Bye Bye, Pie!

In which June buys her own house and it is annoying

Could I be any crankier right now? I am typing this on Monday night, because I plan to overdose on decaf green tea tonight and sleep in tomorrow. I KNOW how to relax and have a good time when I'm stressed.

As you may know, if you salivate over my every move, and why don't you, I am putting this house in my own name. Now, why you can't call the mortgage company and say, "Hi! This is June's house now!" and be done with it is beyond me. I have to BUY it all over again, because interest rates are lower or the tide is rising or I'm wearing highwaters or the tide is high but I'm holding on. I DON'T KNOW. For some reason I have to go through the same paperwork hell I had to go through in April of 2008 when I bought this house in the FIRST place.

Two months ago I met with this real estate woman with unkempt hair, and I know I'm one to talk, but you have never seen hair this ludicrous.

Dude. I KNOW.

You don't have to tell ME that's saying a lot. But seriously. I wish I could include her business card photo on here. It makes my locks look silky and manageable.

And why do Realtors think they need to show us their picture, anyway? Is this gonna make us trust them more? Because once I got a load of old whirlwind hair, there, I was not so sure.

Honestly, WHAT was going on with my hair in that last photo? Did someone squeeze me like a pecan?

So I met with old unseen-wind hair, and I filled out 83848593945923.3 forms on the first day, and I swear to you I have filled out 87,000 more in the weeks that have passed. I ALREADY BOUGHT THIS HOUSE. How much paperwork could there BE?

Today I got a huge packet in the mail from the bank, and then this woman called me and went over the FIFTY PAGES I needed to sign and return to her. Also, I had to write a letter explaining why I was laid off (Dear Bank, The economy sucks. You started it. Love, June), and the VARIATIONS IN MY NAME.

They want to know why I have a maiden name, a married name, and why I sometimes use my middle initial. I am not making that up. Woooo! With the aliases!

So after work, I sat here and wrote my letters and explained that wild middle inital use...

...then I tried to fax all the pages to New York.

Oh, for the love of all that is holy.

Have you ever tried to fax 50 different-sized pages from your 1902 fax machine? I have to tie the power cord to a dinosaur, who dances a sugaring-off dance playing on a Victrola to get it started. Oh, I tried 87 times.

Finally, even though I was wearing my work pants, my Burbank Tshirt and my silver Dr. Scholl sandals that some odd person keeps writing and asking me for more photos of (Dear Foot Fetish Reader, No. Love, June), I went to Office Depot, where I was so annoyed I did not even LOOK for my kitties.

And do you know they wanted to charge me (sit down) FIFTY DOLLARS to fax those effing pages? It's a ONE EIGHT HUNDRED number! Oh, I was mad! Fifty dollars! Like it really cost them that much to send. Peckerfuckerheads.

I am sorry. That was my favorite swear in junior high. It still works.

So I gathered my fine outfit and went back home. I STOOD HERE, OVER THE FAX MACHINE, and fed each page in one at a time.

In the meantime? Everybody in the world tried to call me. My neighbor Peg came over on Saturday, as I was just getting home and had both kittens in a carrier and groceries in my other hand, to tell me she was having a deck party on the 30th. "Okay!" I said, as I headed in the house. I mean, I had a lot going on, there.

She called the next night when I was out to say the party started at 6:30 and to call her back. Now, this is something that irks me. Why do people want you to call back when you have gotten all the pertinent info? What more could there be to say? The party is NEXT DOOR. In my BACK YARD. I'll SEE it when it's happening. I won't be ABLE to forget it.

So tonight? In the middle of all this hell? RING! RING!

"Hi, June, it's Peg! Did you get my message about the party?!"

No. No, I did not. I cannot figure out this newfangled contraption called the tellyfowne, and why does it beep at me when I pick it up? What do it mean? I got a PERSON in there who will give me MESSAGES? Well, I'll be!

"Yes, Peg," I said briskly, "but I'm in the middle of buying-my-house papework right now. Can I talk to you later?"

"Wait," she said. Peg is a dear friend and a lovely neighbor and I am glad she lives next door, but she is lucky I did not have a fire bomb at that moment, and also that I really don't technically know what a fire bomb is.

"My friend wants your blog address! What is it, again?"

Peg has looked at my blog 82942949 times, and of course if she reads THIS post she will hate me. Hi, Peg!

