Bye Bye, Pie!

April Fooled No One. Carp.

I forgot to tell you that my holiday was a total bust. I guess I was too traumatized to remember.

April Fool's Day is my favorite holiday, followed closely by Valentine's Day because I like the colors. For years, really all my life as soon as I could talk--and that was at about two months--I started April Fooling people. You can imagine the hilarious pranks I pulled off at nine months.

When my stepsister Uma was about 13, and had skipped a grade in school because she was so smart, and was super extra good and quiet and no trouble at all and so forth, I called my mother on April 1. I must've been 19 or so.

"I promised I wouldn't say anything, but I have to tell someone. Uma wants to go on the pill. She wants me to take her to the clinic."

Oh, that was a good one. My mother was beside herself with worry. That was also the year I told my dad I had joined the Army, because they said they were gonna send me to Europe.

He.was.furious.

"YOU CAN'T EVEN PLAY BADMINTON! HOW DO YOU EXPECT TO GET BY IN THE ARMY?"

In my defense, I would have made a fantastic Army-er.

Through the years of our stupid marriage, Marvin woke me to say Tallulah had caught a snake, and once he called his sister to ask if I was there because I'd stormed out the night before, and so on. As I recall, he never succeeded in fooling anyone once. This year he's put on his Facebook page that he's accepted a teaching job in China. "Go on there and back me up," he texted me.

Oh, he had TONS of people wishing him well and thinking that was just great. His FB friends are morons. This is the same guy who changes his birthday on Facebook several times a year, just to get all the "Happy birthday!" messages. Why does anyone like Marvin?

Anyway, the first thing I did this year was call my mother at 8 a.m., because what you have to do is call people early before COCKBLOCKERS such as my STEPFATHER alert her to the date.

My ex-in-laws had been in town, but my mother did not believe me that we all went to dinner and then to a strip club. Oh, I had a whole story about it, how we all said we've always kind of wanted to go to one, and I was so brilliant with this idea, as long as my mother didn't remember I've been to strip clubs eleventy times.

"I didn't get to bed till 3 o'clock, honey," my mother said crankily.

"You should really turn your ringer off, then, if it's going to be April first," I told her. I mean, has she MET me? Have I not tried to fool her for FORTY-EIGHT YEARS now? It's not MY fault people don't take precautions.

Last year, I didn't even TRY to fool Ned, as we had just started dating and so on. This year he was doomed.

"BUNNIES!!" was the subject of my email to him. "A reader put a whole basket of bunnies on my porch!" I enthused. "The card says 'Two for Ned.' Do you want both white ones, or one of the black and white ones?"

I have, in fact, gotten stuff on my porch from readers, so that wasn't comPLETEly far-fetched. And I thought the part where two bunnies were a gift would make him panic.

"Oh, good I just made more vegetable stock. I can skin them and have a wonderful stew."

See. I was failing all the way around, dude.

When I got to work and started laughing before I could even tell my co-worker Vilhelm Oyster that I am transgendered and needed his support, I knew I wasn't gonna have any luck. April Fool's '13 was a bust, man.

When I was home for lunch, my old friend Sleeping Beauty called me just to chat. You know how she has that glamorous job, and half the time--at least before she had a baby--she'll say, "Well, I have to go. I'm in Eygpt and gotta go to work." I'm always, "Yeah, I'm at TARGET, so I have to go, too."

We talked for a long time before I said, "I didn't manage to fool anyone today."

"What do you mean?"

"For my HOLIDAY," I said.

"OH MY GOD! It's April Fool's Day!" she said. "I just got back from Australia last night and totally forgot. You could have so gotten me."

...God DAMMIT.

Tyrannosaurus Ned

I meant to write sooner today, but apparently MTV feels the need to distract me with retro episodes of The Real World, in particular The Real World Las Vegas from 2002.

"Trishelle's hawt." There's this poor awkward kid from the Midwest on Real World LV, and do you like how I've become so familiar with it that I abbreviate it, kind of like when people call it "Idol," which by the way makes me wretch. "Idol." Shut up. Anyway, the poor awkward kid says that 9,000 times an episode in TRWLV. "Trishelle's hawt."

And she was kinda hawt.

Back when this was a real show, Marvin and I would go around saying, "Trishelle's hawt" in that poor Midwestern kid's voice, and guess who needed lives so bad? Was it Marvin and me?

Also, I love how on this show they fight over use of the phone, because no one had cell phones. That was only 11 years ago. I'm telling you, styles are kind of the same, music is kind of the same, TV IS KIND OF THE SAME, but technology? All over the place. It's the only thing that seems dated from then: the lack of technology.

OHMYGOD none of this is why I GATHERED you here today, though. I GATHERED you here to update you on Ned's condition, and to tell you about Chris and Lilly's baby, and all I can think about is Trishelle and her cell phone.

What kind of bullshit name is Trishelle, anyway?

