Drivin’ all the old men crazy.

A good part about how they’ve put me on multiple accounts at work is that I’ve gotten to know more coworkers who aren’t Griff. Also, I’ve gotten to know people I’ve worked with all these years, but rarely talked to because we weren’t on the same account.

It can get (ready?) siloed at work.

One of those corporate terms I love.

What they mean is everyone’s working on their own shit so you don’t talk. But they changed that up now, and I’m on three or four accounts at any given time, and yes, everything DOES come to me all at once and everyone needs everything immediately, but that’s not important right now.

What’s important is I’ve gotten to know people I didn’t know before, including a coworker who I will call

Oh my god.

I just ran her through the Random Name Generator, and they want me to call her Lottie Blanco, which I know is slightly confusing given that I had a dog named Lottie,

She was delicious

but it’s such a marvelous name that I can’t help but use it.

So, my coworker, Lottie Blanco, is married to a woman with the same name. The Lottie Blanco I work with is a very down-to-earth-seeming person, at least compared to me, which does not set the bar high. Miss Piggy is more down-to-earth than me. But really, Lottie Blanco is the type who wanders over calmly and says, “Welp. I got 26 articles for you to read by 5:00” and then stands there emotionlessly, whereas I would deliver this news with a shaking hanky and a paper bag to breathe into.

The point is, she hates snakes. ALERT, FAITHFUL READER TEE. ALERT. SNAKE STORY.

Lottie Blanco and her wife Lottie Blanco live near some woods, and for awhile they had mice, despite having two very cute cats. I mean, really, they are extraordinarily cute–both blonde, one fluffier than the other. The fluffy one was wandering around skinny and homeless and looking like Ren when they got her. The point is, eventually the mice went away, and they were all, hunh. Well, good.

One afternoon my coworker Lottie Blanco was up in the attic, taking a box down for a yard sale they were gonna have, and when she lifted the box





was curled up under it. According to my coworker Lottie Blanco, she actually managed to step on her wife Lottie Blanco’s HEAD while screaming and screeching out of the attic like a screaming screeching person.

And this is why I like working on different accounts.

The point is, and yes there is a point besides that stellar story, is yesterday Lottie Blanco The Snake Hater asked me to join a little team celebration at a downtown bar/arcade called Boxcar.

June downtown. Driving all the old men crazy.

Everyone raves on about that place, but I never went, because what do I care about an arcade?

IMG_2627.JPGExcept nobody told me THERE WERE PINBALL MACHINES.

When I was a kid, we HAD a pinball machine. It was called Skipper, and my father bought it somewhere or other. Maybe at sea. Maybe from Gilligan. I just don’t know.


This is a terrible picture of Skipper. Let me Google fucking it some more.


It’s for identification only. It’s NOT part of the kit! I have no idea what that means.

The point is, I spent approximately 11,000 youthful hours in my basement, playing Skipper, and what I wouldn’t give to have that particular game back. Pinball machines were simpler then, as was life, other than that racism and sexism and homophobia stuff that has SO CLEARLY gone away now. Thank god that’s been cleared up.

Photo credit: Lottie Blanco

Despite the fact that today’s pinball machine is now really dark and you can’t see where the goddamn ball is anymore, I took my complimentary tokens and played me some pinball for, oh, an hour and a half. Oh, how I love it.

And it all came back to me. I’d say “like riding a bike” except I don’t know how to ride a bike. But I won two free games, and I got the highest score of the week on one machine, and got to put m’name in!

I also summarily beat Lottie Blanco at air hockey. I did this by slipping into a snake costume when she wasn’t expecting it.

Hey, June, say “Lottie Blanco” one more time.

IMG_2632.jpgimg_2631.jpgI left downtown, as all the old men had been reported as 5150s, and on over to The Other Copy Editor’s bed and breakfast, where she was having her regular Wine Wednesday event, this time with a band that was apparently quite popular, seeing as I had to park on the corner of Rape and Mug and walk 200 miles. No one bothered me because I still had on m’snake suit.

IMG_E2647.JPGIt was my coworker Molly’s idea to go there, and of course she’s one of those people like my grandfather who knows every single person in town, which begs the question why can’t she think of one nice man to set me up with? Not that my grandfather was any help in that department, either.

IMG_2648.jpgAnyway, the band really was good, but I hadda go, because I needed to get up at 5:20.

You what? Great Lottie Blancos in the morning.

