I was driving home from Ned's when I saw one of those horrid stick-figure families on the back of a car. I cannot tell you how I abhor those narcissistic things, says the woman who blogs about herself every day. This particular stick figure family was a woman with "I'm a teacher!" written under it ("I'm a narcissist!") and then two dogs. Okay, I can be down with dogs being your family, as you know.
When I got behind her at a red light, I saw just faintly a man stick figure had been ripped off. Oooo. Been there, sister.
But speaking of narcissism, particularly mine, I had my interview yesterday, and I now wish to be interviewed each and every day. Oh, that was fun. I don't want to ruin the writer's article by telling you what we talked about, although what was interesting was he said meeting me was different from meeting June. In other words, our personalities differ.
The magazine article will be out in a few months. And they didn't take my picture, after all that. He said they'd come over later, maybe even when I'm in our new house. He asked when I blogged, and I said in the a.m., generally, before work, and he said maybe they'd take a picture of me doing that, in my natural element.
Unretouched picture of me right now, in my element, and I cannot wait to see all this prettiness in a fancy magazine. I can just see the headline now: The repugnant blogger who needs Botox AGAIN. The t-shirt-headed blogger. Hey, it's a Curly Girl thing. Shut up.
Won't it be exciting when I move to a whole new room and you don't have to look at this same background anymore? And I will not be bringing the orange crate images. Marvin, come get 'em if you want 'em.
After the fun, fun, oh-so-fun interview (about two years ago, the interviewer saw me at the local Christmas tree lighting ceremony downtown, and he was about to reach over and tell me then that he wanted to interview me, and apparently I gave him a bitchy look. The Blows-Her-Chances-For-Fame-Because-She's-a-Dick Blogger), I called Ned, who was two doors down from said interview. "I wish to be interviewed every day!" I told him. "I was worried about this," he said.
Ned and I went to dinner, and I had him take my photo, since I'd gone to all the trouble of putting on my red shirt and everything.
Maybe I just need to grow it longer. The hair, not the relationship. Remember when I scraped together $300 and had it chemically straightened and I hated it? Calm hair is not me. You know what I really super-duper need? A nose job. THAT would make all the difference. My nose is horrific.
I guess I'll go to work now, but remind me to tell you about the guy at work who is funny without really intentionally being funny. He lumbers around being generally crabby, and saying outlandish things, and finally one of us made a Twitter page with his ridiculous quotes. Maybe it's only funny if you know him. But that page kills all of us at work, who know him. I DO know that he's annoyed about the quote where he says he likes the IDEA of Chinese food, because what he really said was he likes the idea of fruit. I know he's right about that, because I heard him say he likes the idea of fruit.
The idea of fruit. Good gravy.
I guess you don't have to remind me to tell you about the guy at work, because I just did.
Okay, Famous June is out of here. I should totally make cookies.
The fun thing about having a blog is the part where I get to take a lot of pictures of myself and pretend it's "for my blog" when you know perfectly well most times I just blow those photos up and stroke them lovingly. The other interesting thing is that I can see what I was doing every day since 2007. Sometimes I wonder when something happened--but not often because I have one of those freakish memories and it bugs the people who really know me.
"No, you DIDN'T say that in May of 2011. You said it in March of 2009, I remember because I had on the blue boa."
You know it's perfectly possible I was wearing a blue boa at some point. The POINT is, sometimes I wonder when something happened, and I can go here and LOOK IT UP!
Anyway, today I thought I'd see what I was up to on January 28 of years past. Exciting!
January 28, 2013
June reports from her cold. She never drones on when she has a cold. Fortunately.
Hey, how're y'all? I have a cold. I know that when I have a cold, I do not carry on dramatically or anything. Are the lights going out? Is that a tunnel?
Yesterday I slept and splayed histrionically on the couch and blew my nose. It is amazing how many Kleenexes I plowed through, but I have them in droves because my Aunt Mary sent me a bunch, thinking she was hilarious. I have always had the theory that only rich people have Kleenex. I mean, you need a tissue? Why can't you just use toilet paper? You don't need a whole FANCY DIFFERENT form. I said this once when Aunt Mary was visiting, or maybe it was my father and he reported it to her, but anyway neither of them have stopped making fun of me since and for Christmas Aunt Mary sent me, like, six boxes of Kleenex.
I feel so rich. And, truthfully, glad to have all this goddamn Kleenex.
