Just like a movie star, who gets burned in a three-way script

I’ve been obsessed with a game.

I’m not a game person. I kind of hate games, actually, and for this, I blame my childhood. My mother used to have this game night, see, with her friends.

My whole life, as far back as I can recall–and I can recall being in my crib*, so it goes a ways–my mother has had friends. Not like one friend who we all call “Aunt” or whatever, no. Like, seven thousand friends.

(*I can remember my Uncle Jim leaning over my crib with this scary mask on his face, part of my parents’ official collection of World’s Most Disturbing Art®.)

Her friendships–my mother’s, not the scary African mask’s–are always a result of Whatever She’s Into Right Now, whether it’s her church or her hobbies or her political meetings, like the kind Frank Kennedy and Rhett and Doc Meade and foppy Ashley went to.

(Now, see, that’s funny if you know from Gone With the Wind, because that political meeting was a KKK meeting, and right now my mother is pursing her lips disapprovingly.)

Anyway, Whatever She’s Into Right Now means there are eight thousand new friends of hers calling and popping in and wanting to hug me. If I’m visiting nowadays, and the phone rings–which it does 7,000 times a day there–and I answer, the friends always start off with, “Pam?” because we sound exactly alike. And then I’m the bitch who has to start off every conversation with, “No. This is June.” It always feels so unfriendly to be all, “No.”

They’re always outgoing, these friends of my mother’s. And while people think I’m gregarious and an extrovert just because I’m funny, mostly my days are spent trying to have as much time to brood alone on the couch as possible. It’s always been my goal: If I’ve had a day where I got to spend a good five hours alone brooding on the couch, I give that day one of those stupid 100 emojis.


What the fuck with those?

Anyway, at some point in my childhood, maybe when I was 7 or 8, my mother started having game night, usually on a Friday, where she’d make popcorn and get out the Gallo Hearty Burgundy, and her outgoing friends would all come over, as would my outgoing Uncle Leo, dragging my Aunt Kathy, who likes to be in bed by 7:30.

Then all night, they’d lounge across my brooding couch and laugh and shout over each other and eat popcorn while they enjoyed them some rousing games of Jeopardy or 10,000 Pyramid. Or Password.

Often, my Aunt Kathy would fall asleep in a spare bed, like a toddler.

I remember being roped into these games occasionally, and sometimes I’d have to be moderator for Jeopardy. I was Alex Trebec and call.

Later, in my teen years, I remember coming home to some of the game nights, and having to pretend I wasn’t drunk as a skunk after a kegger. I’ve no idea if I pulled it off. Also, why did we all stop having keggers?

(Several of my mother’s outgoing friends are my Facebook friends, and I plan to tag them on this particular post, and I ask them: Did I pull it off? Did you have no idea I’d done 16 Miller Lite beer bongs?)

Anyway. Since I associate games with fun and frolic and friends, naturally it doesn’t appeal to me. Millennials seem to be big into games, and back when people at at work liked me, I was constantly being asked to game nights with them, and I’d always say no so I can brood on the couch.

But that’s just what I was doing the other day when I got some sort of targeted ad on my phone. You know how you’re on social media, and you swear you just THOUGHT, only THOUGHT, about how you wish they had high heels for swans, and then you’re scrolling and there’s an ad for Swan Slingbacks or whatever?


Jesus Christ, really? I just Googled high heels for swans and this came up.

Anyway, I’ve no idea, really, why they targeted me for a game, but maybe they’ve been watching me since childhood, when I was moderating Jeopardy. But anyway, they lured me in by saying, “Play this game to increase your brain power here” and I did, and then I was hooked and I think I paid four dollars for this app, called Peak, that allegedly makes your brain work better, and as you can see from this not-at-all-disjointed post that it’s working like a charm. And also by the fact that I parted with four dollars.


The game that really got me is called Word Fresh, and they give you some set amount of minutes to make as many words as you can, from a sheet of letters.

This game is perfect for me. I like words, and I like the Mission Impossible pressed-for-time challenge, and plus, I don’t have to talk to or smile at anybody. It can be played at home, by myself, on my couch of sorrows! With zero hugs!

At this point, even my kittens are sick of it.

