Bye Bye, Pie!

JLo without the ass

I had one of those run-aroundy weekends, so I didn't get to write you. Were you sad? Did every second feel like an hour without me?

My "Dear Ned" anniversary post, my Very Special Bye Bye Pie Dear Ned anniversary post, I wrote on one of my lunch hours at some point last week. I sent it to Ned ahead of time, just to make sure he was down with me splerking my feelings all over the world wide web.

"That is just, wow... That's the sweetest thing ever. I love you too, June," Ned told me, after he read it. And he literally called me "June," which he sometimes does just to be obnoxious.

"I'm glad you are down with it," I told him. "Dating me is kind of public. It's like dating JLo without the ass."

Really, though, with this Prednisone, he may soon get the ass. Nice moon face I got going. Tomorrow I taper down to two pills, and am hoping the love bloat soon will be making another run somewhere else.

My Puff Daddy impression. Hope it's going the way of the JLo relationship. See what I did, there?

Am on a retainer. Of water.

Looking good, is the fluid-filled message I am throwing down. Prednisone is a funny thing. A swelly, funny thing.

So, to recap, on Friday night I work work work worked, because in addition to my fake job, I have taken on two freelance projects. There is nothing more relaxing than coming home from a full workweek and getting on your computer and working for four solid hours.

After I was done, I squished over to Ned's place with my fluids and my retention and sexily went to the pub near him to get something to eat. Because also Prednisone has made me ravenous. I am like a raven. Who is hungry. Lenore! Go get me a hoagie!

We sat up at the bar and got something called Blarney Dip, which let me tell you is likely heart healthy. At the end of the bar sat a girl named Doris and oh that girl looked nice. Also at the end of the bar were some kids playing Jango or Jongo or Jingo or whatever that game is called, where you have a big tower of blocks and you pull one out and try not to knock the whole tower over. It's very Marcia and her house of cards.

The kid instigating the game had on a tshirt that read "This is what awesome looks like," and he was kind of right. He tried to get the whole bar to play, and he looked over at me. "YOU want to play. I can tell."

And I did.

I remember hearing Craig Ferguson talking about playing a lot of Jongo or Jingo or Jingle or WHATVER THE FUCK when he was in rehab. I forget why. I just know that I love everything that comes out of the mouth of fricking Craig Ferguson and I hope you are in agreement with me on that. He is da Scottish bomb.

So I got up and played the Jingman or whatever, and had a great time till I WAS THE ASS who pulled out a piece and sent the whole game flying. Into the Guinness of some innocent bystander. Seriously, dawgs, I musta knocked 10 pieces of J-i-n-g-o into his beer. Felt horrible. And also terribly amused. As am horrid person.

On Saturday I got up with Dick Whitman's mom, who in case you did not know, I love and adore more than anything on the planet. Seriously, you have no idea how cool DW's mom is.

WHENNNN. THE. moon hits your eye like a big bye bye pie, that's amore.

I have slits for eyes. What I am right now is not pretty. This did not matter to DW's mom, who I may or may not have mentioned is da not-Scottish bomb extraordinaire. We went to this restaurant that I always love, and I got the pretzel-encrusted salmon salad, which by the way would marry if that were legal. June Pretzel-Encrusted Salmon Salad. Has a poetic ring. And would make a nice monogrammed towel.

I also ran into my friend and coworker Jane West there, who was eating with her elusive husband who even though I've known Jane West for more than three years, I had never met cause he's not so much with the socializing and hanging out. But there he was at the restaurant, and I stampeded over and said how exciting it was to meet him and that all this time I thought he might be George Glass and that Jane West was a sad single with a made-up man and yay here he was, finally, and he was all, "...And you are?"

See. There's the part where I did not introduce self. There's the part where just assumed he'd know who old Moon Pie Face was when she stormed over to him and commenced the chatter.

I have already referenced The Brady Bunch twice in this sensical post.

Here I am moonily wearing DW's mom's glasses, because I am hilarious, although not as hilarious as Cousin Oliver. Who was a cutup.

Finally, though, the evening arrived and Ned and I had a big evening planned to celebrate our year of dating. I know you've heard this a thousand times, but like every other couple marking a year together, we went to the burlesque show.

Because what's more romantic than watching Ned look at pasties?

Really, though, it was romantic, in a way. Okay, it wasn't, but it was kind of very sexy and also (and I abhor this word) empowering. Because this particular show, called Purrlesque (and yes, I just vomited, as well. Purrlesque. Shut UP) was filled with many sexy women doing many risque things, but here's the best part. Not a one of them had a perfect body. There was every shape of woman, and some were downright fat, and yet each one was so totally sexy.

I have heard annoying people say, "It's really all about confidence," and no it isn't. Shut the front door. But after last night, and seeing that? Okay, it's a lot more about confidence than you'd think. Because those women BROUGHT IT, and man, they all seemed absolutely beautiful while they were parading around.

In unrelated news, need more pasties. Stat.

I did wear something low-cut and, you know, practically here's-my-pasties myself, and a very hot lesbian in biker boots told me I was sexy. We were in the bathroom. Where all romances begin.

It was a fabulous crowd, at that thing, by the way. There were drag queens wearing wonderful '50s netted skirts, there were regular pervy couples like us, there were old gay men, and MAN, there were tons of your lesbians at that thing. Biker lesbians, no-nonsense Camilla Parker-Bowles lesbians, young lesbians, hot wearing-red-beehive-wigs-and-tiaras lesbians. I mean, if you were Lebanese, as Ned would say, you were at that event last night.

