Bye Bye, Pie!

Come on, Precious

I forgot to tell you that when I ran into that little kid the other night from the neighborhood, the kid who used to own Snowflake before his untimely postman-eating demise, she had a question for me.

"Do you have a lot of markers in your house?"

I mean, it was in the context of precisely nothing. We'd all said hi to each other, she'd asked if Edsel was still shy (well, let's see. The part where he's wrapped his leash around me 50 times and is behind me, trying to crawl up inside me, might tip you off, but whatever. Bright child.) and then she came out with that query.

In some countries, that is the traditional greeting. ¡Hola! How's it going on your number of markers?

"You know, I don't," I told her. "I don't think I have any. I don't have kids, so markers never really come up."

I may have alluded once or twice to the lack of brightness of these ragamuffins in my neighborhood, and I could see those wheels trying to churn.

"You don't? You don't have kids?"

"Nope."

She looked completely taken aback. "Well, when are you going to have any?"

Am seriously wondering if my mother hired her.

Anyway, hiiiii! How is everyone? It's the holiday weekend, so no one is going to read me at all, ever. You'll all be busy with the grilling and the eating of baked beans and the getting out your white shoes. Truth be told, I've been wearing white pants for a couple weeks, and I've been rocking them, too. All this in white pants, man. Woooo!

I've been working out 45 minutes, five times a week, due to this stupid challenge I'm in at work (my team is in second place) (have hired someone to bang Team #1 right in the knees, though), and yesterday I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror--

--I like that. "Caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror." Like I'm not Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs in that mirror all day. Anyway, I saw myself and man! I looked good! See? Am back to being Buffalo Bill again.

Come on, Precious!

Should I get that poor kid a pack of markers? Or will her negligent parents think I'm a molester?

But none of this is why I forced you to log on here today. I brought you here because Ned has Nedflixed the terrible movie we saw last Sunday, and man, was it terrible. It was my fault, too: I picked it.

 

Long ago, I dated someone who said I always wanted to see any movie that showed someone standing in a field. It was really one of the more astute observations anyone's ever made of me. And sure enough. Oh, field! I pick this one!

As soon as it was over, there was an old lady behind us, who said, "Jesus." Completely exasperated. We loved her. Anyway, here is Nedflix.

To the Wonder

The name of Jesus Christ, delivered derisively from one of our fellow moviegoers in the back of the theater, was the first feedback June and I received upon the conclusion of To the Wonder, the new film by Terrence Malick. Malick is the director of such obtuse head scratchers as The Tree of Life and The Thin Red Line, and To the Wonder doesn’t disappoint in that arena. What it does disappoint in, however, is everything else.

To the Wonder stars Ben Affleck and Olga Kurylrnko as Neil and Marina, two young lovers with nothing better to do. Having met and fallen in love in Mont Saint-Michel, they return to Oklahoma to set up house. Life is pretty good when you’re hanging out in Mont Saint-Michel, falling in love and gazing off meaningfully with your own inner dialogue playing in your head. That shit gets old pretty fast in Oklahoma though, and Neil and Marina run into problems once reality sets in.

Rachel McAdams and Javier Bardem make inexplicable appearances in the movie, neither much affecting the lives of the main characters at all. Bardem’s role is not a small one, yet we see him with Marina only once or twice, and never do we hear his take on her situation. His role seems to be a parallel one with its own issues and crisis, but not one that makes much comment on the movie’s main theme. McAdams’ character has the good sense to walk away early.

Most of the dialogue in To the Wonder, as with many of Malick’s films, is delivered in whispered voiceover narration. While this device does significantly reduce having to listen to Ben Affleck flap his yapper, it gets old pretty fast as well. I don’t intrinsically dislike Malick’s films. They are always well shot, and I believe he has something to say. What he does say he delivers with subtlety and without clobbering his viewer over the head. Sometimes, though, you wish he’d just say it.

I can't even

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

(c) Daniel Boone Photography

Blinded by the light

Dude. We totally see you.

I have a busy day of freelance to catch up on, and guess who is a barrel of laughs? Is it devil-may-care June, over here? After next weekend I'll be done with all this freelance work, and then I officially become a full-time employee at my job on May 1, two years to the day I was hired there in the first place.

