Bye Bye, Pie!

In which June gets out the photo album. Oh, I know. Makes you wanna dive right in, doesn't it?

I don't have much to blog about today, because I am uninteresting. Last night I did my Tracy Chapman workout and watched a documentary at Ned's. And yes, I know it's funny I got a divorce from Mr. Documentary, Mr. All-Documentaries-All-the-Time, and then I meet someone else and what the eff do we do with our Friday night but watch a ding-dang documentary.

 

It was good, though. Dear Marvin, In case you decide to look at my blog today, this was good. Sort of XO, June. Awkwardly punching you on the arm, June.

Anyway, that summed up our night, as we are on Project Spend Less of Ned's Money, although tonight after some riveting sports event that Ned is beside himself about, we are going to see Argo, because it's the one Best Picture nominee we haven't seen, other than Les Mis, which doesn't count. You know who'd be Les Mis? Is Ned and me at that picture.

So, because I had nothing to blog about, and because I don't have time to load more of your 800 million photos you sent in or do a makeup tutorial, because Ima pay bills and buy groceries today and WOOO! the fun never stops at House of June, I thought what I'd do instead is dig into my photo box titled 1965-1992 and see what hideous photos I can show you.

Dad and me, in what I would estimate was 1987. I am guessing based on the perm, and yes that IS a perm. On me, not dad. We're standing on the roof of his building in Atlanta, where he used to live. Also we heart ourselves. I think this was a photo we specifically took to send to my grandmother, framed, for her birthday. See above reference to we heart ourselves.

This was in 2002, not anywhere close to 1965-1992. You know what I have? A super-organized photo box. This was my stepsister's wedding, and I remember I specifically lost weight for it, but I still have front butt. Goddammit. I look good otherwise, though. Other than the part where I'm clearly keeping Kanga from Winnie the Pooh.

For the love of God, June. Have a drink. This was 1992, and I know the date from the boyfriend in the picture. Some go by moons; I go by men. Sometimes you tell the days by the bottle that you drink. Sometimes when you're alone and all you do is think.

You're welcome.

A bunch of us went dancing at a gay bar in Detroit, and then got what I'm certain was heart-healthy food at this diner. And somehow my bra needed to be taken off and bitten. As you do.

If I went out dancing all night and then ate diner food, I'd be destroyed the whole next day. I'll bet you anything that 26-year-old June got up the next day, picked her bra out of her teeth, and just went on like it was nothing.

Okay, last one.

One year, I was Madonna for Halloween. June. Continuing to love herself since 1965. June. Putting the "pre" in Madonna since 1965. I see my roommate Larry back there, who went as a Larry Krishna, and Sleeping Beauty's boyfriend who came as a TV dinner. We were hilarious. Why aren't there more Halloween parties for 47-year-olds? Of course, by the time Halloween rolls around again I will be 48.

The cones are divining rods at this point.

So I guess that's all. I leave you with these photos from years gone by, with the bras and the pouches and the paternal strangling. I will talk at you tomorrow, when Ooooo! I guess Ned and I will pick our Oscar thingamajigs.

June. Getting into the grove and out of here.

Oh, yes. I certainly DO see a virgin up there in those stars. Freak.

Last night I had dinner with my friend and coworker The Poet. We've been TRYING to go to tea together, but clearly God is over us and our tea plans. First, we picked Proximity, which is a fancy hotel near me--and how ironic would it be if a place called Proximity were far away from me--but they only serve tea until 5:00, and we, you know, work. Apparently they only cater to ladies who tea.

Then I suggested this place called The Secret Tea Room, where The Other June and I went and had crab cakes, thereby eating our astrological sign. Yes, I realize I say that every time I have crab. It's my big line. Sue me. Crack my shell and put butter on me. I guess that's more lobster, isn't it? Point is, Effing Secret Tea Room. Closed on Monday.

"GodDAMMIT," I said, glaring at my computer. "You want to just go to the fancy dessert place instead?" So we agreed to do that. Then when work was over and we were finally ready, we decided we wanted actual dinner and that's the end of that story.

How come you can be a crab but not a lobster as your astrological sign? I guess there were no constellations that looked like a lobster. Although if you ask me whoever made up what the constellations looked like was totally making shit up, like the dad from Calvin and Hobbes. "See there? That's an archer." Okay, high-on. I see a star here and three little spots over yonder. If that's an archer to you, go on wit' yer bad self.

