Bye Bye, Pie!

We Be Free

I just got back from getting my roots done, which interfered with my usual going-to-the-movies-with-Ned thing, but you'll be relieved to know we're going to a movie today anyway. I don't know what we're going to see: we have a depressing deep movie we're considering, and then a depressing deep movie. I will let you know.

I had a fine weekend so far, starting with Ned cooking for me, and what is a shame is there weren't enough green beans. After we ate this, we went out to eat. I am not making that up. We went to the hotel restaurant I like so much, where we had our first date, and got a tomato plate and a little pan of roasted almonds. We were both still totally hungry after our mound of green beans.

I also got Ned some strawberries, because a farmer came to work and sold us all a bill of goods, and also many delicious strawberries off the back of his truck. I ate so many I felt ill, and what I like about me is my ability to know when to say when.

The other thing that happened this weekend is Ned and I went to my company picnic, which was fun, and after we took a walk in the park, and no, I have no idea why these poor deer are here.

They had all kinds of parts missing; one had half an antler, and the other had no tail. It was, like, the most depressing collection of deer statues, ever. And that's saying a lot because deer statues are kind of sad in general.

At the picnic, we sat with Ned's next-door neighbor, who also happens to work with me. He and his wife are from another country, and I am being purposely vague in case they're all, DON'T BLOG ABOUT US. Anyway, they've lived all over the place and are interesting people, and also incredibly good-looking, which is what I require in a friend. We made plans to all go out to dinner at this African restaurant we've all wanted to try. They have kids, so they said, "We'll get a sitter. What night do you want to go?"

Ned was all, "Don't worry about us! Any night! Any night is fine! We've got nothin'! We'll just pick up the phone when you call and get right up and go! That's us! Free as birds! No obligations here!"

Could he have driven the point home more that we don't have kids and they do? Nope! Nothing to tie us down! Not us! CHILD-FREE! That's us! Able to take off at a moment's notice! Yep! We.be.free.

Anyway.

After our picnic and walk, we headed to the Apple store so Ned could fix his iPod, and then I suggested we get ice cream.

You would have thought I'd suggested we head to the premie ward and scalp day-old infants. "WE CAN'T DO THAT!" said Ned, who is really too healthy for his own damn good.

We got frozen yogurt instead, and I really don't see how cake-batter-flavored yogurt can be that much better for you, but there you go. Also, if Ima hang around healthy Ned, why am I not a size two yet?

Pay no attention to the cake batter yogurt.

So, I guess that's all I have to tell you, except that I inexplicably took pictures of all Ned's shoes last night and now I guess Ima have to blog about them since they're sitting there in my Photos file. Also, I KNOW I have to blog about the stuff PJ asked me the day I asked you guys what to blog about. I will do so tomorrow! I promise! I also have to tell you about my brilliant theory about how the people of Brazil are trying to ruin us.

I am full of deep thoughts. And green beans.

Hope your weekend was snappy. Off to see a deep film.

XO,

June. The kind of person who says "film" instead of "movie."

Oh, and who sent me the BB Creme from South Korea? 'Fess up.

I want you to know I did everything I was supposed to yesterday. Here I am drinking water like it's going out of style after giving the dogs a 45-minute walk. And yes, my plantar fasciitis IS killing me today.

Water kind of IS in style right now, isn't it? We're all chugging it like we're in some desert somewhere, giving ourselves cancer with our plastic water bottles and so forth.

I also went to pet therapy at the assisted living place with Happy, who reads my blog and who "June?"d me a few months back after recognizing me at the Coldwater Creek. I know. Middle-age called. Wants its store back. But Coldwater Creek is getting some cute things! I am not making that up! Say, will you hold my elastic-waist jeans while I grab my bone-color Velcro tennis shoes?

Okay, those were old lady clothing items. Say, will you hold my Christmas vest while I pull on my mock turtleneck with candy canes on it? There we go. I'll be right back. Ima fly my May wind sock.

June. Hated by the Wind Sock Club. Since 2013. Anyway, in case you were worried SICK, I did not take my own badly behaved dogs to said therapy. Rather, normal calm dogs were there so as not to trample old people and possibly eat them, in the case of Tallulah.

