Pee ditty

Would you like to know what annoys me? First of all, gird your loins: Something annoys me. "I heard a noise at 3 a.m. in the morning!"

What do you think a.m. stands for, dillweed? It means THE MORNING. Why would we SAY "a.m." if it was just, you know, a meaningless couple of letters? Oh my god. 3 a.m. in the morning. CUT IT OUT.

I should stay off Facebook.

Please RSVP! That's another one that bugs. WHAT DO YOU THINK RSVP STANDS FOR? It stands for please respond. Please RSVP. Goddammit.

Speaking of RSVPing, I think Ima cancel my Super Bowl party, as much as I love sports. I'm just so sad about the dog, you know? I don't feel like doing stuff. Plus also, I got that new statistics textbook in the mail. I know you will be stunned to hear that just like last time, the package came and I carefully placed it on a chair, two days ago, where it remains unopened. It mocked me all through Real Housewives and The Girlfriend's Guide to Divorce the other night, and it mocked me again last night when I had absolutely nothing better to do than start proofreading a statistics textbook.

How much are you looking forward to June's next installment of, "OH MY GOD, I HAVE TO FINISH THAT STATISTICS TEXTBOOK"?

What sorts of things do you never learn? Do you love the same type of person over and over again? I read this book the therapist recommended (Keeping the Love You Have) about relationships and so on, and I had to write down I think it was three to five major love relationships I've had, which try to winnow down THAT list. I ended up with Giovanni Leftwich from my teens and 20s, Marvin, this guy named Michael from my late 20s and finally Ned. Then I had to list all their good and bad characteristics and do sort of a Venn diagram of what they all had in common.

Smart, funny, immature. Say, have you met my father?

So, yay. Now I know that. Now what? This time Ima go for a stoic British banker? Not so much. A no-nonsense lesbian? June becomes an Indigo Girl.

Maybe I didn't use Michael in that list, now that I think about it. Maybe I listed the guy who got married 10 minutes after we broke up. Say, you know what he was? Smart, funny, immature.

Smart/funny/immature are the gray cats of my love life.


I was going to show you all the nice stuff TinaDoris gave me, but when I looked at my photos I found this and giggled. Here's Austin at lunch yesterday, eating with all the put-up chairs. I hate to sound First World, but would it KILL the cleaning people to put those back down? And the trash. They empty the trash and leave the trash can out so you bang into it in the morning. Don't even get me started on how tight they pack the paper towels in the dispenser, so you get one ripped one or 47 whole ones when you pull them out.


Anyway, when I returned from my OWN lunch–which did not involve uppy chairs but rather following my dog around the yard like I was Jane Goodall–I found this bag. By the way, I'm now keeping a Lu pee diary on my phone, per the vet's request. Every day I write a pee ditty about my dog.

Anyway this bag was on my desk.


TinaDoris got me a nice card, and photos of her dog Penny with Lu. Where did she find time to do all this? She has a baby and a job and so on. People are nicer than me.

News flash.


She got treats for Lu, which, Dear TinaDoris: Lu got the big eyes. You know how they have a particularly good treat and they get the big eyes? I also gave one to poor Edsel.


I got a present, too. Did I mention I went to my coworker Alex's wedding in May and still can't be bothered to get online and get her a gift? People are nicer than me.


It was coconut. It had coconut filling. Oh my god. Delish.

Thank you, TinaDoris. Really, does she have cute boxes and labels on hand? All of that would have taken me a year to pull off. Step one, get a gift bag.

I'd better go. I've been trying to not look like a sad hag at work. I've been trying to not look like a sad hag at work since September. Just like my cousin, who had the terrible thing happen in her life but who decided to shower and put on makeup every day, I have worn makeup to work ever since Ned and I broke up. I have persevered. I am practically Rocky Balboa.

Rocky Balboa probably ate a lot of coconut cupcakes.

Talk to you tomorrow morning in the a.m.


Eight paws on my heart. What a jerk.

It's super cold and snowy here. And also too, remember when I put the computer in the back in November, when I wasn't thinking how this used to be a back porch? Yeah. Toasty.