January 28, 2012
We had our usual routine this morning, where the dogs immediately burst outside like the house is on fire, and then when they hear me feeding the cats, through the wood and the brick and the five rooms from the back yard and the insulation, they want right back in. Then after they eat, the house is apparently aflame again.
In other news, guess what.
January 28, 2011
Rockwellin out with my smock out
Wouldn't it have been awful if I'd have driven all the way to Raleigh for that Rockwell exhibit and instead of Norman Rockwell it was that idiot Rockwell, who sang Somebody's Watchin' Me?
Luckily everyone continued to not watch THAT Rockwell and we all looked at Norman Rockwell instead.
January 28, 2010
Perhaps you were thinking, "I wonder what June and her household are doing?" sometime around 7:57 p.m. last night. Or, you know, not. Nevertheless, I decided to photograph everyone in their element to see if we could find anything interesting.
First of all, here is me. And my, you know, HAIR.
As per usual, Tallulah was .06 centimeters from me, and you know what would be great? Is if I knew how far that actually was.
January 28, 2009
I just finished watching What Not to Wear
Can we please do away with the following phrases?
Outside of the box.
Push the envelope.
Thank you. I do not mean that we can do away with the phrase "thank you." I'd like to keep that one.
January 28, 2008
Running and Raleigh
Yesterday, Marvin Gardensalad and I went to Raleigh, because I have never been to Raleigh, and guess what? Turns out I like Raleigh.
It is a real city, with cool shops and Manolo Blahniks and gay men and all the things I require. There was also a man with gray hair and a mohawk, which I think is great. Maybe I'll grow my hair gray, as I have been threatening to do, and then finish off the look with the hawk of the mo.
So, there we were, shopping somewhere cool in Raleigh, when the back of my leg itched because I probably have rickets, which I don't even think is an itchy disease, I just wanted to say rickets.
There's no blog post for January 28, 2007, but there IS one from January 27. This was back when I had a no-spending blog.
January 27, 2007
The questions on everyone's lips seem to be (a) can I borrow the $2,300 you have already saved (Answer: No) and (b) what on earth did you once spend $2,300 a month on? Funny you should ask.
I added up those old receipts just to see what I spent on back in the day. And guess what? It wasn't food I spent so much on! Which may explain why I haven't lost ONE. SINGLE. POUND. since starting this endeavor.
Here's what it came down to: in November of 2006, I spent
$354.47 on gifts for other people (Marvin Gardens and my mother have November birthdays);
I spent $349.34 on groceries;
I spent a shockingly low $73.06 on eating out (I was trying eDiets, so that sort of explains it);
$106.63 on gas and parking;
$6.48 on the cats (Francis needed a new collar); and
$592.59 on personal stuff for me! $592.59! I sent flowers to myself, I had my eyebrows done at Damone (really the best eyebrow guy -- he is on all the makeover shows), I bought clothes, shoes...GEEZ!
God, I miss living in LA and getting my eyebrows done by Damone. So, anyway, there it is, everything I've been up to on this day for the last seven years. I wish I hadn't had to see pictures of Henry and Winston. Killing me. And why did I look so awful back in 2010? Man! No WONDER Marvin left me.
I guess that's all I had to tell you. I hope you enjoyed this trip down memory lane. I went to Raleigh on two different January 28ths. That was weird. And remember I told you this story: The time Marvin and I went in 2008, I had this really strong premonition while I was there. I've never had anything like it. But I thought, "The next man I fall in love with lives in this city." And I showed Ned where I HAD that premonition, and he said, "I didn't live far from there." He may have been WALKING BY ME while I thought it!
I hope I didn't look the way I did in 2010.
June and her hair and her premonitions, out.
Have you noticed we never get to hear about Dooce's divorce or whether she's dating anyone? I mean, I splayed out all my personal bidness straightaway as soon as there was anything interesting to tell, but she seems to spend all her time around her gay and 12-year-old friends. Come on, Dooce. We know you must be dating by now. Spill it.
I was just thinking today how weird it is to have a blog, and I know some of you also have blogs and can identify. I mean, for example, how I feel perfectly entitled to know all of Dooce's bidness. Am I remotely entitled to know all of Dooce's bidness? Of course I'm not. But since she tells us about her workout routine, her dogs, the things her kids say and her Avon-selling mom, we feel like we should be able to hear every detail. I mean, she's our close, personal friend. Right?