Anyway, that was pretty much the highlight of yesterday. Having dinner with The Poet. I like The Poet. When they first sat me next to her at work I was worried she'd be all deep and only speak in poems or something. There's nothing worse than putting me next to a deep person. The juxtaposition is so, you know, jarring. But it was fine. She keeps her deep on the downlow when she's around me.

I just went into my photos on my computer to see if I took other photos of The Poet (answer: no) (and she really is a poet. Like, she's all published and stuff. And she tours around reading her poems and so forth) (maybe one day she'll be famous and I'll be a footnote in her biography. "Inexplicably, The Poet hung around shallow blogger June Gardens. Occasionally they tried to get tea.").

At any rate, I found this picture I somehow managed to take of my phone lockscreen, and by the way can anyone tell me how I did this? But I'm glad, because I have as my lock screen that terrible painting from the hotel we stayed at in West Virginia.

Am obsessed with that awful painting. And every once in awhile Ned says, "She kind of looks like you," which just makes me mad.

Now am interested in what's here in my photos that I haven't shown you.

I never did show you a photo of the chocolate-chip cookies I made for Ned for Valentine's Day. I mean, I actually made them. I did not just cut cookies off a tube. In fact, I was AT the store, buying foreign things like "flour" and "baking soda," and I saw the dang tubes in the frozen-food aisle, and I was all, Why didn't I just do that? But I wanted to make an effort, because Ned is nice to me.

You can see I had a lot of duds in this batch, but I took all the bad ones to work and people descended on them like jackals. If I had left a dead antelope out, I mean. I don't know that jackals would descend on cookies. I don't know if my fake coworkers WOULDN'T descend on an antelope, either. I've seen them eat mayonnaise-based sandwiches that have been sitting out all day.

Here's Tallulah trying to stare intently at me while I eat something but falling asleep in the meantime. Girlfriend would never catch her a jackal. She enjoys the nap too much. You should see how she is when I come home at lunch. Edsel is always at the door, striking up the band and dropping the ticker tape, while five minutes after I'm in the door Talu clicks down the hall with pillow marks creasing her face. "o. yu heer? it noons alreddy? talu just...tydee up in bedrum."

Who even knows what pertinent fact Ned is relaying?

Me at work with my Hot Royals calendar. Every month they show a new prince and give you his status. Is he dating someone special? Single? Into 47-year-olds? They tell you everything.

I guess those are all the faintly interesting photos I have in my computer. Currently I have 5,474 photos on said computer, and that's not even counting the 10839294 you've sent me of yourselves that I haven't put up yet. Remember when we just had photo albums and took 12 pictures at a time or whatever? Yeah.

Talk at you tomorrow. Oh! And in case anyone was worried sick and didn't read the comments, and I love it when the answer is in the comments but you ask anyway, the official name for Ned's movie reviews is Nedflix, thanks to witty Faithful Reader Letha. We are going to another movie Wednesday, Ned and me, not Letha and me, so there could be a Nedflix coming your way soon. Wooo!

I'm unclear. Did I say Merry Christmas?

Went to see Miracle on 34th Street with TinaDoris and Dick Whitman and my forehead wrinkle last night

and now I'm running late.

So I will leave you with a few seasonal greetings.

No, I'm sorry, we have to revisit this one:

Wow. MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Merry Christmas! I'm divorced! Also, your Thanksgiving pictures are here. So shut up now. Have I said Merry Christmas yet?

It's Monday night and I got out of work, went to the eye doctor and picked up my contacts, got some super-extra-healthy Chinese food, did my workout which was probably useless seeing as I ate Lot's Wife in salt with that Chinese food, then proceeded to start my Christmas cards.

First of all, I got these pretty cards last year that are pale blue--which seems to be my new favorite color--that have a glittery snowflake on them. Wait. Lemme take a picture.

Pretty, right? Also, do you have any idea how long that takes me, when I get up and snap a picture? That's 15 minutes I'll never get to spend chasing fireflies or whatever. I have to eject the memory card, put it in the camera, try to get the dang thing to focus. Oh, it's a whole rigamarole. Anyway, can you tell the snowflake is 3D?

Yeah.

