Bye Bye, Pie!

Giving off sparks

"I regret to inform you that I heard Total Eclipse of the Heart on the drive in, and every email I send you today will contain the lyrics to that song, Bright Eyes," I told Ned, who is only with me because I am so famous now.

"That's great," said Ned, who did I mention has a famous famous girlfriend with 36DDD hoots?

"Every now and then I get a little bit restless and I dream of something wild," I told him.

By about 2:00 p.m., when I'd told him love is like a shadow on me all of the time, and that I don't know what to do, I'm always in the dark, and that we'd been living like a powder keg and givin' off sparks, he wrote, "I've gone ahead and killed myself to put an end to your cover of this lovely song."

"I can't believe you killed yourself. I really need you tonight. Forever's gonna start tonight."

So apparently Ned is dead. Guess what Ima play at his funeral? On a continuous loop. I will miss him. Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears.

And hey! Thanks, everybody, for going over to Purple Clover yesterday and reading my column and learning my real name and leaving comments there and everything. Both my parents emailed me to tell me there were other hippies in Michigan. Almost 48 years now they have known me, and I enjoy how they are still appalled that I embellish the story. I was TWO and embellishing the story. "This sippy cup had been empty for 11 days. I got tumbleweeds coming out my mouth, over here, folks."

They didn't have sippy cups when I was two, did they? That is sad. I probably had some kind of cup made from stone, like I'm Bam-Bam or something.

A coal sippy, like I'm the child of Abraham Lincoln.

The other day I watched Lassie Come Home, which I should never do because I cry like an idiot through that entire movie, and get resentful that neither of my dogs would traverse from Scotland to England just to reunite with my punk ass (well. Edsel would want to. But he'd never be able to follow the directions with his GPS. "edz do whut? whut, now? to tell edz again, Ant siri").

Anyway, the kid who'd lost Lassie was all sad because he'd lost a movie star dog and all, and it was his first day of school. His parents were downstairs all excited because they had a gift to cheer him. "New pencils!" said the dad. "We didn't have these when I was a child!"

How depressing does your childhood have to be that you're waxing on about pencils? No wonder Lassie left. She was probably ready to slash her paws, listening to that Pink Floyd Sylvia Plath downer of a man all the time. "When I was a child, we didn't have air! You're a lucky one, me laddie!"

Elizabeth Taylor is in that movie. You have never seen a more unnaturally beautiful child. Seriously, it's not even right, she's so pretty. Maybe Lassie left because Lassie is really a gay man, and he just wanted to go look at her and talk about her fabric choices and stuff.

Whenever I compose a post in Typepad, they always start suggesting related posts that are sometimes mine and sometimes other people's stuff. I have never understood what they want me to do with all that down there, but look how there's a picture of poor regular-dog Lu next to Lassie. Whatever, Lassie. With your fancy ruff and delicately lifted paw and so on. Lu go Pit on your fluff ass. But look! Look next to Lassie! There's INFLATABLE Lassie! Inflatable Lassie, y'all! GUESS WHAT I WANT NOW!!!

I clicked the link and the whole thing was about how hard-to-find inflatable Lassies are. Crap. At least now I have a goal. It's good to have goals, because every now and then I get a little bit terrified the best of all my years have gone by.

Every now and then I fall apart.

And if you'll only hold me tight.

We can never be wrong.

Okay, going now, before you beat me with your fancy pencil. June, out. June, totally eclipsed.

What kind of middle name is "Delano" anyway?

Last night, Ned and I went to the old movie theater we like and saw Guns of Navarone.

Guess whose idea that was? And if Ned might have said to me, "I sat through Gone with the Wind. Shut up." I would not tell you that, because it would not be polite to tell a girl to shut up and I'd hate to ruin Ned's pristine reputation around these parts.

When you go to the old theater, you have to sit through this man standing on the old stage, talking interminably about the movies coming up for the next 72 years. Ned and I went to that theater for, like, our third date, and we watched the Coming Soon! list that stretched out for a year. I remember thinking, "I won't even be SEEING this guy by the time these movies come out."

Anyway, Ned, who I'm still seeing, saw the poster above and said, "Why is Richard Pryor in this movie? It seems like a poor venue for him." Look at the guy on the right. I guess I needn't tell you that Ned rushed out and bought one of those heart necklaces that's broken in two, and is wearing both halves himself.

