Bye Bye, Pie!

The Riviera of the South

The dogs seem like they know something is up--my trip to Hawaii is in two days. They seem clingier than usual, which when it comes to Edsel, one might wonder how he could be MORE clingy without climbing inside my soul. The past few mornings I've woken up and they are spooning me on either side. Which, hey! The South! In late July! Please, dogs with fur, everyone please press up against me! Thanks.

I've literally washed every item of clothing I own, and now I'm deciding what to pack. Last night I got up with Ned/...friend to see To Catch a Thief at the old movie theater in town, and I practically had on a ballgown. "You look...nice," said Friend Ned ("Friend Ned." heeeeee), eyeing my hoop skirt and taffeta. "I had to wear something I knew I wasn't gonna wear to Hawaii," I told him, swishing my skirts through the theater with my elbow-length gloves.

Can you see the rainbow I captured on expert film on the drive to Ned's? I didn't roll down the window and take a photo in my prom dress while driving at all. Safe!

To Catch a Thief was fun to watch. It's another Hitchcock movie (they're having a whole thing with Alfred Hitchcock at that theater this summer) and this time I got to look at Grace Kelly, which I like to do. Ironically there was a whole scene where she's careening through narrow hilly streets in the Riviera in her car, which was a little too close to home, really. Not that I'm over here blogging at you from the Riviera. Although you do often hear people call Greensboro The Riviera of the South.

After the movie, Ned said, "Who do you think was better looking, Cary Grant from last week or Rock Hudson from this week?"

....?

"Rock HUDSON?" I asked, incredulous. "We just sat there for two hours and watched Cary Grant."

"No we didn't. That was Rock Hudson," said old Siskel and Ebert, over there.

Thank god for iPhones, which enabled me to whip out details of the movie STARRING CARY GRANT, who come to think of it was probably also mentioned in the marquee we were in front of.

Rock Hudson was just one hot gay guy, though, wasn't he? I wonder if eventually we'd have finally gotten the gay vibe from him had he NOT died of AIDS. Who do you think is hotter? Rock Hudson has more of a manly man thing, but Cary Grant was just so elegant. And I know Cary Grant allegedly liked him the menfolk, too, but he also liked women, which would give us all a better chance.

Oh! And while I'm up asking you questions, the woman who may or may not provide me with Botox and Latisse wanted me to ask y'all something:

If you were to get on the computer with the intent of looking for a doctor in your area, and you wanted that doctor to be not a man, what specific words would you put in to Google or Bing or whatever?

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.

Armed with Cipro, June Soldiers On. She also solders on, as she is the star of Flashdance. Wait. That would be weldering on. Wouldn't it?

...friend/Ned left his Swiss Army Knife here, so if today's the day the Swiss Army needs to invade, he is screwed. "We're gonna burst into that country and open ALL THEIR CANS! No cork is safe!"

Often on Sundays, we see a pretentious movie, then have brunch, which is really more dunch because it's 3:00 or 4:00 when we do that, and then afterward we'll come sit on my deck, which turns us into skeletons because the mosquitoes eat every ounce of flesh we own. ...friend/Ned refuses to use Off. I think he thinks it's full of toxins or something, which, whatever. What would you rather do, die in 30 years of Off toxins or not get bitten right this moment?

Anyway, my pal Gertrude told me if you point a fan at yourself the mosquitoes won't bug you, so yesterday when he came to get me for our pretentious movie, Ned/...friend--and I am really getting tired or typing that--brought an oscillating fan.

We were all excited to use said oscillating fan but first we had the movie, which had been a source of some discussion. You have never met anyone who enjoys a depressing movie more than Ned/... . Oh, I like that. "Ned/... ." Anyway he'd been reading our choices to me, and one of them was a French film about a quadraplegic guy who gets a caretaker from the 'hood, and 1990 called and wants the word "'hood" back, and I said, "Oh, that French one sounds mos' def. Let's leave my crib and see that. Homie."

Ned and his dots did NOT want to see that one. He said it sounded too happy. Honest to GOD, he only likes a sad movie. "You're a terribly unhappy person," I told him, just waiting to whip out the "I have a UTI and whose fault is it" line should he resist any further. "I'm NOT a terribly unhappy person! I'm a very happy person, in fact. It's just that happy movies are so unrealistic."

So there you go.

Anyway, we saw it. And IT WAS GREAT. (You know you don't have to look at this in the teensy size, right? If you click on it it'll take up your whole screen.)

"A French Driving Miss Daisy," Ned/... said, when we left. Guess who bugs me? Guess who laughed at that for an hour, because it kind of was?

Because he'd been at the beach all week and ate horrifically good unhealthy food, Ned/dot was craving (wait for it) a salad.

So we went to the totally not pretentious AT ALL Whole Foods. I wasn't very hungry, which might be a side effect of my Cipro, and in which case, yay. My Cipro also says, "Avoid prolonged exposure to the sun," which is exactly what you want to hear when you're on your way to Hawaii.

I didn't at ALL lean over and pick all the grapes out of this salad, which I'm sure was not annoying. In the slightest.

This picture might have been more mildly amusing in the BEGINNING of July, but whatever.

Finally, it was time to go to my crib, and didn't I already use "crib"? Crap, I did. We were gonna be chillin' at my house and it was gonna be off the hook. There. I am so fresh.

But when Ned/... got the fan out of his car, it was broken. The neck-y part® was snapped, making it kind of an Isadora Duncan fan, and in MY world, this would have meant, "Well. So much for that." BOOM! Into the trash. But not ...Ned. No, sir.

"Have you got any whoo de bloop blees?" he asked, wanting some manly tool thing. This gave me the perfect opportunity to whip out my pink toolkit, so to speak, and once again I'd like to point out I got that toolkit the weekend Marvin left, thinking I'd be all do-it-myself, and so far the only people to go near those tools are whichever poor sap I'm dating when they've been roped into fixing something for me.

