Yesterday, I was texting The Younger Man, who first of all needs a blog name.
"What do you want your blog name to be?" I asked him, because he's not at all busy being in the Olympics or whatever.
"Steve," he wrote back, and when your Olympics don't happen, you'll know this is why. "Head of Olympics Kibitzes with June. Olympics Ruined."
I like how now he's the head of the Olympics. Say Olympics one more time.
"I feel like I could do better than that," he wrote, and we came up with other brilliant names like Hortense, but in the end he's Steve, which has nothing to do with his real name and there you go.
Anyway, the good news is, yesterday I kept texting him all the ways that he could die at the Olympics.
"Olympics Canceled This Year. World Blames June." Would you like to hear my list?
Impaled by javelin
Allergic to sequins
Tripped over gymnast
Told male figure skater that Lady Gaga sucks
(The first person to get all humorless with me about it being the summer games gets impaled with Bruce Jenner's dick)
Dorthy Hamill's psychotic break
Burned by torch
Oh, I had a million of them. You know who you never, ever want to text with while you're inventing all the Olympics? Is me.
While I've been typing you this impressive tome, both Edsel and Lottie
Edsel
Lottie
have gone to the water dish, which is currently right next to me. Here's how Edsel drinks water:
Lap. Lap lap lap lap lap lap lap. Lap.
Here's how Lottie drinks water:
GULPGULPGULPgulpgulpgulpgulp yeeeeeee-hahhhh!!!! GULP GULP {spill water everywhere} WOOOOT! FUCK YEAH! GULP gulpgulpgulp. {walk away trailing water}
It's a sad day when Edsel is the dignified one. It's been a sad day since May 11. I guess we're coming up on my three-month Lottieversary. It's been three months since my soul died.
Isn't that a cute picture of puppy Eds? Faithful Reader Laurie took that back when, you know, Edsel was a puppy. What a skinny little thing he was. He's never been a beefy dog. He's, you know, delicate. He's a figure skater.
You know what I need? Another chair for this computer. This one I got at the vintage store is not cutting it. The damn caster never stays on, plus it leans back too far and I always feel like Ima topple over. Lemme go look at m'cash and see if I can get another chair...
I have $456 to my name. Payday is 10 days away.
Goddammit.
I see my last charge was to dog daycare. When I took Lottie there the other day, I still had visits on my pass, so her stay was free except for her nail trim, her pawdicure, which was ten dollars. Her nails look great. Good lord that animal needed her claws of death done.
Eff you, mom. still gotz fangz.
Last night I went to the old theater I like to go to. I think I already told you that when Tallulah died, some faithful readers donated to that theater in Talu's name, so I have a pass to go to the movies. I feel very fancy whipping out my card. Anyway, it was a John Wayne movie, which I wasn't even that interested in going to but I like going there, so I went. It turned out to be interesting.
John Wayne was in it, which is what made it a John Wayne movie, see, and I hope you've braced yourself but it took place in the Old West. There was a stagecoach headed through the, you know, Old West and so on, and in the stagecoach was a prostitute who was pretty, a fussy woman who was zero fun and who kept dabbing at her face with a hanky. Hey, Whitney Houston.
Then there was a Snidely Whiplash character who the boring hanky woman so wanted to bone, you could tell, but she was married.
Oh, and Scarlett O'Hara's dad was on there. He was a drunk doctor.
There were other boring people on the stagecoach as well, but the point is they were all worried sick about Geronimo. Allegedly Geronimo was passing through and just couldn't wait to scalp all the white people, which I'm sure was not hyperbole at all. Can you imagine if they'd had Facebook then? SHARE if you think Geronimo should show his birth certificate and email!
Did you see that pantsuit Geronimo's wife had on? John Wayne's woman is hotter.
So, eventually the fussy woman gave birth (don't ask), Scarlett O'Hara's dad barfed, Snidely Whiplash almost killed the fussy woman to spare her from Geronimo, and John Wayne married the prostitute, who apparently owned one outfit. I was all, change your CLOTHES already. I'll bet I know what she got married in.
I was not at all bitter that John Wayne knew ol' Prossie for three days before he proposed. I was all, SHE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE CLOTHES. Yet she scores a husband. SHE'S A HOOKER! And yet? Betrothed.
Every time they said "Geronimo" I waited for someone to jump out a plane. I wish my name would become something people screech, like Geronimo or Marco Polo, or that they sing about like Lizzie Borden. I guess I have to kill someone. I'm already coming up with death at the Olympics plans.
It occurred to me I actually had no idea what Marco Polo ever did. Did he lead a country to war or something? Turns out he just enjoyed travel. And while I generally hate Wikipedia (or I did when I was a proofreader. "But Wikipedia says..." Oh my GOD. Schlubs such as you or I can write a Wikipedia page. I need a Wikipedia page. I should totally make a June Gardens Wikipedia), I looked up Marco Polo and I beg you, I beg you, to click on that page and listen to the guy pronounce his name. First of all, like the pronunciation is any mystery. Second, could he be more bored with life?
Oh my god, I've listened a hundred times. It's like his mom made him record it or something. "Marco Polo." He is so over life. His soul died. Maybe he used to own Lottie.
I wish I had more brilliant insights for you, but I don't and I must go. I've made avocado toast and it needs my full attention.
Marco!
Polo!
June
P.S. I just looked at the date. I moved to North Carolina nine years ago today. Holy cats. It's funny. I breezed in here all married, but now the way I see it, I picture Ned poised here on a coil, waiting just like a spider, to ruin my life. You know how spiders enjoy coils.