I saw the really cool old guy who grew up in Michigan and lived in Seattle, so we are basically the same person, and it turns out there used to be a lot of strip clubs in my home town, which he enjoyed verily. His wife used to go WITH him to said strip clubs, and right then I loved her. I have been nagging Ned to take me to this strip club in Winston that's just called Girls Girls Girls. I feel like I'd come out of there with some stories.

(Dear Mom,

I know you are putting away that Marlo Thomas record and feeling like you failed. You never once played Free To Be a Fan of Strippers and Me, did you? I know.)

I ended my day yesterday by doing my favorite thing: Ned. Wait. That came out--oh, you know what I mean. Ned and I watched some episodes of The Sopranos, which he has never seen before, and as you can see, I plan to introduce him to ALL my good shows until finally he BEGS to watch Sex and the City, one episode after the other, for some marathon weekend. Oh, wouldn't that be the best thing ever? Other than the part where Ned had turned gay somewhere along the line. Maybe it happened after those 87 episodes of Real Housewives.

So, all in all a fine day, and I also got paid. which was a plus. It's nice to be getting a, you know, regular check again.The other day I made a budget, and as long as I cut out pesky expensive habits like eating thrice daily, I am golden.

Oh! But yesterday morning, since I had to hurry, I asked you what I should blog about today. Some of the things you suggested I cannot do, such as walk my behemoth bad pully squirrel-chasey dogs and hold their poop bags and somehow also take photos of my neighborhood with my third goddess arm that will conveniently pop out, finally. Or blow it with the nice place that is doing some thing nice for me that entails the Exciting Secret Thing that I will tell you about WHEN THEY SAY IT'S OKAY, since it's their nice thing that is nice and not mine.

But what I WILL do is answer Faithful Reader PJ's Qs. I liked those. Here they are:

June, I would love to hear about pivotal moments in your life. I would like to hear about how you think your sense of humor developed and who influenced you. Pets! What is the most exciting that that has ever happened to you? What's your biggest challenge in life? Books! What you're reading, recently read.

Those are all excellent questions, and they are questions I will answer TOMORROW since I seem to have blathered on with my brief rundown of yesterday and now I have to get to work again.

With the WORK thing all the time. FIVE DAYS A WEEK they expect me to be in there! Yeesch! I should live in one of those laid-back, siesta, wine-at-lunch, long-dinners-late-at-night nappy places. I guess "siesta" and "nappy" are one and the same, but you get my idea. Maybe after all those siestas I'd have nappy hair.

Adios,

June

Because you hate yourself.

Yesterday was a dumb day, in which the phrase "emergency dental visit" was used, and I will tell you about all that and also force you to read about my weekend right here, right now. June's blog. Come for the mundane details. Stay for the mundane details. Because you hate yourself.

That is so my official blog slogan from now on: Because you hate yourself.

So as I had mentioned, as I had alluded to previously prior to this before, Ned and I went to the beach for the weekend, because it was Mother's Day and his mom lives at the beach so that's convenient. Yes, my own actual originally scheduled mother was annoyed that I did not go 9354943943 miles with all my riches to see her, but please see the part where she lives 9354943943 miles away and I have all my riches. Also, Dear Mom: Move to the beach.

We were scheduled to go right after work, so I got home and schlepped the dogs to daycare, and with my extremely organizedly packed bag ready, I decided to floss while I waited for Ned. Because I floss a lot. I have little containers of floss all over the house, and do it when I'm watching TV, sitting at the computer, exercising, sleeping, cleaning the gutters and so on. My POINT is, it was a floss day, day like any other day when

POP!

one of my back teeth just came clean off. CLEAN OFF. POP! it went, and it flew across the floor.

Fortunately, it was a crown, not an actual tooth, but unfortunately, my real teeth just grew in for free and I'd paid nine million dollars for that crown at some point in this lifetime.

"Son of a..." I picked my stupid tooth up off the floor. It was 5:45 p.m. on a Friday.

Look. I was so upset that I revereted to my Impressionist photography. But if you really look you'll see my tooth in a cup, which is similar to the Justin Timberlake song about his parts in a box but I will not delve into that at this juncture.

My point is, the beleaguered dentist, who called me from his home where he was just trying to live his dentist life, said (a) these things ALWAYS happen on a Friday when you're headed for the beach and (2) it could wait till Monday and I could try to stick it back on, just don't swallow it.

