Bye Bye, Pie!

My riveting weekend. Written by June Gardens. Spent with June Gardens. Because I'm stuck here inside my own self. Which is often mortifying.

I had a busy weekend.

The end.

Wouldn't that be irritating? If I just said that and hit "post"? I think of all kinds of ways to irritate y'all and then I just go ahead and be my regular self and irritate you anyway.

On Friday, I had to tell my temporary workplace "I need to leave on time today," which is sort of sad, that one has to do that, but that place is SO BUSY. Unsure if I've emphasized that enough. They are way busier than when I was a real employee. Which, you know, good for them. Good for the economy. Yay.

But I had stuff to do.

I was getting up with Dick Whitman, and the woman he has been seeing, and ...friend. We went to an opening of an exhibit, because Dick and his Whit is a fancy artist type, man.

And yes. He DID wear his orange polka-dotted shirt again. I know y'all missed it.

Oddly, we all met at the very restaurant where DW and I had our first date way back a year ago when I had no idea we would end up repulsed by each other and just be friends instead.

I got there first, so I ordered a cranberry and soda (June. Hittin' it hard since 2012.) and took a picture of the area where DW and I had that nervous date.

See right there? Where no one is sitting? That's where we were. They don't allow anyone to sit there in honor of that auspicious occasion. Why is everyone sitting alone and looking down? What is this, the Pink Floyd Bar and Depressing Grille?

Finally, everyone in my party showed up and I took a blurry photo of ...friend's salad. I wish I could make you understand how many effing salads ...friend eats. "I just got back from lunch." "Oh, let me guess! What'd you have?" Seriously. I don't know how he isn't sick and tired of greens.

That said? ...Friend looks really good. So I guess there are rewards to this kind of thing. I had an ahi tuna wrap. The wrap said, "Taaaaake on meeee (take on me!), taaaake me onnnn!"

I guess that'd be an a-ha tuna wrap. Anyway, I chose red and blue tortilla chips over fruit. See above re ...friend's eating habits and how he looks good. Betty Draper called. Wonders if she can borrow my muumuus.

Anyway, the exhibit was cool and everything ...friend and I liked, DW and his date hated. Did you ever see Manhattan?

On Saturday, I went to a Murder Mystery Party at Marty Martin's girlfriend Kaye's house.

All my pictures turned out (wait for it) blurry, and I emailed Kaye to thank her for the fun time and said, "Send me your photos for my blog" and she never did, so now you get blurry pictures and THANKS, KAYE. Thanks for RUINING MY BLOG.

Here is blurry Kaye making duck face, which I just accidentally typed "dick face" and cracked myself up cause I am in 7th grade. Anyway, she was kind of the femme fatale character.

Oh and please note I got this invite a month ago, kind of noted the date of the party, then FAILED to read the detailed invite till three hours before the bash. I had to go scrounge up a fortune-teller costume (I used my sari and my Hello Kitty 8-Ball).

So here we are, reading clues which lead us to the murder, and GUESS WHAT?

I was the one murdered.

I.AM.SO.SURE.

Blurry Marty Martin, who was a mummy, had to use my pink reading glasses to read his clues. He and another friend who was there, J-9, both said, "Oh we have to read? We can't see a THING with our contacts!" I was all, "Do you have reading glasses?" And it was like a miracle. Neither one had even thought of trying reading glasses before this and they were both, "I CAN SEE!"

And crap. Now it's 8:34 and I didn't even get to Sunday but trust me. Movie and brunch with ...friend. Book club with Faithful Reader LaUral.

Look how cute we are, other than my acne blemish. Hello, 46. Really? Wrinkles AND acne blemish? Thanks. And I got those earrings when I was out Friday night. Pretty, aren't they? They set off the blemish to perfection.

Anyway, I had much to say about Sunday but I will be fired if I don't get off the computer and get to work but OH! Mad Men! Poor Sally! Peggy is shacking up! Dr. Laura'd be PISSED. Joan got her figure back! I kind of like Megan.

Discuss.

Hulk. Rendering women powerless since--oh, eff it.

Recently, I got the following text from Hulk:

"You wanna know the definition of depressing? My unopened box of condoms expired."

I am afraid I may have been the wrong audience for this information, as I (a) found it incredibly amusing and (2) immediately asked if I could blog about it.

Then I am afraid we got way too much into a discussion of the various brands of condoms out there, and that they came in sizes (did I know this? I did not. Because I am a girl and was married for 97 years) and if anyone is out there at Christmastime wondering what to give Hulk as a stocking stuffer, I have all his condom info and you're welcome.

