Bye Bye, Pie!

Bye Bye, Pie!

A funny thing happened on my way to quitting this blog. And if you have to hear that original phrase "a funny thing happened on my way to..." one more time will you stab yourself in the head? Because I just provided it for you. Here's your drink sword.

I was going to stop blogging because (1) I've been doing it for five and a half years and (vii) I felt like my life was more private now and plus (c) I felt like this blog wasn't as good without Marvin in it. I mean, let's face it. Me being annoyed with Marvin was funny. Go look at this post. Or this one.

Or this conversation:

"God, I wish I had a Bud Light," I said. Because I am from Michigan. Our first instinct is for a domestic beer. Sue us.

"You want to be a firefly?" asked Marvin, who have I mentioned 20 times is hard of the hearing?

"Not a BUTT LIGHT. A BUD LIGHT. BUD LIGHT ," I told him.

Really looking forward to when we're 80.

I mean, come on. Marvin annoyingness was good stuff.

And I feel like now I have so much I CAN'T say, out of respect for the privacy of the 20 men I'm banging. Okay. I am not banging 20 men. But there was a whole boy I saw for awhile that you never heard one word about, because telling about it would have been scandalous.

I know!

My point is, I felt like this blog was losing something. Because I couldn't be as transparent. And 50% of my funny had moved out, gotten itself a girlfriend and sent me divorce papers.

So I decided to quit. And I meant it! As much as I ever mean things. I mean, I always make decisions and then say, "Oh, man. I should have gone the other way." And I was doing that as soon as I told all y'all all about not blogging.

"I'm nervous about you not blogging anymore," said ...friend, who does not annoy me the way Marvin did and therefore does not provide hilarious blog fodder. Which I just typed "doffer" and what the hell is "doffer"?

"Your blog is so much a part of who you are." he said. "And besides, it kind of seems like you like having an audience."

...!

Does that--well--does that...seem good? I need an audience? I mean, I totally do, but geez, how did I make that obvious in the four and a half months I've known ...friend? You often hear men describing their ideal woman: "Well, she has to be slender, large hoots, blonde hair, and really crave an audience."

Just because my dream job is go-go dancer.

Anyway, if HE was nervous, so was I. The closer I got to this day, the more sort of despondent I got. And then you sent me such nice emails, and comments, and told me not to go and I will tell you what. By yesterday I was standing there beside myself. Which was really annoying, because then Gertrude had to feed two of me at that funeral luncheon.

Really, I didn't know what I was going to do. I was feeling like maybe I really DIDN'T want to quit my blog. Because ...friend is right. At this point it's so much a part of who I am. And maybe I still DO have things to say. And maybe it still IS funny. I'll just have to adjust this blog to be sans Marvin like I adjusted my life to be sans Marvin. Which would be a lot easier to do if you TOOK HIS PHOTOS DOWN AT YOUR HOUSE, MOM.

So there I was, waffling, when I got an email yesterday. "Dear June, My name is Whoo-de-Bloo and I am a columnist for the Greensboro News & Record. I wanted to do a story on your blog, but are you really quitting?"

...! And yes, I have now had TWO annoying "...!"s in my post, but it's kind of a dramatic day.

So the next thing you know old Jed's a millionaire, and also I had written her, "No. I'm not quitting."

And the decision was made. And you know what? I woke up this morning 20 times lighter than I have been for a week. I was so gleeful, getting on here to tell you. And yes, I do realize I am annoying, being the Clash, not knowing whether to stay or go. Sue me. Then get me a Bud Light.

I have no idea what Ima do. Am I gonna post all the time? Am I gonna post about every date I go on, screw the privacy of the 20 men I'm banging? I do not know.

(Dear ...friend. I swear to god I am not--oh, forget it. You know it's just for my much-needed audience that I say these things.)

I just know that this blog, with all of you as a part of it, might be the love of my life.

And in conclusion, I spent over SEVEN HOURS making this end-of-my-blog video. And I realize now it's kind of a middle-of-my-blog video, but dudes. SEVEN+ HOURS. Could you watch it anyway? Thanks.

And thanks for being a part of my dumb blog.

 

If I leave here tomorrow would you still remember me?

I am in my hometown, on mom's super-fast, really extra speedy computer that by the way--wow!--is a quick one. Honest engine, I typed in "iGoogle" to her search bar and the computer went, "ZZZZZZZZ...wut? Dude. ...Wait, wut? It's only 1:30 p.m., man. It's too early."

