Bye Bye, Pie!

June complains. I know! It's like a unicorn sighting.

See? I knew hearing about everyone's sex life would be riveting.

How many of you felt bad because of it? Several people emailed me to say hearing about how often others are having sex made them feel bad. Some wondered if their significant other was happy, now, or is there something wrong with them and what a can of worms that opened.

Why do you think that is? Why did so many of us stampede to comparing and contrasting like that? Why do we make this particular topic so important?

June's blog, man. Where you come for the deep thoughts.

In the meantime, I just found out that they are moving where I sit at work and thank all that is holy. I've already told you I sit right near the door that no one can seem to manage. There's a three-digit code you have to push, and it's NOT LIKE THE CODE GETS CHANGED A LOT, yet all day long I have to hear: click, click, click FLOOMP. Click, click, click FLOOMP. NO ONE EVER GETS THE GODDAMN CODE RIGHT. EVVVVVERRRRRRRR.

Plus, I am not in a cubicle. It's bad enough to BE in a cubicle rather than an office, particularly when your WHOLE JOB is to READ SOMETHING extra super carefully and you have to hear the person in the next cube. "SO THEN WE WENT TO THE MALL? YOU KNOW? AND I TRIED ON THOSE NEW JEANS AND OHMYGOD I GOT BA-DONK-A-DONK BUTT NOW! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! I NEED A VACATION FROM MY VACATION! HAHAHAHAHAH!"

If there is anything I detest, it's people who say, "You back? How was it? Looks like you need a vacation from your vacation! HAHAHAH!"

Actually, the guy who sits next to me currently is very quiet and hard-working, and I enjoy sitting next to him quite a bit. Also, I cannot imagine him saying "ba-donk-a-donk" if you paid him. But you get my point. And I don't even have CUBICLE WALLS. I'm just OUT there, in the ROOM, exposed to EVERYONE, and even worse I'm near the copy machine.

No, I have never once said, "Makin' copieeeees."

And here is the thing. I don't know if it's cause I'm ME or if this would happen to anyone, but NO ONE, NOOOO ONNNNNNE can pass my desk without saying something to me. "Hey, June." "How's it going, June?" "ploink!" (some people, VILHELM OYSTER, knock stuff over on my desk to be hilarious) "knock knock" (SOME people just fucking knock on my desk as they pass).

YES, I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME. THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU HAVE TO ACKNOWLEDGE ME EVERY TIME.

Did I mention my job involves READING REALLY CAREFULLY all day? And you need, oh, CONCENTRATION? Oh, and also I have no overhead light and I am in a windowless room. I failed to mention that part. Did I mention the, you know, reading thing? And that a lot of it is legal-sized font?

So yeah. Been hating my desk for quite a while now. Am rejoicing at actual walls and a light. And distance from click, click, click FLUMP.

OH MY GOD IT'S THREE DIGITS. PUSH THEM IN! PUSSSSHHHH THEMMM INNNNNNN.

Sometimes I get cranky at work.

So I guess that's my biggest news. Oh, and my dishwasher is broken. It washes the dishes and they all smell like dead fish when they come out, which is just the scent I was hoping for. So I have to come back here at 10:00 and meet the repairman. Am looking forward to that whole rigmarole. Won't I be embarrassed if he actually pulls out a dead fish like cats find in alleys in the cartoons. Oooo, I kind of wish I HAD some kind of hilarious fish skeleton now, so I could put it in there and confuse the hell out of the repairman.

I always think of these things too late, just like how I always wish for a cobweb suit to put on when one friend of mine finishes her never-ending stories. "Oh, is that over already?" I could say, covered in cobwebs. Never remember till she's in the midst.

Okay, that's all. Take off your cobweb suit, there, Miss Funny. I'm done.

June joins the workforce. And comes up with words like "inhibitionslessness."

Oh thank all that is holy and merciful, I have a job again. My fake workplace, the place that'd laid me off in the first place and for whom I've been freelancing since September, asked me to come back for reals, y'all.