Trying WRITING ADDRESSES on an envelope with that 3D snowflake in it. And I know I could address the envelope before shoving it in there. Shut the eff up.

Merry Christmas!

I also took a stretcheldy picture of Talu-deloo while I was up. make lu day, mom. go head.

My point is, after about 20 cards where I had to keep writing, "Merry Christmas! I'm divorced! Please don't send a card to June and Marvin Gardens this year. Yay! Christmas...cheer and stuff!" I got kind of depressed and decided to stop.

That is why I am in here attempting to put up your Thanksgiving photos, as it is the first free night I've had since God wore a onesie, and I PROMISE I will not see someone's picture in these 6 million emails. I did a search for "Thanksgiving" and "picture" in my gmail, so if you did not put that in your photo to me, prepare to send me the frowny emoticon at the end of this post.

Shannon River sent this one from London, where she now lives. London rocks. Also, London is calling. I am hilarious.

Here's Hulk's not-at-all-depressing Thanksgiving photo. He had to work. Note Hulk has a sports thing in his office. Hunh.

By the way, I just remembered this was in my PERSONAL email, and if any of you are my friend in real life and you sent me the Thanksgiving pic in that email and not my blog email, you are SOL. I'm not also searching that goddamn thing beyond looking for this one of Hulk's right now.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Peter said he thought we'd rather look at his doggie than him. Look at the plate of treats! Dying. My dogs would so be eating those and ignoring the crap outa me.

Here's Rennie the Corgie in Illinois. Wasn't this the family who sent me everyone showing their uvula last year? Cause that killed me.

Jenna sent her kid on a swing. In Arkansas.

Meg's dogs were tired after 394949394 lbs of turkey.

Tee's friend's pets were highly insulted about being shut out during dinner.

Deb mushed up some intestines and took them to dinner.

Sandra screamed over to Michaels thinking the world would be there buying everything on sale on Thanksgiving day, and she was, like, the only person for miles. Irksome.

Whitni had to work at the hospital, and made this delish GI cocktail. Please, no matter what is wrong with me, never never make me drink this. Thank you.

Suzanne went for a before-dinner bike ride to try to buy a larger visor.

Pamela Soul Sister took a hike with her husband and son. She leaves a long shadow.

Unruly Haired ate this half pie and her cats were pissed. I didn't know you could buy half a pie.

Mary Lou is in Canada, but she had turkey soup to be sort of American.

Linda ran a 5k right here in Greensboro! So would have stalked her had I been here.

BStar went to the beach. Bitch.

Maybe the "B" in "BStar" stands for bitch. Do you think?

My friend Sleeping Beauty stayed awake to watch her kid sleep. Also, you'd better call Saul.

One of these people is Deb in Denver. We should bet on who.

Danna wants you all to know her man really does love her. He's slaying me with this expression.

Here's Kathy's whole family. Now I'm hungry. Not that I want to eat Kathy's family.

That's my friend in real life, Nadja, and I even know that guy playing bagpipes. I feel like that person in green is this person Nadja and I know, but I also know that person moved away from LA, so I am probably halucinating. I miss Nadja.

Here's Steph's day in Tampa. Please see above re bitch.

Brenda in California says her niece plays a mean game of bingo. Also, how much are you dying over the family resemblance?

Jen in Dallas sent us Leroy and Petunia, who are so over us.

HB sent us a photo of Nelson, who looks pretty tense after all that Thanksgiving action.

Paula H&B said she was "in a MOOD" on Thanksgiving, so she provided this shot of going to the zoo the next day.

I think that is NOT Paula. How do we know for sure, though?

Karen in Virginia Beach's dog bothered her son's nap. That's what dogs are for.

Now I have that annoying Dionne Warwick song in my head.

"Annoying" Dionne Warwick song. That narrows it down.

Mrs. Gumby. Cracking me up since 2012.

Anita in Florida presents a photo of turkeys and her brother-in-law, who clearly finds himself hilarious. He is my people.

Terric gathered these strangers so she wouldn't look pathetic on Thanksgiving. I totally just made that up. She is the one in the red shirt, and she and these strangers are near Atlanta.

The Furry Godmother in Tennessee said this is who she spent Thanksgiving with, and if there were people there she had no idea. See above re my people.

Joann's dogs. In Florida. Had she shown any sort of beachy shot I could have called her a bitch, but she didn't. Darn.

