Bye Bye, Pie!

June Visits Family, Story at 11:00.

First of all, Yahoo Maps AND my GPS totally lie. Both getting there and back took 10 hours, not eight, as they told us. We kept saying, God, why is this taking longer than we thought? And we decided the Direction People figured we just wouldn't want to go if we knew it was that far of a drive. So they lied.

Anyway, 20 hours in the car later, in which Ned snapped at me and I cried and THAT was fun and then we made up and IT ALL TOOK PLACE IN THE CAR, because WE LIVED IN THE CAR, practically, we are back.

I have put here all the pictures I liked from the trip and now you have to look at My Vacation Pictures just like they had to look at a slide show on Mad Men last night and for the love of god did you really think I'd miss it, seeing as it's my show and all? I wish more people would've emailed me to say, "Mad Men's on tonight" while I SCREAMED home through 98 states to get home in time to see it while dodging barbs from Snappy Ned.

Don't get mad at Ned. There were snow storms and chunks of ice on the road and accidents and A ROAD WAS COMPLETELY CLOSED at one point and the BRIDGE WAS OUT I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING and then we got lost and locusts rained from the sky and you'd snap at your loved one as well.

"I think the universe wants us to never travel together," I told Ned, because with me nothing need be dramatic.

Anyway, here is my slide show.

Jack, my cousin Katie and my Aunt Kathy gettin' their sugar on. Yes, Katie is the one who told me about the no-sugar detox. She's lost 20 pounds, but she took a break this week.

When my family used to live locally, we'd generally get together on weekends at my poor grandmother's house, who'd make an elaborate meal that I don't remember helping with one iota, ever. After we were done my Uncle Leo would say, "Oh, I'm sick." and everyone would agree they had eaten too much. Then someone would say, "Let's get ice cream and go to the cemetery!" And we always would. Sugar and death, man.

So a simple walk along the Ohio River turned into my cousin's husband Jack saying, "Let's get malts!"  and I don't know if he got influenced by 15 years of marriage in this family or he was just meant to be.
At some point in the weekend, my Aunt Kathy said, "These are from your Uncle Deb" and she whipped out a package of 9,000 individually wrapped lime green Bud Light sunglasses that he got god knows where. Yes, I have a male uncle who we call Deb. His name is really Delbert, and you know how you call someone something funny in your family and it doesn't seem weird till you tell an outsider? "So, my Aunt Ass Parts and I--" "Wait, WHO?"

Anyway, beer-snob-would-not-drink-Bud-Light-if-it-were-served-on-the-body-of-Scarlett-Johanssen Ned was obsessed. OBSESSED. With those lime green Bud Light sunglasses. He couldn't wear them enough.

Nor could he wear enough pairs. If you look in the dictionary under "Getting Kick Out of Self," right after my photo would be Ned's. And then right there next to me in the dictionary, he'd snap at me.

Because Katie and her husband Jack came all the way from Alaska, they asked that no one give them presents because it's a pain to schlep more stuff back all that way. Naturally, then, Jack picked up a convenient, easy-to-pack basket at the farmers market Saturday morning. I bought zucchini bread. Because I never go to the farmers market without buying processed food.
My cousin Katie had already been downtown twice during her stay, so she was TOTALLY EYE-ROLLINGLY ANNOYED that Ned and I wanted to look around there, which made it even funnier when Ned stampeded for the erotica section of the book store and pulled out a Sapphos book just for her.

We are hilarious. Note he has green sunglasses on his head. Who is obsessed?
Uncle Leo, my cousin Maria, Anna of "Aunt Katie are you a lesbian?" fame, the poor dog Lola who looks like an old lady, Ned, and Anna's friend, who shared my annoyance that there were no photos of either of us in my aunt's house.

We went for a hike at some place called Clifty Falls, which to me sounds like someone just totally made up. "Oh, those falls? With the cliffs? We call that...Clifty! Yeah. That's the ticket." As we paid to get in, the Very Official-Looking Park Ranger (we figured out he seemed official because his pants were exactly the same color as his shirt. That's enough to intimidate US) gave us our ticket, and my Uncle Leo asked why it was called Clifty.

"Well, there's a waterfall and a forest and a few streets named Clifty," he said monochromatically.

We all paused.