I left it out. And let me tell you what. A good diet plan? Is eating on one side of your head. It's hard to scarf when you're doing that.

So it was a lovely weekend of beaching and eating one-sidedly and hanging out with Ned's mom, who is an easy person to hang out with and never tells untoward stories as members of my family may or may not do, and please note above is the time she said, "I have 55 SPF. You all should put it on" and Ned and I scoffed and asked if she had anything with a LARGER number and then we spent the rest of the weekend complaining about how burned we were and she remained out of pain and non-red.

Also, the town of Wilmington is just a fun town to be in. We shopped, and Ned bought books, and I saw this:

SQUEEEEE! I LOVE YOU BOTH SO BAD GIVE ME THAT KITTEN!

I love me a toasty-colored kitten. I mean, as opposed to how indifferent I feel about all other kittens.

On Sunday, Ned's mom wanted to go to a particular restaurant, and we worried about the busyness level, so we called and they said, "There's a 25-minute wait." Oh, that's not bad, we thought, not realizing that 25 minutes was on Mercury. Would time go faster or slower on Mercury? See. This is precisely the kind of thing I could sit here forever and never figure out.

We got to the restaurant, which was really pretty before we grew to abhor it and everything associated with it and all people and things. It was a big old house, and you could eat on screened porches and in different pretty rooms. I mean "you could eat" being a loose term.

We put our name in with the hostess, who looked  a little pale, and sat inside at the bar, because when we'd pulled up? Where there was only valet parking due to the chaos? There were people milling about outside. And by "people," I mean it was like that scene in Gone with the Wind where Scarlett goes to get the doctor to deliver Melanie's baby, and she goes to the train station and as far as the eye can see are soldiers lying about moaning. Which is what we eventually did waiting for our food.

I don't know why no photos turned out well this weekend. I could have been faint from hunger. But here we are waiting at the bar. Note Ned's empty water glass. We sat there. And waited. And watched the wait staff, which we had officially become because we WAITED so long. Did I mention we waited?

After more than an hour, which can I just say "25 minutes, my patoot," we got a table, and guess what?

We waited.

Here I am being sunburned and annoyed, and Ned was telling us how they should have handled this crowd because he worked in a restaurant for eleventy years and it was kind of funny till it wasn't. Because all of a sudden it was TWO HOURS that we had waited for food, and I had not eaten all day, and at this point it was literally the afternoon, and all of a sudden I felt cold and shaky.

"I'm cold and shaky," I announced, and shook coldly. The whole room seemed like it was receding. Somehow, they scored me some oyster crackers and I literally ate a packet of sugar and I rallied.

We made a vow right then, we would never ever go out to eat on Mother's Day ever again.

Ned's mom took this prom picture of us after our quick brunch, and we headed home, but passed Raleigh on the way, so we got up with one of Ned's friends and my pal Daniel Boone.

Ned likes Daniel Boone, and I'm glad of it, because once Daniel Boone and I start talking, we are the two loudest, talkiest people ever invented, and I personally would hate us. It was Ned's friend's birthday, and we can't think of a good blog name for her, and I am jamming out to Ned's timely gift bag. Who is a boy? Is it Ned?

Here is a photo D Boone took in the .00003 second I was not speaking. Or laughing at something D Boone was saying. Ned and his friend sat and talked amongst themselves. In fact, at first we were seated with me across from Ned's friend and Ned across from D Boone, and eventually Ned shoved all my stuff in front of D Boone and switched places with me, and to tell you the truth it kind of made me feel bad, but that is because I was inside myself not not experiencing the obnoxiousness that is trying to talk across me and equally talky Daniel and his Boone.

And yes, I DO realize I will get melanoma at any moment.

Anyway, that sums it up. I went to the dentist yesterday for my emergency Dr. Bombay visit, and they glued that thing right back on me, and MAN did that hurt. And the hygienist poked at my tooth that had been under the crown and then the DENTIST came and poked at the tooth, till finally I was all, MUST EVERYONE POKE AT IT? We know it's there. Hi, I'm June's tooth! I may be old, I may be ugly, but dear God, I'm here.

GOD.