So Ned, who seems to have no opinion on Trishelle, but maybe that's because I've never asked him about his feelings on Trishelle, went to get his dang wisdom teeth out yesterday, and I took him. When you go to Ned's--and why are you at Ned's? What are you doing with Ned? I could kick your ass, you know, you giant tramp--you have to call him so he can let you in to the Fort Knox Gelatin that is his apartment. You'd think he was storing gold or Trishelle up there, so secure is that building. The point is, I was just gonna call and he was gonna come down and then we were gonna schlep to the dentist to remove his parts. But when I called, his "Hello?" sounded so scared and beleaguered that I just felt terrible for him.

Ned. Looking forward to having his teefs out since never.

When we got there, I planted myself in the lobby, where I'm delighted to tell you a sporting event was taking place on the lobby TV.

The dentist really went in for the "we're in a cabin somewhere" scheme, by the way. To the left, there, is a canoe book shelf. I am not making that up.

Here I am, thoroughly enjoying said game. Note also the canoe lamp behind me. My ex-best-friend Esmerelda (the first person to ask gets impaled with a pine cone. I've told the story 40 times. Google ByeByePie + lost my best friend. You're welcome) used to sell Precious Moments figurines, and they had an anniversary figurine of two Native Americans, "injuns" as Hulk and his offensive Indian tattoo would call them, and the figurine read "Many moons in same canoe. Blessum you."

I am also not making that up.

Fortunately, Ned's appointment went quickly, and I was never so glad to see someone's cute face as I was when he came out of that room. I'd been trying to read but really the whole time I'd just been nauseated for him. Really, I was nervous as a cat, because he was. But he was at the desk paying and I mouthed, "You okay?" and he nodded yes, because of course he was clamping down on 50 yards of gauze. Really, dental procedures are barbaric.

We had to go fill his prescription for pain meds, and even though he was clamping, he managed to chatter like a magpie the whole way. "Aaat rully wonn't so ad," he said.

"You should probably try not to talk," I said.

"O ay." [Eight-second pause.]

"Eally, o. It wonn't at ad."

"Okay, good. But TRY NOT TO TALK. Just clamp."

"Oot ooo you aaant oo oo now?"

"OHMYGOD, CLAMP. We aren't gonna do anything now but get you home. Geez."

Eventually, we got home and Ned changed his disgusting awful gauze and got all woozy about it and asked for a chocolate shake. Ned never wants bad things like chocolate shakes, and I was glad to go get him one. But right when I was leaving, I got a text that Lilly had had her baby! And they wanted me to visit right then!

Ned said he'd watch his riveting sports and sleep and to go ahead, and I was kind of worried he'd expire from tooth removal, but I also really wanted to see Lilly for the FOURTEEN SECONDS they keep you at the hospital anymore, so I said I'd scream over there, stay for 15 minutes so as not to be the rude overstaying visitor, then get Ned his shake.

On my way to see Lilly, I remembered I forgot to sign that contract for the Exciting Thing Ima tell you about eventually, so I stopped at home, let the dogs out who were totally confused by me being home at 4 p.m., signed and scanned and emailed said Exciting Contract, then scream scream screamed over to the hospital that is eight inches from my front door, and also where I left my fibroids last year. And the year before.

Clearly I have boomerang fibroids.

And oh! Lilly's baby is cute! And thank heavens, because Lilly had SAID she had a cute baby, but she's the MOM. If that thing had come out looking like Marty Feldman she'd have thought it was cute.

Okay, here's the story. Lilly said I could put the baby's picture on here, and I KNOW Lilly HATES her own picture, yet I ASSURE you she looks REALLY VERY LOVELY in this one, but I cut as much of her out as I could so I wouldn't piss her off and yet still include the baby. Whose name is Zella Grace. It's a family name. Isn't that a cool name?

Also, Lilly got a beautiful diamond necklace from Chris, for, you know, passing a huge baby head out her parts and so on. Which by the way Lilly did not exactly enjoy. Wasn't what you'd call a relaxed evening, her evening of giving birth. Am thinking surrogate motherhood will not be on L's list of hobbies anytime soon.

Childbirth. Apparently it hurts.

Naturally when I got back to Ned's I showed him this photo of me holding a newborn necklace. "You deserve a diamond necklace too," said Ned, who I doubt is out getting me one because he clearly said that while under the influence of morphine or whatever he took for his teeth. "When you have my children, I will get you a diamond necklace."

See. Someone just got away with murder, there.

The point is, after I did all those things like sign contracts and visit babies and covet diamonds, I schlepped to the shake store and got Ned's treat, only to DROP IT LIKE IT WAS HOT when I got to his house.

Best.girlfriend.ever. And yes, I DID go get another one. And yes, I DID swear like a madwoman. I'd like to take this moment to thank my dad for teaching me all the really good swears, because man did they come in handy when I dropped that @&%# shake.