Amish Annie in Iowa and her NEW THANKSGIVING KITTY!!!!!

I want a new Thanksgiving kitty.

What?

Last year, Kari in Texas sent her mother's turkey-shaped butter. Remember? This year it is a heart-healthy casserole. Which I'd like some of, please. Pass the heart-healthy casserole.

Helen forwarded me this cake shot, and I might be actually physically aroused at this point.

Mommy Needs Meds has a child who is clearly cooler than I will ever be.

Amy titled this "Cat with fricking lasers" and then I died. THAT IS KILLING ME. Every time I look at it. Wait. Ima scroll up. OHMYGOD, that is hilarious.

Here's PJ, laughing at one of the comments on my blog. Whatever I wrote totally sucked, so thank God for commentors.

Caron and her niece are in Dayton, Ohio. My gramma TOTALLY HAD that ceramic Christmas tree. Must be a Midwest thing.

Laura in NC is eating fried turkey. See above re heart-healthy. Also, in unrelated news, I wish I had some fried turkey.

Jan, who did not TELL me she's from Illinois but I know it cause she's read me for 70 years, is resting after cooking and cleaning. Jan is not a tree. I believe this is her view from her resting place. Her final resting place. Look, now I've killed Jan. Merry Christmas!

I just remembered my friend Dottie sent a photo of her dog, Tug, on Thanksgiving to my PERSONAL EMAIL and next year there will be NO MORE OF THAT. Also, we WILL ALL BE TITLING OUR PHOTO "Thanksgiving picture." Because guess who is on hour three of this and is cranky??

However, Tug is a muffin.

Amanda and her cute grandma in Michigan.

Issac is also in Michigan, and I feel like he's up to no good. Is what I feel.

Letha in Georgia brought us Parker, the stray she found in the park. He has a home now. I refuse to say "furever home."

Okay. My neck hurts. It's almost midnight. If I missed your photo I AM SORRY, but officially cranky and tired now. Good gravy.

Did I say Merry Christmas yet?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HULLLLLK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"X"cellent post, June.

Glad you saw your "X" best friend.

Okay, go.

"X"O, June

: (. LOL! (Could not hate self more.)

Before I forget, because you know how I am and I know I STILL owe someone Abraham Lincoln band-aids and I have no idea who, I wanted to announce that we're gonna do the "send-me-a-picture-from-your-Thanksgiving" thing again, even though it liked to kill me last time.

The rules are these. Send me ONE (Joann) photo of you from Thanksgiving day, doing whatever. I mean, if you live in Canada or England you will send me a picture of you at work on a Thursday while we gorge ourselves with cranberries, over here.

Actually I never eat the cranberries. Cranberry juice? Oh, break me off a piece of that. But the actual fruit? Blech. Which kind of explains my whole relationship with real food.

Anyway, you have till MONDAY NIGHT to send it to me. If you send it after, there will be no frowny-face comment: My picture didn't get in : (. In fact, if you EVER send me a frowny face for ANY REASON--

I just died : (

-- I will personally come over there and go Abraham Lincoln on your ass. I have no idea what that means. I will come over there WITH A TALL HAT and you for one will be sorry.

At any rate, when you send the picture, tell me THE NAME YOU WANT ME TO USE FOR YOU and WHERE YOU LIVE. I just screamed that because last year people sent "I'm Sally and I'm in my kitchen" with a picture of someone in the kitchen and I KNOW YOU'RE IN YOUR KITCHEN. Are you in KANSAS or ETHIOPIA?

And then when I put on my blog, "This is Sally," I'd get, "I guess June outed me with my real name. : (" because I was supposed to know that Sally is someone who, when she leaves comments, always calls herself FrownGirl and HOW'M I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT????

See. I haven't even STARTED send-me-your-picture-from-Thanksgiving project and already I am cranky about it.

: (

GodDAMMIT I hate emoticons.

Despite how cranky this is going to make me, I LIKED send-me-your-Thanksgiving-picture last year. Didn't you? Remember the woman whose boyfriend had on the smiley-face tshirt? Or the dogs? We got lots of dogs. And the person who had a cold, so she just photographed the INGREDIENTS of what she was GONNA make until she was felled by illness?

It was fun.

