Faithful Reader Paula sent me some lipstick to play with, because she knows me too well even though in fact she does not know me at all.
There is no quicker way to my loins than to send me makeup. And we all know that was her goal: to get to my loins. I of course TORE the box open and realized some of these colors may not be working for me.
And thanks, Paula!!
It's sad when you have to justify living your life instead of blogging about your life. Nevertheless, here's what I've been up to:
Ned-ing. Not only did we have a fabulous time watching Gone With the Wind, and when I say "we," I mean me and the other women in the theater. Anyway, not only did we do that, but Ned and I also went out for the salmon salad he likes to get on Wednesdays. Ned is what you'd call a creature of habit, and also Ned is what you'd call good at finding salads. The waiter said, "You know this menu by heart, but here." Sadly for the waiter, who probably had other things to do, we already knew what we wanted. Two salmon salads, please.
Also, I can't remember what it was Ned was feeding me, but he said, "When we get to my house, I want you to try [insert some new thing here] and see how you like it." "I wish I had the ability to just projectile vomit on command," I said, continuing my deep love affair with my own self. "You'd be all, 'How do you like this?' and I could just, blarghhhh, barf across the room."
"Yeah. Vomiting voluntarily for any reason," said Ned, "is just a thing you will never be able to do."
"Well. That or math," I said.
Being exercise-y. As I've told you, I joined this ludicrous challenge at work, where I've committed to 45 minutes of activity five times a week. NO ONE MENTIONED THAT THIS WOULD BE TIME-CONSUMING. Geez. Nevertheless, I started Sunday and so far have done 45 minutes of stupid stupid exercise three times this week. I will do it again tonight, and I hate everything and had better look like I have RICKETS when this challenge is done. Which by the way, I have no idea how long of a challenge I have committed to. I just signed up like when Marcia joins every club in school.
Having pertinent conversations. My mother and I were on the phone and got into a discussion about people who we knew were good-looking, but who just weren't our type. Like Ryan Reynolds. I know the world finds him handsome, but to me he kind of looks like some guy from my hometown who'd say "should've went." Anyway, who do you think is inarguably good-looking but not your type?
Getting Rick-Rolled. I was at the grocery store last night, buying all the things I forgot LAST time I went there, and I noticed they were playing Never Gonna Give You Up, which is what you play when you get Rick-Rolled.
Never Gonna Give You Up, in case you do not know, is a terrible '80s song by Rick Astley. For some reason, it became the thing to send someone a link ("Here's a wonderful picture of Kim Kardashian!" "Click here for how to lose weight without trying!" Or, if one is looking in my comments, "Here's a link to a blog that's funnier than June's!") And then when a person stupidly CLICKS on a link, they instead get a video of Never Gonna Give You Up.
So yeah. My grocery store was Rick-Rolling us. As we shopped. Which is real rude.
That about sums it up, what I've been up to, other than on the way home from daycare yesterday, Edsel got caught between the car seat and the door and got all panicky and even more wedged as he panicked, and I was driving and it was awful. By the time I pulled over he'd wedged himself out. Tallulah pretty much spent the whole time snickering at him unsympathetically.
Tallulah is a terrible person. Who would totally Rick-Roll you if she had half a chance.
I can tell I will have no time to blop at you today, but please note my wish bracelet broke, and everyone who is in the bracelet-breaking pool pay up! Chelsea in TX is the big winner. Just send your dollar to my tip jar.
P.S. I just found out that PayPal will only let you donate a minimum of two dollars. Heck. Does anyone have a suggestion?Sent from my iPhone
The other day, Ned and I went to the grocery store, and when we returned I said, "Crap. I'm almost completely out of dog food. I forgot."
"Let's go back," said Ned. "Is there anything else you need to get?" Ned is the kind of person whose drinking glasses are all lined up neatly on the shelf, divided by size, whereas my glasses are crammed in every which way and occasionally under the couch.
Me, headed to the store. This is, in fact, a photo of Anne "I like me the ladies, no I don't" Heche with some June hair. It rained last night and I did the elliptical* and gardened, so really this is pretty much precisely how my hair looks this a.m.
"No, I don't need anything else," I insisted, and the good news was they had a sign that my dog food was on sale--$17 when it's normally $24!--and when we checked out, they charged me full price and it turns out that was "an old sign" and I got one bag completely for free and it was the most exciting moment ever.
My point is, I got home and realized I am out of paper towels, I have two coffee filters left and I have to use a vise to get the toothpaste out. I don't understand organized people.
And my mom will leave a "Make a list, honey" comment in 3, 2, 1...
In other news, look.
I was at work yesterday and I could tell there was a dog in someone's cubical, based on the squealing from various girls, then I came over and the whole building fell down with my squeals. HE NEEDS A HOME! Does anyone need a teensy baby bitty Beagle? He is fully grown, just kind of a shrinky Beagle. Oh, how I loved him.