So there it was. Ned survived. Lilly birthed. It was a big day. Other than the part where I didn't get any diamond necklace.

The rest of the evening we spent quietly, because Ned was told he couldn't eat anything but mushy stuff, and he couldn't drink alcohol, and he couldn't have...raucous activity, so that pretty much ruled out anything we WOULD have done on a Friday. Usually Fridays find us eating a whole mess of peanut brittle then slam dancing in a mosh pit.

Generally on Fridays we have a who-can-chew-the-biggest-piece-of-ice contest and then we head to the bumper cars.

Fridays? That's our eat gravel and box each other night.

Okay I'm done. So what we DID end up doing was eating split pea soup and talking.

"If you be named after something, what would it be?" I asked Ned.

"A beer. No, wait. Beers are too transient; they come and they go." Tell that to Mr. Bud Light.

"A comet," he amended. "But not one that hardly ever appears. A comet that shows up every four years, like the Olympics. ...Or a dinosaur. I'd like to have a dinosaur named after me. What about you?"

"Lipstick or a sex act. Except with my luck, it'd end up being one of those sex acts involving poop. 'I'm never seeing him again. He wanted to June Gardens me! These are Egyptian cotton sheets!'"

I finally settled on a rose. I want a rose named after me. Wouldn't that be nice? The June Gardens pale pink rose. With sparkles. Maybe you could plant it and add a little glitter to the soil and it'd grow all sparkly. Do you think?

Anyway. He feels sore today and a little tired, but I think Ned will live. And Lilly is home already, of course, because WHAT IS WITH HOSPITALS TODAY? Lilly mentioned that Zella hated her first bath, and I suggested she might be French.

With that, I bid you adieu. June and her rose, out.

I wonder what we'd name after Trishelle? A hot plate. The Trishelle Hawt Plate.

P.S. Chris and Lilly just sent this picture. thurtee-ate hourz of lyfe all it take to be totlee sik of ant joon blog.

In which June decides there is a table and it is round

Today I have many stupid things to talk about, and you will be stunned at how pressing they are. "Thank heavens June covered this topic," you'll say, at your daily round tables with your friends to discuss my blog.

What do you mean, "What round table?"

First of all, I got some new mascara. I know! You know you're stampeding over to the Algonquin or wherever right now to discuss prematurely. You're having premature elocution on this.

I got my mascara from the grocery store, and what's sad is I'm impoverished June. Regularly employed June would NEVER get her mascara at the grocery store. But seeing as I now apply 50 coats a day, I run out more quickly and needed a replacement. I would like to continue to thank everyone else for being allergic to their Latisse and sending me practically full bottles. I haven't had to buy Latisse in ages.

Yay, readers! Yay, allergies! June. Being glad you have itchy, red eyes since 2013. Oh, you are SO discussing my bitchiness at the round table.

I bought Maybelline Rocket, which sounds like some kind of marital aid, and let's discuss how I used to buy Chanel mascara. Which cost eleven thousand dollars a tube. Oh, I miss having dollars. You know how they say money can't buy you happiness? That's a bunch of bullshit. Of course it can. Mascara makes me infinitely happy.

Anyway, at least I had the seven bucks to get this, and I should be grateful, and note how I was already gleefully ripping it open before it occurred to me to photograph this for posterity.

I only use a Shu Umura eyelash curler. I worked with this super-annoying woman who had seven kids (7!), none of whom she paid any attention to because she was newly divorced, and no one mention how I go out with Ned and leave the dogs here. In fact, she had kids five and six to KEEP the husband--she told me that--and kid seven with the new boyfriend to keep him. Then she told me I was selfish for not wanting children. That is when I murdered her and stole her Shu Umura eyelash curler.

No. But what DID happen is this woman owned ALL the MAC eye shadow colors. All. And she'd do her makeup at her desk, which I'd scoff at if I didn't do that too sometimes. One day she asked if I had a curler, and when I whipped out the Maybelline one I bought in eighth grade, she said, "Oh. Forget it. Thanks." Then she told me about Shu Umura, and if you think I didn't STAMPEDE OUT and buy one right then. That was in 2000 and I still have it. I replace the pads, obvs.

Round table discussion: How often do you change your eyelash curler pads. Hulk?

But look! Look how pleased I am with that mascara! Go marital Rocket!

In other news, today is Miss Doxie's birthday. She really doesn't blog anymore, which is a shame, because when I FOUND her blog, in 2007, I read it and read it and died laughing. She is also absolutely gorgeous, and has a fancy job, and a really cute husband, and two 9,000-year-old daschunds.

One day, I as sitting in my lawyer's office, preparing to divorce Marvin, when I got an email from Miss Doxie. I didn't even know she knew I existed. And a ludicrous friendship was born. And no. I SHOULDN'T hang around anyone this pretty.