"Byebyepie," I shot out crankily.

"Bye!?" she asked.

"YES."

"B-y-e?"

"YESSSSS!"

"And then pie, like p-i-e?"

Ohforgodssake YES.

"Dot com?"

And that is why I am writing you from Folsom Prison. I shot a neighbor in Greensboro, just to watch her die.

Anyway, all those effing effing effing DING effing DANG pages have been sent, and now guess who is looking at me with his underbite, wondering where his walk is? Dogs are so %#$#%&*# SELFISH.

This had better be the nicest house I've ever moved into, is all I can say.

...Oh, wait.

I wish

I had the ability to sleep just anywhere. I sleep in a bed, with pillows, and half the time I lie awake.

00000000 (Anderson Cooper wrote this title)(It's not at all annoying when he walks across the keyboard)

Yesterday, I took the kittens to the vet for their shots, and I was quite worried about skinny Anderson. He is 11 days older than Roger and weighs HALF what Roger does.

I looked in my photos to show you an example of how much bigger Roger is, but I found this shot of Edsel in the cat window and it slayed me. Francis' influence stretched way beyond his death; this was the first time either dog ever got in the angry chair. They have dutifully stayed away from its empty self all this time. Anyway, now Edsel has a new way to stare longingly at me when I get sick of him following me and sticking his nose on me every second.

So the vet checked out both kittens, and I said, "What can I do about skinny Anderson?" She said, "I think this monster, Roger, is stealing all the food. Feed him separately and feed him fattening canned kitten food. Because his health is stellar otherwise."

So Anderson had a big day yesterday.

In the meantime, though? After all that worrying about Anderson's skinny ass? ROGER has a HEART MURMUR! Roger! Big healthy ridiculous Roger! Also, he has a hernia, which is common and can be fixed when HE gets fixed.

The vet said the heart murmur could be nothing, and I really think it IS nothing. You have never met a more hearty kitten in your life. That cat is healthy as a horse. A horse with a heart murmur.

After they got their shots, they were tuckered out all day.

It was weird to see them lounging around like real cats, not thundering through the house like banshees. Do banshees thunder? Our are they just kind of screamy?

OH! And at my  vet? Some idiot dropped off a cardboard box in the parking lot? With THREE KITTENS in it!

LOOK HOW CUTE!

I am trying to talk my friend Laurie into taking one. Or, you know, two. She is partial to the white one and the orange one. I think she should name the orange one Orange, and the white one You Glad I Didn't Say Banana. But maybe that's just me.

Speaking of Laurie, she and I headed off to the Lowe's, there, to get me a screen door. We were like a lesbian couple, headed out to improve our home together on a Saturday, followed by a nice trip to Lillith Fair. Stereotype much, June?

I would just like to state, for the record, that I shot out the door yesterday morning with wet hair and no makeup and this is how Laurie captured me on film. Hey, it was LOWE'S. And what self-respecting lesbian does her hair and makeup anyway? (Please see earlier reference to stereotyping.)

Laurie had taken a bunch of I'm-a-Virgo, boring-ass measurements at my house, and I am a brick.HOWSE. 36-24-26. OW! No. She measured my door. So then we had to ask the guy at Lowe's a bunch of things, and when my door GETS HERE we have to saw it. SAW IT! I KNOW! Apparently Laurie knows how to do this. Thank god for her lesbian self.

Basically, I am getting a super-fussy, old-fashioned, screen-door-from-The-Waltons kind of a door. Do you think it looks too olde tyme ice cream parlor? Oh, who cares. Then we had to search around and find doorknobs that looked old-fashioned and really I should have been born in 1892.

Really looking forward to the dang thing getting here IN SEVEN DAYS, and then the kittens climbing up it.

After that, Laurie made me go around Lowe's and make an idiot of myself for her camera, which you know I did.

You kind of have to hand it to me that I am willing to show you pictures of me looking this hagged out. I have no modesty.

At any rate, since we couldn't put up the door yesterday, we went to Starbucks instead, where we ran into a friend of mine and Laurie insisted we take 87 pictures of my friend, but I did not ask if I could put her picture in my blog so I will not show you those. Basically if you are camera shy, you should not hang with Laurie.

Did I mention I am the only child of a photographer? If you don't bring a camera I think there's something wrong with you.

