It was so delicious I decided to listen to it.

I went outside with Edsel just now, and it was such a cool breezy morning that I decided to take pictures. I realize that made no sense. Continue reading It was so delicious I decided to listen to it.

Dewey Defeats Truman

I gots to go. I have to get in the car, drive to freaking Raleigh, get on a plane and fly to Michigan. I'm running for president and thought I'd better get on the campaign trail.

That would so be how I'd run for president. Yeah, yeah, I'll get to it. I'll campaign.

Anyway, my mother is having an election night party that I will be attending seeing as I am there and all. And then tomorrow is her 90th birthday.

One of the millennials from work is pet-sitting, and she came over yesterday to met everyone and Edsel plans to devote his life to making her happy.


Here's Ned's front porch Sunday morning. The people next door have the best tree in the whole neighborhood. You can't really see it, but his Halloween skeleton cat is on the table, there.

Wait, June. Sunday morning?

I went over there for some flour. I went over there to pick him up for church. I went over there cause I'd made a big batch of muffins and wondered if he wanted any. I went over there to snake his sink. I went over there for our Sunday morning singalong and jazz hands hour.

All right, I gotta go. But don't forget to vote, if you haven't. Please note I voted early and did not make you look at my I Voted sticker, nor did I take a selfie with my ballot–a ballottee–a selfott–nor did I announce on social media that I voted and what a wonderful person I was for supporting [insert veiled reference to how bad the other candidate is here].

It's a sad day when I'm the least-obnoxious person around.

Talk to you later, when I'd really love to discuss Frisco and Felicia from General Hospital, a thing we ended up talking about on Facebook the other night and now I am obsessed. I'd also like to discuss the Jeff/Heather/Annie triangle, Monica and Alan, and everything about Robert Scorpio plus also not to mention incidentally The Floating Rib.

Lady of my heart. Tell me who you are.

See? Obsessed. I got Lasa Fever.



P.S. Do NOT forget to remind me to tell you (wow, June) about the bee attack at Boston Market. Why so sizeable, June?

P.P.S. The Ice Princess

P.P.P.S. Mikkos Cassadine

P.P.P.P.S. Ima miss my damn plane

June makes you do her decorating again.

What color should I paint the back room? Currently it's Sad Beige, a thing the previous owner seemed to stampede for. "Oh, is it beige or brass? Sign me up!"


Here's the room itself. Look how horrible that door is. The bricks are sort of off-white and the walls are a beige that if you didn't have so much ennui you'd get up and kill yourself. The floor is a blue-and-cream tile that Marvin put in when we moved in. I like it. It's very '60s basement. I know I'm weird.


I want, when you're in the living room, to look at the blue walls, then the brown walls and onto the _____ walls of the back room. To ignore, please, the bedding that the puppy peed on that I haven't put away yet. Also, that is not a dog. You're hallucinating. Again.


The floor. And my broom. I just flew in. BAH! Oh, stop, June, you're killing me.

Okay, go.

June shows you all her chores, big and small. June is a riveting individual.

I got up this morning, swept 950 pounds of pet hair, then started noticing all the things I wanna do around here. I photographed them for your viewing pleasure. Or, alternatively, your viewing boredom.


I see that the camera chose to focus on Edsel rather than my Eiffel Tower tattoo, and it's probably just USED to focusing on a pet. The point is, as much as I love the Eiffel Tower, this tattoo has always bugged me. I want to girl it up, maybe change it to a cherry blossom tattoo or something. The part where the guy made it an Eiffel tripod bugs. Did he not really know what the Eiffel Tower was? I brought in my key chain as a visual aid, not that it was a round metal key chain, which would have been hilarious. It was an Eiffel Tower, see. Is what it was.

Anyway, fixing this is on my list. I realize I'm 50 and almost dead so hooo care, but it's still on my list.


I love these jeans, and they've had a ripped zipper almost since I got them. I gotta get that hole fixed. Incidentally, thanks, Gap. You put the gap in Gap.


I'd like to find someone I loved the way I loved Ned, but who, you know, deserves my stupid undying over-the-top affections. He got me this for Christmas last year, Ned did. In fact, he printed it out and had it framed and so on, because we loved this movie and watched it every year, and when we were house-hunting, our house had this photo in the living room and we knew it was a sign. Turns out signs are bullshit. Still.