Anyway, happy birthday, Doxie! Many ridiculous returns of the day.

When I was searching for a photo of Doxie, I also found this.

If I believed in frowny-face emoticons, I'd put one here. I miss Roger. I wonder why I had 78 blankets all over the couch? Perhaps I was feeling under the weather, for a change.

The other crucial bit of news I had for you is that the other day I was at Ned's, who asked, "Would you like  a Thin Mint?"

...? Has anyone ever said no to that query in the history of time? Why even ask? Why not just GET OUT the Thin Mints and hand them over? Which he did, and I noticed the box was unopened even though I know he's had those cookies at least two weeks already. So I opened the box and got out one cookie, and he did too. And then he left the room. Naturally, I had another cookie and wondered when he'd be back for his second one, when minutes passed. And many more minutes. This was the day he was making that vegetable stock, so I thought maybe he was distracted.

"You want me to bring you another cookie?" I asked.

"No."

.....!!!!!!

Also, !!!!!!

"You aren't gonna have any more?" I mean, I've never even considered such a thing. ONE Thin Mint? Seriously? Is he some weird religion or something?

"You don't, just, eat a whole sleeve of cookies," said Ned. Who has no idea how things work. He also gives his poor cat ONE hypoallergenic treat at a time. Per day. If that. One. "It's not good to have a whole bunch," he said, and I'm wondering if he has some kind of self-hatred that is super deep-seated or something.

So my Q to you is, what the hell's wrong with Ned?

And finally, I leave you with this video, which means a lot and answers all the questions of our time. Other than the one about Ned and his cookie.

 

Round table discussion: Flapping lips. Why does Talu eschew?

In which June discusses open floor plans and the tuna taco. Tune in, won't you? Tuna in, won't you? BAH!

Currently I have the personality of a MOP because GUESS WHAT, another MIGRAINE and I basically hate self and wish to die. I finished that Prednisone I was taking, which, hooray, I can sleep again and speak at a regular slow-ish pace and not raise the roof, literally, and so forth, but now, yay. Migraines are back. Holy CATS, it makes me mad.

So, yeah. Thank heavens you went to all the trouble to be one of the 16% checking in on a Saturday, cause WOW, what a personality on June. Look at the big personality on June.

It is a shame I can't say "personality" one more time. You know what else I have a lot of today? Wessonality.

Some idiot sat there and thought of that ad campaign. Then pitched it to his coworkers. "Say! Why don't we say the chicken's got Wessonality?" And his coworkers were all, "Yeah! That's the ticket!"

How late at night do you think that was?

So, in other news, we had us an ice kind of a thing here in North Carolina. I got up yesterday morning, as I am wont to do, and as I headed to fake work I noted MOTHER OF GOD IT'S COLD, which really, it usually isn't here. Oh, it'll be in the 30s sometimes, but that's spring where I grew up. Yesterday? 24. TWENTY-FOUR.

Then after maybe an hour at work, people got all excited cause it was...something-ing out there. Kind of snowing, kind of raining. Kind of FREEZING, is what it was doing. When I went home for lunch, I had to pull over twice to scrape my windshield, because it kept icing over while I drove. That wasn't jarring or anything.

The good news is they let us out at 2:30, because The South. Where we panic over every weather incident. So I went home with the zinc drops and Emergen-C my boss gave me, which by the way SEEM TO HAVE WORKED LIKE DEMONS, and I watched house-buying shows on HGTV and napped on and off all afternoon.*

People have the worst taste in houses. I have no desire to look at everyone watching TV in some great room while I slave away in a kitchen with granite countertops. "Oh, I like how it's open to the other rooms," people always say. Why is this a good thing? We used to have this concept. It was called "rooms." Why don't we all just live in a big dome, we're so dying to see what everyone else is up to in the rest of the house.

Am I alone in this? I also have no desire to have an entryway that is 90 feet tall. Hi, come on in. I live in a lobby.

You know what I would like to have one day? Other than an actual job? Is a Cape Cod type of house. Back when I was young, so, so long ago, I just wanted my own apartment, with no roommates. Something small, but with character. Then I got that, and I met Marvin and all we wanted was a house. Nothing fancy, maybe just something from the '50s, with, you know, character.

Character is a big thing with me and my dwellings.

It took us TEN YEARS of marriage, but we finally got it, after realizing you cannot HAVE a small cute house in LA without being a small cute millionaire.

Now five years I been living here and I'm all, Wouldn't a Cape Cod be nice. Is it always going to be like this? Will I ever be satisfied? When I get my Cape Cod am I gonna wish for a house built in 1997 with an open floor plan?

With character?

What HAPPENED to character in houses? I think it went the way of "big." All of a sudden everyone needs big. And why? So you can all be in different rooms checking your smartphones?

Am cynical today. Migraine makes me cynical.