Anyway, the funeral was really nice, as funerals go. It really was. The minister talked about Gertrude's dad in such a good way. They talked about how much her dad loved nature; when he put in a pool, he made it go all the way around the trees so he wouldn't have to take any down. He sounds like he was a cool guy--I only met him a few times in all these years of being Gertrude's friend, which is odd.

My point is, my mother seems to have a cold, or allergies, or just really wanted to stick in my craw today, because here's how the funeral went:

Pastor: Rich was a generous man...

Mom: COUGH! coughcoughcoughcough. COUGH!

Pastor: He loved nature and--

Mom: HACK! coughcoughcoughcough.

Pastor: --and he was loved by so many--

Mom: coughcoughcoughcoughcoughcough--HAIRBALL--cough.

Jesus Katie Christ. I was never so distracted in all my days. Finally she got up and got a lozenge, which the funeral home actually has in a bowl for just such funeral-ruiners.

At the end of the funeral, once mom had entered the Halls of Medicine, they played Warron Zevon's Keep Me in Your Heart, which, wow. Good song.

 

Then they played a special rendition of everyone's favorite, Would June's Mom Please Stop Fucking Coughing.

Oh!
I saw Hulk. Here is what he wore on his date last night, which he went on before he came to see me for sloppy seconds or whatever. Let's all help Hulk with the shoe issue, shall we? Please?

Anyway. So, I guess tomorrow is it. I have to be honest with you. I don't know if I can do this. I really don't. The closer I get to being done with my blog the more sad I feel. I really don't know if I want to give it up. Is that ludicrous? I did, but then so many of you wrote me nice things, and the reality is hitting me and ack. I really don't know.

I mean, I DO know Hulk needs new shoes. I know that. And that mom needs an iron lung. Those things I know for sure. As Tallulah said in Taluprah Magazine: What Know For Sure. Puggles is Stupid.

Argh.

Talk at you tomorrow. I'd like to note that my mother is in the kitchen and has not coughed once while I wrote this.

Where was Sunday? It was all suspicious (Thanks, Paula.)

Y'all.

I was gonna blog today about how bad this slays me, and also

how I was JUST TELLING ...friend about my beloved Tinkerbell doll (you know what I must be? Is fascinating on a date) and then I walked into Jo's house yesterday and THERE IT WAS. (I sent this photo to ...friend and he said, "That's Tinkerbell? I thought it was the JonBenet Ramsey doll.")

But instead a good friend's father died. Not sure how many of you know who Gertrude is; she used to comment a lot but she has a daughter and a job and 20 pets and anyway, this morning I've helped her write her dad's obituary, and it looks like I might be on my way to Saginaw for the funeral. 

I will write more tomorrow if I can. Stupid death.

I started a joke...

I already crossed off the "s" on my Bee Gees bumper sticker, but clearly I need a better Sharpie. Do they make waterproof ones? Also, could I be a worse person?

Poor Robin Gibb. I have gotten 4595949390405 emails re this, and you'd think I was a Gibb myself. Which I am. IN MY MIND.

Also, I probably should've just Xd off the "s" but I used the proofreader's "delete" sign just out of habit. Honestly, who can take a celebrity death and make it 100% about her? Who can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile?

In other news, I am up and navigating and going to work today. My discharge papers said, "Return to work as desired," so I was thinking next month, maybe? Despite the fact that I was (a) supposed to work there a few days and it's now been five weeks and (2) my paycheck still didn't get right, they called me yesterday morning to see if I could do some work from home. Which I did. I know.

Really, I did it at the tire store, because when I got up yesterday morning I realized my tire was flat. How does that happen? I mean, I know how it happens, but it's just so sneaky.

And you know my car tried to tell me? It showed me this light Saturday that looked like parentheses with an exclamation point in the middle. Like this: (!). I was all, yeah, car. I like parentheses, too! Totally with you on that. Then I was like, hey, car, are you trying to show me your labia? Because, come on. Inappropriate.

I guess that's why eventually it got frustrated with me and just let the tire get flat.

Here is ...friend, at a ridiculously early hour of the morning, like 10:00, putting stuff in my tire so I could drive on it to get to, you know, the tire place.