That woman he's sitting with turned out to be April, my old dog walker. It's a whole story. It doesn't matter. What matters is, someone adopt this snicker before I do and ruin my whole life. I can't even keep a paper towel.
Also, this happened yesterday.
Faithful Reader Tee sent me 1950s magazines she found and knew I'd like because I am such a chef. I TOTALLY HAVE TO MAKE ONE OF THESE DISGUSTING RECIPES! There's a tongue salad! What say you? Would you lick it up?
In the '90s, there were these kids called Kris Kross, and they sang a song. The end.
Why is it important, if you're going to rap in any way, that you do that thing with your hand? Must you always be doing that?
Anyway. Tongue salad. Coming your way soon. Oh! I just looked again and see they also have Tongue in Wine! Story of my life.
*Oh, right. And perhaps you saw my reference to the elliptical earlier and you're still turning your head like Edsel does when I say "Outside?" I am in this fitness challenge at work, and I have to do 45 minutes of activity five days a week. So far I've done it, but I'm on day, you know, three. So.
There will be no working out tonight, though, because you know what I'm doing? Do you? DO YOU?????? Ask Ned, because I've talked of little else. Tonight, at the old movie theater we like, they're showing GONE WITH THE WIND!
Oh! Just watching the trailer, I got weepy! I mean, till I got to that fop Ashley. Then I sobered up. I hope the actual movie isn't as dark as this trailer.
Anyway, am beside self. I CAN'T EVEN WAIT! And you can imagine how Ned likes this movie. At least it's only four hours long. Poor Ned. Maybe I'll rustle up some tongue salad for him to munch on during the film.
When I was younger, I wanted to marry Lloyd Dobbler. And I kind of did. Then as I aged, I said, No. I want to marry Rhett Butler. But now? All I want is a Ned. Exactly the way he is. Eating tongue and lining his glasses up.
I'd better go shower and attempt to get the Anne Heche out my hair. I will report back tomorrow and let you know if Scarlett still fawns over that namby-pamby idiot. You'd think just once she'd see the light before it's too late.
In case anyone was worried sick and pacing the floors and writing his or her congressman demanding answers, I did not get the glasses. This is not to say I won't go BACK there, because they give you the whole shebang--frames, the glass, protective coating, an eyelid lift, a jar of olives, now I'm just making stuff up, for $125!
$125! Perhaps you don't buy eyeglasses, but I do, and that's cheap. Of course, there's the part where I don't actually NEED new glasses--I got my last pair two years ago and my prescription hasn't changed. So yeah.
Other than that, I went around living my life all weekend. How about you? Did you live your life or were you in suspended animation? Sometimes that's relaxing, too.
On Friday night, Ned and I went to the First Friday festivities, and I will try to cram as many "f" words into this sentence as fossible. Other than the exciting eyeglass store, we went to some girl stores where I'm sure Ned was riveted, and we popped in to my friend Kit's store, too. In fact, when I GOT to Ned's I had forgotten my DING-DANG PHONE, and there is no way into the Fort Knox nor the gelatin that is Ned's place. There was a man on his balcony, which is at ground level so unless you're some underworld spy or the wife of a close friend I guess in no way would you describe that thing as a "balcony." Say, what did I major in, again? Was it the English? Cause, good job, June. Articulate.
DECK. He was on his DECK, though it was surrounded by a brick wall which made me think "balcony" and oh, who cares. I THOUGHT of asking if he'd call Ned for me to come let me in, but Ned's home number has a different area code and don't even ask, so I didn't want to be all, "Hey, stranger on a balcony on the ground. Can you call long distance for me? Also, I have money frozen in Tibet and if you just give me $50,000..."
Ned has a BUTTON at the front of his BUILDING that you can push, and guess what? That goes to his cell which he's never ever got the ringer on for and he never uses, so what I'm saying to you is my mood was sparkling. I STOMPED in my HEELS over to Kit's store and in front of 39494020203 customers I bellowed CANIUSEYOURPHONEOHMYGODNED.
So she let me, and that sums that story up. I know you're sad it's over.
Oh, and we also popped into the midcentury modern store and saw the guy. That's all Ima say about that.
At some point in the evening, I guess when we were eating and Ned got lamb and I felt like I had to mention that due to its oddness, we got onto the subject of insults. We talked about what would be the worst thing someone could say about us, and I said if someone said I'm not funny (as a commenter did the other day), it wouldn't really bother me that much, because I feel like most people DO think I'm funny. If someone said that I wasn't smart, I would also feel pretty confident they were wrong.
"Now, hideous," I said. I might get upset at "hideous." There's a small part of me that'd think, 'Oh, that's true.'"