In other news, guess who is working a lot? Can you tell? I go to regular work and work, then come home at lunch and do some work, then after work I get caught up on my work. Tonight, though, I am going with Ned to the old movie theater we like, and we're gonna see Twelve Angry Men, which is funny because Ned will be with One Angry Woman.

I just got an email the other day from the statistics place to tell me TWO MORE BOOKS are coming right after this one. You know what I think? I think TOO MANY people said, "Oh God, send June some work" and God was all,

O, JUUUUUNE? THAT heifer? Okay, then. : )

God font.

God would NEVER use an emoticon. I also think God would not have a Facebook account. But if he did, he wouldn't annoy the rest of us with political posts. He would just keep making June-is-a-heifer jokes.

I guess I'd better go. I know I had something else to tell you, but can I remember? I cannot.
I looked in my photos to see if there was anything I was gonna recap and took a picture of, but there was not. I did see this Lu-is-a-wolf photo from this summer, though, and threw it in. They both need new collars. The genuine diamonds on both of their collars have started falling off, which is inconvenient because have I mentioned priceless real diamonds? I should go on Etsy, with all my freelance dollars. Get the sparkliest, most obnoxious collars possible for both of them.

With all my spare time.

Okay, going now. Heifer June, out.

P.S. Just Paula asked a pertinent Q. When you SEND me your Thanksgiving photos, send them to the email on this blog. I think it's on the right column. It reads, "Email me : )"

One of my stupider posts. Read on! Aren't you encouraged?

I am in something of a rush today, but fortunately not listening to Rush, so this post will be stupid, as opposed to all the times it is profound.

I went out with Ned last night--we had salads. Oh, gee, I guess I should have warned you to sit down first, with the salad unusualness. There's this place near his house that serves the best salmon salad, and when I say "near" his house, it's like a three-block walk. In fact, on New Year's Day there was a public meditation right over there across from where Salmon Salad Restaurant is, and I went with my Pal from MA and my neighbor Peg. After, I suggested we walk to a restaurant that is right next to Ned's and they both balked, so we drove.

I didn't know Ned yet, but I was totally stalking him that day. In fact, he'd had his New Year right at that restaurant. Alone. Completely alone. Poor Ned. We met five days later, though.

I have just started all my paragraphs with "I." I told you this would be a stupid post.

Oh, but my point is, it's really not a bad walk and we do it all the time, but it seems a tad lengthy IF YOU HAVE PLANTAR FASCITIS. This thing has got to stop. I mean, I can't even walk. And you can tell by the way I use my walk I'm a woman's man.

No time to talk.

Perhaps I've told you this before, but whenever I'm in my car and a Bee Gees song comes on, I always feel like me driving around in my Bug and listening to the Bee Gees is how y'all picture me on a daily basis. Like, if you think "June," and why would you, you'd picture me doing just that.

I really don't even listen to the Bee Gees that much.

Anyway. Seeing as I must rush, I thought what I'd do is get rid of all the pictures that're on my desktop for blogging about someday. Yay! Fascinating.

One of the 86 times I took Iris to the vet, they had my favorite phrase on a sign out front: KITTEN ADOPTIONS. This orangesicle pookie-poo was there, just begging, "Give me a hommmmme, Auntie Joon!" Had I not been there to SEE WHY MY CAT'S PEEING ALL OVER MY HOUSE I would have been wildly tempted by Orangie and her juice, over there.

me tooooo, antie joon! i be orange too and wish to live wif youuuuuuu!

I do love me an orange cat. I miss Henry.

Okay, seriously. Somebody stop the cuteness. i has snowee pawns, antie jooooon!

Here is a sign for a movie that I assure you I will never be buying a ticket for. We really need to write our screenwriters and demand NO MORE BARF SCENES IN MOVIES. Why do they think this is necessary? And now they've made a whole MOVIE about it? Am sick of Hollywood regurgitating plots.

Get it? Do you?

Do you?

Oh, good. You can get these, quote, on the rocks. What a "relief."

Have you ever seen the blog of unneccessary quotation marks? I think some of you have sent it to me before. The person who invented this blog is my soul mate. Sorry. My "soul mate."

Oh! I couldn't figure out what this photo was when it was small on my desktop. Yeah. This is growing on the side of my house. What the hell is it? It has pretty yellow-orange flowers now. Am I growing pumpkins? Can I have a pumpkin patch and charge people and have hayrides and so forth? Or is this a weed of some kind that should alarm me?

