Old paint


Okay. That holiday’s over.

Hellooooooo, Christmas!


Totally made my Jewish mother-in-law help me decorate today. I know I have sent her straight to Jewish hell or wherever. I don’t even know if Jewish people have hell. Do they? Nice knowledge of my husband’s religion.

Obviously, as you can see from the hot mess in front of said tree, I am not done decorating. We put in a good two or three hours but then my mother-in-law wanted to shop. Plus there was that whole going-to-hell thing.

Papersxmas Marvin’s grading papers in his new Christmassy dining room. I like how he has his collar up like it’s 1982. Did you layer an Izod under that shirt, Jake Ryan?

Anyway, my mother-in-law wanted to go to Ulta, which yeah. Okay. I can stand to go to Ulta. Then she wondered if I might want this bag.

Bag Okay, hi. It’s PINK and it’s SPARKLY. Yes. I think I’d be okay with this bag.

Then she showed me what was inside the bag.

Hello Hi. I’m physically aroused. LOOK AT ALL THE MAKEUP! You all need to go to Ulta and get all this makeup. Maybe every day next week I will put a bunch of it on and do a new look for my blog. Won’t that be exciting? Slutty June. Nude-colors June. Smokey-eyed June. Smokey Bear June. Grizzly Adams June. I won’t Nair.

Anyway, all I want to do is sit around and put on makeup, but all the relatives are coming back over in 19 minutes. We’re eating leftovers. I know, right? I know how to entertain.

Did you shop today? Did you abstain? Are you trying to shop locally this year? I am. I am trying to support Greensboro, is what I’m trying to do. And I will do so painted up like a two-bit floozie.

Ooh baby before you bump it won’t you shake it just a little for me. (Make June Do It.)

In our second installment of Make June Do It, your faithful servant June has used the Bumpit.


The Bumpit is apparently something they advertise on infomercials, and frankly June is surprised she has not (a) seen said infomercial and (b) been wildly tempted to purchase it, because you give June EIGHT SECONDS with any infomercial and she desperately needs whatever product they’re selling.

Ohmygod, I SO.NEED. that dog dehydrator! My dog is way too wet. And what? They’re throwing in the menthol grater? MY MENTHOL HAS NEEDED GRATING FOR SUCH A LONG TIME.

Seriously, I cannot tell you how they can show me something I do not remotely need, and they have me hypnotized instantly.

Did I ever tell you about when Marvin caught me buying the Escape Your Shape videos at 4 in the morning? In one of his better lines, he said, “You’re gonna WANT to escape your shape when I get done with you! Hang up that phone!”

His menthol is so never getting grated, is all I can say.

At any rate, when several of you asked me to try the Bumpit I did not know what it was. Fortunately, Faithful Reader Shana had not only heard of it, she was sucked into buying it and gladly shipped it off to me. I forget if her hair was too silky or she never got around to it or what the story was. Whatev. The Bumpit was mine.

There are like 79 pieces to this item. It was like getting Lincoln Logs or something. I had to read the directions before I began.

Reading Who is 892 with her reading glasses? Who might as well hang it up and just join one of those Red Hat Societies, with her super super colorful busy reading glasses?

Heresabumpit Anyway, here’s one of the pieces. You pull a bunch of your hairs up and stick it in there, and because my hair is the consistency of a pipe cleaner, that’s no issue.

Hiisbumpithtere Hello? Is your Bumpit running? Do you have Prince Bumpit in a can?

Did you really think I didn’t have to fool around with it first?

Oui Ohhh, cherie! Come to zee Bumpit and we will zee Paris! (I have no idea why this is French.)

Cantseeu LaVar Burton called from the starship Enterprise. Wants his glasses back.


Okay, anyway, I finally put it in my hair. Won’t you enjoy the many natural colors of my hair? Who lives in a pineapple under my hair? Spongebumpit Squarepants.

Bumpy Aaaaaand scene. There it is. Wow.

Reflect I see you! You look all bumpy!


Really? It wasn’t that dramatic. I kind of have Heather Locklear hair. Right after this I slept with Tommy Lee.

Bump Here’s the Bumpit the next morning after my walk of shame from Tommy Lee’s house.

Yeah. So, I tried the Bumpit. I can see where it might be kind of cute if you didn’t have enormous hair like I do. It wasn’t so noticeable on me.

There were also little Bumpits? That apparently you added to the side of your hair? Yeah. Didn’t stay in my head.

