Bye Bye Buy

What are you doing over here?

2008-01-01T12:41:00.000-05:00

Not spending money is sooooo 2007. Come on over to Bye Bye, Pie. I'm gonna stop eating for a year! Join me, June GonnaEatThat, and my spouse, Marvin Gardensalad, at our new locale.

(In case the whole link thing baffles you, the address is byebyepie.typepad.com)

You see, George? You really had a wonderful life.

2007-12-31T12:26:00.000-05:00

I was all set to tell you today that I have learned nothing this year. I tried to not spend extraneously, and now it's done and that's that. I was going to say that as I predicted most people were really supportive, I wasn't perfect at it but I lasted all year and we saved some money. The end.

But a funny thing happened on my way to this blog. Yesterday, I went up to the attic, where Marvin Gardens can be found -- not because he is a bat, but because his recording and musical equipment is up there, so where else would he be? -- and I asked him, "What are we gonna do with the money we saved?"

All year we have asked ourselves that. For a while we thought we'd take a trip to Italy. Then we moved 3,000 miles and ate into a lot of our savings, so Italy was kind of out.

Then we talked about splitting it and each buying a bunch of stuff, which would probably mean grooming items for me and music things for Marvin.

Anyway, for the 47th time this year, I asked Marvin that question and together we came up with the same answer: how about nothing?

How about we keep our savings as savings? We don't touch it, and we keep saving?

Now there's a thought.

So when the new year comes and we can go out there and shop, Marvin is going to get a new pair of tennis shoes and I might get another pair of sweatpants. Maybe. I have decided to use up the makeup I have, I already fixed my hair, I got some new clothes for Christmas, so you know what? I'm good.

I cannot tell you what a profound change this is for me, and for SpendyPants Marvin.

So I guess we did learn something. We learned to live with less.

I learned that there are many occasions when a phone call -- and actually LISTENING to the person you call -- is nicer than sending flowers. I learned that oftentimes, food made at home actually tastes better. I learned quiche is really easy to make.

I learned that if you are going to make Christmas gifts, give yourself many, many months, not two, or you will break out in a hideous rash, which is decidedly not Christmasy. Well, it's red...

My favorite part of this year, far and away, has been this blog. Yesterday I asked people to make comments if they haven't done so yet and as of right now, I have more than 70 comments! And please, if you haven't commented yet, do so! It was so rewarding to hear from all of you.

As they say in It's a Wonderful Life, no man is a failure who has friends, so I guess I am not a failure. I am also not a man, but whatever.

So thank you all for reading this, for commenting, for sending me gift certificates and cooking utensils and recipes and Teen Beat magazines and for trying to buy less, too. You made my year so much more fun.

Now, won't you join Marvin Gardensalad and me, June GonnaEatThat, over at Bye Bye, Pie for a year of good eating and supposed exercise?

Happy New Year to You, in Jail

2007-12-30T10:06:00.000-05:00

Well, the ornaments are down (and at one point lying shinily on the table waiting to be packed, as you can see), the tree is sadly on the curb, everything is put back together in its nonholiday way.

I guess Christmas is over. And we have no plans for new year's eve.

Why is it so much harder to make friends when you get older? Remember college? You made friends the first day. By the time I'd lived in Seattle five months, I not only had friends that I still have today, but a serious boyfriend, too.

I have been HERE five months and yes, I know people, but were we invited anywhere for Christmas? Or New Year's? That'd be a no. Is it because we're older or because we're repugnant?

However, we can celebrate the fact that our year of not spending is officially coming to a close. We have about $6,700 to our names, which is $6,200 more than we had at the beginning of the year. Plus we hauled our arses across the country, and got established somewhere else. So I think that isn't so bad, all things considered.

Tomorrow I'll do my big goodbye to you all. But in the meantime, if you have been reading this and have never commented, could you give me a shout out? All you have to say is "Dayton Ohio delurking" or wherever you are. If you don't know how to comment, you click on "Post a comment" at the end of my post. Then just log in as anonymous.

I would love to hear from you all, if I haven't yet!

Out you two pixies go, through the door or out the window.

2007-12-28T18:20:00.000-05:00

I went to the doctor today, in preparation for my new health blog that will begin January 1st. He did all sorts of tests so that I know what condition I am in now, then in six months, then at the end of the year. I am so excited I could spit.

I made the appointment months ago, because I wanted to get my health stats as close to 1/1/08 as I could. But I'm glad I had the appointment, because I am covered, covered I tell you, in some sort of rash.

Goodness, I do hope my friend Donna is not reading this particular entry. Rashes freak her out. So does the word "succulent." Now I have really made this a nightmare post for her.

The bad news is the doctor has no idea what is wrong with me and I have to go to a specialist. My theory is it's Lassa Fever or something.

Lassa Fever is what everybody got on General Hospital in like 1982. I think it was a way to fire the boring people (like that poor nurse Audrey, who was 702) and get a new, young cast.

I do hope you're all planning to join me over on my new blog. Then if that one gets really popular you can be cool and say, "I was reading her back when she was doing Bye Bye Buy." Kind of like how everyone tried to act like they were huge Nirvana fans before they got really big.

How much of a chance is there my health blog will become as popular as Nirvana? Is SOMEbody getting a bit big for her britches? Indeed I am. Hence the need for healthy eating.

Me and my hives will talk at you soon. I want you to know I'd really like to buy a fat caliper before January 1, but I am abstaining so far. I know. I am steely with self-discipline, aren't I?

Hey, I have a big idea. Since you all know what my New Year's resolution is, why don't you tell me yours?!

We don't need any characters around here to give the place atmosphere.

2007-12-27T19:14:00.000-05:00

I understand that there are only four days left until I can spend like a banshee. But I was getting that red velvet cake look again so bad. Here I am this morning, pointing out my roots. Wait. I have a closer-up image. Get ready.

Seriously. I could not go another day with this hideous look. I had been trying to wait and not dye it out of a box, because I was getting so close to the end of the year. What is WITH me and the quick root growth? So, I called the hairdresser in Charlotte, where I got my hair cut last month, and they could see me TODAY. Perhaps someone here had already alerted them to the dire situation. So into my car I went.
And it only took two and a half hours and three processes! First, she had to put dye all over my ridiculous grays. Then she added highlights. Then she put toner on the ends. Oh, and then when that was all done she added toner overall.

Basically, it cost today what it would have if I'd have just gone ahead and had my hair professionally done three times this year.

Which as you can see, really annoys Winston.

I want to spend Christmas in Elmira with my family.

2007-12-26T21:18:00.000-05:00

Remember Christmas 2005, when my cat sprayed blood on the VCR and I spent the holiday at the emergency vet? Remember Christmas 2006, which I spent completely alone, opening gifts by myself, having dinner alone?

Welcome to Christmas 2007, or as I like to call it, Sniffmas.

Who got sick right on Christmas Eve? I was feeling fine one minute -- my stepfather and mother got here, we took them on a drive through the town, which took seven minutes, and all of a sudden I started feeling a tad ...sniffy.

By midnight mass, you talk about away in a manger. That's where the congregation wished I'd go. You can imagine how happy everyone was to shake my hand and say, "Peace be with you." I got a lot of waves across the room. A whole bunch of those "Hey!" with the pointing of the thumb and forefinger.

Today was less Boxing Day and more Box of Tissues Day. It has been one of those colds where you must have Kleenex six inches from you at all times or it will not be pretty. Thank goodness I got some nice new sock monkey pajamas, and a new robe, because I got out of my old pajamas and wore those all day yesterday. I even wore them in the car, when we took a drive to look at Christmas lights. I figured there was little chance we'd run into Jude Law and I was right.

The good news is that Marvin Gardens found the DVD Arthur in the attic, which is one of my favorite movies, and wrapped it and gave it to me and I had NO IDEA it wasn't new, or that we already owned it. I was too ill to notice the whole lack of cellophane. I never would have known had my mother not spilled the beans, which Marvin was thrilled with her about.

As for me, I had decided that for Marvin, I would take a really cute picture of his grandfather playing with the family dog and frame that for his gift. I couldn't tell you about it before now, because I force Marvin to read this blog whenever I post.

At any rate, I had discovered the photo when we were at Marvin's parents' house at Thanksgiving, and had sneaked it into a book to take back. So, when it came time to UNsneak said photo out of the book, who suddenly had no photo?

Oh, did I turn this house upside down. I was panicked, I tell you. Not only would I have no good, relatively inexpensive gift for Marvin, but I would also have LOST a nice picture of his GRANDFATHER.

Finally I located it, in Marvin's desk. I have no idea why it was there. I had hidden the picture in a 1970s modeling book. Why had Marvin been perusing THAT, I ask you? Is he secretly Halston?

Well, anyway, I don't know what I was thinking. Where around here did I think I'd find a cool little frame? John Deere does not carry cool little frames. And the ones at Wal-Mart were inexplicably bad.

So Marvin did not get a framed photo, but rather the very story I told you above, except with my cold voice. "Marben, I tried to frabe you a photo ob your grandfaber..."

That was my holiday. Please now tell me about yours. My Puffs and I are eager to hear all.

Merry Christmas, you wonderful old building and loan!

2007-12-24T13:11:00.000-05:00

I do not know why I am bothering to blog, as about seven people will be reading this over the next few days. I threw in a photo of Renee being heavy with child at my 40th birthday party, because it is a heavy with child kind of day. I am sure she is going to be happy with me.

Okay. The food shopping is done. Hors d'oeuvres are either out on Christmas plates or ready to be put together in the fridge*. Gifts are wrapped. Stockings stuffed, even the cats' (they get Baked Lay's. Not a cheat, because it's food. They love Baked Lay's. I do not know why).

The house is clean. The guest bedroom has been as de-catted as possible. I have yelled at Marvin Gardens for being a slob 750 times.

We are set for guests. My mother and stepfather are driving here as we speak. Which we aren't.

I put my makeup on today and the sun was screaming through the window. Since all the leaves fell off our eight million oak trees, the sun really shines in here all day, which is nice. However, me? Looking in the mirror at noon, which I don't normally do? WOW! What clogged pores? Holy mackinerny.

I haven't gone an entire year without a facial since about 1976, when I was 11. And back then, obviously I didn't have money to run out to Elizabeth Arden -- not that there was an Elizabeth Arden in Saginaw, Michigan -- so what I did was boil water, put a bunch of herbs in there, throw a towel over my head and steam for 20 minutes. I wish I would have thought of that before now. The moon called. Wants it surface back (that was for you, stie).

Do you think facial places will be open January 1?

*Renee gave me easy hors d'oeuvres ideas. Want to know them? One is take a cracker, blue cheese, a walnut and drizzle maple syrup, just a touch, over it. I know. Sounds sophisticated. She used to work for Wolfgang Puck. The other is a cracker, Gouda cheese and a sliver of pear.

I am also serving Christmas cookies, of course, candy, various breads and candied nuts. Plus two dinners. Somebody kill me.

I hope you all have a merry little Christmas, if you celebrate it. Otherwise, I hope your Chinese food is good.

George, the richest man in town.

2007-12-22T15:03:00.000-05:00

The church mice called. They want their privacy back.

Seriously, I am LIVING at that place lately. I get there at 8 a.m. and I leave at 8 p.m.

However, the 750,000,000 bulletins are DONE, all of the poinsettias for the altar and the tree have been delivered, and today someone came and picked up the gifts that the parishioners chipped in and bought for someone who needed it.

And guess who had to go to the church at noon to open it up?

And girl, I slept till 10:30, then lay there in the bed talking on the phone with my mother until 11:30. So I slapped some coffee in a cup, put on my sweats and Patagonia pullover and Converse shoes, and drove on up the hill.

Representin'! Woo! I'm sure the rector would be proud.

I got there only to hear a voice mail that the woman picking up the gifts was gonna be late. But you know what? It was noon, and all the church bells were going off.

Several churches here play their bells when it strikes the hour, and noon is the best one, because they play more stuff. So do you know I took my coffee and sat out on the back steps and listened to all the bells? Oh, it was pretty. And suddenly? I felt Christmas-y. FINALLY.

Then when I got home? Guess what? That man called me! He was ready to pick up all the gifts for his kids!

Guess where he wanted to meet? Okay, you all understand that I am not actually all that religious, right? I mean, I never WENT to church in Los Angeles. Am I supposed to be POPE or something? I am like a boomerang trying to leave that place.

So Marvin and I loaded up four or five giant bags with all those gifts and drove the car back to church. At this point my car just drives there automatically. You don't have to steer or anything.

Anyway, I am thrilled to tell you his wife and kids were in the car! Marvin made up some story about how Santa accidentally delivered all these gifts to us, and do you know those kids were squealing and trying to rip everything open already? Not to mention I didn't wrap the teddy bears, and they could see those sticking out.

The little boy asked me if he got to sit next to me during church, and we all had to explain to him that there wasn't church right now, that I am apparently a belfry bat and just spend all my time there.

Anyway, those kids were adorable, and it was way better to meet them and see their reactions rather than just imagine it.

I hope they like everything they got.

I hope they fell for the Santa making a mistake thing.

Thank you all again for your donations. You all did a wonderful thing, I promise you. Those kids were beside themselves.

See ya in church!

I'm not sleepy, I want to look at my flower

2007-12-21T12:49:00.001-05:00

Don't you love Christmas card peak day? You know what I mean, when you get like 10 cards in one day? This usually happens around the 19th or 20th. It's always such a letdown when you go back to getting just bills and NetFlix movies.

In case anyone is keeping track, I only have 10 days to go before I can purchase new white T shirts, a new pair of jeans, five new pairs of work pants and get a professional dye job and eyebrow wax and pedicure.

Not that I have it all planned out or anything.

I have a friend who used to be unhappily married, and to fall asleep at night, she would mentally pack her half of their stuff. When she finally did leave this guy, she said it took her about 30 minutes to clear out of there, as she had rehearsed it in her mind so much.

I haven't obsessed about shopping THAT much, but I am getting mighty sick of how shabby everything looks. I do not know if I really replace my clothes more than I think, or maybe I needed a wardrobe update before this year began, but The Little Matchstick Girl called and wants her look back.

How many times in this blog have I said someone called and wanted their something back? I'm gonna guess 20. I only say that line because it used to irk my Beleaguered Officemate so much, and now we live 3,000 miles apart, so I can only bug him cyberly, and only when he reads my blog.

At any rate, I have to go back to WORK, to finish printing out NEXT Sunday's bulletin, but before I go, let me tell you a little something about the difference between Marvin Gardens and me.

This portion of my blog is dedicated to my friend Saundra, who can't get ENOUGH of people telling her about their dreams.

The other night I had the best dream ever. I was in Manhattan, meeting Marvin, my mother and my stepfather at some Broadway show. This is ridiculous, as we would never do that and I don't even LIKE the theater. However, there I was, in line, and behind me was Woody Allen, who I adore. Somehow we got to talking and we ended up taking a long walk, and we talk talk talked before he took me back to the theater and met my family.

I woke up so happy that I got to visit with Woody Allen!

Then the other night? Marvin Gardens dreamed he was waiting in line at the insurance office.

And there, folks, is how Marvin and I differ. I have dramatic highs and lows. My moods change 47 times a day. I laugh till I cry and cry till I laugh.

Marvin? Pretty much always the same. I can think of three times he got mad in the 22 years I have known him. His favorite ice cream is vanilla, and his favorite doughnut is plain. I think this is good. One person needs to be the flibbertygibbet and one needs to be a pillar.

Okay, gonna go change moods now.

I've been saving this money for a divorce if ever I got a husband.

2007-12-20T09:42:00.000-05:00

Really, one of the funnier lines from It's a Wonderful Life, although I take issue with the movie's portrayal of African American people.

I am stressin'. Yesterday at work I did the bulletin for this Sunday's service, printed all 65 copies, which takes two hours because it is HUGE, added the weekly insert, mailed the thing off to those who are home bound, printed out large copies for people who can't see close up such as myself, and distributed said bulletins at various places in the church.

Then I dashed home and got Ruby in her cat carrier and screamed on over to the vet, because she's really quite ill and two different antibiotics haven't seemed to help. They decided to do blood work and X-rays on her, so they told me to come back in an hour. I went to the post office then back to the church, thinking I could start on the MONDAY Christmas Eve bulletin.

When I got there, the church organist showed me that one of the hymns in the Sunday bulletin was CUT OFF ON THE BOTTOM and the entire last line of the song wasn't there.

Folks, I actually sat on the floor and cried. CRIED. Then I had to print out new copies of the song, cut each page in half to fit in the bulletin, and PASTE those pages into every single bulletin.

But do you know the choir was there and they all rallied and helped me? They were cutting, bringing me more bulletins, cheering me up. It made a nightmarish task that much less horrid.

I stayed at the church till after 8:00, and Marvin got Ruby from the vet. She has asthma! Who knew?

So I have to go back now and do that Christmas Eve bulletin AND the one for next Sunday. I am exhausted, my throat is scratchy, and my right hand is absolutely killing me. Remember a few months back when I had sparklefraffle in my wrist? I think it's back.

Must Christmas be so stressy?

Oh, but I do have one bright note. At the post office, naturally there was a line, and the woman behind me started jumping up and down and screaming. She had just opened her mail, and found out she passed her boards and is officially a nurse! We all hugged her and clapped, and when she started crying we all got misty with her. It was so cute. And do you know I was mailing yet another package to my cousin Katie, the one in nursing school? Maybe this is a sign that she will be a good nurse. Maybe she can fix my wrist.

Four-F on account of his ear

2007-12-19T07:48:00.000-05:00

I have cracked. I have cracked like a marble that goes from boiling water to cold water. I know that was a terrible analogy, but I have to be at work in 11 minutes. Clever is out the door.

You guys, I bought -- yes, BOUGHT -- presents for my stepsister, my stepgrandmother and for Marvin Gardens. I suck. There just is no TIME. And Una? Your husband said he'd email me some suggestions and he didn't and it's SIX DAYS till Christmas so I did my best. They are from Amazon; you can return them. I TOLD him time was a-wastin'. It is somehow all his fault.

Oh, and I panicked and got something for my mother, too. All told, I spent about 225 bucks, maybe 250. Which, yes, is better than the $1200 from last year. But the point was to spend NOTHING.

So here is my tip for anyone thinking of not spending. Start making Christmas presents in October! I am not even exaggerating. It takes longer than you think.

Darn. Have to be at work in six minutes. That means I only have five minutes and 15 seconds to brush my teeth. (Love my commute!)

Holy mackarel, I'm married!

2007-12-17T16:34:00.000-05:00

Is anyone else feeling a tad overwhelmed? I keep thinking, "Once I [insert insipid task here], I can relax and enjoy the holidays." And yet I am still not with the relaxing and the enjoying.

I had a stupid statistics textbook to proofread, due today. Not ONLY was it that fascinating topic, statistics, but it was about a computer software program to help you ANALYZE statistics. Wooooooooooooooooooooooooo! With the stimulating topic. So you can imagine how easy it was to read and actually pay attention to.

So I finally got that done, at 11 o'clock last night, shivering outside a FedEx drop box filling out the address label, when what do you think came today? MORE statistics to proofread! I am standing here beside myself.

I am grateful for the work, as I'm sure you can tell, but must it be 10 seconds before Christmastime? Because you can imagine how there is no work to be done at all at the church. Christmas? Not a big deal or anything over there.

Plus also beyond that incidentally, there is the whole MAKING OF THE GIFTS thing that I am STILL doing. Now, Marvin was a big help this weekend, when he wasn't disturbing my proofreading.

Let's pause from our broadcast to discuss pretty Marvin. For four years, I worked from home as a busy freelancer. And proofreading? Kind of a job that needs the concentration. I know I've said it before, but if they wrote it "Variables dialog box" on page 72, you had better ding-dang notice that it's suddenly "variable dialogue box" on page 97. There were four differences between those two phrases. Using your number 2 pencil, write 750 words on what they are.

So, every single day for four years -- because I assure you I never had a day off -- I used to say to Marvin, "I'm proofreading now. Do not disturb me." Who would get ants in his pantaloons the MINUTE I told him that? Suddenly he would begin his clogging practice, or he would open the door and stare at me, his mouth half open to show he was JUST ABOUT to say something, but didn't want to disturb me. Sometimes I would let him hang like that for 40 or 50 seconds before I would growl, "WHAT." And it was always, "I'm going to 7-Eleven. Do you want anything?"

Now I am back with the freelancing, and I can assure you Marvin's inability to leave me alone has not abated. Now when I'm done proofreading? He is always in the middle of a Who documentary and does not want to be disturbed.

However, he made a lovely stupid homemade gift for my mother, which took hours and I am glad he helped out. But folks? My Uncle Omar? I caved. I sent him golf balls. Hi, Uncle Omar! Merry Christmas! Surprise!

Uncle Omar golfs 750 hours a day. He went to Scotland to golf. Many times. What is it with men and the golfing? It grabs them like horses do women. Do you know any women who have horses? I know three. All of them are completely horse-addicted. And yet I know no women addicted to golf, and no men addicted to horses. Discuss. Number two pencils only.

So due to my Uncle Omar's love of the golf, I actually know his brand of golf ball. So I spent 4 minutes on line and $40 and got him said balls. Did you even know their WERE brands of golf balls? Why? Why don't they just have the "Round Small Hard White Ball Co." and be done with it? What possible difference could there be?

So, sorry, Uncle Omar, that I did not make your gift, even though you spent hours of your own time trying to teach me algebra in 10th grade. Girlfriend is pressed for time. Girlfriend has 20 million Christmas Eve bulletins to make, and 900,000 chocolate cookies for other relatives. Girlfriend knew you'd like you the golf balls. Girlfriend does not know why she must continue to refer to herself as "girlfriend," or even in the third person, for that matter.