I promised my stupid friend TinaDoris that I’d meet her at stupid Pure Barre at a stupid 6 a.m. stupid class. When the alarm went off, I rolled over and said, “Edsel.”

Oh my god, did that poor dog ever startle awake. gud graby, it 7:00 alreddee?

The cats are always lined up along the hallway when I open the bedroom door, but this morning there was nary a cat in sight.

eyeriss can’t eben wif dis time of day. she TRYING to eben, but she can’t eben.

In case you don’t have one in your town or something, and you know what I hate? Is when people say, “If you’ve been living under a rock…”

Oh, hohohohoho!!! God, that’s original. Lemme stitch m’sides.


In case you don’t know what Pure Barre is, it’s a one-hour exercise program designed to make you wish for your own swift death right there at a ballet barre.

Holy shit.

TinaDoris goes six days a week. TinaDoris looks magnificent. TinaDoris can suck it.

I came home at 7:03 (silver lining: Pure Barre is stupidly close to my house) and ate all the toast. There is no toast anywhere in the country.

“Hey, where’s the toast?”

“Pure Junne ate it.”

So that’s been my last 24 hours, and try to cram some activity in, Juan. But despite my run-aroundy life of music and pinball and allegedly burning calories that get replaced immediately by toast, I did NOT forget our lipstick pact. Today we try Whole Lotta Honey.

IMG_E2620.JPGAlso, before I forget, we’re going to have an exciting new feature here at Book of Pies. My boss, fmr., is going to show us her Stitch Fix box every month, and we get to vote on what she should keep and what she should return! She already decided on this month’s shipment, which I will feature for you tomorrow, so you’ve got that to live for.

And listen. If you do anything, check in with me Saturday this week. I have something SO STUPIDLY EXCITING to show you then.

Meanwhile, Whole Lotta Honey…

IMG_2663.jpgHunh. Yeah, okay. Whole lotta eh.



Goodbye, Beige Earl

Dear June:

Tell us about your weekend. We await, riveted. Signed, No one.


IMG_0449.JPGWe had our work picnic Thursday afternoon, which I realize is not Friday, and I just gave this section a “Friday” subhead and WHAT THE HELL with this blog. The point is, I’m this weird combination of an extroverted introvert, where I sort of dread having to be around people, then I get there and it’s OHMYGOD PEOPLE YAY! and I sort of dash about frenetically visiting this person and that, and then it’s time to go home and I’m drained.

All this to say that Thursday was a lot of socializing, and then Friday I had A Thing. My work sponsors this foundation, and said foundation was having a dinner and a speaker at the country club, and I had to get dressed up and dine at the country club and so forth, and if there’s anything you’re sick of, it’s my “June’s Tales of the Country Club” stories.

Me–did you know this was me?–after, in my go-to polkadot dress. Sadly, I own three polkadot dresses in varying sleeve lengths. Polkadots are big with me. Less big now that I’m down 10 pounds. Bah. I should stop talking in the caption now.

The man who spoke at our event had been Harvey Milk’s right-hand man, and he was there when Harvey Milk was killed. Then he watched all his friends die of AIDS. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like to be a gay man in San Francisco in the ’80s. I mean, it’s close, given all the action I get. Still.


So that was kind of a sosh two days, and now that I’ve said “sosh” you will wash your hands of me and I understand. I do. I hope one day we can be friends. M’point is, I was all social activites-d out.

IMG_0482.JPGIt was bitty boopy blindy-boo Iris’s 6th birthday Saturday, and if you didn’t wash your hands of me before

Somebody at work put cans of cat food on the “anyone can take it” table, and they were fancy expensive cans of things like buffalo and pheasant. I thought I’d give one to Iris, seeing as most of the time she gets cans of “whatever dregs were in the meat murder room” flavor.

She didn’t even used to EAT cans. I read somewhere that canned food was good for kittens, and I guess that’s true because look how big Steely Dan got, and once she started sniffing cans, and who doesn’t like to do that, she got a hankering. So now I give adult cans to both of them, and I don’t mean that they are somehow dirty.

Lily doesn’t like a can. You’d think she wouldn’t be picky, but she is. She’s like one of those 250-pound women who run marathons and the world judges and it’s like, But you don’t know her.

Anyway, I gave a can of, like, wild boar and sweet potato to Iris, and she was all, “Ware delish dreg fud?” So.

My point is, after I took Iris to Chucky Cheese and she ate the mouse, I spent my Saturday shopping for fabric.