I can honestly say this is the first time I’ve ever been involved in a game, and the first person who tries to make it social gets glared at by me. The first person who says, Oooo, June, they have a Word Fresh night at Moose Parts Brew Pub or Oooo, June, we all play it together on this one website with a chat room, the first person who does that is the victim of my next political meeting.

Anyway, I know you’ll be irritated with me if I just talk about that and don’t show you any kittens. I’m going over to Ned’s tonight to see Nancy, and I just can’t wait. I wonder if she’d like to play Word Fresh with me?

Here are the kittens. Edsel and Matt are peas and carrots, man.






Animals are terrible people


I spread this afghan on the new couch, so Miss Sickly could get up and sleep on me. ("Specially handmade for you, by Grandma" a tag inside reads. Aw. Gramma. Knittin' me an afghan in the '70s colors. I am so glad I have this.) The vet called yesterday to tell me that as a result of a test they did last week, we should get Lu an ultrasound to make sure she doesn't have The Cancer.

Lemme tell you something. My Lu does not have The Cancer. It is a horrific-ness up with I will not put. The vet called the radiologist, who has to let the vet know when he can come to the office and do said ultrasound, which by the way is $330, tipping Talu's sickness well over the thousand-dollar mark at this point. Jesus.

She's outside right now, squatting in the snow. She seems to just rest her inflamed parts right on the snow, like it gives her some relief. I don't know how any of you can stand having a sick child, if this is how awful it feels to have a sick dog. I mean, I assume if you have a child that you like it a lot and stuff.

Sometimes I consider just running her over with my car, to put her out of her agony. I'm not even kidding you. She just seems so miserable. She goes to her dish and wags politely, then doesn't eat any of it and looks up at me pleadingly. All dogs love food, but food was Tallulah's joint. That chick would eat my strawberry tops. She used to ask to eat my paper towels when I was done. She was like a goat.

Today I added some Mrs. Dash to her food, and she actually ate it. I want you to know those scavengers called Edsel and Iris just wait for her to walk away so they can eat what she didn't. Zero concern for her well-being. Animals are terrible people. In the meantime, Lu looks skinnier every day. All she's usually eating is the almond butter I put her pills in.

Why do colors go in and out of style? Who decides, "Sayyyy, burnt orange and olive are where it's at," and then everything becomes gold and amber and olive and brown for a decade along with giant mounds of pubic hair. Who decides that?

I guess people had '70s bush in the 1870s as well. I suppose eventually they'll look back and be all, "What was with the 2000s, when every woman went around bald as a billiard in her girl bits?"

June's blog. Come for the sad dog news. Stay for the '70s colors and bushes.

Also, it would appear I'm having a Super Bowl party. Because sports. Fewks at work decided it was necessary that I do this, so I got out an evite and started thinking of who at work might be interested, then some of my regularly scheduled friends such as Marty Martin and Tall Boy, and next thing you know I've invited 20 goddamn people over and have you met my living room? Where we gonna sit at? Am I the most disorganized person you know? Does life seem to just constantly hit me in the face like a '70s bush?

I hate to ask for Super Bowl recipes, but if you have any easy ones, tell me. Do not say stupid things like, "You take your food processor" or "Make a reduction."

How do you MAKE a reduction anyway? Why don't they just say "reduce"? Speaking of reduce, I feel like Super Bowl food is not what you'd call heart healthy. Is it? Is seven-layer dip heart healthy? Seven-layer dip is sort of amber and olive, did you ever notice that? 70s-layer dip.

Okay, I gotta go. I got shit to do.

Photo on 1-24-16 at 3.29 PM #2

My webcam is making me look red-faced, and I think in real life I'm actually not, but what do I know. I could ask Edsel, but he always just tells me I'm the most beautiful mom anyone has ever had. Bullshit specially handmade for you, by Edsel.

I'll talk at you. Further reports on Tallulah as developments warrant. Let's talk about colors in the comments today. What was the quintessential color of each decade? I see the '80s as a jewel tone, but then again you got your Don Johnson pink in the '80s. All my decades are pink, though. Which is reflected in my face. Thanks, webcam.

Okay, bye.

Two showers, still filthy. Or, add vodka!

