There is little that annoys me more than that Angie's List commercial where the woman looks so smug and says, "I'm busybusybusybusy." Oh shut up. No, you're not. You're distracting yourself from your inevitable demise, is what you're doing. As we all are. However, YOUR death may be coming sooner than you think if you say "busybusybusybusy" in front of me again.
So, yeah, hi. I've been busy (busybusybusy) and was unable to blog. This might be making me cranky. I thought I might run down for you what I've been up to, since this blog is supposed to be about what I've been up to and all.
Imagine being my friend or loved one trying to navigate the minefield of Things That Annoy June. My loved ones are over there now, writing on their Santa's List: Do not say "busybusybusybusy."
Another one? "No, no, no, no, no. You have to push Save first."
Shut the focaccia up. You've said no. You don't have to say no no no no no. Who are you, Amy Winehouse? How patronizing. no no no no no. Go shit in a hat.
Just last night, poor Ned was telling me a story, and he did the finger/thumb thing to indicate he was on a phone call. "You did not just do the Wilma-Flintstone's-phone pointy-finger thing just now," I said, wondering why Ned isn't stampeding to propose. "Is that another thing you hate?" he asked, adding it to the list of "24/7," "It's all good," "It is what it is" and those stick-figure families on cars.
Yeah. I wouldn't like me, either. But I would like to remind you that no one gives a shit about your stick-figure family. They really don't. They particularly don't care that one of you is a cheerleader.
Oh, speaking of how I am crabby and unlikeable today, I found a chat room sort of thing--and do chat rooms really exist anymore? I don't know. It was some site where people were listing blogs they like, and mine came up, and someone wrote, "Oh, June! Yeah! She's irritating but her blog's funny."
...yeah. Clearly I am now famous-ish, now that I'm getting not quite hated but, you know, annoyed at. When people out and out hate me I'll know I've arrived.
BUT NONE OF THIS IS WHY I GATHERED YOU HERE TODAY. I gathered you to tell you what was new. As you know, Saturday was filled with me running around from appointment to appointment, until finally at around 9:30, Ned and I finally went out to dinner, where we were wedged into a teensy table for two next to a huge table of college students, who we grew to detest more with each minute.
They did the loud laughing, and the loud screaming across the table at each other, and three girls at the table clearly thought they were cooler than the rest of the table, and they spent the whole time talking loudly amongst themselves and looking at a tablet. Ned's the one who had the view of them, I was just .00002 millimeters from them as they bored into my soul. "What're they looking at on the tablet?" asked Ned, ignoring how I'd gotten out an Aleve and was looking at it so I'd have a tablet at dinner, too.
They were looking? At pictures of themselves. The three of them were hunched together at a dinner with 10 other people to look at pictures of themselves.
So I think that started the charming mood I'm in, and then I have had freelance work OUT MY CORN HOLE since the start of April, and in fact have not had one night this month where I didn't take work home.
This did not stop me from going to dinner with my cute friend Wilma on Monday, where we had ourselves a time. Oh, we talked, we got all deep, we went back to shallow, and we got deep again. Wilma is the kind of person you want to be someday if you weren't so irritable and awful. She is Kermit to my Oscar.
Then after working all dang night that night, I got up and went to work Tuesday, only to scream home and let the poor dogs out then scream to the movies with Ned.
Because I'd been in such a rush, I left work without taking my makeup bag. I take my makeup to work in case I need to rebeautify during the day, because when you have All This, you need to make sure it looks its best all day long. It's a lot of pressure, being this lovely.
So when I got home and tried to rebeautify to see Ned, I HAD NO MAKEUP. The photo above is me using all of my secondary 1988 makeup that I had left over on my vanity. I actually had to GO OUT IN PUBLIC with uncurled eyelashes. I KNOW!
I got out the car and told Ned about my disaster, and he said, "You look even lovelier than the last time I saw you." In other news, they've dissected Ned and found he is made from pure 100% horse dung. He is, however, the nicest boy in the whole world, which I guess went without saying, knowing he went to the movies with Uncurled Lashes Girl.
Then today, I got to work and learned that we have A HUGE DEADLINE and all day it's been ohmygod work work work work and if this place were a song it'd be You'd Better Work.
