Look how well my daisies are doing! ...I got flowers for our receptionist on Valentine's Day, and I over bought and couldn't fit all of the flowers into one vase, so I was all, "Guess I own daisies now." And it's, according to my math, 279 days later and just look! My fancy flowers I got from one of my many many admirers already died. That was more ranunculus and larkspur, so. Is it possible the daisies grew? Cause I swear I made them shorter than that when I cut them.
June's blog. Come for the flower talk. Stay for the skull talk.
See? Skull talk. As you know, if you whip out your June's Events Binder, I purchased a Day of the Dead calendar this year, and it's ALMOST as exciting as that vintage Better Homes & Gardens calendar with which I was so enamored in aught eight or nine.
Here is March. I mean, the month and also the skeletal image. Nice, eh? And look at the happy skeletons on bikes down at the bottom! Charmed! I'm sure!
What language is Marzo for March? Is that Spanish? June's blog. Stay for the bilingual action.
Speaking of skeletal, I'm on yet another diet and it's driving me berserk. I eat and then I think, "Wow, when can I eat again?" Every time I think that I think of my mother, who owns Weight Watchers, and who always says, "You shouldn't feel hungry."
WELL I DO. But I'm not on WW. I'm following a diet I found online. The first person to ask what it is has to make me food. Why do you guys do that? WHO CARES? It makes you hungry. Don't go on it.
Basically it's a menu of a few choices for each piddly meal. In the morning I have a smoothie with HALF a banana. Oh, fuck you. Half a banana. Then at lunch I have the saddest little sandwich you've ever seen and at night I get, like, the THOUGHT of salmon or chicken, really just a memory of them, and another goddamn salad.
Last night at around 9:00 I considered which pet to eat first. Lily, obvs.
Yesterday when I got up, I came in here to blog at you, and the Internet would not work for me, so I went ahead and started my foodless day. My Biafra day. Who can take a Biafra day, and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile.
Now I'll get hate mail from Nigeria, and RIGHTFULLY SO. Once years ago I mentioned the potato famine here, and got some scathing, 80-foot-long email from an Irish person, who was hardly magically delicious. "What if I mentioned the Twin Towers?" he leprechauned at me. I mean, okay. The potato famine was 150 years ago, but sure, there, Peter O'Tool.
Someone was cranky without his carbs.
The point is, I'd wanted to tell you that Edsel's vet called day before yesterday, to see how he was doing on Prozac, and I was all, eh. And the vet suggested I get an adult dog for him, which DON'T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT, so instead Eds went to daycare and seemed to have a high time. Maybe that's the solution.
After, I took him out for a pup cup at a fast food place, which now that I think about it was my last decent meal before Calorie Fest, over here, with my "Snacks: apple or hot water" diet.
It almost looks like he's my conscience, here, on my shoulder like in a cartoon.
Anyway, it cheered him. Stay tuned for me caving and getting an adult dog soon even though I've found a practical, workable solution.
And speaking of my pets ("WHAT? You're speaking of your PETS?"), Alf my handyman came by yesterday and I want you to understand I know Alf is not one of my pets. Also, that really is his name. Alf. And I let him be around the cats anyway.
As you know (June Binder), I've had a windfall, not to mention your Wind Song stays on my mind--
Wind Song. How did I go my entire adolescence without thinking about how hilarious the name Wind Song was? Oh, excuse my wind song. I had cabbage.
Anyway, windfall, and as a result I asked Alf to (a) fix the motion lights at the side of my house, especially now that my Next Door informs me this creepy guy is back in the neighborhood. Also, (b or not 2b), fix the DAMN screen thing that is missing from the roof, that we assume Steely Dan is using to escape.
Oh my god. I'm so pulling on my Gloria Vanderbilts right now.
Look how they spelled Escape. Annoying. Lu annoy.
Naturally, when I came home for lunch, there was Alf, who always manages to be at my house right when I'm there, trying to enjoy my one fleck of tuna on a communion wafer, and maybe I should just join one of those dating sites for men who like...curves. That's what we'll call them.
He was on the roof, replacing that screen thing, and we were kibitzing, when he said,"Oh, look at tree cat!"
Anyway, all the things Alf fixed were way cheaper than I thought they'd be, which gave me money left over to (wait for it) (biscuit is on your nose right now) (wait) (wa--oh, fine) TRANSFER MY BLOG over to WordPress! There's a guy at work who, you know, can do this sort of thing and he's working on it today!!!
We discussed it yesterday, and he said, "Go on WordPress and select a theme."
Oh my god.
I obsessed for HOURS about a theme. HOURS. I hope you like my theme. It's not up yet, but the address is gonna be EffJune.wordpress.com. Don't go over there NOW. It's precisely nothing right now.
"Do you really want it to be Eff June?" he asked, because he's a decent member of society.
Okay, I'd better go. I already put this on Facebook, but enclosed please find a photo of Eff June at a party in 1984.
I clicked the wrong goddamn photo, but why so angry, June? COULD IT BE HUNGER?
Here we are. Giovanni Leftwich, my boyfriend ca. 1981–1989 (it was on and off. Thank heavens I have mature, stable relationships now) found this in an old box. At the left, there, is my high school best friend Donna, who I wish would have a drink and loosen up. In the middle was our good friend's girlfriend at the time. We loved her. And there's old chicken hair at the right. Wow.
I remember the shoes I had on that night. They were from the '60s, slingbacks, silver sparkles. I loved those fucking shoes. Also, every single thing Donna has on belongs to me.
Including that girl. She was MY experimental years girl, not Donna's.
I never had experimental years. Did you? Do tell. Let's have lesbian reveal today at the Pie, soon to be Eff June. I'll still keep the name Bye Bye, Pie, don't worry. EffJune was a shorter address, though.
Okay I have to go. Next time we talk I will have eaten maybe a plum and a nut.
As god is my witness,
June. Of the Eff Junes