Eventually, ...Ned decided we needed string, or twine, or something, and we had to go to Target.

I dare you. Really I DARE you, to go to Target today and find string. Or twine. We asked THREE PEOPLE, and all three directed us to different parts of the store (tools, automotive and crafts) and yet? YET? NO STRING!

We did, in our search for nonexistent Target string, see a backpack or something where Tinkerbell was gettin' all cozy with another fairy.

"Ohhh! Is Tinkerbell--well good for her. I imagine she has to go for anyone, male or female, who's her size," said ...Ned. Then I'm afraid we said all sorts of inappropriate things about Peter Pan, and after all that, God did not see fit to show us any string.

The point is, we got back here, and with my Hello Kitty duct tape and the twine we got AT THE GROCERY STORE, TARGET STEVE, and with the help of his Army Knife of the Swiss, friend got that poor oscillating fan to stop having a broken neck.

"Good Lord, that's terrible," he said, looking at the four pounds of string and Hello Kitty tape. "Please don't show this to Hulk," he said. And that is why I'm not showing you the poor fan. Because showing it here is showing it to Hulk. Hulk, go off and think about Tinkerbell's lesbian affair so I can show everyone else the fan.

And you know what? It worked! No mosquitoes bugged us. The only thing bugging us was Edsel, who runs over with his blue toy, then when you try to take it from him to throw it he runs away, appalled. Then five seconds later he's nudging you with the blue toy.

No fans seem to work on that.

Because you've been saying, "June never tells us about her urinary tract."

Before I begin complaining about my urinary tract infection, and right there I know you're riveted and not.going.anywhere, I wanted to show you this.

My Tracy Allman workout requires me to jump around like an idiot, and kick behind me and in front of me and to the side and really I just want to slug that Spencer Tracy with every ounce of my being. The point is, I have kicked both dogs in the snout several times, because apparently they aren't smart enough to say, "mom kikeeng. maybe get out of way to save snowt." This means that when I work out, I close the baby gate leading to the back room so that they can hang there, or open the screen door to go outside. I mean, it's an hour of their lives WITH ACCESS TO OUTSIDE, so how hard can it be to be back there?

Apparently if you're Edsel, very hard.

cant kwit mom

That hour staring at me from behind the baby gate was too much for him, so he climbed up on the cat window. There was part of me, like the evil 99%, that wanted to see how that idiot was gonna get himself out of THIS predicament, and I could tell he was all, "o sheat. how edzul go down?"but the 1% of me that is kind lifted his stupid arse out of there.

I can't decide if him getting up there makes him dumb or sort of smart.

I mean, he's supposed to be part German shepherd, and they're smart. Look at his shadow--total German shepherd smart-dog shadow. But you can't always count on that shadow.

Anyway, I'm typing you and feeling like I really really really need to pee, except I REALLY DON'T HAVE TO, because you know what's fun? Is a urinary tract infection.

It started last weekend, and I went to the grocery store and bought over-the-counter relief, which worked, and I announced to ...friend/Ned that I had bought the stuff, because it's important that he know my every detail, and anyway things were great till yesterday. When there came my symptoms again.

I was so miserable this morning that for the first time in my dumb life I went to Urgent Care, where believe it or not they were fast, efficient and friendly. I know! I thought it'd be a nightmare. But really, I was so miserable there was no way I could wait till tomorrow. Oh, it's a dreadful thing.

They gave me a test (easier than the editing tests I've taken lately) and sure enough, I passed! I got a prescription for Cipro and they sent me on my way. So now could it kick in? Could it? Because this is dreadful. Cipro gets rid of Anthrax; surely it can knock out my UTI in a hurry. Right? RIGHT?

My point is, as I was checking out of Urgent Care, Ned/....friend called and I told him what was up. "I really should have gotten on an antibiotic right away," I said. "That over-the-counter stuff just alleviates the symptoms."

"Oh, I knew that," said helpful Ned/...friend. "I should've said something."

You THINK? YOU THINK MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE? NED? Oh, who is in a foul mood? Who feels poorly?

Anyway, I've been in the bathroom so much for the last 24 hours that now Edsel the smart-not smart German shepherd goes in there and just lies on the floor, waiting for me. He sighs and flumps onto the throw rug. Poor Edsel. His love is king.

So that's all I have to tell you, but that feels like enough. I'm gonna go. I think I have to pee.

PSYCH!

Ask Dick Whitman's mom and you shall receive

A few days ago, we ("we." I totally stole the idea from a reader) decided to write in our questions for Dick Whitman's mom. In case you are just tuning in, and really? I've been here almost SIX YEARS. I was just about to get in the car and go home. But in case you just got here, my friend Dick Whitman has the world's coolest mom.

She was married for 927 years to Dick Whitman's dad. There's an article in the Winston-Salem paper about how DW's dad attended DW's mom's I think it was 6th birthday party. It was some birthday party where she was young young young. So they've known each other for awhile. Plus, that Winston-Salem paper, man. There's some investigative journalism.

My point is, she comments here a lot and she is always funny and wise, so we decided to ask her advice and here's what she has to say.

BStar said...
I don't wish to have some advice about a personal issue but I do admire your ability to have such a love of life, be open to new experiences and people, have a witty way of looking at things and just be so emotionally healthy and happy. Where do you think that comes from for you?
Acceptance of myself and those around me.

Helen said...
I want to know if there's EVER a time a woman can give up on dieting to be thinner. Are we ever satisfied or do we just give up? I'm not saying not to eat healthy, I'm specifically talking about dieting which I feel like I've been doing for 18,754 of the 19,119 days I've been alive.
First, stop comparing your body to those of the models and entertainment stars! Second, see your body as beautiful because it is!