So, yeah. Trip to the dentist. Not relaxing. Sunburn. Not unpainful. Not eating. Makes you quessy. These are the lessons I want you to take from this particular blog post.

lessin mom need is not to leef dog again, mom.

June. Out.

I can't even

The rest of the weekend was inexplicable, but don't worry. I will go into excruciating detail tomorrow. In the meantime, what's with my 3-D bosoms? Oh, also? Always use sunscreen.

(c) Daniel Boone Photography

Dumb things I've been doing instead of blogging.

It's sad when you have to justify living your life instead of blogging about your life. Nevertheless, here's what I've been up to:

Ned-ing. Not only did we have a fabulous time watching Gone With the Wind, and when I say "we," I mean me and the other women in the theater. Anyway, not only did we do that, but Ned and I also went out for the salmon salad he likes to get on Wednesdays. Ned is what you'd call a creature of habit, and also Ned is what you'd call good at finding salads. The waiter said, "You know this menu by heart, but here." Sadly for the waiter, who probably had other things to do, we already knew what we wanted. Two salmon salads, please.

Also, I can't remember what it was Ned was feeding me, but he said, "When we get to my house, I want you to try [insert some new thing here] and see how you like it." "I wish I had the ability to just projectile vomit on command," I said, continuing my deep love affair with my own self. "You'd be all, 'How do you like this?' and I could just, blarghhhh, barf across the room."

"Yeah. Vomiting voluntarily for any reason," said Ned, "is just a thing you will never be able to do."

"Well. That or math," I said.

Being exercise-y. As I've told you, I joined this ludicrous challenge at work, where I've committed to 45 minutes of activity five times a week. NO ONE MENTIONED THAT THIS WOULD BE TIME-CONSUMING. Geez. Nevertheless, I started Sunday and so far have done 45 minutes of stupid stupid exercise three times this week. I will do it again tonight, and I hate everything and had better look like I have RICKETS when this challenge is done. Which by the way, I have no idea how long of a challenge I have committed to. I just signed up like when Marcia joins every club in school.

Having pertinent conversations. My mother and I were on the phone and got into a discussion about people who we knew were good-looking, but who just weren't our type. Like Ryan Reynolds. I know the world finds him handsome, but to me he kind of looks like some guy from my hometown who'd say "should've went." Anyway, who do you think is inarguably good-looking but not your type?

Getting Rick-Rolled. I was at the grocery store last night, buying all the things I forgot LAST time I went there, and I noticed they were playing Never Gonna Give You Up, which is what you play when you get Rick-Rolled.

Never Gonna Give You Up, in case you do not know, is a terrible '80s song by Rick Astley. For some reason, it became the thing to send someone a link ("Here's a wonderful picture of Kim Kardashian!" "Click here for how to lose weight without trying!" Or, if one is looking in my comments, "Here's a link to a blog that's funnier than June's!") And then when a person stupidly CLICKS on a link, they instead get a video of Never Gonna Give You Up.

 

So yeah. My grocery store was Rick-Rolling us. As we shopped. Which is real rude.

That about sums it up, what I've been up to, other than on the way home from daycare yesterday, Edsel got caught between the car seat and the door and got all panicky and even more wedged as he panicked, and I was driving and it was awful. By the time I pulled over he'd wedged himself out. Tallulah pretty much spent the whole time snickering at him unsympathetically.

Tallulah is a terrible person. Who would totally Rick-Roll you if she had half a chance.

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

Mulch Ado About Nothing

In case anyone was worried sick and pacing the floors and writing his or her congressman demanding answers, I did not get the glasses. This is not to say I won't go BACK there, because they give you the whole shebang--frames, the glass, protective coating, an eyelid lift, a jar of olives, now I'm just making stuff up, for $125!

$125! Perhaps you don't buy eyeglasses, but I do, and that's cheap. Of course, there's the part where I don't actually NEED new glasses--I got my last pair two years ago and my prescription hasn't changed. So yeah.

Other than that, I went around living my life all weekend. How about you? Did you live your life or were you in suspended animation? Sometimes that's relaxing, too.

