I woke up before the stupid alarm went off and thought I was late because the sun was up. Stupid daylight savings. WHY do we have to have it, again? Wasn't it when we were all farmers that we needed to save our daylight up? I don't even have Farmers insurance.
I'm not even that fond of Frances Farmer.
I don't even have a farm in Africa.
Okay, I'm done.
There's not even a farmer in my dell.
Okay. Seriously. Done.
So did you vote yet? You can do it early, you know, some places. I did, and that was a quick stop. Holy cats. Which I just mistyped "holy cars" and that makes a ton of sense. As much as holy cats, if you really consider it.
I'd gone to lunch with Ned at the new pretentious Mexican place in his neigborhood--the taco place that was closed the other night. OH! It was good. It was way more than tacos, although that's what I got. And between you and me I wanted the tuna taco, but that sounded so dirty I couldn't bring myself to ask for it. "I'll order it for you," said Ned, who is more mature than me, believe it or not.
"No! YOU asking for a tuna taco is way worse!" I said, although I do believe our waitress enjoyed her the ladies, so really ME asking for it--oh, who cares. Point is, I got the chicken tacos. And they were good.
I had one left, so I had to put my taco in a box, and see, there we go again with me giggling and nudging you. Then I stormed off to Country Park to vote at the rec center, which is precisely where Edsel took his boy-did-THAT-stick obedience training.
Really, he's not disobedient, though. If you tell him something he's generally mortified and does it, hoping against all hope you will love him as a result. It's just that he spends every waking second being the most enthusiastic dog you've ever met.
My point is, the line to vote. I mean, were they showing Jaws in there? Was this 1974? Good gravy. Eventually I bonded with the man and the woman in front of me. The guy behind me was reading a magazine and never spoke.
Then I tried to surmise who everyone was voting for based on appearance. The guy behind me had a ponytail: Obama. The guy in front of me was wearing a Burberry shirt and loafers on a Saturday: Romney.
I figured all the black people were voting for Obama. Is that racist? I did, though.
I was in that line for an HOUR and FORTY MINUTES. But finally I got up there and voted for people with interesting names, like when you bet on a horse.
My mother just fainted dead away.
No, no. I got up there and and put down my vote. Mitt all the way!
My mom just woke up so she could get to the nearest gun.
The point is, I worried my not-tuna taco would be turning poison in my car, but in fact I ate it when I got home and here I still am, so.
Anyway, tomorrow should be interesting, mostly because my coworker Not Wes and I are getting together after work and I've been excited about that for awhile. Oh, and we're getting a president. Both of those things should be covered pretty extensively tomorrow in the news.
Okay, have to go to fake all-day work now. Hope you and your tacos are well.
Ask me how that statistics textbook is going.
NOT WELL. NOT WELL AT ALL. Have you SEEN the index on this thing? They'll list one word and give you 84929492949395 pages where that word appears. And because this is a reprint, it's not on the page they say. Which means I have to FIND it in all that riveting statistics text.
This means I have to go now and look at that stupid thing till it's time to go to fake work. So I will be brief.
Here is what I want to know today. I asked this four years ago, too.
Who are you voting for? For president. Not for America Idol.
And BE NICE. If there is a not-nice comment, I will DELETE your ass. DELETE. I know you're scared now.
I have been very busy working on a new project. I created a folder on my desktop called, "Hi. I've slept with you." Then I went on Facebook and downloaded photos of my exes.
Do you have any idea how many people I have dated who were in bands? In fact, most of them are STILL in bands. Clearly I have a type. In my folder now are several pictures of relatively old men standing on a stage.
And what's funny is I'll be perusing my list of FB friends and stampede right over someone and then a few minutes later go, "Oh! Bloop de Bloo Bloo! You forgot you slept with him and he belongs in the folder!" Perhaps that's not so much funny as tragic. What's even more tragic is that I could be attracted to someone named Bloop de Bloo Bloo. He had a really nice car.
Obviously, not everyone I've slept with is my Facebook friend. There are some exes who hate my guts, and some whose guts I am not particularly fond of. Some of the gut-haters (Daniel Boone) are on Facebook anyway, so I can steal their souls and photos for this useful project. Others are NOT on Facebook, and this means I have to troll the Internet looking for middle-aged white men with totally common names. You think this is easy? Why didn't I go for fewer John Smiths and more Bloop de Bloo Bloos?