I had better return to my proofreading, and then to a vestry meeting at the church in an hour. Oh! But I wanted to mention, in closing, that the one-year anniversary of me as a blogger came and went, on December 15. It is very exciting. Almost as exciting as a statistics textbook.

Girlfriend out.

Well Annie, why don't you draw up a chair? (updated)

2007-12-15T17:45:00.000-05:00

Today we decorated for Christmas. I took 8 million photos, then the battery died, and you can only see about three actual pictures. I hate digital. I hate the future.

We purchased our tree from a man who looked exactly like Ronald Reagan. It was uncanny. It was without cans. He had a cowboy hat on and everything.

Ronnie charged us $36 for a seven-foot tree, which if you ask me isn't bad. We went into his store, and apparently it is the kind of place where men sit around together and play checkers or whatever. I have always thought that was a cool idea, but haven't seen a place like that till now. He also had dead animals mounted on the wall and paneling. I could have stayed all afternoon and gossiped and spit tobacco, but no one invited me to stay.

This whole story is neither here nor there. It is mostly to tell you we spent $36.

(If you read yesterday's post, you will see I am living up to "Butter-Butt.")

Then we bought a tree stand for $10 and when we got home, there was a tree stand with our Christmas stuff. I TOLD Marvin we had one. And it turned out? We had to use that one anyway; the one we bought was too small.

And then once I put lights and tinsel on the tree, it didn't look like enough. I searched and searched for more, and finally went to CVS and bought both. Then, when I moved something, who found a giant ton of tinsel? All this illegal purchasing for nought.

So here are the photos that actually managed to evade the stupid battery attack:

Before (Ruby and Francis are begging me not to change things around.)

After

My mother sent this pretty flower arrangement. My ex-coworkers will note it was sent by a competitor. Oops.

There was a whole "Nod to Hanukkah" picture, and a picture of how obsessed I am with silver, and maybe after the stupid battery charges, I will have the wherewithal to put those photos up, as well.

What on earth does "wherewithal" mean?

SEVERAL CRANKY HOURS LATER:
There is something wrong with that ding-dang camera. Trust me. The room is pretty. At least I was able to retrieve Nod to Hanukkah:

Here is our tree. Hope there's a new digital camera underneath it!

It's a shame that somehow, during all this decorating, Ruby became possessed by demons.

What I am trying to say to you is that with me? It can't be too silvery. Honestly, I am the Elton John of decorating at the holidays.

I am like a crow. I like shiny.

They're cheering! We must be good!

2007-12-14T15:57:00.000-05:00

There is a man in this town who cracks me up. Yesterday he said to me, "I had to drive to Monroe today. Honey, you know that's a long, damn-ass way."

I really couldn't have put it any better my own self. Driving to Monroe always SEEMS, in theory, that it won't be that bad of a drive. Then when you're in it? You're like, "This is like being in a nightmare. Will this drive ever END?"

Anyway, today I went to Target in Monroe and got those kids their Christmas gifts. If you are just tuning in and have no idea who "those kids" are, go back the last few posts. I never shut up about them lately.

Before I begin showing you my pictures of the OBSCENE amount of stuff I got, may I just give you one aside? I mailed my cousin Katie's gift today. Now, I am gonna let you in on a little secret, just between you and me. My grandmother? When I was little? She called me Butter-Butt. I have no idea why. One could certainly say that my buttocks are still in the dairy family, but I don't think one would use the term "butter" to describe them today. Other than, say, "Wow. She must love her some butter."

At any rate, on Katie's package, I wrote "Butter-Butt" on my return address. And do you know someone I know got behind me in line at that post office? Who was MORTIFIED, thinking that he'd read it? Wouldn't the town be talking then?

So, here we go. First I will show you a picture of what I got the boy (click on the photo to enlarge):

Here is what I got the two girls:

Here's what I got for them to share:
I also got two pairs of slipper socks and some bath stuff for the mom.

Now here's my question. Technically, I got more things for the girls. It SEEMED like I was getting more for the boy, but when I counted, he only got eight things (pajamas, a truck, some sort of gun that shoots Nerf balls or something, a big tank, inflatable bugs, stuff like that) and the girls got like 11 things, even though some are small (like wands and clothes for their Barbies I got).

I actually bought a bunch of stuff and had SO MUCH money left over that I went back. Twice! And I STILL have about $150 left over. Should I go get three more gifts for the boy, or just do the grocery store card? Do five-year-olds count how many gifts they get? I was an only child; I have no clue.

Why do we have to have all these kids?

2007-12-13T21:22:00.000-05:00

Yesterday at Garden Club, somebody asked me, "Has your cat brought home a snake yet? He will."

So today Winston and I had a talk. We have come to an understanding. I will let his stripy ass outside if there are NO SNAKES IN HIS LIPS when he returns home.

Tomorrow I am going to the store to buy toys for those children. Y'all are sending me nice comments saying what a good thing I am doing, but in reality, you have sent over FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS! So the funny part? Is I will not even have to spend my own money. So, it's a nice thing YOU are all doing. I am just the shopper.

I mean, $500+ is enough for this family to have a Christmas, right? And I talked to them, and they do not WANT any food. They are going to dinner at her mother's. So maybe I will do a gift card or a grocery store card or whatever with the leftover cash.

Anyway, tomorrow I will take pictures of what I bought so you can see what your hard-earned cash got these kids. I'm so excited! It cracks me up that I STILL don't get to spend money!

Well, I get to spend your money.

Over here. In the hydrangea bushes.

2007-12-12T18:45:00.000-05:00

I was in a whirlwind, a WHIRLWIND, I tell you, all day. I had my regularly scheduled day of work, but ALSO today was Garden Club, which was being held at the church. So who tried to be a Garden Club member and a church secretary at the same time?

There I was, printing out 65 copies of the 28-page church bulletin on one printer, printing out and mailing minutes from the vestry meeting on the other, all while preparing for a special service at 1:30 today AND helping to make floral arrangements for people in hospice.

Let's talk about my floral arrangements.

Everyone had a little pot and wet floral foam (that's that green stuff inside the pot that you get when you get flowers. See how educational it is to read me?) and every kind of green you could imagine. There was Douglas fir, magnolia leaves, holly, fluffy fern-looking things, and all of it was making my throat close up something fierce.

Nevertheless, I stuck a bunch of greens in that floral foam, and it looked like this:

Everyone else sat around, genteel and lovely and wearing pearls and drinking cider, and softly and gently they all made this:

How long do you give me before I'm kicked out of Garden Club?

At any rate, I was running from one room to another when something caught my eye. I turned, and there in the hall was the man who needs help at Christmas! He smiled at me, I smiled at him, it was ridiculous. I ran over, cause he's on crutches, and said, "I didn't understand your last message! I didn't know whether to call you or not!" He said, "Well, ma'am, we've been waiting on your call." See? You guys were right. Shows you what I know.

So, he gave me a list. Now, this list is too modest. He wants a Barbie for each girl (one is 5, one is 6) and a pair of shoes for each. For the boy (also 5)? A truck. So far you guys have sent $390. I think I can safely get all that, wouldn't you think? Also, I do think I will get them food.

I am taking everything to his house (he lives in a trailer, actually) on the 23rd, so I have time to get good things. I'm so excited about shopping for them that I could spit floral foam. If anyone else wants to donate, just email me at manpolly@gmail.com.

Oh, why don't you stop annoying people?

2007-12-11T21:05:00.000-05:00

Dear Cousin Katie,

You know that we have always been close, and that you are like a sister to me. Now that the Christmas season is drawing near, the season where we let our loved ones know our deepest, most meaningful feelings, I would like to take this opportunity to say I want to KICK your LILY-WHITE arse and the arse of everyone who had anything to do with you being put on the earth. (You're going down, Aunt Kathy.)

I have just completed the DING-DANG nursing book I made you for Christmas. Since I told you you could not check my blog for the rest of the year, this will come as a complete surprise to you.

Given that all my Christmas gifts have to be free this year -- due to me and my stupid, stupid plans -- when I drew your name at Thanksgiving, I was delighted that of all the people in my family, I drew yours, because even if my gift SUCKED ROCKS, you would still appreciate it. Not as much as you seemed to appreciate that Pixie Stik in the photo above (nice sugar trance), but quite a lot.

Well, let me tell you something, missy. No one has ever had more glue on them than I have currently. Even Elmer. (Shouldn't a horse, and not a cow, have been the mascot for a glue company? Or would that have been tasteless? Do they really make glue from horses, or is that a myth, like tennis rackets and cat guts?)

And do you have any idea how hard it is to cut using those stupid scrapbooking scissors? Oh, I know, you are over there learning how to do sutures and IVs and such, and scrapbooking scissors probably sound like a breeze. Well, trust me. They are not. They are yet another thing invented by The Man to keep women home and oppress them. I never want to see another scalloped corner in my life.

And why did I decide each page had to be a different color? And I do not mean yellow and blue. No, I decided each page should be TAN and DARK TAN. Seven hours into this little project, do you think those colors looked any different? What is wrong with me? Why can't I accept that I am 109, with bad eyes and a worse temper, and that this blush and bashful color scheme was going to turn on me in the wee hours?

Anyway, Merry dingity dangity Christmas. Next year, you're gettin' a gift card.

Love,
Your Cousin June

It's poison I tell ya, it's poison!

2007-12-10T18:50:00.000-05:00

Remember the part where I am doing a health blog next year? Here is what Marvin and I bought at the grocery store yesterday:

A large box of frozen taquitos

A large box of Mrs. Paul's Fish Sticks. Why do her fish stick?

A six-pack of Suzy-Qs

Grape juice (are we SEVEN?)

Rainbow-colored Twizzlers, because we support gay licorice

An avocado. Everyone needs a vegetable

A giant tub of already-shelled pistachios; we are busy executives. We don't have time for that pesky shelling

And finally? Trail mix. We are often hittin' the trails.

Seriously, we are the least-healthy eaters on the face of planet earth. And frozen taquitos are a cheat, because technically I could get my Hispanic on and cook them myself. I haven't the first clue how, but I COULD, which is our rule about what groceries we buy.

In LA, my neighbor was from Spain, and every new year's day we would make tamales. Apparently it is tradition or good luck or something. I just think it was a way to amuse Alicia, my neighbor. She would take that wet, floppy corn husk and put wet thick tamale stuff in it and roll it up in a flash. I'd be over there with husk all draping on myself, the tamale innards falling everywhere. She would literally double over with laughter. She would actually point at me and laugh.

I cannot tell you how much I miss being humiliated by her.

I also bought a blank book yesterday, for making my cousin's nursing book for Christmas. Have I thanked all of you for participating in said book? I got so much good advice; I think she will love this gift. Way better than the earrings she wanted me to make her, mainly because my earring-making skills are equalled only by my tamale-making abilities.

My mother is trying to help me by coming up with the lamest things possible for us to make her for Christmas. This is like the year she knew I was poor, so she asked for a slotted spoon. So far, she has asked that we send her our home movies and that I print out this blog. Do those sound like the most depressing Christmas gifts ever, or what? This is the woman who has saved the ornament I made in 1971 from cardboard and tin foil, so I guess she is easy to please.

Have I mentioned there are only three weeks left of this experiment?

Boys and girls and music. Why do they need gin?

2007-12-09T14:15:00.000-05:00

Why, indeed? Gin tastes like pine needles to me. Ugh.

When I was little, I used to play house with my toy kitchen and kitchen accouterments. I put film in my toy refrigerator because my father was a photographer, so we had film in our real-life fridge. I didn't know it was weird till some kid came over and told me.

Anyway, I had these tinted brandy snifters someone gave me to play with, which is always a nice idea. Let's give fragile, breakable containers for holding liquor to this three-year-old! I loved those dang things, and I would pretend to be some lush named Helen, who drank gin out of a brandy snifter all day. No one in my family drank, and I wasn't allowed to watch the soaps, but I must've been sneaking in viewings of The Secret Storm somewhere, because where else did I get this ridiculous idea?

Then when Tic-Tacs came out? Old Helen became a gin drinker AND pill-popper. I used to pretend my hands were shaking as I dumped out Tic-Tacs and crammed them greedily into my mouth. Why didn't someone get me professional help?

So, I sent out holiday cards yesterday. Seventy-two of them. I bought them last year at half off, so calm down. Also, I had a bunch of 39-cent Christmas-themed stamps left over, so all we had to do was buy the two-cent stamps. Then beyond that, I used normal stamps.

Do you have any idea how much it bothered me to send out cards with that stupid Liberty Bell stamp instead of a Christmas stamp? I do not know when I became Anal Anus Girl of Analtown, but somehow having Christmas return address labels and Christmas stamps has become a big part of the sending of the card. Now, seriously, WHO LOOKS at that part? Me and some other detailed person with too much time on their hands, that's who. And who wants to impress whoever that odd duck is?

So, if you know me (Bert! Ya know me?) (That's TWO It's a Wonderful Life lines in one post! Woo!), please forgive me my dull, not-at-all-red-or-green depressing Liberty Bell stamp. I promise I will Christmas you to a pulp next year.

You Like Every Boy. What's Wrong with That?

2007-12-07T22:21:00.000-05:00

I have sometimes wondered what Violet Bicks' story was. She grew up in an idyllic place like Bedford Falls, and yet she was such a slutenheimer. Could she have been victim to some sort of abuse? Because how else do you explain her inappropriate behavior?

Do you think I have watched It's a Wonderful Life a few too many times? You are just lucky we didn't do When Harry Met Sally lines this month.

Once again, I have many odds and ends (emphasis on "odd") to tell you. Because my leading gets screwed up every time I use a bullet list, I will instead bullet my paragraphs with the scales. Seriously, how annoying am I?

Do. I told Marvin about how one of you referred to me as a saint. He said, "June. The Patron Saint of Lost Marbles." Who loves himself? Remember how Mr. Roper would say something mean about Mrs. Roper, then grin at the camera? Marvin TOTALLY did that. Hearts himself.

Re. You know the family we all talked about adopting for Christmas? I think they don't want our help. I called the guy, reminded him who I was, told him I'd love to get a few things for his kids. He called back and just left this message: "Mrs. Cutoff Cash? Thank you. Very much." Then he hung up. This means thanks but no thanks, right? Cause you know I want to call him back and say, "Does that mean no?" This should give you some clue as to what kind of cool cucumber I was in the dating world.

Me. Speaking of me, I am so excited about next year's health blog that I wish I could just start it now. I have already got the web address, the design, the concept, the whole shebang. Don't you hate people who say "the whole shebang"? Another overused phrase? "Voracious reader." Can't you be some other sort of reader? How about just "I like to read"?

Fa. A long, long way to go.

So. Screw it. We are getting a Christmas tree. I am getting really sloppy about not spending, aren't I? I don't care. The only reason I care is because I have this blog and you're all watching me. (I sound like that idiot who sang that song. I always feel like somebody's watching me! Get a prescription, bub. No one gives a crap.)

Last year, I spent Christmas day 100% alone, Marvin was at work. It was awful. Then I had to work the next day, which really should be illegal.

Two years ago, Marvin had to work (he is Rudolph. I have not wanted to mention it. His nose really comes in handy when we drive in fog.), so I went to midnight mass myself, which was at like 7:00 so why do they continue to call it midnight, and then I came home and cooked Christmas lasagna. I had just cut a piece of lasagna, put in (shocker!) It's a Wonderful Life, and JUST when I hit "play," my cat Mr. Horkheimer sprayed blood all over the VCR. So I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas day at the vet. There was another guy there putting his cat to sleep, and he was weeping like a child. It was heartbreaking.

The POINT is, I refuse to have another depressing Christmas. So I'm gettin' a tree. The end.

La. Speaking of sick cats, I had to take my cat Ruby DeLuna to the vet today, and she either has a cold or cancer. Okay, thanks. There's an undramatic scale. When I wrote the check ($87), I said to the receptionist, "It's Pearl Harbor Day" and she looked at me like, "Who's Pearl Harbor?" I hope I am wrong about this.

Te. Tonight we watched Swingers. I should really, REALLY stop watching shows that in any way celebrate Los Angeles. Maybe I should rent Earthquake, or is there a Manson murder movie I could see? Is there a movie of someone just sitting in traffic trying to get home from work to their $2,000 a month studio apartment? That would help.

Do. you feel sorry for me that I don't have kids? It just occurred to me today, for the first time ever, that when I tell people that, they may actually think, "Oh, that poor thing." When people ask me why we don't have kids, sometimes I love to say, "Oh, we try and try!" so they are forced to picture Marvin and me fornicating just all the time. But in reality, neither one of us wanted kids. And that is that dramatic yarn.

Not a smidge of temperature

2007-12-07T11:08:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is the last time I will request this. If you or anyone you know is a nurse, PLEASE COMMENT OR EMAIL ME very, very soon with your advice for a new nurse. It will go in a little book I am making for my cousin's Christmas present. God, I miss throwing money at the task.

So, again, working on it this weekend. Any advice you'd give a new nurse. Or? Also? I guess if you aren't a nurse but have had good or bad experiences with one? You can tell me about that and I can add some what not to do/please do this advice.

I have only 37 pieces of advice but was really hoping for 100. Thanks!

You don't like coconuts? Say brainless...

2007-12-06T18:53:00.000-05:00

Oh, I stomped home from my church job in a huff today. A HUFF, I tell you. I have an old boyfriend who once said of me, "She left in a huff, her favorite mode of transportation."

Truthfully, that was his shining moment, right there. Other than that he kind of sucked.

Anyway, I am just saying. This is the LEAST straightforward job in the history of time. JUST when I think I have learned everything, somebody calls me all in a lather because I should have done something I NEVER KNEW I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO.

I feel like a useless idiot.

So I came home mad. MAD, I say. Mad and pouty. That kind of pouty where you just want to get in your car and drive until you see the ocean and, God willing, an oceanside bar. Instead, I opened my mail. And do you know I got the nursing home newsletter?

As some of you may know, I volunteer at the nursing home here because (a) it is free and (b) I really can't help it. I love that ding-dang nursing home. Sometimes when I am walking in, I see the lights on in the window of the activities room, and I can't wait to get in there and see what eveybody's working on. Am I the only person who actually loves nursing homes? I mean, the people at this one are in pretty good shape, so I find it the opposite of depressing.

And the nursing home newsletter. Oh, I want to edit it so bad. But I offered once and the person who wrote it said it was her thing and to keep my mitts off it, so Miss Have to Get All Up in Everything over here is leaving it alone. But the good news is, I noticed it was Miss T's birthday.

Miss T is one of my favoritest women there. We met because she was wearing a leopard-print nylon suit, and I do love me some leopard print. Turns out, she and I could talk for about 720 years and never get bored with each other. You know how that goes with some people.

So, you guys? I bought her a plant. And a little pot to put it in. The whole thing was $10. I only have three and a half more weeks of not spending and I screwed up now. But whatever. I wanted to get her a little something.

I got to her door, and was it decked out for Christmas at all? Holy mother of pearl, the whole DOOR was red and shiny and festive! When she saw me she squealed and clapped her hands. You would have thought that $10 plant was the Hope diamond. We sat and talked for the longest time, and she apologized for her door. Her whole room was like I was in Santa's workshop or something. Sister gets into the spirit. I told her not to apologize at all, that as soon as I saw her door, I felt all holiday-y.

And you know I did? I forgot about how angry and weepy I had just been 20 minutes before. All it took was a $10 plant. (It was a varigated philodendron, if you must know.)

Then I had to go, cause Miss Lilly was waiting for me. Miss T walked me to the door, and said, "Thank you for the plant, but thank you more for your friendship. It means so much to me." Then she hugged me for a really long time.

So basically I am glad I cheated today. Maybe I should be secretary at the nursing home.

You aren't paid to be a canary

2007-12-06T07:28:00.000-05:00

Dear Textbook Company,

Due to unforeseen business circumstances, I will be unable to meet my Friday deadline for editing your book.

First of all, do you have any idea how boring science books are? Can't you write a nice sex book or something? What about fashion tips? College students need to look snappy, too. Has anyone thought of teaching a course on celebrity gossip? Cause we'd all snap that book up, and meeting my deadline would be so much easier.

Secondly, due to forces beyond my control, there was a Hallmark made-for-TV movie on on Sunday night. Now, you know no person can go without watching one of those! Do you even know about those most excellent movies? Because they are accompanied by most excellent commercials for Hallmark cards. Did you see the Christmas one where the dad is walking alone in the snow, and he goes to the stop of the hill to read the card from his daughter? Oh! Weeping already!

Or are you too busy thinking about Googols and Pearson rs?

Furthermore, did you KNOW I am going a year without spending and it's Christmastime? This does not mean you can go without paying me, but it does mean I have to MAKE all my GIFTS. Do you really think I have time for your pesky book?

Finally, Textbook Company, it has come to my attention that there are three episodes from Six Feet Under in my mailbox, and I thank you in advance for your understanding about this matter. I can't decide if I think Rachel Griffiths is hot or really unattractive.

I look forward to working with you again soon. Would it be possible if you could pay me and I don't actually have to copy edit for you?

Best,
June

Comes in pretty handy around here, Bub.

2007-12-04T12:39:00.000-05:00

You have no idea how many times a day I swear while I am at work at the church. I still find that the 16 hours I am supposed to work is never enough to accomplish all I have to do, and while I am trying to cram all my tasks in, the phone must ring seven times with people needing something else.

This is when I swear.

So you can imagine my pretty language when the door buzzer went off today. I am trying to get the newsletter out, which is already late, as before a parishioner did it and now it's my job and HAVE I MENTIONED HOW OVERWHELMED I AM?!

"Yes?" I pressed the intercom, trying to sound nice.