In other pressing news, because the above was completely riveting information, I have a funeral to go to today. A friend's mother died. I asked to take a late lunch so I can go at 3:00. In case you're worried sick, I packed a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich on a tortilla, honey Greek yogurt (I guess it was the influence of Navarone) and some wasabi almonds. I adore wasabi. Did I not once say I'd marry wasabi and be June Dimebag Wasabi? Why was I Dimebag? Can anyone recall?

What IS a dimebag? I mean, I know it's the marijuana, the Maryjane, the reefer, the weed, and I am so street, but why is it a dimebag? Does it cost a dime? Because I doubt that. Is it because Franklin Delano Roosevelt enjoyed him the pot? And what exactly do you think I can do to get my own self on the dime and not FDR, who I like and all, and you KNOW how I feel about his wife, but still. That shit is played out. June Gardens on the dime! Can we start a letter-writing campaign? To the dime people?

ANYWAY, I have a navy-blue marry 'em and bury 'em dress I used to wear all the time, but I bought it in 1998, and it's two sizes smaller than my current rotund size, meaning it's a zero and now I'm a two.

Honest June. Maybe if we went around calling me Honest June we could knock damn Abe Lincoln off the fiver. Do you enjoy me for saying "fiver"? Have I already told you how much I hate it when people say "buck fifty" when they mean $150,000? Oh, that ANNOYS me. Buck fifty. Shut up. I don't CARE if you're a girl; shut up. You will not be allowed to say "buck fifty" if you pay with any June Gardens fivers, that's for sure.

All right I'm off. Oh, so my point is, marry 'em and bury 'em dress is going to Goodwill along with my youthful figure, and I'm wearing black pants and a black filmy shirt with a loose-knit white cardigan. Will that be okay? Is the white cardigan too cheery? I don't wanna look all celebrate good times, come on! If you tell me it's too cheery I'll run home and get my black loose-knit cardigan and look like I'm one of the Sprockets.

 

June, blacked out.

Come on, Precious

I forgot to tell you that when I ran into that little kid the other night from the neighborhood, the kid who used to own Snowflake before his untimely postman-eating demise, she had a question for me.

"Do you have a lot of markers in your house?"

I mean, it was in the context of precisely nothing. We'd all said hi to each other, she'd asked if Edsel was still shy (well, let's see. The part where he's wrapped his leash around me 50 times and is behind me, trying to crawl up inside me, might tip you off, but whatever. Bright child.) and then she came out with that query.

In some countries, that is the traditional greeting. ¡Hola! How's it going on your number of markers?

"You know, I don't," I told her. "I don't think I have any. I don't have kids, so markers never really come up."

I may have alluded once or twice to the lack of brightness of these ragamuffins in my neighborhood, and I could see those wheels trying to churn.

"You don't? You don't have kids?"

"Nope."

She looked completely taken aback. "Well, when are you going to have any?"

Am seriously wondering if my mother hired her.

Anyway, hiiiii! How is everyone? It's the holiday weekend, so no one is going to read me at all, ever. You'll all be busy with the grilling and the eating of baked beans and the getting out your white shoes. Truth be told, I've been wearing white pants for a couple weeks, and I've been rocking them, too. All this in white pants, man. Woooo!

I've been working out 45 minutes, five times a week, due to this stupid challenge I'm in at work (my team is in second place) (have hired someone to bang Team #1 right in the knees, though), and yesterday I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror--

--I like that. "Caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror." Like I'm not Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs in that mirror all day. Anyway, I saw myself and man! I looked good! See? Am back to being Buffalo Bill again.

Come on, Precious!

Should I get that poor kid a pack of markers? Or will her negligent parents think I'm a molester?

But none of this is why I forced you to log on here today. I brought you here because Ned has Nedflixed the terrible movie we saw last Sunday, and man, was it terrible. It was my fault, too: I picked it.

 

Long ago, I dated someone who said I always wanted to see any movie that showed someone standing in a field. It was really one of the more astute observations anyone's ever made of me. And sure enough. Oh, field! I pick this one!

As soon as it was over, there was an old lady behind us, who said, "Jesus." Completely exasperated. We loved her. Anyway, here is Nedflix.

To the Wonder

The name of Jesus Christ, delivered derisively from one of our fellow moviegoers in the back of the theater, was the first feedback June and I received upon the conclusion of To the Wonder, the new film by Terrence Malick. Malick is the director of such obtuse head scratchers as The Tree of Life and The Thin Red Line, and To the Wonder doesn’t disappoint in that arena. What it does disappoint in, however, is everything else.