"But was Clifty a person? Is it named after a person?" asked my Uncle Leo, who is the type of guy who makes you pull over to read monuments and who then also reads you the brochure he picked up at said monument until you shove it up his Aunt Ass Parts.

"Oh. I don't know," said the Very Offical Park Ranger, waving us on. So that was helpful. All weekend, when we'd see the Clifty Bank or Clifty Liquor Store or whatever, we'd wonder if the park was named after those things.

Wow. I.am.hilarious. Do you like my outdoorsy-girl hiking getup? IT WAS COLD. But then once I walked eight seconds I was covered in sweat and then that coat hung on my arm like an albatross.

Say, are you enjoying my sunglasses?

With those glasses on Ned already. Here we are being at two with nature. Ned saw a kid stick his arm deep in the water and pull out a snake. He looked for me to enjoy my reaction, but I was looking for the Clifty Falls Clinique counter.

Oh, and say, did I mention my aunt's new puppy Roxie, who she found WANDERING ALONE in some wooded area near her house? You know I tend to be fond of puppies in general, but SHE IS SO COOL. She howls with my Uncle Bill, and she fetches already, and the cutest part is she walks like a grownup dog somehow, even though she's a puppyheadsnickerdoodle. She has this little Pit Bull pointy-in walk like Talu has, and my Aunt Kathy would like to emphasize that the DNA results have her at 50% Boston terrier. She is so denying this dog's pitty heritage. She is starting to get a brindle-y coat, too.

Did I mention I love her?

I just like this picture cause it shows their view of the river. My uncle kept playing songs on his phone that fit whatever we were talking about. Who got a charge out of his own self? I'm trying to think of an example but--OH! I know! Ned had come to bed with half a beer, I guess because everyone else was going to bed and he is not an early-to-bed person. So he went up there with his beer and talked to me while I tried to sleep.

The point is, I took that empty bottle down the next morning to put it in the recycling, and immediately my Uncle Bill played Roadhouse Blues, where they sing "I woke up this morning, I got myself a beer." Everyone's a comedian.

(By the way, when I found this song on You Tube, someone's comment was, "My roommate didn't know who Jim Morrison was..." Oh, shut up.)
Oh, look. Here's Roxie yawning. Who needs help? Is it me?
On that way home, on that interminable drive, we stopped in wherever the hell University of Kentucky is, which apparently Ashley Judd is obsessed with as I am with that puppy, and we stopped at the prettiest girly restaurant. Ned is hours from snapping at me, but you can see he's considering it here.

Oh, it had Victorian pictures all framed, and fancy girly light fixtures, and I just loved it. "If Edsel could decorate a place, this is how he'd decorate it," I said.

"I'm seeing him doing all Hello Kitty," said Ned.

"Except the kitty face would be mine. He'd have an all Hello June place," I said. "Tallulah would just have a black light and her bong and a poster of rotisserie chicken," I added.

Anyway, that sums up my trip. I got home just in time to see my show, and right as it was starting, Marvin texted to tell me about taking the dogs to the dog park this weekend.

Naturally, I snapped at him.

Code Brown

Everyone in my family is obsessed with poop. You have never met a more fecal group. When Marvin met my family for the first time, not one but TWO adult people told him stories about how they'd pooped on themselves recently.

I was kind of delighted when Ned met everyone at Thanksgiving, and not one person regaled a bowel movement story. I have met Ned's people. They are nice Southerners. I think even if they WERE pooping as we spoke, they would not mention it. So the part where Ned met my family in November and stuck around was in part, I imagined, because he did not find my people all that objectionable.

Naturally, then, we got here yesterday and I had to BRING UP the part where I was glad no one had told Ned a poop story.

Yeah.

We were all walking by the Ohio River (we're in southern Indiana) drinking malts (Ned got a smoothie) (whatever with Ned), and every time I turned around, there he was, listening to another shitty story. Poor Ned. This could be the last time we see Ned on this blog. I may have become number two on his list. He may not be flush with happiness about me anymore. What a waste. He's no longer gonna do me a solid and date me.

God, I love myself. Do me a solid. Am own Valentine.

So, everyone's here:

• my cousin Katie the lesbian,
• her husband Jack,
• my cousin Maria and her daughter Anna (the kid who wanted to play circus and funeral with me, back when she was young and not so over me as she is now),
• my Aunt Kathy
• her husband, my Uncle Bill,
• and her other husband, fmr., my Uncle Leo.