YAY!!!!!!! And also "word." I am so street, with my use of "for reals."

Edsel, my brastrap and I would like you to join us in 39 seconds of happy dancing.

 

I know. I don't have my usual reckless June dancing abandon. I have the plantar, you know. It hampers the inhibitionslessness that is June.

Last night, Ned took me out to celebrate.

Look here, Ned and your portrait of "Wooo! Celebrating!" You are JUST GONNA HAVE TO GET OVER IT, with the hating-your-picture-taken thing. You're dating a blogger, yo.

Apparently I got a job as a gang member.

Here's me, celebrating, and can anyone tell me why the iPhone takes crappy pictures once you swirl it around to look at you? There are two phones in there, the rear-facing and the forward-facing, and whatever face of Eve I'm using when I make it look at me and take a picture is absurd compared to the look-at-Ned camera. Why? Why can't they make 'em BOTH good? Why can't they make the WHOLE PLANE a black box?

Anyway, yay. Am employed again. After 15 months. I would not have even LIVED or been able to KEEP MY PETS without Bank of Family, so thank you Bank of Family. And thank you to the people who put money in my tip jar. Somehow I managed to not ruin my credit and stay fat, so go me!

I had better get to...work. SQUEEE!

The fundamental things apply. As Long Island Medium goes by.

lu go pit on mom azz, she put dis on blowg

I love it when her lips do stupid things. I also enjoy how she has cat fur on her snout. This might be her own fault, seeing as she enjoys chasing those poor cats and sticking her nose in their fluff when she catches them. Talu is a dick.

Anyway, hi. All I did yesterday was work, so this should be a riveting post.

srsly, mom. get lyffe.

I caught her lounging on the back of the couch last night like she's a cat, while ironically the actual cat (Iris) was on the couch with me like a normal person. When I had Tallulah's DNA done, they said the part where she has Tibetan spaniel in her makes her like to lounge in high places. I wonder if she needs a dog condo.

So I got back to work yesterday, where someone brought Oreo doughnuts and also someone made a Bailey's cake, and why won't these stubborn pounds come off. There was 600,000 tons of work to do, and I didn't even get to email with Ned as I enjoy doing, and then it was time to go home and do some freelance.

And here is the thing: Monday is a good TV night cause you got your Real Housewives of Orange County. I suppose I don't have to tell you that. So my goal was to get my work done before that crucial hour. When I first got home and got nutritious homemade food that was made in the home of the Chinese restaurant from which I ordered it, I turned on the TV to amuse myself and WHO KNEW Long Island Medium was on Mondays at 5:30? Hmmm? WHO KNEW?

It was all I could do to turn that thing off after the first one, because they had back-to-back episodes just to torment me.

I was pretty much done with my work when the packed-with-life-lessons Real Housewives came on, but I did want to look at everything one more time after the show, but then WHO KNEW they'd have a special called Secrets of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on right after Orange County?

WHY MUST YOU DANGLE THIS TEMPTATION AND FASCINATING TV VIEWING BEFORE ME, GOD?

And that is why your old pal June, here, ended up finishing her work at 4 a.m. Or 10:00. Whichever.

So that was my day. Oh! And I forgot to show you this yesterday:

I was trying to take senior picture poses while we were hiking. However, when one has one's senior picture taken, one does not often have to get her green sunglasses out the way. Or one's giant chunks o'hair.

The point is, if you want to print this out at Kinko's and get it wallet-size, feel free.

To a great girl I met in second hour. This class sucks! ha! ha! Good luck with the guys this summer and stay sweet. FF. June.

Usually I got "To a crazy girl," or my favorite, "To a weird girl." Yes, I realize the fact that I have an actual personality makes me weird. Go on wit' cher fascinating self.

Also, since we were going hiking this weekend, everyone insisted I get real shoes to walk in, seeing as I have the plantar fasciitis and it's getting worse. This cute old lady owned the shoe store downtown where we were, and she had on elastic-waist jeans with a permanent seam in them, and man did she know her shoe bidness.