So I am telling you. If Purrlesque (gag) comes to your town, go.

After we looked at hoots, Ned and I returned to the site of our first date.

Where I am excited to tell you we got free dessert because I announced to everyone who would listen that it was our anniversary. We even got to sit in EXACTLY the same place we sat last year.

Oh, and Ned gave me flowers. Beautiful sunflowers with little purpley fluers as well. Which I would get up and photograph for you but see rest of my life re: effort.

Attached please find a photo I tried to take in the dark restaurant of us and my nose, which I would like to think is bloated due to the drugs. Ned wore exactly the same thing he wore to our first date, down to the socks, and what I would like to know is why he remembers what socks he wore.

So, good weekend. Today we saw Hyde Park on Hudson, which stars Bill Murray being FDR, and it was good in a Monica-Lewinski-in-1935 kind of a way. I was worried sick they were going to make my beloved Eleanor Roosevelt look bad, and I will CUT A BITCH--I will BLOAT A BITCH--who does anything to Eleanor, but they were good to her.

"I'm kind of thinking no movie would dare tread on Eleanor," said Ned, who I have been dating for a year, in case you didn't know.

Anyway. That sums it up. Hope your weekend was just as good. Did you see any women gyrating around with pasties? Anyone? Was that just me...?

Got a light?

Last night, after I came home and WENT TO SLEEP for two hours, because news flash, three hours at night is not enough, I got up and looked at your songs you listed for me yesterday, then listened to most of them on iTunes. I even bought some!

Was not at all annoyed with Faithful Reader Just Paula, who made up stupid lists of songs no one on Planet Earth would listen to, such as Afternoon Delight. I wasn't looking at who wrote what, I'd just get to the next list and be all, Who listed I'm a Little Bit Country/I'm a Little Bit Rock and Roll and it'd always be that pesky Paula.

Anyway, after that I freelanced out my ass, as my old neighbor Alicia would say. Everything with Alicia was out her ass. "Mija, I clean houses OUT MY ASS today, then I get home, and my daughter make a mess in THIS house. So I clean out my ass again."

"Mija, you hear that loud neighbor last night? I yell at heem OUT MY ASS at 4 o'clock this morning. I was PISS out my ASS, Mija."

I miss Alicia.

Stupidly, I agreed to do freelance work for this OTHER company last month, and I knew the work was coming at some point THIS month, and I just knew when I said okay to that it would happen and I'd panic when it did. Sure enough, that freelance work is coming this weekend, and guess what else is due? Is it the statistics book I've been working on? So now I have to miss that deadline, and why must everything be chaotic all the time?

So that is my life in a nutshell right now. I have a friend who abhors it when people say "in a nutshell," but he's just going to have to move past it if he reads today.

Oh! Speaking of my friends, my ridiculous friend Enormous Member Steve sent me this this week:

It's a book on cats wearing wigs. As you do. How happy does that cat look, there? One day our pets will take over and you and I will be going around in stupid sparkly Juicy sweaters and rhinestone collars, and then we'll be sorry.

Okay, I am out of here. It was one year ago today that Ned asked me out. Hang on, I'll show you. We'd been emailing back and forth for two weeks at this point:

JuneGardens@gmail.com: I am proofreading a study where they put three young French men on the street, and the men would randomly approach French women: "Will you have a drink with me?" In 3% of cases the women said yes. Then they put the same in-my-mind-Marcel-Marceau-looking men out there and they lead with: "Do you have a light?" because everyone smokes in France. After the light was proffered, he'd say, "Have a drink with me!" and something like 36% of the women said yes. So if you are ever hitting on a woman, research shows you need to ask her a favor first. Somehow it endears you to her.

Alternatively, French women are just a bunch of tramps.

NedNickerson@hotmail.com: So, do you have a light?

JuneGardens@gmail.com: Oui!

NedNickerson@hotmail.com: Would you like to have a drink with me sometime this week?

JuneGardens@gmail.com: Wow, suddenly I'm so amenable to that plan! Yes. I would. That would be lovely.

Oh, how I squealed after that exchange. Then spent three days trying to lose 20 pounds.

Okay, out of here. Thanks again for your song suggestions. I really want to like that Florence and her machines, but I just can't.

Bourbon Tango Foxtrot

For some reason, Ned and I were in a deep discussion about Evil Knievel today. He asked if I'd ever seen his SON, who apparently does the same asinine leap-over-big-things crap that Evil Knievel did. "So I was watching this show, and there's Stan Knievel or whatever..." Ned began.

"Wait. His son didn't go for some dumb stage name like 'Evil'? He just stuck with Stan?"

"I don't think his name is really Stan," ruminated Ned. "But I know he just has a normal name. ...What'd you want him to call himself? SeeNo?"

SeeNo Knievel. Who adores his own self? Is it SeeNoFunnyness Ned?

In other news, I'm making cookies today and need to get ahold of some bourbon. As you do. My boss at fake work heard about bacon bourbon chocolate chip cookies, and I thought he was gonna DIE of happiness, so thrilled was he that such a thing had been invented, so TinaDoris and I are making some for him and suprising him tomorrow, even though I took the day off.

Dear Boss at Fake Work, In case you're reading my blog, SURPRISE!!!

My POINT is, I was supposed to get several of the ingredients, and the stupid liquor store is closed on Sunday because we're in the goddamn Bible's stupid-ass belt. Am I going to hell for saying that?

