Bye Bye, Pie!

Man's headaches stop after ax is removed from his head

I saw that headline once in the Weekly World News and I spit up.

Migraine today. Talk like Indian. Sorry. Talk like Native American.

Ned and I made up. We made up about four hours after I blogged yesterday, but I enjoyed reading all your theories. Could you have all been more dramatic? HE'S CHEATING! HE'S A WOMAN! HE BEAT HERRRRRR! He beat her with IRIS!!!!!!!!

It was 1/3030304004th that exciting, really.

Okay, going. Dragged self to work and there is nothing to do so am so glad did so. Indian talk again. Ungowa.

Hair Big as Mountain make up with He Who Beat Woman with Cat. Hair Big as Mountain offend entire community of Native peoples. Hair Big as Mountain Suck Ass. Hair Big as Mountain fire for blog at fake work. Hair Big as Mountain seem to segue into pet speak.

Oh, my head.

Hell hath no fury...

Angry with Ned. Jump-off-my-chair-and-beat-him-like-I'm-on-the-Maury-Povitch-show mad.

Will talk to you tomorrow.

How many of them hormones you been takin', honey?

I just thought of that line from Fried Green Tomatoes and I like it. In reality I am taking zero hormones. In the immortal words of my grandfather, "How do you make a hormone? Don't pay her."

Hello! I plan to make no sense today whatsoever. It's the hormones.

My grandfather also used to say, "Wish in one hand, shit in the other. See which gets filled up first." Basically he said a lot of things that I completely did not understand until I got older and sat there and parsed them.

My GRANDMOTHER, who was the QUEEN of stuff that made no sense, said, "You tell him your ass would make him a Sunday face," which I have told you all before and I believe it flummoxed you as well. See. My ass, which let's all sit around and think about that disaster for a minute. Okay. My ass, which apparently is not great, would make someone else a Sunday face. A Sunday face being as good as you can look. So the best you can look is to look like my ass.

Do you get it now? Good. Go take a hormone.

I got my hair colored last night. Ned paid for it. He didn't inTENtionally pay for it. For my birthday he got me a certificate to a spa, and since then I have gone there for a manicure and then for a massage, but I just found out from TinaDoris they do good hair there, so I got my color done and used his certificate. My colorist looks exactly like Maria Shriver only not devoid of fat in her face. I mean, my colorist looks like a young, fresh Maria Shriver.

Don't get me wrong. We all age and become less than fresh, I know. But those Kennedy women seem to do it so dramatically. BOOM! I'm an apple doll! They're kind of like Asian women. I look great! I look great! I'm 60 and I still look great! I'm--BOOM! Apple doll.

At least we white women fall apart spectacularly obviously with each year. I should do a photo essay of me each year from 20 to the present so we can see the decline. That sounds cheerful.

Anyway, here's my hair.

Here's old Puff Daddy in the bathroom at work, before I left for my hair appointment. I don't know why I'm even bothering to show you this, because you can't really even see the color.

And yay! Here are my NEW HIGHLIGHTS and base color. I am the one who is kind of dark blonde. The gray and white one is my cat. The gray and white one would be me if I didn't use Ned's gift cards to color my hair.

I like to, you know, NOT TALK at the hairdresser. I enjoy looking at an Elle (God, I love E. Jean, the advice columnist), drinking the water they give you like it's luxurious, and just all-around mellowing out. You know? But hairdressers, and I think particularly SOUTHERN hairdressers, think it's crucial to CHAT YOU UP while they're working.

What I was kind of hoping is she'd, you know, surmise that I wanted quiet time while I was there. I mean, I know some women will chat your ear off while you're working on them, but I am not that person. Shouldn't a hairdresser be able to glean, once your client grabs her an Elle, that she's not a chatter?

"So, you go anywhere for the holiday?"

"Yes." {flip, flip, flip pages.}

"...You going anywhere for Christmas?"

"Nope. {smile at E. Jean's brilliance}

I don't know. Maybe I should just say, "You are free to spend the next two hours thinking your thoughts while I read about why clashing eye shadow and lipstick are in."

Have you seen this? Have you seen the weird middle-of-your-eyelid eyeliner crap they're doing and so on? I am not choosing to embrace. When I was 20 I would have. I embraced everything. Thank heavens for penicillin.

See. I am kidding there. Am allergic to penicillin.