IMG_0511.jpgAs you may already know, because your hand is up in June’s life, I have this old chair that belonged to my grandmother, the one I’ve turned into. It used to be this burgundy Naugahyde, and then my mother owned it and gave it these baby-blue flowers, which Lottie, my dog, fmr, quickly turned into mud flowers, and I act like “mud flowers” is a thing.

The spring and summer I had Lottie was a rainy one, and my yard is aching for grass the way I am for a martini at 8 a.m., so she brought a lot of mud to the chair situation. And one might think one could tell her puppy to just NOT leap onto the chair, but clearly you have not attended June’s Iron Fist of Dog Discipline yet.

I’ve wanted to recover this poor chair for awhile, but it costs, and funds were tight, but then this year I pretty much took on a second job doing freelance work, and you guys are shopping on Amazon by clicking through my not-blog, and boom. All of a sudden, and it really did seem all of a sudden, I got caught up. I’m not a millionaire, but I’m out of credit card debt and I don’t have to live on four dollars till payday anymore.

IMG_0491.JPGSo, in a sense, when I recover this chair, it will be the recovery that you built. And I thank you. Most heartily, I do. My point is, I’d never gone to the fabric store before, and hey, overwhelming.

The good news is they’re moving, so every single piece of fabric was on sale, at least 50% off and some as much as 80% off. I tried to like any of the 80%, but it was all “Brady Bunch Plaid Orange” or “Smells Like Grandma” or “Gay Man in the ’80s” patterns, and I just could not.

The man who owns the store helped me, and was very kind, even though he was having a huge sale on a Saturday and was the only person working there. “If you have a dog, don’t get any silk fabrics,” he advised.

Naturally all I wanted after that were the silk fabrics. It’s like dating. I’m trying hard not to be drawn to another love avoidant, and I start chatting men up and after date number two, they’ll be all, “I really want to live alone for the rest of my life” or “I like to be in touch once every nine days” or “I was married once, for 8 months” and WHY DO I KEEP BEING DRAWN TO IT.

IMG_0487I liked this silk love avoidant flowered pattern in the middle, but who am I, Diana Ross? What do I need with a black flowered chair?

IMG_0488.JPGGreen one’s pretty, and oh, look, silk. This fabric just wants to hang out, nothing serious.

IMG_0493.JPGUltimately, I did get a green pattern, not silk, that wants to take things slow and maybe see other people. I love love love this pattern, and my whole goal while I was shopping was I’d pick a pattern that made me gasp because it was so pretty. This one did. It’ll probably keep texting its ex-girlfriend after we move in together.

IMG_0502.JPGThe rest of the day was pretty quiet, and I binged Leah Reminy’s series exposing the Scientologists. When I lived in LA, I lived near one of the big Scientology buildings, and they bought up pretty much all the apartment buildings on the blocks around their big building, and I’d see people walking to work, from their Scientology apartments to their jobs at the Scientology building, and now I wish I’d have dragged them into my Bug and saved them all.


They didn’t make Sunday. Because of God. (When Harry Met Sally)

I had to work Sunday, because my work has changed recently and I’m not just on one team anymore; I copy edit for whoever needs it. It’s kind of exciting, but also, each account has different styles and needs and so on, so it’s more intense. I didn’t have to take my work home, but I wanted to so I’d do a good job.

I hope I did a good job. Next thing you’ll hear is me saying, Remember that thing I took home and fucked up?

IMG_9992.JPGMy hallway was always beige, part of the Beige World Fan Club that the previous owner founded and lovingly ran. It was a labor of beige love. A couple weeks ago, I noted that one wall had annoying beige WALLPAPER, not just paint, so I peeled it off and this happened.

My casual peel cost me eleven million dollars in Alf repair (Alf is my ridiculous handyman), and then yesterday I painted that bitch. Goodbye, Beige Earl.

Sometimes I make zero sense.

IMG_0517.JPGSo now it’s Sherwin Williams Quietude, the same color I’m painting my spare bedroom, you know, eventually. I still have to paint the trim in here, and that door that is not at all scuffed up from me throwing shoes down there at the end of the day because God forbid I walk all the way in there and put them in the closet I’m pressed for time, you see.

Also, I did not screw up and get paint on the ceiling. That’s where it’s peeling. Nother effing project.

IMG_0444.JPGI leave you with two things: My coworker Ryan’s dog, whom he brought to the company picnic. Look at his boopy half a face!

IMG_0439.JPGAnd this. When Ned and I broke up, I tried to unfriend all of his friends on Facebook, because I didn’t want any jarring reminders of him. I forgot about one of his friends, though, but that guy put up this old photo of Ned, and here’s the thing.