"I didn't get liquor," I called TinaDoris. "I forgot the Sunday thing." We decided to call some of our drunk friends to see if they had any. We only need two teaspoons of it. I called Peg, my next-door neighbor, who is not what you'd call a giant souse of a person. I rarely have to roll her inside late at night while she's singing Wild Irish Rose or anything. But when she has parties there are a lot of liquor bottles available along with barf germs.

Guess who will never forgive Peg?

My point is, I called and after a few rings the phone hung up. I called again, and this time it picked up and STAYED picked up, but no one said anything. "Hello? ...Hello?" I could hear talking, and realized with a start that PEG WAS AT CHURCH, and her CHOIR ROBE must've started ringing, and in a panic she probably just picked it up and hit "Talk" so her robe would stop ringing in front of God and Presbyterians. "I NEED BOURBON!" I yelled into the phone.

Okay, I didn't. But that woulda been funny. Looking forward to Peg's yelly call to me in a bit. And in case you were concerned, TinaDoris found a bourbon friend. Yay! Liquor!

We're making said alcohol-laden cookies at TinaDoris', because even though she is 27 or whatever, she has a fully equipped kitchen that doesn't have roach carcasses on the seldom-used cookie sheets. And by the way, last night poor Ned came over to help me cram my giant white tree into the tree bag, then lug it up the attic steps, which was fun and relaxing, and then I said, "Oh, can you get the dead cockroach out my Tupperware drawer?"

Which, you know. I have NO FOOD in my kitchen. Why ANY cockroaches even VENTURE to my kitchen is beyond me. I think they're all suicidal. Anyway, Ned got that dreadful thing out, and I THREW AWAY all the containers in there, which, don't have a fit. They're all just leftover butter things and lunch meat holders and crap like that. Mostly Marvin used them when he made his lunch. I just COULD NOT ABIDE the thought that that, you know, COCKROACH had been crawling over my stuff. See? Itching now. Ugh.

My POINT is, that was fun enough, and when I went to take all that stuff to the garbage, I saw the stupid idiot dogs had TORN APART an already scheduled garbage bag that I stupidly put on the deck to throw away later when it wasn't raining. So then in the wind and cold and dark of night, Ned helped me gather trash strewn all over my yard.

You know what's fun? Coming to my house.

Afterward, Ned and I went out to eat and he had a salad. Everything is so topsy-turvy and unusual in my world.

I also began the arduous task of putting away my Christmas decorations. You know what I lack at Christmas? Sparkle.

I think my favorite thing I put up are these photos of my dogs visiting Santa. There's Talu, tall and proud.

edzul pee on santa

Could those pictures be more them? Talu's all, whatever. And Edsel is dying a thousand horrified deaths.

I only got 42 cards this year, and to those people who never send me cards, I say fuck you. Merry Christmas! Really, though. It irks me. Every year I sit here like an IDIOT, and get HAND CRAMPS, and write out 39495939939 cards, and you can't even be BOTHERED to send one little card back? I mean, throw me a BONE, folks.

I say that, and yet 750 of you sent me Christmas gifts and I didn't get any for you. I think this was the first year I got more Christmas gifts from blog readers than I did actual people I know. It's kind of weird when your blog about your life sort of BECOMES your life.

One faithful reader not only sent ME a gift, and my PETS gifts, she also sent NED a gift. She got him a WTF stamp that he can, you know, stamp on things. Last night we put it together using these crystal-clear instructions.

Then Ned whiskey tango foxtrotted 2012, a year in which he met me, so now I'm sort of pissed. Anyway, Ned said to be sure to tell the faithful reader thank you, and that was very nice of you, and so on. I have mailed thank-you notes to all y'all, so I hope you get them.

I had better go get my apron on and commence to cookie-making. If you've heard me sign off that way once...

Talk at you. What should my new year's resolution be, do you think?

I know not if it's dark outside or lights

Yesterday was a busildy kind of a day and then I got a migraine, and yay!

I got up with Dick Whitman yesterday so we could exchange gifts, and then he wanted to go to--are you ready?--the outdoor MALL to pick something up. Fortunately he was the only person in America to think of shopping yesterday, so it was unbusy and not at all hectic.

Wait, WHY'D I get a migraine??

I got Whitman a Hank Williams CD and a some-black-blues-guy-from-the-'40s CD. I went on DW's Facebook "Like"s and chose accordingly. Facebook. Making it possible to think even less about stuff.

I felt kind of bad when DW pulled out this enormous box for me.

Look! He got me this cool bowl! I'm still debating about where Ima put it. Suggestions? Cause I want to display it cause it's pretty.

After our gift exchange and inevitable Christmas sex, we headed to the dang outdoor mall, where DW said, "I feel like I'm cutting this purchase kind of close." Ya THINK? The only good thing I can tell you is we found TV parking at the store. You know, the kind of parking you get that's unrealistically right outside the place you're going? Like, Jonathan and Jennifer Hart always found a spot--IN LA--right in front of everywhere they needed to be, such as the man's-pajama-bottoms-women's-pajama-top store. Do you remember they'd always wear pajamas like that? She'd wear his top and he'd be all manly with his Jonathan Hart shirtless self?

How did I get off on this tangent?

The point is, good parking. But busy shopping mall. SURPRISE!