I kind of feel like two years ago was the beginning of the story: I was jobless, newly separated, that sort of thing. And now it's been two years and I'm all happy and in love in that gross way that makes you want to slap me, and working so I won't be destitute and having to ask y'all how to buy poor-person groceries, and it's kind of like, yay. I got through all that and came out the other side.

So it's a worky no-fun day, but that's okay. I have a fun life.

I hope you do, too.

June. Halle Berry. Is there a dif?

Last night, Ned and I got up with Dick Whitman. I mean, what better way to celebrate our sort-of-year anniversary than to hang out with someone I used to date? Okay, but (a) TODAY is our sort-of anniversary, and plus also I dated D Whitman for 45 minutes, so it doesn't count. We never even did The Deed. Hi, Dick Whitman's mom. Sorry I did not do The Deed with your son.

It was a run-aroundy kind of a day yesterday, starting with the part where I overslept as usual, and the part where TWO WEEKS OF MIGRAINES makes you a bit logy, so I went in to work with damp hair and no makeup and basically looking like Halle Berry in Do The Right Thing where she's a crack addict. Yes, I totally compared myself to Halle Berry, which I know you've been waiting for for quite some time. I realize she and I have oodles in common and share many similar features.

I was kind of hoping for a quiet day at work yesterday but NO. NOOO! I was constantly proofreading something or fact-checking something and it totally interfered with my wanting to blog and also bother Ned at work. "What're you doing?" "What're you doing now?" "Do you love me?" "How 'bout now, do you love me more than you did a moment ago?" I was unable to do ANY of that, which truly rankled.

Oh, and in case you aren't a careful reader, the reason it's our sort-of anniversary is today is the one-year mark of when I got Ned on eBay or wherever I found him online. And he wrote me back that day, and after that one exchange I knew I was definitely interested. By, say, day four, I was a goner. But we didn't have a DATE and meet in PERSON till January 19, due to Ned playing it cool and also to me vomiting repeatedly in January. On January 19 of this year, if we still like each other by then, we are going back to the locale of our first date and reliving the whole thing and then hugging in the parking lot and going home like we did last year. Fun.

But I digress. Hope you were sitting down, but I did digress, there. My POINT is, it was a run-aroundy kind of a day, and Dick Whitman wanted to see a movie, and here's the other thing about Whitman. He always wants to eat or get drinks first and make an evening out of it and basically he is a pain in my ass. So I told him we thought we could both get out of work, go home and care for our pets, then stampede to the car and get to Winston-Salem by 6:30-ish. However, at 5:54, Ned called me.

"I'm still at work," he said, sounding stressy. So what ended up happening is I screamed over to Ned's and he got out of his car and into mine and didn't even check on his poor cat, who let's face it was probably fine but still, and we stampeded to Winston-Salem. We had dinner, because have I mentioned DW likes to make an evening out of everything, and then it was too late to see our movie. So after driving hither and yon in Winston, we finally found the movie Django, the new Quentin Tarrantino film. Lots of naked men of color, which is normally a thing I like, but they are slaves so it's never hot.

Which sucks. I remember my grandmother had a copy of the hard-hitting novel Mandingo in her bathroom, and I think HE was a slave and THAT managed to be hot, but old Quentin did not throw us a bone. Any time you saw a naked muscular man of color in THIS film, he was being tormented in some way.

Say, did I tell you guys about The Waiter? OHMYGOD! Did I not?

There's this restaurant in, again, Winston-Salem, and you've never met two people who spend more effing time in a city they don't live in than we do, and THREE DIFFERENT TIMES we tried to go to this particular restaurant, cause it looked like it'd be good, and whenever we went it was closed. I had a mind to send them a terse letter, but last time I did that was in Mt. Airy, when I sent a terse email and later that day the owner of the restaurant I sent the email to fell over dead, and I am really tired of killing people softly that way.

At any rate, when Ned and I drove to Michigan for THANKSgiving, we got all the way to Winston-Salem, 35 minutes away, before we had to stop for lunch. And that restaurant we've been eyeing was FINALLY, FINALLY open.