Tonight, even though I have another statistics book to proofread and I started it last night, I am going to make chicken soup for Ned. I already announced it to him heroically so now I can't back out. Am hoping it goes better than the pie I made for Ned. Oh, that was a disaster. Soup's not that hard, right? And stop throwing the word "stock" at me.

I guess that's all I have to tell you, other than Ned sounds like Harvey Fierstein, and I use that example EVERY time someone has a cold and I need new lines desperately. He keeps saying his cold is not that bad, and I had to talk him into not going for a bike ride in the cold rain last night. The cold November rain.

 

You are completely welcome.

In which all four pets are shown. You're welcome.

I thought I'd tell you about my day yesterday, as supposedly that's what this blog is about and I really don't often just recap a day. Mostly because that sounds boring. As opposed to The Riveting that is this blog.

I hadn't had time to get the dogs at daycare on Sunday because they close at 5:00, which, hello dog daycare. Could you STAY OPEN on Sunday so people GETTING IN don't have to rush? God. What about my needs?

Anyway I woke up with Lily on me, as she often is, but I really expected to find Iris taking advantage of the No Dog Moment--and apparently I am way into capital letters for emphasis today, and Yay. But there was no Iris, I was Iris-Free, and it turns out she was stuck in the computer room all night. Poor blindy Iris.

it be suk, mom.

This happens to her a LOT. Fortunately a litterbox is in there, but I really don't get how that door closes. It occurs to me that Lily might close it and walk away giggling.

Anyway I stampeded to work and as soon as I got there I realized I had my underwear in my purse. We'd been leaving the hotel on Sunday, see, and I saw it lying there at the last minute after I was packed and out the door. So I just crammed it in my purse and go, me. Naturally I don't discover it till I'm AT WORK.

I work not in a cubicle but just in this big open room with some art people and some other editor types. So when I ONCE AGAIN forgot I had underwear in my purse and I pulled them out to blow my nose on them, you can imagine my joy. Do you remember when the same thing happened to Grace Kelly in--yeah, no. That never happened to Grace Kelly anywhere.

I got that sore-shoulder thing from working so intently, and finally at lunch I got the dogs, who were not berserk at all about seeing me. Edsel wept and prayed and even stoic Talu was awfully tail flappy. As usual, they acted the fools till daycare was out of sight, then they both went, "Hphpmmmmmmmmmm" and fell asleep in the car. They've basically been asleep ever since and man is that lovely. I wish I always had quiet exhausted dogs.

Maybe I should be one of those people who gets up at 5:00 and takes them for a big run in the park. Oh, and also, did you see the wild monkeys flying out my ass? Also, did you see where 1990 called and wants it joke back?

At any rate, the good news is I got two checks yesterday from two places I've been freelancing, so with my rich self I went to the grocery store after work to deposit my cash. Not that I deposit them in the canned goods or anything. "I go to the store and shove my checks in the meat and I never seem to have any money." There is a BANK there, see, with a really lovely funny gay man who is my teller every time, and I went there. Is the thing.

After I was done I moseyed to the salad bar to make dinner, and sadly that is as hard as I ever make dinner, when I heard, "Hey!"

It was Ned! I guess I should have known, anywhere a salad goes, Ned follows.

"HEYYY!" I screeched, and leaped across the salad bar to kiss him.

"I'm sick," he said. Which, you know, there's my luck. I use a javelin to sproing across something in order to stick my tongue down someone's throat, and it turns out they have Lasa Fever.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked nervously, headed for the iodine like Lucy. Turns out he's getting a cold, which you KNOW I'll get, because I just spent every second of the last five days with Ned. I dragged him over to the saline and made him buy some, because more than once I thought a cold was imminent and once I shot the saline up my nose parts I felt infinitely better.

Ned, too, was (sit down) making a salad, but he also got the "free sample" cups down and got us both soup. "I do this every day," he said, eating chicken and dumplings from a teensy spoon. "You aren't supposed to do that," I said, getting all Gallant-y.

"Why not? It's a sample." He headed off for free samples of brown pretentious bread.

If you have a Harris Teeter near you and you wonder why it's so costly, look no further than Free Sample Ned, over here.

As we headed home he said he'd call later and I never heard from him. He has never said he'd call and then didn't, so now I worry he's delirious with fever or something. Further reports as developments warrant.