I think poor Ned has said not one word since he got here, and I assure you no one has finished a sentence without being interrupted.

Oh! And my aunt has a puppy snickerdoodleeyooo!

Guess who is over me. Roxie is a pitty pit, Boston terrier, petit Basset (yes, that's a thing), Griffon Venden (whatever), dachshund, white Swiss shepherd and golden Retriever. Yes, Aunt Kathy DID have her DNA done. What if that was just some kind of guess, like where people say, "Oh, she's a Lab mix." "Oh, she's a pit, terrier, basset, griffon, dashshund, shepherd, retriever mix."

Anyway, mostly she's pitty pit. Mostly I LOVE HER SO BAD. Till she bit me. I mean, she didn't mean to. We were playing tug of war and I got too close to her teefs.

Mother of god, that hurt.

  My cousin Maria also brought her dog, Lola. Here's Katie the lesbian holding Lola. Katie's husband Jack the beard says this dog looks like an old lady, with an old-lady perm, which, once you think about that, you can't UNthink it.

Okay, I have to go. We're going to the farmers market because stupid Katie said, "Let's have potluck tonight! Everyone bring a dish to pass!!" and Katie who cooks can eat my shorts. That'll be MY dish: my shorts. Then we're all going on a hike and my plantar fasciitis is thrilled. Then comes that potluck where my dish of shorts is sure to be welcome. After that apparently we have to watch basketball, which may or may not be Ned's idea.

I will catch you later. Maybe if I drop Mrs. Brown off at the pool later, I'll come back and fill you in on it.

Love, June

June at 16

Awhile back, Ned showed me a picture of him at junior prom in high school. He had the same girlfriend throughout high school and even into college some, and she is still a good friend, so he basically has the same sitch with her I got going with my ex-boyfriend Cardinal.

Cardinal and I dated in 10th grade and broke up. In 11th grade I had a new boyfriend, which didn't sit well, so Cardinal swooped back in with his red feathers. Then for heaven only knows what reason, we decided hey! Let's try that again cause it was so much fun the first two times, and we dated from, say, age 19 to maybe 21 or so.

We've been friends ever since then other than when he got a wife and she decided I was the enemy so we didn't talk for years. (She's gone now. Sure do miss her.) There have been multiple times when we've both been single at the same time, including now, technically, but the Cardinal-and-me ship sailed in about 1986.

Which, by the way. If you have a problem with your current man being friends with his ex, ask yourself, Were there multiple opportunities for them to bang before I came along? And did they TAKE those opportunities? If not, WHAT IS THE PROBLEM??

At any rate, this is precisely what Ned has going on with his friend Harriet, whose real name I didn't just throw into the Random Name Generator or anything.

My POINT is, and do I ever ever ever just get to the point without eventually having to say, "My POINT is"? Ned showed me this photo of him with his old girlfriend, and oh they were so young and cute and so on, and then I looked at the back and it was dated May 14, 1982.

"I know exactly where I was on May 14, 1982!" I said, because I am a freak. "I even have PICTURES of me from that day!" That was my Aunt Mary's wedding day, and Cardinal was my date. I had this grand idea that I would put up here on this godforsaken blog the photos of Ned and Harriet and Cardinal and me all from the same day in 1982.

Brilliant!

So I get my Aunt Mary on the horn and ask her to scan me the photo I was imagining, but of course she was flummoxed about how to scan and email a picture and what's with the generational stuff re computers? She did, however, mail me the damn picture sooner than it will take for you to read this stupid post and I only just opened her letter last night. It's probably been sitting on my table for a week.

Good gravy I am sick of working all day and freelancing all night. Tonight I get my hair cut, then after I'm having coffee with one of my friends, and even though that COMPLETELY screws up my work schedule I don't even care.

Aunt Mary sent TWO pictures from that fateful day, and I was so excited to scan them and scream them off to Cardinal that I coulda spit. I also called Ned. "Send me that photo of you and Harriet. I finally got the one of Cardinal and me."

"My scanner's broken," said Ned.

Sighhhhhhhh.

It was all I could do not to drive the hell over there through the rain, in my pajamas, and bring the dang thing back home so I could SHOW YOU THESE DAMN PICTURES ALREADY. Sometimes my blog about my life turns INTO my life, and that is never good.