Our waitress had come and gone and we were in the middle of eating when this

GOD,

this black, muscular, bald, clean-cut GOD, poured water for us. I looked up to thank him and my eyes came out on coils. I had a-oooga steam out my ears. My tongue unfurled fifty feet out my mouth. I was like Pepe Le Pew all of a sudden.

Oh good GRAVY, you have no idea how hot he was. And I guess I was, you know, pretty subtle, cause Ned was all, "You gonna be okay?"

Geez.

Awhile later, I tried to surreptitiously look for him again, but ONCE AGAIN Ned caught me. "He's behind the bar," he said. I mean, look. It's not like I never catch NED looking at YOUNG GIRLS, but still. I was hoping I was being more, you know, CLANDESTINE than I was. The best part was after I spotted the guy behind the bar, our waitress said, "Do you need anything?"

Well. Yes. That man servicing me on a regular basis. Also, could I get ketchup?

How did I get off on this tangent? Oh, Django. Yeah. Not the same.

Oh, crap. I have to end this abruptly, which I'm sure you're sad about because I've covered the important topics of our day. Peg my neighbor is in the damn hospital--she's had terrible health issues--and she needs me to come pick her up. She was discharged and they didn't TELL her they were gonna do so. So I'm off to get Peg.

You think she'd want to swing over to Winston-Salem for lunch?

Poison, snow leopards, my vascular system and Nutrish

Honestly, who is sick and tired of her own head? I have had a migraine on and off since DECEMBER 23, and am officially cranky now. I'm writing this at 10:30 at night on Wednesday--although are you all thrown off about what day it really is? Cause it feels like Monday, but whatever. In two days I get to wear casual Friday clothes and that is enough for me.

My point is, it's 10:30 at night and I am cranky and have had a headache for 10 days and I didn't even blog today till just now and that about sums me up currently.

I just said goodbye to Ned, who came over to bring me dog food, not that I am eating dog food. I mean, things are bad but they aren't THAT bad. No, I was on the phone with Ned tonight and mentioned I had to go to the store because I was nearly out of food for old Ethel and Lalullah, there, and he said, "You are sick. You aren't going anywhere. I'll get the food and bring it right over." And then he called me from the grocery store, completely overwhelmed by the 3949594 kinds of kibble out there.

"I don't see the brand you told me to get. Let's see, there's Iams, there's Beneful, there's Rachel Ray Nutrish--" Ned stopped. "Rachel Ray Nutrish. Oh, brother." Ned's "Oh, brother" is my version of "fucking fuck." Which I believe is the interjection I used the first time I saw Nutrish. Anyway, eventually he found the dogs' Purina One, and if anyone emails me to say it's poison for dogs, I will personally place my migrainey vascular system straight into your head.

Do you know I have probably gotten 100 emails through the years? "Joooon, I see you gave your dogs avocado. It's POISON to dogs!"

"Joooooon! Don't feed those dogs any more grapes! They're POISON I tell ya, they're POISON!"

"You can slap me with your liver, June, but I saw you fed the dogs concrete and nails. That is pure poison to dogs, Jooon."

And yet? Here these idiots still are. While Ned was here, Edsel ate an entire plastic chew toy. "He's swallowing that." "I know. He always does."

I know. You all can't WAIT till one of these dogs falls over dead so you can say JOOOOON! We TOLD you sooooooooo!

I like how when y'all are nagging me my name becomes Joooooon.

Anyway I am digressing, for a change, and what I WANTED to do was show you how pretty I looked when Ned came over.

Mmmm! Break me off a piece of that. I'm ILL, dudes. Ill. I be illin'. I never understood what "illin' " meant, did you? I knew it didn't literally mean one felt ill. Anyone? Anyone cool? Anyone who was cool in 1987?

Also, won't you enjoy my snow leopard pajamas? I brought sexy back tonight, is what I did. But let's pause and consider what an excellent boyfriend Ned is. I mean, that was really nice. He lives nowhere NEAR the grocery store, by the way, and I live three blocks from it. How did I score Ned? I guess when you look like this...