Yesterday, I attended two baby showers. One for Spalex, the Alex on our Spanish team…

IMG_4078And one for TinaDoris.

IMG_4107TinaDoris's was Bring Your Own Bra Strap.

What I need to do is stop putting my ravaged face next to smooth, unlined women in their 20s. Let's just assume they look so good because they have the glow of pregnancy about them, whereas the only thing I was pregnant with was a pause before I ate 47 cupcakes at both events.

IMG_4068 IMG_4111

IMG_4027Spalex is having a boy, and she had a come-decorate-a-bib thing at her everything-was-so-charming event. I made this one, above. After everyone had created and hung a bib, she and her husband decided on which one they liked best, and gave out a prize.

IMG_4060I watched them select mine and Competitive Alex's, my coworker who is the world's most competitive human. She had brothers. I'm assuming that explains everything.

IMG_4064Here's Alex, waiting maturely and calmly to see which of us would win. She's who I was set to play Ping-Pong with last year when we had a tournament at work, remember? And every single person I asked had filled out their bracket with her winning. I hate my coworkers. What a bunch of bitches. Especially the men.

IMG_4066The good news is, we both won the intense bib-decorating contest, probably because Spalex didn't want to hear it from either of us on Monday. I won this container so I can take vodka to work, and Alex won a Starbucks gift card so she can be even more hepped up and competitive.

IMG_4049Lots of people from work were there, all named Alex, and please note on the left that Bitchy Resting Face Alex is not looking bitchy.

IMG_4030Ah. There we go. Although she kind of looks more like Indigestion Resting Face Alex, here.

IMG_4057Speaking of which, the menu for the shower had several springtime salads and other healthy fare, and I am the only heifer who was all, "Get me the meat loaf." And in the spirit of my pal Hulk, I got double mashed potatoes as my two sides. I have no idea why I can't keep a man. Lemme tell you something. I may be a girl version of Hulk, but that.was.delicious. It was goddammit good.

IMG_4073I kind of figured a ton of people at Spalex's shower would have to scream on over to TinaDoris's, but it turns out I'm the only crossover friend. The only other person invited to TinaDoris's was Spalex, who of course was, you know, attending her own shower. She gave me a really beautifully wrapped gift to take over to TinaDoris's, as opposed to the gifts I wrapped for each person, which looked like maybe I had my gifts wrapped by some charity that gives work to handless mentally disabled people.

IMG_4039"It's actually hurting me to watch you wrap these," said Ned, who is a straight guy and still could have done better. "Do you want me to redo these?" I have my pride, and clearly my dignity, so I took my Help For The Handless gifts to the showers with resolve. I needed Resolve to clean all the barf when people saw my wrapping skillz.

Spalex also gave me a rose corsage to take over to TinaDoris's shower along with her pretty gift. "I got corsages for all the moms," she told me, because she is the type of person who'd think of such a thing.

IMG_4085"Here's a rose corsage I got you, and a really prettily wrapped gift," I handed TinaDoris her things when I arrived at her shindig. "Oh, and a really shitty-looking present that Spalex wrapped for you. I am sure," I said. "Doesn't Spalex have any pride?"

"Oh, Spalex is so sweet," said TD, sniffing her rose and not for a minute falling for my charade.

IMG_4102TinaDoris's shower was in a coworker's back yard, and there was no stone left unturned. Everything was adorable.

IMG_4087Including her doggie, who I am going to marry.

She had nonalcoholic drinks, and then alcohol sitting next to those, so you could add it if you wished.

IMG_4100My table wished.

I was with women from work who, A., all had the curls and B., had no kids. We decided to play the Awwwww drinking game, which I invented. Any time TD opened a gift and there was an "Awwwww!" we'd take a drink.

"I'm never having fucking kids," said Alex, slamming down her tequila-laden drink.

"I fucking love our table," I said.

IMG_4117I convinced TinaDoris that it would be HILARIOUS if she pretended to drink this beer. Had she not been so in demand at this thing, I'd have made her pick up the vodka and tequila bottles and photographed that, too. Let's all say it, "Awwwww!"

