Sowing my wildly expensive oats

You know what I don’t like?

Yes, June. In fact, I have a comprehensive list. It’s really more of a scroll at this point.

No, there’s a new one.

Sigh. [turns scroll sideways to write in the margin]

Packet oatmeal that makes you work for it. You’re buying DRY OATMEAL in a foil PACKET. Clearly you are not up for whipping up a gourmet breakfast if you’re choosing dry oatmeal in a foil packet.

Add 150-degree purified water, let stand for 48 seconds, put in microwave for 192 seconds, on low, then remove and cover with Sanskrit tomes for 18 seconds under a full moon, 22 seconds if it’s a waxing gibbous. If it’s waning or new, do not eat this product.

My joie de vivre coworker Griff, of Thus Saith Griff fame, hates it when gas pumps tell you to pull the card out quickly, or when you’re microwaving something, to leave it in there sitting for a minute after.

“Don’t tell me what to fuckin’ do,” he says. And see, he’s right. June says, as she crunches her refusing-to-soften-for-some-reason fancy oatmeal.

It has MADAGASCAR vanilla. Oh, fuck off. Isn’t all vanilla from Madagascar? I don’t know what possessed me to purchase such lofty foil breakfast food; I must have been feeling vulnerable. “This oatmeal will solve everything. If I spent 11 dollars on four packs of oatmeal, surely my life will gel marvelously.”

In other news, my father sent me these:


What are they, June?

They’re socks.

Fuck off, June.

They’re socks with Frida Kahlo on them. And did she really own a monkey? Because goddammit. I want a monkey.

fuk off, joon

I came home from work last night to all three cats clamoring to come in. I had worked late, and they were all looking at their kitty watches, annoyed. Iris limped in. “Why you limpin’ little Irises?” I asked, and once again, I’m certain the neighbors do not abhor me and my cat speak at all.

There is some fur off her little Iris head, and one has to surmise she was in a tuffle during the day, and “tuffle” is a fine word, and while, yes, it may have been her enemy, Orange Cat, it may also have been her very own brother, Gray Asshole.

All night, she just wanted to be on me. I was trying to work out, and she kept stretching over to lie on my lap while I, you know, lifted my leg 800 times.

In the meantime, last night, Steely Dan came home with everyone, had dinner, then immediately stood on the secretary and howled. The piece of furniture, not Henry Kissinger.

Won’t you enjoy my current references?

I let him out, and of course even though it was 2 degrees out, he wouldn’t come home, and since we all know he was very extremely undoubtedly likely to have SLEPT IN ANOTHER HOUSE, he was fine.

He came home today, ravenous. Well, “ravenous.” He was probably fed Madagascar vanilla cat food before he wandered back here. But what he does if he deigns to stay home during the day is get on the spare bed and do this:


He likes to get between the pillows. And he looks so sweet, and like such a nice kitty, that one can’t help but pet his velvety earses and kiss his sweet walnut head and

seeeryouslee. fuk off JOON.


I’d better go. I woke up at 5:00 today and couldn’t fall back asleep until I DID, and then when the alarm went off at 6:30 I reset it for 7:30 and now I’m late and this is all you get today. Oh!

IMG_1220.jpgBut my flowers and antlers came yesterday, for m’Frida costume, and now my head matches my socks. We will not speak of my curtains or drapes or however that crude saying goes.

It’s carpet, right? Carpet and drapes? What a stupid thing to ask. Whose carpet ever matches their drapes? I guess mine do–I have neither.

Hoooooo-aaaaa. But really, I don’t. I have blinds and hardwoods.


Oh my god.

Frida, out.

It was the 3rd of June, another sleepy dusty Delta day. Volume XVIIIX934X

I’m only writing at you because it’s our day.

A few years back, when I sat next to my boss, fmr., he and I got into one of our 408-minute discussions about Things That Didn’t Matter and gee, I wonder why they split us up. That day, the discussion centered on what did Billy Jo McAllister toss off that bridge? Continue reading It was the 3rd of June, another sleepy dusty Delta day. Volume XVIIIX934X

Joe Lies

I be Hutch. Wear be Starskee?