Anyway. Despite the icy conditions and general cold icy coldness, I still got together with Ned last night, because rather crushy on Ned. Everything was closed down because The South. Where we panic over every weather incident. Have I mentioned? We did, however, mince our way through the ice to our favorite pretentious taco place, where IT IS ALL DELICIOUS, and right when we walked in, the owner said, "Oh. Guys. I'm sorry. We just decided to shut down for the night due to weather."

Either we looked completely devastated or she recognized us from the 92 times we've been in, but she said, "You know what? Come in. You'll be the last two we serve."

Ned felt terribly guilty through the whole meal. I gleefully ordered the tuna tacos I've been wanting to order since DAY ONE of going there, which I've been afraid to order because everyone in there appears to be perhaps lesbianical and I always thought I was gonna giggle when I said, "I want a tuna taco." Because am in 7th grade. However, I ordered, "The taco, with tuna, please," a thing Ned repeated 47 times because he enjoys my maturity.

And OH MY GOD, it was delicious. Totally went to the Ned School of Eating during that meal. OH! Enjoyed my tuna taco. It had Wessonality.

Then this morning, Ned left for his work trip and I hate everything. He gets back Wednesday, and is coming RIGHT HERE from the airport, and I am making salmon and yes, I did just tell you that I'm cooking something. That is how excited I will be to see Ned. Am cooking something. I know.

In a few minutes, I'm leaving to get up with my friend and coworker TinaDoris. A few months back, she and her husband bought a really really cool old house with, you know, character, and also a ghost. She has had ALL KINDS OF CREEPY SHIT happen since they moved in, including an inexplicable really violent injurious fall, a weird red liquid on her hands for no reason, and now a candle attacked her. Don't ask.

So we're headed to the nutty crystal hippie store to get sage, and we're gonna de-demonize her place this afternoon. We Googled how to de-demonize your place, which is probably what ancient woman did when her cave was haunted. Will keep you posted on if it works or if the damn thing just gets in the car with me and starts haunting THIS place.

You know what a ghost will give this place? Wessonality.

*I forgot to tell you that when I got home yesterday afternoon, Edsel did his usual thing where he BOUNDS excitedly to the back door, which I opened so he could BOUND excitedly across the yard as though bounding across that yard were exciting and new and not something he does 18 times a day, but yesterday he BURST out the door and skid skid skidded across the icy deck, and could not get his footing, and splayed his feets this way and that and skid skid skidded on to the grass, which was similarly icy, so guess what, skid, and basically Tallulah and I died laughing. The end.

Greensboro Medium, or sometimes Large, if it runs small.

You know, every workday morning, the alarm goes off, and I hit snooze, and Lily is on top of me, and I hit snooze again and my POINT is, every time I get here to blog I go, MOTHER OF GOD WHY IS IT SO LATE ALREADY?

Today I figured out my goddamn alarm clock is 10 minutes slow compared to the rest of the, you know, clocks in the house. Son of a BITCH.

Am I the only person in America these things happen to? Doesn't everybody else set their alarm clock a little fast? Did you ever see Same Time Next Year? I love that movie. Alan Alda's watch is really fast, and he never fixes it, and he tells Ellen Burstyn something like, "I knew what time I fell in love with you. It was 11:02 p.m. I know because I looked at my watch and it was 3:15."

In other news, I am pretty sure I am getting a cold. This whole season, with everyone hacking and dying and aching and it sounding like a TB WARD in my office, I have escaped illness. I was just thinking, Maybe this year I have some kind of magical power that wards off colds, even though I have no spleen, which makes me more susceptible to illness, and even though I never got a flu shot this year.

That was some logical thinking. Yeah, that's it. A magical power. And now my throat distinctly hurts.

Which is fine. Ned leaves for ANOTHER GODDAMN BUSINESS TRIP tomorrow morning--I know. A Saturday. That isn't even fair--so as long as I can slog through tonight I can spend the rest of the weekend on the couch with my fixed TV.

I do have plans to see the tsunami movie tomorrow night with a friend but if I get ill those plans will be a wash. I'll be bowled over by the wave of this cold. I'll be drowning in NyQuil.

Tsunami jokes. Why did god see fit to punish me with a cold, do you think?

Ned and I don't really know what we're doing tonight, although what Ned does NOT know is he has a whole night of hearing about my cold up ahead of him, but last night when we were on the phone he said, "We can do whatever you want to do tomorrow, June."

"Makeovers! Long Island Medium marathon on TV and makeovers!" I said.

Since my TV got fixed earlier this week, I've been making up for lost time. Have not sat around looking at television since at least September. And oh! That Long Island Medium! That there is a good show. I've also continued to catch up on my Brady Bunch and my Andy Griffith.

Last night I saw the one where Marcia runs for class hostess at Filmore Junior High. The winner of class hostess gets to escort an astronaut to dinner at school or something. I mean, bitch ALREADY gets to take Davy Jones to the prom. Does she ALSO need to score her an astronaut?