"Ma'am, I'm here because I need help."

There was a man at the door of the church; he was injured. He has been unable to work due to his injury and cannot pay his bills this month. I went to the door and talked with him; the church has a plan in place to help people in need, which I told him about.

Then he mentioned he had three little kids, all under the age of seven. "What about Christmas?" I couldn't help but ask. "I don't know," he told me, looking down.

You guys, I want to help him. I'm certain his bills will be paid, but what about those three kids on Christmas morning? What about a tree? Decorations?

There are all sorts of reasons not to help: I do not know his whole story, some government agency could be assisting him, what if he's a drug dealer... But you know what? I hate it when people assume the worst about somebody because they're in need. I think the RIGHT thing to do is help somehow.

We do not have lots of money. We have a little savings from this year of not spending, but I am keeping that cash locked away, no ifs ands or buts. But what if we save a little cash between now and Christmas? I have a textbook I'm proofing for 25 bucks an hour. What if I took half my earnings from that?

I have the guy's phone number, do you think I could call him and ask what his wife and kids would like for Christmas? What would you do if you were me?

I wish I had a million dollars. Hot dog!

2007-12-03T13:00:00.001-05:00

(This line was actually said twice in It's a Wonderful Life. George Bailey says it as a kid, then as an adult, while playing with a lighter at Mr. Gower's store.) (Should Mr. Gower have curtailed a child playing with a lighter? Of course, he was so busy drinking and filling prescriptions at the same time.)

Yesterday I spent 96 hours raking the yard. We have at least nine oak trees in the front yard alone. I say "at least" because there is this whole Woodsy Owl part behind us, where we have seen actual deer that were alive and not someone's lawn ornament, and it is hard to count those trees over there.

So, it's safe to say we have nine in the front and seven million in the back. It is the mullet of trees: Business in the front, party in the back. I do not know why that phrase cracks me up so much, but it always does.

What I am trying to say is it's tree-y at our house. And we are responsible for yard maintenance. This is the first time in my life I have had to care for a lawn. In LA, lawn care was always part of the rent. Before that, I lived in apartments with no lawns. I did live with two women who owned their home in Seattle. What did we do? Did I just not help with the yard? That sounds like something I would have done in the '90s, yes.

So yesterday I slapped on my iPod and got to raking. And can I ask you, what in the name of God did we do before iPods? How did we go on the treadmill or fly or do unpleasant things like rake? Did we just have to face LIFE and have no SOUNDS as we did these tasks? How awful. Imagine how Ma Ingalls would have loved her an iPod during butter churning or sugaring off or hog butchering or whatever. Of course, she would have had to listen to Camptown Races or something, but still. Do-dah.

Turns out, the raking? Kind of an arduous task. The rector I work for told me I could come to his house and borrow his leaf blower instead, but I am morally opposed to them. At least I was until I raked for a solid hour and still had 98 pounds of leaves to go. At one point, this young kid walked by, and it was all I could do to stop myself from saying, "I'll give you 20 bucks to rake the rest of this dingity-dangity yard!"

But I did not. I persevered. And when I got up, sore and stiff today? The wind was blowing really hard, and our yard is completely covered in new leaves.

Oh, the do-dah day.

ZuZu's Petals

2007-12-02T10:22:00.000-05:00

(Day two of It's a Wonderful Life titles. I watched the movie yesterday for the 72,645th time, and wrote down many good ones.)

So, this company sent me some of their hand lotion and asked if I'd do a product review. I was so excited to be asked that I said okay right away. No one ever wants my opinion on anything.

Perhaps it's that I'm so willing to give my opinion that there is never time to ask me.

When it came in the mail, it occurred to me that (a) I am allergic to most lotions, gels, perfumes and other scenty products and (q) what if I hate it? Should I be honest? Also, (2.114c) am I allowed to review products? I have advertisers on this blog. So I did the adult thing and made Marvin Gardens read my bylaws and it looks like it's okay. Please nobody sue me.

The product is called Skin MD Natural, which made me think of a naked dermatologist. Am I alone in that? I opened it up to smell it, because if I'm gonna be allergic to something, it'll make my throat go "gaaaac" right away.

(I do not know when I became such a delicate flower. My grandmother had to use scent-free detergent and stuff, and now I am the same way. Soon I will become quite drawn to lilac-colored elastic-waist pants and low-heeled espadrilles.)

Well, the product has no scent, which was a relief. In fact, it's labeled as hypoallergenic, fragrance-free, and free of many other things that people get up in arms about.

Also, it isn't called a hand lotion, it's called a shielding lotion. Their claim to fame is that is provides some kind of layer between your skin and the world.

I'm all, "Okay, whatever." Then I put it on. Now, you guys, I never used to be a dry person. I was never one of those women slathering on lotion after they washed dishes, since I rarely wash dishes, and I never put lotion on after a shower, either. But since I'm suddenly waking up seven times a night, growing a Father Time beard and getting a large patoot, I am also noticing that my skin seems drier.

(Not my face! No. There I am still lucky enough to break out all the time. I had this fantasy that breakouts would stop at, say, 30. But no. So I get to have wrinkles AND breakouts.

I'm starting to get depressed.)

Anyway, I am not lying when I say to you this stuff feels different from any other lotion-y product I have ever tried. It's very light. They tell you a little goes a long way, and they were right. I ended up putting some on my legs, too.

My skin feels soft, but not AT ALL like I just put lotion on. I am not slippery in the slightest. And there is no smell to make me weep and heave and wheeze.

So, Skin MD Natural? Liking you and your naked self. And I would have told you if I didn't.

Oh. And also not to mention by the way too? (How irritating am I?) Marvin Gardens read their brochure just now and he said, "You know this woman in here is my dermatologist back in LA, right?" Well, no, I didn't know. I didn't accompany him to the skin doctor. But one of the people in their brochure is the doctor who finally got Marvin's skin condition under control. He had the leprosy, and BOY was that awkward. No, no...

Hee-Haw!

2007-12-01T09:18:00.000-05:00

It's December! I am on the last month of this ridiculous quest!

And by the way, in order to irritate Marvin Gardens, I have decided to say a line from It's a Wonderful Life every day in December. So to equally annoy all of you, I will make my titles It's a Wonderful Life-y as well. If you have never seen the movie, just ignore me.

In case you were on pins and needles all night, my new hair is cute. And it was only $40! She was all, "That'll be 40." And I was like, "Dollars?"

I tried to take pictures last night, but a mass of red curls at night just doesn't show up so well. Did I mention I want us to get a better camera on January 1st? So, since I cannot show you a photo of my hair, I'll put one in of me and my cousin Maria, coffee-in' out on Thanksgiving. Look at the snow outside! eeek!

After my haircut, I met up with my friend Marianne. Her town was having their Christmas parade, so she told me to meet her at a Target and she'd guide me through back roads to her house. She accused me of speeding, because I got there sooner than she predicted, which left me plenty of time to peruse the shopping at the strip mall, there.

I picked up some all-protein holistic cat food I have been wanting to try. Not for myself, for my cats. My friend Hometown Horse Lady, who might be from my hometown and who might own a horse, has recommended this stuff. She says her cats' coats have never looked better.

So, I don't consider cat food cheating, even fancy, holistic, Godless hippie cat food. But folks? I also bought a diffuser at the Target, there.

For those of you who are straight men, a diffuser is a thing you put on your hair dryer to keep your curls from becoming a frickin' mess. I actually did need it, if one considers one's hair looking decent a "need." It cost $15. Marianne helped me find a cheap one.

After that scandalous cheat, I retired to Marianne's house, where I finally met her parents, her kid, her yellow Lab and her two orange cats. Marianne clearly prefers animals in the yellow/orange category, whereas all of mine are in the black/gray family.

Anyway, you know how sometimes you meet people and you know RIGHT AWAY you are just going to love them? I have been hearing about Marianne's parents since before Clinton was inaugurated, and I love love love them! And her kid is one of those children who actually speaks in complete sentences, such as, "It's nice to meet you" and not "hey..."

I have to go back to the church today, as yesterday I printed out all 72 church bulletins, mailed them to the infirm, set aside 20 for the choir, printed and inserted the prayer list, and gathered up my stuff to leave. As I gathered, what did I find? An ANNOUNCEMENT that needed to go IN the bulletin for tomorrow! So now I have to go back and make aNOTHer insert for that dang bulletin. Crap.

At least my hair will look good and also diffused.

Myriad

2007-11-30T07:44:00.000-05:00

Do you have any idea when you are supposed to say "A myriad of things" as opposed to just "myriad things"? I have never found a clear, understandable definition. Irksome.

But I do have many things to tell y'all, in no particular order.

1. Blogger screws up my leading all the time. I hate it. (For those of you not proofreader losers such as my own self? Leading is the space between the lines. I am literally trying to see between the lines.) You can't put in a picture or a drop quote or ANYTHING without your type getting all squishy. Unacceptable. Next year, when I do my health blog? I am going to Typepad.

2. There is a guy? Here in this town? Who has TWO purebred BORDER COLLIE doggie-doos for FREE. FREE. I talked to him last night, and it turns out he knows the hoo-ha at our real estate agency, and he's gonna see if he can't get that "no dogs" policy lifted. Can you imagine? I always said I'd never get a purebred unless it was a rescue thing and it IS! Trying not to get too excited about my new dog, who I love more than life itself.

3. Today is haircut day. My grandfather always used to ask me, "Why don't you just get a butch haircut?" (It always annoyed my grandmother that he said funny things. But you know what? I remember them all. Aunt Mary, what was the thing he said about Jumbo's ass? That one is escaping me.) I may take him up on that. I think all that dyeing out of a box ruined it. I will certainly let you know, as it could be a terrible consequence of not spending.

4. I've got more, but I'm late for my 45-second commute. Every day on the drive to work, I think "Get me to the church on time!" heh. I am hilarious in my own head.

Not Very Artychoke

2007-11-29T12:31:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I almost died at the nursing home. Which is kind of funny, because if some sick bastard out there is placing bets on who dies there next, probably the 42-year-old volunteer is not high on the list. I am kind of the dark horse in that bet, I think.

You know how sometimes you are just sitting there, eating and drinking NOTHING, yet somehow you kind of swallow wrong and cough and sputter? So, I was plugging in the tape player to play Miss Lilly's book on tape (we are on the SAME BOOK still! I go there twice a week. I have been there since September. We are NOT listening to War and Peace. Will this story never END?), and when I stood up, I did that choking on nothing thing.

Only it was really bad! I felt like I couldn't do ANYTHING: breathe out, breathe in, cough, talk. Just then a nurse, or maybe she was an aide, or maybe just some person off the street who really likes scrubs, came in. "How much longer you gonna be with Miss Lilly?" she asked me.

I couldn't say anything.

"Cause I gotta give her her shower," she said.

At this point, I had raised my arms up over my head, like I was riding a roller coaster except for the COMPLETE LACK OF FUN part.

"Are you okay?" she asked me.

"Meeep!" I managed to gasp.

"You need me to call a ambyoulaaance?" Even though I was not breathing, I was fascinated by the way she said "ambulance."

Fortunately, I was suddenly able to cough and I croaked, "I'm okay. I was just choking on nothing, is all."

"Well, you get yourself together and I'll get Miss Lilly in the shower."

Okay, Miss Sympathy, thanks! Geez! Get myself together. Like I was having an hysterical fit or something.

My near death experience aside, I am losing my mind about Christmas. I am TERRIBLE at making things! It's way stressier than trying to just BUY something, let me tell you. Why do I have no artistic ability? Can I make paint by numbers pictures for everyone? How about I just spend $20 per person? That interpretive dance is sounding better and better.

Anyway, I have to go back to the church because Christmas? Turns out it's a busy time of year at the old church. Who knew?

I'll try not to phantom choke for the rest of the day.

Hair-rific

2007-11-28T14:29:00.000-05:00

Do you see this hot mess, here? That, my friends, is the back of my hair. This photo was taken when we were back in Michigan.

That guy is a friend of Marvin Gardens'. I liked him.

He must have felt terribly sorry for Marvin that he married someone with such screwed up hair. LOOK at that! It had snowed all over my head that day, but still.

Anyway, my rule for this year was that I got to get a haircut if my hair got ridiculous, and there is no argument for that.

Remember in I Love Lucy when someone tells Ethel she's never looked better and Fred says, "I won't argue with that!" Fred was underrated.

I have an appointment for Friday afternoon in Charlotte. The salon was recommended to me by the sister of a friend back in LA. You'd think this was a doctor's appointment, the way I did my research.

Afterwards, I am getting together with my friend Marianne, who lives 20 miles outside of Charlotte. Marianne and I met in Seattle, during a rugby game. We had both been dragged there against our wills. So, standing there in the middle of a wet (because it was Seattle), cold (because it was January) rugby field, Marianne turned to me and said, "You wanna go back to the car and drink all the beer?"

And a star was born.

I will keep you posted as to the hair results. Fret not.

What I would have done differently if I had this year over again.

2007-11-27T21:33:00.000-05:00

You know what I would have done? I would have said, "No gifts." And it was my fault, because everyone was just being nice. It was up to me to put the kibosh on it. And I did not.

The whole point of this year was to see what it was like to go without. It was not, contrary to popular belief, to see how much we could save, because I honestly thought we were living exactly within our means, so I thought our savings would be maybe $100 a month. Of course, I was wrong, and when we were working in LA at the beginning of this year, we were saving $3200 a month.

Which we should be shot for. Really. $3200 in disposable income every month? Who was I, Rich Uncle Pennybags? (That's the Monopoly guy, FYI. And you should have known I was he, what with the facial hair and top hat and all.)

Now? I really do think it's like one or two hundred a month, because we make so much less. But again, that is neither here nor there.

When I bought that five dollar yoga magazine last November, the article I read was about consuming less, alleviating the whole thinking that the hole in your soul is shaped like a new lipstick (or a DVD, Marvin Gardens), when no purchase will really fix you.

So, THAT was the whole point of this silly exercise. But you know what? I got a ton of stuff anyway.

I am good at attracting gifts. Some people are good at throwing parties together at the last minute. Some people can take cake mix, an old can of tuna, and some Pledge, and make the best dinner you ever had. Me? I get gifts. Ask my old roommates. They used to HATE me at my birthday and Christmas, because I got so many packages. In fact, I became friends with my mail lady in LA because she had to come to the door with boxes so often.

Plus not to mention too, I have really, really good friends who are generous to a fault. I do not deserve these kind people. Cause I basically suck. But I am glad I have pulled the wool over their eyes thus far.

I used to say I was basically a Cracker Jack prize. You know, sort of amusing for awhile, but then you can toss it aside and never think of it again? But considering some of my friends have been around for 40 years, (okay, one friend) I must be that really good Cracker Jack prize that Audrey Hepburn had engraved at Tiffany's.

Oh, and also? If you announce to everyone that you are not spending? People feel sorry for you and buy you things. My friend Renee told me that would happen, because it happened to her when she and her husband set up their "$20 a week spending money" budget. I was one of the people who bought her manicures and Dixie Riddle Cups (it's a long story) and such. I think we like to help, and going without sounds so... depressing.

So, even though everyone was wonderful to send me things and help me out, I should have laid down the law, and taken a look at what it was REALLY like not to have things. That said, thanks, mom, for the new winter coat and boots and coffee mugs and blanket! And thanks, Lisa, for the new makeup! My soul remains empty, but I am warm and colorful.

Puss and Boots

2007-11-27T07:35:00.000-05:00

When I was back in Michigan this week, my mother bought me a pair of black fuzzy snow boots.

I just spent an entire minute talking to them, thinking they were Ruby. I only figured it out when I went to pet her and she felt...boot-y.

Maybe I should have gotten that Lasik.

Ho-ho-holy mother of pearl that's a lotta decorations

2007-11-26T18:35:00.000-05:00

I'm back! Do you know that technically, it only takes an hour and 40 minutes in the air to fly between Charlotte and Detroit?

Whenever we landed back in LA, I always cursed the fact that we lived there. The airport was a nightmare, as was the shuttle, then the drive down the 405 to get home, crescendo-ing in the drive around one's home, looking for a place to park.

Remember when OJ drove down the 405? That was the last time traffic moved that fast.

Anyway, it occurs to me we are coming up to our last month of not shopping. Of course, we had to save the serious month for last. Not only will not buying Christmas presents be weird, but what about a Christmas tree? Someone recently asked me if we had a tree out front we could decorate, but all we have are gigantic oaks. And I would need a cherry picker to lift me up there for that decorating moment. Which probably costs money.

I have eight million decorations, all given to me by my mother, who I suspect is secretly Mrs. Claus. She has EVERY CHRISTMAS DECORATION EVER CREATED IN THE HISTORY OF TIME. She has a Christmas bedspread. She has Christmas ties that are not for her, but rather for my stepfather to wear EACH DAY in December. (Remember in On Golden Pond, when Henry Fonda says, "You could put on a tie and come as Miss Apply"?)

She also has:

Christmas toilet paper accompanied by a special tube that plays Christmas music when you roll out your paper.
a clock that plays a different Christmas tune at each hour.
Christmas china
reindeer ornaments for the lawn
welcome mats
aprons
towels
pot holders
Santa-shaped soaps in the bathroom, and what holiday would be complete without...
Christmas-themed covers for the doorknobs, which makes it impossible to open the door. Stay here in this house and be Christmas-y! Roast those chestnuts on that open fire! Do not TRY to escape!

Girlfriend likes her some Christmas, is what I'm saying. And I guess because she has every possible Christmas thing in her home, she started buying them for me. Now, the thing is, she goes for traditional red and green? Whereas I prefer white and silver. So she gets to buy all new things.

What I am eventually getting to here, in this long-winded A Very OCD Christmas story is that perhaps I can try decorating with all my stuff and see if not having a tree completely depresses me.

My mother is calling, so I'd best sign off. She wants to tell me about some cute Christmas votives she picked up today. I am not making this up.

Let Me Entertain You ...with No Gift

2007-11-23T09:19:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I had to tell a seven-year-old that I couldn't buy her a Christmas present.

Who felt like the Grinch?

The seven-year-old in question is my second cousin, Anna, who clarified our relationship yesterday in order to make the OTHER kid at Thanksgiving dinner, Emma, feel bad.

"June and my mom are cousins. So that makes June and me second cousins. What are YOU to June?"

Poor Emma looked at me, fairly panicked. So I jumped in. "Emma's mom and I are practically sisters, so that makes Emma my ***special niece***. "

I could tell this did not wash with these children. Being my second cousin was CLEARLY more important. I think it was all in the presentation.

I cannot imagine why anyone would want to admit they were related to me.

At any rate, I pulled Anna aside and told her we would be spending Christmas together, and I gave her the whole not spending in 2007 thing. She actually seemed to think that was a cool idea. So I told her that in lieu of a gift, I'd do either her hair, her makeup, or her nails for Christmas.

Well, believe it or not, she totally fell for it. She chose makeup, and asked if we could have a little preview with the new makeup Emma's mom brought me yesterday. So, we retired to the bathroom, and Thanksgiving dinner ended up being a lovely event with friends, family, and Jon Benet Ramsey.

And may I just add one more thing? During dinner, Anna got on her chair and said, "May I have everyone's attention, please? [she waited dramatically while everyone got quiet.] I would like to entertain you after dinner."

I have to tell you that Emma and I exchanged meaningful glances at this point, as we were clearly annoyed that we hadn't thought of this scheme ourselves. I had been planning to put all the black olives on my fingers later, in hopes everyone would notice me.

So look for me on a chair at my next social event.

Turkey for you and turkey for me.

2007-11-21T15:11:00.000-05:00

Hello! I can't hear myself think! Marvin Gardens is playing Christmas songs on his guitar eight feet from me. And may I remind you he is a Jew, so he will be struck down any second for this?

We leave for the airport in 17 minutes. I am in my robe because my bra is drying. Have I mentioned I will be excited to spend money again? I have ONE brassiere that is not all twitterpated and bad. All the rest have wires sticking out or they gap or whatever.

Here is what I packed today, after Marvin wanted me to just have a carry-on, and I recovered from that hilarity:

*My two pairs of jeans that I own. Both are frayed. I'm a frayed knot. Bah! Do you know that joke?
*My faded black pants I bought in March of 2006.
*My faded olive drab pants I bought the same time I bought the black pants.
*My black boots I brought in 2000.
*The ever-present silver shoes. Of course.
*The two new sweaters and Tshirt and pullover sweatshirt my mother just bought me.
*Seventy-five pink Tshirts purchased at various points during this century.

Mmmm! I will be lookin' good! And I have failed to mention that I finally dyed my hair, after all that debate and posting and wailing and stuff, and I am so gray that my roots? Pink. Seriously.

At least they'll match the Tshirts.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! I will TOTALLY wave at exit 22, Hotfessional! Good luck with all your cooking, Friend from MA! Eat pies, dcrmom!

Was Po the gay one?

2007-11-20T15:41:00.001-05:00

Can you believe this is the first chance I've had to blog y'all since Sunday morning? Yeesch! Things are busy here in the city that never wakes up.

I had to get in all my hours at work, because we are going to Michigan tomorrow. This is the first Thanksgiving I have spent with family since 1992, when I was days away from moving to Seattle. I remember sitting in the bathroom after dinner, listening to everyone talking at once thinking, "I am about to leave all this." But that was as deep as I got.

Let's travel back in time for a moment -- shall we? -- to me 15 years ago. My general outlook and attitude toward life could be summed up as TeleTubby. You know how the TeleTubbies kind of skipped around, saying "La-La" and they seemed kind of pleased with everything?

That was me, 15 years ago.