It's POISON TO DOGS, JUNE! Just waiting to hear that. And in case anyone is worried sick, Avo and Cado, over here, are absolutely well. Jerks.

Ned's cat eats my hair. I captured it on film, sort of. YOU try to capture a cat eating your hair. It's not easy.

Ned, wearing my pink reading glasses because he never remembers his own, studying the menu. Studying the menu is a big thing with Ned. And every.single.time I slap my menu down 14 seconds after opening it, he always says the same thing: "Really." Like I'm lying. Like I have no idea what Ima order, I was just slapping down my menu to be impressive.

Ned. How I adore Ned.

Tallulah. How I adore Tallulah. She is an excellent dog and I want for little else. And yet? I also have Edsel. Can someone remind me why I thought an additional dog was a great plan? Dog 2.0? Because Dog 1.0 was fine. Excellent, in fact. Have I already said "excellent"?

Ned and I like going to old cemeteries, because we're ghouls. The other night we saw this cat, who was clearly not gonna let us get closer. I named him Morte-y. Because if there were a June Fan Club, I'd be not just the president, but a member. June Club for Men.

Shut up, Hulk.

Afterward, Ned came up with the idea that my tombstone could have indentations for cat food and water, thereby encouraging my own grave cat. He said he'd bring cat food along with flowers for me, although he keeps insisting he'll die first. Because Ned is a barrel of laughs.

Okay. Now I gotta go. Being at work noon to 5:00 is awkward because of the whole no-lunch thing. I should be a grownup and bring a lunch, but that would require me having food here at home. They have this new healthy vending machine at work and yesterday I got Pirate's Booty and I swear it is literally made from a pirate's booty.

Give me Hot Cheetos any day.

June, a cool dude in a loose mood.

Shut up, Hulk.

If a picture paints a thousand words then why can't I shut up?

I just realized yesterday afternoon that my PUR water filter was no longer working. There's this teensy what-am-I-a-bat?-who-can-see-this? light on the side of the filter that, when it's done working, flashes red.

ROXANNE! You don't have to put on your red light! ROXXXANE! And also my PUR bat light!

What's stupid is, then I went around for 15 minutes worrying about what chemicals and other bad things I've ingested while not noticing the filter was used up. This from a person who is currently eating a Cookies and Creme Pop Tart.

So I schlepped to Target, where I WISH THEY'D STOP REARRANGING EVERYTHING, FAITHFUL READER TARGET STEVE, and got me a PUR filter. And by the way, in no way shape or form am I being paid by the effing people at PUR, so I have no idea why I keep bringing them up.

And why can I never get out of Target for less than $80? Has anyone noticed the part where I'm unemployed? Has anyone noticed that I've worked every ding-dang day of my unemployment? Still. Don't know where next dollar is coming from, and there I was spending all willy-nilly at Target.

I got this rug for the bathroom. I know! Rockefeller! Also I got dog food. Next time they're gonna close the store so I can shop uninhibited, like Michael Jackson.

Aren't bats supposed to be blind? Why'd I say "bat" up there? I think I was thinking about sonar, but that has nothing to do with a bat being able to see a red light on the side of a water filter.

You'll be surprised to hear that all of this has absolutely nothing to do with why I've gathered you all here today. What I CAME here to talk about is pictures I found of me, and what could be better? I got waylaid by the poisonous water I've been pumping into my body for who knows how long.

So, like everyone else on the ENTIRE GLOBE, I hate Facebook's new layout, with the timeline, and it's the ironically named timeline because you can never find ANYTHING on anyone's wall who you may or may not be stalking. The point is, the way your Facebook page is set up now, you have an opportunity to splash a giant photo of you across the top.

Have you met me? Is there anything I like better than a chance to splash a giant photo of my own self anywhere? Therefore, I spent many hours last night looking for the perfect photo to put on my Facebook page. Because in case you hadn't noticed, person who is reading my blog about me and my life, I am a huge narcissist.

I wish I could show you this whole picture, but I figure a woman's exposed giant hoots may not be work appropriate. Once many years ago, I got to be an honorary guy at my friend's bachelor party--and two actual guys who were there sometimes read this blog, so heyyyyy, Steve and Peter!--and anyway, we all went to see Busty Dusty. Here I am looking down my own suddenly depressing chestal area.