If you're dying to know what I got everyone, beyond the tempting wrapping, I got Spalex this whole play area thing, where the baby just sits there and lazily pecks at various bells and shiny things. Oh, god. I think I got her a parakeet toy. Crap.

I got TinaDoris a giraffe that is actually a sound machine, and of course someone else got it for her, too, because I didn't buy it off her registry and Babies Be Us said there was no way for them to remove it for me, which, Dear Babies Be Us: Seriously? Anyway, I also got her Charlotte's Web, a book about the first interesting website.

By the way, that pretty gift bag up there was not my gift. Mine were in depressing plain brown paper that looked like I'd gotten her a blowup doll or something.

Ned, in the meantime, had a lovely day doing whatever it is Ned does when I'm not around. I have the feeling sports things and salads were in his day. When I got home, I was supposed to go to the gay bar with friends, but there was no way. I was exhausted.

"Come take a picture with me, Ned." I waited on the porch.

IMG_4118 IMG_4122 IMG_4124I should have tried to find a third shower. Is what I should have tried to do.

IMG_4125Add vodka.

YOU’RE a towel

Yesterday I got a new phone, because I was finally eligible for an upgrade, and my current, now former (iPhone, fmr.) phone had a big crack in it, which is what SHE said, and also the flash on it had not worked for years. The point is, here is the first picture I took with my new phone. Well. First-ish. I’m always glad to capture my penis nose on film.

IMG_0003 9.27.27 PM
I am NOT wearing a robe. I sent a photo from this sesh to Ned, who wrote, “Why are you wearing a robe at work?”

“I’m not. It’s a sweater that leaks all over everything. I have little white sweater balls on the rest of my outfit.” I am never one to not tell you every detail. Ned’s lucky I didn’t launch into my “My nose is a dick” diatribe.

“Looks like a robe,” Ned wrote back.

“YOU’RE a robe,” I wrote, which is another horrible thing I’ve learned from the 25-year-olds at work. If “That’s what SHE said” doesn’t work as a comeback, usually telling someone “YOU’RE a [whatever it was they said last]” will accomplish a ton.

“Is that story done? We have a deadline.” “YOU’RE a deadline.”

We’ve all been doing that in droves at work, and then the other day, our very dignified boss came back from “YOU’RE a deadline” with “Your MOM’S a deadline.”

Editor humor. It’s hilarious.

YOU’RE hilarious. YOU’RE an editor.

Anyway. Was super-excited about new phone, and photographed every single molecule of everything yesterday.

IMG_0008Here are the leftover jellybeans from the anyone-can-take-it table at work. No one ever wants the black ones. Because who invented black liquorice flavor and why weren’t they shot clean in the neck?

IMG_0006Here’s the beleaguered Guy Who Sits Next To Me. Imagine his life eight hours a day.

After work, Marty, Kayeee, Ned and I screamed on downtown for the SCRABBLE TOURNAMENT! YOU’RE a nerd. It was a fundraiser for the literacy place I volunteer for. I didn’t read the rules. BAHAHAHAHAHA.

Because I’m super organized, I didn’t sign us all up till this morning. Marty and Kayeeee were a team, then Ned and I were. Here are the hilarious names I came up with for our teams. How do I do it? It’s a gift of wit, is what it is.

IMG_0012Ned and I had, like, one word that was worth 42 points, but then we got tired and totally sucked in round two. This is just how I am when I bowl. I do well on the first game, but then I’m tired and not into it the second game. And by “do well” in bowling I mean I don’t get a zero the first time.

IMG_0011Those assholes Marty and Kaye, who I hate, beat us both rounds, and Ned and I suck. I was so incensed that I tried to tell Marty HE was a triple-score letter, and he told me that whole “YOU’RE a…” thing is big on Southpark, and did you ever notice boys are forever telling you about Southpark like it’s interesting? Southpark is Sex and the City for boys. Anyway, apparently there is a character who is a towel, and people tell him he’s a towel and his retort is, “YOU’RE a towel.” So.

UnnamedMy friend Jo showed up, too, because the Scrabble tournament is the hotspot in Greensboro. Here I am pretending to not care that I lost.

Unnamed-1And here are my real feelings. YOU’RE a lost. Also, I do not know how Jo managed to take this picture, seeing as she’s lurking behind me like something from a Goya painting, but life’s a mystery.