I had a job as a P.R. person in my hometown of Saginaw, Michigan, making $17,000 a year. One day, I got mad at work, so I went to my boss and said, "This is my 30-day notice." I had no plans whatsoever.

La-La!

I decided to move to Seattle. I didn't really know anyone in Seattle, but I knew they read more books per capita than anyone else. I had about $700 to my name. I called this guy I sort of knew from college, who lived in a Seattle suburb, and he said, "You can stay with me!" For all I knew, he could have been some kind of perv, or woman hater, or murderer. So, I got on the train.

La-La! Eh-Oh!

Here's what I have to tell you about my first six months in Seattle. I am sure my memory is not accurate, but what I remember is being greeted by a hoard of the most fun, cool people EVER, getting a great job five minutes later, and basically spending every second either dancing at gay bars, drinking at the bar in my building at work, or having 6,000 fun, cool people over to my fun, cool apartment.

And the guy I barely knew? Microsoft millionaire. Lived rent-free in his fabulous house for a month, while he took me to fancy restaurants. He never once was inappropriate or entitled. He was great.

The whole POINT of this rant is to say that coming home for Thanksgiving is kind of a full-circle thing. I went off for years to see the world, which I did, and now I live much closer and my silly hometown suddenly seems like a booming metropolis.

I'll be back with the fam, and my mother will say "This doesn't TASTE like anything, does it?" and my stepfather will say, "Boy. This is really living." and my Uncle Jim will stick a cigarette up his nose before dessert and I am so excited I could La-La!

Who are you? You're the birthday boy!

2007-11-18T12:13:00.001-05:00

Today is Marvin Gardens' 41st birthday. Yes, I know that I'm 42. I am a cougar.

Obviously, I was unable to get a gift for Marvin, or even a card. He does, of course, get to do whatever he wants all day. So far, that has entailed me performing certain wifely duties and having to listen to the song "Delta Dawn." (He wanted to hear it because of the line, "She's 41 and her daddy still calls her baby." It does not take much for Marvin.)

Later tonight I have to cook whatever he wants, which at this juncture is salmon, asparagus and key lime bars. Yesterday it was beef Wellington, so it's a very suspenseful time here at the Gardens-Cutoff Cash house.

It bothered me not to get a card. I felt so...unprepared for today. Even though cards are 100% a woman thing. Men could not care less about them. Remember when you'd go out and spend forever picking out a card for some boy you liked? Yeah. He didn't care.

One time, the day after Christmas, I was at Papyrus selecting 50% off Christmas cards along with 72 other women. We were all standing there for a long time, picking up each box, turning it over to read the messages inside, when a large man crashed through us, picked up a box without looking at it, and left. This is what I am saying about men and cards.

I guess I had better go make myself presentable in case Marvin wants to actually leave the house today. I could be in for a day-long marathon of The Who documentaries.

So, happy birthday, Marvin Gardens! Even though sometimes I want to bludgeon you with an andiron, you are still my favorite person on earth, and the cutest boy ever.

Forest for the Freeze

2007-11-16T21:14:00.000-05:00

This one time? There was a stray cat in my neighborhood? And I was feeding her? And could you smack me for all the question marks?

Anyway, this stray cat wouldn't let me touch her for weeks, until one day she did, and I realized she was really pregnant, heavy with child, as it were, so I picked her ass up and made her come on to my house, to myyyy house.

And even though I made her countless nests, she had six kittens on our bed. Thank God for Oxy-Clean.

Anyway, I'm just saying, those were the best six weeks of my life. With the kittens, the mom, and our regularly scheduled cats, we had 10 cats. TEN CATS! That is as good as it gets for me.

So today I was looking for something else and I came upon this photo of Forest. She is sleeping on Hedgerow, I think, and I know for sure that Bert is behind her, there.

I know where all the kittens are to this day, and the mom too, and every October 7, I call their respective parents to say happy birthday to the cats. Because I am a complete freak.

So, there is this guy I work with at the church, and it is evident that we are going to become friends, and yesterday he gave me this catalog of jewelry he sells. If I buy three items, the most expensive is half off.

Now, frankly, I do want to order something. But I know I cannot. And the thing is, I didn't just come out and tell him about my year's plan. And now I took the catalog, and it's gonna look like I perused the thing and couldn't find anything I like, and now I am coming up with this phony no-spending excuse. And how ridiculous of me would it be to say, "I cannot help you, and here, read my blog all about me to prove I am not lying."

You know what would make me feel better? Another kitten picture. Hang on.

Don't you just want to go back in time and kiss them up? That's Garland, sniffing his mom, Margaret Brown. She was an excellent mother.

I feel much better.

I tried to get you a watch fob, but no one would buy my hair.

2007-11-15T22:08:00.000-05:00

Christmas is looming before me.

I do not mean that Christmas is weaving something in front of me.

I know that Christmas is coming because the whole town is already done up in lights. And they do not pussyfoot around with the political correctness here; nosir. None of that neutral "Happy Holidays" for them. We are talking angels, Santas, the works. Not a word about Kwanzaa. And 50% of this town is African-American.

So, Christmas is waving its red nose before me and I have gifts to give people and I CANNOT BUY THEM.

Once again I am annoyed with myself for not knowing how to quilt or sew or cook or knit or glue or tie anything. I am TERRIBLE at all crafts. I would have made a ridiculous Civil War woman, as my handiwork would not have gone to help any cause whatsoever.

For my Aunt Mary, who has always spent 17 million dollars on me every year, we are creating a website featuring her pottery. Aunt Mary started this whole pottery thing as a hobby a few years back, and it turns out she is like the Michelangelo of the wheel or whatever. People cut each other to buy her stuff. Now, personally, I thought she should name her website "Mary Potter, Wizard of the Kiln" but she won't let me.

I have no idea what I am going to make her husband, my Uncle Omar. I hope he does not wish for an embroidered quilt that I also hand-painted.

My mother wants me to print out my entire blog for her, which strikes me as a tad -- what's the phrase I need, here? -- up my own ass of me to do. "Here's all me all the time! Enjoy!"

My nurse advice book I am making for my cousin is coming along nicely, so that's a relief. Again, if you know any nurses, have them send me advice! Anything they would want to tell a new nurse. Just click the comments at the bottom, here.

Fortunately, my father doesn't celebrate Christmas, despite the fact that he looks precisely like Santa Claus. In fact, he PLAYED Santa at his workplace for years, and loved it. So, anyway, that old Scrooge is eliminated. And Marvin Gardens' whole family is Jewish, thank God.

Remind me to tell you about the time Marvin went shopping with me for a Christmas ensemble for some party. The fact that we are still united in holy matrimony, and that I was not chopped up into small pieces and buried under the mall, is a Christmas miracle in itself.

I will solider on with my lack of Christmas craftswomanship. Do you think everyone would like an interpretive dance for Christmas?! There we go! Somebody pick the song for me. I could put it on YouTube for everyone to enjoy.

Mrs. Gardens

2007-11-14T21:44:00.000-05:00

Today was the monthly meeting of the garden club and I was invited back. There was no work this time, just a fabulous luncheon to say goodbye to one of the members, who is moving to Tennessee to live next door to Keith Urban. That's what she said; what can I tell you?

In Marvin's and my interminable walks, we have gone past this elegant-looking bed and breakfast where the luncheon was held (and they DID call it a "luncheon," just like in Nancy Drew books), and I have always wanted to go in. And oh! it's divine. We ate in this sunny dining room with windows all along the back, looking out onto a beautiful fall garden in the back yard. And there was chocolate cream pie.

Plus also too, one of the members treated me to said lunch and the treasurer told me not to pay my dues till next time, so I stuck to not spending without even trying.

Everyone in garden club is so elegant and refined. I told this to my mother, and she said perhaps it'll rub off on me. I am thinking my crude personality will rub off on all of them.

Soon meetings with start out with, "It's time for the damn meetin'. I'm gettin' PISSED."

So, I guess I have officially become a nonpaying member of the Lilliput Garden Club. (I got a big charge out of myself for calling this town "Lilliput" yesterday, so it's going to be my official name for where I now live. This way I can talk freely about it without the worry of someone here Googling the real town name and finding my scandalous blog.)

In other pressing news, I went to the WalMart today and got a box of hair dye. Then I ended up being too tired to tint tonight. After a hard day of secretarying and not gardening, I was beat. So I continue to look like snow falling on red beets until tomorrow.

Squint and I'm Still Cute

2007-11-13T21:27:00.001-05:00

You all may be right. I may be having depression hair. You should never cut your hair after a breakup or bankruptcy. I am having neither, but I did have a big move to a little place. It's not Lilliput, but you know what I mean.

Not to mention I totally got free contacts today because some man thought I was cute. That is one thing I like about living here; I am still atractive. At the nursing home, they call me, "The pretty girl." Yes, they are addled and occasionally blind, but I'll take what I can get.

In LA, they passed a law that I had to wear a bag over my head when I got anywhere near Beverly Hills, West L.A. or Malibu. I mean, women my age look like Lisa Renna, for heaven's sake. And by the way, she -- along with Julia Roberts -- is among the famous women who used to be older than me but suddenly are my age or younger.

Getting back to my milkshake and its ability to bring the one boy to the yard, I went to MUNroe to get glasses today. The man working at the eye doctor was so nice to me, as everyone here is. I was asking him if insurance covered both frames and contacts when he interrupted me to say (are you ready? This is exciting), "Don't you have a nice, thick head of hair on ya."

He then proceeded to give me free contacts. I am not making this up. He said it was just between us (and everyone reading this blog).

Now, you understand, it was my HAIR that got me these contacts. I know other women get private jets and trips to Barbados with their looks, but I will settle for free contacts.

So, Kellie, I am doing what you say. I am buying me another box of hair dye. And stie, I will not cut it yet.

Because apparently I am sizzlin' in central North Carolina.

And tomorrow? We'll talk about my bad work wardrobe.

2007-11-13T13:12:00.000-05:00

Someone STOLE the rector's laptop!

In case you are just tuning in, I work as a secretary at a church in the world's smallest town. You would think crimes like this would not happen.

I mean, sERiously! And you want to know what's even scarier? The only people in the church last night were the Girl Scouts!

Now, is there a badge for stealing computers? From a man of the cloth?

And guess what else? Turns out rectors swear too.

Anyway, that was my drama for today. I am sure the police probably think it was me, as I am new there and have a key. And hey, do you like this new laptop I'm typing on? I just happened to get it yesterday!

No, no.

So, getting back to the topic at hand, which is, as always, my hair. If I decide to grow out the gray I have a few choices here. One of them is NOT to look the way I look now. I look like a red velvet cake with a cream center. The stripe of white at the roots is silly.

Here are my options:
(1) Get a large headband and wear that to hide the roots. And by "get" I mean "buy."
(2) Get my hair cut. Which costs.

So which thing do I do?

I wish they had a special island for people who have to get through awkward hair times. You could stay for six months or a year, and everyone would be understanding of everyone else's hair weirdness. It'd be perfect. Why doesn't someone invent this? You could go to grow out the gray, or if you were growing your hair back after chemo or even a bad haircut. Or if your extensions weren't working, Britney. Or what if you got a really bad perm, self in 1988?

It could be called Bushy Gardens. Or Scandals. Hairwaii? The Isle of Wight Hair?

Please send help.

I have decided to be greedy

2007-11-12T16:50:00.000-05:00

One of the parishioners invited me to his house after work.

Oh, get your knickers out of their twist. He's 85. But he and his wife have a 1929 colonial house with a giant garden (his wife's in the garden club), and I had told him I knew I'd love the place.

And was it beautiful? Would I run my mother over with a tractor to own that place? (sorry, mom.) I told him that if I ever got to live in a house that grand, I'd never be sad again. It has SEVEN fireplaces, a stunning entryway and staircase, all hardwood floors, chandeliers, beautiful molding. And the gardens! Oh! You would die.

He also had an adorable terrier who looked just like Sandy in Little Orphan Annie, and do you know that terrier was outside playing with two huge dogs the whole time I was there? I asked if those were his dogs, and he said, "No, the lab belongs to Lynn down the street, and I don't even know who owns that mixed breed. They're always hanging out here."

How much do I love the country? Those dogs were living high on the hog, let me tell you. They were in this safe circle cul-de-sac area with huge woods, chasing squirrels and each other.

Also inside this elegant house was the oldest, most decrepit cat you have ever seen in your entire life. In the beautiful sun room, there was a huge IV on a pole. "That IV belongs to the cat," the parishoner told me.

The cat, if you could still call it that, was laid out on the master bed. Did you ever see that movie Seven when they think the guy on the bed is dead but then he moves and all the detectives jump? The cat looked like that. Nubile it was not. It creaked at me and struggled up for pets, which it wanted plenty of. You know how ancient cats are all bones? Seriously, it was like I was petting a skeleton that someone threw an old rag over. Oh, that poor historic thing. I think it was Methuselah's cat at one point.

Anyway. After having visited this glorious home, it has become apparent to me that I wish to be rich. Is that bad? Is that greedy? Does everyone else get depressed when they visit a house like that? Do you think proofreaders/church secretaries ever get big houses like that? Without marrying up? How many years do I have to not spend to get that house?

I'm totally Lois Lockhorn today

2007-11-12T07:32:00.000-05:00

It's Veterans' Day, and Marvin doesn't have to work. He is not a veteran of anything, really; nevertheless they gave him the day off.

Well.

It has been a long time since I have had Marvin underfoot while I try to get ready for work.

First of all, he is the world's perkiest person in the morning. The alarm went off at 6:45, and two notes into the song that burst on, he's singing along at the top of his lungs. Then he's LEAPING up. "IT'S MORNING! GET UP!! TIME TO GET UP!"

Let me tell you a little something about June, over here. I am not a morning person. I hate to sound like Garfield, but it's true. I am perky at 11 o'clock at night. Six forty-five a.m. is not my peak hour.

And when I finally DID roll out of bed at 7:10, who do you think was already on the computer? MY computer? He has his OWN laptop. But he's clacking away on MINE.

I like my coffee like I like my men. Ground up and in the freezer.

Gray's Unfit Anatomy

2007-11-10T17:38:00.000-05:00

You know what I think I might do? I might grow out my gray.

It has only been three weeks and I have a SERIOUS stripe of gray going on. In fact, I'm gonna go measure it. Hang on.

HALF an inch! I had Marvin confirm it. Half an inch of gray in three weeks. This is ridiculous. Moses called. He wants his hairdo back.

There is a really pretty youngish woman here who is very chic, and her hair is gray. I was pondering this idea all afternoon, and do you know I just saw her at the Wal-Mart there just now? I think it's a sign. A sign from God. Because God has nothing better to do than drop me hair hints at the Wal-Mart.

I am sorry that we had to go to Wal-Mart. I really am. I had to develop those photos, the ones I took of my grandmother's grave, because I'm fun like that, and it's the ONLY developing place in town. Honest.

And by the way, Marvin knew about 87 people there. I have noticed Marvin knows all the black people and I know all the white people. I think this is because his kids at school are mostly black kids, whereas everyone in the Episcopalian church is white. So there you go.

And in case anyone is paying attention, I had earlier said I was not going to develop my photos until January, as this developing of film is unnecessary spending. But I also took pictures of the Halloween festival in town, and one of the old ladies at my nursing home where I volunteer is DYING for me to develop the shots in case I took one of her great-granddaughter dressed as a fairy. Which I may very well have, as I was drawn to all the kids in fairy princess costumes.

So, see? I'm doing it for others, not for me. And I was a grownup and chose the two-day developing, which is $1.12 less than waiting an hour.

Oh, but then? When we were leaving the Wal-Mart, having said hi to every person of every color there? I saw they had the new Dr. Oz book, the one about staying young. It is PERFECT for next year's healthy living blog, which in case you didn't know I am hard at work on, behind the scenes. Oh, I wanted that book.

Marvin said, "You can get it if I can get a DVD that I want." Oh, I was tempted. I want that book SO MUCH. But I said no, not allowed.

We checked out and got to the parking lot. We put our things in the trunk. We got in the car and started driving.

"OH LET'S GET THEM!" I screamed.

So now I have to go read my Dr. Oz book. A $17 cheat. I suck. But I'll be healthy! And gray!

Oh, and also? My cat barfed an intact rubber band.

2007-11-09T22:44:00.000-05:00

What a stupid day.

I had a dream last night that my worst ex-boyfriend possible was having dinner at my mother's and I was there too. I for some reason had to act like this was perfectly okay, even though the whole time I felt terribly uncomfy.

So thanks, mom, for inviting worst ex ever over. You never even liked that guy when he was my not-during-R.E.M. boyfriend. Glad we could all have ham croquettes together.

If that weren't bad enough, I had to drive over to Monroe, which people pronounce MUNroe, to have a Lasik consultation. I finally decided to go ahead and do it, as I cannot see far or near. Talk about near, far, wherever the hell you are.

I know that my nearsightedness will go on. I can't see you if you're on fire, at this point.

So, I underwent a series of rather freaky and nauseating procedures (does anyone else get sick when they do that, "Which looks better, one [flip] or two? Two [flip] or three?" thing with the eye chart?), and after feeling like I'd ridden the Octopus and was on the verge of a seizure with all the lights they flashed at me, the doctor told me I have thin corneas.

Well.

My abdomen is distended like I have kwashiorkor. Each strand of my hair is the width of penne pasta. My nose is as bulbous as WC Fields'. But my corneas? Oh, those! Why, those are thin as can be!

The only thin thing on me is THE THING THAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE THICK!

So, because I have these Hollywood-starlet-thin corneas, he did not recommend Lasik, but rather this ablation procedure, whatever that means, (I told him he could not tell me any gory details) which costs the same but HURTS MORE.

After getting over the blow of this info, he went through many details, and we were just wrapping up when I said, "So, the day of the surgery, I'll get Valium and a sleeping pill. I can pretty much guarantee that I'll get a migraine from the stress. Will my Imitrex interfere with those other pills?"

"You're on Imitrex!?" he exclaimed.

Guess what? Imitrex (a migraine medicine) TOTALLY interferes with the measurement of your eyes. So I have to go off it for two weeks (hah!) and get those measurements ALL OVER AGAIN.

So here's why I decided not to get this stupid procedure. (A) The Imitrex was written on PAGE ONE of the info I filled out. This doctor clearly did not read my chart. (2) There is no earthly way I can go two weeks without my migraine drug. No way. And (B.1.7a), I really can't afford this.

Which is why my day got even more depressing.

I hate being poor like this. I thought I wouldn't care that we are making so much less money here. I thought it wouldn't bother me in the least, as long as Marvin Gardens is doing something he liked.

Well, guess what? Turns out I am a shallow gold-digger. I LIKED saving $3200 every month like we did at the beginning of this year. We can't even afford to buy a house in this dinky little town! I am 42! And a half! And I can't afford a house. Or Lasik. Or really, a trip to Wisconsin for Christmas, which I already SAID I'd do and really, really can't afford.

I came home from MUNroe crying like a banshee. I do not even know if banshees cry. They scream, don't they?

I wish I would have taken that copy editing job in Winston-Salem. Then I would not have to be a blind, thin-cornea'd, houseless, poverty-stricken loser who has dinner with her ex at her mother's house.

Crap.

Sheet Music Update

2007-11-08T17:31:00.000-05:00

[UPDATE]
That was the best five bucks I have ever spent in my life. You have never seen someone as happy as that cute old lady when I brought her that music. When I left, she was wheeling herself to the piano room to start playing.

I'll bet everyone in that home will be so glad to NOT hear "I'll be Home for Christmas."

So, how did we do this year?

2007-11-08T13:30:00.001-05:00

Speaking of the assisted living facility where I volunteer, I spent money on the woman who plays piano. She has had the same old songbooks for YEARS, and so I went on eBay and got her five more for $5. I'm gonna take them over to her today.

This cheat got me to thinking. It was exactly a year ago that Marvin and I were out to dinner in Westwood, and I was reading a $5 yoga magazine -- because I'm polite during dinner that way -- about people who made an effort to not spend money. I said to Marvin, "Let's do this" and he said "Okay." So that's how we got ourselves into this mess.

But I wondered, is there anything I haven't cheated and spent on this year?

The rules were: no restaurants, no gifts, no vacations, no shopping, no grooming, no entertainment.

Gifts. See above. Also, before I left my job in LA, I got a baby shower gift for a woman at work. But I have NOT gotten wedding gifts for anyone, next week is Marvin's birthday and all he gets is a dinner of whatever he wants, and I am making Christmas gifts.

This is pretty good for someone who spent over $1,000 on birthday gifts in ONE week last year.

And who spent $1,200 on Christmas last year.

Trips. Yep. Cheated here, too. We went to Cape Cod for a wedding. And we are going to Wisconsin for Christmas.

Restaurants. Well, this has certainly been curtailed dramatically from how we used to eat out. Which was daily. But we did eat at restaurants the whole time we drove from California to here, and also before our kitchen stuff got here. And we do cheat and go to, like, Subway sometimes. But still, way better than we used to be.

Grooming. So far this year I have not had my eyebrows done, nor have I paid for a mani or pedi. Someone bought me a pedi in May. I currently have rhinoceros hooves.

I have been dyeing my own hair, which I will be excited to stop doing. Excited to get my hair cut, too. I have not had facials, massages, reikki, chakra cleansing or any of the other ridiculous things I used to have done for entertainment. I am Nair-ing my own Clark Gable facial hair.

Shopping. The only time I bought stuff this year was when I had job interviews. Both times I turned down the job. Money poorly spent. Other than that, my clothes are a travesty. I look awful most of the time.

Oh, you know what? I also bought a dress and shoes for that wedding in Cape Cod. Yeesch.