Usually I’m okay. You know. Ish. Usually I understand that it didn’t work with Ned, and that it’s sad but it’s okay. But then this photo just hit me, hit my stupid newsfeed, and it knocked me over.

I loved him so fiercely. I forget that sometimes. I’d like to forget it permanently. But oh god, did I love him. And it’s not at all sad that I downloaded this photo and kept it.

I guess that’s all my news that’s fit to not print. The chair guy comes next week to take my chair away and recover it, and I need you to know that when I left that store with my big roll of fabric, I said, “Well, I’m gonna bolt.”

No one likes me.

Well, I’m gonna bolt,


Lottie and the Big-Girl Bed

Last night, when I headed to bed, Lottie was already in there, fast asleep. She looked so cute, and she's been doing so well with not going in the house, that I thought, "Maybe she can sleep in the big-girl bed tonight." Sadly, every night I sleep in that bed it's the big-girl bed. What M&Ms yesterday?

lotEE be gud! she sleep in big gurl bed! mom can trust lotEE!

{mentally high fives Satan}

She really was good, though, until SIX FIFTY SEVEN, which is THREE MINUTES before we get up. I heard her get up and I was paralyzed by sleep for a minute. Peed on the new mud rug, pooped in the living room. Goddammit.

Look at that last photo, where she's high-fiving Satan. You can see her real fang trying to come in. Oh, poor Lottice! That must hurt! See. Now she's got my sympathy again. That dog really is all snout. I wonder when she's gonna get a face? I wonder if she'll always have that snout scar?

She's headed to daycare today, Lottie is, because I have an all-day, offsite meeting and won't be able to come here at lunch to let her out. That meeting is costing me $20. But here. Look at Lottie on the webcam. She'll be there about 8:30 till 5:00.

In other news, I think it's over with me and The Younger Man, the one in Rio. I told this to my mother. "The last thing he texted me was Sunday, early, and it read, You're mean," I told her.

"What'd you do?" asked my mother, and then we laughed for 45 minutes. Good mom-ing. Not, "That's preposterous!" Not "How could he SAY such a thing?" No. "What'd you do?"

Which, you know, I know you all just asked the same thing.

Okay, so I called him a dick, but YOU KNOW HOW I AM. If you're too lily-livered to handle me calling you a dick in an I'm-giving-you-shit text, you're too lily-livered to deal with when I'm actually being bitchy. One good thing about Ned was, no matter how bitchy I got, he was always all, "Oh fuck you, June." He was unflapped.

Is unflapped a word?

So, that was that. Darn, that's the end.

I can hear Edsel and Lottie wrestling outside, and I want to go look, but as soon as I do, they always stop and look at me instead, so I just have to listen to them being funny without being witness. Sometimes if I'm out there with them, they'll commence wrestling in front of me, but I can't walk in on it.

I just heard them tear across the deck. They just tore across again. Goddammit. This must have been what it was like to be on The Dating Game. YOU JUST WANNA SEE.

That would really suck, to get the hideous guy on The Dating Game. Did you know Maurice Gibb was on that show? He won. Couldn't you just have some friend in the audience signal to you which bachelor was cutest? Seems like it'd be easy to cheat. But maybe they didn't HAVE a studio audience. I don't know, man. I can't figure it all out right now.

I'd better go get the Lot to daycare and head to my ALL DAY meeting. Maybe while I'm there, I can be mean.



June Brought the Rose (Gold)

Last night, I got my rose gold color! It'll only last a few weeks, but here it is!

IMG_1639 IMG_1638

I look vaguely like an aging Disney princess. But I like it! It's exciting! Also, I need lip enhancement so bad.

Four hours I was in that chair last night. I screamed home after work and let Lottie and Edsel be in the back room, with the door open so they could go outside if they wanted. A few weeks ago, Lottie figured out she could open the screen door herself, so she spent about an hour standing in front of it, pushing it open, watching it slam close and then pushing it open again.

That was relaxing.

I sent my photo to "Steve," aka The Younger Man in Rio, and noted that I look like dessert. "There are worse food groups you could resemble," he wrote back, and then we spent way too much time talking about what foods would be worse for your hair to look like.



Organ meats.



Anything burned.

Mayonnaise-based salads.

One time my Pal From MA was visiting her grandmother. I believe there'd been a celebration of some sort, and she stayed on a few days. By day three, she was dying for a salad.

Do you know what I'm never dying for?