Oh! Also, the best part of the evening was somehow we all got on the topic of our virginity, and Marty told how when he and his then girlfriend decided to try sex, they went to the library and read about it first before they did it, which by the way is nerdier than going to a Scrabble tournament.

Then I said to Ned, “You’ve never showed me where you lost your virginity. Why haven’t you showed me where you lost your virginity?”

“It was in the butt,” said Marty, who wins for best comment of the night. MARTY’S a butt.

Oh! And we won a raffle prize! Six months to a gym, and since we all know Ned is Norm on Cheers at HIS gym, I get to use the prize! My butt’s gonna get so cute it’ll lose its virginity.

So that sums up my big night of Scrabble. Ned kept trying to find a way to spell “vadge” but it never came up. That’s what she said.

Finally, yesterday I told you to ask me questions and I would answer them, so here are a few that you asked me. I will try to do a few a day until I forget because you know how I am.

Megsie said, I would love to hear about your *perfect* day.What would be a joy-filled day for you? How would you wake up? What would you do? Who would be there?

I’ve answered this before, so some of it is the same.

  • Sex.
  • Hash browns with onions in it, poached eggs with toast. Strong french roast.
  • Some lake in Northern Michigan, on a warm day, with my whole family, even the annoying ones, and Tallulah. Okay, Edsel can come, too, but if it’s my day he’d be strangely calm.
  • Lunch of salmon like how my mother makes it, with corn on the cob. Strawberries, and really good peaches.
  • Getting to pet a puppy or kitten for a long time.
  • Nap with sex. Not that sex and I would sleep.
  • Massage.
  • Mashed potatoes and steak. Lemonade.
  • At the end of the day, my family and I would gather around a fire, and even though she’s been dead for 30 years, my grandmother would be there and I would sit on her lap even though I’m 50.
  • Sleep with crickets chirping and a good thunderstorm later.

That’s pretty much all I require. If I got a call that day saying June, we’d love to publish your book, then okay.

PJ asks, If I run into you and Lalula some day, will I be able to love on her and kiss her beautiful head or will she do me harm if I go all “love the doggy, kiss the sweet doggy” on her?

ImagesSEER ee is lee?

Lu is pretty aloof, really, but she’d let you dote on her. I would never recommend putting your face in that pitty dog’s face, but so far she’s not been remotely aggressive with any human. Edsel, of all people, showed his teeth to someone once, and I was stunned.

Jeanie asked about allergies, but I was like The Riddler on that one. I had question marks all around me. Fortunately, other readers addressed her issues.

MissusB said, What is one thing you really want to accomplish before you either become too old to do it, or die?

Hmmm. I would still like to be a go-go dancer in a cage. And dress in drag, like, all the way. I want to lie on a beach with pink sand. And kiss a leopard. That’s about it. Oh, I guess publish a book.
That is all I’ll answer for now, because we’re at 1,200 words and you’ve developed kwashiorkor from sitting here this long.

YOU’RE kwashirorkor.

There’s something you read every day.



A walk in the park is no picnic

IMG_2909It snowed here, really a lot. You know. For here.

Do you enjoy my art shot, by the way? Am I like your annoying friend who just got into photography, and you have to stand behind her at the computer while she shows you 79 of her shots of the same dead dandelion?

What I like is I've given the world a glimpse into the windows of the people next door who hate us cause we have dogs. Have I told you about them? I love their house. Love. Love love love. And often I can see in their windows, and they decorated it all cute, too. But when we had a party, I went over there the day of and introduced myself, told them we were having a party and even invited them to stop by. The man, who was not in the bloom of youth, looked at me for a minute. "You the people who have the dogs?"

I mean, look. Edsel goes out there and almost immediately starts this high-pitched, let's-play bark that makes you want to kill yourself. As soon as he does it, I STAMPEDE to the door and call him in, but I guess these aren't what you'd call dog people.

I should totally have Peeping Tom Tuesday, where I show you a picture from times I see in their windows. What lawsuit?

