June wraps up her trip; bored nation rejoices

If you’re just getting back from your Thanksgiving holiday, and I say “holiday” like we’re all British, there are several days of my posts for you to catch up on and I wish you luck. I wish you luck mucking through all my ins and outs.

For the rest of you, who kept up with me like good readers, here’s the rest of my trip back to Michigan…

IMG_E2204.JPGWhen we left each other yesterday, saying, “No, YOU hang up,” Gus had been doing tricks in my mother’s yard, fmr., and then I might have kissed him with my red lipstick. I remember back in the ’90s, kissing my mother’s fluffy white Samoyed with my then-fushia lipstick, and my poor beleaguered stepfather in the kitchen, patiently washing it off that dog’s head.

Oooo, speaking of lipstick…


Both on the way to Michigan and on the way back, I may have looked with rapt interest in the Mac store at Chicago airport, noting these lipsticks were all for sale as one unit, a unit someone might like, if someone were trying to determine what June Would Like For Christmas, a query that’s burning in the brains of just er’one.

I’d look like an asshole in the second-from-the-left one. That burnt orange look does not appeal. But speaking of needless purchases, isn’t it Cyber Monday? Wouldn’t this be an excellent time to link to Amazon, so you can purchase like a mo?

Oh, look! A book about how we shouldn’t consume, that if we click on it takes us to Amazon so we can consume. Oh, June, you’re so ironic. Don’tcha think. A little too ironic. Yeah, I really do think.

But I digress.

On Friday night of my trip to Michigan, my Aunt Kathy had us over for tacos, and by “my Aunt Kathy,” I mean my Uncle Bill made tacos.

IMG_2211 2.jpgSome families form a conga line. We form a taco line. [Insert taco/Katie-the-lesbian joke here]

IMG_2212.jpgMy Aunt Kathy, who is a Virgo, had already decorated for Christmas. Like, that day. She started the day with no Christmas, and by the end of the day she was swinging on her North Pole.

Do you remember that guy Ward who I went out with like three times or something, and then it didn’t work out? He texted me over the holiday (British), and I answered him, telling him how all the women in my family prattle endlessly and all the men are sort of quiet and introspective. Okay, not my Uncle Leo. But the other men. Anyway, below is yet another piano-playing video, this time not horrific like the last one, where one of the men is being deep and yet you can hear women prattling in the background. I recorded this for his listening pleasure. I think it was around then that he stopped texting.

In summation.

IMG_2217.jpgAfter dinner, my cousin Big June and her husband Hill came to surprise me, and it was so cute to see them. She gets migraines, too. Is plagued by them, actually.

Maybe had I not been named after her I wouldn’t have migraines. Maybe they could have named me after a tennis star or something instead. Step one: Get tennis star in family.

fukking schtopz

Also, here is my aunt’s cat, Tom Thumbs. Did not at all follow Tom Thumbs around like an idiot, scooting across floor with phone out like a moron. That would not be fittin’. Did not at all call him kitty head or sweet kitten or kitty hitchhiker kitten face wif thumbses.


Finally, it was Saturday and time for me to go, but not before Hulk rejected me for sports. Also, Dear June: *of.

IMG_2239.jpgI returned home without incident, late Saturday night. It was too late to get Edsel from daycare, so I slept with Lily, who was beside herself that I’d returned, and if you look carefully, you can see an extremely indifferent Steely Dan down the hall.

hooo gif shit

IMG_E2246.JPGThe other, more normal, cats were happy to see me, in their cat way. “wee not say hi, but we sleep on you a lots.”

The cat-sitter told me that every day, SD and Lily would come blinking down the hall, like, O, do someone bee heer? And every time, Iris was asleep in the dog bed.

Speaking of my cats, I was writing you in my regular fashion, not that I’m pooping, when I saw this shadow…

IMG_2264.jpgHere’s the annoying part: I’ve already let him in today. But there he is, mysteriously on the other side of the door, as he is wont to be. And yet, he still wishes for me to get up and let him in the traditional way right now. Sneak out whatever way he’s figured out? Sure. But inconveniencing me to come back in? Oh, HELL, sure. So many sures.