I've been on OK Cupid for awhile now, and everyone I meet on there is named Mark, but so far I have no exciting connections with any Marks. I have also met two men named Alan, although one spells it Allen. Really. Like, 17 men named Mark and Allen/Alan so far. Maybe if I meet a nice Xavier I'll know it's true love.


I have to get the front porch painted. It's depressing me. It was fine when I moved out and when I came back, it was Officially Depressing®.


See this floodlight up in Tibet? Needs changing. That looks easy.


Gate also needs painted. I totally need to Tom Sawyer that shit. What I should do is COMBINE my Mark Allen love connection with someone who loves to fix shit. Now, THAT would be ideal.


Address the issue of WHERE DID THE GRASS GO in my yard. Again went from okay when I moved away to third-world-country when I came back. I have left a message/got one back/left ANOTHER message with a landscaper whose name is not Mark nor Allen, so we'll see if we ever really end up talking and addressing the issues of the day. Where we legalize grass. Bah.

Do you ever want to annoy me? Call it "phone tag." Adore that. Or leave me a voicemail that says, "Tag, you're it." Oh, hooo hooo hoooo hoooo hoooo hoooooooo! Lemme wipe m'eyes.

Antidepressant. Completely worn off. Can you tell? Irritated by everything.


Dear Marty Martin: What happened to the part where you were gonna help me put up my zoo sign? Also, is Edsel EVERYWHERE? Creepy.

Lu is sleeping. It's her piroxicam day. Every other day she gets this NSAID called piroxicam to reduce her pain and inflammation, and it's doing a great job, but on pill day she gets sleepy in her square head parts.


Get the goddamn caster attached to this goddamn chair. I love this chair, but am forever falling forward at a dangerous angle because my chair is the Eiffel tripod. How on earth do I fix that? I know. Google fucking it. I also have a stuck drawer I Google fuckinged and Ima fix that today. It's easy, turns out.


Fix the deck. In fact, I'd like to make the deck bigger, which is the story of my life. Hoooooo haaaaaaaaa.


I dunno. Get this chair recovered, or am I just being dramatic? Good lord.




Sigh. I just painted this a few years ago. I have no idea what I did wrong, or why god hates me, although it may have something to do with what an evil woman I am. Eeevil woman, do do do do do do DO do.


Those horrible movers who called me a whore broke the glass shelf in my hutch and did not fix it or give me a discount. And now I have no idea where to go to get a new piece of glass. I've Google fuckinged it and found nothing.


My tenants who lived here during my year abroad were ideal except for one thing. Screen. Broken. Needs fixed. Where is my new handy boyfriend Mark Alan? Or my new rich boyfriend Ethan Allan? Or Alan Quartermaine, for that matter. He has bucks.


Whenever I Google "replacement glass for a hutch" I get tons of sites for fixing cracked windshields. I've had it like this for more than a year, it''' cost $333 to fix it, which I can afford, and do I ever do it? No. Instead I have double double, double vision. Also, that Visitor Parking tag is from Ned's apartment building, a place he moved from a year and a half ago, plus also he and I broke up six months ago, so yeah. I might could take that thing down now.

My car, which I purchased new in 2008, is just minutes from rolling over to 80,000 miles. It's all very exciting, and on Monday I'm taking it in to get inspected and permed and waxed and primped like when everyone was on their way to see the wizard. I'll even dye its eyes to match its gown.


I raged against it, but I really think I need a coffee table.


My neighbor Peg told me that a really large nail should be enough to hang up this pretty old medicine cabinet I've had for awhile and wanted to use. I'd love to turn the inside into a jewelry holder but don't know how to hang wires from one side to the other. What I am not is handy. Does anyone know? Does it involve owning tools? Because not a lesbian.

IMG_6045 copy

Also, find a cure for transitional cell carcinoma.

Do you feel overwhelmed? Me too. I think I'll go eat something.

Mark Alanlessly,


Goodnight, Gracie

It's the end of the year, and time for my annual here's-everything-that-happened-this-year veeedeo. I hope you like it. I only tormented everyone with it 7,2394,t95945,#(49403 times. "Do you like this version?" "How 'bout this one?" "Is this song good?" And by "everyone" I mean Ned.

Happy new year, y'all! Thanks for spending 2012 with me.


In which June brings up whist. And Talu brings up everything else.

Wow. Is it ever busy at fake work. Hope I can get everything done.