Entertainment. We are doing well on this one. Went to a drive-in movie with Aunt Mary in September, and one of the last nights we were in LA, our house was completely empty except for an air mattress, so we saw The Simpsons movie at the Egyptian, which is a great theater. Other than that, we are really finding free things to do.

Also, we do not have cable here in North Carolina, and we did before. It sucks.

I have not bought myself books or magazines, which I like to do.

Marvin has not gone to see bands, which he likes to do.

So, in a nutshell, we have not been so perfect, but we certainly have gone with a lot less than usual. Plus, despite moving everything across the country, and making $100,000 less the second half of the year, we STILL have $8,000 to our names. Which is pretty good considering we maybe had $150 in savings last year at this time.

Honestly, though, you should see my feet. Pan called. Wants his hooves back.

Mouse Tale

2007-11-07T16:03:00.000-05:00

I can assure you that we were not the winners of cow bingo. All I know is that they expected the cow to poop at noon, and she held off till 3:00. I would too if everyone in town were watching me.

In other news, I went to see Miss Lilly yesterday, as I do every Tuesday and Thursday. We were listening to her book on tape -- and I must tell you that plot is getting exciting. The other day our chapter ended with a man coming up behind our heroine, and you could hear Miss Lilly and me going, "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" all the way down the hall.

So we're listening to our story yesterday when I noticed a MOUSE run into her ROOM! I wish there had been a camera trained on me. Cause I know I sat there, shocked and motionless, for a good minute at least. Now, Miss Lilly is blind, so she had no CLUE what was happening. After a minute, the dang thing poked its nose out from behind her dresser (the mouse, not Miss Lilly) and I turned off that tape.

"Miss Lilly. There is a MOUSE in here."

"Whaaaaattt!?!" Her eyes were huge.

"I am gonna go get help. He's way over on the other side of the room. Are you scared?"

"YES!"

So I ran RIGHT PAST that mouse, and I totally gave it the "tell it to the hand" flick of my wrist, like it was gonna understand that. "Oh, that person with all the hair is telling me to tell it to the hand. Well, then I won't jump on her leg. Glad she signaled me."

It seemed like every nurse in the place was missing. What if there had been a real emergency? I'm sure poor sightless Miss Lilly, stuck in her room with vermin, felt like it was a real emergency. Finally, I found everyone in this office, where I think they were trying to convince a family to stick their mom in there or something. I signaled wildly. I didn't want to screw up their sale.

I got help and stood at Miss Lilly's door, telling her they were gonna get that mouse out of there right away. I would not have crossed that threshold for a million bucks. And do you know that thing kept CREEPING out and LOOKING at me?

At this point, Miss Lilly was thinking this was hilarious. I kept telling her where the mouse was, and how it was still nowhere near her. Finally some really brave nurse came in and just moved stuff till she saw it.

I kept thinking of my no-nonsense friend Lisa, who grew up in the country. She would totally have moved furniture too. She would have picked up that mouse by its squirmy tail and thrown it outside and gone on with her day. She is also able to puke at work and go on with her workday.

I am not so tough.

So, I have to go back there tomorrow. I am thinking of leaving my purse in my car. I am also thinking of taking one of the cats with me.

I will not be eating cheese at any point between now and then.

Yeah, but it's not all bad here

2007-11-06T13:31:00.000-05:00

I left at 1:22 to mail a package. There were three people ahead of me in line.

I am home at 1:30. ONE-THIRTY! It took me eight minutes to go to the post office, wait in line, mail my package and drive home.

In LA it would have taken a week and a half.

Also, tonight is the Rotary Barbecue and Cow Bingo. I am afraid I bought us two tickets to said event, at 6 dollars a pop.

To play cow bingo, you select a square on the field, and if the cow poops on your square, you win $1,000. Everyone think positive, poopy thoughts about us!

I Heart Stupid-Ass L.A.

2007-11-05T19:15:00.000-05:00

There is this woman who blogs, Anne. Marvin Gardens has been reading her forever. Anyway, she lives in L.A., right near our old neighborhood.

Now, you know what I should not do? I should not read her blog.

On her Flicker account (or is it Flickr? If so, why? Why do things have to be misspelled? It isn't cool. It isn't charming. It's just annoying.), she has photos of a bad accident that happened right in front of Paramount studios.

I lived RIGHT THERE. I mean, I didn't live in the studio, but I drove past it every single ding-day day. This is how self-centered I am. I'm looking at pictures of a terrible ACCIDENT, and all I can do is think that I miss LA so much I can't even breathe right.

Even talking to my friends there is hard. They'll say stuff that they don't even know breaks my heart. One friend was talking about her rock climbing and her ping-pong and her movie festivals, and I wouldn't really want to do ANY of those things, but you know what? I want them to be OFFERED. I want to KNOW they are THERE. Just like I knew Prada was over there on Rodeo Drive and I couldn't afford a dang thing in it. I just want to be near that stuff.

I know it's only been three months. I may come to think of LA as a giant nightmare. My current commute takes 45 seconds, and the one in LA took an hour each way. Maybe I'll adjust.

But what if I don't?

Church Lady Goes to Work

2007-11-05T07:28:00.000-05:00

Today is my first official day as church secretary. I was training all last week. It was terrifying. You have no idea how much THOUGHT goes into one hour of church.

Yesterday I actually went to church so I could see everyone reading the bulletin I made this past week. I sat behind this couple who picked up the bulletin and started whispering furiously to each other and shaking their heads. Oh, I wanted to vomit throughout that entire service.

At the very end, the minister made the announcements I had typed on the back of said nightmarish bulletin, and when he said the flowers on the altar were given in honor of Ella Jones' birthday, the people in front of me said, "Emma! It's EMMA!"

Well, okay then. I swear to you, I really mean it, the note I was given, written by God knows who, said Ella. I am a proofreader. I can assure you it said Ella.

Anyway, I made sure to apologize to them after. The minister's wife told me one time a woman named Joan Whitehead had died, and in that week's bulletin she'd somehow written Joan Shithead.

So things could be worse.

Talk at you after my hard-hitting job.

A "Must" Have

2007-11-04T09:33:00.000-05:00

I found something else I want to buy, but of course I won't.

Our house smells musty to me. There is a basement, and big vents on the floor, so it is my assumption the basement kind of floats up through the vents.

Marvin Gardens doesn't smell it.

Then my car, which I just recently got back from my mother, smells musty, too. I think rain got in or something.

Marvin doesn't smell it.

So yesterday I was perusing Home Trends catalog. And in there, $20 for two, they had these bags you could hang up and musty odor is gone! I told Marvin and he said, "Get them. You can stick them up each nostril."

He thinks I am having hysterical musty-smelling episodes or something.

Does anyone else get ridiculous Home Trends catalog? My grandmother used to get it, and my father and I would pee ourselves reading it. I can tell you right off that Home "Trends" might be a little optimistic. It is more Home "Needless Things That Old Ladies Buy" catalog.

And if you think my grandmother wasn't their best customer. I recently watched a video of Grammy from 1989 and she is cooking. I do not mean that she had her own cooking show, although she could have.

Welcome to Cooking With the Woman Who Hates You if You're Not Related!

"Hi, I'm Evelyn. Get the hell out of my kitchen."

What I MEAN is, I was looking at home movies of Grammy, and on the fridge was this white disk with holes in it. I'm supposed to be cherishing the memories of my grandmother, and all I can do is think about that disk. What is it?

It was a spaghetti server from Home Trends catalog. There are different-size holes so if you want to cook two servings of spaghetti, you stick enough through that hole, or use the larger hole for six servings, etc.

Do you see what I mean? Things no one really needs, things that basically screw up the environment and cost needless dollars, and Grammy was ALL OVER THEM.

She had these fur-lined stands to put her glasses in at night, as opposed to just placing them on the nightstand like everybody else. She had an iced-tea MAKER, which of course you need, cause you couldn't be bothered to throw tea bags in a jug. No, sir.

So when she died, my father subscribed us both to that catalog. Sometimes we get on the phone and page through it together, giggling hysterically at the giant tent you climb in to get your hair cut (it catches the hair) or the five-feet-long toenail clippers.

Then what do you think happened? My father took Grammy's glasses holders and started using them for his OWN reading glasses, and he started raving about how convenient they were. Next thing you know, he sent me two from the catalog, and do you know they're kind of nice?

And now I want the de-muster.

You see? You can't run from your heritage.

Being a hypochondriac is free

2007-11-02T14:58:00.000-04:00

I was at the library today, and I decided I had that antibiotic-resistant staph disease. What is it? SARS? MERF? MILF? I forget.

There was a list at the library that tells you the symptoms of whatever it's called, and I had ALL THE SYMPTOMS.

You should know what in my lifetime I have diagnosed myself with spinal meningitis, an aneurysm, yellow fever, Lyme disease and sickle cell anemia.

I wish the above were just diseases I thought of that sounded bad so I listed them, but no, I really mean it. Sometimes I even go to the doctor to get tested, but then I had like nine doctors in a row QUIT or DIE, so I stopped pursuing these things and decided to suffer in silence.

Again, I wish the above paragraph were an exaggeration to be funny, but again, I am not making this up.

So you can imagine Marvin Gardens' delight when I called him at work, from the parking lot of the library, to tell him I had that SERF or TURF or whatever. (WHAT is it called? Is forgetting the name of it a symptom?)

Well. When I told Marvin about my disease du jour, he was snappish! That man has no heart. "I'm standing here with 50 screaming kids," he groused. "Well, don't answer your phone, then," I groused back. I have a DISEASE, after all. I can be crabby. It's probably the fever talking.

Anyway, I drove home from the library, thinking about how much I hate it when people answer their cell phones when they cannot talk. Seriously? If you can't talk, DON'T PICK UP THE PHONE! Or if you need to let the caller know you're alive, pick up and say, "Hi! I can't talk!" But don't let the person tell you about their new scary antibiotic-resistant disease and them blow them off so they feel like a fool.

When I got inside, the phone was ringing and it was Marvin.

"WHAT," I said.

"You have to get to the school right away. There are 10 puppies in -- "

"I'll be right there," I said.

I got in the car at 2:27, and got to the school at 2:31. I would have screamed over there sooner but some guy with a Confederate flag bumper sticker was driving like seven miles an hour ahead of me.

Do you know in the back yard facing Marvin's school there are 10 of the sweetest boxer puppies you ever did see? Oh! They're cute! I watched them for the longest time, while every fifth grader in the county said, "Mr. Gardens, is that your wife?"

After asking Marvin if we could have one, oh, maybe 49 times, I left, to the sound of every fifth grader in the county saying, "Goodbye, Mr. Gardens' wife!"

You know? I think I recovered from my disease.

The Wife Takes a Nurse. (And why does the poor cheese stand alone? Humiliating.)

2007-11-02T08:36:00.000-04:00

At one o'clock, FedEx is coming to pick up a box of junk I have proofread. It is 8:39 a.m. Do you think that box is ready to go? Or do you think it's still calling my name, filled with errors that need my red pen?

And do you think I JUMPED right onto that work today? Or did I blog first?

Why do I have the self-discipline of Britney Spears?

So, I will very quickly tell you why I have gathered you all here today.

I drew my cousin's name for our Christmas gift exchange. She is going to nursing school. Here is my brilliant and free idea.

I'm making her a book of nursing tips! If you know a nurse, please help me. I want to get 100 pieces of advice. Which, by the way, IS spelled a-d-v-i-c-e. You have no idea how many emails I have already gotten titled "Nursing advise."

So, I just need:
1. Anything you'd tell a new nurse or anything you've learned through the years.
2. Your first name.
3. Number of years you've been a nurse.

Direct your nurse friends here.

They can comment here or hit "email" in the View My Complete Profile section at right, or tell them my email is manpolly@gmail.com.

Thank you!

Several people in my family are funnier than me

2007-11-01T15:21:00.000-04:00

I had to share this with the world at large.

My father is on a road trip, driving the coast from Los Angeles to Seattle. He has had his top down, and remembered to wear sunscreen after the first day when, in his words, he looked like the bottom of a thermometer.

Anyway, yesterday he went into a little place for lunch. A woman sat down at the counter near him. She said to the waiter, "I don't know what I want to drink. I'm looking for something hot and alcoholic."

My father yelled, "Hey! Sitting right here next to ya!"

In case you thought he might have, he did not succeed in picking her up.

Post-Halloween Grave Situation

2007-11-01T10:28:00.000-04:00

Did you know I have nieces? As an only child, I didn't know if I'd get any, but the secret is to marry someone whose siblings procreate.

Anyway. When I went to the store to get candy yesterday, a man working there was dressed as a country bumpkin. Freckles, overalls, hay.

Well.

I hate to state the obvious, but you are in a town of 3,000 people. We are surrounded by cotton fields, horses and not much else. Do you think maybe the country bumpkin attire was a tad redundant? Is this outfit as opposed to your normal, city slicker look that you sport when you're dashing around town in a cab to get to meetings in one of our many high rises?

...There was a sort of festival uptown last night, and all the businesses had sidewalk events and gave out candy, and every single little boy dressed as Spiderman. Now, I know I am dense, but I did not attend movies this year and I do not have kids. Was there a Spiderman movie out this year?

There were many, many girls wearing princess ensembles. Now, these were my peeps. Every year I managed to be a princess, a fairy, or a fairy princess. Excepting the year my father made me a robot costume, which garnered me first prize at school.

We also went to the church where I am now employed, as they had a bonfire and a hot dog roast. I officially knew everyone there, which was fun. There is one woman, who I adore, who beelined over to Marvin Gardens after she hugged me. I knew she was gonna give him shit for not going to church ever.

She said, "Now, I know you're a Jew. That doesn't mean you can't come to church."

Have I mentioned I love her? I love old women, I really do. I guess it's because they often have no filter anymore. They just go ahead and say it.

So, that is all the Halloween news that's fit to print, but before I go, I have a NEW dilemma.

There is a giant tombstone right in front of my grandparents' graves. It is annoying. I have looked into it, and we can MOVE their stones six feet away and give them their OWN large tombstone.

I have had big plans to write a letter to our entire family, asking people to chip in for this if they want to.

I have been bugging my mother for months to go to the cemetery to take a picture of the graves, so everyone could see just how bad their current situation is. She never took the pictures, so when I was home, I took them myself.

But guess what? I didn't have a digital camera, so I would have to actually get my photos developed, and that is not ALLOWED. There is no way I can say this is a valid expense. So those dang photos will have to sit there till New Year's day. Annoying.

The call is coming from the house!!

2007-10-31T11:42:00.000-04:00

BOO! Were ya scared? Did you need your Schlitz? Who is this trashy couple, having to get all drunk to carve a pumpkin? THERE'S a good idea. Let's drink beer and wield a sharp knife!

Do you think anyone, in the history of time, drank Schlitz from a glass?

So, here's something I hadn't thought of. Candy for Halloween. Not really a thing I am supposed to be purchasing. Or is it? The rule is, it can be bought at the grocery store if I cannot make it at home. Okay, yes, I could go out and buy candy molds and suddenly learn how to churn out the chocolate, but that would be way more of an expense.

I guess I will go out and buy regular candy. I do not know how to make miniature 3 Musketeers at home. Nor do I know how to make Circus Peanuts, which I detest, and therefore am going to buy so I do not eat leftovers.

When I lived in Seattle, I had two female roommates (if you read my blog comments, these roomates identify themselves as Sabrina Duncan and Master Instructor Susan Harris, which was the name of the aerobics instructor on the videotape we worked out to. Videotape. 1991 called), and Master Instructor Susan Harris would go buy Halloween candy on, like, October 1. You KNOW it would be gone by Halloween.

So EVERY YEAR we'd go out and buy another bag at three seconds to darkness on Halloween, so the poor children wouldn't starve.

Anyway, I am supposed to be editing something right now, and you can see my work ethic is as strong as ever.

Remind me to tell you how ABSOLUTELY SCARY AND CONFUSING the church secretary job is.

If you go to church, please take a moment to appreciate the person who wrote that bulletin. And if they forgot to mention someone's birthday on Sunday? GET OVER IT. Maybe the secretary had eight funerals to make bulletins for that week. That's all I have to say about that.

Everybody write in and tell me what the scariest movie is! I say The Exorcist, hands down, nothing scarier on earth, cannot even look at a photo of it. You?

The Cold War

2007-10-30T10:22:00.000-04:00

If I hadn't had cats all my life, and didn't know perfectly well they are soulless, empty devil creatures devoid of emotion, I would swear my cats have never loved me more. I was just on the toilet, folks, and Winston jumped on my lap and stayed there. You should have seen our bed last night. It was like we were having a cat orgy. Francis glued in between us on the pillow, Winston on my feet serving as feline slippers, for which I am eternally grateful.

It is cold. Coooooolllllld. It was like 30 last night. I have not seen 30 since, well, since I myself was 30. Before I had this toboggan run between my eyebrows. Before I had a full beard, like Pa Ingalls. Back when I was on the other side of 130 pounds. Back when my vision was maybe 20/30 instead of 20/300.

I just wanted to stick with the "30" theme. In reality, my vision is 20/400, which means that what you see at 20 feet away? It looks like it's 400 feet away for me. And now? My close-up vision is gone too. Hello, 40s! Thanks!

I just got back from the eye doctor. Can you tell? There is a doctor that comes into my tiny town twice a week. It took me one and a half minutes to drive to his office, and there was parking directly outside. The parking was free. This small-town living is not all bad.

Anyway, he told me what everybody tells me. Well, not everybody. The guy who bags my groceries rarely tells me this. But what he SAID was, now that close and far vision are both going, I have to either wear really wonky contacts that go near and far, wherever you are, I know that my heart will go on. (You're welcome.) Or, I could have Lasik surgery.

I have been toying with the idea of Lasik for a while now. I could perfect my far-away vision, then only use reading glasses when needed. It would be so much better. Everyone I know who has had it has loved it. And yes, I know there are horror stories. Someone's eyeballs fell out and now they look like Don Knotts or whatever.

I read depositions for a living for years. I have heard it all. I should technically be afraid of gas pumps, hazelnut coffee and rear-end collisions, too. But I am not.

So, please give me your opinion. I said medical necessities were viable expenses this year. Is Lasik viable? I am currently writing to you with two totally different contact ideas in my eyes. They are at war with each other. I have Begin and Sadat in my corneas.

Please be my Jimmy Carter.

Hi-Ho, Silver Shoes!

2007-10-29T18:07:00.000-04:00

Yesterday on this blog, I listed things I plan to buy as soon as next year begins. Kellie asked if I planned to buy shoes next year, and I told her that just last week my mother bought me a pair of cute plaid flats. She said, "Good, because I was tired of looking at the silver shoes."

You guys. Look at every picture above. Every time you can see my shoes in my blog, from July to the present, I AM WEARING THOSE DINGITY-DANGITY silver shoes!

Oh, it's sad. And look, here's what I wrote about the silver shoes in September:

I had to buy an emergency pair of $30 silver metallic flats in July, and can I tell you how I have worn the pee out of them already? They have little tears in the metallic. I'll bet I have worn them 70 of the last 90 days.

Clearly, from my very own turncoat blog, this was not an exaggeration. If Marvin Gardens had a remotely metrosexual bone in his body, he would have noticed and pointed it out. But he didn't.

Anyway, I am just saying. This not spending is not pretty. I know I could have worse problems in this life beyond silver shoes, but that doesn't make it un-bad.

In happier news, my pal stie, who is cute no matter what her kids tell her, has awarded me with the Blogging that hits the mark award. Thank you, stie! I wish I could award this right back to you! In fact, I do.

I would also like to award Frankie of Frankie Can't Relax. I love reading her blog. It is funny, it is sad, it is completely relatable. I can't help but wish her the best every time I read her. She's the kind of person you want for your best friend.

I also bestow this award to Dan at The Hawaiian O'Brien. I have so admired my friends Dan and Renee for chucking everything and going to Maui to live. It was a dream they had for a long time and they went off and did it.

They hated it. That is probably an exaggeration, but they ARE going back to LA. Turns out Maui? Pleasant to visit, not so easy to live on. But you know what? They TRIED it. They had a dream and they followed it through. I think that's the most important thing you can do in this life. Do the thing you think you cannot do.

Things I am Going to Buy January 1, 2008 at 12:01 a.m.

2007-10-28T23:14:00.000-04:00

Okay, what'll be open then? Just my big bottle of Boone's Strawberry Hill or whatever I ring in the new year with. But as SOON as those stores open:

1. A book on World War II.

I know. Feminine. But the reason is that there is this Time Life book about island fighting that my grandfather is in. He was bored one day in like 1977, and found it at the library. (I am certain that "bored" meant he was about to drive an ax through my grandmother's head, but he would never, ever have admitted that.)

What kills me is he was so low-key about it. "Hey, I'm in one of those war books." He mentioned this at the end of dinner like a month later. I would have put up a billboard in town and stood in front of the book store dressed in my Marine outfit offering to autograph copies.

But the BEST part is that it's not just some boring soldier picture where he's standing in line looking militaristic or whatever. No. He is doing the JITTERBUG with some other (probably equally drunk) soldier, for a group of laughing ABORIGINES.

I am not making this up. And that is just so him, in a nutshell. He would do anything for a laugh, including posing with me and several mannequins in the middle of Jacobson's Department Store's fall display. (My grandmother was mortified. The ax was on the other foot at that point.)

2. A tape measure.

For anyone who actually reads this ridiculous blog, you know that I recently had to measure myself with an apron tie. It wasn't pretty for me or for the apron. Since next year I am doing a healthy living blog, I will need to capture these stunning measurements in a truer fashion.

Whenever Marvin Gardens and I dance to "Brick House," which as you can imagine is often, when they get to the "36-24-36, ow! What a winning hand" part I always sing, "36-32-40, ow!"

I delight myself every day.