IMG_E2274.JPGIMG_E2275.JPGAnd he wasn’t hungry; he’d already eaten. He wasn’t sleepy. Evil rarely sleeps. He just wanted to be sure to remind me that my coffee repels him. My coffee should be stopped. As soon as he can gather funds, he’s going to bribe a lobbyist to get coffee outlawed.

IMG_2278.jpgAsshole. Why do I love him so? This sums up all my relationships.

I’d better get to work, which I am actually looking forward to doing. Tomorrow is my mammogram, which has not haunted and terrified me since I made the appointment or anything. Do you all know from EMDR? It’s a kind of therapy they do for trauma. I really think I should get EMDR so I’m not so



during mammogram week. Am considering.

Meanwhile, here’s an Amazon link again, in case it inconveniences you to scroll up. I want to make it was easy as I can for you, so that I will become a millionaire. Also, I got my new credit score today, and it’s in the high 700s.

You know, at the beginning of the year, I made the New Year’s resolution to fix my finances, and I actually did it. I worked freelance jobs ALL YEAR LONG. And I got my debt cleared. And I upped my contribution to my four oh wonk.

I still don’t make a lot of money, but at least I don’t have debt haunting me. Just mammograms.

Anyway, here’s your second Amazon link.

Resent. Also, wish Crazy Cat Lady ornament did not look so much like self.



P.S. Someone will ask, so I will assure you I got the Eds from daycare Sunday, and he was…enthused about seeing me.

IMG_2249.jpgI had a migraine (thanks, world), so he spent the entire day with his snout up on my berobed self. No, seriously. THE ENTIRE DAY.

IMG_2254.jpgSteely Dan made barf sounds from across the room and rolled his orange cat eyes.

1136 words, dear god,


In real life, vowels are free

Even though I have allegedly set it up so that when I plug my phone into my computer–and there’s something anyone said, ever, in 1947–my photos should pop right up, they never do. They USED to. I’ve no idea what’s gone wrong. Continue reading In real life, vowels are free

It’s like I saw only 7 movies and they influenced my whole life

At the top of my new fancy blogging template is a button I click when I want to compose a new post. That button reads, “Write.” It has an icon of a huge pencil looming over a very square piece of paper.Screen Shot 2017-04-07 at 7.48.59 AM

Whenever I click on it, I think of Celie in The Color Purple screaming, “WRIIIIITE!!!” and Nettie screeching, “Nothing but DEATH could keep me from it!”

Which is how I feel about kissing kittens on the noggin. Continue reading It’s like I saw only 7 movies and they influenced my whole life

Be cool, Edsel

You know how I hate for anyone to make a fuss, but my throat hurts. All I ask is that you stampede to your local Catholic church and light a candle. Or put one of those vague posts on social media about how you "need prayers" for some undisclosed or unknown-to-us person.

Dear God: For some reason, this person on Facebook needs prayers. Catch ya.

God's all, That was helpful. Like I don't have enough to do.

Anyway, none of this matters because what does is my throat hurts. My hairapist texted me Thursday that she needed prayers. No. She didn't. She texted me that she had a cold, and if I wanted to cancel that would be okay, but given how tough and no nonsense I am, I went anyway.

And now look at me. LOOK AT ME. There goes my tombstone. No name or anything. Just Look At Me. Or, Needs Prayers. At that point I guess it'd be too late.

So. My weekend.

I was determined to Stay Busy, as people tell you to do, but then I became obsessed with this other series on OJ, this many-parted documentary that Hulk told me about, and I always listen to Hulk. Oh my god it's riveting. And I was, like, into the third hour of it, the whole time going, Who is that WOMAN they keep talking to? What did she have to do with anything?

It was Marcia Clark. Hello, plastic surgery. She looks great. I mean, compared to the poodle/boxer mix look she had in the '90s. She def got the eye bags taken care of and for this I applaud her. Really, the longer I watch this documentary and the other one I saw, the more I'm like. Oh. I so get it, black people. I'd be pissed, too. I'd root for him too.

He still did it, of course. But I get what they're saying.

On Friday night, I decided I could not have one more fish stick, so I went to the store and got salmon, and little red potatoes, and salad things, and made an elaborate dinner for myself. I mean, elaborate for me, in that it did not involve slapping something frozen on a plate and microwaving it.