And don't feel sorry for that dog. He's already been in and out twice today. He wants to go in the way back and bark with his friend. Everywhere we live, Edsel makes a friend in another yard. Their whole relationship consists of this:

Edsel: Rrrrr…bow-wow-WOW-wow!

Other dog in back: Rrrr, rrr, rrr, rrrr!

Edsel: WOWwowowowowowow!

I sense a relationship pattern.
How does that make you feel
Therapy with Edsel.

These are the leopard footie pajamas my mother got me for Xmas, and you'd better believe I threw these sexy beasts on last night when it was -4949549 below. That's the nice part about being single. You don't have to try to be hot when it's cold as a mug.

Oh, and speaking of mugs…

Photo on 1-21-16 at 7.49 AM #3
My friend Sandy's husband sent me this punctuation/spelling mug. Don't know what made him think of me. For example, it has "we're = we fucking are" and "it's = it fucking is."

Oh my god, so satisfying is this cup.

Do you know what bugs me? People who use yay and yeah wrong. When you are celebrating, it's "yay," not "yeah" and not "yea." Do you know who's not celebrating with you when you write "yeah" and you mean "yay"?

Anyway. So, last night I spoke with the pet psychic. Mostly what we did was visualize Tallulah feeling better, and each morning when I give Lu her cacophony of pills, I have to infuse them with love and imagine them healing her and so on. All the stuff Hulk would hate. But I also got a little insight into my pets.

First of all, my beloved cat, Mr. Horkheimer, came through. She said she felt a lot of tenderness from him toward me. She wondered if I had anything to say to Horkie. I mean, I didn't know I'd run into him. I have a million things to say to that wonderful cat. But what I came up with was that I think about him all the time, and that he was the best cat I've ever had, and I always admired how strong and unflappable he was.


Me, with Horkie, Francis and Ruby on the back of the chair, circa 2002. Dear Marvin: Did you take those really good juice glasses? Goddammit.

I just noticed I'm proofreading a statistics textbook in that photo. Son of a bitch. All the cats are gone, that chair is gone, the JUICE GLASSES ARE GONE DAMN YOU, MARVIN, but the statistics textbooks remain.

She also told me that Edsel needs to understand his worth, so we had to do this meditation together where I showed Edsel that he had a place in my heart without any of the other pets being there, just him. And when he's needy, I'm supposed to thank him for feeling loved, and thank him for going the fuck across the room and lying down like a normal dog.

Only she said it more nicely.

She also told me that Lily was very excited to be home, and that when she ran away she quickly realized she had no idea what she'd gotten herself into. I had to thank Lily for her homing instincts. Lily was also very excited to know she had a place in my heart with no other pets in it, as well. Iris didn't give a shit.

And then NedKitty came through. She misses us; some of us more than others, she said.

She told me that Tallulah felt like when Ned and I fought, it was her fault. Oh, my poor Lu. And she feels like we're here without Ned because of her. She loved Ned and she misses him, and wonders if she could visit him from time to time, and that's why she's anxious. Oh my god, how heartbreaking is that? The psychic told Lu she can spiritually visit Ned any time, just think of him and check in and say hi, and she assured Tallulah that nothing about my relationship with Ned is her fault.

Lu also worries that I'm not okay without Ned, and the psychic assured her I would be.

She said she saw all my pets with their paws on my heart, bringing healing to me. No wonder I can't sleep. She said she saw eight front paws on my heart. Would everyone move so I can roll over? God.

I did not hear from Francis.

So, really, after that we did energy work on Talu, who seems good today, so.

I'd better go. I have a ton of paws on me and need to shower.

Catch you on the flip side, Davy. Oh. Also? Tallulalina Jowlie.

In the past 24 hours, Iris slept on my head, Edsel bit me, and poor Davy Jones died. Who gets his locker?

I liked Davy Jones. I mean, didn't we all? And one of my fancy LA friends just told a story about him, on Facebook, and the gist of it is he was a lovely person. Of course, we already knew that.


