my brilliant theory about how the people of Brazil are trying to ruin us.

I am full of deep thoughts. And green beans.

Hope your weekend was snappy. Off to see a deep film.

XO,

June. The kind of person who says "film" instead of "movie."

Killer Queen

I have to run to my work picnic this afternoon, but I wanted to scream over here and tell you that when I got home yesterday, Edsel ran to the door like my arrival was a miracle, as he always does. Tallulah wagged stoically. Lily splayed herself gorgeously on the dining room table and looked fluffy.

And Iris walked up with a huge dead bird in her lips.

Dudes.

Y'all.

Iris CAN'T SEE. I had left the back door open to the screen door, and even though the only time she goes out is when I take her back there and she sits with me on the glider and never moves, apparently she decided yesterday was the day to venture out and murder something.

It's the only scenario I can think of, unless the dogs killed a bird, brought it in, and delivered it to Iris. Which I cannot see them having that kind of generosity. Lily would not go out that door if you paid her.

eyeriss prowd. not to eff wif eyeriss. she kill you up wif blynd power. ...wate. anyone there? eyeriss talking to anyone?

I had to call Ned, who was driving home from work and just wanted to live his regularly scheduled life. "Can you come over?" I asked him. "Iris has a dead bird in her lips."

Ned laughed the whole way over here. Then he very manfully swept the bird up for me and kept shoving the dustpan in my face. "Look at it! What kind of poor bird is this? Here! Here it is! In your face! Please to analyze bird, please."

God.

Anyway, that was exciting. And Iris has been prancing around here like she's something, I can tell you that.

That poor bird.

Oh, and who sent me the BB Creme from South Korea? 'Fess up.

I want you to know I did everything I was supposed to yesterday. Here I am drinking water like it's going out of style after giving the dogs a 45-minute walk. And yes, my plantar fasciitis IS killing me today.

Water kind of IS in style right now, isn't it? We're all chugging it like we're in some desert somewhere, giving ourselves cancer with our plastic water bottles and so forth.

I also went to pet therapy at the assisted living place with Happy, who reads my blog and who "June?"d me a few months back after recognizing me at the Coldwater Creek. I know. Middle-age called. Wants its store back. But Coldwater Creek is getting some cute things! I am not making that up! Say, will you hold my elastic-waist jeans while I grab my bone-color Velcro tennis shoes?

Okay, those were old lady clothing items. Say, will you hold my Christmas vest while I pull on my mock turtleneck with candy canes on it? There we go. I'll be right back. Ima fly my May wind sock.

June. Hated by the Wind Sock Club. Since 2013. Anyway, in case you were worried SICK, I did not take my own badly behaved dogs to said therapy. Rather, normal calm dogs were there so as not to trample old people and possibly eat them, in the case of Tallulah.

I saw the really cool old guy who grew up in Michigan and lived in Seattle, so we are basically the same person, and it turns out there used to be a lot of strip clubs in my home town, which he enjoyed verily. His wife used to go WITH him to said strip clubs, and right then I loved her. I have been nagging Ned to take me to this strip club in Winston that's just called Girls Girls Girls. I feel like I'd come out of there with some stories.

(Dear Mom,

I know you are putting away that Marlo Thomas record and feeling like you failed. You never once played Free To Be a Fan of Strippers and Me, did you? I know.)

I ended my day yesterday by doing my favorite thing: Ned. Wait. That came out--oh, you know what I mean. Ned and I watched some episodes of The Sopranos, which he has never seen before, and as you can see, I plan to introduce him to ALL my good shows until finally he BEGS to watch Sex and the City, one episode after the other, for some marathon weekend. Oh, wouldn't that be the best thing ever? Other than the part where Ned had turned gay somewhere along the line. Maybe it happened after those 87 episodes of Real Housewives.

So, all in all a fine day, and I also got paid. which was a plus. It's nice to be getting a, you know, regular check again.The other day I made a budget, and as long as I cut out pesky expensive habits like eating thrice daily, I am golden.

Oh! But yesterday morning, since I had to hurry, I asked you what I should blog about today. Some of the things you suggested I cannot do, such as walk my behemoth bad pully squirrel-chasey dogs and hold their poop bags and somehow also take photos of my neighborhood with my third goddess arm that will conveniently pop out, finally. Or blow it with the nice place that is doing some thing nice for me that entails the Exciting Secret Thing that I will tell you about WHEN THEY SAY IT'S OKAY, since it's their nice thing that is nice and not mine.

But what I WILL do is answer Faithful Reader PJ's Qs. I liked those. Here they are:

June, I would love to hear about pivotal moments in your life. I would like to hear about how you think your sense of humor developed and who influenced you. Pets! What is the most exciting that that has ever happened to you? What's your biggest challenge in life? Books! What you're reading, recently read.

Those are all excellent questions, and they are questions I will answer TOMORROW since I seem to have blathered on with my brief rundown of yesterday and now I have to get to work again.

With the WORK thing all the time. FIVE DAYS A WEEK they expect me to be in there! Yeesch! I should live in one of those laid-back, siesta, wine-at-lunch, long-dinners-late-at-night nappy places. I guess "siesta" and "nappy" are one and the same, but you get my idea. Maybe after all those siestas I'd have nappy hair.

Adios,

June

You wrote it, you watch it

I overslept, so now I have to scream to work in a panic, and at lunchtime I have to do my stupid stupid stupid 45 minutes of physical activity, then after work I have pet therapy. Not that my pets are seeing therapists, although they should. Rather, I am going to the old folks' home with Faithful Reader Happy, and she is bringing dogs who are calm and not likely to stampede fragile old people. In other words, not my dogs.

MY POINT IS, no time to blog today, but what do you want me to write about tomorrow?