Before I go, I wanted to show you something cute. I mean, cuter than me in those leopard pajamas. The other night, I went to TinaDoris' haus to make bacon bourbon chocolate chip cookies for our boss.

Here's TD reviewing the recipe. And by the way, she and her husband just bought a cool old house and I kind of hate them.

Here's the built-in bar in the dining room. Have I mentioned I kind of abhor them?

Anyway, there we were, mixing and measuring (actually, TinaDoris had measured the ingredients and had them ready when I got there, as though we were cooking on a TV show)

and while we enjoyed our own selves, her dog Penny sat around, hoping we'd drop, oh, a side of bacon or whatever.

pennee not pikkee. you also drop choklit chip and she be fine.

JOOOON! Chocolate is--

Oh, shut up.

Anyway, what I wanted to show you was this:

Here's TinaDoris' husband with Penny the other night. I don't know if you remember this, because maybe you were living your life or whatever, but the day TinaDoris GOT Penny, she took her directly to my house, at my insistence, and TD's husband came over, too, and I was there the moment he met his new dog.

Which, here. ARE YOU DYING? How cute is that?

June. Discovering that baby things grow, since 2013.

Ima go now, but here's a picture of someone climbing on the bar on New Year's. She was one of the impossibly attractive crowd there that night.

And here's someone who may not have been all that pretty by night's end. She was, however, wearing sparkly shorts that were to die for.

Okay, that's all. Talk at you. MY HEAD and I will talk at you.

Throbbingly,

June

Gale and Dale

Did you enjoy the part where I posted at lunch? I got home and had 29494593959 new Christmas cards, but NO REASSURING LETTER from the mammogram place. Yes, they've told me everything's fine, but if they can't get a LETTER IN THE MAIL, how do I know they're reading my slides well?

I called and their records showed they sent the letter December 6. WELL, THEY DIDN'T! So they're sending another.

Then I had to deal with the part where I bounced a check to Time Warner Cable. Dear Time Warner Cable, I got two words for you and they ain't "let's dance." With your effing $50 "returned check fee." Oh, eff off.

The point is, this all resulted in lunch being over before you knew it, and how relaxing. Fortunately, The Poet at work sent me this and now Ima share it with you. You're welcome.

 

In which all four pets are shown. You're welcome.

I thought I'd tell you about my day yesterday, as supposedly that's what this blog is about and I really don't often just recap a day. Mostly because that sounds boring. As opposed to The Riveting that is this blog.

I hadn't had time to get the dogs at daycare on Sunday because they close at 5:00, which, hello dog daycare. Could you STAY OPEN on Sunday so people GETTING IN don't have to rush? God. What about my needs?

Anyway I woke up with Lily on me, as she often is, but I really expected to find Iris taking advantage of the No Dog Moment--and apparently I am way into capital letters for emphasis today, and Yay. But there was no Iris, I was Iris-Free, and it turns out she was stuck in the computer room all night. Poor blindy Iris.

it be suk, mom.

This happens to her a LOT. Fortunately a litterbox is in there, but I really don't get how that door closes. It occurs to me that Lily might close it and walk away giggling.

Anyway I stampeded to work and as soon as I got there I realized I had my underwear in my purse. We'd been leaving the hotel on Sunday, see, and I saw it lying there at the last minute after I was packed and out the door. So I just crammed it in my purse and go, me. Naturally I don't discover it till I'm AT WORK.

I work not in a cubicle but just in this big open room with some art people and some other editor types. So when I ONCE AGAIN forgot I had underwear in my purse and I pulled them out to blow my nose on them, you can imagine my joy. Do you remember when the same thing happened to Grace Kelly in--yeah, no. That never happened to Grace Kelly anywhere.

I got that sore-shoulder thing from working so intently, and finally at lunch I got the dogs, who were not berserk at all about seeing me. Edsel wept and prayed and even stoic Talu was awfully tail flappy. As usual, they acted the fools till daycare was out of sight, then they both went, "Hphpmmmmmmmmmm" and fell asleep in the car. They've basically been asleep ever since and man is that lovely. I wish I always had quiet exhausted dogs.