And oh. Yes, I DO have a statistics textbook to edit right now. What do you mean I always find stupid things to do when I have a statistics book to work on?
MY POINT IS, and at this point you need to get dinner ready, I know, I Googled an ex and found he is, well, not a celebrity but sort of known in his region. So there was a writeup about him, and his accomplishments (they didn't mention the accomplishment of "wore a beret in college and no one kicked his ass"), and it ended with "He lives with his husband and two dogs in..."
So there it is. The first official gay ex-boyfriend. I mean, we all must have them. Well. Okay. A lot of us must have them. Which leads me to an interesting thing I read on Dooce yesterday. She has a blog post from a Mormon woman who is divorcing her gay husband. She knew he was gay when she married him.
That post led to a post from a gay Mormon man who is staying in his marriage to a woman.
And you know what? Don't judge either of them till you've read their stories. Because I was all ready to embrace the divorcer and detest the stayer, and I ended up totally feeling both of them. Look, it's not my religion, you know? I am not Mormon, do not pretend to be, do not have ANY IDEA what it's like to believe the stuff they believe. But I try VERY HARD to live and let live, and guess what? This guy is hurting no one. Not even himself.
Did you know I wasn't Mormon? I mean, based on the enormous new folder on my desktop? Is it politically incorrect to say "Mormon"? Am I supposed to say LSD or whatever they call themselves? If so, why? Is it the polygamy thing? I really don't know.
Whatever. Let's look at pictures.
Have I ever told you that ...friend's cat, who you all cleverly named ...kitty, walks around with bags on her head? Apparently she has always done this. She sheds the bag, looks around to see where she is, then puts it back on. She can even leap to the top of the fridge with a bag on her head. She is The Unknown ...Kitty.
And you know what's funny? I mean, you won't be stitching your sides because of this, but it's funny in a sort of interesting way, is ...friend's cat doesn't automatically look at the camera, as my photographed-every-day pets do. (Did you ever notice that, Hulk? That I take my pets' photos sort of often? Has that ever bugged you? You never say so in the comments.) Do you think my pets know they're microcosmically famous and that's why they look at the camera? Or do they just know by now that if they look I will leave them the Sam Hill alone, finally. Is that it?
And to conclude, in summation, finally (FINALLY), yesterday was Faithful Reader Dawn's 46th birthday--and Dawn? Hang on to 46. HANG ON TO IT. Because I will be effing 47 in less than a month.* Anyway, Dawn's sister wrote me and asked if I'd say happy birthday, and just to suck up and ensure I'd do so, she said, "You and your uvula are our heros!"
*Yes, of COURSE I added to my Amazon Wish List. Because I am a horrible woman who is greedy.
Am taking a break from my hard-hitting morning of reading BOOK RIDICULOUS THREE of that stupid Fifty Slaps of Grey or whatever, and I guess hard-hitting was an appropriate term. Do you know who I'd like to spank? That author.
As if reading THAT trilogy of fine literature weren't enough, yesterday I went to Barnes & Noble with ...friend, because we really know how to throw down, and I picked up (yes), The Thorn Birds for our very sophisticated book club here at Bye Bye, Pie. I found myself telling the checkout clerk, "I'm reading this as a joke, sort of." Because I'm certain the clerk cared deeply. Still. It's like the time in the '80s when I bought a Def Leppard tape.
When we were at Barnes & Noble, I happened to see a magazine all about Queen Elizabeth's Diamond Jubilee, and by the way where is mine? Where is my Diamond Jubilee? Could I just go somewhere and you all throw diamonds at me? Because I'm just as dowdy as Queen Elizabeth. Don't I deserve something?
I sat through Rent. Right there makes me Diamond Jubilee-deservable.
Okay, I never sat through Rent. I just thought it was a good line.
Anyway, you will be shocked to hear that as a boy who is straight, ...friend is not what you'd call knowledgeable about the royal family, which to me is an abomination. He also knew absolutely, 100% nothing about Laura Ingalls Wilder, and guess who had to sit at my dining room table for 17 hours getting a brief rundown on Laura? Guess who probably wishes he had faked some knowledge, there?
At any rate, I was perusing the magazine and inexplicably, ...friend was looking at it, too, and asking stupid questions like "Is Queen Elizabeth married?" when I came upon this.