What. You thought I WOULDN'T put in a You Tube clip today? I practically AM YouTube by now. YouJune. Anyway, once he took Marcia to prom we all knew he was a good guy.

Oh, and Edsel didn't mean to bite me. We were playing with his stupid toy that if you ask me resembles a marital aid, and we were tugging-of-waring, which is a fine phrase, and his ludicrous teefs came down on my finger instead of the toy. "OWWWOWOWOWWWWwwwwww!" I said, and he was mortified. He kept pushing his luggish head into mine and wagging furiously, so I'd know how sorry he was. Then he groaned over to his sensitive chair and started at me for 70 hours, like he does.

…I just spent an inordinate amount of time looking for a photo of Eds in his sensitive chair,

and you know what I should do? Is somehow organize my photos on this computer. Anyway, my Mac has a fabulous feature called "Faces" that just shows you, you know, faces, and I got interested in looking at that, and I found a lovely photo of my pal Miss Doxie.

Even though she's this annoyingly pretty–and I was with her that day and all she basically did was shower, throw on a little lipstick and go–you can't help but like her. Mostly because she sends me stuff like this:

Would I still be able to love Tallulah if she grew an Angelina Jolie leg? Tallulalina Jowlie.


Oh, and I went to lunch with my …friend yesterday.

We had Vietnamese food. Yes, I did drag out my tired old joke about Agent Orange chicken.

The place had everything. Marvelous decor,

in-proportion disco balls,

lots of food.

This leaf is from the collection of weird leafy things …friend put in his soup. He ordered an enormous bowl of soup, then said, "I come here quite often. It's a break from the boring soup and salad I usually get at lunch."

"But you're …eating soup. With leafy salad-y things in it," I pointed out.

It was then that I turned to the literature and read that.

I parked right here under this sign, and you can imagine how this did not bother me at all. "Walk in is." Or perhaps the "in" owns something. Not the walk-ins, though, because there is no hyphen to connect walk-in. Really the whole sign gave me a hive. I wish people would call me before they spend money on signs. Did I ever tell you about the place I drove past EVERY NIGHT in LA that said, "Eyebrown Wax"? Or what about the other place, that sold "stuffanimal"?

It is hard to be me.

Somehow during lunch, I mentioned the fact that I had gotten a perm in the '80s and afterwards I emailed this fine photo to …friend.

6a00e54f9367fb88340133ecf7216a970b-800wiWhat hair? Thanks, loved ones, for warning me not to get a perm.

I had better slip on my turquoise loafers and get started with my day. Some idiot felon-looking person already came to my door and asked if I wanted an estimate re my trees. It was 9 a.m.! Rude. And he did the thing where he rang the doorbell, then knocked insistently, as though he had something crucial to tell me. You can imagine how this pleased the dogs.

I was in my robe, and I am telling you he gave me the once-over. THE ONCE-OVER! While disturbing me at the early early hour of 9:00 in my very own home! Guess who did not say sure, give me that estimate. Perv.

Catch you on the flip side.

I had a dream, too. Mine just sucked, is all.

I had a dream. I had a dream that I was vehemently arguing with someone that "e.g." was really a thing. No, seriously, I had a dream about that. "It's LATIN!" I was yelling.

And this is why there isn't a June Gardens Day.

Anyway. In honor of dreams, and Martin Luther King, I bring you the following:


It's a little-known fact that at the very end of that, he says, "I similarly have a dream that everyone shall know that e.g. is a thing."

I’ve been looking so long at these picture’s of you

I forgot to tell you that when I was on my date with Dick Whitman the other night, I read his tarot cards. He is going to meet a Libra in October and I already hate that wench.

Anyway, he said, "I had my tarot cards read before, in 1989. My sister read them for me and we videotaped it."

You know how I am. "Ooo! I want to see that!"

"You do?"

So Dick Whitman opened the tidiest closet you have ever seen and got out a covered box neatly inscribed with the word…

…are you ready?

Seriously, are you?


With the apostrophe.