This did not stop me from going to lunch with NotWes and The Poet. I want you to remember that NotWes, who I guess we're renaming The Naughty Professor, right? Didn't you guys like that idea? Whoever he is, dude owes me $2 for lunch and I want you to not forget it. Am going to mention the owing of the $2 until he crumbles like a money-owing house of cards. Which makes no sense but there it is.
Okay, so believe it or not I have to go and get TinaDoris' dog out of daycare for her, and take said dog back to TD's haunted house, where TD will be returning this evening from a vaca, then scream over to see Chris and Lilly and their new baby, and then work late tomorrow and WHO IS AT HER CRABBY BREAKING POINT? WHO IS GOING TO NEED SOME DO-NOTHING TIME SOON? WHO IS GONNA TAKE A NOTHING DAY AND SUDDENLY MAKE IT ALL SEEM WORTHWHILE? Hmmm?
Oy. June. Doing stuff.
P.S. Happy 13th birthday to Ned's kitty, who I assure you is doing nothing as we speak.
First of all, I want to say to the 12 to 15 people who know me in real life who contacted me to either express their concern or to just blatantly try to find out what was wrong with me the other day, thank you very much. I know that I could have called any one of you to discuss my plight if I had wanted to.
If I had wannnnnnnnnted toooooooooooooooo.
But again, thank you.
Speaking of plights, when I went to see my friend Charlie the other day, I was on the phone with my mother on the drive over. So yes, I was that asshole on her cell phone in the car. Up next, texting while I'm just as high as a kite. "I'm on my way to see Charlie," I told her. "Remember? My friend who got paralyzed?"
"Oh, I do remember him. Be sure to ask him how he's doing while you're there."
See. I don't guess it's easy to get out of the my-child-is-a-helpless-kitten mode, because she says stuff like that all the time. "Well, mom, I'd better hang up. I have to go to work."
"Did you remember to put on pants?"
So I got to Chas's apartment and knocked on the door. There he was, in his fancy chair, and he seemed a little tired. "How are you doing?" I asked, having remembered to wear pants. "Are you in pain?" Turns out, not only do you get to be paralyzed when you're paralyzed, you also get to feel pain.
"Yeah, I am," he said.
"Are you taking stuff for it?" Don't you hate people who do that? Oh, thanks, June! Wow! Maybe I could TAKE STUFF for this pain! Hadn't thought about it in the eight months I've had to sit here! Say, June, have you tried Excedrin Migraine?
"Yes, but I won't bore you with the details of my meds," said Charlie.
"Are you in a cranky mood?" I asked, because he seemed like he might be.
"No," he said, "but I COULD get cranky, because you just walked in and started asking all about my pain and misery and I'd rather have fun," he said.
"Oh, good gravy. Does everyone come in here and stampede to the topic of your ailments?" I asked.
Apparently they do. MOM.
Somehow it already got late and I have to go shower and then walk into work naked from the waist down like a Centaur. Ned might possibly Nedflix for us that horrific movie we saw yesterday, about the nuns and the devil and the Romania and even a moment of nun-on-girl action. So be sure to tune in for that, should it happen, because good? Good movie? Wow.
This picture of Ned with the wagon wheel naturally reminds me of When Harry Met Sally, and what doesn't? You're gonna go six rounds over this stupid wagon wheel Roy Rogers' garage sale boyfriend. Is that a wagon wheel or more a ship thingie?
Wheel. That's the technical phrase I was looking for. The wheel of a ship. I guess it is, because the spoke-y things go outside, and what kind of ludicrous wagon are you DRIVING? Crap. So forget it about my funny wagon wheel joke.
I guess technically centaurs are all-the-way naked, aren't they? Whatever.
June. Hoofing it.
Sometimes things happen in real life that I cannot blog about for whatever reason. This is one of those times. Usually, when something has happened and I cannot blog about it, I try to just write about something else, and it's always one of those terrible phony-ass <crickets> posts:
June: Blahhhh de blooo bloo blooo! Bloo de bleee! ...heh!
