June’s delusional world

I’m writing you on Sunday night because I have to call the IRS in the morning to figure out if I owe money or I’m getting money back, a thing TurboTax can’t seem to tell me, which makes my ass ache mightily.

Yes, June, that’s a shame. So, what’d you do this weekend?

Well, mostly I hung around Marianne.

In 1992, I moved to Seattle. I knew I wanted to leave Michigan after college, and they read more books there per capita, so I figured I’d fit in.

I did.

I got a job a few days into my move there, by talking up the guy who helped me open a checking account. “I know they need a receptionist on 12. You want me to make some calls?” And a stellar career answering phones on the 12th floor was born.

One of the people who worked with me on that 12th rung of the ladder to success invited me to go to a rugby game with her on a Saturday morning. Anyone who’s read me awhile (See: All of you) knows how often I get up on Saturday and seek out rugby. But I was new in town

and completely desperate for friends. So I got up at some ungodly hour, maybe even 10:00, and went to a damn rugby game.

“We’re going to stop and pick up my friend Marianne,” the woman from the 12th floor said to me. I hate it when you have plans with someone and they throw someone else in like that. In my MIND I’d psychologically PREPARED for it to be just us. But I pretended to be a normal member of society and said okay.

Turns out, Marianne was fairly new to Seattle, as well. And as we stood on that cold rugby…field? Is it a field? Hoooo care. Marianne looked at our other friend getting all into rugby, and said to me, “You wanna go back to the car and drink all the beer?”

And we did. The end.

From then on, we spent every ding-dang weekend together, no matter what. There was a restaurant across from my apartment, and inexplicably it had a mechanical bellhop in front of it, with an arm that moved up and down, sort of guiding you into the diner. We had breakfast there every Saturday. I mean every Saturday.

I’ve no idea what the name of that place was, since all we did on Friday night was sort of drunkenly say, “What time?” and do the bellhop’s arm gesture.


Or even, “Oh, god, like, 1:00?”

Marianne and me, right after Kurt Cobain’s memorial at the Space Needle. I’ve no idea why we were so gleeful. I remember being devastated at the time. We were moody at 27.

She left Seattle a year before I did, to go back to North Carolina. At her goodbye party at Lai Lani Lanes, a Tiki-themed bowling alley we adored, I told Marianne that at my wedding someday (Step One: Get boyfriend), we’d find a way to drink a beer in a car during the reception.

She drove all the way from North Carolina to Michigan to come to my wedding, three years later. At the very end of the night, the band packing up, I sneaked into the kitchen of the B&B and grabbed two beers.

We drank them in the rental car, me in my wedding dress and ridik veil.

Anyway, now here I am, in North Carolina as well, and she’s an hour and a half away and we see each other like once or twice a year and it’s stupid.

On Saturday, I was running my usual errands: taking the kids to soccer, meeting with the prime minister, knitting socks, I texted Marianne. “Wanna meet in Winston-Salem right now?”

She did.

While I got groceries Saturday, my car made a pal.
I had no earthly reason to also go to PetSmart Saturday. Other than the important task of getting some strange. I LOVE YOU, HALF-A-PEACHY-FACE KITTY!

Anyway, since Marianne was able to drop everything and drive to Winston, off I went.


We’d sort of forgotten it was St. Patrick’s Day, and by “we” I mean clearly not old Kermit, up there, dressed head-to-toe in green. Marianne has always been more excited about life than I am.

My point is, we went to a restaurant, and they were shamrocking out, man. They even had hootchie-gootchie girls (TM, Ned’s mom) handing out Irish whiskey for free and everything, along with hats, shirts and sunglasses.

Marianne opted to take all of them.
I just went for the bowler hat. Because, bowler.

“We probably shouldn’t drink all of this whiskey, because we have to drive,” I old lady-ed.

“Oh, I wasn’t planning to,” doddered Marianne.