Anyway, the reaching of the expiration date was just too much for the Hulk to take. He was bummed. He was discouraged. He had exceeded his shelf life.

"I really don't know why you can't get any action," I told him, finally trying to be a good friend and not just amused by his plight. "All the women who read my blog ADORE you."

"Great," said Hulk. "Married women who've never met me and who live in other states. THERE'S something to hang your Magnums on."

A few days went by and I had to hear about how Hulk hates himself and how he looks like Mongo

(okay, you have to admit he was funny with that one) and how no woman would ever be drawn to him ever again for all eternity.

The good news is, this got Hulk primed to start the looking for love. Wooking for wub. And believe it or not, within a week, he'd met someone. A real girl! He didn't have to inflate her or anything!

We're gonna call her Bonne Bell. Which is hilarious only to me but it's my blog so you're just gonna have to tolerate my peccadilloes.

Bonne Bell lives near the Hulkster, has an interesting job and is age-appropriate. I was very excited by this whole thing after the first time they talked. On day two, I texted Hulk, as I am wont to do 79 times a day.

"Have you talked to Bonne Bell today?"

"Um. Yes."

Okay, see. I knew that meant a lot. The "um." So I stampeded to the phone, which is a stupid way to phrase that since I was TEXTING from my phone, so I really had nowhere to stampede.

The POINT is, THEY WENT ALL THE WAY! Hulk and Bonne Bell! The closed the deal. They batter-dipped the corn dog. The threw a log on the fire.

If you catch my drift.

And guess what? Now he doesn't like her. "What kind of person puts out on the first date?" asked Hulk, who had just put out on the first date.

And in his defense, he DID see her again, but was already complaining about her physical appearance ("Getting ready for my big date. Emphasis on BIG," he texted me), and her mannerisms and if you ask me poor Bonnie Bell can do no right now that she did the wrong.

Is this fair? Granted, I am not a first-date-putter-outer, as I am kind of shy that way. But I have zero judgment for anyone who does. I mean, we're adults. You know. Ish. The fact that I just giggled at my corn dog line for 48 minutes is beside the point.

So why doesn't he like her? Is he just doomed to be a single curmudgeon his whole life? Was she just not the one? Should no woman give in to the irresistible powers of The Hulk right away in order to keep him?

Your thoughts.

A post about a post about not commenting on posts. P.S. "Post"

I wish I could tell you how much I adore my friend Chatting. I just do.

Go read this. I couldn't have said it better myself. Literally, because she is a better writer than me, and a better person. 

Oh, and is ANYONE gonna answer me about coffee? Geez.

A crucial Pieces of Wisdom

Let's face it. I am not happy with my coffee situation. I mean, first of all, I have to have half-decaf, which is insulting enough. But then awhile back my coffeemaker broke, so my mother gave me hers, but then THAT broke, and is it really that bad of an idea to throw your coffeemaker against the fireplace like you're doing a Russian toast every morning?

So then I got a percolator, because I love the sound it makes, but coffee stayed fresh in there for, like, 12 seconds.

Now I have a French press, because my mother told me to, but she also told me I could not get any play in seventh grade because boys were intimidated by my beauty.

The problem with the French press is coffee gets cold in eight seconds. Plus, the Russian toast with that glass thing is precarious at best.

So what say you? What coffeemaker do you use and why do you like it?

Do tell.

Confidential to my fellow deep Real Housewives watchers: I don't know how this discussion fits with being a wife and a mother. You're gonna have to think long and hard about getting a coach, a trainer coach.

Karaoke singer will survive. As will June.

So this has been a sort of harrowing few days. I hate waiting for medical test results. But finally Monday afternnoon my doctor called and said, "June? All your tests were negative." Which is about the best news you can hear. Other than, "June? This is Barry Gibb. Have finally left that wife of 42 years and I am all yours. Also, your go-go dancing skillz are needed at the Whiskey. Stat."

They thought I might have had the cervical cancer, which by the way comes from a very common STD known as HPV. Nearly all cervical cancer stems from that. WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN SO UNFAIR. I was, you know, married and engaged and all up in Marvin exclusively since 1996, and to tell you the truth, there hasn't been that much, you know,

HOOO-HAAAAAA

since I got single again. I am certain you wish to know every detail. And any

HOOO-HAAAAAAA

if there HAS been any, and I'm not saying either way, but if there WERE any, I would hoo-haaa safely. SO I WOULD HAVE BEEN REALLY ANNOYED TO GET CANCER FROM AN STD. Is what I am saying.