So I will not do that today, and instead say I feel sad and scared and terrible and insecure, although I know in my heart of hearts, my heart-of-skipping-a-beat hearts, that this too shall pass and I will not be this miserable soon.
Did I tell you that? That the other day my doctor said my heart was skipping beats? I had to reel from the fact that I still HAVE a heart and it's not some dried withered stomped-on Grinch-heart thing. Anyway he said it was from coffee but I say it's cause I was being felt up by a 71-year-old doctor. Oooo!
I do have SOME good news, though, even though in general I feel as though I am walking under a dark dark cloud of doom of darkness in the dark.
Yes, my hair IS straight. In my fit of feeling rotten yesterday I went out and got a blowout. Some people throw things when they feel bad, some beat their wives. I beat Edsel and headed to the beauty salon, which as usual I have pronounced "salouuuu" in my head like the guy in the Tres Semme commercial.
Ooo la la.
What a horrific tag line. "Ooo la la." Oh, shut up.
Anyway, the good news is I got the money from effing Poland, FINALLY, seven months later, and that is helpful, plus I got paid for some freelance work, which is good because I have done freelance work every night in April. So it's good to get the, you know, rewards.
Anyway. The other good news is, remember a few months ago when I went to my friend TinaDoris' house to sage it because she has a ghost? In case you just got here, my friend TinaDoris is, like, 12 and she and her husband bought a fabulous old house with secret rooms and window seats and they piss me off because how are 12-year-olds having this stuff? The part where they scrimped and did this thing called "save your money" and could someone Google that? is beside the point.
However, with the excellent old house with crystal doorknobs came a ghost. So TDoris and I went to the hippie store and got sage and set it on fire and waved the smoke all over her house while her husband rolled his eyes at us.
The GOOD news is, TD and I had lunch yesterday and I asked if she'd had any ghost run-ins since then. "Didn't I TELL you this?" she asked. Apparently the night we did the sage, after I left, she was at the sink and saw out of the corner of her eye a tall man walk through the kitchen. She felt him brush past her and he went out the back door.
She assumed it was her money-saving husband, natch.
But her husband was upstairs in the shower.
Here's TinaDoris on her way into our lunch yesterday. Where we ordered the same thing. And where with her youthful metabolism, it has flown off to wherever her ghost went and on me that same lunch has lingered around my hiptual area, where it will linger like a drunk guest on Thanksgiving.
Anyway after that she has had no hauntings. Now, however, she is on vaca and guess who has to go to her empty house today and has just scared the crap out herself?
Is it June, over here? Sad scared June, over here?
June, dark and out.
See? I knew hearing about everyone's sex life would be riveting.
How many of you felt bad because of it? Several people emailed me to say hearing about how often others are having sex made them feel bad. Some wondered if their significant other was happy, now, or is there something wrong with them and what a can of worms that opened.
Why do you think that is? Why did so many of us stampede to comparing and contrasting like that? Why do we make this particular topic so important?
June's blog, man. Where you come for the deep thoughts.
In the meantime, I just found out that they are moving where I sit at work and thank all that is holy. I've already told you I sit right near the door that no one can seem to manage. There's a three-digit code you have to push, and it's NOT LIKE THE CODE GETS CHANGED A LOT, yet all day long I have to hear: click, click, click FLOOMP. Click, click, click FLOOMP. NO ONE EVER GETS THE GODDAMN CODE RIGHT. EVVVVVERRRRRRRR.
Plus, I am not in a cubicle. It's bad enough to BE in a cubicle rather than an office, particularly when your WHOLE JOB is to READ SOMETHING extra super carefully and you have to hear the person in the next cube. "SO THEN WE WENT TO THE MALL? YOU KNOW? AND I TRIED ON THOSE NEW JEANS AND OHMYGOD I GOT BA-DONK-A-DONK BUTT NOW! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! I NEED A VACATION FROM MY VACATION! HAHAHAHAHAH!"
If there is anything I detest, it's people who say, "You back? How was it? Looks like you need a vacation from your vacation! HAHAHAH!"