I hadn't had my eyebrows waxed since Wilford Brimley was a child, so I went to Elegant Nail & Tan, which I realize suggests all kinds of featured services that do not seem to include waxing, but you must trust me on this. While I was waiting, I got to know a woman sitting next to me. We talk talk talked and we're the same age and both single and finally we exchanged numbers and picking up women is super easy.

Why can't I get my eyebrowns, as they say, to look at good as they get them to look? It's completely worth the six dollars.

Other than that, I went to the grocery store and loaded myself up with frozen yogurt bars for the next two weeks, and because I try to get in plant-based foods, one of the boxes was strawberry flavor. The other bars were vanilla, and isn't the vanilla bean a plant? I think it is. So. Diet. Complete.

I have never seen a tanning bed at Elegant Nail & Tan. I'm not saying there isn't maybe one back there, but I've never seen it, and I've never heard anyone come in there and say, Yes, I'm  here to tan? Maybe they need to rethink their moniker. Elegant-ish Nail & Old Magazines.


At my old seat at work, I looked at an Impressionist-ish painting of fall trees against a blue sky, and now I look at multiple Os. That picture of me on my bulletin board is from this time we had to take selfies for a client presentation, and one day the janitorial staff left a note that read, "Is this trash" on a box, and some jokester put that note on my selfie and an eternal joke was born.

I meant to Google why companies move you around a lot, like, what's the benefit to them, but I forgot. If anyone knows, I'd be curious. Some people at work are really traumatized over it, if they've been at their desks forever and so on.

Others of us are excited to be reunited after being ripped apart. Like Joe and I were ripped apart.

Name that movie.

Anyway, other than that, I have a gigantic freelance job coming up starting tomorrow and going until next Friday. So if I up and disappear, it means I'm behind and I'm frantically working to get it all done. So be sure to pepper me with IMs and emails. WHERE ARE YOU, JOOOOOOOOOOOOOON? Are you dead, JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON?

I have already gotten my delightful credi card debt down to the next number. So, like, if I were 11,000 thousand dollars in debt, which I'm not thank god, I'd be down to 10,oooo now. Yay. So I keep plugging away. Which doesn't help pay the bills at all. "June keeps unplugging and plugging her appliances, yet she still has debt."

Shouldn't Tallulah have to pay this? Someone wake her up.

Iris and me having an Elliott and E.T. moment. Beeeee good. She's always good. I mean, to everyone but baby birds. And adult birds. Or anyone rodent-ish.

Also, I've noticed that there are always cars now at my next-door neighbor Peg's. Sometimes just one extra, sometimes two. Someone's been rolling her trash can to the curb, as well. This worried me, so I called her, and she's never called me back. It's been, like, a week. I don't want to be all Gladys Kravitz and go over there, but I feel like something is definitely up. There has never been a time Peg hasn't called me back.

Maybe she has Noro virus. Hey, June, you ever gonna get over Peg giving you Noro virus?

What do you think?

All right, I have to go to work, try to find my new desk.

Your friend and mine,


In which June would kill Agatha all over again

But I already TOLD you about my weekend, because a picture paints a thousand words.

Then why can't I paint you?


(This might be the best of all the horrific videos I've ever given you.)

So okay, so I'll give you a synopsis, because you know how brief I am, in case you didn't look at my nice pictorials I gave you on Saturday and Sunday. Mostly, I cleaned. And Marty and Kayeee and Jo came over. Kaye stole all Jo's Es.

All my laundry is done–ALL of it. The only thing in the hamper is a pair of jeans that I wore yesterday and may or may not have gotten melted cheese on. Hashtag, still a health nut.

Also, either this was happening–and Lottie can't KEEP her ears going one way–or this was…

IMG_0024 IMG_0026
…with Lottie observing Edsel's every move, like he has the answers to life. Edsel is showing Lottie how to dog, and god help us, everyone. Remember when hippies would sometimes pick someone really bad to be their guru? Yeah.

There were also dog fights, but they were fights for good, not evil. IMG_0005

edzul eet puppeh

Thank god I also had human interaction, because sad.


Humans came over and ALSO looked at my animals.

We all went to dinner, Marty, Kayeee and Jo and me, and I was complaining about Kaye's evil, endless budget she has me on. "What if I actually meet a man, and he thinks he likes me till he notices my eyebrows aren't waxed?" I kvetched.