“I wonder how many St. Patrick’s Days we’ve spent together,” I said. For some reason, Marianne had, like, this houseful of friends who’d all come over from Ireland together. Their house was magically delicious. And not at all devoid of, you know, parties. Especially on St. Patrick’s Day.

Oddly, we can’t remember any of them. Hmmmm. What could it be? What.could.it.beeeeee that made us forget?

Anyway, our three sips of whiskey in us, we headed to our cars. On the way out, I saw a good-looking man I completely recognized, and we both stopped in our tracks because we clearly knew who each other was, but could not place. He was with a woman, so if he was one of my 39583030402 internet dates I’ve had over the past two and a half years, I didn’t want to stir up any trouble.

“Who was that hot woman in the bowler hat?” I mean. It was inevitable, right?

On the drive home, I was all,


Which means nothing to you, and anyone who actually remembers who Ron is gets a plastic green bowler hat.

He was Marvin’s bandmate. From, like, 2008. Marvin put an ad on Craigslist or something and this really nice guy, Ron, answered the ad, and every Sunday for years they would have band practice here at this house.

Every Sunday for years, I would therefore go to the movies and see some weird independent thing, and Ned and I used to say we MUST have been in the same theater at the same time, as a result, which is weird to think about.


I tried to find a photo of Marvin practicing with Ron, a thing I know existed, but instead I found the photo of the time I insisted you all call Henry, my cat, fmr., “Henri.”

Am delighted with self anew.


Ah. Here’s a crystal-clear shot of Ron and Marvin practicing. Pre-bookshelves. Pre-not-beige walls. Weird.

Anyway, the next day I talked to Marvin. “Ron thought that was you, but he wasn’t sure.”

“Is it because I’m so hot now?”

Marvin didn’t answer that. You’d think Ron woulda said, “Man, she’s clearly had Ultherapy.”


IMG_6176.jpgAnyway, I’m glad I had the brilliant idea to get together with Marianne, and that we had a good time even though we were done by, like, 7:00 rather than just going out at 7:00. It’s good to have people you can grow old with. Even though I’m getting hotter by the minute.


Published by


At one point, I was sort of hot, in a "she's 27 and probably a 7" kind of a way. Now I'm old and have to develop a charming personality. Guess how that's going.

39 thoughts on “June’s delusional world”

  1. Doesn’t Ron know that his date would have found it perfectly appropriate to point and yell at you, “Joooon, did you have Ultherapy” at high volume in public?


  2. Looks like your Saturday with Marianne was great! I love friendships that don’t fizzle out because of distance or time. It’s great to be able to pick up the relationship no matter how much time has passed.

    I wish I could have forgotten about St. Pat’s! My husband and I are invited to a yearly bash in which some friends host a party at a bar. It’s an hour drive away and we had a busier than usual workload last week. We donned our green,went for an hour, had a drink and headed home. Aye, we just weren’t in the jigging mood.

    I hope your visit with the IRS was profitable for you!!


  3. I once told a boyfriend that he looked just like his grandfather. He got grouchy and said his grandfather was his grandma’s second husband so (although he loved him) he wasn’t biological. I stood by it because they looked *a lot* alike. Maybe grandma was gettin’ busy with the second husband way back when grandpa #1 was still around. So maybe people see what they want or maybe you’re a regular collagen farm. All I’m saying is that it’s possible you are seeing results.


  4. Joon, maybe you should post periodic pictures of yourself on your journey with Ultherapy so we can all see your progress. I mean, not that you don’t already, and not that I would ever tell you what to do.


    1. Yes, I would also love to keep up with the Ultherapy progress. Though you are pretty indeed, already!


  5. My friend like Marianne lives about 1000 miles away from me right now (roughly, I can’t be bothered to look it up) and I wish she was closer. Making really good friends as a grown-up is hard.


  6. The minute I read the title I knew I was going to love this post. And I did!
    Marianne was serious about the wearing of the green. Looks like y’all had fun. I love old friends!


