Bye Bye, Pie!

Almonds and mint

I still feel dreadful. Should I go to work today, or not? I feel bad because The Poet who sits next to me is coming in today, and she usually has Fridays off because she is a fancy poet and has some kind of fellowship or something. On Fridays she is supposed to be home being deep and poetic and so forth. Instead she is coming in in case my arse dies, which it might.

Rose are red

Violets are blue

June sucks

My throat is still killing me. Has it been 72 hours? I know you are supposed to go to the doctor if your throat hurts for more than 72 hours. I learned that when--guess what--I did NOT go to the doctor and it turns out I had strep and then the dang strep wouldn't go away. That was a good time.

Obviously it eventually went away. I am not over here blind from scarlett fever or anything. Like Mary Ingalls.

Did you ever see a real picture of Mary Ingalls? She was so pretty on that dumb show, and yet in real life? Not so adorable.

Hi. I'm Mary Ingalls. What I have is some body in my hair.

Poor Mary. She needed Wen.

WHICH, by the way, I purchased yesterday and I hate my own self. But I was sitting there aching and throating and sleeping off and on, and when I wasn't sleeping I ached and throated watching the Michael Jackson trial. Which is riveting.

At any rate, at some point the infomercial for Wen came on, and I have watched it 848393 times. I watched it when Melissa Gilbert touted it (so why she didn't tell Mary about it is beyond me) (and you know how I enjoy it when people confuse that idiotic show with the good books) ("There was no Albert!?") and I am watching it now when they show the woman with fine blonde hair and the black woman whose hair looks like mine.

Maybe I am black and no one has told me.

 

Anyway, in the commercial everyone has fabulous hair and y'all know I rarely have fabulous hair. So I got the dang stuff. Did I mention I am poor now that I live alone? I DID email the statistics textbook company to ask when another book needs proofing and--yay!--I get another one in two weeks.

So get ready for me to complain about THAT every second until that sizeable check rolls in.

Anyway, that is how I am justifying my big $30 purchase of Wen. And of course if I like it, I have to find a way to continue to justify my use of Wen.

We'll wait for the day wen that happens. BAH!

Do I get the almonds with my order? What about the mint leaf? Ima SUE if I don't get the almonds and the mint leaf.

And by the way? If you were thinking of just lying around at home ingesting Propofol? Not such a good idea. Poor Michael Jackson. Did you hear that terrible audio of him slurring his words?

 

It just occurred to me that I'll bet I'm allergic to Wen. You know I am allergic to everything with a scent. Why can't I remember these things until it's too late? Earlier this year my mother brought over Cindy Crawford's Meaningful Beauty, the stuff where Cindy Crawford is out in a French field rubbing melons all over her face, and I could not have been more allergic.

Well. I guess it could have KILLED me. That would have counted as "more allergic." But my throat got all closey and my eyes watered and basically it was Meaningful Anaphylactic Shock, is what it was. That brings all the boys to your melons. Is what it does.

I guess I had better shower and see if I can drag myself to the workplace. At least it's Friday. It is Friday, right? I'll show up in jeans and it'll be Thursday.

Throatily,

June

Go to the light

Did I mention I'm ill?

The "giant slot" drinking game. Oh, snap!

You see this picture? This fairly boring picture of my cats wrestling? Could you do me a favor and enjoy the CRAP out of it, please?

I came home for lunch yesterday, as I am wont to do, and when the kittens startled their shenanigans I took this picture and thought, This might be cute. Ima take the little memory card thingamabob out my camera and put it in the convenient slot on the side of my NEW COMPUTER.

On the right side of my NEW COMPUTER are two slots. One teensy one for the little square memory card and one giant slot right above it for DVDs or CDs or Sandra Dee or whatever.

Now, see. I could make so many friends-of-mine-who-are-slutty jokes about the giant slot, but you never know who reads this blog. Just recently I got an email from a woman who was the secretary at a place I worked in 1988. "I just love your blog!"

I'm all, "How the Sam Holy Hell did you FIND my blog?"

"I'd heard a rumor you were dead, so I Binged you. And there was your blog!"

Now, I am not in any way insinuating that this woman, who was lovely and not at all a slut as far as I could see, would be the brunt of my hilarious slutty-friends jokes. I am just saying. You never know.

Wait. Why was there a rumor I was dead?

So, there I am, not dead, putting my teensy memory card thingie on the side of my computer, and you know what I did? Do you? WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP ME, THEN?