"So, if you don't wax, his interest will wane?" asked Marty, and that is when he got down on one knee and gave himself a promise ring.

Oh, and I also had human interaction with the dog trainer. He came over so he could look at my animals.


Lottie was, of course, PERFECT again while he was here, sitting for him and doing downs and stays and giving him advice on his hedge fund. "I'm not just feathering your cap, here, but that really is a highly intelligent dog," he told me. Again. Goddammit. Again.

I wanted slow and dumb. I got Lottie.

"You weren't meant to have a mellow dog," said Kaye, who was there the day I said, Oh, no. I'm not ready for a puppy. Let me give perfect Stanley to a family. A stupid, undeserving family with some dumb child who in no way needed a puppy.

When I took this picture above, by the way, the trainer said, "She knows you're up to something." I was trying to be surreptitious with the camera, but Lottie already knows the score. You live in this house, you pose for a blog.

On Monday, I decided to get out and have the stink blown off me, as my father would say, so I put on real pants and headed to this rose garden I like to go to. I know I never promised you one, but here's the rose garden.


(Annoying local readers will send me the "Where was this?" messages.)

I love it there. I was thinking, on the drive over, that maybe I'd meet a nice man at the rose garden. Maybe he'd be at the rose garden because his dead wife always loved it there. Then I got annoyed with the dead wife, wondered why he had to bring her up every goddamn second of the goddamn day, and can't we just enjoy the rose garden without old dead Agatha coming between us again?

Then we broke up.

On my drive over, I got waylaid by a bike race, which was probably being thrown in memory of stupid-ass dead Agatha, and I had to wait till everyone on a bike went by. Which took forever. I had to yell, "I don't even know HOW to ride a bike" to approximately 10,000 bikers. Are bikers motorcyclists or are they people who ride bikes too? I have no idea. Go ask Agatha. When she's 10 feet talllllll.


During my interminable wait for the bikercyclists, I noted a little, I don't know, homage? Plaque? Stone? Monument? to Daniel Boone. My Uncle Leo would have gotten out of the car to read the plaque, but I just sat in my driver's seat feeling annoyed.


Imagine if you've just tuned in, and you wonder why June would be irked at a lovely uncontroversial figure like Daniel Boone. Also, when did I get those frowny lines around my mouth? Goddammit. I never frown. I'm often frowned upon, but…

I guess those are all the pictures I wanted to show you from my riveting weekend. This whole time I've been writing you, Lottie has either been trying to chew this chair or my robe. I took her over to her plethora of toys and said, "Here's your antler. It's the right thing to chew."

And then I borrowed Marty's promise ring to give to myself.

June sees a psychic. Finds out the future. So after today you won’t have to read this dumb blog anymore. You’ll know what’s gonna happen.

On Sunday, I went with my coworker Alex to see the psychic, the one from 2011. I don't mean the psychic was born in 2011, which would make her something of a prodigy. I also don't mean she's from the band Prodigy.

I mean that I saw her in 2011, came home and blogged about it, read that old post the other day, realized everything she said came effing true, and stampeded to see her again on Sunday. Is what I mean. Why you gotta make everything so difficult?

I'd love to tell you that I took pictures of said time at said psychic, but I forgot to do so, so excited was I to see Miss Stay-bility again. That's how my psychic pronounces "stability." "Stay-bility." She did it again this time. She is cute. I like how now she's "my psychic." Just the other day, The Poet and I were discussing what's the most annoying thing someone can say they have: My lawyer. My agent. My life coach. My pilot. "My psychic" is right up there.


Although I forgot to photograph the psychic, I did, however, manage to capture on film this sleeping pet condo scenario. I threw new sheets and a new comforter to put on the bed, left for ONE MINUTE (or maybe several hours. Whatdaya want from me?) and came back to find Iris asleep underneath everything and Edsel asleep on top of everything. I wish everyone here would get off the heroin and stop nodding out every second.

Okay, so here's what she said. She told Alex that her current boyfriend is a keeper, and I think he probably is. Very stable, manly, marriageable guy, if you ask me. Hot, too. But that is not the issue at hand. The issue at hand is what is going to happen to JUNE, as we are all invested in JUNE, the hero of our story.