After, we decided to go to a restaurant IN THE OUTDOOR MALL, and I hope you're sitting down, but there was an hour wait for a table. So we went to the Thai restaurant in my neighborhood.

And, that, folks, is where I think I got my migraine. Because, Asian food? And the MSG? Basically the whole day was about smart, well-thought-out decisions.

As soon as DW and I were done and after the inevitable post-Thai sex, he left and I called Ned. There was a party he wanted to go to in Raleigh, to see all kinds of friends he hasn't seen in ages, and he was really looking forward to it and so was I. I like to meet Ned's people. He has good taste in people.

First we were gonna take pictures of the Christmas lights, WHICH I SPECIFICALLY DID FOR YOU GUYS and you're welcome.

They do this thing here where they make ball lights and hang 'em from the trees, and I've had them in my yard myself in years previous but last year I was separated and lights never got hung.

THIS year, Ned said he'd help me and then he never did. This does not make Ned a bad person, although he DID just say, "You don't have outdoor lights and it's my fault, isn't it?" And I was all, yeah.

At any rate, there's one neighborhood that has a canopy of trees all down the street, and EVERYONE participates in the ball lights, and I can't even begin to describe to you how beautiful it is when you drive down that neighborhood. And that is why I wanted my fine photography skillz to capture it for you.

Say, June, remind me again when your photography seminar is.

I mean, it's impossible to capture how breathtaking it is. Maybe it's just impossible for ME to capture.

Well, trust me, okay? It's really pretty.

The point is, as we were driving there, I said, "I have a migraine, by the way, but I'll feel better soon. I took my meds."

And here is where Ned redeems himself for not putting up my outdoor lights--which by the way, why is HE responsible for my house and its lights anyway?--because he INSISTED I get my migraine meds just Friday. I was out and didn't want to spend the money, and he even said HE'D buy them, but then I went to the pharmacy and inexplicably there was no charge this time. Which, yay!

And thank heavens I HAD my meds, because this migraine? It stuck. We went back to my house and I put ice on my head, and then I even slept for awhile, but when I woke up? Still there. Without my medication, this woulda been a really bad one.

"Go to the party withOUT me," I said. "Save yourself!" But he wouldn't go. I mean, I get 90 migraines a month. I wish he'd have gone without me. Instead I splayed on the couch and watched Wizard of Oz with Ned, and he got texts from the party with people wondering where he was, and he looked SO SAD and I felt like a dick.

I feel better today! Guess who probably wants to stick a tong through my head. Why a tong? No idea.

So that sums it up. I have to get ready now, as we're going to see Hitchcock, which has nothing to do with the fact that Ned would fry up and eat his own tongue for a chance to stare at Scarlett Johanssen. That explains why he was drawn to me. We're practically twins.

Everyone have a good Christmas, unless you don't celebrate Christmas due to your Jewishness and Communism or whatever. I for one will be glad when this whole thing is over and I can stop feigning happiness and go back to my regularly scheduled bitch mode.

Joyfully,

June

P.S. I just looked, and today is the one-year anniversary of when I picked out Iris. I'm so glad I got her, even if she DID have that pee-everywhere-in-the-house thing. She doesn't do that anymore THANKS TO THE FAITHFUL READER who got her a kitty condo. Thank you again, faithful reader. Iris thanks you too.

June captures her trip on film. Story at 11:00.

I just got home from Michigan, and man, what a short, fun ride THAT is, but the good news is Ned and I still like each other. Which, you know. Twenty-six hours in the car with somebody, plus the whole meeting-the-family thing, it was touch and go. But we're still a go.

I put my memory card in just now, so allow me to just slap photos up here hither and yon so's you can see what you missed. I totally invited you. Why didn't you join us?

Look who is cute. Is it us? I like Ned. Also too, so did my family. At least that's what they told me. Maybe in reality they're all, "God, what a nightmare THAT guy was." But I doubt it. How can you not love you The Ned? Yes, I just totally called him The Ned.

Dude, I don't know what to tell you about my mom. Old Walk Like an Egyptian, there, is doing dishes with my stepfather and stepsister. Note the part where I recorded everything for posterity and did not help with the dishes.

It is my fault that my stepsister married her husband. They met at a Thanksgiving I had, then I forced them together when I saw sparks. They have been married 10 years now, though, so I am just saying. Go, June.

I blame Sue. Here is my saintly Aunt Sue, who looks hot, and when I told her, she said, "I AM hot," then fanned herself with her sweater. See above re: Saintly.

My mom's dog Gus, who is smiling as though he would NEVER attack puppy Tallulah. wut? guz bite ennosent pupee? you haff wrong dug.

Gus, moments later, after he has been struck down by God.

Ned, his purse, and gansta mom. I shudder to think about what conversation I walked in on, here. "Are you sleeping with my daughter, Ned? Boy oh boy. That's real rude."

I tried, God knows I did, to take Ned to the Pub, my local hang when I lived in Saginaw, but it was closed. Here he is, though, in the door, and if you look carefully you can see snow flying.

My not-at-all-gorgeous friend Gertrude at the Scottish ridiculous Inn. Would I LIE to you about the plaid carpeting on the walls? I would not. Clearly.

Here's my high school boyfriend Giovanni Leftwich with his so so so cool wife. Did I bond with Wife at all? Do I love her? Am I gonna snatch her away from Giovanni Leftwich? That'd be an interesting addendum to our history.

Me, ex-best-friend Esmerelda, and Gertrude.  Whenever I am with them I feel like The Unfortunatel Friend. Why I gotta have hot friends while I have Kenny G hair?