I put the teensy square into the GIANT SLOT accidentally. Well. Obviously it was an accident. Because who wants to end up panicking and Googling (or Binging) "How to get teensy card out a giant slot" and reading "You EEEEEEDIOT! Were you DRUNK? How'd you do THAT?" on various sites and so forth? Who? No one.

Is there anything worse than those snooty I-know-everything-about-computers people? I mean, snooty I-know-all-about-grammar people are FINE. Perfectly acceptable. But COMPUTER know-it-alls? Insufferable.

I emailed Daniel Boone, who may or may not be one of those I-know-everything-about-computers people. "Your ineptness with computer things is really cute," he said, the novelty of my personality not yet worn off for him. Then I told him that I also had a dead iPhone, as I may have, you know, dropped it in the toilet this weekend.

I think that was the last I heard from Daniel Boone yesterday.

I went back to work and my boss, who is good with computers and would never stick a teensy card in a GIANT SLOT, said I should (a) try to shake the pee out my computer when I got home and (8) go to the Apple store and say my mom stuck the teensy card in the GIANT SLOT, so that the workers there would not laugh at me.

Shaking the pee out my BRAND-NEW COMPUTER did not work, so I went to the dang Apple store.

And? I also brought my toilet-y dead iPhone.

Why does everything happen to me? Am I JOB?

I looked cool walking in with my huge computer screen while everyone else had a sleek laptop. It was like I was lugging a Mastiff into a roomful of Schnoodles.

For the record, I don't actually know what a Schnoodle is. A poodle mixed with schnoo?

The entire Apple store was filled with 27-year-old sort of nerdy hep males. They all kind of look like they might write for The Simpsons. And I, too, am hep, with my reference to such a current show.

"What've we got here?" a sort of hot Asian guy with horn-rimmed glasses asked me.

"I stuck my teensy card in my GIANT SLOT," I said. "Oh, and here. I dropped my iPhone in the toilet." I slid my phone at him. It was less an iPhone and more of a pPhone at this point.

"Oh, snap," said the Asian, and I now wish to use "Oh, snap" all the time. "Let's set you up with one of our geniuses."

Well, that was nice. That they have geniuses, I mean. Do you have to take an IQ test when you apply there, or...?

So I waited till it was my turn with a genius. I watched a cute little toddler with a pink cast get a crush on this little boy who had a microphone that he kept tapping and saying "Test, test." I mean, he was three, tops. How did he know this move? Is his dad Lenny Kravitz? Also? Welcome to my 1990s references today.

The leg-girl/Kriss Kross romance ended in tragedy once the microphone kid was told he had to leave and he threw himself on the floor and test, tested his mother's patience. Finally the genius, who just looked like a chubby guy with a beard, came to help me.

He got the teensy card out my GIANT SLOT in .007 seconds. He used a piece of tape and went up in there. What a genius!

My phone?

Dead.

Morte.

The fat lady has peed. On her own phone.

So that sucks. They told me I could buy a whole 'nother iPhone or call AT&T and see if I could cancel my contract. Which is what I went home to do after I lugged my Mastiff/screen back to my car.

Oh, one good thing to come of all this is that they had tutorial hints on the wall? And I learned how to do this: a.

Crap!

Wait. aaaaaooooooooooooooo

Crap! According to what I learned last night, you just press down your "a" key and it gives you options of choosing an "a" with various accents over the top. Same with the "o." Why didn't it work? Maybe I'll stick a card in my GIANT SLOT and see if that helps.

Anyway. I called AT&T to cancel my contract and ended up getting a phone that is (a) not an iPhone but (7) is faster (4G instead of the lowly 3G I had) and does pretty much what my iPhone does. For some reason I got it free, AND my monthly payments are lower now, too. So really that did not work out to be so bad.

I was really tempted, when they led me to the website where I could pick out another phone, to get this one that had a gem on it? And when you get a phone call? Or a text? And the only person who ever texts me is Hulk, and usually that's a sext, but whatever. When you get some kind of incoming message? The gem lights up. And it's specifially made so the gem hangs out your purse.

Seeing as I am not 17 nor Pia Zadora (hello, again, '90s), I did not opt for this selection. I got the Intense or the Intrigue or the Interlude or maybe it was called the Fascinate. I don't even remember. All I know is I need a new phone cover because that is very important.

Oh, and if you know me in real life, I no longer know your phone number, as all your info is basically eau de toilette.