Anyway, just to throw an unpopular girl a bone, Marcia helps this mousy chick run for the position, too, and under her fine tutelage, old Molly the Unpopular gets all pretty and shit and WINS THE COMPETITION.

I mean, the Brady Bunch had some hard-hitting issues. After her loss, Marcia OD and we see the whole family watch her get her stomach pumped. Alice makes some great wisecracks in the emergency room. Oh, Alice.

You know what's sad? Alice probably plays my age in that show. Sam is her Ned. God, that's depressing.

Oh, crap, I have to go. Thank heavens I stopped to write this important post. Talk to you tomorrow, when I will surely be stoic and brave about my cold, as I am wont to be.

In which June loves herself. Hope you were seated.

Good GRAVY, a lot of you have sent photos in! Keep sending them--you have till tomorrow. And title it BLOG PHOTO in the subject. Once I yelled, y'all paid attention.

I was avoiding doing my Tracy Chapman workout last night, so I looked at my old status updates on Facebook. What is sad is the AMOUNT of love I have for myself. Here are some:

June Gardens has got the music in her and wonders if tweezers would get it out.

There would be a lot greater chance that I would "lay lady, lay" across your big brass bed if you knew when to use "lay" and when to use "lie."

June Gardens thinks one of the cats who mated under her window last night? Might have been faking it a little.

You edit 16 tomes and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt.

Maybe the world is full of food and sex and spectacle and we're all just hurling towards an apocalypse, in which case it's not your fault. (I stole that from Say Anything. The greatest movie of all time.)

June Gardens doesn't understand people who say, "I can never just sit home doing nothing." I mean, I could totally sit home doing nothing for 17 days in a row.

June Gardens hates it when people say, "Get to know me as a person." As opposed to what? Getting to know you as a chipmunk?

Hoping it's a thyroid condition and not a blueberry doughnut condition.

June Gardens is having an avocado for breakfast. She is the good kind of fat.

Having pasta and antipasto and worried this will cause me to implode.

June Gardens's coworker just gave her the worst-tasting gum humanly possible. It was "tropical" flavor, but by "tropical" they might mean malaria flavored.

June Gardens fought the laws of gravity, but the laws won.

Yes, every day is a gift, but does it have to be socks?

Anyway, I have to go. Am meeting Ned for lunch, as it will be THE LAST DAY I SEE HIM TILL MONDAY and I have to doll up. He has to go do a work thing. You know how I get when I do not see Ned. Remember on The Jetsons, when Rosie does that impression of Judy when she's broken up with a boy? And Rosie bends over hopelessly and says, "Ahhh-uhhhh. Ahhhh-uhhhh." That'll be me.

What'ya MEAN you don't remember that episode of The Jetsons?

Goodnight, Gracie

It's the end of the year, and time for my annual here's-everything-that-happened-this-year veeedeo. I hope you like it. I only tormented everyone with it 7,2394,t95945,#(49403 times. "Do you like this version?" "How 'bout this one?" "Is this song good?" And by "everyone" I mean Ned.

Happy new year, y'all! Thanks for spending 2012 with me.

 

The post where we all become Mike Stivic.

For those of you who have fluffy cats, this morning Iris had The Problem under her tail. Y'all know what I mean. If you DON'T have a fluffy cat, consider yourself lucky. I had to chase her all over the place with scissors and Kleenex. Now she's huffily cleaning herself under the table.

Cats. They aren't just for tennis rackets anymore. But I wish they were.

I am going in to fake work late today, because I've had six migraines since Saturday.

SIX.

It's been a bad week. I picked a bad week to stick hot fire pokers in my head repeatedly.

I get six migraine meds in one packet when I buy them. They are these little rockets you shoot up your nose. For some reason, when I opened the package LAST THURSDAY, there were only five in there, but if you'll recall I was not charged for these meds for some mysterious reason, so I didn't complain. Plus, there are occasions when stupid insurance won't fill the prescription, and in those events the pharmacist takes pity on me and gives me one little rocket to take home. I'm guessing that's why I got five this time.

At any rate, many migraines this week.

Last night, my book club had our annual fancy dinner at a highfalutin' restaurant. I got a small appetizer, because I be po', but it contained, you know, cheese. Which, hello migraine trigger.

At our annual fancy dinner, everyone brings small gifts for the crowd, and yesterday I brought the gift of a lifetime.

I brought mustaches.

How bad does my book club hate me, do you think?

I even made Sheldon, who already HAS a mustache, wear a mustache.

I gotta get to the waxer.

So that was fun, and a good time was had by me and my facial hair, and as I drove home I said, Oh CRAP. Another migraine. I mean, HOW MANY MIGRAINES does a person have to have?