HULLLLLK.

In the days since Ned and Hulk met, every once in awhile, some boring sports thing would come up and Ned'd say, "Hulk and I talked about that." Am so glad I could ignore them and let them play amongst themselves.

Here we are having breakfast before Ned and I hit the road again. Note mom has STAMPEDED to Christmas already, as she is pratically Mrs. Claus. Ned had eggs, toast, Canadian bacon, fruit, pie and apple crisp. Then two hours later we ate the little lunch mom packed for us. Ned is going to be big as a house. As opposed to old Mrs. Timbertoes, over here.

Does anyone even know who The Timbertoes are, or am I the only Highlights Magazine fan? I HATE those find-the-object-in-the-picture things. Can never do it. Also, Gallant is a puss.

Anyway. Mrs. Timbertoes. She is kind of a wooden Olive Oyl.

I am sorry to tell you that on the way out of town, Ned and I went, two days after Thanksgiving, to The World's Largest Christmas Store, which conveniently is located outside my home town. Guess what was deserted and void of all people? Anyway if I ever get married again my dress is selected. Look how happy she is.

The World's Largest Christmas Store has SIXTEEN different sections with their own themes, including, apparently, Sexual Santa.

Honest engine. The look of sheer agony on Ned's face sends me into hysterics every time I look at this photo. Look at him. Portrait of Misery.

But he will be the FIRST TO TELL YOU, I found what I needed very fast, and said, "Okay, we can go," and IT WAS NED who said, "No, wait. Maybe I can find something for this relative. Or that relative. Oh, you know what? Also this relative." It was NED who kept us there. Swear!

Did not threaten him with glittery rendeer up his nethers to make him stay there at all. AT ALL!

Here's the lobby of the swank hotel we stayed in both on our way to and also from Michigan. Oh, we enjoyed that place.

In the restaurant, over by the bar, was this painting, and I wish I could tell you how much I obsessed over this terrible work of art. Have threatened Ned that this will be his Christmas present. "She kind of looks like you," he said, right before I finally stuck those glittery antlers in his parts.

Really, what sad lonely man painted this? "Hellooooo. My droopy breasts and I love you. Get me another Reunite on Ice."

I'm sorry to tell you that's all I have when it comes to photos of my trip. I know you're sad. Oh! But both on the way there and back, we passed Southern "X" Posure, which is apparently some kind of titty bar, which I'd have totally gone to, except I cannot frequent a place that has an "X" like that in its title. I told Ned I was going to demand that you all use "X" in your comments today.

"X"cellent post, June.

Glad you saw your "X" best friend.

Okay, go.

"X"O, June

Great Scot

Sadly for Ned, what he mostly saw of my home town yesterday was the inside of a bar. And that bar was the Scottish ridiculous Inn. I am unsure if they've officially added the "ridiculous" portion to their name, but trust me, it needs doing.

When Ned agreed to come home with me for THANKSgiving, he said, "We get to see The Pub, right?" The Pub was this bar I was in, oh, every single night from 1987 through 1990-ish, and Ned's heard some stories. I had gone there as a kid, too, because my father played darts and there were always these dart tournaments at The Pub. I'd bring my latchhook rug, because it was 1977, drink Cokes and watch my dad win on snowy afternoons.

The Pub is also where my Aunt Mary met her husband, and also also where I went on my wedding night. Isn't it romantic.

So I set up a big meet and greet at The Pub with Hulk, my old pals Gertrude and Donna, my high school boyfriend Giovanni Leftwich, and my ex-best-friend Esmeralda. "Two o'clock at The Pub!" I kept saying. Yes. We were meeting at two in the afternoon, because we're old and because apparently going there at night now gets you shot by your rival gang or something. "Oh, you don't wanna go there at night anymore" everyone keeps telling me, pursing their lips.

I schlepped poor Ned hither and yon, trying to show him all the places I lived in this town, except (a) I've lived 800 places here and (9) I can't remember how to GET anywhere anymore. We'd be driving and I'd be all, "Now I have to find Gratiot street. I just have to turn down--crap. Maybe if I go--crap."

Dudes. I went back to Ohio. And my city was gone. Seriously, everything looks different. I was so lost.

My point is, eventually we stopped for lunch and while Ned was actually NOT having a salad, Hulk texted. "Is The Pub even open?"

See. I'd Googled it and they said open in the afternoon, but I hadn't considered the holiday thing. We couldn't have been the only people in town to visit, right? I'm sure others wanted to get their drink on at two in the afternoon, right?

Okay, maybe not.

We drove down there and guess what. Closed. CLOSED! I called Gertrude, heartbroken, and she said, "Let's all go to the Scottish Inn." "Will it be open?" "Pfft. It's ALWAYS open," she said.

The Scottish Inn has plaid carpeting ON THE WALLS, no windows whatsoever and hard liquor for people who like to get drunk fast. That's Ned's favorite line from It's a Wonderful Life and I am so glad I could throw it in right now. Because MAN, you guys.

We walked in there at 2 p.m. and the place was BOOMING. I am not kidding. We were lucky to get a table.

And sober? Enjoying their first cocktail and planning to sip it? That sums up the crowd in there. Holy cats.

I took 489 photos, which I still can't show you cause I'm here and queer and get used to me, but there was a table tent that read, "Shot of the month: Cinnamon Toast Crunch." It was Jager and some kind of rum, which, Mmmmmm. Break me off a piece of that.

