I was super-busy Ned-ing yesterday and never had a minute to write. So now I gotta cram everything that happened Saturday and yesterday into one post, and who knows how to draw the reader in and beg for more? Nothing's more compelling than "...now I gotta cram everything..."
Speaking of which, Hulk's date was not what you'd call successful. He can tell you about it in the comments if he wishes. He didn't say, "Oh, and put THIS on your blog! And tell them all THAT part, too." Although I do tell all my friends in real life that everything they tell me is blog material unless they warn me otherwise. Then I get all offended when they tell me something King Kamehameha personal and then say, "Don't put this on your blog."
"It turns out I like wearing my child's tutu and lip syncing Carmen like that orange from Sesame Street. DON'T PUT THIS ON YOUR BLOG!"
See, I just kind of made it seem like that's something personal Hulk told me, and it isn't, but now am PICTURING Hulk in not-Chloe's tutu singing Carmen and am dying. I can't see Chloe owning a tutu, however, as she is not June Girly.
Oh my god, I said I had to cram and have told you zero so far.
On Saturday, Ned and I had a Gift of the Magi thing going on where we had been really excited to finally have a weekend together without his pesky WORK and WORK TRIPS getting in the way, and he told his brother he couldn't go to a basketball game and I was feeling guilty that my friend Daniel Boone was in town for his kid's concert. Yes, Daniel Boone has kids. Three of them. I don't KNOW why it's never come up. He's actually very involved with his kids and has some custody of them, but I never met them. I did see them the time he was on the freeway and refused to wave at me.
Anyway, I finally said, "You wanna hang out with Daniel Boone Saturday afternoon after his kid's concert?" and Ned was all, "Oh! Is he gonna be here? I was supposed to go to this sporting event..." He calls every sporting event a "sporting event" since he started hanging around me, and I also caught him calling something "King Kamehameha" the other day.
So our deal was he'd call when he got home and all three of us would go to dinner or something, and in the meantime D Boone got to my house at around 5:00.
I answered the door in my sexy workout clothes, all sweaty, my hair 50 different directions, and basically super appealing. King Kamehameha appealing, if you will.
"So, you waited till I GOT here to shower so I could sit here and wait for you?"
Really I'd been a poor manager of my time, having been with Ned for most of the day. The point is, D Boone ended up watching me put on my makeup, and because his ex-wife did not WEAR makeup (Dear Women Who Wear No Makeup: I do not understand you. Love, June), he was riveted.
"What're you doing now?"
"Primer. You have to prime the pump, as it were, before foundation." I do a whole involved kabuki makeup, as you can imagine. Doing my makeup is my favorite part of my day. I know that is sad.
"What are all those TUBES?"
"These are my mascara choices. I have many kinds. For the Many Moods of June."
"Oh, you'll need more tubes than THAT, then."
Finally my mask was on and we headed to the dessert place. There's a lovely dessert place near me that has all kinds of decadent stuff, and big comfy couches and lounge chairs and fireplaces and it's great. Daniel Boone had never been there but he was beside himself because they have about 20 kinds of cake.
"We can't--oh my god. Should we--oh my GOD. We can't just-- LET'S GET THREE!!"
Daniel Boone ended up getting three slices of cake--we got birthday cake, banana pudding cake and carrot cake which thank all that is holy was sans raisins. There is no reason for a raisin.
After, we had to run to Target because I am a fun nondate, and DB bought all the stupid things I purchased there. Then he insisted we go to the grocery store to replace Ned's red wine he drank while he was at my house, and he also bought me coffee, and basically Daniel Boone was literally my sugar daddy. By the time Ned got back into town, D Boone had to go, as his dog needs antibiotics (allergies) (I knew someone out there would Need to Know).
"So, I got to be here for your getting-ready routine and your errands, and now I'm leaving so you can go have a great night with Ned? Is that how this just worked?"
It totally did. Ned and I went to dinner and talked and had just a lovely night. And Ned got free wine.