Helen continued (geez. Helen.) MY mom says if all the men in the world dropped dead, all the women would stop dieting, eat hot fudge sundaes for dinner and be happy. What say you, DW's mom?
I disagree, the media holds out an impossible body image  and tells us that is the ideal and we must buy someones product to attain the unattainable.

June Gardens said, after waiting for Helen to quit droning on...
What I want to know is, how can you stand the same person year after year after year of marriage? I mean, were there ever times you felt like, IMA STICK A STAKE THROUGH HIS HEAD, or were you lucky enough to never feel that way? If you DID ever feel that way how'd you get past that?
I tended more to a 'stake in the heart' kind of revenge.  The only way I got past it was when he said or did something that reminded me of why I married him in the first place.

Faith--damn, where are the tissues? said...
I need some advice on a question that is going to make me look ungrateful, selfish, and unfeeling. My grandmother died years ago, and one of my aunts - who has 3 boys - told me at the time that she planned on leaving me some jewelry she inherited from her mother as she didn't have girls to hand it down to (keep it in the family, so to speak). Well, my aunt just passed away last month. So - A) do I even bring this up to my uncle or cousins (who, now, by the way are all married to great ladies)? B) Should I just wait and see what happens? C) Should I put a little bug in my parents' heads about it? D) Should I just forget it and be happy if it happens and accept it if it doesn't? {And the biggest question - how can I stop crying every time I think of her?}
 This is just me, but I would choose B.  There may come an occasion where 'bringing it up' would be appropriate, then I would choose A.  Grieving for a loved one is normal, natural and even necessary--and each of us must do it the way that we need to.

Joan in NV, classing things up since 1960, said...
This is a little like asking the Queen what color her knickers are, but here goes. DW's Mom-- boxers or briefs?
Briefs

(Wait. Did we just ask DW's mom about her delicates?) 

eating myself through this emotional roller coaster dancer said...
I'm at "that age" where my hormones are wreaking havoc in my life. I can't afford my bio-identical hormones anymore so I've been thinking about asking my doctor for the shot that shuts your system down for months - or it might be a year. I'm also two years out from the ex leaving and I'm still getting side swiped from the loss of a 25 year marriage. These emotions plus hormones...oy vey. What say you?
Bless you sweet one.  The hormone thing should be addressed by your gyn doc.  If he/she does not help, find a new doctor!

Tee said...
How old were you when you married Mr. W? How long were you married? What is your secret for a successful marriage, at any age?
We were 18 and were married 59 years.  Ahh, secret for marriage success, love, patience, endurance (throw out ALL stakes) and forgiveness.  None of those actions/emotions are easy to come by--you just keep on keeping on til you achieve them.

Jeannie said...
I have only been married 32 years today. I have put a stake through his head numerous times and he won't die. Do you think I married a vampire rather than a zombie? Should I put the stake through his heart next time?
Won't help, he still won't die.

Amish Annie/Paul said...
Why do some people get mean and negative when they get old? Are they unhappy? (I'm not talking about folks with dementia or Alzheimer's.) And what are some suggestions to help with conversing and interacting with these folks.
Wow, now that is a question I can't answer.  Why do people get mean and negative at ANY AGE?  There are as many answers as there are people. As for conversing and interacting with 'them', converse and interact just like you do with people you own age.

I have discovered recently that people all but ignore me when DW or WW take me places in a wheelchair.  They don't make eye contact with me, they talk over my head and they talk to my kidlets about me as if I were not there.  Being the major bitch that I am, I usually interupt and force them to deal with me.

Texas Kari - this is GREAT! said...
I have a 12 year old daughter, and she's a dreamboat! I'm looking down the road to the teenage years. Most of the issues of parenting a teenager make my heart race. There's a lot of modern advice about these sorts of issues (see: 20 shelves of parenting books at B&N), but I'm more interested in old fashioned good sense. You know, what's tried and true. What kinds of things did you do in your household to keep your kids moving in the right direction?
Cried, screamed, and denied access to cherished activities A LOT!  Teen years are a nightmare for all (parents & kids).  My only advice is to love them no matter what and use your best instincts.

Dawn in DC LOVES the super feminine look said...
Did you buy the orange polka-dotted shirt for DW? If not, how do you like it on him? Also, too, your evening dress is stunning. What do we gotta do to bring that style back?
No DW is his own stylist and I am not fond of that shirt.  As for bringing back that style, just wait; the designers will eventually bring it back.

(I really like DW in that shirt.) 

Anita said...
I have 3 boys and they are all moving away from me. My oldest is in Atlanta, my middle one just got a job in CA (that's so far!) and my baby is now off to college. How did you deal with the empty nest thing? Will I have to resort to the stake in the head since it will be just me and my husband now? Will the way he eats soup ever stop bugging me?
Oh dear sweet woman, this transition is HARD!  You and the 'stake in the head' guy will develop a whole new relationship and you can make it good or bad, depending on how much you can rediscover those things that made you love him in the first place.

: : Garden Girl : : Maybe this could be a monthly thing....... said...
Everything I have is a little lower than it used to be. Gone South. Gravity is not my friend. Well, you get the picture. How is my female psyche to best deal with this avoiding the mirror/preferring candlelight phase? Spiritually? Gym membership? A special affirming mantra? A hypnotist? I don't know...but I hope you do.
Never look at a younger woman's body or clothes!  Keep your eyes and attention on how older women look and dress.

Peter, who thinks DW's mom has her work cut out for her, said...
As for June and Deb, sometimes men refuse to take that big step because, frankly, why should we? Who wants to go into an ice cream shop selling one flavor when you can go into Baskin Robbins? Once you've decided that you can be satisfied eating strawberry ice cream for the rest of your life, then and only then are you ready. And, do you know what? That will be the foundation for a lasting relationship.