On Friday night, Ned and I went to the First Friday festivities, and I will try to cram as many "f" words into this sentence as fossible. Other than the exciting eyeglass store, we went to some girl stores where I'm sure Ned was riveted, and we popped in to my friend Kit's store, too. In fact, when I GOT to Ned's I had forgotten my DING-DANG PHONE, and there is no way into the Fort Knox nor the gelatin that is Ned's place. There was a man on his balcony, which is at ground level so unless you're some underworld spy or the wife of a close friend I guess in no way would you describe that thing as a "balcony." Say, what did I major in, again? Was it the English? Cause, good job, June. Articulate.

DECK. He was on his DECK, though it was surrounded by a brick wall which made me think "balcony" and oh, who cares. I THOUGHT of asking if he'd call Ned for me to come let me in, but Ned's home number has a different area code and don't even ask, so I didn't want to be all, "Hey, stranger on a balcony on the ground. Can you call long distance for me? Also, I have money frozen in Tibet and if you just give me $50,000..."

Ned has a BUTTON at the front of his BUILDING that you can push, and guess what? That goes to his cell which he's never ever got the ringer on for and he never uses, so what I'm saying to you is my mood was sparkling. I STOMPED in my HEELS over to Kit's store and in front of 39494020203 customers I bellowed CANIUSEYOURPHONEOHMYGODNED.

So she let me, and that sums that story up. I know you're sad it's over.

Oh, and we also popped into the midcentury modern store and saw the guy. That's all Ima say about that.

At some point in the evening, I guess when we were eating and Ned got lamb and I felt like I had to mention that due to its oddness, we got onto the subject of insults. We talked about what would be the worst thing someone could say about us, and I said if someone said I'm not funny (as a commenter did the other day), it wouldn't really bother me that much, because I feel like most people DO think I'm funny. If someone said that I wasn't smart, I would also feel pretty confident they were wrong.

"Now, hideous," I said. I might get upset at "hideous." There's a small part of me that'd think, 'Oh, that's true.'"

Ned thought this over as he speared and chewed innocent lambs. Clarice. "I think the worst thing anyone could say about me is that I'm pretentious," he said.

And see. Here is where I have no filter. Here is where the whole room's gonna go, JUNE! You did NOT! Because before I could stop myself, I said, "Well, you are a little hoity-toity."

See. I just meant he likes fancy movies and listens to the NPR instead of doing the normal thing and enjoying Howard Stern and stuff like that. But guess who was annoyed with me all weekend? And I didn't even SAY pretentious because to me, pretentious means you're putting on airs, you're being someone you aren't. I am pretentious. Ned is just hoity-toity.

Anyway, I had to deal with THAT all weekend. "Oh, I'm so HOITY-TOITY. Maybe if you weren't dating someone so HOITY-TOITY...." Good gravy. Even God was over Ned. I didn't say he was Niles Crane, for goodness sake.

The rest of the weekend involved going to the farmers market for processed food (oh, I got some DELICIOUS cheese), me doing work I brought home (I'm like Don Draper without the nice apartment), Ned signing a bill with a flower pen:

Okay, you can't even TELL there's a flower there, because he's you know, writing and it's moving around. Just trust me. And yes, that's a salad Ned finished, I think it had beets in it. It's not lamb entrails. And then that empty thing contained fries that we split. God, they were delicious.

Yesterday instead of a movie, I made Ned do errands with me and I am certain he was delighted. Like, he had to lug five huge bags of mulch into his car, and mulch got everywhere, and who doesn't want to date me? Am serious delight. Anyway, he had been planning to Nedflix whatever we saw yesterday and I do not know if he will Nedflix those empty hours of doing things for me but I told him that would be funny. He could review the whole miserable afteroon! He could name it Mulch Ado About Nothing. The thing writes itself.

Am showering now. I mean, not as I type but in a minute. Don't forget to tell me what you say about the worst insult that could be hurled at you. It must mean something, right?, whatever it is that would insult us the most.

Hoity and toityingly,

June

Shoot shoot shoot

How many pictures like this do you think I will take of Ned?

Last night there was a meteor shower. Did you see it? Neither did I. First of all, I have no meteor shower luck. If there's some kind of shooting-star event, I traipse out to some field somewhere, and lie there looking up, then as soon as I get distracted (read: .0000000002 seconds later) and look at my cuticles or at my inevitable bowl of chips,

shoot! shoot! shoot!

there go the stars shooting the crap out themselves. And everyone else says, "There was one!" and I'm all, "WHERE? GodDAMMIT." and then we all commence lying there again and oh, is something wrong with my cuticle?

shoot! shoot! shoot!