On Sunday, we went to see all the short films that have been nominated for an Oscar. We have a $900,000 bet about which one will win, and I guess I don't know what'll happen if neither of us is right, but I already OWE Ned $900,000 from a bet we placed about one of our waitresses somewhere or another, so if he loses we'll be even.
Then I am sorry to tell you I watched the goddamn Super Bowl. I just wanted to see the commercials, which were disappointing, if you ask me. I wanted the purple team to win, because the red team had said something homophobic in the weeks leading to the Super Bowl and that pissed me off. At 9:00, I went home and watched Downton Abby.
In fact, when Hulk called me to tell me his date was a bust, the first thing out of his mouth was, "If you make Ned watch Downtown Abby tonight instead of the Super Bowl, I will never be friends with you again."
Oooo, what a threat.
"DOWNTON. It's DOWNTON," I told him, and I totally shoulda let him hang thinking I would do that to Ned or that Ned would LET me do that to him.
My point is, even though I was back at my house all by myself, when Downton Abby was over I turned the station back to the goddamn Super Bowl. What is happening to me? And the purple team won so yay.
Oh, I did like that Paul Harvey farmer ad. Were there any you liked? I never saw my Budweiser baby horse commercial; must have come on during DOWTOWN Abby. Who's annoying? Is it Hulk?
So there was my cram post. I did not say one funny thing this entire post, did I? Orange you glad there are other blogs out there?
It's the end of the year, and time for my annual here's-everything-that-happened-this-year veeedeo. I hope you like it. I only tormented everyone with it 7,2394,t95945,#(49403 times. "Do you like this version?" "How 'bout this one?" "Is this song good?" And by "everyone" I mean Ned.
Happy new year, y'all! Thanks for spending 2012 with me.
Wow. Is it ever busy at fake work. Hope I can get everything done.
So far I've had coffee, I've done my makeup, took all that off and did kabuki makeup, took that all off and painted myself silver like C3Po, discussed plastic surgery with Debb who hates margaritas, looked at my checking account, painted myself sad, and then finally remembered that I forgot to blog today so here I am.
I mean, why is the office even open, except yay, free coffee!
At any rate, I didn't blog this morning because I slept till 8:12. I have to be here at 8:30. So that I can stampede to all the work that needs doing this week, clearly. My point is, you can imagine how pretty I am right now, but at least my sad silver kabuki makeup looks good now.
I went to bed at 10:30 last night, and when I was doing so, I was all, This is great. Ima be so well-rested tomorrow. And then Talu was cuddled up against me, and the sun was making the bed warm, and apparently I hit snooze 258 times before I opened my eyes and tossed that dog clear across the room in my panic.
She doesn't feel well, Talu doesn't. Sometimes when they board at dog daycare, their stomachs are not what you'd call so fresh when they get home. The vet told me it's all the excitement. I mean, it's constant "other dogz! Lu see other dogz! der is NOTHER dog! dis gud." for two days straight. I imagine it's how my innards would feel after two days of Barry Gibb.
So last night I left hard-hitting busy fake work (my boss's boss, who is very cool and is riveted to the part where I have a blog and y'all send me presents and wants to totally get in on that action, came over and said, "June, you can knock off early. There's really nothing to do." "You...realize it's 4:56, right?" "Oh, crap. Is it? Well, enjoy those four minutes off!") and got the dogs, and man I was sleepy. So I fed everyone and climbed into bed for a little catnap, as my grandmother would call it. I was juuuuuust drifting off when
BLAEEERGGH! BLAAAAGGGGG. BLURRRRRRRHHH.
Talu barfed all over the bedroom floor. You know what's relaxing? That. That is.
When I left her today she was back in bed with her head on the pillow, but before you go feeling too bad for her, a faithful reader sent plush toys to both dogs, and whenever Talu saw Edsel trot by with his new toy, she managed to drag herself up to take it from him, so I think old Pitiful Pit, there, will be up and about and fully evil again in no time.
In the meantime, go look at this. This couple took a picture in front of their Christmas tree for 40 years.