I asked the–what's he called? Chef? Barber? BUTCHER, god, the butcher to cut the skin off the back of the salmon, a thing my mother said I should do, but every time I ask for that, they act the way Steely Dan does around a coffee cup. In other words, appalled. They probably scratch around where I was standing, when I leave.

Speaking of SD, this morning I was putting one of my cowgirl band-aids on a blister, and one band-aid fell in the toilet.

This fascinated Steely ridiculous Dan. He spent the next 10 minutes trying to fish it out of there, sticking his head way in and sneezing when he hit water. When I finally had to leave the bathroom, I shut the lid lest he drown himself like Narcissus.


The reason I have a blister is that both days of this weekend I took Edsel on enormously long walks, longer than my dick, even. Here he is with his usual lack of cool, trying to befriend one of the neighborhood cats. Every day we encounter then, and every day he whines and wags his tail and wants to shake paws with them and drop off an Avon catalog, and every day all the cats say fuck off. Actually, there's one exceedingly mellow cat at Ava's house who is willing to walk right up to Eds, but then he gets too excited and the cat huffs off.

Edsel. Be cool.

On Saturday night I had a date, which you'll be surprised to hear I was "eh" about. HOW MANY DATES before I'm not "eh"? HOW MANY? What if I go the rest of my life not liking anyone but Ned, who will be married to a 26-year-old with zero hips? That's whom he's banging in my mind. She never has any hips at all. And he doesn't even like really skinny women.

We went to an Arthur Miller play, because cheerful, and then out for a drink, which turned into Let's order appetizers, which turned into me eating bacon cheese tater tots at 11 p.m., and why so chubby?

It also turned into me taking the leftovers home, and why so chubby again?

Sunday was a really pretty day, so Edsel and I got in the car to go to Country Park, which is where I used to take Tallulah every single evening back when I was a new dog owner and totally into it. I'd take her to day care all day, then for a long walk in the park followed by the dog park part where she'd run around for like an hour or two, and now it's all Edsel's lucky if I even feed him.

The point is, as soon as we got there I got sweaty. The place was teeming–teeming!!–with dogs, which, what did I expect with the beautiful day and all? We walked the loop all the way around the park, which was probably a 45-minute walk, and every few seconds there'd be another goddamn dog.


He was fine. Oh, sure, there was one idiot I passed twice who had her Beagle on a retractable leash that was 400 feet out and that thing got right in our lane. Edsel knitted a very, very tall-eared pussy hat and took to the street shouting over that one, but other than that? He'd maybe whine a little if another dog made eye contact, but he never once barked and snarled and carried on as he usually does. I couldn't believe it. And he walked right next to me, even a little behind me, like a well-trained dog.

It wasn't till we were driving home that it hit me. Prozac. I think his Prozac kicked in!

The other thing to happen at that park was that I was down by the little lake when I heard my name. This woman way up on another trail was all, "JUNE! JUNE!" Waving frantically with both arms and all. "Hi, June!"

"Well, hi!" I said, waving frantically back.

I have no idea who it was. The woman used my real name, and I feel like a reader would say June even knowing my name is not June.

Unsolved Mysteries. Remember that show?

And the first person to say Hey, June, why didn't you also take your phone with you when you had Edsel on a leash and a bottle of water and no pockets? Why? Why didn't you take pictures? Why, June? Why? No pictures, June?

The first person to say that gets snarled at.


I did take my phone and go all the way next door, to Peg's because her tulip tree is blooming. Which doesn't always happen. And then half the time when it does bloom, there's a freeze and they all die. Tulip tree. A brilliant idea for this region, on someone's part.

Also, why?

I leave you now so I can go watch more of the OJ documentary, and I'm going to be sad when it's over and I can't think about Broncos and DNA and Ron Goldman's stoicism. Good lord. Go back to your barber shop quartet, dude. Sing about Daisy, Daisy giving you her answer, do.

I'll talk to you tomorrow if I'm still alive, what with dealing with this sore throat and all. Dear Mom: I already did. Warm salt water. Did it.



June’s privates


So how is everyone?

I know most of you saw this already on Facebook, but here. Here is a snapshot of my life, below, except it's a five-second veeeedeo of my life, but still.