Soon all my friends came, and it was good to see Esmeralda for the first time in THIRTEEN YEARS, and Hulk and Ned stamPEEEEDed to sports talk, and a good time was being had by all.

"It's ESMERALDA!" Some guy burst in from the snowy afternoon. "AND...WHATSHERNAME!" he exclaimed gleefully, pointing at me.

"And whatshername," said Hulk, peeing his own self. "Whatshername." He loved that. It tickled Hulk, is what it did. It was like he was sittin' on a feather, so giggly was he over this.

The guy, about whom Ned and I keep saying, "Was he drunk? Had he had a drink that day? Was he under the influence? It wasn't clear" was a guy from high school. "YOU LIVE IN CALIFORNIA!" he screeched at me, buying a round for the table, which was nice and which I'm certain he recalls distinctly today.

"No, I..." I started, but he was onto something else. Mostly a drink.

"YOU LIVE IN CALIFORNIA!" he said, a while later.

"I really don't, though. I--"

"WHY'RE YOU HERE ALL THE WAY FROM CALIFORNIA!??"

I was feeling like maybe actual conversation was not gonna happen with Drunk Guy from High School.

Eventually, it became, you know, the dinner hour, and I noticed a beleaguered family actually eating next to us. Because it was 5 p.m. and usually you, you know, eat dinner at that time. You don't have your fourth round.

"I feel bad for that family, having to sit next to this subtle table," I said to Ned.

"I'm thinking the family that comes here for dinner is not looking for nutrition or ambience," Ned noted.

At the other table, Drunk Guy From High School was speaking animatedly to everyone. "Gertrude's here. Did you guys see Gertrude?" It was like Gertrude was a unicorn.

"Do you think that guy from high school started off his day with the Cinnamon Toast Crunch shot?" wondered Ned. "Maybe he thought it was a breakfast drink."

People from high school kept coming up to our table. It was amazing. They should rename it "The Scottish ridiculous Inn, the Bar for Class of '83. And That's Not Sad at All." But it'd be hard to fit on softball jerseys.

Are they called softball "jerseys"? Hulk?

Oh, and speaking of Hulk, at some point he was just gone. Ned said he had somewhere else to be, like maybe reality, but the point is eventually it was us minus Hulk. With plaid wall carpeting.

The only positive from this scenario is at least when we left it was dark. If you leave a bar like that, coming out to sunshine just makes it more debaucherous.

It was fun to have everyone in the same room again like that. I just hope next time we do it, that room is not plaid.

June, with her kilt, out.

"They know not if it's dark outside or light."

Can you please tell me what I forgot to pack? Because you know I forgot some such nonsense, as I always do. Usually I get to my destination and I'm all, "Oh, I forgot pants!" Then I walk around like Donald Duck for the rest of my trip.

Or I'll bring the contacts that are in my EYES, which are disposable, but no OTHER contacts or any glasses, and the rest of the vacation is like an impressionist painting.

Anyway. Leaving for Michigan in an hour and a half. Things are UNDER CONTROL. Yessir. When I talked to Ned last he hadn't even CONSIDERED packing, so I feel like things are just as unchaotic at his house.

We saw the best movie the other day, she says incongruously, called Chicken with Plums, or Poulet aux Prunes, and who knew "plums" and "prunes" were interchangeable in France--those nutty French--and the point is at one point the actress takes off her glasses and when she does everything gets blurry. It was so much like real life. She must have the same prescription as me. Which is a sad, sick prescription. I have like 20/39394939493 vision.

But that is not my point. My point is I'm a disorganized packer. Am certain this shocks you.

By the way, the title of my post is exactly what Elton John was singing on my iTunes when I opened this page to start decomposing or whatever. Now Lou Reed is singing "I. Don't Know. Just where I'm going."

And you know, I don't. Glad Lou said something, because I have to print out directions in case my GPS up and dies like Mr. Bojangles. Which incidentally is not on my iTunes.

Okay, good. Here is a map of today's route. If you're in the area, stand on the freeway and wave like I'm OJ Simpson on the 405, will ya?

Here's day two. Basically here to Michigan is a long damn-ass way.

I've printed out those directions. How much would you like to bet that I forget them here at home?

"I HAVE NO PANTS!"

In case you're worried sick, Eddie Vedder is now singing, "All five horizons revolved around her sun. As the earth to the sun."

I LOVE this song. Love.

So I guess I should go do a sweep of the house to see if I'm forgetting bras or meds or oxygen, and also I should get the dogs to daycare, and y'all always ask me every time I go to mom's if the dogs are coming and why do you always forget my mother's dog is a cold-blooded murderer? I tell you this EVERY TIME and you never listen.

Remember when that jerky dog LEAPED out the back of the hatch and RIGHT ONTO puppy Tallulah's back? Now, I assure you, ASSURE YOU, Talu would kick that speckled dog's old fat ass at this point. All that'd be left are a few Gus bones and Talu with a toothpick in.004 seconds. But who wants to start a dog fight like we're the Michael Vick family?

"The day I stop's the day you change and fly away from me." The Cure. I swear I have songs from this decade on here somewhere.

Oh, but before I go, and I know you're sad disjointed June and her song call-outs is going. Are going. Whatev. Dick Whitman and I went to the movies last night, and yes I DO see a lot of movies. We saw The Sessions, which I guess is a true-ish story of a man who was paralyzed by polio and the sex surrogate he hires, who is played by Helen Hunt.