I an only find eight of their photos online, which bugs cause you KNOW I wanna see ALL of them. This sort of thing is right up my alley. Am riveted by said couple and know I would have liked them. We could have all hung and played whist or something. Tiddlywinks. What'd 1912 couples DO? Did people even HAVE keys for key parties? Maybe the men went outside and looked at each other's horses while the women compared petticoats or something.
"My, that's some corset, Annabelle."
"Thank you! It's only made me faint four times this month!"
I think I need more coffee.
So, okay. I'll go. Everyone say things to keep me amused today. I've a feeling it's gonna be a long eight hours.
P.S. Just Googled it. C3Po is gold.
Friday is my first day of having to be at work at 8:30, as opposed to the luxurious noon start time I had. So I'm writing this Thursday night at 9:00 p.m. I came home at 5:00, worked on freelance stuff till now, and I am achy and exhausted and ready for bed. I am waiting for Ned to call, because he always calls, but he is later than usual. This probably means he had a bad day. So I'll be hearing about that if he ever calls.
My point is, I thought I'd do the thing where I put up pictures of things I kept meaning to put up other days and get off on tangents. I know. Tangents? June?
I keep forgetting to tell you that the other night, when we were at the Greek place, we'd paid up and were ready to leave. And when I say "we" paid up I mean Ned. The point is, all those women were dancing around the restaurant, and Ned said, "It'd be rude if we got up and left before this song ended."
"You know, these chicks aren't the entertainment," I said. "They just chose to get up and dance." "Still," said Ned, who is nicer than me.
So, you know, we kept sipping our water and shifting around in our chairs and watching the dancing and dudes. The song would not end. It was all Greek Greek Greek, music music music. "Is this song based on the Iliad?" asked Ned. "Or maybe both the Iliad and the Odyssey?"
I had forgotten he said that till the other day at fake work, while I was on the pot, which is how Grace Kelly starts a lot of her blog posts, but it struck me so funny I started giggling in my stall.
While people brought in their kids for Halloween, Ashley brought Cash. Remember Cash, who came over for a play date and was the perfect dog? He is SIX MONTHS OLD and so good. Am trying not to think hostile thoughts about Edsel right now.
Oh! Ned is calling!
HULK: Listening to the radio and the DJ says, "This is the last song of the summer." Then he played Two Tickets to Paradise. Thinking of you! Hulk.
JUNE: When we get married, and what a great day that will be, that can be our first dance. It'll set the tone for how pretty that marriage will be.
HULK: Do we have to "get married"? Can't we just throw a big Eddie Money party for our friends and then fuck later?
JUNE: God, that is so much better of a plan. We don't need a piece of paper to celebrate our love of Eddie Money.
HULK: Plus, that way you won't have to put your name in all your books.
JUNE: I will never want that wagon wheel coffee table. Or your Eddie Money CD.
So I turned down that job after all.
I was just talking on the phone with my friend Dottie, and I said, "I'd better go. I have to tell everyone on my blog about this and I dread it." Dottie pointed out that I wasn't obligated to tell you all ANYTHING, but I said, "How'm I gonna explain the part where I, you know, don't go to work on Monday?"
Then Dottie started getting a big kick out of herself. "I can't wait to read this. Hey! I have a job! Nope! I don't have a job! Hey, I'm going to Hawaii! Nope! Not going to Hawaii!"
Then after a few minutes, she said, "Oh, I thought of another one! Hey! I'm quitting my blog! Nope! Not quitting my blog!"
Is it wrong to wish swift and punishing dysentery on one of your oldest friends?
Anyway, the thing is, I was not looking forward to working four evenings a week, but I would have done it anyway, but what I can't go into detail about is there is potentially something really good happening for me, workwise, in the next few weeks. It's not a guarantee, which I know! Okay? I KNOW! But I could not be the person who takes a job knowing full well if the other thing pans out Ima stampede to it and quit that job in a heartbeat. That would be just wrong.
So there it is. I am back to no job, but I think it'll all be okay. There's a really good chance it'll be okay.
That's all I can say about that.