I hope you’ve enjoyed your journey with June. I hope you’ve enjoyed making June Do It. Enjoy your bump day! Get it? Cause it’s Wednesday?

Oh, bumpit.

If by “sexy” you mean “I look like Geraldo Rivera”

So I'm sitting there at work, and I feel this…this…

Heavenly days in the morning! That isn't a WHISKER, is it?

I stampeded to the giant Wicked Queen mirror in my office. (Seriously, you should see that gargantuan thing.) Sure enough, I had this GROWTH coming out of my face. I practically looked like one of my cats. Is my body anticipating that I will need to crawl through narrow spaces soon?

Your faithful June has been Nair-ing for years. Ever since 1999, when I went to get my eyebrows waxed and the woman said, "You want me to do mustache, too?" and I said, you know, good marketing on your part, missy, but I don't have a mustache. And she said, "Ohhhh, no. You dark like man!"

I dark like man? Really? I gave her the 15 bucks and told her to wax on. When I returned to work, I emailed my entire department. "I want to thank you all for not telling me that I am Tom Selleck," I wrote. And everybody in my department assured me that I was really not dark like man, that that eyebrow waxer had scammed me.


But I've Naired or waxed anyway, just to be safe. And now here I was at work, needing one of those mustache coffee mugs. What gives?

And do you think I could wait until I got home tonight to take care of it? As soon as it hit noon, I went screaming to my car and headed to Walgreen's for tweezers. I also called my mother. I don't know how she understood me, what with my handlebar brushing against the phone like that.

"I could practically tie Nell to the railroad tracks," I told her. "Honey," said my mother, who was trying to have a nice lunch with my Uncle Jim, who also has a mustache, "you do not look like Snidely Whiplash.

"You know, I don't have a problem with facial hair," she finished.

I know I have told you before how my mother does this. "I never get cavities," she'll say, after you've had four root canals. "I graduated college with a 4.0," she''ll tell you, after you get a 1.0 in Natural Science.

And I really hope my family is reading this today, because I know they can back me up on this. Come on, folks, help your masculine niece/cousin. Back a brother up.

Of course I had to buy the $37475638505945949405948 Tweezerman tweezer, which let me assure you is worth the money. Seriously. Mortgage your home. Once you use a Tweezerman, you won't go back.

The other "of course" in this scenario is I had to tell this gruesome tale to the computer guy at work, who for some reason is a good audience for all my drama. When I returned to work, he popped his head in to check on my '70s-porn-star-looking self. "Everything better now?"

"Yeah," I told him. "I was just registering for the draft."

I mean, SERIOUSLY, when did I get so unfeminine? I swear I used to be kind of hot. Now I'm hot in a Salvidor Dali kind of a way.

Gettin' old. It's not for the clean-shaven.

Nonpaper chase

You guys. Seriously. We need to find out who Casey Chase is. Portugal, Turkey, Viet Nam–ALL LOOKING for fricking Casey Chase here today. And when you Google him? All you get is my stupid blog.

WHO IS HE? Everyone on earth knows about him except us. Or else he's just a regular guy who everyone in the world is trying to find. Maybe he went to a really really big high school.

And of course, the more I write about the elusive Casey Chase, the more times people looking for him are going to just find this blog. I am sorry, people of the world! But good luck on your Casey chase.

Get it?


In the meantime, here are my feets.


In my navy blue polish. What do you think? Am I too goth? And oh, please. Please do not ask about the tattoos again. I have covered the tattoo thing many times. Go look somewhere in June of 2008. There's a whole post about them. Okay, really? Fine. Here's a link. DANG.

I just kind of skimmed that post about tattoos, and I cracked myself up by saying everyone and their mom had a tattoo in Seattle, except your mom's tattoo would just read "Self" instead on "Mom." Seriously, I slay my own self. My own mom self.

Also, yes, that is me in that baby picture. Look at the too-much-hair issue even at the tender age of whatever my tender age is. You know I have no idea. Seeing as I have no children, and my tattoo would not say "Self," I cannot tell the ages of anyone from birth to, like, 11.

And while we're up, those of you who have kids? Why do you say, "Oh, she's 44 months" instead of sort of rounding up or down to a year? Why don't you just say "She's almost four"? I have never understood the months thing. Explain, please.

So in that picture I am probably 18.045 months, but I can't be sure. What I can be sure of is I had a fashionable mop going already, didn't I? A little Ann Landers look, there. Dang.