Son of a BITCH.

So I never see stars. This did not stop me from schlepping out at EIGHT O'CLOCK AT NIGHT, and I know you're all "That Joob is such a NIGHT OWL" and me calling myself "Joob" is only funny if you read yesterday and why DIDN'T you? Dick.

But really. It was a Monday night. There's no going out starting at 8:00 on a Monday. What am I, 24? But Ned said, "Let's go way out to the country, and we can eat at that Thai place that's so good out there, and I'll bring chairs" and it was seeming like a whole thing so we went.

I was the driver, because I have the GPS, and neither of us can ever remember how to get out to that really good Thai place that's out in the country in a strip mall and it makes no sense that a restaurant that good is slapped between a Jimmy Buffet theme bar and a Salvation Army store, but there it is.

The problem was, when I tried to be all brilliant and put the address in my fucking fucking fucking GPS that NEVER WORKS anymore and I SO NEED a new GPS I think, or do you somehow update the one you have? Someone tell me. Anyway, the GPS said this street did not exist and I wanted to snap it in two and shove the pointy parts up Mr. GPS Inventor's nethers.

So we set the GPS for "center of town" and headed out there.

"You know, maybe they'll be closed on a Monday, or maybe they close at 8:00," said Ned, who always has the comforting words. "Maybe we won't make it."

Did I mention I usually eat BEFORE 8 p.m.? Like, three HOURS before 8 p.m.? And that I was the cranky hungry? "If we get there and it's closed, we're going to Sonic,"  I said. Ned would rather starve to death and get kwashiorkor and be in a Sally Struthers commercial before he ate at Sonic. Ned does not know from good.

Somehow, though, we managed to get to the center of town, FIND the restaurant, and discover it was open till 10:00. The Jimmy Buffet theme bar was dark and quiet, though. Thank god.

"The weather report says it's going to be mostly cloudy," said Ned, in the first half hour of studying his menu.

"THEN WHY DID WE COME ALL THE WAY OUT HERE?" I cranked. I already knew what I was having. The ginger chicken. I considered the drunken noodles but if I wanted a drunken noodle I could have just stayed home and looked at Edsel. Again, only funny if you read yesterday and I'm getting a little sick of your shit.

Somehow while we were eating, we got on the topic of the theme song for Chico and the Man. Which in retrospect was a fine song.

 

Marvin, if you read this, is that not your car after they show the Boyle Heights sign? I really think that is Marvin's car. Wait. Maybe Marvin's headlights are stacked on top of each other. Oh, I can't remember. Everyone read yesterday. I was funnier.

My POINT is, when we were done with our ginger chicken and large plate of vegetables--and why does Ned even get out of bed every day? If I had to go around being that healthy I'd die of boredom--we headed outside to a perfectly cloudy night.

"I also read that the moon was going to obliterate the stars, anyway," said Ned.

And that is when we went home and YouTubed the Chico and the Man theme song and saw not one meteor even THINKING of taking a shower.

Shoot.

Upstream

I have to be at work--work work, not fake work, and yay!--in 20 minutes, so I must hurry.

I went out with Ned last night, to the salmon salad place we like. I usually eat half of that giant salad with an enormous piece of salmon on it, but I did Tracy Chapman workout first so I ate the whole damn thing. That piece of salmon must have been terribly popular in school. He was all big and substantial. He was probably big man on fish campus, like a fishy Doug Simpson. And then I ate him.

Dear Mom, Doug Simpson was the big man on campus on a Brady Bunch episode. He asked Marcia out. Hilarity ensued. No, I WON'T ever get over The Brady Bunch, mom.

Anyway, since I have to go, I bring you this.

Wait. First I bring you my nose and my new hair, as I was rushing out to meet Ned. Please note that although I have on a light sweater, it's managed to slip off to reveal that SAME DAMN PINK BRA I showed the other day. I cannot win. Am strap exhibitionist.

Anyway, one of you told me to watch this the other day and now I am obsessed.

 

Also, I love this.