3. A caliper.

Measures body fat. See above. No apron tie is gonna tell me that.

4. A SECOND pair of sweatpants.

I know. I'm livin' large.

5. A GOOD camera.

I want my blog photos to be better. I made the fatal mistake of asking my father, a former photographer who loves nothing more than comparing things before he purchases them, for his opinion on what I should buy. Good lord a-livin'.

After I awoke from the cyanide tablet I gave myself so I wouldn't have to hear about cameras anymore, I decided to buy one of the cameras Posy Gets Cozy touts on her blog.

See? No need for real relationships anymore! Just have cyberfriends! And do what the cyberfolk do!

6. Smashbox Photo Finish serum.

Makes you look perfect. I am out of it. I look less than perfect. I look like Keith Richards. Can't wait till January 1.

Stairway to Heaven

2007-10-28T13:02:00.000-04:00

Do you think it's a bad thing that I told our minister, aka my new boss, that my favorite part of church was snack hour? (I had some biscuits with country ham, an egg salad sandwich with the crust cut off, and a really good cookie that may have involved Rice Krispies, but I cannot be sure.)

He said, "It's mine too" but he was probably being polite. Considering he probably spent all WEEK thinking up a SERMON and all. Again, that corporate ladder is mine for the taking.

I guess a church secretary job isn't all that corporate. I am more climbing the stairway to heaven. If there's a bustle in my hedgerow, I won't be alarmed, yeah.

As per usual, I met some lovely people at church today. Everyone is so nice! And they already know I came from LA, so that's convenient. Get that fact out of the way. I think they expect me to call them "dude" and ask their sign. Which of course I would like to know, but I can find out when I add their birthdays to the church bulletin.

In other news, my shower is very clean. Today I think I am going to cook something major for dinner. It is sort of cold out, and we have no free activity planned, so cooking always works. Last night it was so cold that two of our cats got under the blankets with us. They have never been chilly before, and I think they are confused. Winston seems to be walking around with his fur kind of puffed out. Like he's trying to put more distance between his skin and the world.

I guess that's all I have to say about our spend-free day. I am getting very excited about the health blog I am starting January 1, and I still ask for suggestions as to a name. It does not have to have "bye bye" in it, folks. But should I remain June Cutoff Cash? Should I become June Cholesterol Cash? June Cutoff Fat?

Born to Clean the Shower

2007-10-27T11:23:00.000-04:00

Now, you see? Things could be worse. I could be Sting.

Ozzy Osborne said that. I can't help but love him.

But what I meant was, I could still be back in Los Angeles, unable to breathe. Like Marie Osmond.

I certainly have dropped a lot of names today.

Instead, I am here, in continually rainy North Carolina. Today we are going to clean the house. I am going to clean the bathtub in the way that a friend of dcrmom's told us about on her blog. You have no idea how excited I am to try this method.

Remember when I used to do things like go to bars and tie my bra on my head for excitement? Of course you don't. You have only ever known me as dull, spendless June. Well, trust me. Cleaning the shower did not used to be my weekend highlight.

Last night, we went to a free Halloween celebration at the planetarium. In the room where they show the stars and planets on the ceiling, they were showing The Twilight Zone.

The only problem with this is that I had never been to the planetarium before and I wanted to look at everything, including Bubba the black snake, who inexplicably lives there. But the girl running the whole show was dying to get us right in that room and make us watch The Zone right away. I'm all, "Hang on, sister! Let me look at Bubba, would you?" But you have to be NICE here because everybody KNOWS everybody, so the person I snap at at the planetarium ends up being the principal's daughter or something and then Marvin would get fired. Or whatever.

Anyway, it was a good version of The Zone -- and how annoyed are you that I keep calling it The Zone? -- and when it was over, we got a bag of candy. There were SweetTarts (my personal favorite), Hershey bars, bubble gum that immediately lost its flavor and a "Born to Recycle" tattoo.

Nothing says tough like a "Born to Recycle" tattoo.

I will let you know how the shower cleaning goes. I hope you can stand the suspense.

Has anyone seen my teeth?

2007-10-26T10:54:00.000-04:00

Remember yesterday, when I still enjoyed life and was not beaten down by it?

So, I went out into that rainy-ass day to do all my car activities. I had a list from that annoying Marvin Gardens.

12:00: The car inspection place. It is at the top of my dreadful hill, with everything else interesting, in town. It's one of those cute old gas stations which is no longer a gas station. In fact, when Marvin told me where to get my car inspected, he said, "Go into town into that place that's no longer a gas station." So right there I knew.

All the real gas stations are on the busy street right on the edge of town. They all have gigantic food marts in them where one can buy boiled peanuts and surprisingly few Hostess products. (I promise I have never bought any treat from these food marts.) One of the fancy new gas stations has a neon sign that reads, "Clean bathrooms." Does this really bring people in who wouldn't come in otherwise? And really? Clean?

So I walk into the place, which has a tiny sign saying "car inspections." Advertising is not a priority here. Everybody just assumes everybody else knows where everything is, so there is little sign help.

It is like you'd expect the walk-in room of an old gas station to look. There are really, really cool old vending machines, a TV, a desk, and a huge notice:

We have found a set of teeth. Please ask us if you are missing
yours.

Other than that, the place is empty. I mean, there is literally no one there. Pretty soon, though, I see a man coming through the driving rain, holding a brown bag. This can only mean one thing: he went to the [insert town name here] Grill, the best restaurant on planet Earth.

"Did you go to the grill?" I asked him, holding open his own business's door.

"I sure did! Got me two barbecue sandwiches. Not supposed to eat 'em. Gonna eat 'em anyway," he said.

Loved him.

"I would eat there every day, if I could," I said.

"You wouldn't live many more days if you ate these barbecue sandwiches every day."

I stayed an hour, and we discussed his kids, his love life, grilling, his 1978 car that he loved, Las Vegas -- which he kept thinking I came from -- and why someone wouldn't notice their teeth were missing.

Somewhere in there, he put my car up on those rampy things and I think he blew the horn. Then he said my car passed inspection and charged me $9.

Now, look at all the time I have taken just telling you about the inspection. I still have the DMV, the license plate place that sells fruitcake and the world's hardest and most confusing secretarial job to get to. I will fill you in tomorrow, as my hands hurt from secretary-ing last night.

The One-Woman Band at June's House

2007-10-25T10:17:00.000-04:00

It's rain rain raining. Which is good because (a) it never rains in California, the girls don't they warn ya* and (b) we are having like the worst drought in the history of time or something.

Sadly, however, I have to go out in my !!!!CAR!!! and run 72 errands. Marvin Gardens expects me to get my car inspected, get my North Carolina driver's license and get license plates. Geez, am I nothing but AVAILABLE to do these things? I have a hard-hitting secretarial job to get to today, too.

My hair is not going to look good in the license picture if it is raining. They will have to make the square bigger to fit my hair.

I wonder if you have to say how much you weigh here, like you do in LA. Cause I've been weighing "127" since I moved to California. Perhaps I will weigh "128" here, as I am 10 years older now.

Speaking of Marvin Gardens, which I wasn't but get over it, last night I was trying to look through Wisteria catalog (why do I torture myself? At the beginning of this year, all catalogs went straight to recycling. Plus also not to mention too, how did they FIND me again?) when Marvin came in and said he had to talk to me.

He looked very serious, like perhaps he was going to tell me he'd always been a Kennedy, a Jewish Kennedy, but was waiting 10 years to tell me to make sure I wasn't a gold digger. Or that he'd been a huge fan of Michael Flatley, Lord of the Dance, all these years and was going to run off to join his troupe.

"I have a cold," he told me,with the solemnity of a Supreme Court Justice, "and I didn't sleep well while you weren't here. I need my sleep. Please do not disturb me now for any reason." And with that, he very dignifiedly went off to bed.

This is why I am an awful person. HOW BADLY did I want to find a way to wake him up? How MUCH did I wish I had a huge pair of cymbals and a matterhorn? I wanted to wait until midnight and jump on the bed, shaking him, to ask his opinion on who decided Jello needed fruit in it. Did it happen by accident, like the Post-it Note? Or did someone consciously do such an odd thing. Was it during the time housewives were given speed as diet pills? What did he think?

But I'll have you know that Good June took over, and I listened to the TV on low and shut the bedroom door and tiptoed around, giggling quietly at the idea of my matterhorn.

All right. I will try to do my 78 errands without hitting McDonald's.

*How terribly, terribly old am I? That was a song in like 1972. Probably no one reading this remembers it but me. I might as well quote Ta-Ra-Ra-Boom-De-Ay while I'm up.

Flush with stories

2007-10-24T16:28:00.000-04:00

Really, I wish everyone thought they were as funny as I find my own self. When I was back in Michigan, I visited my friend Donna, whose family owns Remer Plumbing & Heating. There are many fun things on display in the store. Look at that cool selection of knob colors on the left, there!

Do you think Remer's will get a GIANT rush of business, thanks to my fascinating blog giving them a mention? Do you think they'll sue me for saying anything about them? Do you think they've figured out who peed in their display toilet?

Anyway, I just wanted to write and tie up my loose ends, as it were. I suppose saying "loose ends" next to a photo of me on the pot is not pretty.

First of all, I did end up buying the AP styleguide online. I really can use it all year, and I really can write it off, too. So I took the copy editor's test that the ad agency gave me, sent it in, they offered me $36,000 a year and I emailed them and said no thank you. Not because of the money (which would be like making $67,000 in LA), but because it's so far from home and I would have to get a studio apartment in Winston-Salem and that just seemed ridiculous.

Then as for my church secretary job, I begin training for it tomorrow evening. The current secretary is the town librarian, so we're doing it after she gets out of work. And for those of you threatening to call the minister and tell him sordid things about my past, I am sure he would not be so shocked. I can't be the first person to have stolen a Miller Light display from Ewald's bar.

Also, I keep forgetting to tell you that I spent whatever $9.99 and $11.99 added up are (I hope I don't have to do math at my church) to purchase cool old wooden chairs for our kitchen table. I found them at an antique store my mother is obsessed with. Everything there was cute cute cute. And I do think kitchen chairs are necessary. I know we could eat on the floor and pretend to be really into Asian culture or something, but please.

And finally -- unless you can think of something else I keep saying I'll tell you -- when my Aunt Mary was here, I took her to the Pee Dee Wildlife Refuge, of which I am enamored. Also it is free. Anyway, we walked around for a while, and I told her there was a drive one could take, too. So we went off on the rustic woodsy drive with Aunt Mary's rental car, only to discover a GIANT tree that had fallen in our path. Before I could even get my wits about me, Aunt Mary RACED out of the car and REACHED under the fallen log to lift it out of the way.

Okay, Jaime Sommers, I was not aware you had been in a parachute accident and received superhuman strength during your reconstructive surgery. Upon which muscle did Aunt Mary think she was going to draw upon to move a tree?

Secondly, hello, snake country! I remember telling my father I was scared of the snakes here and he jokingly said, "Just don't move a log real fast." What was his own sister then doing?

Needless to say, Aunt Mary was not able to roll a tree, so I had to get out of the car and direct her, going BACKWARDS on these TINY TWISTY roads, all the way to the entrance. You can tell this was stressful because I used all capital letters.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Road trip for $68

2007-10-23T17:25:00.000-04:00

Why does all hotel soap smell the same, yet no other soap on earth smells like hotel soap?

I am back from Michigan; I have officially reclaimed my car back from my mother. I have also attached a nice photo I took of Gus, my mother's dog. It would have made more sense to have it in last time, but I didn't have my fancy "putting pictures on the computer" equipment.

My little Bug and I got reacquainted through Michigan, Ohio, West Virginia, Virginia and North Carolina. I am over the U.S. Didn't I just drive through California, Arizona, Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas and Tennessee like two months ago? Enough already. Am I running for president? Geez.

So, my mother packed me all kinds of food (turkey sandwich, apple, two kinds of chips, Vernor's, chocolate chip cookies, that blueberry pie she kept trying to get Big June and me excited about) and I ate those throughout the trip. I went to the Best Western in Ohio last night, and there was a free breakfast at the restaurant next door, so I had that this morning (had me some nutritious biscuits and gravy, with equally heart-healthy home fries. What heart attack?).

And did you know it is cheaper to pay for your hotel room in cash? I did not know this fact. Therefore, excepting the price of gas (which totalled $49), the whole trip cost $68 for my hotel room. I had such a terrible migraine last night that I didn't eat dinner. I highly recommend getting one as a diet plan.

Good gravy, I was sick. These stupid migraines come in waves. Did you know I get migraines? There is even a name for people like me: migraneur. Isn't that ridiculous? Wouldn't you just want to smack someone if they said to you, "I am a migraneur"? Migraneur. It sounds like I should have a woman's torso and goat legs or something. Migraneur.

Anyway, all this being ill and eating biscuits and gravy and driving 810 miles got me to thinking. Maybe next year, my blog could be all about me trying to become healthier. Because seriously? Other than, say, Sid Vicious, I am the unhealthiest person you know.

I could try different things each month: green tea, exercise, meditation, vegetarianism. And at the same time, I could continue to ramble off the topic like I always do. Wouldn't that be fun?

At the side of the blog, I can put my measurements and my body fat and my cholesterol and stuff. Oh, won't this be exciting! Can anyone think what to call it?

Only You

2007-10-21T18:09:00.001-04:00

It's Sunday night, and we are back from the woods. There was much walking and stick-throwing for the dog, and general communing with nature and crispness.

My mother had a paint-by-numbers picture up there, and I spent 73,000 hours working on it. It is supposed to be the kind of thing that anyone who comes to visit the cabin gets to work on, but that annoyed me. After the 47th hour, this painting was mine. I did not want any yahoo up there messing up the cardinal or the light in the window.

I am an only child, did I mention that?

And actually, speaking of which, I would like your opinion on this scenario. Please note that I have to tell you that I bought chairs for our kitchen table and my mother bought me clothes and SHOES, but first I wanted to ask about this.

My mother has a cousin, also an only child, who has the same name as me. Ever since I was born, this poor cousin has been "Big June" while I got to be "Little June." If I were her I would hate me.

At any rate, Big June and her husband also came to said cabin on Saturday. They walked in. We said our hellos. The men went outside to move a boat or some manly thing. Big June found a photo album and started looking at it. I was maybe seven feet away, painting my paint-by-numbers kit. For a lovely three minutes, we did this.

Me: [Paint paint paint.]
Big June: [Peruse peruse peruse.]

All of a sudden my mother came in, chatting like a magpie. "Have you two looked at that lake? And those colors! You should have seen it this morning! It looked like the trees were on fire! Oh!"

Me: [...paint paint paint...]
Big June: [...peruse peruse peruse...]

After a minute or two, my mother came back in, this time from the kitchen. "We have pie! Do either of you want pie!? It's blueberry! It has real filling! There's coffee! Do you want to walk down by that lake? I'll be outside if you want to walk down there."

She left, and after a while Big June, never looking up from her album, said, "She wants to talk."

"I KNOW," I agreed heavily. We were appalled at this idea. It was as if my poor mother, who just wanted to converse with her out-of-town daughter and her guest, had suggested we all strip naked, make bikinis out of metal Jello molds, and plunge into the icy lake.

"I think this is an only child thing," I told Big June. My mother comes from a loud family of five.

So, is that it? Are we happy to be silent together because we have no siblings? Are there people from giant loud families who also enjoy their quiet time? Does quiet time equal "we aren't having fun" for you? Or are Big June and I just huge bitches?

I would like to hear from people on both sides of this family fence.

I guess "down South" is just as bad...

2007-10-19T10:01:00.000-04:00

Last night, I sat around the dinner table with my family, and everyone who was a blood relative gave an example of a time they threw something heavy at a loved one.

Seriously. There was a screwdriver -- which I guess is not heavy, just dangerous -- a wooden paddle, a beer bottle (that one was me)...then my poor uncle, who married into the family said, "I threw a dishrag at your aunt once." Okay, wimp. Be a real man!

Isn't it nice to come home and realize you're totally screwed thanks to your genes?

I am still here in Michigan. Today we are going to my mother's place in the woods. People in Michigan call this "Up North," which I have a problem with. North is always up.

I did not spend any money on day one of my vacation yesterday. We went to a huge antique store in town, where I came across my high school yearbook -- which is making me feel young, having it appear in an antique store -- but I did not purchase it. Even though there are five photos of me in said yearbook, including two with old boyfriends who I bounced back and forth between throughout my entire high school experience.

One friend used to say he could tell what season it was based on my current boyfriend. Apparently I dated one in spring and one in fall. Aunt Mary has seasonal jewelry, I had seasonal men.

Yesterday we also drew names for Christmas, as a bunch of us are going to Wisconsin to my cousin Katie's. I drew Katie's name, and Marvin Gardens drew my stepfather's name. You have no idea what a coup this is for us. These are the two people who will actually be glad that we have to make them something. They are both deep and profound. As opposed to me, who throws beer bottles and wants an emerald for Christmas.

I will be without a phone or computer all weekend, so I hope you all have a lovely few days. Do not do anything interesting while I'm gone, as I will not be able to read or talk to you about it.

In Saginaw, Michigan (Saginaw, Michigan!)

2007-10-18T10:52:00.000-04:00

I am typing you from the basement of my mother drinking coffee out of a mug that reads, "60 years/Ready for Anything" which if you ask me is probably untrue.

I am not literally inside my mother, like Slim Goodbody, rather I am in the basement of her HOUSE. I was just picturing what it'd be like to have to live down here if I ever got divorced. It's kind of cozy. There is a piano and a sink.

Now, before I get off on a tangent about something, namely not spending at an airport, I want to tell you that I am very flattered to have gotten a writeup in the following:

http://readersandwritersblog.com/

Apparently this is a high-falutin' site where they find writers they like and say nice things about them, which they did for me today. Thank you, Readers and Writers Blog! I feel fancy. I never think of myself as a writer. I think of myself more as a narcissist.

And by the way, if anyone remembers back in early August when my mother typed a post for me while I dictated over the phone, I logged onto my blog here to find she never signed out. So all this time she totally could have been hacking in. If she had computer knowledge (perhaps she could be 60 and ready to learn computer things), "PAM IS HOT!" would have been pasted into all my old posts every third paragraph.

MAKE LOVE NOT WAR! See? She did it again.

I must go get ready for the onslaught of relatives who will be parading in for the showing that is me in my glory, and I realize I just made it sound like everyone was attending my funeral, but I did want to write in and assure you I did not even LOOK at the oh-so-tempting book and magazine store at the airport. I brought my own book from home, one I have read 47 times, and I was perfectly content.

Okay, I can't stand it. I have to also admit to you that I had a bad headache and spent $3.10 on a small latte from Starbucks while I was there. I needed caffeine. It was medical. Sue me. I cannot spend anything anymore without picturing all of you shaking your heads in disappointment. Cut it out.

I know I have left you twisting in the breeze re my job/stylebook decision, and someone has mentioned I never told you about the disaster at the nature center (Aunt Mary, do you want to tell about it in the Comments?) and I certainly need to make fun of that bustling Tri-City Airport here in Saginaw, Michigan. But all of that must wait for another day.

OUR AIRPORT IS LOVELY! (there goes hackin' mom again)
VISUALIZE WORLD PEACE! I MEAN, IT HONEY! AND IS THAT WHAT YOU'RE DOING WITH YOUR HAIR?

Oh, snap!

2007-10-17T12:24:00.000-04:00

I am trying to type around the 15-pound, stripy body of my cat, Winston. He is glad I am home. I had the nerve to be gone for two hours at garden club.

In case you're thinking, "Funny. June never mentioned her love of gardening" (for some reason this just reminded me of the movie Airplane. "That's funny. Bob never vomits at home." Oh, that movie makes Pepsi come out my nose.) that would be because I have no love of gardening. I suck at it.

I always want to be one of those people who have lovely flowers in their yard, who can't wait to get out to the dirt. Instead, I go every year and spend $11,000 on pansies and Johnny Jump-Ups (which may actually be a fancy word for pansies, but whatever) and peonies and all sorts of things, only to murder them painfully by July. My picture is up as a Most Wanted at the plant post office.

Obviously, there was no purchasing of doomed pansies and such this year. But someone asked me to join this club and I said okay.

Actually it went more like:
Athletic, no-nonsense older woman in straw hat: "You'll join our garden club."
Me: "Oh, I'm terrible at gardening."
No-nonsense: "I'll pick you up at 9:45 Wednesday."

So, we gathered at the oldest home in our town, which is now a lovely museum. There were 9 million vats (or are they called flats? Or are flats just shoes? Again, whatever.) of pansies, snapdragons (which the women all called "snaps." I have to learn the lingo) and large, scary gardening equipment.

There were maybe 20 of us. Everybody was dressed for gardening, yet somehow managed to look adorable. I don't think I've told you how well-dressed people tend to be in the South. There is not a lot of trendiness -- I no longer have to look at 58-year-old women rockin' the sleeveless mini, and I mean you, Farrah Fawcett -- but everyone always looks very...neat.

We ate, and we stood around in the backyard of this lovely 1700s home, and everyone looked tidy and cute, and I thought, "I like this garden club! I'm gonna have some more ham on a biscuit!"

It was then that the woman who drove me there started barking the orders. I will try to capture her accent.

WE NEED FO-A PEOPLE TO GO TO THE COURTHOUSE! WE NEED FO-A SNAPS AND FIVE PANSIES IN EACH PLANTA! THE COLORS MUST BE PURPLE, YELLA, AND VARIGATED WHITE! PINK SNAPS! PINK SNAPS, EDNA, WHAT'D I TELL YOU!?!