That's my second "dang" already today.

While I was posing with my goth nails, I tried to take a group portrait with Tallulah, who is 21 months old, but here is what she did.


She totally made out with my nose parts, and I am unsure why. Maybe it's something Casey Chase encourages people to do. We have no way or knowing.

Oh! And before I go, do not forget to get The Fountainhead finished, because September 30 at 9 p.m. Eastern is when we meet for Mince Words with June, my new official book club. And don't forget that Ding-Dongs have become the official snack food of our book club. Because we are all weird in my comments section.

Have I encouraged you to read my comments? I swear they are funnier than this blog, which, woo! What a stretch.

Okay, smell ya.

June’s favorite things


You know how Oprah has that show where she shows you all the things she likes cause she's a billionaire and can afford everything? This is just like that, except for the part where I am poor. I know we all know some of my favorite things already (see above), but here are some other things I like, which unfortunately I am not getting paid to say I like.

Do you know who I wish would want me to use their product? That Latisse company that gives you long eyelashes like Brooke Shields' eyelashes. Have you seen that commercial? It's a prescription liquid you put on your eyelids and you grow huge eyelashes and apparently you also dance in a really awkward way with someone in slow motion.

What is Brooke Shields DOING when she's dancing in that commercial? She does this little jerking motion that makes no sense, unless she's trying to get a bug off her shoulder or something.

But I do like that Brooke Shields. We're the same age and I always identified with her, especially the parts where she hung out at Studio 54 when she was 13 and also went to Princeton. We are practically twins. Because Fashion Square Roller Rink in Saginaw is similar to Studio 54, right? They played Boogie Oogie Oogie.

Anyway. Here are some things I like.


Since the Latisse people are not clamoring to give me free product, I went to Ulta and bought this Lorac mascara. I think it was $22. On one side is a primer, because you are going to spraypaint your lashes next. No, no, no. The primer supposedly does something to make your lashes longer, then the next step gives you long and lengthy lashes. The only annoying part is it's hard to hold cause you have to open one side and then the other. But I do like the results. It's ALMOST as good as the Maybelline Illegal Lengths I was so obsessed with that naturally they had to discontinue because I am being punished constantly.


Has anyone noticed I am a dreadful photographer? I blame the camera. I blame Sue. This time I really do blame Sue, because it was my Aunt Sue who got me this lip color for my birthday. Okay, the gift was from Uncle Jim and Aunt Sue, but give me a break. My uncle is forever asking, "Oh, what'd we get you?" at any present-giving occasion. I could tell him he got me a pot-bellied pig that sang My Darling Clementine and he'd have to believe me, so involved is he in the present selection.

Anyway, this product is from Bath & Body Works and on one side is a brown sugar scrub for your lips and on the other side is a tasty color called Pomegranate and it is perfect for me. It tastes good and it's the best color. I have no idea what it cost. Go ask Uncle Jim.


Okay, this stuff is amazing. It's a little teeny toothbrush, and how much do you like me for saying "little teeny"? The thing is, you don't use water and you don't rinse. I know! It has little rubbery bristles and a gel in the center, and somehow the gel makes you all fresh. Great for when you down 12 beers at lunch. Also, there's a teeny pick for pickin' and grinnin' on your teeth. Hey, I'm in the South.


My final favorite thing is my new dishes. Are my new dishes. My new dishes be grand. Marvin and I needed new everyday dishes and my mother and I combed the earth for these. I described what I wanted (I want what I always want. Old lady grandma things), and lo and behold my mother found these.

Now, I know they're girly. I was just gonna get all white dishes, and when I showed Marvin the pattern, he said, "Okay, but we have to get one each of white and pink." See, I think he thought I wanted ALL pink, so I totally scored there. Plus besides, I think I can kind of mix these up with my great-grandmother's fancy china, which is pink and white.

Yes, Henry sitting on your clean laundry and also half a centimeter from your new dishes. Maybe if you put things away, Hair, Henry not seem so offensive.

That wraps up my fabulous June's Favorite Things post, and GUESS WHAT? EVERYBODY GETS A CAR! EVERY.BODY.GETS.A.CAR. When you go buy one.

Oh! And we have a Very Special Comment of the Week this week. The award goes to Steve and also to his wife, Beth. Because they had a funny exchange right here on my blog. It's our first award to a couple. Let's all dance a jerky little celebration dance, shall we?