And speaking of being an only child, happy Fathers Day to everyone, including my own dad who STILL HAS NOT GOTTEN MY GIFT. I told him I got him a Kiera Knightly blowup doll and he is going to be so disappointed. Also happy Fathers Day to my stepfather, who whenever you ask him what he wants for Fathers Day he says peace on earth, and every time I says that I threaten to blow something up.

Peace out. With your piece out.

Mince Words with June: All about Lululululululu (who loves herself?)

I bought this book on Amazon, because God forbid I save any money and look for it at the library or anything. Then once it came, I realized I'd read it before, and not only had I read it before, but Faithful Reader The Chief had sent it to me for free.

This is why I'll never be rich.

So, who predicted the ending? I surely did not, and it even took me awhile reading it again to remember what the end was. But once you've read it once and re-read it knowing the ending, Lulu makes more sense.

Did you like her or did she bug you? I kind of liked her, although there is nothing worse than a beautiful, tortured, self-centered young girl. Really. There isn't. Men salivate all over her, and if she were a haggard tortured 45-year-old, no one would give a rat's ass.

Not that I am speaking from experience or anything.

I also really liked that she moved to Seattle in the late '80s, as I moved there in the early '90s and could identify with her experience there. Although where she found a one-bedroom apartment she could afford on her own is beyond me.

Oh! And I have been to that dinosaur in the middle of the California desert, so I liked that part, too. It is still there and you can still climb in his abdomen and go up to the top and look out through his teeth. Way cool.

I can never get into narrators who are physically unattractive. I just want to get in there and say, DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR APPEARANCE. Maybe that makes me shallow. Do you think? So I never really rooted for him that much, nor for his gross brothers. I kind of liked them as a family once they all got older.

I guess that is all I have to say about that. What did you think of this book? I liked reading it, both times.

Your partner in mincing,

June

Eau de--eau kill me now

Before I forget, book club is tonight! Seven p.m. my time (Eastern). Click Mince Words with June if you are bored and want to rush out, buy a book, read it, and be ready for book club at 7:00. That is totally something I would do.

However, today I am not bored. I have to take Anderson and Roger to the vet for their initial shots. Not that they are getting shot with the letters "A" and "R." Then Laurie and I are putting up a screen door on my back door area, and I do not mean my buttockals.

I always have capable friends, which is good since I know how to do nothing. My friend Tammy used to "teach" me to sew buttons, meaning she would sew all my buttons for me and I would watch her TV because even in college she had the good channels.

How do y'all afford all the good channels? Even when Marvin and I made six figures I never felt like I could afford it. Maybe if we had earned dollars and not settled for six body types...

I am on fire today.

Also, Edsel ate my bra. I am so irritated with him. I JUST BOUGHT IT a few months back and it's a good one. Bastard. He ate the little ribbon off the front, so I can still WEAR it, it just looks like a pack of wolves came at my cleav.

Why the HELL did I want all these pets? Could someone remind me? And has anyone gotten me the bulldog puppy yet? Because I note his conspicuous absence.

Oh, and speaking of my annoying pets (but not my sweet new bulldoggy, who surely will not cause me any trouble and thank you again for buying him for me), yesterday I wore a peasant blouse, because I am a peasant who cannot afford the good channels on her TV. Both my mother and my cousin gave me tons of clothes when I was in Saginaw last weekend, and each of them gave me a peasant blouse.

"I really don't like how I look in peasant blouses," my cousin said. "Neither do I," said my mother. "It's like I'm, I don't know, too dignified to wear them." "EXACTLY!" agreed Katie, neither of them thinking about the fact they were handing their undignified blouses over to me, who is apparently the Richard Simmons/Lady GaGa/Soupy Sales of the family.

So with my lack of dignity, I wore a green peasant blouse yesterday and decided I needed a little tank underneath so everyone would not see my bits. Who knows why I bothered, what with my evident lack of dignity, but there you go.

When I slipped on the tank, I thought, What is that SPOT on here? I figured I must have spilled coffee on said shirt, which, you know, what else is new, but I was in a hurry and it was going under my blouse so I put it on anyway.

When I came home for lunch, the kittens COULD NOT STOP sniffing my shirt, and they kept getting that open-mouthed kitty look cats get when they smell another cat. I figured since the shirt belonged to my cousin, they smelled her cat.