To the Wonder stars Ben Affleck and Olga Kurylrnko as Neil and Marina, two young lovers with nothing better to do. Having met and fallen in love in Mont Saint-Michel, they return to Oklahoma to set up house. Life is pretty good when you’re hanging out in Mont Saint-Michel, falling in love and gazing off meaningfully with your own inner dialogue playing in your head. That shit gets old pretty fast in Oklahoma though, and Neil and Marina run into problems once reality sets in.

Rachel McAdams and Javier Bardem make inexplicable appearances in the movie, neither much affecting the lives of the main characters at all. Bardem’s role is not a small one, yet we see him with Marina only once or twice, and never do we hear his take on her situation. His role seems to be a parallel one with its own issues and crisis, but not one that makes much comment on the movie’s main theme. McAdams’ character has the good sense to walk away early.

Most of the dialogue in To the Wonder, as with many of Malick’s films, is delivered in whispered voiceover narration. While this device does significantly reduce having to listen to Ben Affleck flap his yapper, it gets old pretty fast as well. I don’t intrinsically dislike Malick’s films. They are always well shot, and I believe he has something to say. What he does say he delivers with subtlety and without clobbering his viewer over the head. Sometimes, though, you wish he’d just say it.

Cubism

God, I love coffee. Don't you? I have never understood those soda-in-the-morning people. Blech.

June's blog. Getting shut off one-handedly while people hold their Diet Cokes in the other hand, since 2013.

I do, though. I love it. And I even have to have tamped-down half-caf coffee because of my migraines. Okay, technically I'm supposed to have NO coffee at ALL, not even decaf, but that's just the crazy talk. That's like Sophie's Choice or something. I just can't do it.

Anyway, before I wax on about coffee some more, I wanted to tell you the exciting news that I got moved into a cubicle yesterday. Sadly, it was my work friend Vilhelm Oyster's cube, as he got moved upstairs to another department. Nevertheless, this means I am no longer just OUT THERE, the the OPEN ROOM, like I'm Mary Richards or something.

Do you think she ever got sick to freakin' death of having to talk to Murray all day? And what if her bra strap needed adjusting or some similar quandary? There was NOTHING SHE COULD DO.

So yeah. Less Mary Richards today. More Milton from office space. I told my coworkers I was going to decorate my cube all bachelor pad-y, the way Howard did on Andy Griffith once his mom moved out, and guess who needs to watch less TV?

Howard's mom got married and moved to Mount Pilot, so Howard decorated with those bead room dividers and so forth. I totally want that, and shag carpeting, and an oil fountain with a naked couple embracing and possibly one of those funny funny "Hang in There" posters with a kitten.

What?

So that's my big news. Got me a cubicle.

Also, I'm in this fitness challenge at work, which I've told you about already but no one pays attention to me around here. I am supposed to work out for 45-minute increments, and I get a point for each time I do, with five ADDITIONAL points if I work out five times in the week.

On Monday, we turned in our points for the week, and do you know every single one of those heifers on my team did the five days? GOD. Who knew I'd be with a bunch of overachievers? I did three. Three days. So I got three points. They all got 90 points apiece or something. So last night I took the dogs on a 45-minute walk, with my plantar fasciitis, although the plantar fasciitis was feeling better. Until I walked for 45 minutes with the dogs. Usually we do, like, 20, if I can walk them at all these days. I know. My poor dogs.

At any rate, it was fun to see Edsel look actually kind of tired at the end of those shenanigans last night. His tongue tends to ROIL out once he's tired. He can't just hang it out like a regular dog. It was to ROIL dramatically to the side like he's the TIREDEST DOG ON EARTH, and I don't know where he gets this dramatic streak.

Lily seemed annoyed that her 45 minutes of peace was over when we arrived back to our abode. She was all, Oh, look. It roil tongue. Good.

I guess that sums up what's new with me, other than I rented Bridesmaids last night, which I've been wanting to see for quite some time other than the barf scene, which I screamed past with steely determination. Anyway, it really was funny and I knew it would be.

Why they gotta put barf scenes in every movie now?

I will go shower now and get ready to work on a cube. You have no idea how exciting working in a cube is once you've worked in a desk sitting in Grand Central Station all day.

Squarely, June

Tongue in wine. I'll never go hungry again.

The other day, Ned and I went to the grocery store, and when we returned I said, "Crap. I'm almost completely out of dog food. I forgot."

"Let's go back," said Ned. "Is there anything else you need to get?" Ned is the kind of person whose drinking glasses are all lined up neatly on the shelf, divided by size, whereas my glasses are crammed in every which way and occasionally under the couch.