And since I was stuck at that riveting spot for an hour, I did some proofreading. My other choices were to flirt with the 60-year-old man wearing jorts in the lobby, or to watch The Parent Trap with Linday Lohan, before she ruined herself. I guess alternatively, I could have just emailed labias to people. (!)

So now I have to shower and get dressed and go work AGAIN. Oh! But Peg had a party and Ima have to tell you about it eventually. This time I managed to go there and keep my food down.

Peg. Managing to embrace her party themes like nobody's business. This time it was "Mad Hatter." I like how her smile is exactly like her flower on her head's smile.

Anyway, it was a good time and I will tell you about it when I am not rushing off to my nonjob on a formerly flat tire.

Catch you later! (!)

Vick Whitman

So it was kind of fun yesterday to be back at my old workplace. Remember the guy who always had Vicks at his desk? And I'd always have to go over and smell it because I am a giant, giant freak? He's still there. As is his Vicks. And my old boss is still there. I adore that guy.

Everyone was all, "What's new?" and I was all, "Oh, not married anymore. Completely different person. You?"

Naturally there was late work, and does anyone remember how much overtime I put in at that place? Staying till 1:30 a.m., having to come in at 7:00, getting to come home but having them call me literally all night to get up, go to the computer, and proofread something?

One thing you're really really able to do well is be sharp at 2:00 a.m. Maybe they should hire shifts there or something.

Oh, and all the old coffee makers were still there, and at noon we got pizza, and oh! My childhood photo really IS still in the lobby. There I still am! For the last 15 months, smiling out at everyone. Hi! I am three! I do not work here anymore!

Nice.

After work, I drove all the way back home from Winston-Salem, where I had many many cigarettes--and how long am I gonna drag that joke out?--and Dick Whitman, who lives in Winston-Salem so he's practically a cigarette himself, showed up at my house about an hour later. We were going to do something there, but I forgot I had dogs.

Here's the Whit in my dining room, trying to avoid all cats and dogs, seeing as he is deathly allergic. Who needs to suck it up and admit he's faking just to be annoying? Is it Dick Plastic Bubble Whitman?

We went to dinner at Proximity, which is right near my house--so the name is coincidental--and the site of my first date with ...friend. In fact, from our table I could see the spot at the bar where I met ...friend. There was an old couple there in our place, and they sat not speaking for a long time. Finally the old guy put his arm around the woman. Do you think it was their first date? Because, hello Casanova.

The waitress walked up as Whitman and I were discussing our love lives ad nauseum, and I said, "Oh, don't worry. We're talking about other people, not each other." And then she told us a terrible story about this couple she waited on at brunch, and they ate just everything, and at the end the guy broke up with the woman. Right there at brunch. As the woman cried the guy asked, "Do you want anything else off the menu?"

Why would you break up with someone at brunch? Why not afterwards, or even before so you don't have to pay anything?

I really hate going to breakfast, by the way. Like, the other day, ...friend and I went to brunch, technically, but it was almost 3 p.m. so why they were even serving brunch, still, is beyond me and my POINT is, I had already eaten earlier in the day.

Don't expect me to get up, shower, dress, put on makeup and then stand in line to eat and have coffee. Don't even expect that out of me. Not doing it. It makes me cranky.

In other news, here's Lily sitting on the dining room table. The very place Whitman went to avoid animal dander.

heeeeee...

She is sitting in front of a box of statistics textbooks. She understands them as much as I do.

Also, thank heavens I sprang for this dog bed. So my dogs can--oh, screw it.

Comment of the week goes to (sit down) Just Paula. I know. You guys, I know. She should just be disqualified for being too funny. Go see This Week's Special if you want to read it and resent her.

June, out.

Stepford Ex-Wife

Last night I went contra dancing because my friend Charlie told me to.

Charlie is my friend from work. Not that I have a job. He is my friend from not the LAST place that laid me off, but the place that laid me off before that. Have I mentioned "sigh"? Charlie got laid off the same day I did. Forty of us did. It was a banner day.

My point is, even though he is 12 and dates the WORLD, we somehow bonded. I mean, I met him when I was still married, so the dating-the-world thing seemed foreign and so long ago at the time. Now of course it's my life, too, except I don't ever score me any 23-year-old hot girls with tiny buttockals.

What gives?

So, he always goes Contra dancing, and I really didn't know what that was, but last night I decided to try it.

Turns out, it makes me kind of nauseated.