Maybe I should be one of those people who gets up at 5:00 and takes them for a big run in the park. Oh, and also, did you see the wild monkeys flying out my ass? Also, did you see where 1990 called and wants it joke back?

At any rate, the good news is I got two checks yesterday from two places I've been freelancing, so with my rich self I went to the grocery store after work to deposit my cash. Not that I deposit them in the canned goods or anything. "I go to the store and shove my checks in the meat and I never seem to have any money." There is a BANK there, see, with a really lovely funny gay man who is my teller every time, and I went there. Is the thing.

After I was done I moseyed to the salad bar to make dinner, and sadly that is as hard as I ever make dinner, when I heard, "Hey!"

It was Ned! I guess I should have known, anywhere a salad goes, Ned follows.

"HEYYY!" I screeched, and leaped across the salad bar to kiss him.

"I'm sick," he said. Which, you know, there's my luck. I use a javelin to sproing across something in order to stick my tongue down someone's throat, and it turns out they have Lasa Fever.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked nervously, headed for the iodine like Lucy. Turns out he's getting a cold, which you KNOW I'll get, because I just spent every second of the last five days with Ned. I dragged him over to the saline and made him buy some, because more than once I thought a cold was imminent and once I shot the saline up my nose parts I felt infinitely better.

Ned, too, was (sit down) making a salad, but he also got the "free sample" cups down and got us both soup. "I do this every day," he said, eating chicken and dumplings from a teensy spoon. "You aren't supposed to do that," I said, getting all Gallant-y.

"Why not? It's a sample." He headed off for free samples of brown pretentious bread.

If you have a Harris Teeter near you and you wonder why it's so costly, look no further than Free Sample Ned, over here.

As we headed home he said he'd call later and I never heard from him. He has never said he'd call and then didn't, so now I worry he's delirious with fever or something. Further reports as developments warrant.

When I got home I did my Tracy Anderson workout for the first time in over a month, and I'm annoyed to report my heel hurts today. GodDAMMIT. I also unpacked, put away laundry, swept the floors and FINISHED MY POLISH WORK that I've been doing.

Which, yay.

Finally I made popcorn and read a book.
Except you know what? I was done sooner than I thought.

Talu was so exhausted she didn't even CARE about popcorn. Dear Dog Daycare, Thank you for making my dogs entirely different people. Love, June.

I took a picture of Lily sitting on my shoulder like a parrot, too. We were doing this on the planet Mercury, which is why it was so bright.

I guess that's all I have for you. Got your Thanksgiving photos. Now I have to worry about getting them on here and the inevitable person I will forget and the eventual frowny-face emoticon.

Will let you know if Ned survived the night as soon as I hear from him. Will let you know when I get sick, as well. In fact, if I do get sick, I can pretty much guarantee you will hear little else.

Nasally, June

Party in my pans

This is the first chance I've had to talk to you all weekend, as I have been work work working, then Ned-ing. When he came to get me at NINE-THIRTY last night, because I wasn't done slaving till then, I was huge-haired and in a robe.

"I'm readier than I look. Want some wine while you wait?" I stomped off irritatedly, closing the electronic version of that statistics book on my computer.

"...Yes," said Ned, looking distinctly horrified. I'm unsure if he's seen Work Hair till now. I must touch it or twist it nervously or something because if I am harried (bah!), the hair gets even larger than normal. On a really bad work day, I can look like I touched one of those balls at the science museum.

Anyway, lemme catch you up on my weekend. Because what's more interesting than that??

On Thursday morning, which technically is not remotely the weekend, although you'd never know that at Party Central over here in my pants. Did you ever have some idiot guy say that to you in high school? "Hey, Dave, do you know where any parties are this weekend?" "There's a party in my pants! Everyone's comin'! Heh."

Please tell me guys said this to you and I am not the only person to garner comments like that. Tell me I am not the Party in My Pants Muse. Thank you.

MY POINT IS, and you'd better cancel your plans if I'm this far into my post and we haven't even gotten past THURSDAY MORNING yet, I took my car to get it fixed, finally. The tires have been bald for quite some time. I have Uncle Fester tires. As I drove to the fix-it place^®, I drove through a school zone, and I had JUST FORMED THE THOUGHT, "I'd better slow down" when the effing effing effing blue lights came up behind me.