 
Me, headed to the store. This is, in fact, a photo of Anne "I like me the ladies, no I don't" Heche with some June hair. It rained last night and I did the elliptical* and gardened, so really this is pretty much precisely how my hair looks this a.m.

"No, I don't need anything else," I insisted, and the good news was they had a sign that my dog food was on sale--$17 when it's normally $24!--and when we checked out, they charged me full price and it turns out that was "an old sign" and I got one bag completely for free and it was the most exciting moment ever.

My point is, I got home and realized I am out of paper towels, I have two coffee filters left and I have to use a vise to get the toothpaste out. I don't understand organized people.

And my mom will leave a "Make a list, honey" comment in 3, 2, 1...

In other news, look.

I was at work yesterday and I could tell there was a dog in someone's cubical, based on the squealing from various girls, then I came over and the whole building fell down with my squeals. HE NEEDS A HOME! Does anyone need a teensy baby bitty Beagle? He is fully grown, just kind of a shrinky Beagle. Oh, how I loved him.

That woman he's sitting with turned out to be April, my old dog walker. It's a whole story. It doesn't matter. What matters is, someone adopt this snicker before I do and ruin my whole life. I can't even keep a paper towel.

Also, this happened yesterday.

Faithful Reader Tee sent me 1950s magazines she found and knew I'd like because I am such a chef. I TOTALLY HAVE TO MAKE ONE OF THESE DISGUSTING RECIPES! There's a tongue salad! What say you? Would you lick it up?

Meatloaf'll make you JUMP! JUMP!

Dear Mom,

In the '90s, there were these kids called Kris Kross, and they sang a song. The end.

Why is it important, if you're going to rap in any way, that you do that thing with your hand? Must you always be doing that?

Anyway. Tongue salad. Coming your way soon. Oh! I just looked again and see they also have Tongue in Wine! Story of my life.

*Oh, right. And perhaps you saw my reference to the elliptical earlier and you're still turning your head like Edsel does when I say "Outside?" I am in this fitness challenge at work, and I have to do 45 minutes of activity five days a week. So far I've done it, but I'm on day, you know, three. So.

There will be no working out tonight, though, because you know what I'm doing? Do you? DO YOU?????? Ask Ned, because I've talked of little else. Tonight, at the old movie theater we like, they're showing GONE WITH THE WIND!

 

Oh! Just watching the trailer, I got weepy! I mean, till I got to that fop Ashley. Then I sobered up. I hope the actual movie isn't as dark as this trailer.

Anyway, am beside self. I CAN'T EVEN WAIT! And you can imagine how Ned likes this movie. At least it's only four hours long. Poor Ned. Maybe I'll rustle up some tongue salad for him to munch on during the film.

When I was younger, I wanted to marry Lloyd Dobbler. And I kind of did. Then as I aged, I said, No. I want to marry Rhett Butler. But now? All I want is a Ned. Exactly the way he is. Eating tongue and lining his glasses up.

I'd better go shower and attempt to get the Anne Heche out my hair. I will report back tomorrow and let you know if Scarlett still fawns over that namby-pamby idiot. You'd think just once she'd see the light before it's too late.

Fiddle-dee-deeingly, June

In which Animal Protective Services should be called. Also, Nedflix.

Because it's been awhile since I've done it, and because I love myself so bad, I made all the pets do Circle of Life last night.

 

The circllllle of life! Boom!

Say, guess who was in no mood for me and my circle?

...Boom!

In other news? The cirrrrrclllllle! The circle of Edz's man bits!

Boom.

And finally? Finally?

The circllllle! The circle of Lu!

boom. you effing bitz.

I absolutely cannot stop giggling hysterically at poor Talu and her circle of hate mom now. Oh my god, everyone here is gonna EAT MY THROAT the second I sit down.

It totally looks like Talu is wearing my hair, which she probably will once she kills me and scalps me with her flea teef.

Anyway. In other news, Ned was kind enough to share with all of us his review of the ridiculous depressing Romanian nun movie we saw Sunday, so won't you join me for another edition of Nedflix?

Beyond the Hills, directed by Cristian Mungiu and starring a cast of Romanians you’ve never before heard of, is – well, let’s just say it’s a little slow.

It is not well-paced, is what I’m saying.

This movie would have difficulty finishing ahead of a three-toed sloth in a 50-yard dash.

It is the molasses of movies.