She said I might do some international traveling this year, which, really? I might drink General Foods International Coffee, but that's it.

She said my whole heartbreak with Ned is stagnant right now, but by the end of February I'll be 100% glad I'm gone from that scene. She said more will be revealed that will make me say, oh right. I really did have to go. Great. I can't wait to see what miserable thing happens that makes me say THAT.

THEN, in the spring, your studly pal June will be juggling TWO men: a younger one and an older one. Neither will be quite right for me, but that is fine, as I will be busy being creative (writing a BOOK, maybe??) and having fun and getting my dollars in order.

THEN, and do you wish I'd stop starting paragraphs with "THEN"?

THEN, in 8 to 10 months, so September through November, I WILL MEET A MAN, possibly someone from my past with whom I had a bit of an attraction, and he will be THE MAN FOR ME and we will GET MARRIED NEXT YEAR!!!!

Married! I didn't even THINK to ask if I was gettin' hitched. I was just worried I'd be obsessed with Ned for the rest of time.


I called Tall Boy on the drive home to tell him everything. "You'd better get all thin for my wedding next year," I told him. "I'm not letting you be Maid of Honor if you're a big fattie." Tall Boy lost 28 pounds this past year, so you can imagine how he adores me for this. However, since he's Tall Boy and all, he discussed what kind of dress he should wear, and how he could get thin enough to please me.

What I like about myself is I stopped off and got two (2!!!!!) celebratory chocolate croissants after, KNOWING FULL WELL MY WEDDING IS COMING UP. I have to focus on the prize, y'all.

As soon as I'm done typing you, I am so starting up a wedding Pinterest page for my own self. What's the new trend in weddings? Because Mason jars at a barn is so done. I need something new. Should I tell the man I meet in 8 to 10 months about my Pinterest page on the first date, or just wait till date number two? Play it cool?

Should I invite Marvin to my wedding? I think he should make it a point to be at all my weddings. Oh my god, maybe Marvin could be mistress of ceremonies and perform the whole thing. Or he could play the music when I walk down the aisle. I've already decided to come down the aisle to Brick House. I mean, right? What else is there?

Oh my god, I gotta get my nose done TOOT SUITE before I have wedding photos that'll last till the end of time. Or, you know, the 20 years I have left till I fall over dead. The 51-year-old bride. Fuckin'-a.


Oh, this is such exciting news. This is all so sudden!

Ooo! Oooo! And I forgot to tell you. My new husband? HAS MONEY!!! "He's not rich, but he's good with money," said the psychic. Good with money! Just like me! We can sit around and enjoy our riches together! After I show him my Pinterest page, I can tell him how I put a visit to a psychic on my credit card!

So, there it is. June is betrothed. What should I do with my hair? I don't mean till then, I mean on the big day. Perm?

Speaking of my appearance, I forgot to show you before and after asshole bathroom selfie shots I took the other night, when I got ready for my big date.

Before. Hey, Haggis. Who would marry this tired person?

After. My best friend in high school's mom used to say, "A little lipstick. A little eye shadow. It's all you need." That and six pounds of foundation, and she's right.

So, anyway, save the date!



Watch June apply her makeup. You won’t BELIEVE what happens next. Yeah, you will. She puts on clothes and goes to work.

Today, Ima talk to you while I do my makeup. Here I am, looking like one of those women who doesn't shave her parts, whose one iota of makeup is some tinted Burt's Bees balm.

Photo on 7-9-15 at 7.55 AM #2

Mmmm. Vision. You know, I am in no way a natural beauty. Never have been. Thank god I'm a drag queen with the makeup.

Photo on 7-9-15 at 7.58 AM

Combed my eyebrows, darkened them a little, and put on some undereye concealer. I never had a problem with dark circles till I started to use Latisse. It's one of the side effects. However, I've been out of Latisse for maybe a month now, and things keep coming up that I have to spend money on like glamorous water heaters. But, Dear Mom: My birthday is a week away. Nothing says Happy 50th! like a bottle of Latisse.

I assure you mom has already purchased and likely mailed my gifts, and there ain't no Latisse in there. Darn, that's the end.