"Is that Queen Elizabeth?" asked ...friend. "Why is she next to Bruce Willis? That seems tasteless. What's she got to do with Bruce Willis?"
I am just saying to you. My birthday is coming right up. Could someone please arrange to send me Queen Elizabeth/Bruce Willis Chia Pets or whatever these are? You know what we need? June Chia Pets. We could make sure the plant grows something giant. Like a Redwood or something. Can Chia Pets grow tumbleweeds?
In other news, yesterday I gave allergy pills to all my pets, and oh, right, thanks for all the unsolicited pet advice the other day. I LOVE that. Love!! Anyway, the vet gave us allergy meds since everyone is still itching and Tallulah? Pill in canned food. "scarf scarf scarf scarf snurfle."
Edsel? Pill in canned food. "smack smack smack smack--der more?"
Lily? Pill in canned food. "lick lick lick cause I a cat, lick--pill gone!"
Then I got to Iris. My sweet unseeing Iris. I mean, even better, right? She can't SEE the pill. And yet? "lick lick lick lick--ebrytheeng gone but pill, mom!"
So I tried again. "lick lick lick. dis gud! throw pill away, tho."
Finally, I had to do the shove-it-in-her-gullet trick. Guess what Iris did? Sweet unseeing Iris?
What a DINK. I HATE it when cats do that. And it's the sweetest ones, I swear! You got a bad cat? Somehow you can get a pill down 'em. A nice one turns into exorcist kitty. pill not gone, mom. sow is myne.
Okay, I'm off. I will close with a lovely photo taken last night during dog walk time. After Barnes & Noble, which I have now mentioned three times like it was the highlight of my life, I went to the Clinique counter for my soap, and they had a "Hey! Buy stuff and get a whole bunch of makeup you don't need, including that moisturizer no one ever uses!" deal. So I got home and put ALL my new makeup on, even though I already HAD makeup on for my romantic date at B&N.
So there I was with two layers of makeup on, and it was like Ru Paul was walking the dogs. "You better walk." I tried to photograph it but the makeup doesn't translate. Nevertheless the entire juxtaposition of this photo kind of slays me. I get to say "juxtaposition" because I hang out at Barnes & Noble. And buy The Thorn Birds.
In the past 24 hours, Iris slept on my head, Edsel bit me, and poor Davy Jones died. Who gets his locker?
I liked Davy Jones. I mean, didn't we all? And one of my fancy LA friends just told a story about him, on Facebook, and the gist of it is he was a lovely person. Of course, we already knew that.
What. You thought I WOULDN'T put in a You Tube clip today? I practically AM YouTube by now. YouJune. Anyway, once he took Marcia to prom we all knew he was a good guy.
Oh, and Edsel didn't mean to bite me. We were playing with his stupid toy that if you ask me resembles a marital aid, and we were tugging-of-waring, which is a fine phrase, and his ludicrous teefs came down on my finger instead of the toy. "OWWWOWOWOWWWWwwwwww!" I said, and he was mortified. He kept pushing his luggish head into mine and wagging furiously, so I'd know how sorry he was. Then he groaned over to his sensitive chair and started at me for 70 hours, like he does.
...I just spent an inordinate amount of time looking for a photo of Eds in his sensitive chair,
and you know what I should do? Is somehow organize my photos on this computer. Anyway, my Mac has a fabulous feature called "Faces" that just shows you, you know, faces, and I got interested in looking at that, and I found a lovely photo of my pal Miss Doxie.
Even though she's this annoyingly pretty--and I was with her that day and all she basically did was shower, throw on a little lipstick and go--you can't help but like her. Mostly because she sends me stuff like this:
Oh, and I went to lunch with my ...friend yesterday.
This leaf is from the collection of weird leafy things ...friend put in his soup. He ordered an enormous bowl of soup, then said, "I come here quite often. It's a break from the boring soup and salad I usually get at lunch."
"But you're ...eating soup. With leafy salad-y things in it," I pointed out.
I parked right here under this sign, and you can imagine how this did not bother me at all. "Walk in is." Or perhaps the "in" owns something. Not the walk-ins, though, because there is no hyphen to connect walk-in. Really the whole sign gave me a hive. I wish people would call me before they spend money on signs. Did I ever tell you about the place I drove past EVERY NIGHT in LA that said, "Eyebrown Wax"? Or what about the other place, that sold "stuffanimal"?