I told her about the plantar fasciitis, because I have to tell everyone everything and welcome to my blog, and I was picking out some other shoes and she said, "NO!" I jumped like Edsel does.

"I will NOT let you get those, not with your plantar fasciitis." Then she got me the pair above, where I am transitioning from being a person in cute shoes to being a plantar fasciitis victim. "You put your foot right up here on my britches. I don't care." And I did. She tied them extra tight, and I've been wearing these shoes ever since.

The podiatrist told me I had to get athletic lesbian shoes and wear them constantly for awhile so my foot could heal; she told me that five months ago and I haven't done it because HI I LIKE CUTE SHOES AND MEN.

However, the other day, Ned said, "Yeah, but limping is not sexy." And I knew he had a point. I can't walk without limping anymore. So I wore these stupid shoes to work and I will again today. All those many mens I had on a string at work will lose interest.

In other news, pfft.

I guess I had better go pull on my elastic-waist jeans and head to fake work. I have more freelance tonight, but Ned and I are going to the old theater we like to see Casablanca at 7:30, so I have to NOT WATCH LONG ISLAND MEDIUM--which comes on Tuesdays at 6:00, just in case anyone cared or wanted to TiVO it for me or anything--and work instead.

Of all the elastic-waist jeans in all the world, you had to come into mine.

So to speak.

June, crudely out.

In which June gongs a cowbell

I AM DONE WITH THAT STATISTICS BOOK!!!!!!!

 

Working June checks in

I have to dash, because I have to scream over to my old workplace and fill out some papers before I scream over to my old, old workplace and work. Dude, I know. You think I don't know? Because I do. Don't they realize I have a blog and cannot be doing such confusing things?

I had to work late yesterday, as I predicted, and when I got home at about 7:30, you'd have thought I was Ashley Wilkes returning from the war. I know I always use Ashley Wilkes, but it's a good example. This was the calmest picture I got of Edsel upon my return. And yes, that table is a mess. Look. I've worked almost 7 hours this week. I'm exhausted. And apparently in need of two kinds of floss.

Somehow I managed to capture Tallulah being calm, which could have something to do with the fact that she was calm. It was raining, so she had rain head from being let out as soon as I got home. Edsel similarly had rain head, but his constant gyrating and smiling dried him off faster.

Poor Talu. It must suck to be the only person with dignity in the whole house. If it were up to her, that mess on the coffee table would be cleaned up, too.

You can really see my hobbies on that coffee table. Filing, flossing, squirting the dogs. Ned's coffee table is an archaeological dig of his life in the last three months. My suspicion was that before that, he'd been cleaning up in order to impress me, but since June he's let his freak flag fly. On his table is a letter from me, written to thank him for my birthday present IN JULY, various pieces of mail and notes to himself (he has one that just reads, "LUNCH," as though he might otherwise forget it exists) and flyers from a plethora of things that got his attention in the spring.

He claims it's just a particularly busy time for him and that usually he's pretty tidy, but I guess we'll all find out, since I intend to report on the State of the Coffee Table occasionally. I might even report on the occasional table.

Bah.

Are you tidy or not? What's on your desk or coffee table right now? Tell me. You can even send in a photo if you're inclined.

I am off. To turn my papers in. Finally, the mystery of "Is June really an American citizen" will be solved.

June and her fake SS card, out.

June is brief.

I slept late and I have to go to the dentist, because I know how to throw down on a Thursday. To summarize life lately:

1. Iris is not better, despite giving her Clavamox for two weeks, which she really enjoyed, so I am delighted she didn't need it. The vet is going to test her for one more thing, but really thinks she has bladder inflammation from stress. The dogs chase her. Am getting v.v. depressed about this whole thing.

I told Hulk, which, why. Why did I think, "Oh! Sympathetic ear? How 'bout Hulk?" He said, "I have a production schedule at work that will never be met. Am looking at a $7,000 orthodontist bill, I'm fighting with my ex and I can't get laid. But please tell your cat I hope her stress gets better."

.....yeah.

2. Am probably going to start freelancing heavily for ...a place starting next week. More reports as developments warrant.