When I got home I did my Tracy Anderson workout for the first time in over a month, and I'm annoyed to report my heel hurts today. GodDAMMIT. I also unpacked, put away laundry, swept the floors and FINISHED MY POLISH WORK that I've been doing.

Which, yay.

Finally I made popcorn and read a book.
Except you know what? I was done sooner than I thought.

Talu was so exhausted she didn't even CARE about popcorn. Dear Dog Daycare, Thank you for making my dogs entirely different people. Love, June.

I took a picture of Lily sitting on my shoulder like a parrot, too. We were doing this on the planet Mercury, which is why it was so bright.

I guess that's all I have for you. Got your Thanksgiving photos. Now I have to worry about getting them on here and the inevitable person I will forget and the eventual frowny-face emoticon.

Will let you know if Ned survived the night as soon as I hear from him. Will let you know when I get sick, as well. In fact, if I do get sick, I can pretty much guarantee you will hear little else.

Nasally, June

June captures her trip on film. Story at 11:00.

I just got home from Michigan, and man, what a short, fun ride THAT is, but the good news is Ned and I still like each other. Which, you know. Twenty-six hours in the car with somebody, plus the whole meeting-the-family thing, it was touch and go. But we're still a go.

I put my memory card in just now, so allow me to just slap photos up here hither and yon so's you can see what you missed. I totally invited you. Why didn't you join us?

Look who is cute. Is it us? I like Ned. Also too, so did my family. At least that's what they told me. Maybe in reality they're all, "God, what a nightmare THAT guy was." But I doubt it. How can you not love you The Ned? Yes, I just totally called him The Ned.

Dude, I don't know what to tell you about my mom. Old Walk Like an Egyptian, there, is doing dishes with my stepfather and stepsister. Note the part where I recorded everything for posterity and did not help with the dishes.

It is my fault that my stepsister married her husband. They met at a Thanksgiving I had, then I forced them together when I saw sparks. They have been married 10 years now, though, so I am just saying. Go, June.

I blame Sue. Here is my saintly Aunt Sue, who looks hot, and when I told her, she said, "I AM hot," then fanned herself with her sweater. See above re: Saintly.

My mom's dog Gus, who is smiling as though he would NEVER attack puppy Tallulah. wut? guz bite ennosent pupee? you haff wrong dug.

Gus, moments later, after he has been struck down by God.

Ned, his purse, and gansta mom. I shudder to think about what conversation I walked in on, here. "Are you sleeping with my daughter, Ned? Boy oh boy. That's real rude."

I tried, God knows I did, to take Ned to the Pub, my local hang when I lived in Saginaw, but it was closed. Here he is, though, in the door, and if you look carefully you can see snow flying.

My not-at-all-gorgeous friend Gertrude at the Scottish ridiculous Inn. Would I LIE to you about the plaid carpeting on the walls? I would not. Clearly.

Here's my high school boyfriend Giovanni Leftwich with his so so so cool wife. Did I bond with Wife at all? Do I love her? Am I gonna snatch her away from Giovanni Leftwich? That'd be an interesting addendum to our history.

Me, ex-best-friend Esmerelda, and Gertrude.  Whenever I am with them I feel like The Unfortunatel Friend. Why I gotta have hot friends while I have Kenny G hair?

HULLLLLK.

In the days since Ned and Hulk met, every once in awhile, some boring sports thing would come up and Ned'd say, "Hulk and I talked about that." Am so glad I could ignore them and let them play amongst themselves.

Here we are having breakfast before Ned and I hit the road again. Note mom has STAMPEDED to Christmas already, as she is pratically Mrs. Claus. Ned had eggs, toast, Canadian bacon, fruit, pie and apple crisp. Then two hours later we ate the little lunch mom packed for us. Ned is going to be big as a house. As opposed to old Mrs. Timbertoes, over here.

Does anyone even know who The Timbertoes are, or am I the only Highlights Magazine fan? I HATE those find-the-object-in-the-picture things. Can never do it. Also, Gallant is a puss.

Anyway. Mrs. Timbertoes. She is kind of a wooden Olive Oyl.

I am sorry to tell you that on the way out of town, Ned and I went, two days after Thanksgiving, to The World's Largest Christmas Store, which conveniently is located outside my home town. Guess what was deserted and void of all people? Anyway if I ever get married again my dress is selected. Look how happy she is.