So that's how I'm doing. In case you wondered.

There seems to be a lot of speculation about my love life, and frankly it's getting on my nerves. So here's everything that's up lately, okay?

I am not back together with Ned. Ned is not in my bed. That is why I TOLD you that story, because it was poignant that Ned was not in my bed. Ned will not magically change and become all the things I need my person to be, so there is no Ned.

In fact, the last time I spoke to Ned, I told him the most loving thing he could do for me was to let me be. Let me pursue the things I need, like, oh, someone who wants to marry me. And he can pursue whatever the fuck it is he wants. (Still angry, June? Oh, perhaps.)

And I don't even know that I want marriage. I really love living alone. But I guess I want to know my person would marry me if he had the chance. I told Ned I wanted to marry him, and asked him how that made him feel, and he said, "It makes me feel like (gasp) 'Oh GOD!'" in the kind of voice you'd have if someone handed you a bouquet of snakes.

I want someone to be devoted to me, and me to him, and not be spending my time wondering if he's off doing things that would make me feel bad if I knew about them. When I was with Marvin, I never worried. I never caught Marvin in a single lie. I knew he was good. But it annoyed me to live with him. Too many black cords in perfectly good kitchen drawers.

So, I guess at this point, my ideal would be a relationship where I get to live here, he gets to live nearby, we see each other most nights, we know we're in it till we're dead, and maybe one day we get married, but that's not as important as the feeling that yep, here's my person. And I can trust him. I can set it and forget it. I don't have to feel sick and scared about what Ima find out about next.

That's what I want right now.

And yes, I am dating people. I've met one person who is older than me, one person who is younger than me. Please refer to my psychic reading in January. Her timing was off. She said I'd be through with Ned in February, I'd be glad he was gone, and I'm still not there yet.

She said in the spring I'd be seeing someone older than me, and someone younger.

So, heh. Yeah.

But see, I didn't really want to go into that, because I didn't want anyone to feel bad. Which is why I was trying to keep it private-ish. It's hard to have a blog, where you talk about your life, and keep some parts not so public. But I was trying, Lord, I was trying.

And no to your other question. I have not slept with anyone since Ned.

So now you know everything.

Oh, also? We have had just one accident in three–or four??–days in this house, and that was cause I had to go really bad. Bah.

The reason there was one accident was because there was a Busy Bone incident where Edsel attacked poor sweet Lottie, and the only time I ever think of her that way is when she's under the tooth of Edsel. God, he's awful sometimes. When Lu was alive, all she'd do is just take good things like Busy Bones. She'd take them both, put them in her mouth at the same time like that one picture with all the cigarettes in that guy's mouth.

Do you know what picture I'm talking about? It's an old photo. Can't find it. Crap.

The point is, she never attacked Edsel, not once. She just took things brattily.

Anyway, he was biting Lottie, Edsel was, and she cut her poor puppy eye, and she peed because she was scared. IMG_1323
Here she is right now, sniffing Lily, and you can see her little cuts. Well, you can see one of them. Poor sweet puppy. IMG_1322
Scritches on her nose. Edsel is terrible. I'm actually not sure those scritches aren't from cats, actually. But I know the eye came from Edsel. Lottie is everyone's punching bag. Lottie often deserves it. But not over a Busy Bone.

Anyway, that's when she peed. I'd have peed, too, if something twice my size were attacking me. Well. If something…

Oh my god, maths. She weighs 34 pounds. Edsel weighs 48 pounds. How much bigger is Edsel? Show your work.

I have to go. I have to get to work. Try not to bite anyone's eye today.



The devil in Miss Lottie

Yesterday was a stupid day that resulted in Ned breaking into my house and me working till 8:30.

I had a meeting at noon, except I'd gotten the invitation to the meeting one night after midnight and it woke me up with the trill of a meeting to accept or decline. I got three notices that night, and there's a meeting also today with almost the same name, so I thought the one yesterday had been rescheduled, which happens all the time. So I declined yesterday's and accepted today's.

Both were at lunchtime. I have my time blocked from noon till one so I can come let out Lottie, but apparently that is irrelevant. So yesterday, because I didn't KNOW I had that meeting till 15 minutes before said meeting, I panicked. I'd had to go in early as it was, so poor Lottie would have already been in that crate for four hours by 12:20. I wasn't gonna get home till after 1:00.