After work I went out for drinks with a coworker (she had diet cola and I had cream soda. PARTAYYY!) at a fancy hotel bar and I thought, What is that SMELL in here?

When I got home, I smelled it again.

Guess what.

My tank top? Had KITTEN PEE on it. I had piled my whites on Fran's angry chair before I left for the weekend, and I don't know if they were mad I was gone, or they smelled Francis or what, but the point is I went around ALL DAY and into the EVENING with eau de pee de kittay on my shirt.

Why did my family give me those undignified shirts again? How long has it been since I mentioned I hate everything?

SCRAM! And I am not a Vermicious Knid.

I have never wanted the dogs to be on the couch, if you want to know the truth. It was always Marvin who allowed it, and who wanted the dogs in the bed, too. There is a tacky joke here about Marvin's new single life, but I will remain the Grace Kelly I always am on this topic. Mostly because I can't think of a good one.

Once he left, I thought maybe I could get the dogs to get off the damn couch once and for all. I have to vacuum and/or Scotch Guard that couch daily.
I mean, I do not spray Scotch Guard; they have this fur-getter-offer plastic thingie that works really well, but you have to buy new pads for it which I am certain is good for the environment. Yellow plastic toothy grabby hairy flaps will be here in 5,000 years and we will not.

It's an inconvenient truth.

At any rate, the part where I yell at the dogs, "Off the couch!" 95 times a day has not been that fruitful. They get off the couch, sure, but then they get right back on.

But yesterday? My Sofa Scram came. I know!

It's this pad you lay across your couch, and when a Schnauzer goes to jump up there, it goes BEEP! and it's supposed to disturb the SHIT out of your pet. In fact, that's its slogan. Guaranteed to disturb the SHIT out of your beloved pet! Buy one today!

I was so excited to get out the Sofa Scram and watch it in action.

Yeah. Why must EVERYTHING come without a battery? It's just rude. Did they TELL me it needed a battery when I was online purchasing this terrorizing item? No. The other day I got a Swiffer Wetjet (WHAT ABOUT LOVE! Every time I see a stupid Swiffer Wetjet I sing that song. Good advertising, people of Swiffer) (even though, really, what does a mop have to do with love?) and after I pushed the squirty knob--which I know sounded dirty--850 times, it finally dawned on me that it, too, needed stupid batteries.

I hate everything.

So even though it was early evening and Edsel knew PERFECTLY WELL it was walk time, I headed out to the Office Depot, there, for a stupid 9-volt battery.

Perhaps when you think, "I need batteries" you do not immediately head to Office Depot. But I have incenative, as my grandmother would pronounce it, to go there.

What could my incenative be? Could it be...OFFICE DEPOT KITTIES?

I didn't, you know, shake this bag or anything, or call, "Kittykittykittykittykittykitty..." 900 times, hoping anyone would show up.

As an aside? When I got Anderson Cooper? Marvin went with me. It was just a fluke; he was obsessed with that Greensboro bear that was loose, and he called me in a growly voice, "Hullo. I'm the BEAARRRRR. In your YARRRRRD." Who continues to adore himself? So I said, "You know, I'm headed to a perfect stranger's house to get a kitten off Craigslist. You wanna go with me?" And he stopped being a bear and came along.

The point is, when the lady handed over Anderson, and Marvin had to pay the $30 "rehoming fee" (whatever) because I had no cash on me, she said, "I am so glad a normal person is taking this cat. You have no idea how many cat ladies called about him."

Fortunately we got out to the car before Marvin let loose about that one. "Oh yes! Thank God no CAT LADIES got this cat!"

Also too, Marvin is in love with Anderson Cooper and keeps insisting that because he paid for him the cat is technically his. He steals another cat from me he'll be pulling back a stump.

Back to Office Depot--where I was NOT BEING A CAT LADY AT ALL--in the distance?

Okay. Now, a normal person might not have seen Ink Jet over there. But with June's super-looky cat vision? Here is how cats appear:

I can spot 'em anywhere.

Eventually he made his way to the dish, as did Sharpie.

Cats fed, I bought my stupid 9-V battery and came home to scare the bejeezus out the dogs.

Normally? All these dogs want to do is be on the couch with me, so I kind of thought I'd see the result of this exciting purchase tout suite.

But no. Suddenly it was crucial that everyone wrestle among the stuffing.

And then Talu SAT ON THE FLOOR.