  7. Hey Chief Big Hair with Fire Water:
    Do you still have that fantastic suede coat? I love it!

    I have a “dear” friend that lives 20 minutes away. We haven’t seen each other in real life for about 10 years and it’s beyond stupid. Why can’t we stick to a date and go to lunch? Makes me crazy with myself.

    You do look good. Your face is glowier. Guess I better save up money and practice poking myself with needles to get used to the pain, if I’m going to do what you did.

    I assume you asked Marianne if she was faithful all these years?

    Liked by 1 person

  8. My cousin is a liquor company hootchie-cootchie girl professionally! She gives out samples of booze at liquor retailers all around SE Texas. (I feel like I tell people about her a lot more than she brags about her cousin who writes about autism and church.) I’m glad her cohort did right by you. That hat would look nice on Steely Dan, if he doesn’t eat it.

    Unrelated, one time our station wagon broke down when I was a kid, and I thought I was going to get to meet Alice. I’m still disappointed.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. I had to file an amended tax return once. I won a trip in November, but the company didn’t file it on their taxes until the next year. I claimed it on the correct year (at double what it was worth because I’m an idiot), so I got a letter from the IRS letting me know I owed taxes. I filed an amended return for both years and immediately got a letter from the IRS telling me what I owed. I got another letter much later telling me the IRS was reviewing my amended return for the year they owed money to me and it was not considered received until they finished the review. Of course I was coming up on the deadline that let them off the hook for giving my money back to me. I finally called my Senator and they sent an inquiry that got it moving. I’m not even logging in for this comment in case this makes the IRS mad and I get audited or something. I’m not fooling around with the ding dang IRS.


  10. Any update on the Ultherapy? I’d love to see pics and hear what you think so far about this treatment.


  11. I agree you and Marianne look like sisters, if I hadn’t have known you were an only child I would have for sure thought you were sisters in the first photo.


  12. I am sneaking you into my work day today. I am shiftily looking out my office door to make sure I don’t get caught…

    Anyway, I love getting together with old friends. It happens not so often anymore because of all the things, but this might inspire me to make a date and ditch the work! It sounds like a fun day is what I am telling you.

    Even though Vela up there is a hater, I LOVED Alice and “Kiss my grits” flo. It was a fun blast from the past for me.

    Lovely post, lovely June!


  13. I spent yesterday with four of my friends I’ve known since the 80s. It must have been the weekend for old friendships.

    I had no idea who Ron was.


  14. I had no idea on the Ron, but I recognised Henri right away. And I pronounced it “On RÍ” in my head. Because apparently my high school Spanish makes me think I can speak French.


    1. But, really, the Ultherapy takes several months to even begin to show up. Cause you gotta grow collagen. So now I’m apparently giving the ILLUSION that I look better, because a few people in real life have also said that, and I’m all, but that’s impossible. IMPOSSIBLE, I tell you.


  15. Friends you can get up with on a moment’s notice are the best kind. None of the awkward – all of the fun.

    We, too, forgot it was St. Patrick’s Day and when we remembered decided to go to our favorite Irish restaurant and were the only people there not dressed head to toe in green. We were easy to spot is what I’m saying. We were also the only un-drunk ones in the place. Whoooo-eee there was some drinking going on.

    I knew who Ron was the second you said “RON”! I’ve been studying my Big Book of June!

    Lovely post hot-hot June!


      1. I did! It was the “good looking”. Haha! Honestly I don’t know why, but that photo of Marvin and Ron in your living room popped right into my head.

        I gotta get a life.

        Liked by 1 person

  16. How fun meeting a long-time friend. I have a couple of friends I have known all my life and it is always fun to meet up with them.


  17. You really ARE getting hotter by the minute. Marianne sounds like fun–love that vintage photo of you two!


  18. How ironic that you met a life-long friend at a sporting event. You must have the luck of the Irish.


    1. Good point. Other than football games in high school, of which I paid attention nonce, I have really not BEEN to many sporting events.


Comments are closed.