Oh, just the thought of her poor self in there, feeling uncomfortable, it made me want to cry. I texted Ned.

"Do you still have a key to my house?" He wasn't sure. But he said he'd leave work and go break in if he had to. He's the president of his company, so with all this SPARE TIME, he went over there.

"Turns out I did have a key!" He sent me a photo of Lottie in the yard.

But then at the end of the day, I got a whole bunch of work that had to be done before noon today, and someone else has to LOOK at all of the work first and inevitably make changes, so I really had to get it done last night. It was Bitchy Resting Face Alex's going away party yesterday, and I so wanted to go. She was my favorite person at work, and now she's gone.

I took my laptop home and worked while bored, hadn't-been-walked, devil-in-Miss-Jones Lottie attempted to eat:

  • The vintage Real Romance magazines Faithful Reader Paula just sent me
  • My Laura Ingalls Wilder autobiography, Pioneer Girl
  • My gold wedge heel
  • Iris
  • My reading glasses
  • A pair of scissors. This she ran off with and I had to chase her. She literally ran with scissors.

Finally I got to walk her, just as the sun was setting. When we went outside, my neighborhood was berserk. Everyone in the world was out there with their phones, playing that damn Pokemon computer game. Could I sound more like your Grandma Millie right now?

"BUWF!" said Lottie, at the Snowflake children, who I am sorry to tell you are all teenagers and pre-teens now. No, I did NOT have my phone, Miss Why Isn't Every One of Your Moments a Photograph, June?

"Hi!" I said, excited to see them.

"BOOF!" Lottie said again. She really didn't sound friendly. They looked at this teensy devil of a puppy, appalled. They went back to their phones and Peek-a-Choo or whatever he's called. Pink Atchu. Pee Catch You.

I hate modern culture.

Ima have to train that out of her, though, the angry boof at children. Iron fish of discipline. I did it again. Iron fish. Goddammit.

Let's look at pictures. I have a ton on my desktop and need to get them off, so to speak. I'M NOT IN THE MOOD TO GET THEM OFF.


It turns out, Blu is dishwasher safe. It turns out, when you want your phone to focus on Blu, it instead focuses on your yellow towel. Turns out, my phone is a dick.


I really like the lavender-haired girl at work. She's young but composed. I am neither.


The cat condo came. Alliterative. It's from the Mrs. Robinson collection.

IMG_0878 (1)
Someone just asked me on here the other day where Lily was, and whenever you guys ask where one of the pets is, I always assume that you think I just drove him or her to a field and dropped him or her off and have failed to mention it. Say "him or her" one more time. Anyway, one thing that's easy to capture is a cat in that window. They both kept moving around. This was the best I could do, but here's proof I haven't offed her yet.

She'd hardly be at the top of my Field List, anyway. I think you know what I mean.


I just looked over and there she was in that pose. Perfect.


Here they were last night, sitting side by side chewing their toys in unison. You'll never guess what Edsel had. Hint: It's dishwasher-safe.


My birthday presents are rolling in. This perfect towel is from The Poet. I want to have it framed. Also, Faithful Reader LisaPie, did you send me the gramma print bath mat I asked for on my wish list? I think you did, and thank you!!!

If someone else sent me that, write in and bitch me out.

Oh, and PJ, I got your tip as well! Not your actual penis. You know what I mean. THANK YOU TO YOU TOO!!!

Speaking of which, tonight is my online birthday party and you are invited. It wasn't my idea. Not that I'm above celebrating the splendor of me. But you have to be a member of Pie on the Face on Facebook. So go join. Then apparently all day, there will be a big party, and I am joining at 8 p.m. eastern time.

At work yesterday, I was all, "I can't work late tomorrow because I have an online birthday party."

June. Making sense since 1965.


I opened my gifts from my Aunt Mary already, because Ima be gone on my real birthday, and she sent me a bunch of photos and correspondence from my grandmother, I saw photos of me I've never seen before. Here I am in the '90s, getting a toilet bowl cleaner for Christmas. I can just hear me saying, "You know what I really need…?"