The World's Largest Christmas Store has SIXTEEN different sections with their own themes, including, apparently, Sexual Santa.

Honest engine. The look of sheer agony on Ned's face sends me into hysterics every time I look at this photo. Look at him. Portrait of Misery.

But he will be the FIRST TO TELL YOU, I found what I needed very fast, and said, "Okay, we can go," and IT WAS NED who said, "No, wait. Maybe I can find something for this relative. Or that relative. Oh, you know what? Also this relative." It was NED who kept us there. Swear!

Did not threaten him with glittery rendeer up his nethers to make him stay there at all. AT ALL!

Here's the lobby of the swank hotel we stayed in both on our way to and also from Michigan. Oh, we enjoyed that place.

In the restaurant, over by the bar, was this painting, and I wish I could tell you how much I obsessed over this terrible work of art. Have threatened Ned that this will be his Christmas present. "She kind of looks like you," he said, right before I finally stuck those glittery antlers in his parts.

Really, what sad lonely man painted this? "Hellooooo. My droopy breasts and I love you. Get me another Reunite on Ice."

I'm sorry to tell you that's all I have when it comes to photos of my trip. I know you're sad. Oh! But both on the way there and back, we passed Southern "X" Posure, which is apparently some kind of titty bar, which I'd have totally gone to, except I cannot frequent a place that has an "X" like that in its title. I told Ned I was going to demand that you all use "X" in your comments today.

"X"cellent post, June.

Glad you saw your "X" best friend.

Okay, go.

"X"O, June

Midnight at the Oasis

That's what just came on, and Ned said, "Good song!"

Wow. Ned is lucky he can kiss.

Sent from my cracked, haggard iPhone

Great Scot

Sadly for Ned, what he mostly saw of my home town yesterday was the inside of a bar. And that bar was the Scottish ridiculous Inn. I am unsure if they've officially added the "ridiculous" portion to their name, but trust me, it needs doing.

When Ned agreed to come home with me for THANKSgiving, he said, "We get to see The Pub, right?" The Pub was this bar I was in, oh, every single night from 1987 through 1990-ish, and Ned's heard some stories. I had gone there as a kid, too, because my father played darts and there were always these dart tournaments at The Pub. I'd bring my latchhook rug, because it was 1977, drink Cokes and watch my dad win on snowy afternoons.

The Pub is also where my Aunt Mary met her husband, and also also where I went on my wedding night. Isn't it romantic.

So I set up a big meet and greet at The Pub with Hulk, my old pals Gertrude and Donna, my high school boyfriend Giovanni Leftwich, and my ex-best-friend Esmeralda. "Two o'clock at The Pub!" I kept saying. Yes. We were meeting at two in the afternoon, because we're old and because apparently going there at night now gets you shot by your rival gang or something. "Oh, you don't wanna go there at night anymore" everyone keeps telling me, pursing their lips.

I schlepped poor Ned hither and yon, trying to show him all the places I lived in this town, except (a) I've lived 800 places here and (9) I can't remember how to GET anywhere anymore. We'd be driving and I'd be all, "Now I have to find Gratiot street. I just have to turn down--crap. Maybe if I go--crap."

Dudes. I went back to Ohio. And my city was gone. Seriously, everything looks different. I was so lost.

My point is, eventually we stopped for lunch and while Ned was actually NOT having a salad, Hulk texted. "Is The Pub even open?"

See. I'd Googled it and they said open in the afternoon, but I hadn't considered the holiday thing. We couldn't have been the only people in town to visit, right? I'm sure others wanted to get their drink on at two in the afternoon, right?

Okay, maybe not.

We drove down there and guess what. Closed. CLOSED! I called Gertrude, heartbroken, and she said, "Let's all go to the Scottish Inn." "Will it be open?" "Pfft. It's ALWAYS open," she said.

The Scottish Inn has plaid carpeting ON THE WALLS, no windows whatsoever and hard liquor for people who like to get drunk fast. That's Ned's favorite line from It's a Wonderful Life and I am so glad I could throw it in right now. Because MAN, you guys.

We walked in there at 2 p.m. and the place was BOOMING. I am not kidding. We were lucky to get a table.

And sober? Enjoying their first cocktail and planning to sip it? That sums up the crowd in there. Holy cats.