Is there a more disturbing feeling? Especially with that party going on in my pants. I knew I was doomed.

And here's what I have to say. Kids need to learn to SPEED UP and NOT GET HIT. This us-slowing-down thing mollycoddles them. Plus, I was only going 41 in a 25, which, come on. Forty-one would not maim anyone that bad.

When I got to work, I told this story to anyone who'd listen and several people who'd have rather not. As Ned would say, I totally had on my "Ask Me About My Ticket" t-shirt. "I used to be cute enough to get OUT of tickets," I said 900 times.

And do you know no one. Not one person. Said, "You're still cute enough to get out of a ticket." I'd say that line, and crickets. Finally I told the story to Ned and he said, "You're still cute enough to get out of a ticket" but really, he kind of has to say that. It's in the Boyfriend Guide to Not Summoning Attitude June.

The good news is, everyone helped with giving me rides to and from work, and driving me to lunch and basically catering to me like I'm Miss Piggy or something. Jane West got me Friday morning and had coffee and sweet rolls in her car, for god's sake. Also, Jane West has seat warmers, and let me tell you what. That there is a lovely sensation, the seat warmer. I mean, that seat had its work cut out for it, what with my can't-work-out girth.

On Friday, if I'd gotten enough work done, I was gonna go to drag queen bingo with Ned. I'd say "emphasis on drag," but really he seemed to think that'd be sort of fun. I like how Ned is all manly with his sports and math-y brain but then he's down with the queens.

However, we did not go to drag queen bingo. Because Ned was drunk. You know how it is. Six p.m. and you often find yourself three sheets. It's inevitable, really.

The thing is, Ned had been at a funeral. A guy he went to college with? That guy's wife died. Forty-six years old. Son of a BITCH life is unfair sometimes. So Ned attended the funeral and ended up seeing a whole bunch of people he hadn't seen since college, in aught nine or whenever he graduated.

See. That joke would have been funny had aught nine not been three years ago. I was kind of trying to pretend he graduated in 1909, see, is the thing. And, oh forget it.

MY POINT IS, I was still at work and my cell rang. "WHERE ARE YOU?" said Ned, a trifle enthusiastically. "I JUST SAW A BUNCH OF PEOPLE, AND IT WAS REALLY GOOD TO SEE THEM, AND I'M NOT GONNA LIE. WE WENT RIGHT FROM THE CHURCH TO A BAR. OH, IT WAS GOOD TO SEE EVERYONE." Seriously, I didn't even need my phone. I could've just turned toward his apartment, if I knew directions, and I could have heard him through the wind.

I mean. I've seen Ned have him the fancy beer or the red wine, and every once in awhile he'll say, "I'd better not have another, or you'll have me on your hands." I really never knew what he meant. Till, you know, now.

The funeral had been really sad, of course (Ned stood in line to see his friend, whose wife had just died, and he heard himself say, "Hey! How's it going!" when he got up there. He said in his mind he was all, YOU ASSHOLE. WHY DID YOU SAY THAT?, but you know. These things can be awkward) then seeing everyone was kind of bittersweet and I'm just saying to you. Had some cute drunk emo Ned on my hands.

The first thing I did was get him some food, and then it was too late for drag queen bingo, so because he was still toasty, I did the next indicated step.

I took him to the Twilight movie.

Am I absolutely the worst human ever? He was all drunk, "Yeah! I'll go!" and I think the drugs wore off somewhere around the first time we saw Dakota Fanning holding her eyes wide open, which seems to be her one acting technique in that movie. "You want me to fill you in on what's happened up till this movie?" I asked Ned, who seemed a little stunned. "No. Not at all," he said. I have asked Ned to write a guest post reviewing the fine film, and I expect we may read the F word a lot.

Look, I know. It was a cruel trick. But I got my movie in, and I never, ever have to acknowledge Twilight again or my embarrassing interest in it. Unless they come out with another book.

Yesterday I took a break from WORKING ALL DAY ALL THE TIME to see Violet. The firemen had said I could visit any time, and I finally got the nerve to do it. Because my fear was I'd get there and be all GIVE HER BACK TO ME!!!