So that's what's weird about blogging. You tell all your stuff and people feel like they know you, when in reality they really don't. For all you know, I beat my cats and speak Portuguese. Exclusively. I could be The Portuguese Proofreader, and these posts are translated into English. There could be all sorts of things I've never told you.
I don't know. It's just a weird dynamic, all sorts of people kind of knowing you and you not knowing them at all. Basically, this whole blog has changed my life.
Maybe once a week, I'll get a long email from some reader where they tell me about a problem they're having, and I never mind getting these. I figure they're sitting there thinking, "God, who can I tell about this. Oh, how about June? We talk every day."
It's not a bad thing, this having a blog. It's just nothing I ever thought would happen to me: having people say, "June!?!" when I go out in public (that's happened, like, three times. I'm not Elvis, for heaven's sake), getting presents from people I've never met, unsolicited advice from readers who've invested themselves in my story.
Oh, and the Marvin hating! That cracks me up! Poor Marvin. But I guess you got invested in him, too. Then he left all of us.
In other news, I got a massage last night. I KNOW! My neck is constantly in pain. CONSTANTLY. I am the tensest person alive, I think. And oh, it's been hurting a LOT lately. And ever since Ned got me that gift certificate to the spa, I've been getting emails from the place. Yesterday they sent one out saying the woman who massaged me had an opening at 5:30 and I said THAT IS IT. IT'S A SIGN. Because war, famine, June's need for massage. These are the things God troubles himself with.
So I grabbed that gift card and screamed over there.
"Oh. WOW," she said as she tried to, you know, do her work. "You're one of the worst people I've ever seen." They always say that. And can you tell me why? It's not like I'm laying bricks and coming home to my eight screaming thankless kids each night.
After my massage, they took me to this huge window seat filled with pillows, and pulled a gauzy curtain so I could sit in there and drink peppermint tea. I was on the second story, looking out the window to downtown Greensboro. After a few minutes I realized I was starting RIGHT INTO my friend Hibiscus's office space. They were having some kind of meeting in a conference room. So creepily, I got to to sit up there and spy on Hibiscus.
When I was in my 20s, I was obsessed with this boy I was dating. Oh, it was ludicrous. He lived on the second floor, above a movie theater. Sometimes I'd park in the theater parking lot and just watch him up there living his life. I KNOW! HOW WEIRD WAS I?? Oh, he'd be up there feeding his fish or changing a record, and I'd just sit in my car and stare up there and sigh. Until the day his mom pulled into the same parking lot and I had to scream out of there so she wouldn't know I was berserk.
Dear Old Boyfriend Who Sometimes Reads This Blog: That wasn't you. I don't mean you. It was some OTHER guy who lived above a movie theater. I didn't just totally give myself away just now with that detail. Go find something else to do, old boyfriend. Go read Dooce.
See? Having a blog is weird.
I totally used that line LAST time I redesigned my blog. Anyway, you like it? I'm still playing with the wallpaper, but I love the banner. The other day in the comments I mentioned how my last design had been up there for a year and a half, which is the longest I've ever gone with one look, and how I wished I could afford a new design.
Eight seconds later, Sadie Olive my designer wrote me. "A Faithful Reader bought you a redesign!"
How nice are people? THANK YOU, MYSTERIOUS FAITHFUL READER!
I am late late late so I have to not blog, so I will talk at you tomorrow. Sorry about the people who are sad about Obama, and congratulations to the people who are happy about Obama.
This is not Obama. This is Not Wes, with whom I partayyed and watch early returns last night. We had us some heart-healthy hush puppies and just had us a time. I like Not Wes. He's worked at my office for 17 years. I have done nothing for 17 years in a row but breathe. And sometimes a peanut paper goes down the wrong way, so even that's a lie.
Okay, must shower. Talk at you soon. I'm so effing BUSY lately.
June. Four more years of June.
I wish you all were here right now, which might get crowded and I haven't nearly enough dip, but I cannot BEGIN to tell you how idiotic the dogs are being and I wish you could just see it. There is an orange cat positively strolling--strolling! Like she's on the Champs-Elysees, taking her sweet time--across my yard. She hasn't an orange care in the world.
In the meantime, the dogs have leaped out of their bodies. Their skeletons are hovering up angrily near the window. They have each written an op-ed piece for the New York Times. Tallulah's article: Kat in Yurd SUK. Edsel's article: Yaah, it do.