3. This is good, because one way to reduce stress in cats other than FIND THEM A QUIET HOME AND KILL ME NOW, is to let them climb up high. Iris, being blind, does not go in for jumping to high places, but she climbs the shit out of Edsel's crate, which is where her food is. So I figure she'd climb a kitty condo, and DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THOSE COST? Holy cats. So to speak.

4. I have been emailing with Daniel Boone. I know. Shut up. It's not what you think. We are friends. We always were good at being friends. Terrible at being more. Which leads me to:

5. Am unspeakably in love with Ned, and every time I see him I get more twitterpated. I remain gross gross gross.

Talk at you later.

June. No longer a drain on society.

Well, I have a job.

I got a job at the I-wore-two-earrings-to-the-interview place, and who knew they'd hire someone who did such a thing? The HR woman there is really nice, so I told her about the earrings. "See?" she said. "That's why we need a good proofreader here. No one noticed that detail."

The hours are slightly reDUNKulous: 8-8 Monday and Tuesday and 4-Midnight Thursday and Friday. I don't mind working at night, as I am kind of what you'd call a night person. I am a lady of the night. ...Wait.

Anyway, the only downside of that is no more Friday nights with Ned, but we have big plans to throw down on Wednesdays, when I will have had the day off and don't have to work till 4:00 the next day.

 

W-E-D-N-E-S-D-A-Y night!

Doesn't have the same cache. By the way, I made sure to pick the most ludicrous version of that song that I could find. Why do people put things on You Tube that are just a picture of the band and then the song? There's this thing called iTunes, putting-up-just-a-photo-on-You-Tube people.

The dramaaaaaa I mentioned yesterday was another company wanted me, but this place was the better choice. Despite the redunkulous hours. (I have a person coming from a dog-walking company this weekend, so someone can take out Yellow and Yellower while I am gone all day Mondays and Tuesdays.) And when did I get so in demand?

So there's my story. I start Monday, hence the part where I am getting a dog walker in on Monday.

Oh, and you know what? It's casual dress! Remember the LAST place I worked, and they actually had dressy requirements, which is the first time I've had that since about 1992? So I went out and got 94 pair of black pants and 20 businessy hi-I'm-a-copy-editor cardigans, and they will continue to linger in my closet.

I heard that. Anyway, it'll be nice to have money again. And no, I am not hiring a cleaning lady. You know, right off the bat. Wouldn't that be nice, though?My first priority is to pay off my medical bills from this spring's womyn fest operation. Remember when your health insurance actually paid for stuff?

This whole job action will, however, cut into my doing-nothing time, which has been in abundance since I got laid off February 1. Faithful Reader Carol in Bama--and I do not know where Bama is, either. Perhaps it's a tropical island somewhere--sent me a ton of books recently, and I have already read The Guernsey Potato Peel whatever book and also Major Pettigrew's Last Stand. I started The Language of Flowers yesterday and am a third of the way through. This pesky employment will interfere with my lounging about and reading time.

Books with long titles annoy me. I used to work at a museum, and we notoriously had 97-word exhibits. I think it was supposed to seem smart. Women in Art: A Pathologically Retrospective Look at Chicks, Babes, Skirts, The Ol' Ball and Chain and So On and Her Contributions to a Hegemonic Society. An Exhibit in Two Parts So We Can Make This Title Longer and Irk June to Bits.

Also, what's Edsel gonna do? Do you understand how this dog is glued to me at every moment? Perhaps I'd better tell them I have an emotionally needy dog and he needs to come to work with me. He'll be no trouble at all.

The other day I managed to capture on film for you his dreamy look that he gets when you scritch him under the collar. Poor Edsel. Being mom-free four days a week. He'll be mortified.

The place is local, but about 15 minutes away. I like how all of a sudden that is SO FAR AWAY, a FIFTEEN-MINUTE COMMUTE! Who forgets about LA so fast? So fast. I would have fried up my own kidneys for a 15-minute commute. A THIRTY-minute commute, even.