My question for DW's mom is this. What can you do to avoid waking up in the morning with a stake through your head?
Decide early on where the strawberry ice cream is and NEVER go back to Baskin Robbins.

(Deb and I were bemoaning the time it takes men to commit.) 

Linda in CO of the bruised forehead said...
Does wisdom truly come with age? I'm talking about the part of the serenity prayer where you get the wisdom to know the difference? Am I ever going to quit banging my head against the wall of things I cannot change, or stop being paralyzed by figuring out this is something I CAN change? And is there anything I can do to hurry this wisdom along?
For me the secret to that serenity was FINALLY accepting myself as I am, and killing that self-doubt witch that had lived in my head.  Once I was able to do that, I was then able to accept others as they are without trying to 'fix' them.

sara with an (h) said...
I can hardly wait for this day to arrive... perhaps it is because my most beloved grandmother is currently on hospice and more senile by the minute and my heart is breaking? I'm not sure if my falling in love with DW's mother is connected with my Grandma situation at all, but I've fallen in love and hope you honor us all with your wisdom and grace.
Bless you and your grandmother.  This is never an easy time in life, but it is a part of life that we all must endure.  I suggest you spend as much time as is reasonable with her.  She may not know you, or remember things --but your presence may give her some comfort and you will know that you have given her back the love she helped foster in your heart.

LauraL said...
Do you regret more the things you did or the things you didn't do?
I no longer regret.  That comes from me finally being able to accept me as I am.

LauraL ALSO said...What is the best thing you did in parenting your children? The worst?
In both instances--loved them no matter what.

LauraL said AGAIN, and GEEZ, Laura...As one ages, does one grow more satisfied with life or more wistful? Why do men act so much like large children?
I have no answer for these.

LauraL! Shaddup already!...What do you do to maintain such good relationships with your children?
Love them no matter what.

LauraL! Stake through your head! God! She also said...I'm sure I'll think of others later, but those immediately came to mind. Those and the how-do-I-avoid-staking-him one.
Endure!

Tarva said...
When a parent or grandparent has everything they could ever want and they tell you not to buy them a present should you buy something anyway? And if yes what in the world do you buy someone who has everything?
This becomes a problem for all concerned.  I rarely want something that could be a gift and DW & WW get frustrated with me. DW pleased me greatly at Christmas this year,  he went to a high-end grocery store, perused the type of foods he knows I like, and bought a bunch of very expensive food items that I would not buy for myself.  Needless to say, I stuffed myself with a variety of specialty cheeses, chocolates, crackers, preserves, etc.  WW, not to be outdone, gave me gift certificates for massages.

jo said...
Were people crazy just as crazy before cell phones, texting, email and 20 ways to watch a thousand TV shows?
Short answer NO!  I truly believe the Devil invented all the electronic and cell type devices and is undermining civilization.

Another Unruly-Haired Person, now a divorcée said...
I wish you were my mom. Want to adopt me? I'm June's age, if that matters.
Yes!

Another Unruly-Haired Person, now a divorcée also said...Okay, so my question is, Do you think the overall quality of men has gone down, or perhaps that a higher percentage of men these days are of lower quality? By quality in this context, I mean things like making commitments and sticking to them even when life gets rough, or not lying or only trying to get friends "with benefits" rather than be in an actual relationship?
Wow, that is complicated.  I won't blame men for the changes, but I will blame the societal expectations and changes.

Okay, Another Unruly went to the LauraL school of Qs, as she also said... Also, did just as many couples used to be as miserable as now, but not get divorced in the same numbers merely because divorce was more frowned upon, or did so many more couples stay together because they were genuinely committed to making their relationships work? i.e., if divorce were as accepted then as now, do you think the divorce rate back then would've also been as high as now?
Yes and yes! Absolutely!

BStar said in reply to Another Unruly-Haired Person, now a divorcée....
What happened to the dads that mowed the lawn and washed the cars every Saturday and then took the cars (Mom's and Dad's) to the "filling station" to get gassed up for the week? Then, they came home and got shaved and showered for whatever Mom planned for the evening - a BBQ or playing cards with the neighbors or taking all us kids to the drive-in. Then, they got up the next morning and got all dressed up and smelling nice and took us all to church. Divorce was not part of this picture in any way.
Sports (24/7) on television!  Only 'no account, no good' people got divorces.

(Uh-oh, Hulk.) So there it is! Your answers from DW's mom! Thanks, mom of DW, for playing along. We all heart you and have never once wished to drive a stake through your head.

 

You got perdy lips.

Dudes. I KNOW I promised you that today I would provide you with the answers to the questions that you asked Dick Whitman's mom, but I have so many things to COMPLAIN about. Also, cutting and pasting all those DW's mom questions is gonna take a coon's age and I have to get some freelance work done that I've (wait for it) put off and then I have to scream on over to Jo's this afternoon to read her tarot cards.

I'm swamped.

 

Anyway, complaining will just take me a second, because I'm good at it.

FIRST of all, ...friend/Ned has been gone since Tuesday and I hate it. Then he gets back tomorrow, and after a few days I will be gone FOR EIGHT DAYS, and all this lack of ...friend/Ned is making me bereft. I realize the part where I will be gone for eight days TO HAWAII makes you a little less sympathetic than you might normally be.

I have still not informed ...friend that his new blog name is Ned, and I am certain he will care deeply either way.

At any rate, the day he left I was drying clothes, because I am fascinating, and when I walked past the laundry room (it's like a four-foot-wide closet. The "laundry room." Pfft.), I said, Geez. Why is it so HOT when I walk past there? It's like I crossed the equator or something.