In the meantime, they are mentioning, "WOOF!woofwoofwoofwoofwoof! grrrrrWOOF! we mean it! woooooof!"
I went outside to capture no-concern cat on film, but she wouldn't come near me. Please skrinch your eyes as much as possible. This is like one of those pictures with the dots, where if you stared long enough and ignored your entire family, eventually an image would pop up.
I think I have mentioned before that for me, and image NEVER popped up. Not once. Ever. I think those dot pictures are a scam. "Oh! I see it now!" No you don't. Faker.
Anyway. It's funny, is what it is. The cat seems to know that all that barking will amount to nothing so she will continue to roll in our grass. Edsel has had seven strokes while I've written this.
Speaking of my pets, yesterday was relaxing. Even though I give everyone Frontline each month, which does not mean we sit around watching Chris Hansen a lot. Wait. That's Dateline, not Frontline, isn't it? Whatever. Even though I give them Frontline, which when you own four pets is approximately $36,000 a month, THIS month they are all still itching. A lot. It's disturbing to be trying to sleep with thump thump thump thump thump going on next to you all night. It's like I've gone to bed with windup chattering teeth, which let's face it, sometimes I do.
So I called the beleaguered vet, who was nice enough to call me back and not force me to bring anyone in, because hi, she makes $36,00 a month on my Frontline alone. Anyway, she told me I had to "wash everything that CAN be washed, give each pet a Capstar, vacuum every single surface your animals lie on (read: each inch of my well-appointed home), then go back and revacuum, because the vibration of the vacuum will cause flea eggs to hatch."
Girl, you don't wanna know. Do you have any idea how LONG that took? And how exhausting that was? Am so over these animals. Oh, and a Capstar is this pill they take where all the fleas die immediately. It's kind of exciting. It was like the Civil War over here yesterday, with all the death and destruction. Unfortunately, Melanie went into labor and I had to step over the dying fleas to get Dr. Mead to come help.
See what I did, there? I referenced Gone with the Wind. Surprise!
Oh! And speaking of books, you all (other than that killjoy Mary) thought reading The ridiculous Thorn Birds was an excellent idea. The Thorn Birds. Oh, I crack myself up. I wonder if I can find my romper and Adidas tennis shoes, which is what I was probably wearing LAST time I read The Thorn Birds?
So read it now, or read it at the last minute. We will meet here the Sunday AFTER Labor Day to discuss. Whenever that is. I guess I should look it up.
One last thing before I go stroll the Champs-Elysees. Of all my animals, who do you think was hardest to pill? Who? Who do you think? Was it blind-ass Iris? That teensy innocent kitten? YES! I put the pills in canned food, and the dogs and Lily were all, Ooo! num num num num num. A can! Yes. They literally said, "num num num num num." But Iris? "Oooo! Can fud! And pill! Eyeriss eat can fud. You can haff pill."
THREE TIMES I had to give her glops of food before she ate it. And yes, I know they make pill pockets. I didn't HAVE any. IT WAS KIND OF A BUSY DAY. All right?
Oh! And how annoying am I, because didn't I say I was leaving? There is an article about me in the local paper today and I am WORLD FAMOUS now. June's blog. Home of the world-famous June. Just when I become a household name, I change my name to Dimebag Wasabi.
So, I've decided to stop blogging.
The only people I've told are ...friend and Marvin, who both said, "Oh, you are not." I mean, for five years, five months, and nine days, I have blogged constantly. I posted from LA, then TinyTown, then here. I posted on vacations from ludicrous hotel business centers. I have written to you from my mother's Jurassic Park stone computer with molasses on it. I've posted while still out of it from surgery and divorce.
I've even snuck in a few posts from various jobs. Why can't I hold down employment, again?
From the time I started this till now, I am a different person. I've gotten other viewpoints, been assured of the goodness of most people (most), watched while you guys became friends in the comments, gotten attached to readers and lost them anyway. I even got gifts and cards and people's grandma's Eastern Star tchotchkes!
But I'm ready. I think. To not document my whole ding-dang life anymore. I mean, my life is 100% different than it was when I started this. Well. Not 100%. I'm not suddenly a cilantro-loving male Eskimo who loves hunting and abhors cats.
(I don't know why I picked "Eskimo" as the 100% different me. Do I strike you as absolutely different from an Eskimo? I guess probably. First of all, not such a fan of rubbing noses.)