Look how cute I was. Time is cruel.

Oh my god! Faithful Reader LaUral! I just got the Sephora gift card!!!! SQUEEEEEE! Thank you!

I heart my birthday.

I'll talk at you later. Tomorrow morning early I have to take Edsel and Lottie in for their shots. If Edsel and Lottie ordered shots, what would they each get?

The point is, I may have to blog at noon or something. Also, after their shots, they both go to dog daycare for the day, so I'll at least check in with the web address so you can see them. Here it is in advance. Go to webcams and look in the front room. I'll link to it directly tomorrow–I wanted you to see Tallulah on the home page, though.


I is kind, I is important, I is a bitch.

Patience is a virtue. Seersucker is a fabric.

I woke up at 4:30 with a migraine, which was super relaxing. Dragged self out of bed, which I just wrote as "Dragged self out of Ned" FOUR TIMES, hello Freud, and took my meds. So now I'm groggily up, and headed to work because hero, but I have all the funny of a Bazooka Joe comic.

I will check in with you tomorrow. Why don't we have best/worst Christmas memory day? My worst was the year I was 10 or 11 and had a stomach bug and barfed. I got a good diary, my first one, and some Chanel No. 5-scented pens, so it wasn't a total wash. Which reminds me, here's my latest Purple Clover.

Best Christmas memory? Maybe the year Marvin and I were about to get engaged and we met each other's families. I was so excited and all giddy and so forth.


eyeriss do donald trump impresh. eyeriss hilaree-is.

Death and sex and Walmart

I got this envelope in the mail yesterday: "Death benefit AND Walmart gift certificate enclosed!" it read on the outside.

Well! Thanks!

I abhor the march of time. And the March of Dimes. Dimes don't even have legs. Also, I saw this last night…


Edsel is such a homo. I know Tallulah's a girl, but it doesn't negate the fact that Edsel is a homo. If Lu woke up and saw that she was snuggling that hard with gay blade Edsel, she'd eat his neck out. Fortunately she does not waken easily. Sometimes when I kick her off the bed, and she pours her molasses self off the mattress at the speed of slug, I think she's still asleep. Flumps herself on to her dog bed and wakes up the next day all, "how lu get heer?" Drunk again.

You know who'd make a poor fireman? Is Tallulah. "oh, der be fyre? yawwwwww{squeak!}wwwn."

I love her yawn squeak.

This entire time I've been blogging at you, Edsel has been insisting I scratch his gay ass. He so needs one of those gay guy bandannas. I guess gay guys don't wear those anymore, so they? Anyway, his jaunty bow tie does the trick.

Remember the gay guy bandannas? I was told that each color and placement meant different things, like so you could signal your sexual preferences to other gay guys. I wish hetero people would make it that simple. I could see some attractive, age-appropriate man somewhere, and he'd be sportin' his yellow bandanna tied on his noggin and I could be all, "Oh. He likes being peed on. Next."

Why can't we be as straightforward? So to speak. Instead we have to be all romantic, and I have to hear that I have lovely eyes, when really my eyes are sort of beady, and the whole time I'm all, Can we get to the sex part already? Good gravy.

Is that just me? Am I a man? Maybe I'm a man. Maybe I'm amazed at the way I love me all the time.

I remember when I'd been dating Ned for, like, six weeks, and we'd spent several dates just kissing goodnight, and had fooled around once, and then he emailed me on a Sunday. "I've made soup. Would you like to come over and have some?" and I was all HELL, YEAH. I'M ON TOP OF ALL THAT!

Hi, mom.

And then we actually had to have the soup, because I hadn't yet realized how important food was to Ned, and the whole time I was thinking, Are we going to get to the sex part? Are we getting to the sex part yet? Sex part? Sex part? I was like my dogs when I dangle a treat over them.

I have no idea how I got off on this tangent. So to speak.

Anyway, let's jump from death and sex and Walmart to Christmas. What are you doing for Christmas, if you celebrate Christmas? I, as you know, am doing precisely nothing, and I told some of my coworkers how I'm making lasagna and watching movies all day. "You need a theme," one of them said. I think it was my metrosexual coworker who said it.