You know why? You know WHY it was so ding-dang hot? The silver hose-y thing® (official name) was DETACHED from the WALL and just SPEWING heaty hot heat EVERYWHERE.

I'll bet my air conditioning was having a good time with that. It was like dueling banjos over at my house.

HeatheatHEATheatheatheatheatheatheat.

CoolcoolCOOLcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool.

 

No, really, you're welcome.

So THAT happened in the evening, which meant I couldn't DRY anything else till morning, and I realize this is not, you know the worst problem in the world. "She couldn't dry anything for the rest of that night? God, that woman is brave." But still.

So I got up in the a.m., as one is wont to do unless one is a bat, and called the dryer repair and of course they said, "We can get someone to call you when he gets time" and I was all, fine, just not between 10 and 11 and guess what happened. GUESS WHEN THEY CALLED.

So while I'm waiting for the stupid listening-really-well dryer people to come over--and did I vent about my dryer enough? BAH!--I looked under the sink, or "zinc," as I hear people in Michigan say sometimes, and I noticed my pink bucket had, you know, liquid in it. Which is not something I did on purpose.

"Say! That's disgustung!" I said, pulling out the bucket to see what the Sam Holy Dueling Banjos Hill was going on. And when I did that? When I did? GUESS WHAT.

The entire black huge thingy® (official name) fell off the pipes, there. The whole thing. BOOM.

"%#&**#$," I said, and have I mentioned my unemployment? And how the place who interviewed me Tuesday has not called back and I don't think they're gonna?

So then I had to call a PLUMBER, while I was waiting for the DRYER PEOPLE to come (those dryer people are hot.) (They have a lot of Bounce in their step) (Robert DOWNEY Junior is one of their technicians) (I adore me, so bad. Why does God see fit to punish me, do you think?), and everything was delightful.

Naturally they both got here at once: the same foreign guy who came to fix my dryer in March, the one who kept saying, "Oh, wow," about my vent. And the sink guy was clearly having a midlife crisis, as he had not one but TWO earrings peeking out his gray hair.

They eyed each other suspiciously. Edsel, meanwhile, had TWO MEN in the house at once, and had already done a preliminary sketch of them in charcoal so he could use it for his 70-foot-long mural he's creating: Edzul best dayy evur.

It turns out the whole GARBAGE DISPOSAL had fallen off, which is not, you know, great, and I opted to not get one at all because I HAVE NO JOB. Midlife Crisis Plumber did, however, have to get something or other so that my water in my sink wouldn't just splay everywhere, which apparently it had been doing for weeks without my knowledge. A whole lotta living had been going on under my zinc and I was over here oblivious.

"You're gonna have a lot of cleanup, ma'am," Earringo Starr Plumber told me.

Dude, it was disgusting. We had to take everything out from under there, and the guy TOLD me I was gonna have to put a fan under the zinc (who has to get over saying "zinc," do you think) to dry everything off, but it turns out whatever sort of tile or whatever was under there was so warped I was just able to peel it off and throw it away. And I'm sorry, Marvin, but any stupid motor oil or car-looking tool or whatever that you left under the z---sink has now been disposed of.

Then I had to sweep and scrub not only under there, but the entire kitchen floor. Good times!

At least it's a little more tidy under there now. I mean, in case you were planning to stampede over and rip open my sink door.

So that was a stupid day, and then yesterday I decided to celebrate by peeing.

And guess what. GUESS EFFING WHAT. The toilet wouldn't flush. I mean, you press down on the thing® (official name) and? Nothing. Now, I am man enough to know that this usually means the chain is disconnected from that other thing® (official name), so I lifted the lid on the tank and, "?" We just bought this toilet when we moved in, I forget why other than the toilet that was in there was from 1950 and said, "Heyyyyy" whenever we sat on it. See, it'd have been funnier if I'd said, It said, 'Sit on it' whenever we walked in. But I didn't think of that till just now. We really need to bring back the phrase "Sit on it."

Anyway it's a weird toilet. So I did the thing any responsible adult would do--I went next door and made my neighbor Paul look at the toilet. Not the OLD GUY who is my neighbor named Paul. My next-door neighbor is also named Paul, and he's my age, and I am sorry if that's confusing. Do you want me to MOVE so my BLOG makes more sense?

Oh, and I'd lifted the flapper thing so the toilet was flushed when Paul came over. In case you were worried sick.

Anyway, he confirmed the weirdness of my toilet, and I had to go to Lowe's and get a new flapper thing, and I had this middle-aged woman who worked there help me find what I needed. Naturally I told her my life story, or at least my last-48-hours story.

"Honey," she said, grabbing my arm. I'm the kind of person who people think I don't mind being grabbed by the arm. The other day a sales clerk stroked my back. Let me just tell you. I MIGHT LOOK TOUCHABLE BUT GUESS WHAT.

Anyway "Honey," she said, grabbing my arm, "I love my house. Lord knows I do. But you are COMMITTED to that thing! It never ends." She seemed like maybe she'd thought this over a lot in her days over there at Lowe's. The good news is she knew just what kind of flapper I needed, and that damn thing did the Charleston the whole way back to my house.

After just 10 hours of me fussing with it and screeching, "@^%&##$" at the toilet, and I do hope the neighbors didn't hear me saying, "Ampersand percent" like that, but I was annoyed, I finally got the thing to work. I am strong. I am invincible.

After all that, the dogs ran in from outside--and did I mention Edsel figured out how to open the screen door and let himself in? That dog is smarter than he looks, which is not saying much because he is Goober's doppelganger. Anyway you have never smelled anything so awful in all your life.