So that is the story of why I should not be given electronics. Or indoor plumbing.

I thought we'd better enjoy this snapshot again. I WENT TO A LOT OF TROUBLE TO GET THIS TO YOU.

Love,

June

P.S. Giant slot

In which June abstains from playing with her webcam. Umm-hmm.

Do you want to know who I am annoyed with?

Old Ruffy McWoof, over here. And yes, we ARE being haunted by a pink ghost. Who cannot stop playing with her webcam effects?

He kept leaping off the bed to BARK!BARK!BARK! at who knows what out the living room window all night. Who wants to muzzle that dog like he's Hannibal Lecter? Although I guess Hannibal was able to talk, or bark, still.

i sorry, momm.

Sigh.

In other pressing news, I am catching a cold. I blamed Dick Whitman for this, as he had a cold when I saw him late last week, but then Marvin called me last night and he was all stuffed up. I just saw Marvin on Sunday.

The REASON Marvin called me is because my stupid iPhone is now broken. Why does god punish me at every turn? I just got my damn computer sitch fixed and boom. Dead iPhone.

Naturally I called Marvin--on my regular phone (I refuse to say "landline." How irritating. Landline.)--to report this incident and I do not know why I do this. Thirteen years I was married to Marvin, and 26 years I been knowing him, and he never just jumps in to help in a crisis. His first response is to give me a pregnancy test. BAH! Get it? First Response?

Oh, I love me. And my sore throat.

No. His first response is to say, "I have no idea. There's nothing I can do." And then you find him an hour later trying to solve the problem. But now that he doesn't LIVE here, I only get the "There's nothing I can do" part. I guess calling him is habit.

"MUFFIN!" I said pleadingly on his voicemail, as shockingly he never ever ever picks up when I call. "My iPhone is BROKEN! Help me!"

When he didn't call back in 45 seconds, I called him again. "Mufffffinnnnnnnnn!" I implored. "It is still BROKEN! I don't know what I did wrong! Fix it!"

Wait. Why did Marvin leave, again?

Anyway, he finally did call about an hour later to say he had no idea and there was nothing he could do, but then he started suggesting things I could try to do, and I said, "Can we talk later? It's the end of a really good Golden Girls."

It was, though. I had never seen that one. Blanche's mammy from childhood had had a 50-year affair with Blanche's dad. Who knew?

Anyway, Marvin hung up, kind of disgustedly, and that was the end of that. And my iPhone is still dead. Blanche forgave her mammy.

I leave you with some action shots of Edsel and Roger playing. 

It seems like this whole blog is about me telling you how electronics fail to work for me, but I took EXCELLENT EXCELLENT shots of Roger leaping right on Edsel's head, and they of course did not turn out.

Instead, these all look like Roger is horrified of the Eds, and I assure you nothing could be further from the truth. He is always the aggressor in these tussles.

I like how Anderson is in the closet, giving peace a chance. And I detest my peeling concrete floor. Suggestions, please.

Who is stampeding to call Animal Protective Services? Is it all of you? "She lets that huge dog bite her helpless kitten!"

As I was typing this, I heard a ruckus, because I'm 87 and say things like "ruckus," and guess who was back at it?

It's like War of the Roses, over here.

I wish everyone would stop clowning around.

TOONA

The big news is, the cattens got collars this weekend.

I know, right? What a fine picture. Again, where is that Best Photography Blog award?

Look. YOU try photographing your kittens' new collar. For the record, it is purple and spells "TOONA."

Who loves herself and her taste in collars?

Anyway, I didn't even know they SOLD collars for kittens, but what was I thinking? They come up with every way to get you to spend money on your pets, all of which I fall for. Of course, Roger can just barely fit in his. He is on the first hole of that collar. One more week and I'll have to get him a grownup collar and June will be having a "TOONA" giveaway.

So to speak.

And I'll have you know I swept and washed that back-room floor on Thursday. Now LOOK at it! Stupid cat litter. I bought one of those litter-keeping mats but Edsel ate it.

Here is Anderson's collar, which is purple and sparkly. And no, he isn't up on the counter. What do you mean?

And since I'm on the topic of pets, on a shocking note, I forgot to tell you about the waiting room at the vet's the other day.

Tallulah and her rotund self and I got into the lobby, there, and there was a Cairn terrier, a Schnauzer, a Dachshund, and some puppy. Basically it was all teensy dogs and us. And you know how Talu is such a welcoming figure to the small dog.