"I DO need a theme," I agreed. So now Ima watch all the Rocky movies between Christmas Eve and Christmas night, then Ima go see Creed. Is Creed still on? If not, I'll go see Joy, because it's also my perfume. Plus, it's a movie Ned would never, ever see. Particularly if there was soup to eat somewhere.

Anyway, what are you doing for Christmas, and what do you WISH you were doing? Are they one in the same? Tell all.



P.S. Edsel just charged after Iris, thereby negating his sweet homo dog status just a little.

The one where June had to get to work early

I didn't have time to blog today, but Faithful Reader LaUral sent me this list of funny things you can ask Siri. Well, first she sent me a whole email talking about a bunch of things, but it started off, "Here's that Siri list I was talking about" and then didn't include it.

Anyway, if you have Siri, please ask it these and report back to me forthwith. Here is the link.

And here's my latest Purple Clover. At this point, if I mention that party again, Ima die alone TODAY.

Typed while my mother and stepfather watch some sort of network news. You know what I never do?

"June, will you come stand at the basement door while I go down there?" Mom asked.


"Because at night I get scared down there. Harry usually does it but since you're here…" Why are children the indentured servant for life?

"Like, you're afraid Regan from The Exorcist will grab your ankle from under one of the tables down there, or what?" I asked.


As mom descended the stairs and was out of my sight, I creaked, "It's an excellent day for an exorcism."

"STOP!" yelled Mom.

I suppose, then, it wasn't nice of me to have turned my pajamas backward for when she came back, and be turning my head slowly, with a grin. BUT WHO COULD RESIST? Who? Gandhi would have run with that joke. 

Oh, also? My mother has had this thing installed, this chair that she can ride up and down the stairs like Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. I am riveted by that thing. Mom laughed at my backward head all the way up on her ride. Her side-saddle ride. One day Ima put on as much makeup as possible, with pigtails, and take a photo of me riding that thing.

I've done so many things on this visit, and taken so many photos, that I think I should break this up into two parts so you don't lose your mind and start being scared of the basement. So let's make a rule that I'll stop talking after I've shown you four photos. Or so. You know how linear I am.


I stampeded to my friend Ann, Nan and Amy's house to see her new kittenses. (She began dating my friend Greg in, Ima say, 1989. Shockingly, we met her at a bar. Greg introduced her, and after she left, my friend Esmerelda heard her name as Nan, I heard Ann and my friend Gertrude heard Amy. I actually have no recollection of who heard which name, but I like how in this story I made myself the correct one. The point is, we've called her Ann, Nan and Amy ever since. Even the calligrapher for my wedding had to send an  envelope addressed to Greg and Ann, Nan and Amy.)

KITTENSES!!!! Oh, they are so cute. They were deciding on names and so far have come up with nothing. Suggestions?

I think any kitten-related photos count as all one photo and not four. Don't you? This is how my diets work, as well.


This is Greg and Ann, N and A's child, who did not wish to be photographed, as she is from one of those "photos steal your soul" tribes. Alternatively, she is somewhere in the teen or preteen age group. She is somewhere between 18 months and 20 years old.

Also, Greg and A/N/and A have an ancient house that they are forever refurbishing. They are like Eldon on Murphy Brown.


In summary, I love kittens.


we bee a hart shape

Nope. Doesn't count. Plus, you can't have too many kitten pictures.


After that, I went to Hulk's. When I pulled up, I could see him watching sports on the world's most enormous TV. This is pretty much what I picture Hulk doing 87 hours a day.


Yup. I'm at Hulk's.

"I'll turn this down. I suppose we have to TALK," he groused, when I walked in. And talk we did. We discussed the pressing issues of our time, or alternatively, our sex lives. They were short conversations.

I'd better go. I leave today, and have to shower and pack the 2394853204 things my mother has left on my bed. Does your mother do this when you visit? Dish towels, magazines, my gramma's old ashtray. Then she complained that I pack my suitcase too full. How DARE I bring three changes of clothes for three days when I KNOW I have to also pack the Christmas-themed potholders that she's gonna give me?

Tune in tomorrow for photos from my childhood, coverage of my visit with Aunt Mary, and whatever complaining I have to do about my flight. I really know how to get the reader begging for more.

The sow is mine.