"Mother of GOD, what have you two been into?" I said, still admiring my plumbing handywork. So then I had to BATHE THE DOGS, which is a good time, and there's nothing like lifting 50 pounds of terrified dog into the bathtub all by yourself.

Tallulah is pretty dignified about it, but you'll be shocked to hear Edsel cowers and hides his tail and KEEPS JUMPING OUT of the tub once you put him in. So then eventually you have 50 pounds of terrified WET dog, which is super easy to grip and you don't at all want to run him down to the Euthenasias R Us 24-hour store. You don't at ALL think of driving to the country and watching that underbite get smaller and smaller in your rearview mirror. No, sir.

Don't even TALK to me about how I have to work on this floor. DON'T EVEN TALK TO ME.

You can't even tell Talu is wet, can you? It takes 87 hours for the water to actually drench her fur. I guess it's the Beagle in her? Is it the Beagle that coats that dog in Teflon? Edsel gets wet immediately, but he's furrier than you think, and rinsing him is pure pleasure. Especially when you have to keep placing him BACK IN the tub.

My life is stupid.

You know Anne Lamott? She's one of my favorite authors and I highly recommend her. She says when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born--and that this something needs for you to be distracted so that it can be born as perfectly as possible.

If I'm pregnant Ima kill somebody.

June Gardens. Famous in Greensboro since...well. Okay. I'm still not famous. Crap.

I was quoted in the local paper again today. I am turning into my Uncle Leo. Not that I have become gay and half-Hispanic, although both of those are clearly right around the corner. Oh, and vegetarian. My Uncle Leo is also vegetarian now. Stay tuned for Latina June, your favorite celery-chewing lesbian, coming to this blog soon!

No. I was quoted in the paper today, and my Uncle Leo is FOREVER being quoted and photographed back in my hometown newspaper. Is what I am throwing down to you. He's politically active and he's interesting, and besides, who can get enough of hearing about vegetarianism? And now I've been in the paper twice this summer.

This time it was to recommend good books, which is coincidental, seeing as I asked you all to recommend good books to me just yesterday. I will definitely check out Gone Girl, seeing as 9394050500 of you suggested it. And I am intrigued by the one Cupcake Murphy suggested, about the funny gay Southern man. Since I'm about to become one. Maybe I will comPLETEly turn into my Uncle Leo and become a gay man. I will be my own best friend.

Have I ever told you the fascinating story about my Uncle Leo and how he turned gay? And yes, I absolutely cringe when someone says, "He turned gay" or "He decided to be gay." Bugs me to death. But really, my Uncle Leo started dating my Aunt Kathy when they were in 10th grade, and they got married (not in 10th grade. Hello, Ozarks) and were married till they were in their 30s. They had two kids.

And I mean, he liked him the Aunt Kathy.

Then they got divorced, and I lived at his house the summers between college, because my mother wasn't living in my hometown at the time and besides, it's more fun to live with Uncle Leo. And trust me. He was a dating fool. He liked.him.the.ladies. This I know. I wish I could go into detail but I had no idea I was gonna go off on an Uncle Leo tangent today and haven't asked him permission, and he is in Alaska right now, being gay and Hispanic and vegetarian, and it's like six hours earlier there or something.

My point is, starting from when he was 19, he had this...condition in his brain. Not a tumor (will not insert tired "It's not a tumor" joke here), but something that required surgery, and the condition came back twice more after he got divorced.

After the third brain operation? He started feeling attracted to men.

I KNOW!

He spoke to his doctor about it, and I really think they should study him. It worries me a little, though, because what if there's something you can tweak in your brain to make you gay or not gay, and homophobic parents will be stampeding out to get their son, who wants to take ballet, in for brain surgery.

I have no idea how I got off on this tangent today.

Anyway, Uncle Leo would have been the kind of person to never be closeted, so I saw this phenomenon firsthand. And you should see him now! He could not be more out and proud. It's kind of exciting for the rest of us, because he USED to be all into his Hispanic heritage, and we had to hear about that, and watch him wear a sombrero and say things like, "burrrrreeeetho" instead of burrito even though he grew up in Saginaw, Michigan like the rest of us.

"Thaaaaacoo!" Oh, you just wanted to smack him. But now we hear less about his proud heritage and more about his proud gayness. Which is way interestinger.

"Callloraaaatho!" That's how he said, "Colorado." I mean, he still does. He still whips out the accent where none exists and you still want to throw a burro at him. When he'd come to LA, we'd pass Hispanic-sounding streets and he'd SAY them all in that phony accent. "Oh! Loz Feeeeleeez!" "Palllllos Verrrrrrrdeeeese!"

Sigh.

Anyway. I've been quoted in the paper today. Is my point. And Dick Whitman's mom has answered many many many of your questions, so look for that tomorrow. And thanks for your book suggestions yesterday! I will be kept amused on that plane. Say, shouldn't the Greensboro News & Record be flying me on a private plane, since I'm the toast of the town now and all?

P.S. Iris so needs a summer job. She can't get enough Around the World in 80 Plates.

Shaft. Can you dig it?

In the once-again completely linear and never remotely ludicrous comments, we have decided to either call ...friend Ned Nickerson or Shaft. Dudes, just read the comments. No way am I going through an archaeological dig to tell you the genesis of that whole thing.

Anyway guess what. We're going with Ned Nickerson. I haven't even TOLD ...friend that his new name is Ned Nickerson, but I assure you he'll be all, "Who?"

Anyway, how are you all?* Things are good, over here. My job interview seemed to go well, as they alluded to me having a second interview with a hiring manager or something, but that was yesterday and they have yet to set that up, so maybe they completely changed their minds. Maybe they said, "We should either call her for another interview or name her Shaft."