He took the lid off that box, and inside were the tidiest collection of videos ('s) since Felix Unger organized his videos. If I have any videos left they are strewn in one drawer, then another, and maybe in the car, or in my hair, and in Edsel's jaws.

"You, um, certainly are tidy," I said, trying to ignore the apostrophe.

"Yes, I am," he said, piling a perfect pile of tapes as he looked. "And I'm NOT GAY."

See. It wasn't the gay thing I was worried about. Finally, I asked. "So, who labeled that box?"

Dick Whitman finally stopped alphabetizing the pile of videos to look at his errant " ' ". "Oh. I'm afraid I did that," he said, and WENT BACK TO SEARCHING like nothing was wrong.

I started to feel a little woozy. "Do you, um, have any White-Out or anything?"

"June, there's a Sharpie in the other room. Why don't you go get it and cross out the apostrophe."

"No, no. That would be weird," I said, desperately wanting to get the Sharpie.

Anyway. We finally watched the video ('s) and in 1989 Dick Whitman was all hot with long hair and Malcolm X glasses, and I told him I had Malcolm X glasses back then too, and this whole entire stupid story was to tell you that. Well. And to tell you about the apostrophe. I hope that Libra is ready for a lifetime of 's.

So I told Dick Whitman I'd send him a picture of me in the Malcolm X glasses:

Largeglassesfamily Mom and me rockin' out with our glasses out.

And in the meantime I found a bunch of other photos to show you. But now I have taken 60 hours to tell you that story so I can only show a few.

Hello80s Dad and me on New Year's Eve when it was about to be 1984. I loved that dress. And those earrings. We thought we were cool. And we kind of were.

Twit Even before I had a blog I had to stop and photograph ludicrous things. Like that sweater.

70s Why was everything brown in the 70s? Why do Coke cans never change?

Okay. Must shower. Or, as Dick Whitman would write, s'hower.



My friend Lisa, pretending to be my bearskin rug.

June. Loving herself since 1991. Loving her rose pants since…why did I like those rose pants?

Okay, really going.


June in the trenches

Today I am wearing a gray shirt with a gray and clear necklace and I cannot get enough of myself in it, but for some reason the web camera is now refusing to come on and why must everything break? Really. Why?

Soon I will run out of clothes and this whole recap of what I wore to my new job will be over anyway. And maybe some day I will find that ding-dang battery charger for my real camera and I won't have to RELY on the webcam.

Where IS IT? How did I lose an entire battery charger? I mean, what possible place could I have put it? Could you all look up your buttockal regions? Because I have exhausted every nook and cranny here.

No one ever just says "cranny." It's always "nook and." Did you ever notice that?

Speaking of our fine language and the regular raping and pillaging of it, I am looking forward to Facebook this weekend, when I am sure to see 948593 posts that read: This goes out to all the mom's!


Maybe they all own something.

Maybe mom is.

Look, it hasn't even happened yet, and already I am twisted up and sick inside.

What are you all getting your mom's (see what I did there?) for Mother's Day? I mean, if your mom ('s) is still with us. I am getting mine an apostrophe.

Hardly anyone ever says "pillaging." It's always "raping and." Did you ever notice that?

Also, no one is ever a voracious anything except reader of books. "Oh, I'm a voracious strawberry eater!" "I'm a voracious giraffe raper! And pillager!"

Honestly I do not know what ails me today. Except I may have had real caffeine at work. It's Juan Valdez talking, not me. He's up in my crannies. Pillaging me. With an apostrophe. Voraciously.

Okay, then. My gray shirt and I are headed back to the office, where I hope the coffee has been thrown out. Everybody remember it's Thursday and our show is on! We'll discuss tomorrow, and don't let me forget to tell you about the $650 dog trainer I want to hire with all my riches.

Oh, look! I was just about to leave and I figured it out, because I am tweaking on the caffeine.

This goes out to all the reader's.


I procrastinate every day.

Okay, I've been seeing this transgression a lot again lately, so let's review.

I wear my everyday clothes every day.