Anyway, I now have my PhD in HPV and false postive tests and pap smears and all that, so if you ever run into this issue (and anywhere from 50 to 80% of hoo-haaaing people will get HPV at one point or another, so...) (and you probably won't even know you had it because usually you shed it on your own), ask me anything. I now know.

And you want to know something kind of sad? As soon as I got my results I emailed ...friend, and also Dick Whitman, and Hulk, and some of my chick friends, and my parents.

And it was hours later that I finally thought to email Marvin.

Marvin used to be the first person I told, you know, EVERYTHING, and he was an afterthought. I guess that's natural at this point. But it's weird.

Speaking of Marvin, as you may or may not know, I never knew where he lived once he moved out. I told him not to tell me, because it was easier to pretend he didn't live here. It's like he was in the ether or something. Well, this weekend I got a letter from a bank; I think it's where his car loan is from. Anyway, it said, "We received your change of address form. You have moved from [my address] to [Marvin's address]."

THANKS, BANK. So now the cat's out THAT bag. So I asked Marvin if, since I now know where he hangs, where his crib is, his pad, and so on, if I could come see it. Wouldn't you kind of like to see how Marvin decorated and so forth? He said yes, of course I can come over and also see Henry and Anderson, so look for a Better Homes & Marvin Gardens issue of Bye Bye, Pie soon.

Finally, in summation, to end this post, I came home and danced till I got shin splints tonight,  

then I streamed a movie. Have you seen We Bought a Zoo? Because I love me the Cameron Crowe and oh, did I sob at that movie, and that LITTLE GIRL in it! She was so good!

Also, would enjoy owning a zoo. Or even Zoom. Ohhh two one three fourrrr.

Okay, leaving now. BUT NOT LEAVING THE EARTH just yet.

Yay.

My health

I be fine!!!!

Sent from my xyloPhone.

Say it isn't so

"You know there's a Hall and Oates hotline," ...friend told me, like it was just common knowledge and I was the last to know. And no, I don't know what we were discussing beforehand that led to this riveting disclosure.

And who cares? THERE'S A HALL AND OATES HOTLINE? You make my dreams come true!

According to ...friend, you could call a number and it'd say, "For Maneater, press one. For Sara Smile, press two."

"Go ahead and call it now," encouraged ...friend, who is apparently out of touch and out of time, because although I DIDN'T call it then, I put it in my phone's Google search so I'd remember to look it up later. And when I did? All anticipatory and gleeful?

It's a bitch, girl. The number no longer works. I may have to get my private eyes on this--they're watching you, stupid nonworking hotline! Cause they're on my list. I can't resist.

Okay, I'm done. I can't go for that anymore.

Hall and Oates hotline, every time you go away, you take a piece of meat with you. Marvin used to sing that, and you have no idea how many songs Marvin has ruined in my head. Also, do you like how I said I was done but kept going with the Hall and the Oates lyrics?

Why is every photo of these two so homoerotic?

And I realize I could just, you know, go on YouTube and hear any Hall and Oates tune I wanted--AND WHO DOESN'T DO THAT ALL THE TIME? but it was more exciting to CALL and get Maneater or what have you.

 

Why is he tired of playing Ovaltine?

So, that was my disappointment for the weekend. If I were a rich girl, maybe I could bribe them to put the Hall and Oates hotline back up.

Okay, really done now.

My baby hair with a woman's eyes will talk at you.

Right after I get my going-as-Hall-AND-Oates Halloween costume done.

June tries to read the waffle iron

The Snowflake children down the street got a new puppy.

I know. And it's a chihuahua, so you know it will bite someone just like Snowflake did.

It's kind of cute, though, in an I'm-a-chihuahua kind of way.

June. Repulsing everyone who loves their stupid chihuahua since 2012.

And in case you just got here, about three blocks away from me live these extremely loud children, who I am pleased to say you see playing--actually playing--outside all the time like it's 1969, and I always stop and talk to them. Mostly because as we walk by they scream, "HI LALUUULAH! HI ETHEL!" and they always want to pet my dogs. They had an absolutely beautiful big dog named Snowflake but it bit someone (allegedly) and the dog got taken away to the pound.

The end.

And yes, person who just got here and asks the obvious questions, I DID go looking for Snowflake to snatch her up myself. Because in a million years I can't see her biting anyone. She was a sweetheart.