It is hard to be me.
Somehow during lunch, I mentioned the fact that I had gotten a perm in the '80s and afterwards I emailed this fine photo to ...friend.
I had better slip on my turquoise loafers and get started with my day. Some idiot felon-looking person already came to my door and asked if I wanted an estimate re my trees. It was 9 a.m.! Rude. And he did the thing where he rang the doorbell, then knocked insistently, as though he had something crucial to tell me. You can imagine how this pleased the dogs.
I was in my robe, and I am telling you he gave me the once-over. THE ONCE-OVER! While disturbing me at the early early hour of 9:00 in my very own home! Guess who did not say sure, give me that estimate. Perv.
Catch you on the flip side.
I know this was covered ad nauseum in my comments yesterday, but maybe you're one of those people who doesn't read my comments, to which I say, "?" And also, "!" Because not reading my comments is like only eating the hard outside of the Oreo. You don't get the really bad-for-you hydrogenated deliciousness inside.
Yesterday was Whitney Houston's funeral, and even though I had seven hundred thousand four hundred and twelve pages to edit of that book I was given at the last minute, I thought I'd tune into it for a minute.
Three hours and 40 minutes later, it was still going on. Whose funeral lasts that long? I would have been ordering in a pizza had I been at that event.
There were a lot of touching things, actually. Kevin Costner said good stuff and it made you like him. As did Tyler Perry, and I KNOW. Who knew he was likable? But the part that I could not get over was the woman in the crowd with June hair.
I know you wish I'd stop blogging with You Tube already, but look at that woman next to Alicia Keyes. She totally has June hair. If you click on the image to blow it up, you can see, but the woman also makes sure to crane her neck, there, so we can all enjoy her June hair for a moment without clicking if we're patient.
We got to see that hair all during Alicia Keyes and also Stevie Wonder, who was never so glad he couldn't see anything. What gives with that woman's 'do? Oh, dear, what if that's one of the Faithful Reader Lisas or something and I have no idea? She'll be coming on here today to be all, "I was at Whitney's funeral!" and here I am, talking about her hair.
Dear Faithful Reader Whomever with the Bad White Girl Fro,
Your loved ones are not telling you that is some bad hair. Relax that shit, honey. For all our sakes.
Oh, also? If you're making a YouTube video? You do not need to SCREAM A TITLE across the screen. We searched for it already. We know what we're looking at. Thanks.
Anyway, good funeral. I had no idea a funeral could be nearly four hours long. Then they all had to traipse to the cemetery, right? I mean, didn't they? Then go have ham? In my family we always go have ham. Usually in a church hall or something.
Doesn't ham sound delicious right now? Why can't I lose the weight?
In other news, I have no other news, because other than watching that 10-hour-long funeral, I had to catch up on all my work, which I did not finish until 11:00 last night. And I didn't finish it, I just read to the page number I had set for myself and have to do it all over again today. Because my life is fun.
Oh, and I gave Faithful Reader PJ comment of the week, because look who is becoming good at assigning Comment of the Week again. Go look in This Week's Special to see.
When I watched the funeral yesterday, I came to the conclusion that whenever I talk, I wish to have dramatic organ music playing in the background, and I want you all to yell, YES! and AMEN! and wave your arms around and so forth while you read my posts. I hope you have not forgotten this directive.
I went on YouTube (I know. Obsessed.) to find dramatic organ music so you could read my whole post again with said music playing, because I am annoying. But then I found this woman and fell passionately in love with her. How cute is she. "That's not the song I was supposed to sing!"
I get so bored with my white self I could scream. And why don't I have invisible backup singers?
I am sad about Heidi Klum and Seal, which is not at all pathetic of me, because I know them really well and Heidi Klum and I are like this. But they always seemed so happy, and like such a hot couple, and once again I'd like to remind you of the many times they came over and the marathon phone sesh Heidi and I had that time.
To add patheticness to delusion, I checked America's Top News Source, TMZ, to get the full story, and of course there WAS none, other than they have irreconcilable differences. Gee, do they? That tells us a lot. But in the comments someone said, "Seal looks like my ass with teeth."