So far I've had coffee, I've done my makeup, took all that off and did kabuki makeup, took that all off and painted myself silver like C3Po, discussed plastic surgery with Debb who hates margaritas, looked at my checking account, painted myself sad, and then finally remembered that I forgot to blog today so here I am.

I mean, why is the office even open, except yay, free coffee!

At any rate, I didn't blog this morning because I slept till 8:12. I have to be here at 8:30. So that I can stampede to all the work that needs doing this week, clearly. My point is, you can imagine how pretty I am right now, but at least my sad silver kabuki makeup looks good now.

I went to bed at 10:30 last night, and when I was doing so, I was all, This is great. Ima be so well-rested tomorrow. And then Talu was cuddled up against me, and the sun was making the bed warm, and apparently I hit snooze 258 times before I opened my eyes and tossed that dog clear across the room in my panic.

She doesn't feel well, Talu doesn't. Sometimes when they board at dog daycare, their stomachs are not what you'd call so fresh when they get home. The vet told me it's all the excitement. I mean, it's constant "other dogz! Lu see other dogz! der is NOTHER dog! dis gud." for two days straight. I imagine it's how my innards would feel after two days of Barry Gibb.

So last night I left hard-hitting busy fake work (my boss's boss, who is very cool and is riveted to the part where I have a blog and y'all send me presents and wants to totally get in on that action, came over and said, "June, you can knock off early. There's really nothing to do." "You…realize it's 4:56, right?" "Oh, crap. Is it? Well, enjoy those four minutes off!") and got the dogs, and man I was sleepy. So I fed everyone and climbed into bed for a little catnap, as my grandmother would call it. I was juuuuuust drifting off when


Talu barfed all over the bedroom floor. You know what's relaxing? That. That is.

When I left her today she was back in bed with her head on the pillow, but before you go feeling too bad for her, a faithful reader sent plush toys to both dogs, and whenever Talu saw Edsel trot by with his new toy, she managed to drag herself up to take it from him, so I think old Pitiful Pit, there, will be up and about and fully evil again in no time.

In the meantime, go look at this. This couple took a picture in front of their Christmas tree for 40 years.

I an only find eight of their photos online, which bugs cause you KNOW I wanna see ALL of them. This sort of thing is right up my alley. Am riveted by said couple and know I would have liked them. We could have all hung and played whist or something. Tiddlywinks. What'd 1912 couples DO? Did people even HAVE keys for key parties? Maybe the men went outside and looked at each other's horses while the women compared petticoats or something.

"My, that's some corset, Annabelle."

"Thank you! It's only made me faint four times this month!"

I think I need more coffee.

So, okay. I'll go. Everyone say things to keep me amused today. I've a feeling it's gonna be a long eight hours.

P.S. Just Googled it. C3Po is gold.


Ugh. And no, I have not turned into a Native American. Don’t throw your litter, though. That would bring a tear.

Had a dreadful day yesterday, which unfortunately I cannot tell you about. Not every tidbit makes its way onto my blog.

And dear person who thinks, Oh! I'm June's Special Reader! I'll email her and ask!

Yeah, no. Thanks. Thanks so much. (No, Ned and I did not remotely break up. No, seeing Daniel Boone did not result in tragedy. None of the above.)

Everything's going to be okay, probably, but I really feel not at all like blogging today. So could you do me a solid? Could you not kill me for saying "a solid" and could you also send me some kind of cheer-me-up comment?


You so pretty, June.

Here is a million dollars, June.

Attached please find a link to something funny.

Here is an Eleanor Roosevelt quote, June. (I do like me some Eleanor Roosevelt. With her lesbianical sensible shoes and her plain-but-good face.)

Thank you in advance for your prompt attention to this matter. I'll try to pull it together and post tomorrow. I also have a guest post from Jo that I should publish at some point. It's about her adventures in Internet dating. Which I know something about.

Okay, talk at you.

(Oh, god. I just remembered the last time I felt sad and not bloggy was when Carin picked on me. Remember that? Dear Carin or Carinesque person: Please not today. Do me a solid, Carinesque person. Thanks.)

Cats love it

UnicornMy friend Steve (who is not to be confused with Faithful Reader CVSteve nor my old boyfriend Steve who I saw this summer, but ANOTHER friend Steve who we decided in the comments should ID himself as Huge Member Steve) sent me this image yesterday.

Last night I was trying to sleep, and kept thinking of the box–"Cats Love It!" and this cat's face and I kept shaking the bed, I was giggling so hard. Cats love it! Dying.