Mungiu was the director of 2007’s 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, a well-received if pretty doggone intense film about an illegal abortion in 1980s Romania. So there was reason to have moderate hopes for his latest effort. Beyond the Hills is the story of two orphans, now young adults, trying to find their way in the world. Voichita has signed on with a convent outside of a rural Romanian village, while Alina has moved to Germany to work as a barmaid. There is clearly a romantic history between the two, and Alina CANNOT LET THIS GO! She returns to Romania to try and convince Voichita to move to Germany with her, but Voichita has found a home at the monastery.

Thing is, nobody likes it when half a lesbian couple finds the Lord. It spoils everybody’s fun. But hey, it happens, and the proper thing to do is to move on and find yourself another lesbian. There are other fishes in the sea, I believe the saying goes. But this is beyond Alina, and she proceeds to drive everyone--movie characters and viewers alike--batshit crazy. One can’t help but feel sorry for the nuns and priest who have to put up with this crap, and they do their best, if misguidedly so, to help her. But no good deed goes unpunished, and this film certainly drives that point home.

So yeah, slow. And a little crazy. Maybe if the popcorn hadn’t been so salty. But we’ll never get that time back, me and June. Keep that in mind if you’re considering this movie.

I guess that's all I have to say to you, and all Ned has to say to you, but oh! One more thing?

Boom.

The Birds and the Bees

It is unseasonably cold here and I for one am annoyed. On my home page on my computer, as opposed to my home page I just have in life, I have the local temperature, the temperature of my hometown in Michigan, and for no real reason, the temps in Dublin and Paris.

Back when we all wore Swatch watches? Remember that? I wore two, because that was also a cool thing to do, and one of the watches was light blue and smelled like something. I forget what. But it was scented. The other was watch was black, to go with my general demeanor at the time. The point is, one watch was set to Paris time. My boyfriend Cardinal said, "I'll bet a lot of people in Paris have their Swatches set to East Lansing, Michigan time."

Anyway, my home page yesterday said the temp here was the same as it was in Dublin--46 degrees--and this morning? My hometown, my FRIGID NORTHERN HOMETOWN, has the same temp as here. Thirty-two degrees. Which is not pretty. THE GOOD SPRINGS HERE MAKE UP FOR THE CONFEDERATE FLAGS. That was the deal I made with this place when I got here. Am irritated.

And what's more fascinating than hearing someone complain about their weather? How about their bird house?!?!

A few years ago, I spent seven dollars on this little wooden bird house with a hole in the middle. I think it was supposed to attract a certain kind of bird, a bird from our class, a bird of the Philadelphia birds, yet every year different species have come in and nested there.

Can birds be different species? They can't, can they. June. Paying attention in science since 1977.

Last year, hornets or bees or wasps or some stingy thing had a nest in there. And I mean "sting-y," not that the bugs failed to pay for heat or only got meat on sale or whatever.

Probably a bee or a hornet or a wasp is an INSECT and not a BUG, right? Do you know what I enjoy? People who act like that makes any difference, bugs and insects. It's like people who insist you know that a tomato is a fruit.

My point is, I hope the birds don't encounter the sting-y things and all hell breaks loose. I imagine this sort of thing happens in nature all the time, much like what's happened to my ass, and it's a tragedy any way you look at it.

Last night, Ned and I went to that old theater we like and saw The Passion of the Christ. Oh, by the way, I'm changing the subject completely now. My old friend Tammy called me The Queen of the Nonsequitur, and often I'd be telling a story and all of a sudden come up with SOMETHING ALL NEW, and she'd just say, "Are you the QUEEN?"

I imagine I'm an exhausting friend.

So, Ned and I met at the movie theater, where he showed up precisely at 7:30, which is when THE MOVIE WAS SUPPOSED TO BEGIN. "If you're worried about us getting in after it starts, I've read the book," said Ned, who apparently has the passion for the Ned.

Have you ever seen that depressing movie? I mean, I knew getting crucified was no walk in the park, although he did walk quite a bit, but dang. That was awful. I turned to Ned at one point and said, "This hardly seems like a good Friday at all. In fact, it might be the worst Friday anyone's ever had."

I kind of wish Jesus had risen up and kicked some ass after that, but I guess that goes against his grain.

After the movie, Ned and I talked about how my friend Sandy's birthday was last week, and not only did I completely forget even though her bday is on the Ides of March and therefore memorable, and even though I have known her for TWENTY-NINE YEARS and should know, I managed to email her that day and call her a twat.

Oh, I was kidding. Still. Happy birthday from one of your oldest friends!

I imagine I'm an exhausting friend.