You have never seen genteel, embroidered t-shirted women move so fast. Suddenly wheelbarrows, enormous clippers and potting soil was everywhere. We apparently go to each public site: the library, courthouse, etc. and do all the gardening.

And we are not talking about just a little digging and weeding. Sister, I PULLED enOURmous vines of kudzu and ivy out of the ground. I sawed, I clipped, I sweated like the manual laborer that I was. And if you think they just used me because I was the spry young 42-year-old, you are so wrong. These women were way better than me, out there in the hot sun, sawing and gossiping.

In two hours, this town looked glorious. It really was satisfying to see all the weeds gone and the kudzu cut back for the next four minutes until it grows again. And I got to work out and eat for free!

Garden Club rocks.

Should I Buy It?

2007-10-16T11:18:00.000-04:00

Let me recap for anyone just tuning in.

For 15 years, I lived in big cities. Big big big. There were cabs and trends and people with silly-colored hair. There were dogs named Steve and people named Apple.

Then two months ago, we moved to the middle of nowhere. There is one restaurant. There is no book store. Everyone has the same area code. There are about three last names total.

This is what I thought I wanted, until I got here and realized going to the middle of nowhere? When you want a nice weekend to relax? Great. LIVING in the middle of nowhere? Where there are no sidewalks or poetry slams or secret clubs with no sign that you have to just be cool to know exist? Not so great.

And I hate poetry slams.

So last week I had a job interview at an ad agency, doing pretty much the same thing I did back in LA. Of course, the ad agency is two hours from my front door, in a real city.

I had pretty much decided I was not going to take the job, when today they sent me a copy editing test. Which is kind of insulting when you've been a proofreader/copy editor for 10 years, but still. They have to make sure I am not an impostor.

Here is my dilemma. I can take the test and just see what kind of money they offer me after I pass the test. Fine. So I waste an hour of my day. Who cares? The PROBLEM is, if I take this test, I have to go online and spend $25 for an online style guide. I have 12 million style guides here at home, but this ad agency uses a style I don't have.

(A style guide is not a book about hem length and whether patent leather is okay. It is something proofreaders use to determine whether it is correct to say 2 p.m. or 2:00 p.m. Different style guides have different rules about this. 2 p.m. and 2:00 p.m. can cause proofreaders to cut each other.)

So do I spend the $25? If you are REALLY just tuning in, you should know that I am not supposed to be spending extraneous money through the rest of this year.

Now, I could use this style guide for my freelance work, and I could write off the purchase. But really, I am spending $25 to take a test that will lead to a job that there is a 90% chance I will say no to. Unless they offer me $60,000 a year.

(For those of you in, say, New York, I know you are thinking, "$60,000 a year? Why is that your cutoff point? Because you can stay on welfare and have two incomes?" Actually, snotty New Yorker who I already resent and you do not even necessarily exist, $60,000 here is equivalent to nearly $120,000 in Los Angeles. So shut up.)

Okay, so help. What do I do? Do I take the test and buy the style guide? Do I email the ad agency and tell them I have a fancy job here in this town as a church secretary and forget you? Do I call them and say, "This is not worth my time unless you tell me I get 60k. Will I?" And I will actually say "k" just to be annoying.

What say you?

Sorry, wrong number

2007-10-15T23:11:00.000-04:00

Here is what happens in Los Angeles when the phone rings and you see a number you don't recognize on your caller ID:

You: Hello?
Person on phone: [silence] [Click].

Sometimes you get a friendly person.

You: Hello?
Person on phone: ....Mohammad?
You: Oh, you must have the wrong --
Person on phone: [Click].

Here is what happens in Teeny Town, North Carolina when see you a number you don't recognize on your caller ID:

Marvin Gardens: Hello?
Person on phone: What'chu doin'!?
Marvin: Um. I think you have the wrong number.
Person on phone: What!? Well, how you doin'? Who is this?
Marvin: Well, who is this?
Person on phone: This is Miss Edith Pickle. What'chu doin'?! Who is this?
Marvin: Again, I think you have the wrong number. This is Marvin.
Edith Pickle: Marvin who? Marvin Johnson?
Marvin: Marvin Gardens. You must have dialed --
Edith Pickle: Well, I was looking for Marvin Johnson.
Marvin: Yes. Well, this is Marvin Gardens, so --
Edith Pickle: I was calling to see how Virginia was doing. How is she, have you heard?

Honest to God, I have never heard Marvin talk on the phone for a longer period of time, to anyone, not even me, and we DO NOT KNOW EDITH PICKLE. Well, we do now.

Virginia is doing great, by the way.

Update on Churchy Job

2007-10-15T15:34:00.000-04:00

So, I am now the official secretary at the Episcopal church. I work 16 hours a week, and I set my own hours. I think I'll go in 9-12 each weekday (1 p.m. on Friday) and then go home and do my Los Angeles proofreading.

Now naturally, today when I got home from meeting with the minister, I got an email from the place I interviewed last week, saying they are very enthusiastic about me and they are sending me a proofreading test.

Good gravy.

And in case anyone was worried, I am not really going to buy sweater sets for my new job. I will wear my old, crappy faded outfits until January 1st. But in January 2? Sweater purchases galore!!

Not only is church free, apparently they pay you.

2007-10-15T08:31:00.001-04:00

I went back to church yesterday. And I may have gotten a job from going.

No, I am not going to become a nun.

As the -- what would you call it? The ceremony? The show? The SERVICE! -- service ended, once again people came over to talk to me as though I were a celebrity. And does this town kill me at all? One woman said, "I hear you're going back to get your car this week!"

And you are...?

For some reason, it doesn't bother me that everyone is up in my grille. I do have a blog, after all. You all know it when I scratch my watch or wind my ass.

After I signed autographs and worked the crowd, I was on my way back to those snacks when the minister asked if he could talk to me. Seems the church secretary quit and he heard (of course) I'd had an interview this week, so was I interested?

So, in an hour and a half, I am going to CLIMB the HILL and go talk to him. This kills me. I love the idea of being church secretary. I mean, if it's full time, I can't do it, as I am still working part time and charging a fortune to LA clients. But if it's 20 hours a week?

I am so getting sweater sets in every color, and also cat-eye glasses with sparkles on the sides. Don't think I won't. I am going to be just like that annoying secretary in the Mitford series, who says "peedaddle" all the time.

Perhaps I should remember that it is called a church service if I take this job.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

2007-10-13T10:05:00.000-04:00

Tonight we are having Mr. H. over for dinner. And by that I do not mean that we are having our dead cat, Mr. Horkheimer, for dinner. Although technically we are, as his ashes are still on our dining room hutch.

Mr. H. is one of Marvin Gardens' co-workers, another teacher at the school. I did not want to type in his real name, lest children Google him and find this blog, and then one day Marvin Gardens will go to work and all the kids will be calling him Marvin Gardens. Which does not command respect, really.

"Hi, Marvin Gardens!" which will inevitably lead to "Hi, B&O Railroad!" "Good morning, Community Chest!" You can see it will go nowhere good. Why do you people have kids, again?

When we moved here from Los Angeles two months ago, we donated our kitchen table to charity, as it was decidedly wobbly. Which I know does not seem kind. "Here are our dregs! Move forward, unfortunate person! Prosper!" But the charity assured us that the table was still good.

So we lived here for the first six weeks with no eating table whatsoever, relegating all meals to the living room, where we ate during Reba. This led to crumbs on the couch and eventually ants.

A few weeks back, we found the coolest 1950s Formica table, which we bought, as some sort of table seemed a necessity. But what we didn't buy were chairs. When we want to eat at the table, we drag this computer chair in, and a chair from another desk elsewhere in the house.

But now we are having an actual third human at the house. This will mean that we will either have to pull up the rocking chair, so I will have to be Granny on the Beverly Hillbillies during dinner, or we'll have to bring in one of the lawn chairs from outside. Which does not look insane at all.

Maybe I can be one of those women who never sit down during dinner. I could keep pretending that I have to jump up and check on the lasagna. Or I could say in our culture, the woman eats after the men do.

Alternatively, I could act like I'm too angry to come to the table. I could cross my arms over by the sink and huff. Or I could sit in Marvin's lap the whole time, and gaze at him like I'm Yoko Ono.

Fortunately, Mr. H. is like 22 years old or something. Probably most of his friends don't have a real dining room table and chairs. Perhaps he expects more from a couple in their 40s.

But maybe he is just excited about the free lasagna.

The Return of Saturn and Marvin G.

2007-10-11T21:55:00.000-04:00

Today is the 11-year anniversary of dating Marvin Gardens the second time. We dated in college. Then we broke up. For 10 years. Then 11 years ago today, we saw each other again and we got back together and got married and he dragged me to a teeny tiny town in North Carolina. The end.

I am coming off a three-day migraine, and have not gotten dressed today, much less done anything nice to celebrate our 11-year anniversary of dating the second time, but Marvin got me a card at WalMart and put $5 in it. He wrote, "Go crazy." So wooo! I get to blow five bucks!

Cards are verboten, by the way. Marvin totally broke the rules. But it's only once in a lifetime that you get to celebrate dating the second time.

My beloved blog pal at Fully Operational Battle Station sent me a you-know-we-don't-know-what-the-word-meme-means meme. Somebody recently gave the definition of "meme" in their blog recently, but I have blocked it out already. Anyway, here we go.

Jobs I’ve Had:
1. Making boxes in an old morgue.
The boxes had nothing to do with the morgue, they were boxes that someone was eventually going to put presentation materials in. I think they just rented the morgue because it was there.

2. Bartender at a health food restaurant.
Which always seemed incongruous.

3. Editor of those horoscopes in a tube.
You know those little horoscopes? In the clear plastic tube? They're like a buck and you can buy them at the checkout stand at 7-Eleven or the drug store? Yeah. Edited those.

They did my astrological chart before they hired me. When I quit, they said the reason things were crappy at the office was because the office was in its Saturn return. I said, "Saturn may be returning, but I'm not."

4. Public relations person at a woman's clinic.
No, seriously. I had to PROMOTE gynecological procedures. "Our pregnancy tests are better than theirs!" I mean, what are you supposed to say?

Places I’ve Lived:
1. Saginaw, Michigan
2. Seattle, Washington
3. London, England (Okay, for a summer. But still.)
4. Los Angeles, California

Food I Love:
1. Chocolate-covered strawberries
2. Flautas with guacamole
3. Thai chicken with spinach and peanut sauce from Thai Siam in Seattle
4. Turkey, dressing and mashed potatoes. Oh, with corn.

Websites I Visit:
1. tmz.com (because I'm deep)
2. joshreads.com (he is the funniest man ever)
3. craigslist (I like to apartment hunt in other countries. Try it!)
4. Sephora.com (I can still dream of spending.)

Places I’d Rather Be:
1. Hanging with Laura Ingalls Wilder in 1890
2. Watching wild gorillas in Africa
3. Go-go dancing at the Whiskey in 1966
4. Dancing in my flapper getup at some illegal gin joint in 1920

Movies I Love:
1. Say Anything
2. It's a Wonderful Life
3. Love, Actually
4. When Harry Met Sally

TV Shows I Watch:
1. Reba
2. The People's Court
3. Reba
4. Commercials before Reba begins (God, I miss cable)

People I Tag:
Oh, listen. If you want to do it, do it. I don't want to force anyone. Like Tee or Our Lady of Perfection. No, sir. Not you guys. Not Kellie. Nope! That'd be wrong. And I would never pick on jtcosby. Absolutely not.

Karma is Foor Me

2007-10-11T09:32:00.000-04:00

Do you see this rather tasteless photo? This is what comes up if you Google my real name. This is what they pulled out to show me at my interview yesterday.

Why couldn't it be a picture of me saving kittens or singing to orphans? I had to be making fun of some dead guy. Somewhere, Mr. Foor is having the last laugh.

June spends $84

2007-10-10T07:38:00.000-04:00

Yesterday morning, I was sitting here minding my own business -- actually I wasn't. One of my freelance jobs is to read legal documents, so I was minding everyone else's business -- when the phone rang. It was a fancy ad agency in Winston-Salem, wondering if I'd like to come in for an interview.

All I know is I had nothing to wear to this interview. I was a freelancer for years, and at my last job, you could wear whatever you wanted. I pictured myself going into the interview in my one pair of (pink) sweatpants and my Saginaw Valley Tshirt.

In the closet, hanging mournfully, were an old pair of black pants that were from a suit I wore to an interview in 2002, a place where they hired me and I worked for a day and three hours because it was Hades in a high rise. The pants would. not. button. I think they shrunk at the dry cleaner's. That's my theory.

So I had decided to wear the really brown, wintery outfit I had worn to a fancy interview I had had back in January, even though it is 90 degrees here. I would look like I was a meth addict throughout the interview, or maybe they would think I was just really excited about the job and perspiring with drive.

Then yesterday, on my way to read to Miss Lilly, I popped in to this ridiculous clothing store in town. Fred Segal it is not. And do you know I found the cutest suit? Either I am forgetting what fashion is, or I got a deal. It is a gray/blue color, which looks good with my eyes, and the jacket ties rather than buttons. It was $84. Folks, I bought it.

Today I got up at like 2 a.m. to drive Marvin to work, so I could have our one car. Seriously, you guys, I had no idea how early that man had to get to work. It was pitch black outside. I felt more like I was taking him to the ER than work. I actually saw an older woman, in curlers, out power walking. In the total darkness. You have to hand it to her.

Other than my new $84 suit, I look insane. I have not had a manicure, facial or a wax of anything in 10 months. I look like the caveman on the Geico commercial.

The other thing is, thank God I have McDonald's gift certificates left over from my pal Rosie Papaya. Because if you think I want to also worry about what to pack in the car that is nonperishable, you are not thinking right.

Okay, here I go.

Support can be Beautiful

2007-10-08T21:26:00.000-04:00

BRASSIERE WARNING

(FOR ALL MY MALE FRIENDS WHO WOULD RATHER NOT THINK ABOUT MY UNDERCARRIAGE, YOU MAY WANT TO JUST TUNE IN TOMORROW FOR THE UN-UNDERWEAR ADVENTURES OF JUNE.)

Frankie is right. I promised I would tell you about measuring my own self with an apron, and I am a woman of my word.

For many, many years, in fact the first 27 years of my life, I was terribly skinny. My grandmother thought I had a worm. People used to say, "You're so small, if a big gust of wind came, it'd carry you away" which resulted in a phobia of wind that is a whole other blog entry.

Suffice it to say, I was not large in any way.

Then one day in my 27th year, I was having dinner at the home of this gay couple I knew. I point this out only to explain that they actually had a bathroom scale, being self-respecting, body-conscious gay men and all. Me? The only scale I got on was this big loading scale outside the museum where I worked. I always weighed 113, 117, maybe, so who cared.

Well, I got on Jeff and whatever-on-earth's-Jeff's-partner's-name-is, and I can't believe I forgot, and I weighed (dun dun dunnnnnnnnnn!) 134.

After this surprise, I also discovered that I really could no longer go braless. And I discovered the Victoria's Secret pushup bra. Hello!

Oh, weighing 134 was exciting. Suddenly I had a girlish figure! And I was not subtle about it, with those pushups. I would have just worn pasties to work if I could have gotten away with it, I was so thrilled to be ...curvy, as they say.

Ten years and pounds later. I am home, freelancing, wearing my pajamas. It's a hot day, and I think, "What is resting on my ribcage?" I was startled, just as I was startled years before on that scale, to discover what was resting was, well, my bosoms.

All of this is to tell you that circumstances have changed for me in that area, and I guess I have made it evident that I apparently pay no attention to myself until something dire happens and I say, "Hey! I weigh a real amount" or "Hey! I need to lift and separate!"

Well, what is bugging me lately is, "Hey! My brassieres are uncomfortable ALL THE TIME." I suddenly feel like I am wearing a corset, or that a boa constrictor is curling around my midsection. So I think I may be wearing the wrong size undergarment. Nothing gets past me. I'm a regular Sherlock Holmes, over here.

So imagine my delight when I saw on my Google homepage, under the "How to" section, "How to measure your bra size."

"This is it!" I thought. "I can measure myself and figure out what size I really need, and perhaps I can breathe out again!"

The directions tell you to get a tape measure and measure in two different places, then you do this adding and subtracting and all sorts of terrifying things that I am bad at.

Well, we have no tape measure. Why would we ever need one? We do not sew. We are not entering Miss America. It has just ever come up. Now, if I were BUYING things, I could zip on over to the evil WalMart and get me a tape measure. What are they, a dollar? But nooo.

So I pace around the house, frantically. There must be SOMEthing I can drape around myself, then measure that. Why is there nothing drapey in this house!? What about the hose? Would the neighbors talk? Why don't I own any ribbons? Or scarves, decorative scarves?

Finally I alighted on my apron, the strings hanging innocently on my kitchen door. Ripping it off the knob, I headed into the bedroom with its full-length mirror, and draped it around me, digging my thumbnail into the string to mark my place, so I can then get a ruler and measure. Okay. Now I just have to find our ruler, and measure how long that piece of apron string went.

WHERE is the ruler!? I KNOW we have a long, what are those called? YARDSTICK! I know we have a yardstick! Shirtless, digging my nail into an apron string, I tear up the house one-handed, looking in every closet and cupboard. How do you lose a YARDstick? It is THREE FEET LONG.

I finally find a 12-inch ruler in the desk. At this point I have made a permanent dent in that apron string. I do my measuring, and apparently I am a 32FFF.

You see? You don't need to spend money on a useless tape measure! This not spending is fun! Really!

Being Episcopalian is Free

2007-10-08T12:33:00.000-04:00

I am in the Bible Belt, let's face it.

Here, people are forever asking us, "What church do you go to?" Um. None. First of all, Marvin Gardenstein is Jewish, and if you think there are any whatever-Jewish-churches-are-called around here, you are sadly mistaken. And I was raised by Godless hippies, so I have never been a churchgoer.

Technically, though, that is not true. My parents, the Godless hippies (my mother is now very active in her church. I feel I must clarify this before she shoots off an angry reply in the Comments section, providing she can figure out how to send a comment), wanted me to live in an integrated neighborhood, which was fine until eventually I was the only white kid in my public school and all the other kids (rightfully) resented the hell out of my middle-class, white self and started beating me up every day.

Enter the Lutheran private school in my neighborhood. I went there from third through sixth grades, attended church each Wednesday morning and any time the children's choir was requested to appear. Which by the way included funerals. I was 10 and attending like two funerals a week or something.

So I was a churchgoer for four years, and to this day nothing comforts me more than a church rec room. I have all sorts of happy memories of waiting there for Christmas or Easter pageants to begin, the smells of the heater and coffee and winter coats.

At any rate, at the top of our horrid hill on our street is a beautiful Episcopal church, built in 1834 (above is a photo of it which includes horrifying snow). I always like coming to it because it is so pretty and because it means I am done climbing that hill. I thought about going to it one Sunday, but felt weird about it.

Then last week, not one but two members asked me to come this Sunday. And do you know we had the best time? Everyone was so nice to us, and the sermon was so interesting! He talked about The Wizard of Oz, Mark Twain and Mother Teresa. I'm telling you, this minster was fascinating.

And why did no one tell us there was food? Afterwards, you go into the recreation room -- my favorite place -- and have coffee and delicious snacks. Had anyone told me snacks were involved, I'd have visited much sooner. We were surrounded by the nicest people at that snacky social.

Someone even offered Marvin a biscuit with country ham. I got far away from him at that point, certain he was going to be struck down. Yes, Jewish husband standing in an Episcopal church, please have some HAM now. See you in the afterlife.

So, I think I will go back. Alone. Safer that way.

To recap the weekend: Friday night, free homecoming parade. Saturday, free German festival. Sunday, church (although I did put two dollars in the basket; it was all I had. How much are you supposed to put in there?) and later Sunday, a free pumpkin patch visit, which is a whole 'nother blog entry. Now, I know this was not dinner at 21 and dancing at -- whatever counts as a fancy place to dance. It was not a weekend in the Hamptons. But still, free, fun, and including country ham. What more do you need?

Marvin Gardens + Michael Jackson = TLA

2007-10-07T17:25:00.000-04:00

Okay, here is the link to one of Marvin's 14 sites (who loves himself long time? And thinks we all want to hear every detail about his life?), wherein he tells the "I worked for Michael Jackson" story.

Some of you said you wanted to hear it. And speaking of assuming people want to hear all about one's life, tomorrow I will tell how I tried to determine my bra size using an apron. By now I have built it up so much (so to speak) that when I finally tell it, it will fall flat (again, so to speak). Maybe I'll write it from my wireless! BA! Ha ha ha haaaaaaaaa....

http://axecollectorblog.blogspot.com/

Achtung, Baby Puppy

2007-10-06T23:38:00.000-04:00

After last night's free and oh-so-fun orange-shirted homecoming parade, how could today have gotten any better? Oh, perhaps with a free German festival in South Carolina.

You must understand, I am from Michigan. Every single person in Michigan is 100% German. They kick you out if you are not. There are glockenspiels, there is lederhosen, everyone is extremely on time, and I will leave the Nazis out of this.

To put it in a nutshell, Michigan? German German German. Oh, and everything is a haus, not a house. One of my friends got her bridal gown at The Wedding Haus. No, I am not kidding.

To go to South Carolina to see a German festival, I had some pretty high standards, here. I was expecting Eva Braun and Goethe and Heidi Klum to be there, popping out of cuckoo clocks. So you can imagine my surprise when there was barbecue and shaved ice stands. And some of those towels that have knitting on the top, so you can button them to the fridge.

Where were my GERMANS? My PEOPLE in the HAUS?

There was not even an oompah band to be seen.