See. In hysterics again. Ohmygod, that poor cat. He loves it! Clearly.

Also, we all need to go out and get a unicorn horn for our cats. If anyone does so, send me the picture.

Didn't you all send me pictures of your messy coffee tables and didn't I 100% fail to put any on my blog? Also, didn't I just have a giveaway? Who won? I know I never sent anyone anything. What the Sam Hill did I say I was sending you? Was it Abraham Lincoln floss or something?

In other news, I am very tempted to put on here a photo Dick Whitman put of himself on Facebook, in which he's wearing a hospital gown and we see it open in the back, but I am abstaining. Because that is the good kind of friend I am. I just MENTION it to everyone without showing it.

Lean on me. When you're not strong. And I'll be your friend. I'll help you carry on.

Anyway, his clavicle hurts. He was having it looked at. That's why he had on the gown. And you know, he DID put it on Facebook, for all the world to see, so I don't see how it would hurt for me to show it here. But I will not. I do not want Dick Whitman getting all pit on my azz.

None of this is why I gathered you all here today, however. What I WANTED to discuss was this:

Somehow Ned and I got into a discussion wherein I called him motivated. "I am the least-motivated person on earth," he said. That's what he said. Ned. The person who said, "Ima quit smoking after doing it for 25 years" and just did it, two years ago. The person who said, "Ima start working out again" and does so every night. The person who said, "I'm going to eat better" and now eats the Green Giant's weight in salads every week. I mean, he's the most motivated person I know. I say I'm gonna have a giveaway and can't manage the three clicks it'd take to get you your cat unicorn horn.

Cats love it!

Clearly you have no idea how much that slays me.

"In a million years I'd never imagine anyone would describe me as motivated," said salady Ned.

This made me think of the time my best friend from elementary school said her husband finally had to realize she was not a tower of strength. I forget what the scenario was, and no, my best friend was not married in elementary school. She told me this story recently. We were best friends in elementary school. Smarty.

Anyway, as I said, I forget the particulars, I just remember thinking, "No one has ever had to realize I'm not a tower of strength. No one's ever said, 'Oh that June. She's tough on the outside…'"

In fact, one time Marvin was talking to a woman who'd been home showering, and someone broke in and raped her right there. In her shower! Can you imagine? Cats love it. Anyway, Marvin said, "My wife would never recover from that. She's not strong."

I was kind of offended, but god, that is totally the truth. I would NEVER.RECOVER. from that.

So my point is, what is one way no one would ever describe you? And are you sure?

England June. Also Dudley June Right. Also, locomotive.

I schlepped to the bagel store today and am currently eating an Asiago Parmesan bagel with bacon scallion cream cheese and a tomato. I am totally Ned right now. "GodDAMMIT, this is good."

The other night I was lying in bed with the radio on. Moonlight falls like rain. Soft summer nights spent thinking of yoooouuu. Here alone with the blues.


I wonder what sorts of things my brain would be capable of doing if I didn't use so much of it remembering song lyrics. Would I be an expert in quantum physics? Would I be a world-class athlete?

Answer: No.

What I was trying to say was I was lying in bed and I heard a train whistle in the night. Which is one of my favorite sounds. I immediately called Ned, because I am impolite and make phone calls at 11 p.m.

"Is there a train going by?" I asked. Ned lives .0006 inches from the train tracks. He is practically Nell from Dudley Doo-Right, tied to the tracks.

"Yes," said Ned, who'd have to be stone deaf to miss said train.

"I can hear your train!" I said, excited. I said, unconcerned about Ned's need for REM sleep.

So, I like that. When I hear a train I know I am hearing Ned's train. That he is over there with his whole place rattling and the screaming train whistle destroying his hearing bit by bit with each passing locomotive.

We need to start saying "locomotive" and not "train." Fancier.

Anyway, I like the sound of a train in the middle of the night. What sounds do you like?

Also, I love reading Post Secret every Sunday, and yesterday there was a video. 3:30 made me weep. Cause I am a giant pussy.


Am off now to do Tracy Quartermaine workout now, and I wish I could tell you how terribly much I adore me for remembering Tracy Quartermaine.

Janeelliot12The first person who did something productive after school like participate in athletics or have a job and who therefore says, "I have no idea who this is" gets YOU KNOW WHAT from my YOU KNOW WHERE.

June. Off to look for The Ice Princess.