Anyway, we talked about if we remembered birthdays, and did Ned recall the birthdays of any old girlfriends (answer: not really) and then somehow we got onto the topic of what the number one song was the week you were born, and sadly for Ned it was Mr. Tambourine Man by the Byrds. Not the birds who are building a nest in my house, but rather the singing ones with the Y in their name.

Had it been Mr. Tambourine Man by Bob Dylan, that would have been a different thing altogether. And by the way, that link up there goes to Wikipedia, and you know I am snobby about Wikipedia, but you click the year you were born and then look up your particular birth week. Good luck.

I have Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones, and you know that's a good one.

And speaking of songs (I'm changing the subject again) (I imagine I'm an exhausting blogger), do you have a friend who absolutely abhors a song, and then when you hear the song you get a kick out of it because you know how much they hate it? That's how I feel every time I hear Lyin' Eyes by The Eagles, because my coworker The Poet abhors that song.

To: ThePoet@fakework.com

From: JuneGardens@fakework.com

Subject: With fiery eyes and dreams no one can steal.

Guess what I heard on the radio just now?

To: June

From: Poet

My oh my, you sure now how to arrange things.

 

Whenever I YouTube for you guys, I try to find the most ludicrous video I can. I guess every form of refuge has its price.

Did that terrible song ever go to number one? Because what if you find out THAT WAS YOUR SONG from when you were born? Oh, that will tickle me.

I have to go. I'm headed for the cheatin' side of town.

Wouldn't it be hilarious if one year they presented angry green men in trash cans rather than gold statues? Is that just me who thinks that'd be hilarious? Anyone?

I just tried to pet my silver purse, thinking it was one of the cats. What do you mean, I am not allowed to drive without my glasses? Good gravy. I used to have a black fuzzy cat named Ruby and I was constantly petting my black Uggs in the closet, too. Why do I admit these things to you people?

So, the Academy Awards (will not say Circle R) were on last night. Did you know that? Are you tired today? My theory is they should cancel work for everyone today, and Ned said he always thinks that the day after the Super Bowl. Me too.

I saw in the comments some of you liked this dress, but I thought it was redunkulous. "She looks like a guest room," said Ned. Naturally I looked at him like, "?" but he said she looks like she pulled on a queen-size duvet cover, and I was all, yes! That's perfect. I did like the backwards necklace, though.

 

Oh, hey, where'd I leave the Kleenex box? Oh! Jennifer Hudson's wearing it.

 

I have a friend who said he wouldn't be attracted to his ex-wife even if she were naked, covered in onion rings and wearing a Charlize Theron mask. I always think of that when I see her now. And now, so will you! I thought she looked absolutely stunning. Only someone that lovely could pull off the dyke hair like this. And did you see Halle Berry looking all irked in the audience? She was so irritated that someone looked just as good in the dyke hair as she does.

Is it offensive to say "dyke hair"? Come on. Who're we kidding?

Do you know what I'd make? Is a terrible dyke. I do like lipstick so much that am practically a lipstick lesbian, if lipstick is female.

No, I HAVEN'T slept enough. Why?

Also, this totally would have happened to me. "It's because she's wearing that DUVET," Ned said.

I love her. God knows I do. But this was horrible. She looks like an astronaut's wife.

Ned abhors Anne Hathaway. I never had a problem with her, till I watched her phony baloney interview on E!--because nothing's more sincere than E!--and she was going on about "being connected to gratitude" and "marrying my soulmate." All of a sudden I went from, "Oh, Anne Hathaway. She's pretty." To "Fuck you, Anne Hathaway." However, I loved this dress and her makeup and the jewelry, and the part where we saw EVERY NUANCE of her girls, up there. Kept thinking of my grandmother when she saw the pictures from JFK Jr,'s wedding. "They have all that money and she couldn't afford a bra?"

"ugggghhhhh. oh. uggghhhhhhh. I have to go to the Oscars. Uggghhh. Everything's terrible. I'm limping cause I tripped on my ennui."

I HATE HER SO EFFING MUCH OH MY GOD WANT TO SLAP HER HARD.

Captain's Kirk's interstellar girlfriend called. Wants her uniform back.

Recently, I bought these awful brown paper towels because they're supposed to somehow be better for the environment. They absorb absolutely nothing. They're the worst paper towels in the history of time. They're the slower picker-uppers. Am glad to see Jessica Chastain made use of her brown paper towels and a Bedazzler.

Helena Bonham Carter irritates me not as much as Kristen Stewart, because it's not possible for someone to irk me more than she does, but I promise you she's right up there. STOP BEING SO WEIRD. We get it. You don't want to be all pegged as a Merchant Ivory actress. Okay. Cut it out.