Two years. Does that make me an official Southerner?

It was two years ago today that we moved to North Carolina. I cried. Remember how depressed I was? Oh! It was an adjustment.

But look at all the things I've learned since then! I've learned that you simply must wave at everyone you pass, I've learned what fatback is, I've gotten a fat back, and most important–I have learned that all sorts of dishes I was kind of indifferent to taste infinitely better when you completely smother them in butter.

Maybe the butter thing is related to the fat back thing. I am unsure. Must continue with the research.

But that is not why I've gathered you here today. I have gathered you here to tell you about several odds and ends that I keep forgetting to tell you.

What the Sam Hill are odds and ends, anyway? Odds and ends. Ends of what?

The first thing I have been meaning to tell you is that weeks ago, Faithful Reader Julie asked me if I wanted to try her family's skin-care line. She said she'd send me the whole set of products if I wanted them.

Have you met me? If I wanted them. Who loves her a cosmetic item?

So, she sent the cleanser, toner, serum–altogether she sent me 57,000 products, all of which I lined up on my bathroom counter with glee. And then I was allergic to them.

You know I am a delicate flower. I can't even walk down the aisle of cleaning agents at the grocery store. I am not even exaggerating. My throat closes up, I get weepy, I get sniffy. And don't even TRY to get me in a Bath & Body Works anymore. It's so sad! My grandmother was this way. She had to order her magazines without the perfume strips in them. They've kind of gotten over all those perfume strips, haven't they?

So, I sent everything to my mother. Who of course doesn't have this girl-in-the-plastic-bubble issue. She is gonna try the skin-care line for three months and get back to us.

So you like how I could have told that story is three sentences and it took 90 paragraphs?

The other thing I wanted to tell you was I AM MEETING DCRMOM THIS WEEK! I am so excited I could spit spit spit. (Those of you who've read me awhile are thinking, "She's not gonna tell us how dcrmom was her first blog friend, is she?")

Dcrmom was my first blog friend. My blog at the time was about not spending any money, so I Googled "not spending any money" and I came across her blog, even though she only went without spending for three months, like a normal person.

And the rest is heeeeeestory, as they say. Really, no one says heeeestory.

Anyway. She is nearby, visiting family, and she is deserting them to come have coffee with me. If you read both our blogs, you will probably have a day next week where you say, "Yeah, I already read about this in the other blog. GEEZ."

Finally, someone at work wants to buy an iPod for her twins, which even though I am not a parent I can see that turning into a daily fight. Nevertheless, she wants to load it up with fun '80s music, and all she can think of is Girls Just Want to Have Fun, but she wants more suggestions. She only wants songs appropriate for seven-year-olds. Which of course made my mind stampede for all sorts of inappropriate songs.

Anyway if you have any suggestions, please list them here. I mean, not right on this spot. On the comments. Smart aleck.

Okay, I must go. I photographed Mr. Sneaky Pants for you, who purred and paced across the keyboard the entire time I wrote this fascinating post.



June, sucked in by hucksters everywhere

Tallulah and I are leaving late today, because I have a doctor's appointment at 8:40. Naturally I used this extra time productively, watching daytime TV, which I never get to do.

Okay, who totally wants Cindy Crawford's Meaningful Beauty skin care line? There are three easy payments, you know.

Has anyone bought it? Do you look like Cindy Crawford yet?

Cherry for the pits

Shhh. Don't tell Marvin. I had to use his deodorant today. Marvin gets really skeeved out when I use his deodorant, which in the grand scheme of being married 10 and a half years is kind of weird, if you think about it.

I mean, it's just, Hey, Marvin, you know that stick of chemicals that you rub in your just-showered skin every morning? Well, today I put it on my just-showered skin. It is hardly the grossest thing, you know?

(That said, if he ever used my toothbrush I would DIE DIE DIE a million deaths, cause, ew!)

Anyway, Marvin uses straight deodorant, not antiperspirant, so long about noon, I'm all, why am I sweatin' to the oldies, over here? So I went to the grocery store and got my own actual deodorant, which I'm sure make a big difference in your life.

But let me ask you, she says, not letting this captivating subject dry up just yet. So to speak. Are you brand loyal to your antiperspirant? I'm not. I don't know if anyone remembers during Bye Bye Buy when I had to use up the antiperspirant I had that smelled exactly like a new doll, and I HATED it but because of my whole no-spending rule, I could NOT buy new stuff until it was used up. Oh, that was torture, smelling like Baby Alive for three months.