I took 489 photos, which I still can't show you cause I'm here and queer and get used to me, but there was a table tent that read, "Shot of the month: Cinnamon Toast Crunch." It was Jager and some kind of rum, which, Mmmmmm. Break me off a piece of that.

Soon all my friends came, and it was good to see Esmeralda for the first time in THIRTEEN YEARS, and Hulk and Ned stamPEEEEDed to sports talk, and a good time was being had by all.

"It's ESMERALDA!" Some guy burst in from the snowy afternoon. "AND...WHATSHERNAME!" he exclaimed gleefully, pointing at me.

"And whatshername," said Hulk, peeing his own self. "Whatshername." He loved that. It tickled Hulk, is what it did. It was like he was sittin' on a feather, so giggly was he over this.

The guy, about whom Ned and I keep saying, "Was he drunk? Had he had a drink that day? Was he under the influence? It wasn't clear" was a guy from high school. "YOU LIVE IN CALIFORNIA!" he screeched at me, buying a round for the table, which was nice and which I'm certain he recalls distinctly today.

"No, I..." I started, but he was onto something else. Mostly a drink.

"YOU LIVE IN CALIFORNIA!" he said, a while later.

"I really don't, though. I--"

"WHY'RE YOU HERE ALL THE WAY FROM CALIFORNIA!??"

I was feeling like maybe actual conversation was not gonna happen with Drunk Guy from High School.

Eventually, it became, you know, the dinner hour, and I noticed a beleaguered family actually eating next to us. Because it was 5 p.m. and usually you, you know, eat dinner at that time. You don't have your fourth round.

"I feel bad for that family, having to sit next to this subtle table," I said to Ned.

"I'm thinking the family that comes here for dinner is not looking for nutrition or ambience," Ned noted.

At the other table, Drunk Guy From High School was speaking animatedly to everyone. "Gertrude's here. Did you guys see Gertrude?" It was like Gertrude was a unicorn.

"Do you think that guy from high school started off his day with the Cinnamon Toast Crunch shot?" wondered Ned. "Maybe he thought it was a breakfast drink."

People from high school kept coming up to our table. It was amazing. They should rename it "The Scottish ridiculous Inn, the Bar for Class of '83. And That's Not Sad at All." But it'd be hard to fit on softball jerseys.

Are they called softball "jerseys"? Hulk?

Oh, and speaking of Hulk, at some point he was just gone. Ned said he had somewhere else to be, like maybe reality, but the point is eventually it was us minus Hulk. With plaid wall carpeting.

The only positive from this scenario is at least when we left it was dark. If you leave a bar like that, coming out to sunshine just makes it more debaucherous.

It was fun to have everyone in the same room again like that. I just hope next time we do it, that room is not plaid.

June, with her kilt, out.

June returns from standing in line at Walmart at 4 a.m. to blog. Also, pfft.

I hope you're holding on to your seats. because my mother got a NEW COMPUTER and I do not have the usual, "The 1812 Overture called. Wants its computer back" joke that I normally have for you when I am here. And for that I am sure you are saddened.

I just totally felt up this computer, so now it's met me and thinks I'm a total perv, to see if there was somewhere one could insert a memory card so I can show you the photos I have taken thus far. I think the one you really need to see is the pickup truck that was in front of us painted camoflauge with deer all over it and "The Hunter" emblazoned across the back. Clearly that guy and I had a ton in common and it's a shame we couldn't meet.

The point is, Ned and I made it here, on that short, not-at-all-trafficky, unridiculous 13-hour trek, and he didn't even bug me, except occasionally he'd whistle if the radio was off, and in my head I'm all, You gonna keep whistling, then? I did not say anything, though. You and I can keep that to ourselves.

Before Ned and I left Greensboro, we had to go to his uncle's house to drop off Ned's key, as Ned's not-at-all-weird cat needed, you know, care and feeding and so on. (I have a person coming to check on Lily and Iris today, so I will circumvent your 800 Qs about that.) Anyway, I got to see Ned's mom, who is always so nice, and his cute aunt who has already gotten out the Christmas decorations and it made me want to cancel everything and schlep up to my attic to start glittering just everything in my house.

We stayed in Parksersburg, WV on Wednesday. Ned and me, not Ned's aunt and me, although that would have made for a much more scandalous post today. JUNE RUNS OFF WITH NED'S AUNT. Story at 11:00.