Reese Witherspoon's wearing a graduation gown.

I can't even. I mean, Halle Berry usually stuns all of us with her gowns. This year she looks like Cher's mom.

I can't decide whether I like Nicole Kidman's Klimt dress or not. Doesn't it look like a Klimt?

And finally. I like Jennifer Garner. She seems like a normal person. And I love her dress. I like the bustle. I like the color. And as usual she is pretty as a picture. Not a Klimt, but a normal picture. Am down with her dress.

I guess that's all the--oh! Ned and I went to see Argo just this weekend, and we were glad we did because we liked it more than we thought we would. And then it won best picture and all. He wrote a review of it for Nedflix, and I might as well toss it on here today:

By now everybody is familiar with the story behind Argo, the movie directed by Ben Affleck: American diplomats go into hiding during the Iranian Revolution of 1979 and are freed by an unlikely plot involving Hollywood and Canada. My question coming into this movie was, why would the Iranian students who took over the American embassy be any more sympathetic to movie people than they might be to any other ordinary American who happened to be there at the time? The obvious answer is that they posed as Canadian citizens. The United States, as everybody knows, is The Great Satan. After this little stunt, Canada might have become known as The Little Satan, or Le Petit Satan, depending on, you know, where you might happen to be in Canada.

I enjoyed the grainy 70ish cinematography the movie sometimes featured, I liked the overhead zoom-in effect it occasionally utilized. The soundtrack was fun, and Alan Arkin is hard to beat. And of course the true events it is based on are so compelling. I heard an interview with one of the real-life escapees recently, and he mentioned the low-key acknowledgment they all made to one another once they'd left Iranian airspace, as opposed to the busting out the champagne celebration featured in the film. And I suspect the high-speed chase on the runway as they raced to liftoff was also artistic license. But that's what movies do, and this one was good enough to get away with it.

A fun bit as the credits rolled was the comparison the movie made with its actors and the real-life people they portrayed. The filmmakers obviously went to great length to match their appearances. The exception to this was Affleck, who portrayed Hispanic CIA agent Tony Menedez. One might think the amount of time Affleck spent inside a Hispanic early in his career might have helped him relate to the role, but such an association does not a Hispanic Affleck make.

My Hollywood inside sources tell me that this movie's portrayal of Hollywood coming to the rescue of an America in crisis might help give it a nudge towards Best Picture, so don't be surprised if that happens. And if you don't believe me, you can Argo fuck yourselves.

Nedflix: The Oscar Edition

Ima try to scream out this post before we go to a, yes, movie and then go home and watch four hours of a show about...movies.

Some of you had wondered what Ned's picks for the Oscars Circle R are, and who cracks herself up every time she writes "Circle R"? The award for most amused by nothing goes to...

So, here was a smart idea. Me deciding YOUR stupid idea to ask Ned to DECIDE something would be fun and brief. "Say, Ned, my readers want to know who you're picking for the Oscars tonight." "Oh, sure, I'll do that. Let's go to my computer room FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE so I can look online and see who's nominated." Two hundred minutes later, I was thinking of being interred in said room, or at least marrying it, so familiar was I with its every nuance. The couch I was sitting on actually proposed to me, since we'd been spending so much time together.

I mean, you guys. HAVE I NOT SEEN THE MAN LOOK AT A MENU? Fast decisions are not Ned's strong suit. You have no idea how rabidly I was hating everyone who came up with this suggestion.

Finally, after cobwebs grew on my skeleton over there, Ned came up with this list:

Best Picture: Lincoln

Actor: Daniel Day Lewis

Actress: Emmanuelle Riva (she was the woman in that sad Amour movie. Good gravy, she deserves the Oscar) (Circle R) (just peed self)

Supporting Actor: Alan Arkin

Supporting Actress: Sally Field (if she talks about how we really like her, Ima go on stage and cock punch her. Stay tuned!)

Director: Steven Spielberg

Cartoon or whatever it' called: Wreck-It Ralph (Cause we enjoyed the SHIT out of Wreck-It Ralph. We did not see any of these. Because we're grownups. And I know very little irritates me, but one of the rare things that does is people who have kids trying to convince me to see kids' movies. "They make it so it's entertaining for adults, too." Yeah. You know what entertains this adult? Adult movies. So to speak.) Cinematography: Anna Karenina

Costume: Les Mis (see above re how we so enjoyed Les Mis)

Documentary: Searching for Sugarman (which is the only one we saw)

Documentary Short: Mondays at Racine

Editing: Lincoln

Foreign Language Film: Amour (happy! happy movie)

Makeup: Les Mis

Original Score: Lincoln

Original Song: Les Mis

Production Design: Anna Karenina (can you imagine how long I sat there while Ned compiled this list? I mean, can you? Picture it? I sat down in that room when I was 17. Just got up.)