But I don't know if she was scared or distracted or if she's a grownup now, the point is she just sat next to me and sniffed around. The Cairn terrier could not have been having more fits about Tallulah. "rrrrrrrROW ROW ROW RooooW RoW!!! Hmmmmm! Hmmmmm! GrrrrrrrROWROWROW."

Could Talu have been more indifferent?

Anyway, eventually this gray-and-white poodle came in, and was the woman carrying the poodle sporting a perm? And was her hair gray and white? And could they have looked more alike? And did I wish I were able to get a picture without her noticing? Because it was killing me.

So she sits down and starts admiring the hysterical Cairn terrier.

Here's a Cairn terrier, by the way. My Pal from MA had one when we were little. Cute. Barky.

Anyway, the poodle lady and the terrier lady got to talking. "How old's your poodle?" "Say, 'I'm four!'" the poodle lady said.

"Say, 'I'm almost four myself!'" the terrier lady said.

"Say, 'I don't bark like you do, Mr. Terrier!' ha ha!"

"Say, 'I'm a drama queen!' hahahahahahaha!"

"Hahahahahahahaha!"

Guess what was bugging me. Was it the "say" thing? Just pretend the dog is talking if you're gonna do that. Don't keep telling the dog to SAY things. Guess what. It isn't.

Also, really? They cracked up because the phrase "drama queen" was used? Oooo, maybe next someone will say "get a clue." HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Really, I would have been fine at that point if Tallulah had snapped every dog's head off and left a lobby of neck nubs.

Say, "I don't have a head!"

Okay. Going to work now. With my cheerful self.

I'm all bent out of shape.

In which June mentions NEW COMPUTER not at all

Good morning!

Who needs to get past her webcam? Who needs to not show you her hair in the a.m.? It is bad enough in the p.m.

Since I have been unable to talk to you for reals, what with this lack of computer issue--did you know I was having computer issues?--there is now so much to tell. I hope you have nothing else to do today.

 heeeeee, mom bizzy on compruter. what we chew, Tallulaa?

 she not DAT bizzy, eediots. don't let her see you or you gotta pose on dum webcam.

Okay, so REALLY. First of all, I went on a date with the Fireman the other night, and it turns out I had said something to make him think I was dating Dick Whitman, and that's why I hadn't heard from him in so long. Everybody thinks I'm dating Dick Whitman and I'm really not. I gotta stop having friends who are boys.

I let him pick from four restaurants in this cute neighborhood near me, and he chose the pizza place. "What could be better than pizza and beer?" he said. Sometimes Fireman reminds me of Hulk.

The thing was? It was totally pretentious pizza. The toppings were like goat cheese, cilantro, a beret and asparagus or pistachio, Proust, ennui and modern jazz.

"I was kind of hoping for, you know, sausage and pepperoni," said the Fireman. Did I mention the reminds-me-of-Hulk thing? "We wouldn't have shared a pizza, then," I told him, "as I would never get hooves and snouts on my pizza."

I'm a fun date.

Anyway, we got basil, pistachio, onion and Sylvia Plath on our pizza and the Fireman ordered sweet tea instead of beer. I guess he wanted to stay sober lest he start doing an interpretive dance or something.

Afterwards, we went back to my house to hang, which makes it sound like we went to my house to hump, but I assure you we did not. Mostly because Edsel has bought tickets to Connecticut so he can legally marry the Fireman.

That was not one of those if-gay-people-marry-what's-next-people-marrying-their-dogs jokes. I hate that argument. Because it's such a logical next step. Gee, if HUMANS love each other, surely they'll love animals next! Really, though, if I had my choice of marrying one of my pets or someone who thinks that's a logical argument, I would take my pet.

It was more an Edsel-is-a-total-homo-for-Fireman joke. I mean, that dog smiled, he wagged, he whined, he cajoled, and eventually he climbed up on Fireman's lap and went to sleep. I am not even making that up.

 oh, dat you, Andersuns? was dreeming it were fireman.

Hey. I may have a new computer but I do not have new photo skillz.

But you guys! I hook up my phone to the NEW COMPUTER? And it says oh, you wanna download these pictures? And then it goes floooooluuup! and there they all are!

Floooooluuop!

So it was a fun date with Fireman, and he said we were not to speak of my hair all night, because he says I am obsessed with my hair--and who wouldn't be? Have you met this hair? But then I was complaining that my bathroom drain is clogged and he said, "Well it's all your HAIR" so HAH! He brought it up first.