Oh for the love of--Edsel put his head WHERE THE SCRAM THING WASN'T. Then?

Edsul try nu bed.

Why was NO ONE going on the ding-dang couch!?!

Shelv good enuf for rodgddur.

I mean, did they just KNOW something bad was on the couch?

Finally...?

Yeah. So there must be a weight limit. Do not purchase this item for your pocket pooch, is what I am advising.

So everyone's effing with me. I KNOW the thing beeps, though. Because I sat on it without remembering it was there.

...Did I mention I hate everything?

(P.S. Happy birthday, dad!)

In which June is fat and incompetent and obsessed with her pets. In other words, nothing is new.

I am so sick of my fat ass I could puke. Seriously. This is the fattest I've ever been, and I was blaming it on my migraine meds, but lately I've been taking my migraine meds every other day to see if it made a difference?

Yeah. It did not.

Remember when my headache doctor said, "Those meds don't cause weight gain. Could it be your calorie intake?" I hate the medical profession and their emphasis on stupid logic.

So I'm thinking of finding a 10k to run in a few months, so then I am forced to train. What say you?

In other news, yesterday was the stupiest day ever. I had this big assignment for work, and it was due by end of day, or EOD, as people need to say, and I had the day before yesterday and yesterday to do it. I was really worried I would not get done on time, so I started with gusto and by yesterday at 11 a.m.? I was done.

Done! Yay!

I decided to be all extra super efficient, and compare my document to the last one done in May, and when I did so?

I lost my document. LOST IT. LOST. Like the TV show. It was that confusing. Somehow I had REPLACED the document and a polar bear showed up.

Oh it was awful. I called IT (all IT departments detest me) but there was nothing they could do because I had been working on my desktop. So I had to start ALL OVER AGAIN and get done in six hours what I had done in 11.

But I did it. I was cranky and exhausted but I did it. One of my favorite coworkers, who I will call Vilhelm, because that is not remotely his name and we had come up with some ludicrous last name for him too, should I ever mention him here but now it is wiped from my brain, came over and sat on my desk at about 4:00 yesterday, obviously ready for a chat.

"Really?" I said, as he sat, never looking up from my stupid task. "REALLY. You think Ima TALK to you right now?" And then I did. Because I have the work ethic.

Computer things always happen to me. Does anyone remember the time I turned my whole screen upside-down?

I have to go, so I can screw up something else at work, but here are pictures of my pets, because you guys are never satisfied. "June, why can't you photograph your pets in the middle of the night when you wake up and find them being cute?" "June, it's been TWO DAYS since we saw Tallulah!" "June, can you take the cats to Pluto and photograph them there?"

I was leaving for work yesterday to have that hideous day, and I noticed everyone in the window saying goodbye. Edsel is in the next window, on the right. See his spindly leg? And yes, I did go back and shut the window. Although I pity the fool who'd try to crawl through there with Talu on guard.

andersun hideeng. what you meen i not brown?

rodgder hyde too. what you mean i not patterned like rownd Dr. Seuss flowers?

I may have said "dog daycare" in order to elicit this head tilt from Eds. Who is the world's meanest dog mom?

Lu know you not mean dog daycare. it late. mom suk.

Have you ever noticed there is stuffing on the floor at all times? Also, I really enjoyed finding my SHOE out. Edsel also ate the pink shoe that that guy at the airport tried to claim was his. I cannot win.

This does not mean I do not want y'all to get me a bulldog puppy. My birthday is a month from today. Gives you PLENTY of time to save up. I think bulldog puppies are like a thousand bucks.

Okay, waddling to work.

In which June did not blow up

I am still here. On this side of the grass.

Here is the grass I am on top of, and also the gas man's truck. Oh, and look. A jogger. BARK! BARKBARKBARKBARK!rrrrrrrBARK!

What if you hadn't read yesterday's post? So far this whole thing would make no sense.

Anyway, my pilot light was out. That was it. How was I supposed to know that was it? And the gas man, who was very nice, lifted my stove top to show me the pilot light, and also 80 pounds of cat food, popcorn and spaghetti. The only things ever to go near that stove.

I guess the cat food got in there because I used to feed the cats atop the fridge, and some of it must have gotten knocked through the burners. At any rate, it was disgusting in there and quite the archaeological dig. While the gas man searched the rest of my house for gas leaks and/or valuables, I scrubbed that under-the-stove-top area like a madwoman.