So, supposedly, Ned is scanning his fine prom picture at work, and TOMORROW I will have for you the famous shots of Ned/Harriet and June/Cardinal. But seeing as I have two pictures from that day, I will show you this one:

Oh. Kills me.

In case you were thinking, Wow, people in high school looked so much older then, those are my grandparents. You know, attending the wedding. As you do. My grandfather was the absolute bomb and you could not do better in the grandfather department. And there is Grammy, the woman I am turning into. Next time you see me I promise I will have a rose-colored dress on.

Does anyone remember the photos of these same grandparents on my 6th birthday? Cause Grammy had the purse-on-her-lap look then, too. She must've been horrified of snatchers. And this was before my city was even that dangerous.

Anyway.

The picture of Cardinal and me slays me, is what it does. Here it is again:

Look how unjaded by time and bad relationships I was. Grammy's over there thinking, "LOVE FADES!" but I had no clue. I just figured Cardinal and I would be happy for the rest of time. And that I'd always be that thin. And that stripy Izod belts would remain cool.

So there's your preview. Stay tuned for Ned Goes to Prom and June Continues to Look Naive photos.

Felix Crumpled Papers, Uncle Leo

Today is my Uncle Leo's birthday. For a man who's tried to kill me several times in this life, I still like him.

My Uncle Leo started dating my Aunt Kathy in high school, when I was a baby, not that I went to high school as a baby. You know what I mean. Snot ass.

The other day Ned called a poor driver a dick ass. Then he said, "I have never called anyone a dick ass before. It kind of makes no sense." However, we agreed it was a good swear.

The point is, they dated when they were in 10th grade, Uncle Leo and Aunt Kathy, not Ned and any member of my family, as that would be weird. My Uncle Leo came over to meet my family, and he thought we were rich because we had grass. Does that not make you completely 100% sad? He was from a family of five boys, who, by the way, were born one after the other in rapid succession.

(Catholic.)

My Uncle Leo's mom had five boys under the age of THREE. I mean, kill me now. Anyway no wonder they had no grass. Is my point.

He stuck with Aunt Kathy, and eventually I became less of a baby and more of a little kid, and Leo was the kind of adult who was fun to be around. He didn't get sick of you or tell you the adults were talking now. Which, if you are an only child, there is no greater kiss of death than that "June. The adults are talking now" thing. I mean, what'm I supposed to do? Mature 20 years right then because ooooo, stop the presses, the ADULTS are talking. They never talked about anything interesting anyway. There seemed to be a lot of discussion about what was on sale at any given locale. Whatev.

The point is, he'd ride me around on his shoulders sometimes, and that was delightful for everyone but my grandmother, who was what you'd call a nervous soul. "Oh dear God in HEAVEN, Leo. If you hurt that baby..."

He'd always assure her it was fine, and then one day there I was, on his shoulders and

BAM!

he smacked my head into the entryway of the dining room.

Man, did that hurt. Uncle Leo, of course, thought that was hilarious, and in between mocking my pain, he kept whispering, "Don't tell grandma. DON'T TELL GRANDMA."

I totally shoulda told on him and let her kick his ass.

Eventually, he married my Aunt Kathy, and when I was 12 they had my cousin Katie who is now, you know, 86 or something. The point is, everyone was gathered at their house to see the new baby, and you know, the ADULTS WERE TALKING NOW, so I went up on the balcony that faced the back yard, but what Uncle Leo had FAILED to tell me was that the railing was super extra King Kamehameha loose and

BAM!

I fell right off that balcony. Two broken wrists, a spleenectomy, then sepsis and a perforated bowel and four more hours of very touch-and-go surgery.

Okay, at THIS point, gramma should've kicked his ass.

There are many, many, MANY family stories about my uncle. There was the time he dragged everyone out, wayyy out, to the country to go to an antique store. Once the dusty long drive was done, someone said, "What're you LOOKING for, anyway, Leo?" And he said, "I'm really looking for something contemporary."

Sigh.

There's also the story of how he wore two watches for awhile because the one on top was broken.

But really? Most stories? Involve his terrible terrible awful scary awful driving. I can't remember the details any more, but I know he drove a nun to some function once and she said, "Leo? I will never get in the car with you again."