And at this point, I've taken so many meds in one week that I'm not supposed to take more. I'm just supposed to TOUGH IT OUT and let it pass, because doctors are sadists. So I TRIED that, until about 9:30, when I would have liked to die, and then?

Then?

Guess.

I WAS OUT. I WAS OUT OF MEDS. Oh, I was like a heroin addict, searching for meds in that house. Although technically I've never SEEN a heroin addict, but I have watched a lot of Dragnet or whatever where they're searching about for their fix in a desperate fashion.

I remember when my mother smoked, and she'd be out of cigarettes, searching the ash tray for any butt that was smoke-able. I was like that.

Finally I remembered that I keep a spare little rocket at Ned's. It was our brilliant idea after I woke up there with a migraine and he had to mincingly drive me home while I died in the passenger seat. So I called Ned.

No answer.

"@##&$," I said. I texted him, hoping to disturb him on whatever date he was on. For the record, I knew Ned would not really be on a date. But when you're sick and desperate and your ONE ANSWER isn't home, you think the worst. "I need my migraine med," I texted. He called less than a minute later. Poor Ned was having dinner with his father, and I KNEW he was doing that, but in my misery I forgot.

"June! I'm at [insert fancy restaurant name here]. I'll go right home and drive it over!"

Well, then I felt like a dick.

"No, no," I said, dickily. "I'll...be okay. Enjoy your dinner." I had no idea what I was gonna do without that rocket going up my nose STAT. And yes, I just said stat.

"I don't care WHAT you say, June. I'll call you when I'm on my way to your house."

I like Ned.

I lay there miserably with one of those packs you put in a cooler pressed to my throbbing head, and I want you to know all four pets were in the bed with me, which technically is sweet but I really wanted room to splay out and moan. Talu was lying with her head on my waist. Well, let's be technical. Talu was lying on the place where a waist should be, and Iris was lying behind me, and all of a sudden Lu stretched over and snapped at poor Iris.

Talu is a dick. Even bigger of a dick than me, forcing Ned to rush home during his dinner.

The phone rang, which at that point may as well have been a foghorn or a siren or one of those airy things people squawk at sporting events, so loud and painful was it.

rustle rustle rustle. bang clang clang. "I can't find it. Are you sure it's in my coffee table?" rustle rustle. "GodDAMMIT," said Ned.

Apparently I'd already used the emergency rocket supply. "What can I do?" asked Ned. "Well, first, you can stop making that rustling noise," I said. Good gravy that was loud. We decided to hang up, and if it got really bad I'd go to the ER with Ned, because if you are desperate, they shoot you up with something or other that's supposed to be marvelous. I've never had it. Once I was desperate enough to GO to the ER, by myself cause God knows where Marvin was that day. He was probably out getting engaged. Anyway, that was in LA and the wait was interminable, and once a kid barfed in the ash tray I left.

So that was my evening. I got through it with no meds, but it's still HAUNTING me a little so Ima go to bed and hope to wake up perfect. Which, you know, I am so close to that as it is. No problem.

I mustache you to be quiet while I recover.

June Page

I just screamed home for lunch, so I will fill you in on as much "A Very Special Christmas: Bye Bye, Pie" as I can before I have to scream back. I just want you to know I am eating at my computer, sort of multitasking if you will, and Iris is standing with her delightful claws dug into my leg, trying to get to my food. A Very Special Iris Goes to the Pound.

she do NOT. to cut owt, mom.

Seriously. Doing something with that floor THIS MONTH.

On Christmas Eve, Ned and I went to Wilmington to spend the night at his mother's. Wilmington is a beach town and it's very cool, so that was exciting. I mean, more so than if Ned's mother lived in Cleveland or something.

A Very Special June Repulses Cleveland Readers.

Ned's mom on the beach. She said I could only put flattering photos of her on this blog, so am hoping she approves of this one.

This series of on-the-beach shots seem like we're all in an Ingmar Bergman film or something. I swear we were laughing and having fun.

See? My Panama Canal forehead wrinkle had a marvelous time at the beach. A Very Special June Needs Botox.

That night, Ned's mother made a pork loin and all sorts of side dishes I could never create, and YES, mom, I offered to help. I peeled an orange and helped set the table. Honestly, dinner would not have happened without me.

We opened presents and went to a movie on Christmas day--it was some movie with "Silver Lining" in the title, and it had Bradley Cooper, who I like. I recommend it. Go see...whatever it's called. The best part was this family that was arguing in the parking lot after the movie. Naturally Ned and I slowed down to catch as much of that as we could. We were all, "Christmas is over at THAT house."

On the way back to Greensboro, we had to stop at Ned's brother's house, because one of the kids had left his gift at Ned's mom's. It's a boomerang, and I said, "Maybe he DID take it home, but it came back here."

I am my own Christmas miracle.

If you were signing my yearbook, you'd be all, "To a sweet girl from third hour. Have a great summer, and good luck with yourself."