All that SPINNING! Have you ever gone Contra dancing? I mean, it's totally fun and the music is cool, if you can STAND BEING SPUN ABOUT 600 TIMES A MINUTE.

Everyone was patient with me about learning how to do it, but really all you have to do is just sit in your office chair and whip it around 80 rotations and you will get the same feeling.

Ugh. So I had to leave that early, trying not to barf.

You know what I am? Fun. With a capital barf.

Also? It makes my hair big. Which, wow. Stretch! Here I am after Contra dancing, at the gas station, and please note my Pink Beach lipstick. Which by the way, the people at Clinique are gonna be all, "Why the rush on Pink Beach today?" because you have no idea how many of you wrote me to say, "Guess what I bought?"

In other news, at noon today Marvin is coming to take me to lunch, and also to go before a notary and sign our divorce documents. Fun! What an exciting and rewarding day!

Actually, I am less sad than I have been. This whole thing has been--don't you hate people who say "rolly" coaster? But really, when he first left I was all, Oh thank GOD. Seriously, I was relieved. Because we had tried and tried and TRIED to stand each other, and I went to a Rush concert and everything, and we saw 86 marriage counselors.

Okay, three. Still. No, wait. Four! There was this counselor my friend David recommended, and her last name was Newton and she was a PhD. The first time David saw her name written down he thought it was Newton-Pad. I forgot we saw Newton-Pad for awhile, too. Anyway nothing worked. So it was a relief that somebody finally dropped the other shoe.

Then somehow, as the months wore on, I got sad. Which I guess you should, if you were relatively happy for, you know, 10 years or so. But lately I am kind of resigned to the whole thing. And here we are, at the end.

I look a little bit like a very large-haired Stepford Wife in that photo, don't I? Really I was just trying to keep down dinner.

I started dating Marvin, for the second time because we dated in college, on October 11, 1996. So 15 years and 6 months later--wow! to the day!--it is over. Should I call my old boyfriend who I dumped to be with Marvin? How do you think that would go? "Hey, I changed my mind. I pick you. Oh, wife and kids, schmife and schmids."

I wonder what I weighed on October 11, 1996? I can assure you it was less than the humunkulous amount I weigh now.

Here I am, with my nice jeans, the weekend I first started dating Marvin in the '90s. God, he had huge arms back then. This is Big Edd. He is in front of Big Edd's restaurant near Mt. Si, outside of Seattle. I dragged Marvin there and pretended to be outdoorsy.

Ack. Well, anyway, that's what I'm doing today, and I hope I don't end up at another gas station, trying not to barf when it's over.

Where the hell's my chocolate bunny? MOM? Yes, I am 46.

I actually do not want a chocolate bunny, as I am continuing to attempt thin-ity.

Yesterday was a perfect day to achieve thin-ity--and how soon do you hope I give up saying "thin-ity"?--because I got a migraine. I know I posted yesterday and was all perky-sounding, but as I was typing I was thinking, gee, I feel kind of miserable. Am I getting a migraine? And sure enough. This lovely photo with Nurse Iris was taken at about 2:00 in the afternoon. I was in bed all day.

fgfrr

Lily just walked across the keyboard. Perhaps that is a message to all your cats. You should go get them and let them read it.

Eventually I dragged my sick arse out of the bed, because it was an absolutely beautiful day and no one is allowed to be sick when it's nice out. Here I am in front of a coffee shop, waiting for Dick Whitman to get out the bathroom.

Yes, I saw Dick Whitman again. We had dinner. Rather, I had dinner and he drank wine like the total Richard Burton, Dudley Moore, David Hasselhoff drunk that he is. Actually, Dick Whitman is so not a drunk. But he wasn't hungry yet and I was effing starved, having laid in bed not eating all day.

At one point in the day I got up, retrieved a sleeve of carmel Girl Scout cookies from the freezer (see above re thin-ity), then forgot about them, only to find an empty sleeve of Girl Scout ghost cookies a few minutes later and I HOPE YOUR ASS GETS EFFING FAT, TALLULAH. I HOPE YOU BA-DONK-A-DONK SO BAD EVEN THE PUGGLE ON OUR WALKS NO LONGER WANTS YOU.

I had Pellegrino with dinner, to soothe my roiling insides. And look! They put gems on the Pellegrino bottle! It's so pretty!!

See? It was so lovely I saved both bottles. I have no idea what Ima do with them. Please note Dick Whitman is taking a picture of me taking this picture. Drunk.