I know you are sick of hearing me say that, but WHY CAN'T PEOPLE GET IT? You don't write, "This happens everyday." ACK! No! Every day, TWO WORDS when you are talking about WHEN something happens. Every day.

When you are talking about a humdrum, not-exciting occurrence, it is an everyday occurrence. So again, I wear my everyday clothes every day. Get it? Can't we stop doing it wrong, PEOPLE MAGAZINE and CNN?

Thank you. Oy.

In other news, I have finished The Glass Castle, our book for Mince Words with June. Oh, I wish we could talk about it right away, but we can't. It's a month away, for heaven's sake. I should write my review right now, shouldn't I?

I have never been good with doing things ahead of time.

When I was in college, I had an English class–which is a shock, seeing as I was an English major–and it was held Tuesday and Thursday. The professor said we absolutely had to attend every Tuesday. Each Thursday, there would be a quiz on our assigned reading. The quizzes totaled 50% of our final grade.

Now, we could attend the Thursday classes as often as we liked, but we had to remember that those quizzes. So if you did something stupid like only attend one Thursday, that one quiz would be 50% of your whole grade.

What do you think your pal June did? Did she blow off every single Thursday until the last one? And sometimes I would have even done the assigned reading, but then when Thursday got there, it just seemed like such an effort to walk to class.

The final Thursday was coming, so naturally on Wednesday I got out my–oh my God, what's that called? The thingamajig that you get in class, that lists your homework–SYLLABUS. Geez. You have no idea how that was gonna bug me.

I got out the syllabus and it said your assignment can be found at the library. I traipsed over there, only to find that our assigned reading was The Confessions of St. Augustine, which was an entire, you know, book.

I stomped on over to my professor's office. "Professor Hardarse, there's an error on the syllabus," I fumed. "Which parts of this book are we to read?"

Professor Hardarse chuckled. "I'm very sorry, Miss, but there's been no mistake." He was British. I'm not even making that up for dramatic effect. And he really did call me "Miss." "I assigned that book to teach you procrastinators. You must read the whole thing, and remember, the quiz tomorrow will count for 50% of your grade, since you didn't take any of the other quizzes."

I remember his Persian carpet getting blurry as I sat there and cried.

And do you know I took that stupid book home, and sat up almost all night and read those dreadful confessions? And let me tell you something. The confessions of a SAINT aren't that thrilling.

About a week later, the semester was over, but we could go to Prof. Hardarse's office to pick up our quizzes. I can honestly tell you one of the happiest moments of my life was when I got an A on that quiz, and in the class.

And did I learn anything about procrastination? No. Hell, no. All I learned was that St. Augustine should have whooped it up a little here and there.

I have no idea how I got on this subject.

Finally, I have been getting approached to do product reviews a lot, and I usually say no. But the Oxy-Clean people? Who were REPRESENTED BY BILLY MAYS? WHO LOVED HIM THE OXY-CLEAN, IN CASE YOU DIDN'T HEAR HIM? Offered to send me some Kaboom Shower, Tub & Tile Cleaner.


And I don't know about you, but I think Oxy-Clean is the best thing ever. A stray cat I took in once had six kittens on our yellow bedspread, and oh, how I wish I was blogging back then, because I had SIX BABY KITTENS and oh! Best time ever. Anyway, you can imagine how my bedspread looked, and Oxy-Clean got it out. Completely.

So I said okay, send me the Kaboom. And it worked really well! I use Tilex  usually, because that's what my cleaning lady used when I had a cleaning lady, but Kaboom worked just as well without that terrifying odor.

I told the Kaboom people I was gonna be honest even if I hated their product and they said they weren't worried, and they were right. KABOOM IS A GREAT BATHROOM CLEANER! IT WORKED ON MY COUNTERS AND IN MY SHOWER! I just yelled case you miss Billy Mays.

So there you go. And you'll be shocked to hear I put off using the Kaboom for awhile. But they told me I'd have to clean St. Augustine's bathroom if I didn't get on it, so…

Mona Lisa in yoga class. It’s just a funny visual.