We also stopped at Ned's best friend's house, as she was having a little party and so forth. So what I'm saying to you is it took us seven hundred fifty hours to get home. But once we were at my house, Ned and I exchanged gifts with each other. He got me some perfume I forgot I asked for, and a REALLY COOL Eiffel Tower dish to hold rings, and a book and some earrings and oh! Faithful Reader Jo emailed him and convinced him I needed a Betty Page wig, because FR Jo is an oddball.

Rockin' out with my not-at-all-looking-like-Betty-Page-self out.

Afterward, we went out to eat, and we were all, What's gonna be open on Christmas? I said, "Oh, I know what's open! That pub where Tall Boy and his hot girlfriend had their first date one year ago today!" Yes, their first date was Christmas night. So Ned and I went there and who walked in but Tall Boy and Hot Tall Boy Girlfriend?

So Ned and I totally usurped their anniversary celebration by joining them and making them talk to us and so on. It was so cool to see them! I didn't have my DANG phone with me, so you're just gonna have to trust me that this really happened and I did not invent it as I do.

It's time for me to head back to work. I know everyone else on God's planet has the day off, but as a freelancer I don't work? I don't get paid. And I gotta keep myself in wigs. Apparently.

Merry Christmas, y'all! Aren't you secretly glad it's over?

Pie Society

Ohmyho, your comments yesterday were DA BOMB. And "ohmyho" is only funny if you READ the comments. Which, really? Really? You don't read the COMMENTS? You have no idea what you are missing. That's like not squeezing the white frostingy stuff on your Danish-Go-Round.

Was it Danish-Go-Rounds that came with the kind of vanilla-orangey super-good-for-you frosting, or was it some kind of Pillsbury product? Also, if your dough came to life and started giggling at you manically, would you not phone your physician rather than gleefully continue making crescent rolls?

At any rate, thanks for the comments, and I DID end up feeling not as tragic before the day was through. So, that worked.

Today Ned is home, although before I see him I am having dinner with Dick Whitman, as he is having some kind of crisis du jour. I mean, I am too, so we can be verklempt together. What a fun duo we'll be. Hope we get one of those long-booth situations so the people next to us can listen in on our hilarity.

But then, THEN, I get to see Ned, who seems to ALWAYS BE OUT OF TOWN lately, and I am likely going to have 11 million dollars in text costs this month. And no, we did not sext. I have never sexted and do not plan to. How can that even be fun? Oh, look, my phone wants to hump me!

Hot.

At any rate, Ned was not anywhere nearly as fun as Las Vegas this time, which means instead of interviewing prostitutes he was just in his boring hotel room. So I scanned a bunch of pictures of myself that are ridiculous and sent them to him. I mean, what's more fun than looking at pictures of me? Now I will share them with you. Congratulations. After this, maybe we can sext.

Here is my 22nd birthday, with my best friend Donna. I remember four women chipped in to buy me those earrings and that six-pack of Moosehead. The earrings had turquoise polka-dots on them and I wore them constantly. Also, I look super extra sober.

My mom jeans and my stepsister Mil at Griffith Park Observatory. I lived right near that observatory, because I'm a huge fan of James Dean. You know how often I mention him. I remember liking that haircut at the time, and now I'm all: Really, June?

I put this on Facebook, so if you're my Facebook friend you're all smug right now. SEEN IT! BEEN THERE! Be sure to say, Been there, done that, bought the tshirt, cause that's hilarious.

Anyway, my friend Renee and I were training for a marathon, hence the part where we are both so effing hot here. If she didn't live in Hawaii, I'd totally make her re-pose for this in these same clothes, with our 12-years-and-two-kids-later selves. Note all I have to blame it on is the years. At least she created human life.

Do you have any idea how fun it was to live in the same town as Renee? Because it was.

Totally went to my regular bar on my wedding night after the reception. Classy. This is one of my 394994 old boyfriends and my friend Gertrude, who, yes, IS hot. Note there isn't even a band playing. What were we dancing to? The music in our minds? Also, I once again look super extra sober.

This was also already on Facebook, Smuggy. Have you bought the tshirt? Anyway, it was 1985, which means I was 20, and it was 1985, which means I had a perm. A mullet perm. Let's all go get mullet perms like we're our own little society. The Pie Society. You guys go first. I'll catch up with you.

At any rate, I love this picture. I continue to find myself amusing after all these years. Also, I like to look at this and wonder just how many inches larger my thighs are now. Ten? Eighty? Really, that sculpture and me are sort of the before and after of my actual body. Sad.

At least I don't look drunk in that one.

So that sums it up. My pictures of me. I have to get in the shower and get all pretty for seeing Ned. After work. And after Whitman. Hell. I'll get in the shower, look regular, then reshower for the Ned sighting, seeing as it'll be a good 10 hours from now.

And now you know my every detail. Koodles to you.