So, basically Edsel cockblocks me from having friendly relations with the neighbors. Does anyone know how to shut a dog up? Oh, good. I just sought advice. How about my relationship? Do you have any advice on my relationship? I'd love some of that, too. Can you send it to me with a GIF where a dog is barking endlessly? Thanks. Actually, do GIFs even have sound? I'm like Faithful Reader suburban correspondent's husband telling everyone to MapQuest everything, so hep am I right now.

Marvin's parents used to refer to everything as a tape, a thing that tickled Marvin to no end. "We set our DVR and now we have a tape of the Sopranos." "I got my iPod and heard that tape of the new song you wrote." "Oh, did you send me a voicemail? After we hang up, I'll listen to the tape."

I meant to tell you that Marvin's mother and I texted back and forth during the Academy Awards. We sent tapes back and forth, which self-destructed in five seconds. She said Khloe Kardashian looked like a tomato, which is entirely true, but her hair was pretty, and that Juliana Rancid or whomever needs to up her caloric intake. Dang.

IMG_2903Oh my god anyway. It snowed. St. Francis has on a whole hat/scarf/muff combo that's pretty fetching. Have I told you Edsel pees on St. Francis quite regularly? He's less the patron saint of animals and more the peetron saint over at this here house.

IMG_2920If you could possibly not take note of the tossed salad action with m'dogs, and instead see the branch that fell. I know at my real house that I own, there's a branch touching a wire, which I have to have cut down and was waiting till it warmed up. The point is, I hope it didn't fall and fry my tenants. Landlord of the Year.

  IMG_2895This is the view from our bedroom window, which incidentally took 17 minutes to upload. SEVENFUCKINGTEEN minutes. I've written to Typepad and they will write back and make it my problem as they always do. "Have you tried another browser?" Yes. "Have you started using bigger pictures?" No. Then they'll stop addressing the issue altogether.

My point is, Ned came to bed very late last night. "It's snowing already!" he announced. "I was outside throwing snowballs at the street sign!"

What is it with men? Had I been awake, I may have pulled on my boots and walked around happily, looking at the snow-covered everything and enjoying nature's quiet beauty. Men have to immediately hit something.

Men are weird. Ned also mentioned to me recently that his favorite part of the Peanuts specials was when Snoopy fought the Red Baron. I thought it was a universal emotion that that was the boring part you had to sit though to get back to Linus pontificating. I never imagined anyone liked the Red Baron part. "Oh, I loved it!" said Ned Nickerson, street sign murderer.

He went to work today anyway, and I've just emailed him to make sure he got there okay and didn't have to eat the Christmas candy, a thing that's only funny if you're obsessed with Laura Ingalls Wilder, which Ned is not and my pithy literary humor is lost on him.

I have already copyedited two articles for work, a thing I did in the first hour of my workday, which technically I'm not even having because my office is closed, but I have a lot to do, including watch more Game of Effing Thrones. No one at work feels bad for me, but seriously, having to watch 40 hours of a show you're not that into is no picnic. Having to watch 40 hours of a show where dogs and horses and ravens get killed right and left is no walk in the park, either.

How come people always use those as examples? A walk in the park or a picnic? I mean, a picnic, you gotta prepare a bunch of food and schlep it with you and worry you're killing everyone because the potato salad's been in the sun for 30 minutes and will our good friends Sam and Ella be visiting in a few hours? It it gonna be potato salad, revisited, back at my house this evening?

And a walk in the park, man, you gotta find parking and put on bug spray and worry about those hippie assholes hitting you in the face with their goddamn hackysack. It's not easy, either. A walk in the park is no picnic.

Or maybe that's just how I enjoy life. Maybe I should try to hit more things with snowballs or my dick.

IMG_2918All right, I'm off to watch people get gutted and baby dragons go "aaaack!" and so on. I'll let you know if I get all snowbound and crazy, and what would be hilarious is if my next post is just 800 lines of All Work and No Play Make Jack a Dull Boy.

Come play with me.


June Gardens. Card shark.

Yesterday's comments, about the first concert you attended, killed me. I am dead. I am writing from under the grass right now.

I am finally sitting down for what feels like the first time in a week, which is stupid, because if you stood up for a week you'd be dead.