So there it is. Oh, and my friend Charlie continues to improve bit by bit--no word on whether he'll recover fully yet.

Casual depression at its' finest

I am totally extra super giant depressed. I found out today that I did not get that job, the one I took a test for a few weeks back.

I SUCK.

This is the third editing test I've taken wherein I did not get the job. Have I turned stupid? Have I lost my abilities? Do I have a brain tumor? Should I take up another career, such as professional hair-wearer? I seem to do that pretty memorably.

I have no talent, skills, likable qualities or future. Am going to have to move back to Saginaw and live with Hulk. Hi, Hulk. Pay no attention to these pets.

Speaking of which, who do you suppose was delighted to be released from dog daycare? And in a fit of alpha, Edsel rode home in the front seat, instead of his regularly scheduled backseat riding. Why Talu did not kick his skinny arse is beyond me. But you know what else happened? While they were boarded up there at the dog orphanage, Edsel had his second birthday, on July 7th. Isn't that terrible? His mother abandons him on his birthday. You can see he's distraught over it.

Maybe later today Eds and I will go on a special walk, just the two of us, and I won't make him stop and talk to my old neighbor, Paul. He'll like that, Eds will. Paul will be annoyed.

At any rate, as for the rest of my weekend in Michigan, I had a fine time. I have no idea why there was an image of an apostrophe, here, but I figured it was some kind of message for me. "June suck's."

"June edit's horribly."

"Hey, June! ' !"

I wonder what ' means in that last sentence. Woodstock from Peanuts is yelling at me.

Speaking of apostrophes, I saw this in the elevator where I stayed the other night. I would like to be privy to the thought process that led this person to make the word its apostrophe. "Well, if I wrote 'at it's finest' that would mean "at it is finest. So it must be its'."

That person has a job. I do not.

When I wasn't mocking elevator signs, I was at Hulk's hanging out at his pool. I do not know why that poor man up there getting permanently injured made me giggle for 85 years, but I did also shoot Vs at Hulk's kid, Not Chloe, while she frolicked in the pool way more athletically than I ever did in all my days.

Not Chloe is kind of fearless about the going underwater without plugging her nose, which Hulk said he taught her when she was, like, two or something. I'll bet Not Chloe will grow up to be a low-maintenance woman.

I'll bet Not Chloe won't have to call attention to herself at every turn, either. I am already baffled by the fictional future Not Chloe.

Seeing as it was my house and all, I invited my long-time low-maintenance friend Gertrude over as well, and her daughter, who is the same age as The UnChloe.

 Gertrude made me a CD of cover songs by different artists, like Fiona Apple singing John Lennon, which I listened to 97 times on the drive home yesterday.

 

I also got up with my old friend Mayor McCheese, whom I have known since the '80s. The rockin' '80s. That house he lives in? Is an 1800s-y house that he and his wife have been renovating since 1712. It's a cool house and I lived there briefly before I moved to Seattle.

Here is the Mayor's wife, AnnNanandAmy. When Mayor McCheese first started dating her, he introduced her at a (sit down) loud bar. I KNOW! Me? At a loud bar in the '80s? Anyway, I heard her name was "Ann," my friend Gertrude heard "Nan" and my ex-best-friend Esmeralda said, "No. Her name's Amy." So ever since then she's just AnnNanandAmy. I made the calligrapher write AnnNanandAmy on her invitation to my wedding, because I have a long and illustrious love affair with my own self.

Anyway you can't help but adore AnnNanandAmy. She is da bomb. She asked me what I wanted to drink, and I said, "Something caffeinated" and she offered Diet Pepsi and I politely said, "GOD, I HATE diet drinks."

I am a pleasure. No one say "high mantenance" or I'll kill you. Hulk called me high-maintenance, by the way, at HIS house because I asked him to mix cranberry juice with Sprite. Look, I KNEW he had BOTH. What's the big deal? I didn't ask for fresh guava juice imported from Columbia and served in a mango. God.

So here's poor AnnNanandAmy grinding coffee beans for me in the blender. Who's an annoying guest? DON"T SAY IT! DON'T.SAY.IT.