Anyway I had to stand up Jo yesterday for our Easter-egg coloring, and she sent me a picture of how pretty her eggs were and I hate everything. I hate my head.

Look at her signature glasses right there by her eggs. She didn't just take her eggs on the road with her--we were supposed to go to this whole event where they give you wax and colors and so on, and here she is getting a drink after with the friend who DIDN'T stand her up.

God, what a bunch of boozers I hang with. Really, she is less of a drunk than Dick Whitman. But who isn't?

June. Getting sued by her friends for slander since 2012.

I had better go, because ...friend and I are going to the movies and if he saw how delightful I look right now, he would turn to drink. Maybe he could borrow some fifths of whiskey from Dick Whitman.

Oh! Happy Easter, y'all! Unless you are Jewish. In which case have a good, you know, Sunday!

Pink beach. April wine. LaUral humps a puppet.

Sometimes you're hard-pressed to even begin to describe what you did the night before.

However, I will try.

...Friend and I got up with Dick Whitman and my pal Jo, in order that perhaps maybe I could fix up my pal Jo with the Dick Whitman. I thought of it all by myself at the BookUp a few weeks ago.

Here I am with ...friend at the BookUp. I know. I just totally put in a picture of ...friend. And look! I'm talking and not reading!

Anyway, Jo is the person who coordinates these BookUps, and she's super extra pretty and she's a writer and she has a bangin' body and it finally occurred to me. Hey! Dick Whitman might be into that type of woman.

I mean, he liked ME.

Bah!

So last night we got together in Winston-Salem and after .0003 seconds, those two talked among themselves and ...friend and I were all, Why did we even have to come to this shindig? Those two are fine alone.

Am totally Single White Female-ing Jo on her lipstick, by the way. In fact, I have to be at her house at noon and am seriously wondering if I can bang this post out and get to Belk before I go to her house. Clinique. Pink Beach. Which is kind of how you can describe me.

Last night was First Friday in Winston-Salem, which in case you hadn't noticed I like going to. They close off the street and have art and you can wander around and get all tanked at the bars (please see Faithful Reader LaUral in first photo above) and just have a lovely time.

Oh, yeah. Because Faithful Reader LaUral and her friend from college joined us later in the evening. And this odd puppet thing had been on display in the road all night, but once it collapsed LaUral had to go mate with it.

You know, it made total sense last night.

You have to admit, it's a tempting siren of a...puppet...thing.

Anyway, I think maybe Jo and Whit, Man, hit it off. I guess we will just have to see. But if they did I am taking full credit for the whole shebang. So to speak.

Time and time again I see, a menu that seems strong, was not meant to be. God, I love me. If I weren't such a pink beach.

Comment of the week goes to Nithya and Hulk.

Texts with Hulk: March Madness Edition

Yesterday on Facebook I mentioned what a rude prickly bitch the grieving process was. A couple hours later I got a text from Hulk.

HULK: What are we grieving about today? Not getting to see me tomorrow?

[I was supposed to go to Atlanta and see Hulk during his three-hour layover at the airport. But I have--wait for it--too much work to do. I was also supposed to spend the night at Miss Doxie's, where she said we were gonna "blow this shit up," whatever that entailed. I hate everything. I am Cinderella.]

JUNE: Yeah. There is a giant void in my life now.

HULK: Just weepy today?

JUNE: Oh, I watched a movie. Took place in LA. Lots of shots of Santa Monica Pier. Just too many reminders; I'll get over it. I mean, there's all that basketball to look forward to!

HULK: Were you watching Forrest Gump?

JUNE: Falling Down. No! It was an independent film. Am certain you were all over that. It's called Like Crazy. Google the trailer and weep.

HULK: I saw that...loved the symbolism.

JUNE: Oh, you did not. Did it have a magnificent otherness? Did you enjoy the negative space? And other pretentious things?

HULK: Negative space? I wouldn't know what that was if it hit me in the face with a shovel. Now, Die Hard. THAT was a movie...

JUNE: I don't know why it is I adore you so. I hope you're sitting down but I never saw Die Hard.

HULK: It was filmed in LA. Hey, the minor league baseball that we have here is the farm team of the LA Dodgers. It's all cyclical...

JUNE: I wouldn't know what a farm team was if it hit me in the face with a shovel.

HULK: That was funny. Way funnier than Crazy Horse or whatever.