I mean, 1995 called. Remember when Helen Hunt was in everything including your bathroom? You'd walk in and she'd be checking out her enormous forehead. Her fivehead. Oh, hey, Helen.

Anyway, there she was last night, NAKED A LOT, and you can't help but like her. She looks like she'd done a lot of situps for that role, and who wouldn't? Well. I wouldn't. I'd just let you see the front butt.

You know when I didn't like Helen Hunt? Well. I didn't like her CHARACTER. Was in Castaway. What a BITCH. She's all in love with Tom Hanks, then FOUR YEARS LATER she has met someone, married, AND had a toddler. I mean, did she hump someone on the drive home from dropping Tom Hanks at the airport?

And when poor I-can-spear-fish Tom Hanks (and have I mentioned how useless I'd be on an island? Who'd panic and die on day one, over here? And I'd totally forget pants.) comes to Helen Hunt's house, he's all "Beautiful house" and she says, "Has a nice mortgage, too." Then he compliments her I'm-a-tramp-here's-my-toddler daughter, and Helen Hunt says just, "She's a handful."

OH SHUT UP. You have EVERYTHING, you big-foreheaded ho, and all you can do is complain. Irritating.

  

Oh, I love this song. In February, I went on I think it was my third date with Ned. We went to this tiny dark bar, and it was so cozy and outside was so blustery, and this song came on, and I was with a boy who had potential, and we were laughing and talking and I was so happy. I mean, as opposed to now. So totally over Ned. Which is why I'm schlepping him 299494949339 miles to meet my family.

I really want to see that HBO special on The Rolling Stones. Will one of you invite me over? I might be driving right past you today or tomorrow. Thanks.

OHMYGOD I still haven't told you what I wanted to tell you, about DW and me at the movies. Jesus. So, Dick W and I meet at the theater:

Here's me approaching DW in front of the theater, and who needs help? Is it me?

We were early, so we got treats and sat in the theater and talked. DW was telling a story and gingerly tugging this way and that to open his bag of Reece's Pieces, which you and I both know he was gonna have three of anyway, as he does. But seriously, he kept trying to rip the top, then pull, and HE WAS BUGGING ME.

"Give me that," I snapped. I pulled the bag as hard as I could and

BOOM!

every Reece's Piece IN THE UNIVERSE BURST up like a geyser, then landed down my shirt. It was amazing. It was like Old Faithful. You have never seen so many Reece's Pieces fly through the air in your life.

I gave DW the pieces that HADN'T landed in my bosoms, and I totally ate the ones that did. Hoo care, as Tallulah would say. Then throughout the movie, any time either of us shifted in our chair, you'd hear another candy roll down the aisle. We were totally the candy-coated clowns you call the sandman. Which is also not on my iTunes.

Okay, am going now. Will let you know if Ned and I detest each other by the end of today, or if that will happen AFTER he meets all my people and Gus tries to eat him.

XO,

June.

P.S. "I know a girl who reminds me of Cher. She's always changing the color of her hair." Oh this is SUCH a good song. LOVE. The Flaming Lips. In case you don't have this one on your iTunes. Which, why?

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

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

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

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

Sadly, that song will probably be by ABBA.

June, grateful.

Corinthian leather. Wait. That wasn't the Volare, was it? I don't care. I like to say, "Corinthian leather." Cause it's a thing. Is what it is.

Lately, there has been a bird outside my window in the morning who whistles Volare. I am not making that up.

 

I wonder if the bird has a perm?

Apparently it's autumn here in North Carolina, finally, which is good, because the summer here is like the winter where I grew up, in Michigan. Let me be sure to tell you all about what Great Lakes were near me when I lived there. The point is, in the summer in the South and in the winter in Michigan you just stay inside and wait for it to be over.

Oh, you get the occasional "I love winter" asshole in the Mitten State, but I never associated with those people. "Oh, I love to SKI! And I love to SKATE! And I love to ICE FISH! And I can't get ENOUGH of fornicating with icicles!!"

Shaddup. You do NOT love winter in Michigan. NO ONE could love the winter there.

Not so long ago, Ned was at the train station and apparently there was a huge map of the U.S. "I looked at Michigan. Wow. It's really...north, isn't it?" Why, yes. It is.

I don't know how I got off on this tangent when what I MEANT to say is my tree is all changey right now. All hopey changey.

I have this huge tree in my backyard, right when you walk out the door. I mean, not RIGHT there. You don't have to CRASH into it every time you open the screen door or anything. But I love that tree, and this week it is its prettiest.

Also, the leaves are all over the deck, which I like, and which I don't have to worry about, because this really nice guy who works for Peg and now for me comes over and cuts the lawn and weeds and rakes the leaves for TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. I know! Someone should tell him he undercharges. But that person is not gonna be me.

Notice how Talu actually kind of sits still for the camera, although both dogs have blur tails. What slays me is I have almost exactly the same photo I took I think four years ago.

Tallulah, circa 2008.

Really, she hasn't aged a bit. Bitch totally Botoxes.

I also decided to take Lily, who is 100% an indoor cat except that time she ran out the door for no reason and I couldn't find her for a horrifying hour, outside to frolic in the leaves. And by "frolic" I mean stand terrifiedly on the shelf on my deck.

pleese to take lillee back in pleese. also, pleese chaynge lillee font to fall colur. aftur you put lillee BACK IN PLEESE TO DO NOWWWW.