Those short people are their kids. They have three of them. They thought they were getting smoothies. June. Disappointing children since 201--oh, let's face it. I've been disappointing children since day one.

On my way out of Michigan I stopped off to see my old boyfriend Giovanni Leftwich. I have mentioned him before. I used to love the spit right out of him. But that was back in the '80s when I went to loud bars and misheard people's names.

Now we can be in the same vicinity and not scream at each other, or throw things, or jump up and down, or really create any drama at all, really. Which is kind of nice. We've known each other since 7th grade, and managed to go from 7th to 10th grades as friends before all hell broke loose for the rest of the '80s, and I guess we finally got back to 7th grade again.

Giovanni is marrried and has two kids; his son will be in 7th grade this year. "Wow, that's weird," I said, when his son showed up AS GIOVANNI'S 7th-GRADE DOPPELGANGER.

He also has a sweet daughter and a guinea pig named Squeaky. Guess who lived up to his name when his feets were dangling like this?

I also met Giovanni's gorgeous wife, who apparently has been able to be in the same room and not scream or yell and jump up and down at Giovanni for 15 years, and I'd like to know how this is manageable. ...Do you think it was just me?

DON'T SAY IT.

That's about all I have to tell you, except that there is this glass factory in West Virginia that every time Marvin and I would drive to Michigan or back, I'd see the signs for it and say, "I'd like to look around in there one day." The last time we ever traveled to Michigan as a couple, which was for my Uncle Jim's funeral--and curiously the very day ...friend was moving to Greensboro--I said, "Oh, there's that glass store exit" and Marvin said something snarky about it, something like, "Are you OBSESSED with that glass place?"

I said nothing till we got to the exit, and then I said, "Don't worry about going to the glass place, ASSHOLE."

And then? Somehow our marriage didn't end up working out.

DON'T SAY IT!

Green Bean. Also, Brooks bought me a mink. Did I mention Brooks? Mink? Brooks?

You wanna know what's weird about Edsel?

Well. I mean, we'd be here all day. But you wanna know one thing that's weird about Edsel? (And YES. I CALLED THE VET about his eyes. Waiting for call back.) One thing out of the 39494949 that is weird about Edsel is that although this dog does NOTHING but CLAMOR for my love all day long, with the following and the slapping his chin on my lap and the snout snout snout nudging me CONSTANTLY? When I want to hug him or lean on him? He is appalled.

Let's say I'm on the couch watching the (riveting!) season finale of Real Housewives. And Edsel is up there with me even though dogs are not allowed on the couch and how many photos of those dogs on the couch have you seen now? Anyway, it was a special occasion because Edsel just loves Heather and wanted to see what she'd do about that bitch eating the bow off her cake.

And stop being so lofty. Just start watching the damn Real Housewives, will you? FIVE-HUNDRED and FIFTY DOLLARS Heather spent on that cake, and some heifer just COMES ALONG and eats the bow off before the cake is cut.

So there we are, watching our deep show, and I want to, say, lay my head on Eds's haunch. As soon as I do that, he jumps off the couch and falumphs to the floor with a crash. And he always has to sigh, like I put him out so tremendously. "{Flump.} HMMMMMMmmmmmmmmphhhhhh."

Whatever. Edsel is a commitmentphobe.

Yesterday I finally stopped downloading pictures of old boyfriends and finally got started on my statistics book editing. Because, fun? I kind of want to floomp onto the floor and sigh disgustedly.

I took my work to the Green Bean, which is a coffee shop downtown. Somehow I can get more work done when 11 pets aren't jumping on me. Unfortunately, the only table available was in the front, by the window, so naturally I kept watching people walk by and judging their clothes.

Eventually, ...friend came to join me, because he lives right by there. You know what I forgot to do, though? Was take a photo of ...friend. Was too busy being all smitteny and ridiculous like I always am.

After awhile, he left and I went back to my work till it was time for my deep television program. I think Gina's daughter is so terribly gorgeous. And just shut up and GO WATCH THE SHOW. Is all I'm saying to you.