Anyway, her grandmother said, "Well, honey, there's all kinds of salad in the fridge. There's macaroni salad, potato salad, tuna salad…"

Welcome to the Midwest.

Lottie's been tugging on my robe tie the whole time I'm writing this, and is there any sort of 24-hour drive-thru euthanasia place around here? I forgot to tell you that when I had that kitten, I took The Lotissimo with me to PetSmart (I think I did tell you that part) and got kitten toys. They were they spongy, many-sided cubes, which makes no sense,

Screen Shot 2016-08-12 at 8.19.36 AM

but look, there they are. How would YOU describe them, Hemingway? Anyway, the kitten did play with them, and they were strewn on his floor the day I decided to bring him out to sit on my lap in the living room. All the animals came over to meet him except Lottie, who I figured was in the kitten room sniffing around, getting some almond roca from the litterbox, and so on.

I was right, for she emerged from that room with one of these squares on her fang. Just hanging there like it was meant to be. Just trotted around like that, happy as a pig in clover.

Lottie is an asshole.

We need BBP merchandise again, starting with Lottie is an Asshole mugs, shirts and tote bags.


My asshole dog and I will talk to you later.


Pink June

11:40, a sacred time everyone knew about but June. Oh, also, kitten.

My problem is, I'm not attracted to wealth and power. Like, look at Candace Bergen. She married two men who weren't that pretty, but rich? Hells yeah, they were rich. And she must have slept with them, right? Or how else could she have a baby and/or kept that marriage afloat? Why can't I be Candace Bergen? This whole attracted to funny, well-read men who are cute sort of blows. It's not workin' for me.

Maybe if we all get our energy together, like we did that time to find Hulk a woman and you see how that worked, we can all ask the universe, Hey, let's send June a kind, rich man who she also wants to bang. God really likes it when you say "bang."

What would you ask the universe for? Maybe we could put in requests, and then every day I can assign us a thought to direct to the universe.

Anyway, in the meantime, Edsel pooped on the floor today. Yeah.

Is it that the kitten was one toke over the line? Is he finally completely over Lottie, and who isn't? I don't know. I just know we all woke up, Lottie went outside, Edsel wouldn't, and when I walked into the computer room, there was Edsel's calling card. When I went to look for him he was standing under my desk, like he expected an earthquake.

I petted him for a long time. Poor Edsel.


There's a cute couple from work–they both work there–who came to meet Johnny Cats last night. They're considering taking him, and wanted to mull it over, so further reports as developments warrant. He's such a cool little cat, did I mention? Last night I was worried about him being bored in the back room, so I was sitting in there with him, and he was on my lap while I fired up a video of gymnastics at the Olympics. I watch because I can do all those things the gymnasts do, I just choose not to show you.

The point is, I realized that Johnny was watching the video with me. So I went to YouTube and showed him videos for cats, and he loved those. He'd put his little kitten paw on the screen at the birds and squirrels.

I love him. News flash. But I can't keep him, because Edsel pooped on the floor, among other things.


Eventually, I brought him to the living room so he could meet everyone. Iris hissed and fled. Lily sat right next to us and acted like the kitten did not exist. Lottie barked, and Edsel drooled.


Seriously, eh drooled. He was so dying to get to know Johnny, and ask him all about himself, and get him a refreshment. IMG_1513

Kitty was not so amenable.


Poor Johnny. Good lord.

After I'd thoroughly traumatized the kitten, I put him back in the room

dat suk

and came out for a meeting of The Needy Committee.


I'd forgotten they usually meet on Mondays while The Real Housewives are on, except STUPID OLYMPICS usurped my show. Goddammit. Stupid people's hopes and dreams. WHAT ABOUT MY HOUSEWIVES? They have dreams, too.

meeeeteng a jern

IMG_1355 (1)

Speaking of committees, I'd forgotten to tell you that ironically, on Friday morning before my accident, I got Korean medicine for my neck pain. We have a massage therapist who comes on Fridays, and she taped some mustard seeds to my finger to relieve neck pain, and I was to leave it on for five hours and then be sure to have two tons smash into me from behind at a high speed. Wedding Alex, who got mad at me once because I signed up for her time to get massages, and "everyone knows my massage time is 11:40," was also mustard seeded. We were Mustard Seed Sisters.

That reminds me. They hired someone new at work. Guess what her name is. I am not even kidding.