Ned thought this over as he speared and chewed innocent lambs. Clarice. "I think the worst thing anyone could say about me is that I'm pretentious," he said.
And see. Here is where I have no filter. Here is where the whole room's gonna go, JUNE! You did NOT! Because before I could stop myself, I said, "Well, you are a little hoity-toity."
See. I just meant he likes fancy movies and listens to the NPR instead of doing the normal thing and enjoying Howard Stern and stuff like that. But guess who was annoyed with me all weekend? And I didn't even SAY pretentious because to me, pretentious means you're putting on airs, you're being someone you aren't. I am pretentious. Ned is just hoity-toity.
Anyway, I had to deal with THAT all weekend. "Oh, I'm so HOITY-TOITY. Maybe if you weren't dating someone so HOITY-TOITY...." Good gravy. Even God was over Ned. I didn't say he was Niles Crane, for goodness sake.
The rest of the weekend involved going to the farmers market for processed food (oh, I got some DELICIOUS cheese), me doing work I brought home (I'm like Don Draper without the nice apartment), Ned signing a bill with a flower pen:
Okay, you can't even TELL there's a flower there, because he's you know, writing and it's moving around. Just trust me. And yes, that's a salad Ned finished, I think it had beets in it. It's not lamb entrails. And then that empty thing contained fries that we split. God, they were delicious.
Yesterday instead of a movie, I made Ned do errands with me and I am certain he was delighted. Like, he had to lug five huge bags of mulch into his car, and mulch got everywhere, and who doesn't want to date me? Am serious delight. Anyway, he had been planning to Nedflix whatever we saw yesterday and I do not know if he will Nedflix those empty hours of doing things for me but I told him that would be funny. He could review the whole miserable afteroon! He could name it Mulch Ado About Nothing. The thing writes itself.
Am showering now. I mean, not as I type but in a minute. Don't forget to tell me what you say about the worst insult that could be hurled at you. It must mean something, right?, whatever it is that would insult us the most.
Hoity and toityingly,
Because who doesn't want to look like a hagged-out 47-year-old, I finally acquiesced and decided to do a makeup tutorial today. I act like millions of you have been absolutely clamoring, and spearheading an email campaign, and painting "Do a Makeover, Joon!" over your "Save Ferris" water towers.
Water towers are a big thing with me lately. What do you think that means? Is it because I'm retaining my own water, so a water tower is kind of my symbol? My spirit animal? Water tower. Representin'.
At any rate, this water-saver has been playing with her makeup since she was approximately three and her grandmother was officially over her and said, "Go play with Gramma's makeup, honey." I actually have no idea if she said that or not. But I assure you girlfriend wanted me out of her hair. And most of the makeup on her vanity belonged not remotely to her, but to daughters and daughters-in-law and girlfriends of her sons and so on. None of this mattered to me as long as I got to glop on all the ginger-colored lip gloss and pan mascara that was on that vanity for the picking.
Nothing was better than that cake mascara in the pan.
And so sanitary, too! Seeing as you had to lick the brush to get the cake going. Which just sounded kind of dirty, and I really didn't mean to get all Bye Bye, Pie: XXXtreme Makeover. See what I did, there? Anyway, unsanitary. Maybe she's born with cholera. Maybe it's Maybelline.
And how come nothing is just a makeover anymore? Why is it an extreme one? It's just like how everyone's a supermodel now. You know what? Everyone isn't. Some people are just models, and that's a fine thing to be. Present company excepted, because wait'll you see me in all my made-up glory. And maybe I could shut up now and commence paintin'.
Here's me in my before picture, and I see my robe has fallen open in a most tempting way. Because who doesn't want to see a hagged-out 47-year-old naked? Anyway, I always wash my face before I begin, and I also clarify with a toner that contains salicylic acid, which exfoliates and removes all the grime, dead cells, resentments against your crappy family and Hostess Cupcake bits from your pores.
I am finally old enough that my once-oily skin is now dry in parts, so I use an oil-free moisturizing gel from Clinique that may or may not have come free from one of those buy-something-get-a-bunch-of-makeup-you-won't-use kits from Clinique. What I'm saying is prepare your skin however you see fit. You might want to marinate it overnight in a large bowl filled with garlic and lemon. I don't know.
Let's say I have a dreadful migraine, and am also stuffed up and maybe nauseated thanks to cholera caught from that mascara cake in 1972. Let's say I've had the worst day ever, and yet another of my cats have died and I've been left by a whole new husband. Let's say I'm in debt because I can't stay away from the Joan Rivers collection of armbands or whatever Joan Rivers sells. No matter what. NO MATTER WHAT, I will not leave the house without brushing my eyebrows. It's really the only way I'm neat and tidy. Eyebrows. I brush them straight up, then smooth them over.