In other news, in case you didn't read the comments yesterday, I shoplifted. Why is June so unemployable?
I didn't MEAN to. I got me a box of the root touchup, there, at the grocery store, because nothing but the best for me. But that shit is crazy, dawgs. It really works. And as you know from that pretty photo I put up the other day, my roots were kind of showing.
Pepe LePew sexted.
So I got that, and I got this dishwasher cleaner thing I needed, and also a gray eye pencil, because again, nothing but the best for me, and I went to the self-checkout.
Ping! I tried to scan the dye.
Ping! It still wouldn't show up as having been scanned.
Finally the little woman in the machine said, "Please place the item in the bag."
Okay. So I did. And I figured it got scanned. But I looked at the receipt later and I was only charged for the pencil and dishwasher stuff.
"I just shoplifted from Harris Teeter," I emailed Ned.
"You need someone to come bail you out?" he wondered.
I decided to go home and whip up a Nick Nolte 'do; if they came after me and I got taken downtown, I'd have a good mug shot. I have always thought Nick Nolte's mug shot would be a great Halloween costume.
Next time I go to Harris Teeter, I will fess up and pay that $7.49 or whatever. I'd feel too guilty otherwise, thanks to my good-karma, free-to-be-you-and-me-unless-you-are-a-thief childhood.
In the meantime, I mentioned my thug life in the comments and the never-ludicrous Mrs. Oh created this and put it on Pie on the Face on Facebook.
Oh! And not Mrs. Oh. Just oh! The other pertinent news I wanted to relay to you was that last night I was hanging with Mr. Cooper and also Ned, (what was that show about? I never saw it in my life. Hanging with Mr. Cooper. Was he related to Mr. Hooper from the store on Sesame Street? They should totally make a subdivision and have one of the streets be Sesame Street. It'd be particularly hilarious if you lived there and your name was Burt. Or Susan and Gordon) and I mentioned the phrase "mani/pedi," because I know how to reel a man in and keep him riveted to the conversation.
You know who I have not given eight seconds of thought to until today? Is Susan and Gordon. Didn't they try to fool us with a whole new Gordon somewhere in the third or fouth season? And where the hell did Original Gordon think he was going? Did he think he was headed to fame and fortune outside of Sesame Street? Because guess what, there, OG. We never saw you again.
Gordon should totally be taking career advice from me.
My POINT is that Ned had no idea what "mani/pedi" meant, and I could tell he had no idea but was just carrying on, hoping the meaning would become clear or that I'd shut up, one of the two. Finally, I said, "Do you not know what mani/pedi means?"
"No. I was just gonna go with it and see if I caught on eventually."
Okay, seriously. How manly does he have to go around being? EVERYONE knows what that is, which is what led me to call Hulk, who guess what?
Totally knew what mani/pedi meant.
Then Hulk went on for 80 minutes that I was to tell Ned IN NO UNCERTAIN TERMS that he was not a homosexual. He just, you know, happened to know what that meant. Is all.
Ned said, "I'd say that, too, if I were Hulk, knowing what mani/pedi meant."
Anyway I have to go. Remind me to tell you about the good article I read about how styles aren't really changing anymore. It's riveting. The dogs are at daycare today (that was a link to doggie webcam) because I forgot we have like 80 free passes and that is because I am a really good dog mom.
June. On the bread line.
Do you know why I don't put that many pictures of Iris up? She's really hard to photograph. She doesn't make eye contact with the camera, cause she doesn't have so many eyes, and I guess the best time to get her is when she's sleeping but she doesn't sleep a lot. She just kind of hangs. Blindly.
I've been working on my end-of-my-blog veeedeo, and do you know who never took a bad picture? Seriously. Was Henry.
He was a blogger's dream cat. This photo right above, with his blue kitteny eyes, was the very first picture I ever took of him. AND LOOK AT IT. It was all uphill from there. He is a beautiful kitty. I miss me the Henry.
Thank heavens I talked about that because now I am sad.