By the way, who here knew that Wedding Alex's massage time was 11:40? Did you see it displayed in Times Square? Cause I was so embarrassed I missed it. Did you see them running with the Olympic torch that at the end burst into a flame display that spelled out: Alex's Massage Time is 11:40?

Flame display. If I'm sick of hearing about one thing, it's flame displays.

I'd better go. I have 50 animals to deal with. Oh! Before I go, I was thinking that if I ever got one of those tattoos that say something in your arm, you know the ones that look like someone wrote it, or in typeface, that girls get? I like those. What would mine say? Other than what I plan to get, which is "11:40."

Yeah, no. That makes no fekking sense.

Tell me.





That's what woke me up today. Lottie did her usual crying to get out of her crate at 6:30, and I was half-asleep when I took her out, fed her, then slammed my damn bedroom door so I could sleep JUST A LITTLE GODDAMN LONGER, PLEASE GOD.

And I did sleep, knowing full well she could be out there wreaking all kinds of havoc, but there's no bringing her to bed to nap with you, unless you find having your face bitten soothing, and putting her back in the crate would have been repeated renditions of Yappy Days Are Here Again. So.



I got up, wondering if perhaps she was dead, and then I could get the sympathy vote and some sleep. But no. There she was, smiling at me as soon as I opened the bedroom door. Often she sleeps up against the door of the bedroom or bathroom if I close her out, a thing that always charms me before she twirls in the air and bites my face again.

"What did you DO, Lottie?" She pranced down the hall, having completely forgotten whatever she'd done.

Photo on 7-23-16 at 11.22 AM #3

Cracked. The screen of my nine hundred million dollar iPhone. Cracked. She knocked it off the couch.

By the way, I was having trouble finding a screen that was blank enough to show you the cracks, so I went into my notes and erased one. This page was me coming up with puppy names for that pitty puppy I almost got. One of the choices was Lottie.

I really thought I'd thought of that on the spot, when I found her in a…lot. You know, I've never looked to see what the name of the business was that she was trespassing on. I wonder if it was Demon, Inc. or D. E. Ville & Miss Jones Advertising or HELLena Rubenstein or something.

I'll go look today.

So I have an appointment at the Apple store today. $129 it's gonna cost me to fix this bullshit. It's coming out of that dog's allowance.

Since I was up, I made spaghetti for breakfast, because I was out of everything else, and I did two loads of laundry, organized my unmentionables, which I just mentioned, so in my case they'd be my mentionables. I put my shoes back in order and came to the conclusion that I really need new shoes. They're all in terrible shape, Lottie hasn't chewed any, yet, but she's peed on two pair. I just got a refund from the state (I overpaid my taxes. It's like I got a good Community Chest card).

But right then I remembered. Fucking $129 for my iPhone. Goddammit.

Anyway. I also swept the floors and Sharked them. El Diablo is napping. The beast builds her strength for the next terror.

Oh shut upz

My iTunes is workin' it today. First it played…


which I've shared with you before. I love that song.

Then it played…


which just about kills me whenever I hear it. Then it was all,


I feel like my iTunes has a sense of humor. Hey, high school. How's it going? Lemme get on my reversible raincoat with whales on one side and we can go.

I have to get ready to appear at the Apple Store. Appearing now! June Gardens at Apple! Then after I have a little party, a little soiree, and how much do you abhor me for saying soiree? Anyway, I do have one to go to, and I plan to raise the roof and bring my hands together and make some noise.

I can't think of who I was talking to recently (I suspect one of my interminable OK Cupid dates) who hates it when you're somewhere and they say, "Are ya having a good time?" and the crowd is, like, "Woooo!" And they say, "Not good enough. I said, ARE YOU HAVING FUN?"

Whoever it was said he hates that like hell. Don't TELL me how much noise to make. Don't RATE my woooo. And now I will feel the same way.

What's your hobby, June? Oh, I gather things to resent.

I will talk at you later. Who wants to place bets on whether June relents and gets new shoes anyway, while she's in the same shopping center as the Apple store? And…go.

The one where Edsel is a bad-ass. It’s like I said Richard Simmons is in a gang.

A time. Morning-ish.

When we last spoke–and why didn't you ever call me last night to say you got in okay?–I said I'd tell about all the places I stopped working at, and how I yelled at someone in a wheelchair, and how I am a magnificent person.

But before I do, let me just tell you I was making coffee this morning.

That's it.

It's hilarious every time I do that.

And I noted that Lottie had…alighted. She was just lying on the kitchen floor. Let me tell you something: For Lottie to be still and not (a) dead or (b) completely asleep in the puppy pass-out, is weird. I'd go so far as to say it's never happened. So it got my attention. It's like when a hummingbird stops.