Where do you think Busty D is today? Somewhere good? I worry.

I'll bet when I say "I lived in Los Angeles," this is how you think I spent all my time, like Annette Funicello or something, right? In fact, it was a pain in the ass to get down to the beach. At least an hour and a half in traffic, then you had to find parking. The beach was 20 miles away and that's how long it took. But once you got there it was loverly.

Mom and me and my grandmother's velvet couch. We need to bring back the velvet couch. Hers was gold. Also, I totally remember that bill holder, and who has it? I want it. She paid all her bills on the first of the month and then gave 10% "to the Lord." I know this because she told me everything, and half the time I tell some story about something gramma told me and other relatives say, "Really? She never told me that." Clearly I should have been writing everything down because I was the sounding board. Or the bat.

Seattle. This was my neighborhood, Fremont, and it was the bomb. Da bomb. Da bat. Also, have I ever blogged about my tendency to look like whatever boyfriend I had at the time? I was dating someone with long dark hair then. That's his jacket, in fact.

My ex-best friend and me in the 90s. Are you really going to ask me why we're not best friends anymore? I wrote about it, like, three years ago. Where were YOU? Here.

Francis as a kitten. Dying. He had so much evil to acquire.

Anyway, finally, here is the fine photo I used for my Facebook banner photo. It captures my essence, doesn't it? Eating right, yellow extension cords. This was taken at my friend Gertrude's house, whose dad's funeral I attended last week. That is her cat Vivian, who in fact inspired me to go get a black cat, Ruby. This photo must be 20 years old and don't Doritos bags look just the same? They probably brag that there are no trans fats now. I love how they do that so we think, Ooo! Healthy!

So there you go. I just forced you to look at pictures of me on my blog about me. Please leave a comment letting me know what you think of me, and I'll be back to discuss me tomorrow.

Random shots and a dirty book. Am totally tired of the phrase "random." "That's random!" Oh, shut up.

So I'm reading that dirty book 50 Shades of Grey's Anatomy or whatever, and man is it dumb. And can I put it down? Why do some dumb books suck us in (see: Twilight)?

I mean, I consider myself above average in intelligence. Does everyone think they're above average in intelligence, just like everyone thinks they're a good driver and that they have a sense of humor? But despite the fact I think I am relatively smart (I mean, not compared to Stephen Hawking, okay?) (or even Tim Gunn. Tim Gunn seems kind of smart. Or maybe he's just snooty, is all), I must know what happens to these stupid, not-remotely-realistic people in stupid 50 Shades and Lamps Too.

What is wrong with me?

I even took said dirty book to the BookUp last night, which my friend Jo has every month in a restaurant. I've explained it before, but everyone just comes and brings a book and orders a drink or appetizer and reads. I know that sounds silly, but she was sick and tired of people saying, "I don't have time to read" (and she's written a book, so she's particularly persnickety about this phrase) (how do we get to the e-version of your book, Jo? Tell us in the comments), so she set up an evening where we MAKE time.

 

And what did I read? Right there in front of ...friend and everybody? Stupid 50 Shades of Earl Grey.

Anyway, that's my latest humiliation. In other news, I have a bunch of pictures on my desktop that I keep meaning to put up here, so without further adieu--did you ever see that Naked Gun? Where the guy says to Leslie Neilsen, "I bid you adieu" and Leslie Neilsen says, "Thanks. But I...like my hair the way it is." Anyway, without further hair, here are the photos on my desktop.

This is from Peg's party, which by the way was a potluck and guess who forgot that, with her empty-handed self? Nice. Guess who went to the food table three times anyway? Nice, also. Up here is a watermelon piece with, I don't know, feta, maybe? And Austin, who is the most super-great wonderful party guest possible and I love it when he comes to Peg's parties, stuck hat pins in each piece, because it was, you know, Mad Hatter. Oh, they were plastic. You couldn't imPALE yourself.

Here is Austin. He is a fancy designer and has really good decorating-for-rich-people stories. I heart him. And his teensy hat.

I mean, really? We have to be told this, now?

...friend lives right near my pal Kit's store, and it's exciting to see what her windows are doing whenever I stroll by. In case anyone was wondering, yes, I DO want that pink polka-dotted dress and also the leopard purse. What are you, new?