I brought her this toy, which she seemed to enjoy quite a bit, then we went inside and she had 49595949393 other toys. "People just leave stuff on the doorknob for her. Toys, food--we got enough food to last all year," said Cute Fireman #1.

She really did look about twice the size she was when I took her there, although I don't know that one can tell from my fine photography. And man, does she look more like a Beagle now.

She kind of knows how to sit (i.e., she sits when she feels like it), but they taught her to speak before she gets a treat, and when she was bouncing OFF THE WALLS HELLO BORDER COLLIE, they said, "Do you want a time out?" which means she has to go to the kitchen by herslf, and boy, she understood that. vyelitt sit now and be gud. even tho her nayme not viylett stoopit assmuncher juune.

Can you call a girl "assmuncher"? Is it really more an insult aimed at men? Violet is young. She'll learn.

Nine thousand toys and her favorite seems to be an empty water bottle.

She's going to be in the Christmas parade December 6, and Ned and I are going. Ned was supposed to come with me to see Violet, but he woke up feeling...tired. He apologized after for standing me up, and I said, "I was really okay being alone with a roomful of firemen" and he said it had occurred to him I might be okay with that.

But really I only had eyes for Violet. Not literally. I didn't bring her anyone's eyeballs, as that would be wierd.

Today I am (wait for it) working, but later now-sober Ned and I are going to a movie that sounds disturbing and weird. So all is right with the world. Tune in tomorrow and I might tell you about the party in my pans.

Pans! I meant to say "pants" but just cracked self up. Yep. Everything IS right with the world.

Freshy prepared royal crown

Did you see they have pictures of poor Kate Middleton topless? Naturally I stampeded right over to them. Because I love her and I admire her, but if there's a chance I can see her beefeaters I am going to do so.

I realize this makes me a terrible person. Surprise!

Anyway she is very skinny. Very. That's all I have to say about that. God save those queens. Maybe pregnancy will be her friend, put the crown on those jewels, as it were.

Ned, who LOVES Kate Middleton, LOVES, is going to be disappointed, I think. She def. looks better with the clothes on. I mean, she looks GREAT with the clothes on. I did point out to him that as disappointing as Kate Middleton's middletons might be, just the fact that this was there for his perusal might mean this is going to be his best day ever.

Ned said he already knew it was gonna be his best day ever because he is going to see me tonight. Ned is a suckup. He said this as he stormed over for photos of Kate Middleton's royal twins.

How many stupid royal family breast euphemisms am I going to throw into this post? Oh, and I should mention, the photo of her buttockals, her throne, as it were, is fabulous. I guess Prince William is more of an ass man.

Kind of like his dad. BAH! Poor Queen Charles.

I have to tell  you, in all my days, I have never sunbathed topless. Why does it come up for every famous person on the planet? I mean, I know. Kate is European. Those people can't keep their clothes on. Thank god we're uptight Puritans who bathe in our turtlenecks. Did you ever see Jude Law changing out of his swim trunks in France?

Talk about disappointing.

That was a short story.

If you catch my drift.

If you're picking up the very tiny royal staff I am throwing down.

So that's my celebrity gossip for today, although I did manage to carve a few minutes out of my pressing schedule to watch a tape of Dina Lohan acting all drunk on Dr. Phil. That whole family sucks ass.

When did I become Perez Hilton?

Anyway, that's pretty much all I have to tell you today. I have to go to the grocery store now, because so far this week I have either lived off that healthy vending machine at work, and who doesn't enjoy spending $4 at the vending machine, or I have gone to Hardees, which I don't even like.

I like how I have the nerve to copy edit the box, while eating the absolutely horrific-for-me stuff inside.

And yes. If it ends in "ly," it doesn't need a hyphen. Even if it is modifying a noun. Which in this case it isn't even doing. Also, do you really believe in your heart of hearts that my chicken tenders were freshly prepared? Like, was that chicken running around free behind the Hardees just yesterday morning? Because I cannot quite accept that.