If that weren't enough--and isn't it? Isn't it enough for you people?--I have anOTHer editing test on Thursday (did I already tell you that?) for a different company, and a job interview for a WHOLE OTHER place next week. Now, for goodness sake. Wouldn't a job have to appear from at least ONE of these? Hmmm? Don't you think?

*(The "How are you all" thing reminded me of something Ned Nickerson/...friend said. Am I gonna have to go around saying, "The Artist Formerly Known as ...friend and Now Ned Nickerson" for the next month? Because that's gonna get annoying. And no matter WHEN I just start saying "Ned," someone somewhere will comment: "What happened to ...friend?" Look at me. Already irritated.

ANYWAY, the "How are you all" thing. Ned/...friend lives in an apartment complex and across the way from him is a delightful snarky old gay guy who has many beautiful plants around his front door, as opposed to Ned/...friend, who has precisely nothing around his front door. The point is, we were walking in the other day and the gay guy and some other man were clearly coming from the pool back to gay guy's apartment, and ...friend/Ned said, "How are you?"

Hours later, HOURS, Ned/...friend said, "I should've said how're y'all instead of how are you. Now my neighbor's friend thinks I wasn't acknowledging him."

...! Is this a Southern thing? Well, first of all, yes it is, because "you" is certainly a sometimes-plural word in MY book. My Northern book. Apparently here, "you" means, you know, you and y'all means your gay self and your probably-also-gay friend. Also, really? REALLY? This is something you sit around worrying about? Southerners. Continuing to slay me since I got here.)

 I have to go because I got a big giant ridiculous box of things to edit from the statistics place, and try not to envy me, but before I do, can anyone recommend some books for me? I finished The Thorn Birds, which is our book club book. Click Mince Words with June to see, although I have really no idea if I even updated Mince Words with June, so you may go over there and find bupkis. However, I am just days away from flying to Hawaii (squeeeeeeeee) and need something to read on the plane. Have you read anything good? If you're gonna recommend a sci-fi book save your breath.

Thank you in advance for your prompt attention to this matter. We are all just sitting around waiting for your reply.

Strangers on a blog

Yesterday in my hard-hitting and extremely never ridiculous comments, people said they were sick and tired of calling ...friend "...friend."

"Everyone's sick of calling you dot dot dot friend," I told (wait for it) ...friend.

"Well, when we first started dating, you were gonna call me Ranger Johnson," he pointed out. So do y'all want to call him Ranger Johnson from now on? Let me know.

We went to the movies last night to see an Alfred Hitchcock film, not that he has a new film out seeing as he's dead and all. "Where's his cameo? Oh, was that him in the ground?"

June. Going to hell since she learned her first Helen Keller joke.

There's a cool old movie theater here, and they show, you know, old movies. We saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind there, and Goodfellas, and now Strangers on a Train. Last night we sat up in the balcony, which was way cool. The theater was pretty full, and probably nearly everyone had already SEEN Strangers on a Train a couple times already, but man, we were all completely silent and riveted once it started getting tense. Which Alfred Hitchcock movies, you know, tend to do.

Anyway, it was a good time. I love old movie theaters. Even if there IS no hole in the arm of your chair for your 90-ounce soda.

In other news, I have a job interview today. I know! I also have another editing test later this week for a different company. It's hard not to feel like, "Well. I fail every editing test, so here'll be another one" but I should cut that out. Nice attitude, June. Who are you, Eeyore?

At any rate, this job is in Raleigh, and no it would NOT be fun to commute to Raleigh, but I wouldn't be the first person commuting to a job. Like Faithful Reader Cosmo's Dad, who commutes 394584849 hours a day. Where IS Cosmo's Dad lately? This is the problem with having a blog. You see commenters year after year and get attached and then they disappear. SIREN.

Oh, and before I go and get all professional-like for my interview, someone suggested that we send in old family pictures and I can post them. Wouldn't that be fun? So if you have some kind of cool old family photo, or a ludicrous family photo, send it in by July 31 (I have an "Email Me" link on the side of my blog) and I will put the photos up. Please let me know your name and/or your commenter name if you comment so I can say, "Here is Whooo-De-Bloop's family." What would be funny is if you all told me your name was Whooo-De-Bloop when you sent your photo in. Oh, you are all a laugh riot.

Okay, June out. Let me know about the Ranger Johnson thing. What if someone is on vacation and they come back and think ...friend and I broke up and I got all quickly attached to a new guy named Ranger Johnson?

To be read AFTER you stick the Bic pen in someone's throat. Not before.

I am certain I have already told you that ...friend lives downtown, which is kind of exciting because he's right there conveniently located to shops, restaurants, bars and crime. He's not on the first floor, but you can hear people walking past, and the other day we heard this woman on the phone. "I am just not attRACted to you anymore!" she screeched. You have no idea how bad we wanted to chase after her to hear the rest of her phone call.

My point is, if I am ever at his house we can say, "Let's go somewhere!" and five seconds later there we are. At somewhere. The other night we went to a restaurant right across the street, and the hostess said, "If I seat you upstairs, you should know there's a live band" and we were all, "Oh, okay," all affable, and then it was the loudest jazziest band you ever heard and you wanted to shove a saber down the throat of the singer and swirl it around repeatedly.

At laaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaaaa-oooooo-uuuuuu-aaaaaa-sssst! OW! My looooooo-oooooo-ooooo-vve has come alongggggggg! Oh, shut up. If you start scatting it will be the last thing you ever do.

But that story is not why I gathered you here today. Today I wanted to tell you that on Friday night, ...friend and I decided to mosy over to this kind of pub near him, and when we sat down in a booth I glanced over at the bar, and there?

At the bar?

Was the midcentury modern guy.