Photo on 7-9-15 at 8.07 AM #4

A little foundation, some eye shadow. You'll note our regularly scheduled cat has been replaced by a dog. You won't BELIEVE what happens next! Click here!

And by the way, I totally forgot poor Edsel's birthday, on the 7th. Was too busy at King Kong. I thought of it last night, and went running into the room Edsel was in, and he immediately began beating his tail against the wall and had no idea why I was kissing him and giving him treats, but he didn't care.

I asked him if he wanted to come sleep with me, just us two, and he didn't have to be asked twice. IMG_4685
well, eds haff the time of ed's life. and he never felt dis way beefore.

Somehow eventually Tallulah got up there, too, and I have no idea how I ever slept with two dogs and two cats in a double bed like it was normal.

Anyway, now Edsel is 5. Man, has he calmed down.

Oh, also? I always forget how much he and Lily seem to like each other. They were totally making out last night, but by the time I got my photojournalism camera out, all I got was this and they broke it up.

Photo on 7-9-15 at 8.21 AM #2

Eye pencil mascara and expired lipstick. My lipstick has an expiration date on it, I am not kidding. I should have stopped using it back in March. Am living on edge.

So now I have to get dressed, but before I go, help me with a deep thought I was having the other day. What is the worst song of the '80s? I mean, there's the obvious We Built This City, and I do heartily detest that song, but what about Huey Lewis? The heart of rock and roll is still–oh, go fuck yourself.

Do share your thoughts.

Screaming in to say ho. Which is not at all polite and who needs to type better, do you think?

I really meant to type "hi," and my nails have grown too long. I've had a gel manicure on them since Thanksgiving and all of a sudden I'm Cher. Remember how she had the nails? God, I wanted nails like that in the worst way. I had no idea in 1975, when I was lusting for them, that they'd really interfere with my blog.

We got home at 1:00 a.m. today, having gone to Raleigh for not one but two celebrations, because we're Kim and Kanye. First was Ned's family party, that always takes place first in a bowling alley–a really cool old one where you have to keep score by yourself and what is this, 1974?

IMG_2247That's right. You see it. Kind of. Shut up. Anyway, 103!!!! What a bowler. Maybe it's because I already bowled this week. I'm a professional now. June's Photography and Bowling Tips Seminar. Sign up now! Seats are going fast.

After the bowling portion of the day, we all schlep on over to Ned's brother's house for Christmas. Every year there's a theme, and this year the theme was White Trash, or as Ned's sister-in-law called it, Anglo-Refuse-American.

Yes, I DO love Ned's sister-in-law. Why do you ask?

IMG_2249No stone was left unturned, and the sad part is, EVERYTHING WAS DELICIOUS, if you ask me.

IMG_2250Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, pork rinds, bologna, cut-up hot dogs on toothpicks, Ritz crackers and spray cheese food.

Hell, yeah.

IMG_2256Look at June, all bonding with children like a normal member of society. This kid is particularly cool, and she laughs at my jokes, so. Plus, we look related, don't we?

IMG_2253What's sad is I absolutely know Ned's family poured out that beer to put in the beef jerky and lottery tickets, when I'd have been happy to take that PBR right off their hands.

IMG_2269Ned's mom (left) and stepmother really like each other. Isn't that cute? They went to high school together, so it's funny to hear them talk about some girl they both didn't like, or whatever. It'd be like if my friend Dave Newman married Marvin and I got to come to their events, which by the way, Dave and Marvin, if you two decide to do that, I cannot think of anything more fun.

We finally got to the presents part, and I wish you could have seen how far into the room the gifts extended past that tree. Good gravy. Anyway, Ned and I got a big speaker for our TV, which is great, because as a housewarming we got Chromecast for the TV, so now we can scream our music from our computers out the TV, and won't you be over soon to hear Dancing Queen come out of the TV?

IMG_2285We also got this CUTE CUTE CUTE birdhouse from Ned's mom!

deeR Ned MoM,

theenk you fer burdhouwse. delishis.



Last night, Ned's sister-in-law was trying to refer to all our pets, and she called my cats Blindy and Other Cat. They are so going by those names from now on.


IMG_2278The Other Cat.