On that note, I am off. To get things at the store. Maybe I should get things on Sunday and just buy something to eat for lunch today. That makes more sense, right? Because everything will go bad by Monday. I'm glad we had this talk.

Tell me everything you are doing this weekend. Every stupid detail. I mean, other than looking at Kate Middleton's Windsor Castles, over there.

Good lord. Someone stop me.

In which the word pee-hole is used.

Before I forget, ridiculous book club is tonight! I mean, I already HAD forgotten and some organized person in the comments mentioned it and I was all, oh crap.

Anyway, bring your deep thoughts on The Thorn Birds back here at 7:00 p.m. Eastern Time. Wear your ashes of roses finest. I would like to once again point out we had ALL SUMMER to read this book, this deep deep book, so what's YOUR excuse, bub?

In other news, I talked to my friend Charlie, the one who slipped on a goddamn log and broke his neck last month. He gets out of the hospital this coming Wednesday and will continue physical therapy. I am not clear on what he's able to move or not, and it seems somehow tawdry to talk about specifics anyway. I mean, if I had broken my neck and had paralysis, would I want everyone yammering on about the particulars? I don't think I would. I haven't asked him how he feels about it, I just kind of tried to put myself in his place and I think it'd feel like, I don't know, morbid curiosity or something.

You know?

But what does matter is he is still in excellent spirits, and every time I even THINK about complaining about my stupid foot I say: You know, asshole, Charlie is in good spirits and he'd be DELIGHTED to be limping around on a sore heel. So why don't you very kindly go fuck yourself, you whining pee-hole.

Maybe my self-talk needs some work.

Speaking of talk, Ned lives high up, and yet when people downtown are drunkenly parading down his street, we can totally hear them. Sometimes people walk by too fast and I'm all, I wanted to hear the rest of what they had to say!

Anyway, today we were talking about how men talk to each other, and the things they do talk about and the things they don't, and Ned was saying he recently got together with an old friend and they talked at length about the bitches they were dating.

"I didn't think men even discussed their relationships," I said. "Sure they do..." Ned began, and right then someone stampeded past his house, on his phone.

"You show them bitches more love than they show you? Them bitches take advantage," said old Confucius or whoever it was out there. Spreading his wisdom. In his ungrammatical way, he was right, of course.

"See?" said Ned, proving his point like he'd hired the guy.

In other news, we went to see The Big Lebowski with Dick Whitman and his girlfriend, who did not officially give me permission to splay her on my blog so I won't.

See. Now I feel bad. I have Whitman with his bitches except I cut her out. I really like her. I feel awful.

Anyway, they were showing the movie at that old theater we like, and they served white Russians, which is only funny if you know from the movie. Oh, and happy birthday, Sue. Whoever the eff you are. Whoever the eff that bitch is. I need to get over calling women "bitches." That guy was just such an influence.

DW did his thing where he ate three peanut M&Ms and was gonna toss the rest before I once again rescued them.

Oh this is good! Here is the back of The Girlfriend's head and me being earnest. You know how I am. Anyway, she can't get mad I showed this, right? DW got up and took this. Because he needs to capture everything on film.

Including whatever the Sam Holy Hill I was talking about here. Do we really want to know? Do we?

Yesterday, Ned and I went to see that new Michelle Williams movie, where she's married to Seth Rogan, which, what are the chances of that, ever, in real life? Anyway it was a really good and also depressing movie, which means Ned adored it. There was plenty of naked Michelle Williams, which means Ned adored it. There was also naked Sarah Silverman, and don't nobody never need to see any of that mess.

First of all, for some reason Sarah Silverman bugs the carp out of me. I am unsure why. I think maybe it seems like she thinks she's the funniest person ever and she really isn't. No, I DON'T see any similarities, so why don't you very kindly go shut up and stop talking about your heel?

Anyway, it turns out she has kind of a disproportionate body, as well. And that is not good to see on the silverman screen, up yonder.

I know you are all obsessed with the Edsel story, but now I have spent forever trying to upload these pictures, which for some reason gave me trouble because DW emailed them to me and it was a whole thing. Anyway, he comes back in the end, Edsel does, but I will still tell the story maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. What're you gonna do?

Them bitches take advantage.