JUNE: Are you watching fun sports tonight?

HULK: Yes. Watching hoop. Want to join me?

JUNE: Not unless there is a naked basketball player of color in the room as well.

HULK: Eww. No.

JUNE: Think I will stick with my original plan. Am going to dive bar with a guy from my old work. But he has to leave early to (wait for it) watch basketball. Sports. Cockblocking me since 2012.

[I took the picture because I so enjoyed the "everyday" thing, but then I went on to love "Paps" Blue Ribbon.]

HULK: Dive bar doesn't have a TV?

JUNE: It probably does, but I won't be IGNORED, Hulk.

HULK: Sorry...I was watching the pregame show. What, now?

Sighhh. I have no idea if Hulk won the "one large" he went on to text about. I hope you got your large...whatever, Hulk. And have a safe flight. Tell Sadie, Tee, Fay and so on I say hey when you meet them at the airport today! Hope there's no negative otherness.

 

Here we are now. Entertain us.

I know this is a weird time for me to, you know, blog, but I did as much work as I could, then I did my Tracy Morgan or whoever DVD and THEN I did my TM, and now I really cannot work another moment. Really. I cannot.

I am doing TM now! Transcendental Meditation. It's not a religious thing or weird or anything, it's been around forever and all sorts of medical studies have revealed how good it is for you. You have to take a class to learn how to do it, but all told I have spent probably 10 hours learning and I already know how.

What's sad? Is I decided to take the classes THIS WEEK. Because I'm not BUSY OR ANYTHING. I've had to go in two hours each day this week for my classes. So I'm over there trying to feel all peaceful and the whole time I've been all, "I'LL NEVER GET MY WORK DONE! I'LL NEVER_____" Then I forget everything for 20 minutes because it is excellent meditation.

And that's all I'm gonna say about that. You aren't supposed to talk a lot about it. So click on the link if you want to learn more.

So when I am not at two with nature or whatever, I have been here. Working. Hanging with the prettiest cat you ever did meet, who looks DELIGHTED to be on the webcam. WHY DO THEY ALL ABHOR THE WEBCAM? WHY AM I SHOUTING SO MUCH TODAY? Aren't I supposed to be achieving Nirvana at this point? With the lights on, it's less dangerous.

Here we are now. Entertain us.

I love that song. Do you not love that song? I remember hearing it, in 1992, when I still lived in my home town. Where Hulk is. But I did not know Hulk at that point. I mean, I DID, as we went to high school together, but we were not in touch. This is all beside the point. The POINT is, I sat in the car and listened to the whole song. And I was all, "Who WAS that?" Because he just said "a mosquito, my libido" and I love him.

 

Sadly, I am now the age of the janitor in this video.

Speaking of old, but way more fun than the janitor with his mop, I have been back to hanging with my friend and neighbor Paul. He will be 97 four days after I turn 47. We are practically birthday twins. I was thinking I took this surreptitiously last night, but he said, "Oh, you just took a picture of me!" Okay, how did you KNOW that? You are 96. You should not know from iPhones.

He is delightful. Completely sharp. Full of stories. AND FROM TINY TOWN. Okay, the next town over. I am just saying. Once you've gone TinyTown you don't go back, apparently. It continues to haunt me.

Talu is excellent while we visit Uncle Paul. She just waits for us to shut up so we can continue our W. I like how I say "W" here like she can hear me.

Edsel, you will be stunned to hear, is a different story. Let go! Let go now mom let go! We not going? Okay Edzul pace. pace pace pace SNIFF UNKLE PAUL! pace.

Anyway. Paul has lived in this neighborhood for 50 years and has plenty of good gossip. When you hang on your glider all day you get a lot of guff.

Here we are now. Entertain us.

In other news, OH LOOK THERE'S SOME WORK, but also please note the NEW FANCY PEN my friend Dot sent me. And my Downton Abbey bookmark.

I need to carry that pen in my purse. Oh, let me just get out my subtle pen. Really if anyone ever said, "Who is June Gardens?" you could just show them this pen.

She also sent me my own little teacup piglet and...

97 boxes of Girl Scout cookies. Dot. An excellent friend to have. IF YOU WANT TO BE FAT FAT FAT.

See? Shouting again. Good meditating, June. Good job on the calmness.

Okay, am out. June, out. Out, damn June. You know what sounds good right now? A cookie.