His daughters--and who knows how they lived through their childhood--talk about a time he was driving scarily and they complained. My uncle has had a brain operation, which is a whole 'nother story, and he turned to face them in the back seat. While he was driving.

"Girls," he said matter-of-factly, "THIS side of my brain is the side that affects your motor skills and driving abilities." He grabbed one side of his head. While driving. And facing the back seat. "And THIS is the side of my brain where I had surgery." He grabbed the other side of his head at the same time. While driving. And facing the back seat.

So, Christmas day 1985. I had a perm, and kind of a mullet, and Uncle Leo and I, yes, GOT IN THE CAR to have Christmas dinner with my mother and stepfather. At this point, he and my aunt had divorced, but we kept Leo anyway. It was way icy and scary out, and I was nervous, and Uncle Leo was mocking my pain and pretended to lose control of the car.

Which resulted in us losing control of the car. And

BAM

we got into a huge accident. On Christmas day. Broken pelvis and a concussion for me. My Christmas dinner was an IV.

So the part where I still like Uncle Leo. It is some kind of Christmas miracle. I ask you to join me in wishing him a feliz cumpleanos (he is 1/1000th Mexican and pronounces all Spanish words as though he were the Frito Bandito. Did I fail to mention that?).

Do it fast, before he hurts me again.

June. Rewarding the 16% with the BEST VIDEO EVER!

Y'all.

That's my Aunt Kathy, woman of 58 emotions in 4 seconds, introducing Paul McCartney's song.

I KNOW!!

 

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

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.

June's list. Which isn't nearly as heroic as Shindler's.

Thanks, everyone, for all your what-makes-life-worth-living comments yesterday. I guess for me it'd have to include:

• Kittens, of course.
• Puppies, of course.
• Adult dogs and cats and also leopards which I wish to kiss on the head not to mention llamas and really everyone in the animal kingdom except some bugs and reptiles. (One thing that does not make life worth living? People who feel the need to explain to you the difference between bugs and insects.)
• French roast coffee
• Towels right out of the dryer
• The Turkey Roost in Kawkawlin, Michigan
• Thunderstorms
• Waking up near a lake and hearing it swoosh
• Strawberries
• My friends Donna, Dottie, Hulk, Lisa, Cardinal, Sandy and Paula. I can call them and in two syllables and they know the joke.
• Being with my family when everyone talks at once
• The Little House books
• The smell of Vicks Vapo Rub
• Remembering the way Mr. Horkheimer would FLUMP right next to me as soon as I sat down. He just FELT gray. I don't know how to explain it further than that. He was a solid cat in every way.
• Ned. Even if Ned is temporary, even if Ned turns out to secretly be a woman or something. Ned.
• When you have a funny exchange with a complete stranger
• Inn of the Seventh Ray in Los Angeles
• The canopy of trees as you drive to my house
• Stories about my Uncle Jim
• The taquitos at El Azteco in East Lansing
• Nora Ephron
• My Aunt Mary's laugh
• The song Tempted by Squeeze
• Dancing with my cousins at wedding receptions. We used to be the fun young cousins, and now we're teetering into the weird doddering old aunts.
• When the dogwoods bloom
• Edsel's underbite
• Stories about my grandmother
• The way the sun shines into my back room in the morning
• Texts from Hulk
• Tallulah's sigh when she gallumphs onto the other pillow at night
• Your comments
• Getting presents when you aren't expecting any
• Allure's Best of Beauty issue
• Watching It's a Wonderful Life, When Harry Met Sally, Arthur or Annie Hall for the 349493923943rd time
• When the phone rings and it's someone you haven't talked to in years, but you're thrilled to hear from them now

So I guess offing myself is not in the cards at present. And I'm gonna turn on the radio and hear some other song and say, "OH THAT TOO! THIS MAKES LIFE WORTH LIVING.

Sadly, that song will probably be by ABBA.

June, grateful.

Meet the new June. Same as the old June.

I have work things to tell you but I can't tell you yet. There is some dramaaaaaaa! And yes, I said that like Carson Kressly or something. Further reports as appropriate developments warrant.

Speaking of Carson Kressly, I was talking to my friend David--my Official Gay Friend in LA, and also my Official Closeted Friend in high school--and I mentioned how I'd recently put an ad on Cragislist looking for a New Gay Friend.