Actually, the guy who sits next to me currently is very quiet and hard-working, and I enjoy sitting next to him quite a bit. Also, I cannot imagine him saying "ba-donk-a-donk" if you paid him. But you get my point. And I don't even have CUBICLE WALLS. I'm just OUT there, in the ROOM, exposed to EVERYONE, and even worse I'm near the copy machine.
No, I have never once said, "Makin' copieeeees."
And here is the thing. I don't know if it's cause I'm ME or if this would happen to anyone, but NO ONE, NOOOO ONNNNNNE can pass my desk without saying something to me. "Hey, June." "How's it going, June?" "ploink!" (some people, VILHELM OYSTER, knock stuff over on my desk to be hilarious) "knock knock" (SOME people just fucking knock on my desk as they pass).
YES, I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME. THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU HAVE TO ACKNOWLEDGE ME EVERY TIME.
Did I mention my job involves READING REALLY CAREFULLY all day? And you need, oh, CONCENTRATION? Oh, and also I have no overhead light and I am in a windowless room. I failed to mention that part. Did I mention the, you know, reading thing? And that a lot of it is legal-sized font?
So yeah. Been hating my desk for quite a while now. Am rejoicing at actual walls and a light. And distance from click, click, click FLUMP.
OH MY GOD IT'S THREE DIGITS. PUSH THEM IN! PUSSSSHHHH THEMMM INNNNNNN.
Sometimes I get cranky at work.
So I guess that's my biggest news. Oh, and my dishwasher is broken. It washes the dishes and they all smell like dead fish when they come out, which is just the scent I was hoping for. So I have to come back here at 10:00 and meet the repairman. Am looking forward to that whole rigmarole. Won't I be embarrassed if he actually pulls out a dead fish like cats find in alleys in the cartoons. Oooo, I kind of wish I HAD some kind of hilarious fish skeleton now, so I could put it in there and confuse the hell out of the repairman.
I always think of these things too late, just like how I always wish for a cobweb suit to put on when one friend of mine finishes her never-ending stories. "Oh, is that over already?" I could say, covered in cobwebs. Never remember till she's in the midst.
Okay, that's all. Take off your cobweb suit, there, Miss Funny. I'm done.
How come whenever my blog post is extra petty, something like this happens? Last time I was depressed and complaining about some stupid-ass thing, and that day there was a school shooting. Talk about putting things into perspective.
I said this to Ned last night on the phone. "I blogged about duckface today, and two hours later those awful bombs went off at the Boston marathon. I mean, how frivilous am I?"
"Well, to be fair, duckface is a huge problem facing our nation," Ned said. And there really is no denying that.
I just feel so terrible for everyone who was there yesterday. I keep thinking it wasn't an international act of terror, but rather some moron from here who is a giant nutbar. But today I see they are saying the bombs were sophisticated, whereas last night they said they weren't. So maybe it was some fancy we-hate-America person from a foreign land. I hate to name names till we know (Camilla Parker Bowles).
At any rate, that's all I have to say today. Am sad and hate violence. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'll still gladly slap you with my liver. But that's as far as I enjoy the violence.
I got up late today because there is no earthly reason Mad Men needs to end at 11:00 p.m., but it does, and all Mad Men season I am screwed up on Mondays. Last year when it was on I was laid off, which was super convenient.
So what I am saying to you is I did not blog this morning, in case you didn't notice, and I like how "blog" has become a verb, and pretty soon I'll be one of those people who says things like "impactful."
My point is, today I left a comment in my own comments in my own blog about myself, and asked, "What should I blog about when I go home for lunch today?" And while some of you had spectacularly unimpactful suggestions, I appreciate you reaching out to me and let's touch base on this later. I'd like to piggyback your ideas and really think outside of the box.
Okay, Ima kill myself if I do that one more minute.
Anyway, Faithful Reader Deb--I think it was Deb. I'd go look but I'd really like to hit the ground running on this--suggested I list the top 10 things that annoy me, and not only did I think that was actionable, I worried that I'd never be able to winnow it down to 10, and I'd really like to value-add this list.
Seriously. Slapping own self with own liver now.
So without further corporate speak or adieu, here are 10 Things That Bug Me in the Order I Think of Them.