I stayed up till 11:00 last night to watch Mad Men, so you know I have no personality today. I will be brief and to the point. It'll be like a man wrote this.

1) How is everyone doing on The Fountainhead? I am almost done. I have enjoyed it. That's all I'm saying until our official discussion on it. Because I'm mysterious. I'm Mona Lisa. I have a severe middle part all of a sudden.

2) I really hate it when people say "all the sudden."

3) And "taken back." It's taken aback.

4) This is why people don't like to leave me comments, isn't it?

5) You guys are always good at this, so please help, and go ahead and make grammatical errors. I really do not get that bent out of shape. (Am picturing self twisted about, like I'm in some Lilas Yoga and You class, with my cloak and severe Mona Lisa middle part.)

It irks Marvin to the nth degree that I have 68 songs on my iPod. Marvin has every kind of iPod and has 3,200 songs. On our computer, he has over 10,000 songs.  You can see why my 68 bug him.

And let's just be polite and say we do not share taste in music. He says that every song he ever plays I claim is frenetic or depressing. I do hear myself say that a lot. "What's that frenetic SONG you're playing?"

Anyway. Can you please suggest songs for my iPod, preferably from this decade, although old songs will be fine, too. I will listen to whatever you tell me to listen to.

I was going to tell you no country songs, but then remember how I ended  up liking that one girl, the hot American Idol girl, the one who grabs the microphone over and over when she sings? Oh WHAT IS HER NAME? All I can think of is Kelly Clarkson and that's not it. The HOT one.


I like how 5) has become not remotely brief. Or to the point.

6) Faithful Reader Karen sent me photos from yet another Halloween party at that same house. I was the night sky. I look 12.


That's also a picture of my body back there in the yellow thong.


Robert Smith is jamming out to my mock turtleneck.

Remember decorating with milk crates? I wonder when we stopped? When was the fateful day we tossed them because we had an Ikea shelf or some similar "I'm on my way to growing up" decorating moment?

7) Okay, going now. Mad Men is so worth my tired eyes. Which I'm sure I'll still say seven hours into my day of proofreading about electrophoresis.

8) Kellie PICKLER! Oh, thank heavens.

Ask June

Faithful reader Catherine of Our Lady of Perfection–and by the way, she is also a proofreader and who is angry she didn't think of the blog name Our Lady of Perfection for her own self?–was waking a loved one this morning and she heard herself call, "There's muffins!" and then she thought, Oh dear God, June would vomit and die a thousand deaths if she heard me say "There's muffins" and yes, yes I would.

But then Catherine at Our Lady of Perfection went on to wonder if I had any colloquialisms of my own and of course I do, and then she went on to wonder just what was wrong with her that she was spending this much time thinking about someone she had never really met, and perhaps you at this point are getting a little twitterpated rolling around inside Catherine's brain for as long as you have so I will get to the point. For once.

Catherine had the idea that I should have an Ask June feature, where you could write in and ask me anything you wanted to know, like gee, does June ever say anything dreadful like "There's muffins" or is it really incorrect English to say "golfing" or whatever.

I was thinking maybe it could be like the Playboy Forum, where y0u could ask about any topic, from insanely personal questions you may have about me, to grammar, to what do you do when your cat steals socks (I just got that query the other day), to how to grill steaks (people always want to know that in the Playboy Forum and for the record I have no idea seeing as I am "vegetarian" [Sonictarian] and have no grill), or whatever.

Am I the only person here who reads the Playboy Forum? Really?

So, I don't know if you will barrage me with questions now and therefore Ask June will appear tomorrow, or the questions will trickle in and Ask June will appear later after I have compiled a few, kind of like the email I have for the guy who makes our website at work. Rather than email him with errors I find on our work website each time I find them, they are making me compile a list and email him with it all at once so that he doesn't come to my department with a rifle and spear me through the gullet. Because apparently I am the only one who finds the everyday/every day error to be an emergency that needs to be taken care of right now.

I wonder why I eat lunch alone so often?

So go ahead. Ask June!