I use a concealer that is one shade lighter than my foundation, and by "one shade" I mean, gee, this looks a tad lighter. They always tell you to put concealer UNDER your dark-circles area, and to that I have always said, "?" That makes no sense to me. And although I love my Latisse, one of the side effects is darkness around your eye, and suddenly I look like a hollow-eyed heroin addict, which let's face it, heroin is relaxing. Who can resist a little pinch between your cheek and gum after a hard day?
I read that using foundation around your nose to remove any redness takes 20 years off your face. Which would render me a zygote. Anyway, sometimes you hear something profound that shapes your whole life, and this was one of those times for me. To find the right shade and texture of foundation for you, buy 7294923949232 goddamn bottles of foundation and leave them all basically unused on your makeup counter till the day you die and your cousin Katie has to find a way to ecologically dump them all, cause she's some kind of filthy hippie who cares about the earth and so on.
Don't put foundation everywhere, like don't put it on your doctor's walls or your coworker's girl bits. Just on places that need a little even-ing out, such as ruddy areas or Mike Tyson.
I use a powder blush because of the previously mentioned oily skin, which makes creams and gels fall right off me like dignity on Farrah the teen mom. I use a shade with pinky undertones, because coppers and peaches make me look like I'm doing my squaw impression, which really brings all the braves to your yard. Since my face shape is not round, square or even oval but more peach pit and I really wish Nat would get off my face (June. Making vague 90210 jokes since 1992), I apply blush sort of in a round motion just on the apples of my cheeks. I'd say "where I smile" but come on. I got a little black book with my poems in.
You don't even WANNA know how much ding-dang eye shadow I put on. With a larger brush (and I do go all out on brushes. Go ahead and buy the Wet-n-Wild eye shadow, cheapie, but get Chanel brushes. You will thank me the rest of your days) I put a very light, neutral color such as Switzerland all over my lid. Then with the teeniest tinyest small teensy Lilliputian brush you have ever SEEN, I use a very dark color in the crease of my eyes. I don't make it big, I'm just trying to give you the illusion that I still have eyelids and not huge old lady Micky Rourke puffs for eyes.
I put a thin thin thin line of either gray, brown, gray brown or gray and brown eye pencil on my upper lids only because I'm old and if I get too makeuppy around my eyes I start to remember what happened to Baby Jane. If I'm feeling extra wild I'll go over it using dark eye shadow with that Lilliputian brush again. And no, I don't WING IT OUT for cat eyes. Am not dating Captain Kirk is why.
Get a Shu Umura or a Shesido eyelash cirler. If you say you cannot afford one, skip rent this month. And hey, food isn't a MUST or anything. If you have some drug store eyelash curler, your whole life is stupid. Trust me on this.
To find the right mascara for you, see the foundation discussion above, and worry about what your cousin Katie will do with all that landfill. Here I am using Great Lash only because it's OKAY, but it doesn't thrill me. I feel like I've kissed a lot of mascara frogs and have not found the right one for me yet. The one to which I will commit forever. It's more like misscara at this point.
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh! My mascara just ran.
And that's another point. I don't use waterproof cause it's a bitch to get off and I figure it can't be good for you. Because I'm all about health. And for me, I apply 70-89 coats. Seriously. I don't stop till I get enough, or resemble the guy from A Clockwork Orange. This might not be a good beauty tip, but look how famous that guy from A Clockwork Orange is. He's a legend. You know why? Good lashes.
My big trick is to take ANOTHER teensy brush and add white or silver shadow to the inside corners of my eyes. I do not know why this works, and maybe it doesn't and everyone's like, Why did June store her cocaine in her EYE? But it seems to make my eyes bigger and so on. My goal is to have eyes like a Persian cat.
Because I have teensy school marm lips, I line them in a neutral color and add a very light shade of lipstick, usually a pinky nude. If I wear dark colors I look like I have never enjoyed sex a minute of my life. I look like Miss Grundy from the Archie comics. Not sexy, is what I look, with a dark color. Is what I'm throwing down.
Do you think I'm officially older than Miss Grundy? That poor thing was probably in her early 30s, wasn't she? If anyone had just asked her to the Chocolate Shoppe even ONCE, maybe things would have turned out better for her. Maybe if she'd worn a pinky nude lipstick.
I don't know. I can't get hung up on Miss Grundy or I'll start to feel bad.
Anyway, that's it. Natural beauty in 79 easy steps! Finish it off with a you're-too-old-for-that cherry barrette and you're good to go to the chocolate shoppe! Although in this instance I think this was the night Ned and I went to that terrible restaurant where the waiter actually pointed both index fingers at us and went, "tch tch" with his mouth. So my effort was for naught.
Let me know if you have any questions, like Why so shallow, June or Why's your cousin such a hippie, Joooon. I will gladly answer all of them.
Okay, MOVE! THAT! BUS!