"Wow," I thought, a teensy light of encouragement seeping just ever so slightly into the dark corner where my soul died by the time she was 9 weeks old. "Maybe she's calming down!"

She was lying right in front of the room where my computer used to be, the room with the bad concrete floor. Edsel was in that room, finishing his breakfast. He'd ordered the brown sugar waffles and a mimosa, extra light on the champagne, with a flower garnish. Anyway, what I realized is she wasn't lying so much as cowering.

"Lottie!" I said, sort of alarmed, sort of delighted to see her remotely cowed by anything in life. "What's–"

And that is when Edsel stalked out of the room, with a holster on his hips, talking like John Wayne or Clint Eastwood or something. He walked by her without a glance, and she cowered further, simpering, like someone had beaten her or something, and I wondered if all the times I've beaten her in mind had somehow made itself clear to her.

She followed Edsel while they both walked toward me, and her tail was curled under her, and her entire body was brought to you by the letter C.

I have no idea what Edsel did to make her that way. They did not fight, as I've been three feet from their eight feet all morning. But Ima guess some shade was thrown over Edsel's Belgian waffles, and Lottie understood from the deep recesses of her dark soul. Every once in awhile today, Edsel's been showing her his teef. Well, he always shows everyone his teefs, but this time he's also showing the top ones. The fangy ones. Tough. Clint Edselwood.

She really loves to dig a hole, Lottie does, and she has a huge one at the side of the house. My theory is she's trying to get back to hell, from whence she came. So it's exciting to see Edsel trying to take control of the situation.


So, for those of you on Pie on the Face, you know I told you I'd be writing this week's Purple Clover about families, and I asked, "Tell me about your families," and as usual you all had answers–thank god–and what I love is when you all just keep talking way into the night as if I wouldn't be, oh, writing the damn column by then. It's like when people used to stay at my mother's game night parties forever. I'd wake up in what felt like the middle of the night and was probably 10:30, and people would still be talking, and I'd roll over and go back to sleep.

But I'm glad everyone participates in those questions I ask you when I'm trying to write something. I always get one or two gems to use after.

As I write you, my back door is open to the screen door, and I just heard a train go by in the distance. Do you remember how Ned's apartment was literally just feet from the train tracks, and it was a whistle stop, so whenever a train went by they had to blow the whistle? It was SO IN OUR EARS, and sometimes there'd be a guy who'd blow his stupid horn forever, and we'd both say, "THAT guy was a dick."

And now it's off in the distance, that whistle, which is metaphoric, and I am deep.

I can hear birds and cicadas, too. Aren't cicadas only supposed to be at night? What's that buzzing, then? I wish I knew how to record things with my phone, then upload said recording onto my blog so you guys could say, "Oh, no, June, that's a Right-Winged FrooDeGloogen, not a bug."

Right-Winged FrooDeGloogen. That bird totally supports Trump.

Oh my god why do you read me.

SO I WROTE MY PURPLE CLOVER COLUMN, about families, and MY EDITOR said, "Yeah, not so much with this one, June. It's kind of all over the place."

I could see that. It kind of was. But the thing is, I've been writing for them every week and then every other week for three years. That's 874 columns, by my maths. And I notice they never put me on their Facebook page anymore, so I just kind of wonder if maybe I'm columned out. Which is what I wrote him, and he said, Yeah. Maybe. So why don't you just write for us when you have a really good idea. And I said, yeah, okay, that sounds good.

So that's that. Now, watch, I'll be CONSTANTLY INSPIRED. Maybe I'll make a little book for myself of my columns. You know how you can do that? I've always wanted to do that with this blog, except it would literally cost 9 hundred million dollars at this point, because we're coming up on my 10-year anniversary of blogging.

Isn't that weird?

So, on the same day I got an email from the statistics textbook company. They've been boughten. Yes, that is so totally a word, and 9 hundred million dollars is so totally what they got bought for. The point is, since 2003 I've been proofreading those books, and grousing about it, and getting the dollars after and shutting right up, so it's the end of an era.

I'll kind of miss those books. The part where it gets here and I either tear into it right away or I torture myself with the unopened box for three days. The little schedule I make for myself. "I have to read 74 pages a day!"

Everything ends.

Then finally, when I was on my trip last weekend, we got to the hotel and parking was an issue. The place we were supposed to park was full, and there was a guy in a booth. We drove up to it and knocked on the window. The guy ignored us. We knocked again. He turned his head toward us, but just continued on with his busywork.