Anyway, heyyy! Y'all back at work? How's that feeling? I am not at "work" ("DO NOT EAT") (I air-quoted "work" because hi. Don't really work there.) because I leave for my hometown in a little while. And for everyone FROM my hometown who reads this, I will be there for a funeral and I will be there for 24 hours, so. Don't get all in a wad with yer pantaloons that you don't get a glimpse of the June. The Great and Powerful June. Pay no attention to what's happening behind that curtain of hair.
I did, of course, text Hulk* that I was coming home and he has a DATE tonight! I know! Go Hulkie, it's yer date day. Gonna party like it's yer date day. Drink Bacardi like it's...any old day because you're a big drunk...
The point is, he thinks he'll be able to see me post date, and I sincerely hope he does not have sex hair.
I have not yet packed my bags, although I have IN MY MIND, which means when I do it it'll be fast. I know it makes people nervous that I do not pack till the last minute. Also, I forget something every time. "Oh, I forgot pants. Guess I'll walk around pantsless like Julienne Moore in that movie. Where we saw her goods for like 17 minutes." What movie was that?
Perhaps packing at the last minute and forgetting to pack things ("Oh, I forgot all my meds and makeup." I mean, it's always something major like that) might be related. I am not sure.
The funeral is at Snow Funeral Home, which I'm certain I told you before is where my grandfather was interred. I guess he wasn't literally interred there, but whatever. When we got there--my father, aunt, grandmother and me--Mr. Snow said, "Now, what are we doing with the body?" and at the same time, all four of us thought of my grandfather saying, "When I die, don't make a fuss. Just stick a bone up m'ass and let the dogs drag me away."
I am sorry to tell you this made us all a little giggly.
Then, several days later, my father called Mr. Snow about some technicality, and my aunt and I were there. He must've been doing some word association thing in his head because when Snow Funeral Home answered, he said, "Yes. Is this Jack Frost?"
My aunt and I went into HYSTERICS, falling all over each other and hooting and so on. What I am saying to you is, I think we impressed Mr. Snow quite a bit with our dignity. Looking forward to seeing him again.
Okay, I will get to packin'. If I die in a plane crash, there IS an end-of-my-blog veedeo. Make someone put it up. Oh! Marvin will be here dogsitting. Make him do it.
June, out. Looking forward to posting from mom's Speedy Gonzales computer tomorrow.
*Recent text between Hulk and me:
Hulk: Do you know where I can buy doilies?
June: Well, once you're done washing your vagina, you might try Joann's Fabrics.
He really IS crying. He looks like a miraculous Virgin Mary statue or something. I guess it's allergies, or maybe that floor is breaking his heart. Concrete floor advice, please.
I must dash; having lunch with Jo in an hour and (surprise!) not showered. Last night ...friend drove me all around town and showed me the houses he grew up in, and places he fished and played sports and did all those things I never once did because I was (a) a girl who (2) stayed inside and read books my entire childhood.
Do you know who I cannot identify with whatsoever? Tomboys.
Anyway, it was cool. It was my idea, because he grew up here and I was all, yeah but where? Because he lives downtown now and I figured he hadn't done THAT his whole life. Anyway, he moved away from here to go to college and never came back till two years ago, for work.
"Greensboro is my Saginaw," he said, when I said I liked Greensboro and it seemed like a good place to grow up. I guess returning is weird, no matter where you're from. Unless you're from Milan. But maybe even THAT'S weird. "Damn Milan. Can't believe I'm back here, driving past my old high school. Home of the Milan Musketeers. Jesus Christ."
Anyway, as much as I would like to sit here and write Farmer Boy, the point of my story is afterward we went to dinner at Proximity, and then I got a horrific migraine and that was the end of that evening.
You know what I am? Fun.
Oh, and before I get in the shower, and I know you wish I'd have June Blogs From the Shower, a very special hot 'n naked Bye Bye Pie, I want to say that a lot of you have written to me via email or Facebook and I WILL write you back, I just haven't had the fortitude, frankly. This is hard. Math is hard. Especially for Edsel.