What fur everywhere? What you mean?

You know what's easy? Taking photos of your cats when they're just running around living life. Lily (T.O.C.) likes to sit under the shower curtain on the bathroom rug, and that would have been an ADORABLE picture, but guess who ran as soon as I lifted the curtain? Dick.

IMG_2292Ned's stepmom was at an art show with her son, who normally lives in England but is home for Christmas. They came across a table that had all vintage wreaths and corsages, and she picked this one up and said to her son, "You haven't met June yet, but she will love this." You can imagine his trepidation at meeting me.

Dood. LOOK AT IT! Look at the one angel, who has angry dark eyebrows like I do now. IMG_2263Behold the brows. Ned's stepmom = prescient. Even better? IT JINGLES. The corsage, not my brows. There are BELLS in it. In my world, every time a bell rings, a drag queen gets her wings.

I pinned that MoFo right onto my coat and we went to the party at Ned's friends' house. I love Ned's friends. They're always really nice to me, plus also everyone was way up in my nice corsage. At the end of the night I told someone we had to go, because I had to return my corsage to the Minimalist Museum.

There were three dogs at the party, and as you know, I base my time at a party on how many pets there were and did they let me pet them. One grumpy large dog showed his teeth to us, so B+. The other dogs were muffins.

I gotta get ready for Chris and Lilly's party now, because Kim and Kanye. I totally called it–I'm Kanye.

Ima let you finish.



Last weekend, when Ned and I were at that on-the-streets Christmas celebration, we went to a store that sells vintage, and right here I'd like to apologize to my friend Kit, because I bought a vintage coat for $45. It's dark blue wool with big cool buttons and a cream fur collar.

Yesterday, at my 3:00 walk with my coworkers, I also had to wear a hat because it's effing cold, but the only hat I had was my leopard one that you all admired. Well. Some of you admired. Everyone who reads me didn't write me personally to say they loved my hat. The point is, dark blue and fur and then also leopard do not add up to an uncrazy look.

"I feel like we're taking my grandma to the Piggly Wiggly," said The Other Copy Editor, who can tell it to my hand. I am dragging him and about 40 other people to the gay bar Saturday night for an evening of dancing. Included in this group is Ned, because you know high up dancing and smoking dick are on Ned's list of interests. He put those on his dating profile.

Anyway, I can't wait, although after tonight, when I have Nothing to Do™, I have something scheduled for EVERY SINGLE DAY through Christmas. Some I am excited about: Chris and Lilly are having an open house, and Ned's family is having their annual bowling event, and you all know how well I bowl. I lob those pins. Bowling is the only sport I enjoy.

Well. I also love miniature golf. Really when you think about it I'm quite an outdoorswoman. I also like badminton. I'm practically one of those natural, down-to-earth types who wears Patagonia pullovers and Burt's Bees chap stick as her only cosmetic.

Seeing as we have all these important outings, Ned and I are embarking on a project: We are whitening our teeth. I know! It's a big undertaking, and I don't quite know how I'll fit it in with all my outdoor sports and Patagonia wearing, plus bowling. Actually, I just remembered, my workplace is also having a bowling event on the 18th, so I'll be bowling twice this month. I'm a regular Refrigerater Perry.

(I don't know any bowlers, and he's the first athlete I thought of. I don't even know for certain what sport that Refrigerator person played, although it must have been an outdoor sport because why else would he be named Refrigerator?)

(Was he an ice fisherman?)

Oh my god, anyway. So, while I was waiting for my antibiotics prescription to be filled at Target the other day, I saw a whitening kit so I got it. I announced this crucial purchase to Ned, who said he'd bought the same kit before his class reunion so that the whole school wouldn't be abuzz about Ned's dental enamel, then he never used the kit.

Last night, after I came home from my student–who asked me to ask all of you why people wear Uggs–Ned and I strapped on the ol' tooth strips and spent half an hour wishing we didn't have on tooth strips. I'll keep you apprised of our progress and you will be on the edge of your refrigerator, I'm certain.