I propped the deck chairs against that shelf to protect them from the elements, sort of. I guess I should go to town and get those chair covers, shouldn't I?

eyeriss totlee come outside! to take eyeriss outside! no, she rully see gud! i see you! eyeriss see you totlee for sure.

Iris is DYING to be outdoor cat. Maybe it's cause when she was a kitten I'd take her out and hold her on my lap, so it's my own fault.

dis more lyke it. never to do again, mom.

In other news, because at this point Hulk has hung himself from a giant noose, I had dinner with Daniel Boone last night.

Shut up.

In case you just got here or you're from Poland or Ethiopia, I dated Daniel Boone for a brief and tragic time last year. Then we didn't talk at all, then a few months ago I heard from him, and now we are friends. FRIENDS.

I am impervious to any man but Ned. Seriously. WE ARE FRIENDS.

That photo above was me actually trying to capture that guy's Cosby sweater in the background, but DB's expression is just so DB that I love it.

Daniel Boone lives in Raleigh, and I, you know, don't, so we met in Hillsborough, which is where we had our infamous first date under the Daniel Boone statue a year and a half ago.

And you know what? Dear Hillsborough, You might want to have A FEW RESTAURANTS OPEN on Monday night. Because the glamorous bar where we met, The Wooden Nickel, was effing PACKED.

It was good to see DB again. We talked about just everything, and at some point, he said he was going to hell for something or other. "I'm IN hell," he clarified.

"Hell is the Wooden Nickel in Hillsborough," I said. And you know? It might be.

When I drove home, I called Ned on his work trip to let him know I was returning from my dinner. Ned is exceedingly not insecure, so he didn't care who I was having dinner with. Still. I wanted to do a whole, check-in-to-let-you-know-I'm-driving-home-at-9-p.m.-and-not-fornicating-with-D-Boone thing. It was good to talk to Ned, who I may or may not be berserk about.

It just goes to show you. No matter how bad you feel about something, it always gets better eventually. Do you know what'd be really hilarious right now? Is if I said: This too shall pass.

Life's a beach.

In which Ned returns. And June has a big week of naming her posts "In which."

Last night, my friend Hibiscus Wilson had a fundraiser for animals, and she invited me. Because you may not know this, but when it comes to animals, I am kind of a fan.

She had it at her downtown office, which is coincidentally where Ned lives, and did I mention Ned has been out of town till yesterday? And that this may have been making me bereft?

He wanted to work out after work, which, really? He's one of those people who enjoys working out, which, really? So the plan was he'd go home and work out like it's fun, then he'd call and I'd leave the fundraiser and go to his house.

At quarter to seven, he called me. "I'm still at work."

Can you imagine? After a hard week in Las Vegas pricing prostitutes, and getting to town at 2:30 a.m. night before last, then he had to go work at work? I mean, again, it's nothing like my grueling 25-hour workweek. Still.

"I'm exhausted, I have a headache, and I am leaving here soon."

Crap.

"Do you, you know, want to go home and go to bed? I can see you Friday." I said this like if we'd done that, I wouldn't have gone home and cried into my giant pillow. Which is only funny if you saw So I Married an Axe Murderer, which believe it or not is actually funny.

 

See. I put on a clip where he DOESN'T say the line about "He'll be crying himself to sleep tonight on his giant pillow" because that's the kind of efficient blogger I am.

So I offered the caveat that we could see each other another night, and he said, "Look. I feel awful. I am exhausted. But I'm GOING TO SEE YOU if it's the LAST THING I DO."

So, okay.

Hibiscus's office is on the second floor, right above that theater where Ned and I saw the scary play last week. As I was climbing the stairs, I ran into the woman who taught my running school a couple years ago. Remember when I did that? Anyway. we chatted about my plantar fasciitis, because I am a riveting conversationalist. She gave me some tips, and she mentioned she kept working out the whole time she had it. And, !.

Anyway, the office itself was fancy,

and there was cool art and stuff, and everyone was there eating and buying jewelry and so forth.

I stampeded to the food table.

"Well, hey, June!" It was Jo.

"Mrrphfmppmm!" I said. There were these crab cakes? And also huge strawberries with homemade whipped cream? And cheese? And did I mention the crab cakes? By the end of that thing I was walking sideways.

Do you know who's gonna like me quite a bit? Is Jo, with this picture of her eating god knows what.

The other good news is that Hibiscus had her dogs at the party.

Not that I am one of Hibiscus's dogs. But I WOULD be if she'd be willing to feed me those crab cakes every day. Are crab cakes fattening?

Finally, Ned called and was ready to (wait for it) go to dinner. Man, was I ever starved. Because I hadn't been over there shoving my astrological sign down my gullet all evening or anything. Nevertheless, Jo and I walked down to the restaurant to wait for Ned. She was just gonna say hi and watch us fornicate on the table for a minute before she left.

While we waited, we saw the Yes! Weekly magazine in which she is the cover story. Jo is selling her mom's 394949394924948493 dolls and it's quite the news story here in Greensboro, NC.

She took the magazine with her when she left, and it was after she'd gone I managed to get this:

The Official Ned is Sick of My Blog and Me Memorializing Every Second photo. Also the Ned Never Remembers His Reading Glasses photo. Also the Ned is Exhausted and in a Sparkling Mood photo.

I love that photo.

So that was my night. I hugged dogs and irked Ned.

Mission: Accomplished.