So I lived. I enjoyed meeting the gas man. He was the bomb.

In other news, guess who is cute.

why you bozzer?

Anderson always looks snooty in photos, but really he is the sweetest kitten I have ever had. All he wants to do is be held and petted and he doesn't even detest being kissed on his noggin.

In the meantime, Roger, who is so cute you just want to squeeze him constantly, wants nothing to do with me. I pet him and he shirks down. I HATE it when you pet a cat and he does the shirk-down thing. The only time you can really dote on Roger is when he's sleepy. Otherwise he is a busy executive with no time left for youuuu.

This morning, Mr. CEO decided he was interested in where dogs go. It was never interesting before, but today it was. Also, who needs to clean the outside of that door?

what in heer? echoos! echoooze! helloooo! watereeng canz fun.

andersin come too, but onlee cause everyone doing it. yes, andersin wood jump off bridge if everyone else doing.

That was about as far as they got before the dogs saw them and chased them back in. The dogs have always been just terrible to any cat in the back yard. Inside? Cats are friends. Outside? We chase cats. Whatever with dog logic.

I must go and get ready, as I do not wish to be late for work two days in a row. On the first day, my house was blowing up. On the second day, I was posting kitten pictures.

Thank goodness Roger has an impressive job, in case I get fired.

 

This post's a gas

So I'm over here waiting to blow up because I think I have a gas leak. I just woke up and smelled it.

Well. That isn't true. I woke up AN HOUR AGO because stupid stupid stupid Edsel felt the need to scream at every morning jogger and dog walker, which in this neighborhood is 9 million people. This is a neighborhood of the earliest, perkiest risers you have ever barked at.

Who invented Edsel?

At any rate, I have called the gas company, and could they have been more dramatic? TURN NOTHING ON OR OFF! DO NOT EVEN HANG UP THIS PHONE! WE WILL HANG UP! And I was all, "You hang up!" and they said, "No, YOU hang up!" and then we giggled because we were both still on.

What did Laura Ingalls Wilder giggle with Ida Brown about? They could not both hang on the phone all afternoon. "Laura, get off the phone. We have to twist hay."

I worry way too much about how Laura Ingalls Wilder did everything.

So now I'm waiting for Mr. Gas Man to arrive, and I'm supposed to be OUTSIDE, AWAY FROM THE HOUSE, but please. How Ima drag all my pets out there? If they're blowing up, I am too. I have all the windows open, though, so we don't just all happily gas ourselves to death right now.

Oh! And in other less explosive news, look what I saw yesterday:

Roger managed to scramble up to the window thing that all my cats used to sit on. Yay! I have cats again. Isn't he getting big already? Every time I look at him he looks bigger. I think he is part mountain lion. Particularly because he dragged a deer carcass home the other day, and he keeps killing the joggers.

I guess the gas company, for all their drama and intense violin music accompanied by those really high piano keys, is not exactly racing over here at a breakneck pace. Won't they feel bad when all that's left of this house is a few shingles and some large hair.

A very Lyle Lovett-looking man is walking by, his legs all long and cranelike. I guess he isn't the gas man. There's no way I'm letting anyone into my house wearing shorts and black tennis shoes, anyway. We have standards here.

Oh, and men? If you have fat, hairless legs, please do not wear shorts and huaraches. I don't CARE if it's hot out. And it's not hot at the airport, I can assure you. I will do my best to not sport a bikini if you abstain from the huaraches after 40. Or ever, really. Huaraches.

Who invented huaraches?

When they say turn nothing on or off, can I still turn the world on with my smile? Also, can I shower? I do not really wish for the gas man to see me in my pajama bottoms and Burbank tshirt. If you live in Los Angeles you will know it's funny that I have a Burbank tshirt. I found it at the RiteAid in...Burbank.

Basically it is not cool to live in Burbank and there would be no reason to sport a tshirt saying Burbank, is why it's funny. See. And now Ima DIE in it and I do not wish to be remembered this way. I guess as soon as I get in the shower Mr. Methane will arrive, so I had better not. Plus also, if I blew up and was NAKED that would be even worse than dying in the Burbank shirt.

Dying of gas poisoning is boring.

I guess I'll write you if I live. If not, this will be my last post. I am gifting you all with an inflatable June.

 

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.