I have no idea what that child's t-shirt says. Something at the beach. I left my dog at the beach. I stay inside with a Wii like the other kids in America only when I'm at the beach. I will finally learn your dogs' names at the beach.

In the meantime, I been talking to them four years and know NONE of their names. They have told me, but (a) they aren't pets so it's irrelevant to me and (4) you really can't understand them half the time because they all scream at once.

In other news, ...friend sent me this:

Wait. What?

Recently, ...friend, who is a tasteful as me, was trying to make a Helen Keller joke and accidentally said "Anne Frank" instead of Helen Keller. Which (a) makes no sense and (b) is horrible. I mean, I act like making jokes about Helen Keller is so much more wonderful. But anyway, the terribleness of that sent me into hysterics, because you know how I am, and this is probably why he thought of me when he saw this article.

"Oh, June is a bad person! She'll appreciate this!"

Will somebody please get me some Helen Keller sunglasses? Please? I need them. As badly as I need w-a-t-e-r.

I guess that's all I have to tell you, but really, that should be enough.

with Turkey

Edsel just stuck his tongue in my mouth while I was yawning. He is disgusting.

edzul very attract to mom. mom irriztible. in her graa rowbe.

He's right. I am sort of irriztible in this gray robe. I may have to make out with myself, if I can get my dog out my mouth.

So, hey! How are y'all all?

lu just want to be freend, mom. mostlee cause gray rowbe not that hot.

Things are fine-ish here, although as you can see a lot of my time has been taken up teaching my Crystal-Clear Photography series.

I have good news and bad news, over here. The bad news is I am in the middle of ANOTHER EFFING HEALTH SCARE, and probably it isn't that big a deal, but you know how I am. I have obsessed, and Googled, and worried, and pictured myself feeling the silk and joining Dick Clark for the final countdown.

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN! Now you have that song in your head all day. You are welcome.

There will be more news on my impending race toward death on Monday, and no, I will NOT give you more details if you email me. "What's going ONNN, June? Let's TALK about it, June." Talking about it makes me hurl. I am just telling you so you can get a general idea of my state of mind and that state is Nebraska.

...I just got up to let old Frenchie, there, and his sister outside to chase squirrels, and as I passed the dining room there is a container of Parmesan cheese just sitting in the middle of the floor.

A whole container.

Is my Parmesan cheese haunted? Is it floating about on its own? HOW DID THOSE STUPID DOGS GET TO THE PARMESAN CHEESE? Can they now open the fridge? Because that might be convenient, actually. "Edsel, go get mom some Gino's Pizza Rolls and maybe we can get to second." Gino's Pizza Rolls would be in the freezer, though. I need to get them a little step stool.

Oh, and the good news, and I like how I take 75 minutes to get to any good news, is that I won that Best Blogger Who Ever Walked the Streets of Greensboro award in Yes Weekly magazine.

Actually, I think it was Best Blogger Who Ever Graced the Triad, and "the Triad" is what they call it here and I have no idea why. I think it has something to do with three. I am the best blogger of three.

I know I won because Marvin called me. He'd been at the gym and was paging though Yes Weekly--and yes to what? What does "Yes Weekly" mean, really? Then again I shouldn't poke fun because they have awarded me this prize. Anyway, he was on the treadmill or doing zoomba or pulling a train with his teeth or whatever Marvin does at the gym and there I was. Listed.

Marvin picked a fine time to leave THIS winning combination, over here. A champion blogger AND sexually enticing to dogs. GOOD WORK, ABANDONING THIS GRAVY TRAIN, BUB.

Maybe I am attractive to dogs because I smell like Gravy Train. Do they still make Gravy Train?

It doesn't really seem fashionable anymore to feed your dog strips in gravy (with Turkey!) while a train is bearing down on you. What about Chuck Wagon? Do they still make that? So that your sheepdog can chase it under the cupboard? Sheepdogs were the Border collies of the '70s, weren't they?

Okay, I must go. Am still freelancing at my old work and WHEN DID THAT PLACE GET SO BUSY? There has been late work EVERY NIGHT so far, and they are down to two copy editors. Also I have to leave for said busy place in 20 minutes and am still in my siren song gray robe. So goodbye.

Geez Louise. Found her.

I just went to sit on the front porch to wait for ...friend, and did a few more "kittykittykitty!" calls, and I heard the saddest meow you've ever heard. There she was, in all the foliage at the side of the house. I would take her picture but she is too busy eating to pose for the effing webcam.

OH THANK GOD.

Now I gotta go take down all the signs. Which is good, because I was worried the neighbors would start reporting me to the SPCA.