So, today I got Secret brazilian cherry. And yes, it is lowercase like that on the package. What do you think a Brazilian cherry is, exactly? A cherry that's really waxed well? Further reports pending.

In other news, I tried to order that silvery, metallic dress today, but when it came time to pay for it, I just couldn't stand it. Have I mentioned we're a tad light in our wallet loafers right now? I know that made no sense.

So you know what I did? (And by the way, I appreciate the go-to-Macy's tips, but in 1997 I wrote a $7 check to Macy's, which was all I owed them for a credit card payment, and they cashed it for $700, and tried to tell me I miswrote the check, even though I was holding a copy of the check in my hand when they told me that, and they never, ever said they were sorry even though I said to them "All I want is an apology." For that reason I have never shopped at Macy's ever since. Ever.)

I went on eBay, that's what I did. They have brand-new dresses on there, tags still on 'em. And I bought one!


I hope it fits. But it's returnable. Then also too, I went back to the mall and got sparkly little sweaters to wear over top for NINE DOLLARS, marked down from $99 and $129. Hello. I was totally being my Aunt Mary, who is forever finding Chanel suits for 99 cents.


I know that's a terrible photo. I was talking to the dog. Let me try another.


Yes, this is better. Here I am choking the dog. Festive!

Here is the other sweater I bought. Again, nine dollars, so I could live large. I figure if these don't look good with the dress I can wear them to work and tell them I'm moonlighting for the Ice Capades.


What is interesting to me is not the sweater, but why Winston in in that odd crouch in the background. Perhaps he is worried I will get him in that choke hold next. Anyway, you can close just the top of this sweater, so maybe it'll work with that dress. Or I could leave it open. You know I will dance every dance, so at that point the whole dress will come off and I will be in my undergarments. I mean, you know that, Sandy, right? And there is going to be the Chicken Dance, isn't there? And YMCA?

So, if neither of these little toppers work I can keep looking. Which means you can keep hearing about this until the end of February. And maybe I'll run out of deodorant before then too! Man, do I know how to keep the reader wanting more.

Ode to Joy

Awhile back,  Marvin's aunt–who I will call Auntie Garp–and I got into a pertinent discussion about Joy perfume. Actually it was about two seconds long. She said, "Marvin's grandmother used to wear Joy." And I said, "Oh, I have always wanted to smell that."

Let me tell you what. When I was about eight years old, I saw an ad somewhere for Joy perfume, and when I read their slogan, "The costliest perfume in the world," I was hooked.

I do not know why I fit into the Joy perfumers' demographic, with my eight-year-old-living-in-Saginaw-Michigan-in-my-hippie-parents'-house-with-the-black-and-white-zigzag-shag-carpeting -and-poster-of-Bette-Midler-in-the-living-room self, but that marketing ploy TOTALLY hooked me. I absolutely wanted Joy perfume.

I still fall for marketing schemes such as this. Have you seen those high heels with the red soles that cost $750? What are they? Christian Louboutin shoes, right? Yeah. I would sell my left grandmother for a pair of those shoes. And why? Who is going to see my soles? I'll tell you who. If I had a pair of those shoes, I would purchase gynecological stirrups and a gurney and wheel myself everywhere so you could ALL see my soles ALL THE TIME. It would be so worth it.

So, ever since I was eight I have wanted to at least smell Joy perfume, to see if it smelled costly, but you know what, it is never up there on the counter at Penney's with the Clinique Happy and the Estee Lauder Pleasures and I have never gotten to smell it.

Until yesterday.


Marvin's Auntie Garp remembered what I said about wanting to smell Joy, and because I had such a craptacular week last week, she sent me some. Here it is duking it out with my Muguet Du Bois.

And you know I almost didn't open the package? I've got my mother sending me packages saying, "I'm sending you something but don't open it till Christmas" and I've got my Aunt Mary saying, "I'm sending you a pre-Christmas gift so it's okay to open anything that comes from me directly but not anything that comes from a store" and I am getting so confused I don't know whether to scratch my watch or wind my arse, but open that package I did, and when I saw that bottle of Joy I did this for 10 solid minutes:

DSCF1525How Big Hair sicken Winston, with her crass consumerism.

Anyway, THANK YOU, AUNTIE GARP. I smell so…costly.