I guess that's the most important news, although I have been wanting to alert you that last weekend, my coworker Bitchy Resting Face Alex had a terrible scare. Her dogs, one of which is a puppy, found some poison that the old owners of her house had put under the boiler, because apparently they hate boilers. BRF Alex spent a weepy weekend at the vet, and her dogs are fine. The POINT is, she reads my blog and comments, so I was able to say, "Poison is POISON to dogs, Alex."

And THAT is what matters.

Oh! (You abhor me at this point.) I thought I'd throw in a couple photos of my Christmas decorations. I told Ned I was going to do just light decorating, and our versions of that might differ. "It's very silver in here," said Ned, who can tell it to my hand along with The Other Copy Editor.

IMG_2142 IMG_2143 IMG_0272 IMG_0273 IMG_0271Nothing says Christmas like a table full of newspapers. Ned reads the paper every day, like it's 1969. I recycle papers every day, like it's 2014.

IMG_0275I got these brownish yellow Christmas decorations, too. What do you think?

I guess that's all I have to tell you, believe it or not. Today I'm having lunch with–CRAP. I just realized I booked two different people for lunch. The Poet and I were supposed to eat at the bookstore, but I also made plans to go shopping for eyebrow pencil with another woman at work, who has good eyebrows. Well, hell.

Stay tuned to see how I solve THAT.



I blame Sue

Yesterday culminated in many family members coming over for dinner, and my Aunt Sue took photos on her Samsung, which looked perfectly normal on her camera and got blurry once she sent it to mine. I would dearly love to say that the past 7.5 years of blurry photos, then, are due to my iPhone, but iPhones weren't even invented when I started blogging, so.

Before evening dawned, which makes no sense, Ned and I ate the 950,000 things my mother offered us, and then we took the dog and drove to some woods nearby for a walk, where we got lost, and it was 100% like Blair Witch if one of the lost people had been a speckled dog. Also, my mother's speckled dog could not possibly have more frequently demanded we stop so he could pee on poison ivy. They should just rename the woods Gus Woods, at this point, so marked is that territory.

Oh, and we saw a (hang on, Tee) SNAKE! Ned saw it, as he has snakedar. "Do you want to me pick it up?" asked Ned, as it was a yellow stripy garder snake. You can imagine how I encouraged him with that pursuit.

We dropped in on my friend Hometown Horselady, who comments sometimes, and I have no idea why her parents named her that. She and Ned both work for family businesses, so they talked about that, and the thing they WORK on is similar, so they talked about THAT, and man was that boring. Do you know what else you two have in common? Hello. Could we not talk about ME? God.

Then I am happy to tell you Ned and I drove through a flood–A FLOOD–to get to the bar I hung out in in my youth, which was many, many years ago. I hadn't been to that bar since god knows when, possibly my wedding, and it was just the same.

Photo (2)Well I've had the time of my life, and I've never felt this way before.

You know, Ned is not a dreadful person, yet he gets that "I'm dreadful" look as soon as the camera comes out. "That's a good picture of me," he said.

Then I took him to the bar where I bartended, which was built in the 1800s and has a fireplace and it was a perfect spot to hang on a rainy-ass afternoon. My cat-sitter sent me a photo of Iris while I was there!


I'd told the particular Alex who is cat-sitting that there was vodka in the freezer (Are you there, Catsitter? It's me, vodka), tequila in the cupboard and absolutely zero food. Help yourself! What she did not know was Iris would be partayyin' with her mom gone.

Photo (3)My mother watched me re-do my rainy makeup when we got back; my wet hair was ruined beyond repair. "Jooon, your eyebrows are too dark," she said. I looked in the mirror. If you ask me, I was a vision. "I'm a VISION," I protested, and asked my stepfather if my eyebrows looked dark. "They look fine," he said, never looking up from whatever the hell he was working on up there.

Ned walked in. "Are my brows too dark?" "You look beautiful , sweetheart," said Ned, who is terrified of me.

PhotoSo I ingored my mother, and every photo I took with a relative, I look like Groucho Marx and Joan Crawford and a Dark Caterpillar Face Person. You've heard all the stories about the famous Dark Caterpillar Face Person. All that brow action just serves to make Aunt Sue look even hotter in comparison, which annoys.

Imagejpeg_0"I've always WANTED to date Freida Kahlo."

Today we are headed to Northern Michigan to see my cousin and eat things.