Animated Short: Adam & Dog (but Paperman might win. We just WANT Adam & Dog to win)

Short film (okay, this is the one where we bet $900,000.) Death of a Shadow (says Ned) Asad (says me)

Sound Editing: Zero Dark Thirty

Sound Mixing: Lincoln (we walked out of there and said, Wow, the SOUND MIXING was INCREDIBLE)

Visual Effects: Life of Pi

Adapted Screenplay: Lincoln

Original Screenplay: Zero Dark Thirty

So there you have it. What if Ned gets them all correct? Maybe he'll win some kind of cash prize or something. And be sure to come back here tonight if you want to say anything snotty about the stars. Or how well I cock punched Sally Field.

 

June serves lasagna. Story at 11:00.

They delayed work due to inclement weather and

Dear Friends and Family in Michigan,

You would die laughing about this "weather."

This did not stop me, of course, from going right back to bed and spooning Tallulah, who was down with the return to slumber, as well. She never judges when one wants to have a few additional winks.

In the meantime, my pal Marianne came over last night, as was announced in yesterday's riveting post. Note the part where Ned cannot stop eating long enough to pose for the camera. Also, it looks like I made Ned drink salad dressing, when in fact I did not. Well. Much. It was kind of an initiation thing.

I made my one dish--lasagna--and Marianne and I got together first, had a little bonding and some making out, then Ned came over later and wondered if there was any food left. I will tell you one thing about Ned, and this is a news flash. He likes him some food.

Anyway, it was fun to watch them out-Southern each other. "Hi, here's my enthusiasm at meeting you!" "Hi! Here's my polite question to show interest!!" "Hey! That was a great question. Here is my funny Southern story that answers you and amuses you all at once."

Seriously, this is the most social place I've ever lived. Everyone in Michigan was extra super reserved, so I fit in THERE just like a puzzle piece. That one puzzle piece you try to cram cram cram in, cause it LOOKS like it SHOULD fit. Then in Seattle you had to act cool and dark about everything, and sort of earnestly politically correct, and in LA you had to convince everyone you had money.

Here people are just nice. And it's likely fake as all get-out, but I don't care. I'm shallow that way.

When Marianne got here, we hugged, then later she said, "Thanks for the hug when I got here. I know you didn't mean it." I was all, "I SO didn't mean it!" See? Reserved. Michigan. Also just cold fish in general.

Anyway, we had fun. Ned is still having a dreadful time with general being-a-grownup stuff, and when he called to see if I still wanted him to come meet Marianne he sounded so terribly drained and miserable. And you know who is an excellent middle-aged-manfriend? Is Ned. Because he came over anyway, and he was funny and delightful, and mostly had to hear us talk about girl things, although we did manage to not discuss our periods.

Wait. Yeah, we did. Good gravy. Poor Ned.

I guess I'd better go get ready to drive through this INCLEMENT WEATHER and go to fake work. I like how even when work is delayed, I find a way to waste time and show up six minutes late like I always do. Why don't they hire me, again?

Are you going to watch the Oscars this weekend? Ned and I thought about doing a Nedflix where we predict the winners, and don't forget we have a $900,000 bet on who wins Best Short. We are now even on our owing each other money: I owed him $900,000 when he said. "That waitress is going back to get us free dessert" on our anniversary, and I said, "I'll bet you $900,000 she is not" and then boom, she came out with those cream puffs.

But then we saw this French movie about a woman whose legs were bitten off by a whale, and who do you think selected THAT happy film, and Ned was CONVINCED the actress really didn't have legs. I was all, dude, I've SEEN HER IN OTHER THINGS. Do you think she's just that dedicated to her craft and had her legs bitten off for this one movie? So we bet $900,000 that she did or did not have legs. I just want to reiterate that usually Ned is really smart.

Oh, look! It's a miracle! She got her legs back! What's not a miracle is that copper eye shadow. "Let's make me look like I might have allergies." Pretty dress, though.

Anyway, let me know. About the Oscars. I kind of miss getting to call my ex-mother-in-law during the red carpet. She was always good for that crucial part of the night.

Okay, strapping the diamonds around my cankles and getting to work.