After my surgery, my mother sent me chocolate-covered strawberries. Oh.Hell.Yes.

I do not know why Edsel acts so weird in the car. He gets all shy and retiring. Yes, that IS a Chik-Fil-A cup. Shut up.

quar skare edzers

Here is Marvin drinking cough syrup in San Francisco in 2005. That's random!

Best hat at Peg's party. And for people who work at my old job, yes that IS your old coworker. I mean, I am your old coworker, but so is she.

From when Pal from MA was here at Christmas. Seriously, I have to clear out this desktop.

Also, love self.

Okay, off to work, which is beginning to be like the three-hour tour on Gilligan's Island. Have totally made a tight SS Minnow dress at this point.

XO,

Jooooon

Stuff lying around on my desktop

It is 9:41 p.m. and I just got off the phone with ...friend and I am trying to avoid doing the second half of my Tracy Chapman workout DVD. Which is dumb because it's continuing to work really well and I cannot quite get enough of my hotness and figure it's all uphill from here. So you'd think I'd STAMPEDE to the DVD but no.

Maybe I should have tried to fit it in earlier than 9:41 p.m.

I was talking to ...friend and looking at the computer at the same time, because I was trying to send him something and he continued to not be able to open it, and things like that drive me berserk.

"HOW can you not open it? I'm opening it," I kept saying, as though we had parallel lives and computers and everything that was happening to me should certainly be happening to him at the same time. Also, I could hear the train pass his house and then a minute later it passed mine. I love it when you can do that on the phone. Don't you?

My POINT is, I hung up and thought, I should really get on that DVD. And then I sat here. Like a moron. Then I said, Gee. I could write tomorrow's post right now. Get that out the way. Instead of, you know, burning calories and getting thin and fit.

Maybe I should write this and run in place.

Anyway, what I decided to do was put on all the pictures that are lying here needlessly on my desktop, which gives me something to blog about and gives you something to look at and gives me putting-off-the-workout time.

Tall Boy and I went to lunch today, and here he is sniffing the sesame sauce. I have no idea why he felt the need to do this, but look at his determined expression. THIS SAUCE WILL BE SNIFFED!

Tall Boy got the salad, and an appetizer, and the main course, and then he insisted we go out for frozen yogurt after. I have no idea why he isn't fat as a house.

Houses are so often fat.

Here are our frozen yogurts. His is the one with an octopus or bath-oil beads or whatever the hell on it.

This just makes me sad. Next.

Okay, THANKS, God. This doesn't make me feel much better. Do you know what I miss? My $350 haircuts in LA. My hair looks cute.

I TOLD you I was planning to write a sad Marvin post. I put a lot of pictures on the desktop to really drive the sad point home.

Madre de Dios. Come on.

I guess I was capturing the fur on the floor. I think I was toying with a post about how out of control everything got here while I was working on that giant project.

Yep. Look how offended Iris is. If eyeriss could see she be shhoked at lawndreee.

edzul bad. you no i bad. i bad.

Did you know they wanted Prince in that Bad video, but Prince said everyone always thinks he's gay, and everyone always thought Michael Jackson was gay, and he didn't want to live with the ridicule of being in a video where the first words are, "Your butt is mine."

True story. I know this because Prince hangs around here all the time.

I think I had this one here because of Talu's ridiculous gluttony, evident to all who gaze upon her ludicrous stuffed cheeks. Also, HELLO CHRISTMAS! Has this been here since Christmas? Just lounging on my desktop?

Oh, yeah. I had this on Facebook. Remember?

Horsie!!!!!!

I also have a picture of ...friend on my desktop, but he did not say I could put him on my blog, in fact I think he'd prefer to NOT be on my blog. So not into my blog, is he. I kind of admire that about him. If the tables were turned, I'd be so PUT ME ON YOUR BLOG! DID YOU MENTION ME ON YOUR BLOG TODAY?!?!?

Self-possessed people. They fascinate me.

Sadly for all of us, that is all that is on my desktop and now Ima throw all these photos away. Okay, just for yucks I will go pick the...16th photo in my archives and put it up here too. What say you? Here I go.

Crap. Let's try another one. See if it's less sad. The 16th one after this one.

Oh, I give up.

Now go do the right thing. Go sniff some sesame oil.