And I am sorry but I fell out my chair in hysterics. Because you know that's awful. And yet hilarious. Ass with teeth. Poor Seal.
While I'm on the topic of stalking people, you know how I love the new girl at work?
LOVE.HER. Do you think she'd think it was weird if I followed her around with my bottom teeth out like Edsel?
Here are the shoes she wore to work yesterday.
No, seriously. Like, if I rested my chin on her desk while she worked, that's no big deal, right? And did the Edsel sigh? Hmmmmmmmmm.
you no, edzul resent. do not spend ALL day followeeng m--oh who edz kiddeeng. where you go now, mom?
I must go now, because Iris has her follow-up vet appointment.
There is a chance they may have to remove her wonky eye altogether.
I will inform you as developments warrant. Oh, did I tell you I have a second date with the guy from the other night? Whose blog name is going to be Ranger Johnson, and we did not get that from doing the porn name thing at all. His dad had, like, four dogs as a kid through the years and named them all Ranger. Then when this guy was a kid, they got a dog and guess what they named it?
I mean, take EIGHT SECONDS and think of something else. How could you refer to the dogs of the past? "Remember when Ranger got that skunk?" You'd be all, wait. Which EFFING RANGER?
iris see gud! playing! playing gud! not to take out eye, pleez.
*You know, I heer it just awful, Iris. Terrible surguree. Lily haf many storee she can tell you.*
Okay. Going. Not berserk today at all.
A few days ago, in the labyrinth of my comments, Faithful Reader Jan made the fateful mistake of telling us all that she used to write poetry about her boyfriends when she was sad in high school.
I told Jan she was banned from my blog until she came up with said poetry. You should know that a few years back, I had to have a stupid MRI for my migraines and it was no big deal but of course I MADE it a big deal, but Jan really DID have a big medical deal and as soon as she woke up from HER thing, she asked her sister, "Did June get her MRI results yet?"
So what I'm saying is I'm a super, super good person.
Without further ado, let's all laugh at Jan's pain and angst.
Poor Jan. She lost something once solid. So did I, when I had that stomach bug the other day. Also, Jan, I work right next to a poet, and not only is she a poet, she TRAVELS THE COUNTRY because she is asked to READ said poems in major cities all the time. Also, she just won a national award.
I forwarded her your poems. Oh, you are welcome. It was nothing.
I always like a comma after 70 question marks. Poor Jan. Her feelings ceased. Or someone's did. I guess hers didn't. Her heart died and her eyes cried. I mean, I glean she was the heart-dier and eye crier from this scenario. Also, Nancy Kerrigan called. Wants her line back.
Was there ANYONE who had just a smooth time in high school? "High school? Oh, I was a cheerleader and had one boyfriend and we never broke up. My skin was clear and I had great friends and nothing bad happened. Ever. I never went around singing Open Arms like it was good."
If there is anyone who had that experience, please leave a comment and your address, so the rest of us can come toilet paper your house.
In other news, when I wasn't receiving dog flowers (see post below), I went on a date last night and could not find my skirt. I hate everything. I mean, I didn't lose my skirt DURING the date, which would have rendered it way more PG-rated than it was. But I'd planned the outfir days ago, and was going to wear my gray skirt and lacy black top, and I even HAD THE SKIRT IN MY HANDS and said, Oh, good. Skirt's clean.
Then when it was time to get ready, do you think that #$%$&#&# thing was anywhere? ANYWHERE? And have you ever tried to frantically search your house with 100 pounds of dog and two cats DIRECTLY UNDER YOU at all times? Why do I have the clingiest animals ever created?
So I wore jeans. I mean, I wore a shirt too, but the whole thing was not what I had planned and here. I took a picture right before I left.
And here I am, back home, at 10:12. No worse for the wear, really. Wouldn't it be sad if I did not go on a date at all last night and I just sat here for three hours and 15 minutes and took these photos?
Anyway, further reports on that as developments warrant. And this was not the guy who I owe a date to because I got sick. I am getting my roots done Saturday in Raleigh and am seeing him after. Although he does not live in Raleigh. I realize that made little sense.