 

Okay, bye.

eh eh eh eh [convulse]

I know it's Saturday and therefore eight people in total wonder why I haven't written yet, and for those eight people I will tell you that I've been working all day. I have freelance up my butt, which may lead you to wonder how I make my extra dollars.

Anyway, I sat outside all day with the dogs while I worked, and then I pulled 94958383920303 pounds of weeds from my yard, and I have a guy who comes and cuts the grass and weeds everything for $25, which I realize is a steal but he gives me a discount because I let him put freelance up my butt.

See what I did there? I said something ludicrous to see if you were paying attention. The point is, he hasn't shown up and my lawn looks insane and so does my neighbor Peg's, as we have the same currently negligent lawn boy.

Who cuts the grass on Walton's Mountain? Lawn Boy.

Good night. Drive carefully. You've been a great audience.

I was listening to my iPhone outside while I weeded and WHO WANTS CORDLESS HEADPHONES OH MY GOD ANNOYING when my nice Johnny Cash song was interrupted by a train whistle.

When Ned calls me, it makes a train whistle noise, because he lives point zero zero eight millimeters from the train tracks and the whole time you're there you hear the train a-comin'. Comin' round the bend. Anyway, so trains remind me of Ned and his ring tone is a train whistle.

He had been golfing all day, Ned had, and was in my neighborhood and decided to stop by.

Guess who was cranky about his golf?

"It's not even a good course," said Ned, who did I mention was cranky? "But it's cheap and nearby, so..."

"Wow, you could say the same about me," I said, because I am hilarious.

"That's true," said Ned. "Maybe from now on I'll just call that golf course 'June.'" Then we talked about my overgrown lawn and Ned said he'd drink one beer and cut my lawn for me and then when he was done he said, "I'm gonna go. I'm cranky and I have to nap."

And see what I did? I abstained from pointing out he'd said he'd cut my lawn, which really I've CALLED Lawn Boy, and he will be here Monday, and Ned was tired and I didn't WANT him to cut my grass, but I'd like you all to note how low-maintenance I was that I didn't bring it up but instead told all eight of you.

Last night we went to drag queen bingo with my friends Marty Martin and Kayeee.

In case you wondered, Just HOW BIG of a tiara does June need? See above.

We usually have a smashing time at drag queen bingo, but last night was super chaotic, and the sound system was ludicrous, and we couldn't see the acts. One drag queen was dancing to this frenetic song, and the best part was how much Marty M hated it.

"This is the worst song I've ever heard in my life," he said. "It's like someone had an epileptic seizure and set it to music." Then he convulsed and made noises to the beat of the song.

"I want to stick my wallet under the tongue of this song," he said. M. Martin was on a total complainy hate-this-song roll. "I wish I had that app where I could hold the phone up and find out what this is. Cause going on my iPod? You bet."

What I'm throwing down is Marty Martin was not a fan of that song. I wish I could recall one iota of it, as I would so send him the YouTube of it. It kind of went like this: eh eh eh eh eh eh [convulse] eh eh eh.

You can't drink downstairs where actual drag queen bingo is for some reason, and what we finally ended up doing was just going upstairs and drinking all of the alcohol in the entire world.

Kayeeee, M Martin, our friend J Nine and her passed-out companion. Because drunk-o was their name-o.

Ned, squishing a lime into all the beer in the world.

I did not have beer. Mostly I crouched by the stairs and tried to see drag queens. I hope you're sitting down, but one act was set to I Will Survive. I know! You never see drag queens choose that song.

There was one drag queen who had giant hair, and who had kind of stuffed her rather rotund self into a minidress (note my surreptitious photo of her). "That is how I picture myself.  Is that what I look like?" I asked Marty Martin.

"She's much taller," he said, and I think tonight he's volunteering at the esteem-building workshop for womyn.

So that sums up my weekend thus far. Tonight Ned--who I hope revives his cheerful personality after his nap. I hope he slips out of his onesie refreshed and ready to face the world again--and I are going to the lesbian taco place, which by the way was on the walk to drag queen bingo last night and I noticed their slogan was "The Art of the Taco" and I giggled like a 7th-grader about that all the way down the block. Who needs to get over it, the lesbian taco place? Eventually I will be spotted there by a cranky butch type and get my ass kicked.

And my freelance will go flying everywhere.