When he finally DID talk to us, he was a total dick. He probably also pulls the whistle at train stops. Oh my god, he was rude. He asked, "Did the sign say 'Full'?" Yes, it did. "Well, there you go," he said, and slammed his window shut.


I called the hotel and they said we had every right to park there, and that there were spots reserved for the likes of us, so that guy was totally in the wrong. I was very old biddy-ish and I said, "That man was very rude" to the hotel clerk. Who'd probably love being called a clerk.

"That guy was in a wheelchair," said my…travel companion. I totally feel like Brenda Starr right now.

"Well, I don't care!" I said, because nice. But I did sort of feel like, well, okay.

Anyway, when we checked out, funk soul brother, we left that parking lot and guess who was back. He never even LOOKED at us, just took our ticket and kept going. It was then, as we drove away, that I yelled, "FUCK YOU" at him.

My…travel companion was, you know, maybe aghast. As we headed back, he said, "I think I'll always remember this as the trip you told a man in a wheelchair to fuck off."

Technically, I didn't tell HIM to fuck off. I just said fuck you. There's a huge difference.

So now you know all my stories, and we are all caught up until next time, when–


I almost forgot to show you Iris's crossy feets of casual.


I love that cat so much I almost can't stand it. Crossy feets.

Okay, bye.


Dog years

7:36 a.m.

The alarm went off at 6:40 today. By 6:42 I was sick of Lottie. So there's that. Honestly, there is no joy to be had with this creature. You can't even pet her, because she's just trying to bite you the whole time.

IMG_1023 IMG_1030
LOTee a phleasure of life-ph. Let GO, edzulph. it LOTeeph's.

I look forward to her dog years.

Oh! And another thing about Lottie. The whole time I've lived here, I had a chair next to the cat window.

Cat window, circa 2011.

The chair is on the OTHER side, the back-room side, and it's technically so the cats can jump up and get their food, although I think they could just do it without the chair, because they're cats. Young cats. Cats with gusto.

The point is, Tallulah's entire life, six years of Edsel's life, it never occurred to either one of them to jump on the chair and eat the cat food.

It occurred to Lottie.


You'll see I've moved the chair and it's still occurring to her. That chair belonged to my great-grandmother. Another chair I can't afford to recover.

Speaking of which, I decided not to get the new deck. The amount it would break me was making me depressed. So now I'm back to putting ground cover back there, I guess.


Anyway, yesterday went like this. Something major was due at work, something I've been working on nonstop for a month. I felt like it was ready, but then there were meetings to review it, so then there were last-minute changes, and then calls, "Is the thing ready? Is it ready? Is it ready?" except I was in meetings from the very minute I got there till lunch, and then another meeting right at 1:00, which meant I killed myself to get back early.

Then I finally got the thing done, and I was all, "Whew, when's the next one of those due ?" and they were all, Friday.

Friday. The next one is due Friday.

So then once work was done, I screamed home to this whirling dervish that is Lottie, let her out, did the whole, "YAY, LOTTIE!" thing when she peed outside, let her in, watched her pee inside, fed her while she bit me, fed everyone else, watched Lottie tear back into the living room and pee on the floor.

Then I took her outside for her loose-leash training, which she's good at, except she hurls herself in the air to get the treats I'm holding and often bites the crap out of my hand. No amount of NO! or LEAVE IT! or DOWN! affects her. She reminds me of when Wilbur was twirling.


After 20 minutes of training, we came inside and she peed on the floor.

Then I tried to eat while she jumped in the air to get at my food.

Then I had to write Purple Clover, so I put her outside and petted poor Edsel's head while I wrote, and Lottie screeched and whined and had 40 fits that she was outside.

After, I did Tracy Anderson, with Edsel and Lottie fenced in the back room, and she screamed and yelled and wrote her Congressman about the cruelties of a woman who'd spend 27 minutes doing a workout DVD while a perfectly good puppy was confined to a back room with toys, water, a bed, a chair, another dog and access to outside. Lottie's Life Matters.

Then we took a walk.

Then I killed myself and went to bed.


But, see? Then you look over and she's a sleepy pumpkin and you're all, Ohhhhh. Look at that muffiny muffin head.

Except just now I got up and she's pooped in the back room.


Also? We all need to re-read Charlotte's Web. What say you? Oh, it's such a good book. Let's do it. So to speak.

The first person to read it all gets a free puppy.