I guess that's all I had to tell you, except I have no cavities and spent $95 on a new Oral B. I already HAVE an Oral B and if you do not have one I highly recommend it. First of all, my checkups are way better and no, I'm not getting paid to say this. Plus I'm certain its better for the environment to throw away a small toothbrush head rather than a whole toothbrush. But I've had my Oral B, and how many times can I say "Oral B," for a few years now, and the handle itself was not really clean and I couldn't GET it clean and it was bugging me. So I got another one. And my hygienist told me to stop putting so much toothpaste on the teensy brush head.
I know that was riveting.
And I do have one more thing I almost forgot. I would never vote for Newt Ginrich. You know how I feel about political things. I HATE the attitude that people who don't agree with us politically must be idiots, or the enemy, or pure evil. But I do not agree with him and would never vote for him based on that. However? I am 100% in support of him on this.
I do! What someone says to his WIFE, while they are struggling to keep their MARRIAGE afloat, is (a) none of our business no matter what and (3) does not make him lacking in character. It just doesn't. It's ridiculous. And petty. And I similarly didn't care what Bill Clinton was doing over there with a dress from The Gap, either. Could we move on from people's personal lives?
If we looked at ANY of our personal lives, we'd find something that looked not-so-great. Geez.
That's all I have to say about that. Jan, could you write a poem about it?
Dear Mr. Steve Jobs,
Thank you for the cool computer. And phone. And iPod. And stuff.
In other news--
It is in there making perk-perk-perk sounds as we speak. Which we aren't. But you know what I mean. It's so cool! Percolators are a sound from my childhood. Am expecting a teensy Piglet figurine on my cereal spoon today, too.
Did anyone else have one of those? It must have come in some cereal but I am unsure.
Oh! And in case you read my comments last night, listen to THIS!
I was strolling with the curs last night, as I am wont to do (one of my neighbors and I were chatting when the snooty spaniel woman walked by last night, and the neighbor watched my dogs hurl themselves and foam at the mouth and show their dumb teeth and he said, "Those dogs need a lot of work." Yeah. Thanks for that news flash), and I passed the Snowflake house.
"Kin we pet yer dawgs?!" they screamed, as they always do.
"Where's Snowflake?" I asked, as I always do. It is never worth it to go over there if Snowflake is out, as then it just War of the Noses, with everyone barking and being appalled and picketing funerals and so forth.
"SNOWFLAKE'S AT THE POUUUND!" they all screamed.
Their nipple-ring dad ambled over, although I am relieved to tell you he had on a shirt yesterday.
"Either Snowflake or Goldilocks bit the mailman. They got out," said Nipple-Ring, looking sad. "They told me it'd be 600 dollars to get 'em out and I don't have that kinda money."
Those dogs are always getting out. They have a chihuahua named Pedro, who you notice I have never once mentioned because I could not be more indifferent to Pedro, plus it annoys me because twice I have tried to catch him to return him and he's a speedy em eff. Anyway, Pedro spends more time out of the fence than in.
"I'll see you guys later!" I said, stampeding for home.
"WHAT'S YOUR DAD'S NAME?" the littlest one, who is a button--have I mentioned that?-- called after me. Those kids are fascinated by my every move. I have no idea why.
I ignored her, in case she was trying to steal my identity or something, and raced home. The dogs were all, "What Sam Hill is mom hurry?"
How fast did I get to the dang pound, do you think? Did I have any idea what I was gonna do once I got there? No. But I cannot STAND the thought of those dogs in the pound. They are good dogs. They do not BITE. I mean, maybe they DID bite the mailman but I pretty much petted Snowflake over her fence every day for two years and she never remotely even showed me a fang.
Yeah. Stupid pound. Do you know what their dumb hours are? Noon to six. NOON TO SIX. How are those even hours?
Am totally going there at noon today, and does anyone want a dog?
I Noflake. Noflake assure you no maleman bitin' occurred.
And in closing. In summation. Finally. Thanks for participating in Chunks of Wisdom or whatever...the part that surprised me the most? That y'all are partial to certain kinds of ketchup. Really? I never notice a difference.
You also seemed to be loyal to Coke products...
And you were almost religious about either Twizzlers or Red Vines. Which is another topic of indifference for me. Ketchup, licorice and Pedro. All "eh" topics for June.
Okay, will give a Snowflake report as conditions warrant. I promise you those dogs are sweet and if anyone is interested please alert me. Goldilocks looks just like Snowflake except (wait for it) gold. Those genetics, man. They work every time.