Also? Since yesterday I linked to Jo's book and then someone left a comment saying, "How do we see Jo's book," I feel like I have to point out that when the text, up there, is a DIFFERENT COLOR, it means it's a link, which you can click on, and I would further like to point out that even my MOTHER knows that, so yeah.

But in case you are off to perform a tracheotomy and have no time to click my link ("Ooo, I really should cut that person's windpipe open pretty soon, but first, how're things going over at Bye Bye, Pie?"), there's a guy downtown who owns a midcentury modern furniture store, and he is impossibly beautiful and plus also British. And there? At that pub the other night? There he was, in personal.

(Once someone wrote me a letter from prison, after he'd seen my picture in my hometown paper, and said, "I'd like to get to know you in personal, June." Oh, would you? Would you? God, that's tempting. What are your visiting hours?)

When I saw midcentury beautiful man, I did the only polite thing, which was to grab ...friend's arm and go, "OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod! It's midcentury guy!"

...friend could not be less impressed with that guy, who I idiotically told him about, like, nine seconds after we met. "I live downtown," ...friend said, and I was all, "Oh, do you ever go to that midcentury furniture store near you? The guy who owns it is impossibly beautiful."

Why did I do that? Why can't I keep my trap shut? And even more depressing? If MBM (midcentury beautiful man) actually ever noticed that I exist, and if he ever actually decided to go for smart-ish rather than physically perfect women, I wouldn't even be tempted to say yes. THAT is how smitten I am with ...friend, and I kind of hate myself. Because there is a large possibility of MBM falling for me in a big way.

This was in evidence on Friday when he LOOKED RIGHT AT ME with not a flicker of recognition. Or maybe he had total recognition because he's seen this blog and thinks I'm a freak.

"I really don't get what's so great about that guy," said ...friend, who really doesn't get what's so great about that guy. A few weeks ago? When I was in Saginaw? I visited my old friend AnnNanandAmy--who is married and has 16 kids and who reads my blog when she's not tracheotomizing people--and she said, "Did you ever link to a photo of midcentury man? Is he really that good-looking?"

So I went online and dredged up a a photo of MBM, and right there in front of her husband and 14 of her children, she screeched and carried on and eventually we had to stick a comb in her mouth to stop her from swallowing her tongue.

"OH MY GOD!" she kept yawping. Which is all to say ...friend doesn't know from cute men.

And this, folks, was the best I could do. When ...friend went up to order a drink, I took the world's most surreptitious shot of him standing next to MBM and then giggled like an idiot.

And that is pretty much all I have to tell you about that. Do you think there's anyone in town who gets excited when they have June sightings? "Oh, I saw that hair woman again! She was at Target! It was so swoony!" And then they rush home and blog about it. You think that happens??

Yeah, right.

The June Show! Starring June!

Do you know what must be annoying?

Dating me. Can you imagine what it must be like to wait for THE JUNE SHOW! Starring....JUNE! With special guest star...JUNE! to be over so I can throw a little attention your way?

Written by...JUNE! Directed by...JUNE!

Yesterday my sweet friend Jo threw a (wait for it) birthday party for me, because it IS still my birthday week, and just everyone came and we had a fine time. Well. I did, anyway.

The theme was, everyone act like June is riveting. Worked for me.

Jo threw quite the bash. There was food, 30304940300 kinds of alcohol even though she is not that drinky of a person, there was homemade lemonade, which I drank and immediately decided had grapefruit in it, then stampeded through the crowd, interrupting Jo in midtalk to ask about.

She even got a guy to come sing a song that he, Jo and Dick Whitman wrote, to the tune of That's Amore. Here is some of it.

Whennnn you said you'd stop writing your blog we all said THAT'S ANNOYING

When it's humid outside and your insane hair is fried THAT'S ANNOYING.

It was hilarious, is what it was. My Botox, my marsupial pouch, even my virginity--WHICH IS STILL IN TACT--were mentioned.

There were cupcakes instead of birthday cake, and I took home 495857473 of them. By the way, Peg can't take an uninteresting picture.

What'd I tell you?

Dick Whitman was there, of course, and Chris and Lilly, and Jane West, and The Other June, and Hibiscus Wilson, and Laura, and Marty Martin and Kaye--everyone was all, "Oh, I recognize you. What's your real name?" to each other,

And cute Poochie, who wore sparkly pink sunglasses AND gray converse with pink laces.

Oh, and of course the dolls. If you read Jo's book, you know she has her mom's doll collection, and there was a documentary filmmaker there yesterday to film everyone's reaction to the dolls.

...friend and I went in there together and said what we thought we hye-LARious things about each doll. ...friend and June. Banned from documentaries since 2012. And yes, I AM cleave-ing out at this party. After, when we perused all the photos I pointed this out. Turns out ...friend had already noted this fact.

Anyway, people would come out of that doll room (rooms, really) with a post-Vietnam kind of shocked look. There are a lot of freaking dolls.

She's gonna be selling them, and when she does Ima put a link up, in case anyone has been hankering for a Professor doll. There was also Cher, with an Indian dress. GYPSIES, TRAOMPS and THIEVES! That's how she says it. Traomps. You know she does.

Anyway, it was a good time, and all sorts of ludicrous things occurred. You don't even wanna know what ...friend and Arnold were up to. (Jo made him fix it. Which he did. Because ...friend is da bomb.)

Oh! Oh oh oh! And the best part is, I got my Tinkerbell doll! Jo had it, and I remembered it as my very favorite gift from childhood, and I EVEN have a slide of my Aunt Kathy HOLDING the doll and I really need to figure out how to show you that.

She still has her original box and everything. She was made in 1969, and I got her on my 5th birthday in 1970, and now I have her again in 2012. Good gravy I am old.

So it was a good time. Is what I am throwing down.

Wait. Are we done celebrating my birthday now? What the... Really? THIS SUCKS.