Is that really true? Would you die if you didn't sit down for a week? Would it be like how the Elephant Man had to not lie down, only opposite?

I have no idea what's wrong with me.

Anyway, yesterday at work they brought in doughnuts to celebrate National Doughnut Day or something, and that is what's wrong with our country. That we have a day dedicated to doughnuts. Is there a National Kale Day? I sound so smug, and I have never eaten kale in my life. You know what I have eaten? Doughnuts.

IMG_0578The point is, Alex 4209645 and I immediately put on the Krispy Kreme hats and wore them all day. I like how hers is perched on her head adorably and mine looks like it's part of my fright wig.

After work, The Other Copy Editor had some of us over to play a game, and she invited me specifically because she knows I abhor games. Abhor. She kept insisting I'd like this one, called Cards Against Humanity, and I figured it'd be like when people tell me I'll think this ONE PARTICULAR Monty Python thing is funny. "Really? You don't like Monty Python? Not even [insert someone saying a line that's allegedly hilarious in a horrible English accent here]?"

IMG_0593The Other Copy Editor and her husband (above, with their Puggy Pug, who I may or may not have loved very much and married and I am now June Puggy Pug) are 14 years old and they have this huge, beautiful old house that they've fixed up, and if you ever want to feel like a loser re what you've accomplished thus far, go over there.

They have a full bar in the basement with kegs of pretentious beer. They have a white picket fence. I think I have an old bottle of Rose's Lime in the cupboard.

IMG_0585This Alex has the pleasure of sitting across from me all day at work, and then I sat across from him all evening. We'll call him Buzzfeed Alex. At the card game yesterday, he asked if I took guest posters on this blog, as he is considering a scathing review of what it's like to sit across from me 40 hours a week. I cannot wait.

IMG_0588Obsessed with the Pugs? Me?


IMG_0580Here is my boss, who could probably also write a delightful guest post. And oh,

IMG_0592obsessed with The Other Copy Editor's ancient creaky kitty? Noooo. Especially when he (she?) creakily sat on my lap and purred and left 4949305002 pieces of fur on me. Oh my god loved that cat.

IMG_0584The Krispy Kreme hat was finally laid to rest.

My point is, eventually we played the goddamn game, and I was all, eh, till we started and it was really fun and I won.


After that, I screamed downtown to get up with Ned and the Naughty Professor, which sounds like a TV show but isn't.

IMG_0601Both Ned and Naughty Pro had to wear my reading glasses with the sparkles on them, so we could see the menu, and you know what we are? Youthful. A youthful crew. Jesus.

Naughty Pro said if he were gonna sleep with a woman, it'd be Angelina Jolie, and then we discussed if Ned were going to sleep with a man, who'd he sleep with, and if I were gonna sleep with a woman, who'd I sleep with (Louis C.K. and Megan Fox, respectively. I don't think Ned answered seriously. I think Ned would so bone Midcentury Modern Furniture Guy).

After a light healthy dinner of pub food, what else you gonna do but go get ice cream?

IMG_0627Ned got peach. He seems to always get peach if it exists. His had real chunks of peaches in it, and he godammited it several times.

IMG_0626I do not even know what he's saying, but am certain it was pithy.

Then we went to my friend Kit's store, and why did it never occur to me that Naughty Pro would be fun to shop with? Fortunately for everyone involved, Kit's store sells vintage Playboys, so Ned was kept amused.

IMG_0604Will not make Daniel Boone joke. Will NOT MAKE Daniel Boone joke.

IMG_0605I tried on several pairs of practical athletic shoes.

IMG_0606They go with everything!

IMG_0607Here's the part where you officially fall in love with Naughty Pro.

IMG_0611Annnd, boom. What kills me is they totally work with his outfit.

IMG_0614I love us, mostly because we keep our pimp hand strong.

So what I'm saying is, fun evening. Plus, did I mention I won?

IMG_0630This morning, Ned and I got coffee right across from Kit's shop, and we watched her sweep her stoop and set out her wares, and her bright dress and pretty doo-dads on the street were wonderful to watch. If I had a remotely decent camera I could have gotten you some great shots, and I know this is first world, but still.

The important thing to remember is I have my health, and that I won that card game.

Your favorite old maid,