Anyway, after all that time at the Green Bean yesterday, looking at young girls with fabulous bodies and that thing? Where they make every statement? A question? And I want to slap them on the backs of their heads? After all that, today on Facebook I see Marvin has written a song about the Green Bean. Sometimes he plays guitar there.

 

He took this with his hat cam. Who bugs me, with his hat cam? Do I even want to know how much that cost? Who here misses Marvin and his hat cam shenanigans? Anyone? Bueller?

Anyway, so there was my day. I hope you and your hat cams had an equally exciting one.

Here we are now. Entertain us.

I know this is a weird time for me to, you know, blog, but I did as much work as I could, then I did my Tracy Morgan or whoever DVD and THEN I did my TM, and now I really cannot work another moment. Really. I cannot.

I am doing TM now! Transcendental Meditation. It's not a religious thing or weird or anything, it's been around forever and all sorts of medical studies have revealed how good it is for you. You have to take a class to learn how to do it, but all told I have spent probably 10 hours learning and I already know how.

What's sad? Is I decided to take the classes THIS WEEK. Because I'm not BUSY OR ANYTHING. I've had to go in two hours each day this week for my classes. So I'm over there trying to feel all peaceful and the whole time I've been all, "I'LL NEVER GET MY WORK DONE! I'LL NEVER_____" Then I forget everything for 20 minutes because it is excellent meditation.

And that's all I'm gonna say about that. You aren't supposed to talk a lot about it. So click on the link if you want to learn more.

So when I am not at two with nature or whatever, I have been here. Working. Hanging with the prettiest cat you ever did meet, who looks DELIGHTED to be on the webcam. WHY DO THEY ALL ABHOR THE WEBCAM? WHY AM I SHOUTING SO MUCH TODAY? Aren't I supposed to be achieving Nirvana at this point? With the lights on, it's less dangerous.

Here we are now. Entertain us.

I love that song. Do you not love that song? I remember hearing it, in 1992, when I still lived in my home town. Where Hulk is. But I did not know Hulk at that point. I mean, I DID, as we went to high school together, but we were not in touch. This is all beside the point. The POINT is, I sat in the car and listened to the whole song. And I was all, "Who WAS that?" Because he just said "a mosquito, my libido" and I love him.

 

Sadly, I am now the age of the janitor in this video.

Speaking of old, but way more fun than the janitor with his mop, I have been back to hanging with my friend and neighbor Paul. He will be 97 four days after I turn 47. We are practically birthday twins. I was thinking I took this surreptitiously last night, but he said, "Oh, you just took a picture of me!" Okay, how did you KNOW that? You are 96. You should not know from iPhones.

He is delightful. Completely sharp. Full of stories. AND FROM TINY TOWN. Okay, the next town over. I am just saying. Once you've gone TinyTown you don't go back, apparently. It continues to haunt me.

Talu is excellent while we visit Uncle Paul. She just waits for us to shut up so we can continue our W. I like how I say "W" here like she can hear me.

Edsel, you will be stunned to hear, is a different story. Let go! Let go now mom let go! We not going? Okay Edzul pace. pace pace pace SNIFF UNKLE PAUL! pace.

Anyway. Paul has lived in this neighborhood for 50 years and has plenty of good gossip. When you hang on your glider all day you get a lot of guff.

Here we are now. Entertain us.

In other news, OH LOOK THERE'S SOME WORK, but also please note the NEW FANCY PEN my friend Dot sent me. And my Downton Abbey bookmark.

I need to carry that pen in my purse. Oh, let me just get out my subtle pen. Really if anyone ever said, "Who is June Gardens?" you could just show them this pen.

She also sent me my own little teacup piglet and...

97 boxes of Girl Scout cookies. Dot. An excellent friend to have. IF YOU WANT TO BE FAT FAT FAT.

See? Shouting again. Good meditating, June. Good job on the calmness.

Okay, am out. June, out. Out, damn June. You know what sounds good right now? A cookie.