We stayed at a fancy hotel, which I have been to before but I was completely alone and sat in my room with room service. This time Ned and I checked out the fireplace in the library, and we went to the fancy restaurant, and basically enjoyed the crap out of that nice hotel. And you can have DOGS there! Some woman walked right in with her schnauzer, which is not a euphemism, and also a black pitty-looking dog, and someone else had a yappy shaggy thing, and I said to Ned, "I'm thinking Edsel." We looked all around that fancy lobby, with nice vases and so on, and just thought of Eds tearing about as he does. Hi hi hi hi hi hi. I Edz. hiihihihihihi. Here my taiil. Hi.

So, we got here midafternoon and all Ned had to do was meet my stepsister and her husband and his parents, my mother and stepfather, my Aunt Kathy and Uncle Bill, my Aunt Sue, my Uncle Leo, my friend Gertrude and her daughter Emma. That's all.

"I can't belive you did this to him, making him meet everyone at once," said my Aunt Sue, who in case anyone is worried how she's been since my Uncle Jim died, she looks ABSOLUTELY HOT and is helping at her daughter-in-law's new restaurant and basically sems to be doing as well as possible. "I remember meeting all of you. It was scary."

You know.

We are a DELIGHTFUL lot But I do remember poor 19-year-old Aunt Sue, smiling nervously at us while we all talked at the same time. I was, like, eight, and I remember asking her, "Do you ALWAYS smile?"

Guess who was probably the scariest person to meet.

Today I am taking Ned to all the places I lived in this town, then we're going to a museum and THEN he gets to meet Hulk. I know! There is also The World's Largest Most Ridiculous, Chaoticist Christmas store that I have threatened to take Ned to, but sadly for him, there will probably be no time. I am not making that up, by the way. The world's largest Xmas store really is in the next town over. And it is ludicrous. I have always loved it. Does anyone need an ornament? Because perhaps on our way out of town...

I had better go before everyone gets up. Was exhausted and fell asleep at, like, 10:00. so now I am up and eating dressing and mashed potatoes. Which may or may not lead me to the part where I put my jeans on halfway through the evening and minced around here like Tom Jones, so tight and unforgiving were those jeans. It's not unusual to be loved by anyone, you know.

What the fuck does that mean?

I'll try to talk at you before I go tomorrow, but in the meantime, keep sending me your pictures from Thanksgiving. Note to Hulk: Get ready for pet pics!!! You're welcome.

June, stuffed.

Happy THANKSgiving!!

Remember to send me your pictures today!

Sent from my cracked, haggard iPhone

"They know not if it's dark outside or light."

Can you please tell me what I forgot to pack? Because you know I forgot some such nonsense, as I always do. Usually I get to my destination and I'm all, "Oh, I forgot pants!" Then I walk around like Donald Duck for the rest of my trip.

Or I'll bring the contacts that are in my EYES, which are disposable, but no OTHER contacts or any glasses, and the rest of the vacation is like an impressionist painting.

Anyway. Leaving for Michigan in an hour and a half. Things are UNDER CONTROL. Yessir. When I talked to Ned last he hadn't even CONSIDERED packing, so I feel like things are just as unchaotic at his house.

We saw the best movie the other day, she says incongruously, called Chicken with Plums, or Poulet aux Prunes, and who knew "plums" and "prunes" were interchangeable in France--those nutty French--and the point is at one point the actress takes off her glasses and when she does everything gets blurry. It was so much like real life. She must have the same prescription as me. Which is a sad, sick prescription. I have like 20/39394939493 vision.

But that is not my point. My point is I'm a disorganized packer. Am certain this shocks you.

By the way, the title of my post is exactly what Elton John was singing on my iTunes when I opened this page to start decomposing or whatever. Now Lou Reed is singing "I. Don't Know. Just where I'm going."

And you know, I don't. Glad Lou said something, because I have to print out directions in case my GPS up and dies like Mr. Bojangles. Which incidentally is not on my iTunes.

Okay, good. Here is a map of today's route. If you're in the area, stand on the freeway and wave like I'm OJ Simpson on the 405, will ya?

Here's day two. Basically here to Michigan is a long damn-ass way.

I've printed out those directions. How much would you like to bet that I forget them here at home?

"I HAVE NO PANTS!"