So that was it. The first 10 things that irk me off the top of my not-at-all-cranky head. I didn't even MENTION Dick Whitman texting me, "Where are you?" when he knows perfectly well if I'm not there I'm IN THE CAR DRIVING ON THE FREEWAY to his city. Didn't even mention that. I said, "You know what irks me?" and you said, "No, what?"
Yesterday I was too sick with YET ANOTHER COLD to blog and then when I woke up this morning, after apparently keeping Ned awake with what he claims was snoring--and it's a shame what a compulsive liar Ned is--I received a GIANT MAGAZINE to proofread, which I agreed to do back in February and then promptly forgot I had to do.
So now I gotta proof this whole magazine over the weekend, and also blow my nose, go to lunch with Ned's sister and her family today (I've never met them) and attend a birthday bash tonight. In which I was volunteered to bring the cake. "You're making a CAKE, June?" Hey, I'm making the left turn to go pick it up in a few hours.*
What I'm saying to you is I got no time to blog. NO TIME! Yesterday at lunch I managed to upload the photos below, then I laid around the rest of lunch and thought about my cold. Since I have no time to tell you what is going on in these pictures, Ima just leave these up and you decide what I am trying to tell you.
I'm tryin' to tell you somethin' 'bout my life.
And despite quoting the Indigo Boys, as Ned calls them, I am NOT trying to tell you I'm a lesbian. Although I feel like a lesbian would be nicer about my snoring.
June, overwhelmed and out.
*(c) Marvin Gardens. It was one of his better lines.
My throat hurts. Honestly, is there EVER a day where there isn't something wrong with me? What gives? If I'm not bleeding out my ears and seeing funny colors with a migraine, I break my ankle in 15 places and have to have pins in it and possibly a new fake Heather McCartney leg put in. If THAT'S not happening, I get swords in my throat and will never sing opera again.
I will also never sing Oprah again. Sometimes I just like to go around bellowing, "OPRAHHHHHHH!" in a warbly soprano voice.
No, I DIDN'T take hallucinogens today. What do you mean?
At any rate, I'm bugged. And Ned's throat doesn't hurt, which makes me think I have allergies, because if I'M getting a cold, you'd think Ned would be too, since we spent every second together all weekend, most of it making out.
She goes all the way over to the gay guy's place, and she can't go any further because there's a door there. God help that cat if anyone ever came through that door while she's being Adventure Kitty. She'd jump out her fur. Also, note how the gay guy has plants and birds and rocks and things outside his door, making it all welcome-y and pretty. Ned has precisely nothing outside his door. Except a big "Welcome, Ladieeeeees!" sign with that naked woman silhouette that truckers have on their mud flaps.
She's finally returning from her daring exploration, here, and Ned is three seconds from having to explain why there's no fatted calf. I resented the part where NedKitty looked at me a little hungrily.
I like how inexplicably Ned's cat has to have a blog name instead of just her real name. Have no idea how I started doing that, but now it's a thing.
I can't remember what I really came on here to blog about. Whatever it was, I'm sure it mattered in the grand scheme of things. I guess I'm delirious from this horrific sore throat. Didn't I just get OVER a cold? Maybe I never mentioned it, last time I had a cold. It wouldn't be like me to mention it when I'm under the weather. I generally suffer in silence.
That pretty much sums up my life as it stands currently, although I am spending an inordinate amount of time wondering if I have any sinkholes, because ugh. I mean, that's just not fair. All you're doing is lying in your BED and you get sucked into the earth. Which is what's going to happen to me anyway if my throat doesn't recover. You'll all be, Gee, we just thought she was being annoying on her blog. Who knew this sore throat would actually kill her? Who'll be sorry then? You. You will.
June, out. And P.S., as it stands currently, I'm still going to be performing at my concert/yodel marathon this weekend. So don't look for a refund on your tickets yet.
The first person to leave a "What concert?!" comment gets stuck in a kissing booth with me for the next 10 minutes.
My workday looks insane, y'all. And at lunch I have to run to Winston, because my friend Charlie, the one who broke his neck? Is in the hospital with some infections and stuff. Then after work I have dinner plans, so ACK.
What I'm saying is no time to post today.
Here. Enjoy this vintage shot of Talu when she had a Henry.