Hah! Flooooooluuuuop!

Anyway, then yesterday I schlepped out in the rain to take Tallulah to the vet, where we learned she is a trifle---curvy. Rubenesque. Full-figured.

you go hell, stoopit vet. no, did NOT order Jimmee John's. what you mean?

This irks me, because I have been giving her less food, and feeding her twice a day, and I think she is (a) sneaking into the closet and munching on dry kitten food whenever she can and (8) bursting into the back room and finishing Edsel's food. So now I have to put the kitten food in a container, and remember to ALWAYS close the gate while Edsel eats, and geez Louise. I have stuff to do. 

Like this.

Anyway. After finding out my dog was a fattie, I got my car inspected ("Yep. It's a car.") and finally screamed on over to the Apple store.

Could there have been more people there? Could they have been mostly teenagers playing on Facebook? Did that irk me at all, because I wanted to actually BUY an effing computer? And when did Topsiders become cool again?

I did get someone to help me, and they were so EFFICIENT! All the guy at the store does is tap something into a phone, then some other young boy brings my computer right to me from the back room. And I PAID for it using this guy's phone, too. For all I know he was a criminal and he just totally stole all my credit card information.

Whatever.

Who needs your identity and/or a credit card when you have a new computer to play with? With which to play. Whatever.

"Whatever" is a big word with me today.

So now Ima sign off, and go read all your comments, because I know there is a comment of the week I already called, and then I know there are honorable mentions, and can I remember any of them? Will come back and announce the coveted prize when I find said comments.

 make mom stop wif webbcam.

yesss. make stop.

P.S. Okay. Just Paula--comment of the week (what else is new?). Hulk--signature line of the week. (I know! Now, what now? Is that even a category?)

The new June Brady!

Hello!!!

Guess who has her new computer? Guess who had to call India and say the eff word to get on the Internet with her new computer? Guess who is on the Internet now and happy happy happy with her new computer?

I wonder how many times I can say "new computer" in this post.

My NEW COMPUTER has all kinds of special effects on my new webcam. On my new computer.

I'm in France! Fingering the Eiffel Tower!

AAAACCCK!

Okay. Done playing with effects.

Maybe.

Will talk more later. When done playing with, you know, NEW COMPUTER.

Marvin is here. Oh, look. He's sporting plaid.

Did I mention I hate my computer?

Blogging from work would be wrong. And that is why I am not doing it right now.

Computer COMPLETELY dead at home. Dead. Dead dead dead. Stick a fork in it. The fat lady has sung. Unfortunately, that fat lady is me.

I blame work. If someone is gonna BRING chocolate-chip cookies stuffed with Oreos, what am I to do? IGNORE them? They won't be IGNORED.

Also? While I am not blogging from work? I have had this photo on my desktop for the longest time...

Oh. Wait. That is not the picture I wanted to put in...

Here it is. This is my coworker TinaDoris' puppy, with the toy I gave her. My dogs never once played with this and my mother spent $800,000 on it. You are supposed to put treats in the bottle and the dogs are supposed to figure it out. The dogs reacted the same way I do when I see Sudoku.

So at least Penny, here, likes the rope part. I love her.

I know! June loves an animal! Sound the alarm!

I had better go, because I have to, um, go to work. Because I am not at work already. Nosir. But before I do I want to tell you that (a) I am getting a new computer TOMORROW after Tallulah's vet appointment (nothing wrong with her. Just general shots and telling me she weighs too much and sticking something up her bung to check for worms. Basically she will adore me tomorrow) and (4) I see The Fireman tonight.

Oh! And I was in the spare room, not to sound like The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe, and I saw this outside my window:

Oh, piffle.

There we go. Geez. Blogging from...home...certainly is an adjustment. 

Anyway, how pretty! In all the overgrown jungle that is my back yard a flower has grown! A flower grows in Greensboro. And yes I DID traipse out there in this driving rain, in case anyone is local and knows of the monsoon we are experiencing currently.

Okay, I'd better...get to work!

 

 

June. On phone & cranky.

Guess what crashed again. Typing from phone. Hate.

Corncob wisdom

Tallulah ate a corn cob that she found in the road on our walk, and even though I said, "DROP IT!" she did not right away. I mean, you find something good like that, you gotta ignore your mom.

The point is, she then spent the night barfing and guess who got bad sleep and is now late? Late because of a corn cob.

So because I have to go, I leave you with a question: What is your favorite thing about yourself?

Speak.