In case you're worried sick, Eddie Vedder is now singing, "All five horizons revolved around her sun. As the earth to the sun."

I LOVE this song. Love.

So I guess I should go do a sweep of the house to see if I'm forgetting bras or meds or oxygen, and also I should get the dogs to daycare, and y'all always ask me every time I go to mom's if the dogs are coming and why do you always forget my mother's dog is a cold-blooded murderer? I tell you this EVERY TIME and you never listen.

Remember when that jerky dog LEAPED out the back of the hatch and RIGHT ONTO puppy Tallulah's back? Now, I assure you, ASSURE YOU, Talu would kick that speckled dog's old fat ass at this point. All that'd be left are a few Gus bones and Talu with a toothpick in.004 seconds. But who wants to start a dog fight like we're the Michael Vick family?

"The day I stop's the day you change and fly away from me." The Cure. I swear I have songs from this decade on here somewhere.

Oh, but before I go, and I know you're sad disjointed June and her song call-outs is going. Are going. Whatev. Dick Whitman and I went to the movies last night, and yes I DO see a lot of movies. We saw The Sessions, which I guess is a true-ish story of a man who was paralyzed by polio and the sex surrogate he hires, who is played by Helen Hunt.

I mean, 1995 called. Remember when Helen Hunt was in everything including your bathroom? You'd walk in and she'd be checking out her enormous forehead. Her fivehead. Oh, hey, Helen.

Anyway, there she was last night, NAKED A LOT, and you can't help but like her. She looks like she'd done a lot of situps for that role, and who wouldn't? Well. I wouldn't. I'd just let you see the front butt.

You know when I didn't like Helen Hunt? Well. I didn't like her CHARACTER. Was in Castaway. What a BITCH. She's all in love with Tom Hanks, then FOUR YEARS LATER she has met someone, married, AND had a toddler. I mean, did she hump someone on the drive home from dropping Tom Hanks at the airport?

And when poor I-can-spear-fish Tom Hanks (and have I mentioned how useless I'd be on an island? Who'd panic and die on day one, over here? And I'd totally forget pants.) comes to Helen Hunt's house, he's all "Beautiful house" and she says, "Has a nice mortgage, too." Then he compliments her I'm-a-tramp-here's-my-toddler daughter, and Helen Hunt says just, "She's a handful."

OH SHUT UP. You have EVERYTHING, you big-foreheaded ho, and all you can do is complain. Irritating.

  

Oh, I love this song. In February, I went on I think it was my third date with Ned. We went to this tiny dark bar, and it was so cozy and outside was so blustery, and this song came on, and I was with a boy who had potential, and we were laughing and talking and I was so happy. I mean, as opposed to now. So totally over Ned. Which is why I'm schlepping him 299494949339 miles to meet my family.

I really want to see that HBO special on The Rolling Stones. Will one of you invite me over? I might be driving right past you today or tomorrow. Thanks.

OHMYGOD I still haven't told you what I wanted to tell you, about DW and me at the movies. Jesus. So, Dick W and I meet at the theater:

Here's me approaching DW in front of the theater, and who needs help? Is it me?

We were early, so we got treats and sat in the theater and talked. DW was telling a story and gingerly tugging this way and that to open his bag of Reece's Pieces, which you and I both know he was gonna have three of anyway, as he does. But seriously, he kept trying to rip the top, then pull, and HE WAS BUGGING ME.

"Give me that," I snapped. I pulled the bag as hard as I could and

BOOM!

every Reece's Piece IN THE UNIVERSE BURST up like a geyser, then landed down my shirt. It was amazing. It was like Old Faithful. You have never seen so many Reece's Pieces fly through the air in your life.

I gave DW the pieces that HADN'T landed in my bosoms, and I totally ate the ones that did. Hoo care, as Tallulah would say. Then throughout the movie, any time either of us shifted in our chair, you'd hear another candy roll down the aisle. We were totally the candy-coated clowns you call the sandman. Which is also not on my iTunes.

Okay, am going now. Will let you know if Ned and I detest each other by the end of today, or if that will happen AFTER he meets all my people and Gus tries to eat him.

XO,

June.

P.S. "I know a girl who reminds me of Cher. She's always changing the color of her hair." Oh this is SUCH a good song. LOVE. The Flaming Lips. In case you don't have this one on your iTunes. Which, why?