I just feel like I've done this for a long time and I want to go live my life rather than write about it. I could be totally wrong. I could feel like I have no anchor if I have no audience. Because you're more than just readers, you're friends. But I hope you're friends who understand.
So I will end with the end of this month. No June in June, as it were. I'm paid up through November, so this blog will be here till then, and who knows? Maybe I won't be able to stand just living my life and not taking pictures of my strawberries before I buy them, in order to show you on my blog. Or whatever.
So, I'll post until June, and I wondered: is there anything you wished I'd blogged about that I never did? Or maybe I did and it was before your time and you don't want to slog through the 39494949 posts to find it. Anything you wish I'd cover between now and June 1? Or do you just hope the door doesn't hit me?
And of course I'll be saying this a lot over the next six days, but thank you. Thank you for reading, even if you never commented. Thank you for commenting, even if it was mean--which in the grand scheme of things, people rarely were. Thanks for linking me to ludicrous things and for sending me things and for, you know, flying me first class to Hawaii. Thanks for the tips in the tip jar. Thanks for loving my pets as I do and for getting me through my low times.
I will not forget this experience.
I wish I could tell you how much I adore my friend Chatting. I just do.
Go read this. I couldn't have said it better myself. Literally, because she is a better writer than me, and a better person.
Oh, and is ANYONE gonna answer me about coffee? Geez.
Edsel just stuck his tongue in my mouth while I was yawning. He is disgusting.
He's right. I am sort of irriztible in this gray robe. I may have to make out with myself, if I can get my dog out my mouth.
So, hey! How are y'all all?
Things are fine-ish here, although as you can see a lot of my time has been taken up teaching my Crystal-Clear Photography series.
I have good news and bad news, over here. The bad news is I am in the middle of ANOTHER EFFING HEALTH SCARE, and probably it isn't that big a deal, but you know how I am. I have obsessed, and Googled, and worried, and pictured myself feeling the silk and joining Dick Clark for the final countdown.
THE FINAL COUNTDOWN! Now you have that song in your head all day. You are welcome.
There will be more news on my impending race toward death on Monday, and no, I will NOT give you more details if you email me. "What's going ONNN, June? Let's TALK about it, June." Talking about it makes me hurl. I am just telling you so you can get a general idea of my state of mind and that state is Nebraska.
...I just got up to let old Frenchie, there, and his sister outside to chase squirrels, and as I passed the dining room there is a container of Parmesan cheese just sitting in the middle of the floor.
A whole container.
Is my Parmesan cheese haunted? Is it floating about on its own? HOW DID THOSE STUPID DOGS GET TO THE PARMESAN CHEESE? Can they now open the fridge? Because that might be convenient, actually. "Edsel, go get mom some Gino's Pizza Rolls and maybe we can get to second." Gino's Pizza Rolls would be in the freezer, though. I need to get them a little step stool.
Oh, and the good news, and I like how I take 75 minutes to get to any good news, is that I won that Best Blogger Who Ever Walked the Streets of Greensboro award in Yes Weekly magazine.
Actually, I think it was Best Blogger Who Ever Graced the Triad, and "the Triad" is what they call it here and I have no idea why. I think it has something to do with three. I am the best blogger of three.
I know I won because Marvin called me. He'd been at the gym and was paging though Yes Weekly--and yes to what? What does "Yes Weekly" mean, really? Then again I shouldn't poke fun because they have awarded me this prize. Anyway, he was on the treadmill or doing zoomba or pulling a train with his teeth or whatever Marvin does at the gym and there I was. Listed.
Marvin picked a fine time to leave THIS winning combination, over here. A champion blogger AND sexually enticing to dogs. GOOD WORK, ABANDONING THIS GRAVY TRAIN, BUB.
Maybe I am attractive to dogs because I smell like Gravy Train. Do they still make Gravy Train?
It doesn't really seem fashionable anymore to feed your dog strips in gravy (with Turkey!) while a train is bearing down on you. What about Chuck Wagon? Do they still make that? So that your sheepdog can chase it under the cupboard? Sheepdogs were the Border collies of the '70s, weren't they?
Okay, I must go. Am still freelancing at my old work and WHEN DID THAT PLACE GET SO BUSY? There has been late work EVERY NIGHT so far, and they are down to two copy editors. Also I have to leave for said busy place in 20 minutes and am still in my siren song gray robe. So goodbye.