He thought that idea was hilarious. "There MUST be gay guys there," he said, and I explained the thing where every gay guy I meet is married and plays organ for his church.

"Oh, you don't want that gay guy," he said. "You don't want pleated khakis gay."

Pleated khakis gay. He's right, though. Not looking for Richard Carpenter. Looking for, you know, Carson Kressly. David Sedaris. Truman Capote, even.

Aren't we all looking for David Sedaris? Aren't we? In every way? I know I am. Did I tell you Ned/...friend got tickets for David Sedaris and they're for the end of October? "If we still like each other in October, I got us tickets for David Sedaris," he said.

"Dude, Ima FAKE liking you till then if I have to!" I said. This was already a month or two ago. So Ned has this theory that we'll be at David Sedaris, and he'll be saying good night to the crowd, then at the last minute he'll say, "Oh, and Ned Nickerson? June doesn't like you anymore. Good night!"

Okay, it'd be hilarious if I could get that to really happen, other than the part where I'd be all, "I didn't MEAN it! It was just so funny to do!"

Really, Charles Nelson Riley would be more of the guy who'd say, "Dramaaaaaaa!" Right?

Have I ever told you the story of my cousin Maria's daughter, Anna, who has my hair, unfortunately, but so far has pulled it off? Not literally. Although you wouldn't blame her.

Here is my cousin Maria. Yes, she IS the one who had a wedding in India last year. Good catching on, there, Sparky. She must be at another wedding, because she doesn't just parade around in saris when she heads to the farmers market or anything.

And here is Anna, and no, I know nothing about that puppy: who it is, if she kept it, what its name is. I really don't. I, too, want the puppy but let's move on.

Now that you have visuals, I can tell the story about Anna. (What'd I tell you about my hair?)

My cousin Maria, along with Aunt Kathy and my cousin Katie, were all getting ready for my Uncle Jim's funeral. Which was, you know, not a good time, but Anna felt it necessary that everyone look smashing for said event.

Now, my cousin Katie is what you might call granola.

I mean, she's stunning and that is annoying, but she is more a Burt's Bees than a Lancome. She does things like camp and make her own soap. And snowshoe to work. And dye fabric. She probably has a compost heap.

So, it was the morning of the funeral and everyone had put on dresses and makeup and so forth, and Anna goes bursting into the bathroom.

"FABULOUS!" she says, checking out my Aunt Kathy's ensemble.

"FAAAAABULOUS!" she exclaims, giving my cousin Maria the once-over.

"FABBBBULOUUUUSSSS!" she says, looking at her own self in the mirror, and what do you mean, "genetics"? Even though I peck at the mirror like it's a budgie all day. Shut up.

Finally, Anna looks at Katie's simple blue sweater and khakis.

"NORMAL!" she sings.

Poor Katie. You know, she called me the other day. She used to live in Oregon, then she lived in Wyoming, and now she lives in Alaska. It's like she's saying, "How can I be more of a nature girl?" Next she'll invent a wayback machine so she can be in Alaska in 1812.

My point is, she told me she'd bought a new skirt, which for my cousin Katie is saying something, because she is not what you'd call high-maintenance. She buys a new skirt every decade.

"I was at the grocery store, but it was one of those grocery stores that also carries other things, like clothes," she began.

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

"I needed sauerkraut, and there RIGHT BY the sauerkraut were the cutest denim skirts."

Was it getting hot in here? Because...groceries...clothes... I felt a little queasy.

"See, Katie, you should never purchase your clothes in the same place you purchase sauerkraut, is the thing," I began. Our whole lives I've been a little, let's say, fussier about this kind of thing.

"Oh shut up," she said, unfazed, and proceeded to list the skirt's assets: good length, excellent shade of demin, goes great on a hot dog.

The best news is her husband, who you can imagine is kind of an outdoorsy guy himself and who has probably never subscribed to Mr. Blackwell's updates on Facebook or anything, came home and said, "That skirt looks like it came from the grocery store."

I have never been more fond of that boy.

Anyway. I did not mean to go on this my-family-and-their-peccadilloes story, and was instead going to tell you about going to the DMV. However, now I must go, so you have something to look forward to for tomorrow. It's like a serial drama.

FABULOUSSSSS!

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.