The only good news is that there were puppies there, who were up for adoption. Oh, they were sweet. They were mixed breed puppies from a rescue place. And you know what I was thinking? I was thinking that (a) I am home all day, PERFECT for puppy raising. I was also thinking that (b) I have been so blue. What better way to brighten my spirits than with a puppy snickerdoodle lover pie?

And yes, I would call it puppy snickerdoodle lover pie ALL THE TIME. Which could be why Marvin Gardens did not see my logic about getting a puppy. That, and we have three cats and we are not allowed dogs at this rental house. But other than that...

Oh, and next time I write, could someone remind me of how I tried to determine my bra size using an apron? It needs to be told.

I Love a Parade

2007-10-05T21:21:00.001-04:00

It was homecoming tonight for the high school, so naturally there was a big parade.

(You have never seen so many people dressed in orange shirts in your life. It's like we were all afraid of hunters. And when I say "we," I mean everyone other than myself.)

Believe it or not, traffic was crazy getting to the parade route (I actually found it hard to believe there could be that many people on the street and that many people on floats, but it WAS homecoming, so maybe people actually came from other towns), so we walked up the hill, that HORRIFIC HILL, to the parade.
Even the mailbox feels sorry for me.

Once we adjusted to the altitude, we found a spot and watched the festivities.

Every time I see bagpipers, who I love, I can't help but think of "We have a piper down!" from the movie So I Married an Ax Murderer.

I was sad that they did not have the actual homecoming king and queen in the parade, but apparently they announce who they are at the actual football game. In my high school, they told you like a week ahead of time so the queen could prance around proudly and the rest of us could say it was a setup, and she didn't deserve it, and other awful high school things. Anyway, this is the king and queen of the nursing home, which I thought was so cute I actually cried. They were so excited! Waving at everybody, smiling. I loved them.

Now, this is what I glean is a wonderful organization that helps kids at risk or some such thing. I was starting to cry again because all the kids were holding up signs that said things like, "I am the next President of the United States" or "I am the next Supreme Court Justice" and such. I thought it was so esteem-building. But then I realized the poor Supreme Court Justice kid had his sign upside down, which killed me. Because I am a horrible person.

Finally, the parade was over, and after I said, "What happened to the homecoming queen? We don't get to see the homecoming queen?" 486 times, we headed home the back way, so we wouldn't get run over by the actual traffic that was actually present, for once. Luckily for me, the back way involves that block where all the cats let me pet them, and I held a tiny baby kitten, so it worked for me.

Go, whatever the name of our football team is! Woooooo!

Sparklefraffle in my Wrist

2007-10-04T19:10:00.000-04:00

I couldn't type you all day, because I have a hideous pain in my left wrist. I mentioned this to Marvin Gardens, who suggested that I was doing something crude in my spare time. I will not torment you with the details. Let's just say that perhaps he should look into graduating seventh grade soon.

What I like about Marvin is his sensitivity. Perhaps he could volunteer in an ER, and people could tell him their woes. Or one of those all-night phone lines where you call with medical emergencies. I'm sure he'd be popular.

Marvin and his empathetic self aside, I wonder if I have carpal tunnel or something?

I do spend a lot of time on the computer. And I have been doing a lot of intense, fast editing, as I got a new freelance job proofreading transcripts. So I have to listen to the tapes and read along. I try to quickly make corrections without stopping the tape, as I am being paid by the page. So the faster I go, the richer I get. And apparently the sorer, too.

My other excitement for today (if one can consider wrist pain and being insulted by one's own spouse "excitement") was that I got to go to WalMart, which I kind of consider an evil store. Take this city, for example. Most of the people here used to work in the textile mills. Now no one has jobs, so they are poor, so to save money they go to WalMart, which TOOK THEIR JOBS AWAY.

Ironic. It's 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife.

But WalMart is close to the assisted living place where I read to Miss Lilly, and besides, there isn't any other store in town, honestly. At any rate, we were completely out of dish cloths, and I want you to know that frugal June tried very hard to do without. I cut up kitchen towels, I cut up old t-shirts. But finally I gave in and spent the $2.98 for eight washcloths. Which -- okay, evil WalMart -- I admit was a deal. So I sold my soul to get it.

Also, finally, I think it is official that I am going to go to Michigan and buy my VW Bug back from my mother. Perhaps you wonder, "Are there no cars for sale in all of North Carolina?" and the answer is no. It is illegal to sell cars here. Everyone has to sneak into South Carolina for auto purchases.

No, no. However, Marvin looked into it, and because we have only been here two months, they want to charge us like 30% interest, as we are a flight risk. Which irritates me. A flight risk. Who are we, Bonnie and Clyde?

I know this is spending money, but living without a car is so. ding-dang. depressing. Someone here today said, "You'll feel better once we get some wheels under ya!" I love people here.

Anyway, my mother is paying for the flight, because I am 42 and my mother pays for my flights, and then we can pay her whatever we can afford per month for the car. Plus also too, I get my Sirius radio back.

Howard Stern is going to seem so clean-cut after living with Marvin.

Things I am Obsessed With as of Late

2007-10-03T10:52:00.000-04:00

1. There is the most beautiful blog I have ever seen, called Posie Gets Cozy. Now, one of you out there has it on YOUR blog, you know, over on the side where you list other blogs you like? What the Sam Hill is that called? Recommendations? Links? "Hey, look yonder"? Seriously. There is some blog world name for those blogs we put on the sides of our blogs. Could I have just said the word "blogs" any more?

At any rate, the woman who creates this site makes me sick, sick, I tell you, with jealousy. EVERY SINGLE VISUAL on there is absolutely my taste, 100%. How I wish I had visual skills like this woman. And a good camera. Because I assume that camera must be good.

Oh! That blog is lovely. I have blog envy.

2. I have had not one, but two dreams that I was seeing the Sex and the City movie. Now, that is sad. I am dreaming about a movie. But I am so upcited for it, as my cousin used to say. When she wasn't 30, married and a homeowner and was more, like, two.

My sister-in-law made the fatal error of sending me Season One of SATC for my birthday one year. I had of course heard of the show but I didn't have HBO, and besides, that Mr. Big thing irritated me. Too obvious.

So I watched the whole first season in, like, a day, and it turns out "Mr. Big" is called that because he is fancy and important to Sarah Jessica Parker's character. So what did I know?

I was a regular at my video store after that, and I eventually rented every single episode, only watching the finale actually in real time. Then I made my mother buy me the box set for Christmas. Do you know I have watched that box set in its entirety twice, then I went back and watched the shows that had the director's extra comments on them?

Oh, do I love that show. And I love Carrie Bradshaw. I always wanted to live in New York and be a writer who weighed 102 pounds. And she has my hair, but somehow pulls it off without looking insane.

The movie comes out in May. I will be spending then. So you can imagine I will be first in line to see that thing, even though there is no movie theater in this town.

3. The Cazalet chronicles. Have you read these books? There are four of them. They are the story of a wealthy family in London, starting right after World War I and going through World War II. You cannot put them down. They are the kind of books you lie in bed and think about, and then you get up and read till 4 a.m. until you have a headache.

The first one is called The Light Years. The author is Elizabeth Jane Howard. Plan on getting nothing accomplished for the next month.

I have already read all four books, but I am reading them again. What with my rereading and rewatching shows, it is a wonder I ever try anything new at all.

4. Country ham. How have I gone my whole life not having this? You can't swing a dead cat around here without someone selling country ham, and if I had my druthers, I'd read my Cazalet books all day, eating country ham and waiting for that Sex and the City movie to start.

I'll bet that Posie Gets Cozy woman would never do such un-lovely things.

Orange you glad I stopped drinking?

2007-10-02T22:31:00.000-04:00

I am only going to talk about this once.

Not because it is a touchy subject for me, but because talking about it could be absolutely wrong of me. I have been reading up on this on Google (again. What did we ever do before hair gel and Google? Were we just frizzy-haired know-nothings?), and I think I have the rules down pat. So here I go.

Your gal June likes her the wine. She has liked the wine since about ninth grade. And it liked her.

June, who suddenly needs to speak about herself in the third person, as though she were a member of the royal family, but who in this case is more a member of the Crown Royal family, was goooood at the drinking.

She could consume an entire bottle of Reunite Lambrusco between the 7-11 and her high school, which was one block away. She never threw up (except for once, after two bottle of pink champagne, which sounds so pleasant and feminine, doesn't it? Yeah, not so much when it is coming back up along the side of Kim Schwanecke's car). She never stumbled or got droopy eyes. Or any of those amateur things that other drunk high school girls did.

Through a series of unfortunate events, it became apparent after about, oh, 20 years or so, that perhaps your gal June should not be drinking the wine, per se. That perhaps it was getting a little out of hand.

So, now is the part where I cannot go into any more detail about that. Let's just say that from 2002 until this summer, not a drop of alcohol, nor any other mind-altering substance, touched my lips. Or her lips. Do I really have to continue in the third person? Thank you.

Now, between 2002 and the present, I realized more and more what a bad idea drinking had really been. All the time I thought I was having fun? Really what I was doing was avoiding everything. Meeting a potential romantic partner? Always did it drunk. Breaking up with someone? Drunk every time. Getting OVER a breakup? Oh, come on. Wine, please.

So, in essence, from ninth grade until 2002, I did not grow up at all, because I never learned how to do anything without a filter. I was so glad to be sober, and finally growing up and all that.

Well.

There Marvin and I were in Nashville, on our road trip to our new life. The new life I was convinced I would be fine with. Fine! Leaving all my friends? Fine! Leaving a big city, even though all my life all I ever wanted to do was live in a big city? Okay!

So in Nashville, I had a beer. Then I came here and had another beer.

By last week, I was back to drinking wine every night. I added it up, and from Sunday until Tuesday, I'd had over 10 glasses of wine. By myself. Alone in the house. Fun! Not at all a problem! Mmm-hmm! Go, June!

I had talked to an old friend about the fact that I was drinking again, and I told him that maybe on October 1st I would go back to not drinking. But I told him I had an issue with choosing October 1st as my sobriety date, because October had so many connotations with the color orange. Which I was not fond of.

My friend, who has known me -- wow -- 20 years now, said, "You know, anyone else? I'd say they were in denial, and avoiding what they had to do. You? I know being associated with orange is a legitimate concern for you."

Then the other night, Marvin and I turned a corner and there was that beautiful moon. That gorgeous, orange moon in the sky. And orange looked beautiful to me. And the next day, I saw a guy with an orange shirt, and his shirt had one word on it. That word was "Surrender."

So, for the moment, your pal June is a non-drinker again. It just seemed kind of a major thing to be not blogging about, but I'm gonna leave it out of the public eye from here on out. It breaks with certain traditions.

Besides, buying wine is hardly a necessary expense. I won't even let myself have Eclipse gum, for goodness sake.

No eclipse. Give me that full, orange moon.

Marvin Checks in as a Guest Poster. He wanted to call this "Hello, Cleveland!" but that makes no sense to me and it's my blog.

2007-10-02T05:21:00.000-04:00

Marvin and his Gardens here. June has asked me to write a guest post, as she is a bit under the weather today. Actually, she is a bit under the covers. Although every thirty seconds she asks "What are you saying now?" Which really sounds like "whufffaaaaoooooooosayyyynnnowwww," from under the down comforter, which is really just a down comforter cover now, as the actual down part of it that goes inside has somehow gone missing.

Anyway, I'd just like to say thanks to everyone out there who has followed our adventures in frugality thus far. From my side of the fence, it hasn't been so bad, though I miss things like being able to pop down to the record store and buy the latest release by some band June has never heard of before. Though this is less of a problem for me now, since Jack's Record Rack, the only music shop in town, closed down sometime during the Carter presidency.

Which reminds me that I used to live next to a guy in college who we called Konstantin Ben Chernyenko, who came up with the generic name of "Psycho and The Tendertones" for any band he had never heard of that I happened to be blasting out of my Panasonic cassette boombox (with detatchable speakers) on that particular day.

"Listening to Psycho and The Tendertones again," he'd ask, rolling his eyes as he shuffled off to class.

So besides music, and concerts, and new guitar strings, and DVD concerts of bands June has never heard of, and packs of new Polaroid film for my various vintage cameras, and half the stuff on eBay that I see, and the fact that I can't go out and find a 1975 AMC Pacer X to park in my driveway and never work on, I am fine.

But June isn't. She is going to lose her mind if I don't show her this post. And I am going to get fired if I don't get ready for work. So, keep on keepin' on y'all. Marvin out.

Things I Miss Spending Money on; Things I Don't

2007-09-30T19:33:00.001-04:00

It has been nine full months of no spending. If I were pregnant, I'd be mighty cranky by now, wanting it to be over.

So, what things do I miss? What don't I miss? Glad you asked. Even though you didn't.

THINGS I MISS PURCHASING:

Movie tickets. Yes, I got to go to the drive-in last weekend. But the movie playing was not the point; making out with my Aunt Mary was. Okay, we did not make out. But the movie was stupid. It was some fantasy with Claire Danes and Michelle Pfieffer. My only fantasy was that I was seeing something else.

I miss the anticipation of going to a movie I have been dying to see. Eating overpriced Goobers and popcorn. Or, in the case of the pretentious movie theater we liked in LA, having sausage baguettes, spinach and artichoke dip, and a caramel latte.

Clothes. I am. so. sick. of the Old Navy Tshirts I purchased in the summer of 2006. And I own two pair of jeans: Lucky and Gap. They are now both frayed. All the other pants I have are capris from Old Navy (emphasis on "old"), bought anywhere from 2000 to 2006, and faded black pants from work. I look like a hobo. Is it politically incorrect to say "hobo"?

I own ONE pair of sweats. You would be surprised how quickly clothes wear out when you do not replace them. I did not think one year would make such a difference.

Shoes. Oh, shoes. Glorious shoes. How I love shoes. Does anyone recall at the beginning of this year, when my friend, whose name I will not mention but whose initials continue to be Amy, was worried about how I would go all year without shoes? I huffed at her. I said I had like 23 pairs, that was more than enough.

Guess what? It wasn't. I have had to toss all but one pair of flip-flops. I had to buy an emergency pair of $30 silver metallic flats in July, and can I tell you how I have worn the pee out of them already? They have little tears in the metallic. I'll bet I have worn them 70 of the last 90 days.

Highlights. Getting tired of taking charge of my roots on my own. The dye gets all over the bathroom, ruins towels and shirts, and makes my eyes water and my throat close. And I miss the subtle highlights and stripeys and such that my hair used to have. On the other hand? Somehow my hair seems healthier.

Cable. I had no idea that Reba had so many episodes. How long was that show on? Has it beaten Gunsmoke as longest-running series? And did you know that some juicers can provide you with ALL the vitamins and minerals you need for the day? TV is horrid without cable. And who the hell decided to give Tyra Banks two shows?

THINGS I DO NOT MISS PURCHASING:

Fancy meals. I have never been big on nice restaurants. Mostly they make me uncomfortable. I always worry I will do something embarrassing, and I hate how one is stuck there for hours, unable to leave. Now, LA had a LOT of fancy restaurants, and at some you were almost guaranteed a celeb sighting. But I do not miss it. I do not miss tiny portions, worrying that they will slip cilantro in somewhere, and having to tip the valet.

Gifts. Is that horrid? I used to buy gifts out my rear for everybody. Hey, it's your anniversary of getting your cat! I sent you 12 dozen roses! I guess what I have learned is that people do not expect these things, and a nice email or phone call is often just as thoughtful. Now, Christmas is another story, and another whole blog post. Perhaps I will go back to missing this aspect of spending once December rolls around.

Convenience food. Oh, now don't get me wrong. We have had our share of using our McDonald's gift certificates and whatnot. But food made at home tastes better. Seriously. And you know what is good when you want a snack? You will laugh at me. Toast. Toast with butter. It never disappoints.

(That said, has anyone else tried the new 3 Musketeers with mint? Screw toast; it's the best snack ever. But when one is sticking to one's no-spending plan, toast it is.)

Entertainment. We do not need as much to keep us amused now. Our walks can be fascinating. Have I told you there is one block that has at least one cat at every house, and ALL of these cats let me pet them? That's all I need.

Credit card bills. 'Nuff said.

Mooning over Sephora

2007-09-28T16:56:00.000-04:00

Did anyone else have a beautiful, huge orange moon last night? Marvin Gardens and I were driving around, and all of a sudden there it was. It was enORmous! And that peach color was stunning!

We have a really small radio station here that fades once you remotely leave town. It is run out of the Methodist church, and I think the minister is actually in charge of it. Marvin Gardens and I are obsessed. They play mostly 1940s tunes; you totally feel like you're in the car with grandma when it's on.

Last night, when we were looking at the moon, they played "Shadows in the Moonlight," which is an Anne Murray song from 1980 or something. I said, "Wow, they're getting modern!" but then it occurred to us that the minister was looking at the same moon we were.

But besides the moon, this has been a stupid 24 hours. I had a big project to do. Now, let's talk about my fine work ethic. I got the project LAST Thursday. Did I work on it Thursday? Friday? Weekend? MONDAY? Okay, I worked like four really half-assed hours Monday. Which left me to SLAVE like a POOCH for the rest of this week, 10-hour days. Ten hours of proofreading is not unintense, let me tell you in my fine sentence-y way.

Anyway, I kept thinking, "I just have to get through this week. By Friday at 3:00, that thing HAS to be in the FedEx box, so then I can relax."

But because the world hates me, I got a really scary NEW project late last night that was due today. Do you think I slept a wink thinking about it? All new client, do not want to screw up. So I worked like a POOCH again today, and just when I turned in the new work? What do you think happened? New client sent me ANOTHER, BIGGER thing, due Monday. Thanks. I'm dying to work the weekend, thanks for thinking of it.

So to put it mildly, I have been crank, crank, stomping-and-cussing cranky all day. Until...MY SEPHORA BOX CAME IN THE MAIL! Oh, I love gift certificates. I cannot believe I gave up the sweet, sweet nectar of shopping all year. What a mood lifter!

I no longer have to wear that terrifying berry color that makes me look like I should be muttering and carrying a Cabbage Patch doll.

My new pinky nude lipstick is divine! Now I just mutter to Winston. Which is perfectly sane.

Cat Drama is Free

2007-09-26T23:29:00.000-04:00

When I was little, I used to get into trouble because when a cat would appear on Captain Kangaroo, I'd run over and repeatedly kiss the TV. Then my father would come home, turn on the news and say, "Did you kiss the &%$# TV again?"

That was always an awkward time. Because no one knew what to say to a man who said, "Did you kiss the ampersand-percent-dollar-pound-sign TV again?"

At any rate, for those of you just tuning in, we have three lovely cats that we schlepped all the way from Los Angeles to live here. And by "here," I mean wayyyy out in the country. We are surrounded by trees, large plants, hills, tall grass...

...and for some reason many, many cats. I mean, everyone in this neighborhood must have 5 cats each. And they are all allowed to play outside. I know they belong to people because they have -- are you ready? -- FLEA COLLARS on. Now. 1972 called. It wants its pest control back. Seriously, when is the last time you put a FLEA collar on a pet? I have been using Advantage since Prince told me to act my age and not my shoe size.

So these retro-flea-repelling creatures love to play in OUR yard. There is even one who looks just like our cat Winston, who I call Kitty Doppelganger because I am original that way, who LOLLS on our front porch, ROLLING in the sun, inches from where poor Winston is stuck behind the screen door.

Because yes. Marvin Gardens, who for some reason gets to make all the rules even though I am older, has decided our cats are not to play outside here. So they have to stay inside, the geeky city cats, holding their violins and wearing pinafores, watching the country cats play IN OUR YARD all day.

Poor Winston. You have no idea how Kitty Doppelganger bothers him. He will sit for hours looking out the door, saying mowmowmowmowmowmowmow while I am trying to proofread, and his lookalike loll loll lolls. To make matters worse, Kitty Doppelganger DOES look just like Winston, but he is, well, BEEFIER than my sleek kitty.

And also? While he sports his Hartz 2-in-1 flea collar? I am afraid that my cat is wearing...a Burberry collar and a pave diamond tag, shaped like a bone, for irony.

So today I am in here proofreading about cognitive dissonance while trying to drown out the mowmowmowmowmow of frustrated Winston. I go out there, and I can TELL what that tough country cat is thinking: "Hah! You just have to sit in the house while I get to roll on your porch. Ya afraid of snakes? Ya afraid of the country? Ya afraid of grass? What you gonna do about it, you stripey-ass, ribey, plaid-collar-wearing, diamond-irony-tagged city cat?"

Folks. I could not take it. I know the rules. I know Marvin could come home and ask me if I kissed the TV or let his beloved cat out or whatever. But I could not look at that tobacco chewing, incorrect-English-using Doppelganger tormentor one more second.

I let Winston out the door. Winston, who survived the mean streets of LA, who lasted a month in the pound before I found him, tore out that door and after that cat, his pave bone blowing behind him.

He came back 10 minutes later, not a scratch on him. And I have not seen Kitty Doppelganger since.

There is a bit-up flea collar in the drive, though.

June Virtually Shops

2007-09-25T20:02:00.001-04:00

Is that title sort of misleading? It makes it sound like I sort of shopped. When in reality I REALLY shopped. And it was chilling.

I have had a Sephora gift certificate in my purse since my birthday, which, for those of you who don't know, was well over TWO MONTHS AGO. The certificate was given to me by my stepsister Una and her husband Bill -- who are pictured here along with my mother and me when I was "blond." We are all standing in front of something depressing back in our old Burbank, California neighborhood. I have no idea why we decided to capture this on film, or why Marvin Gardens structured the photo in this 'everyone on the left' manner. Perhaps he was being arty.

This is so unlike me. Not the part where I am standing in front of something depressing. I mean the gift certificate part. There is nothing better than Sephora. Go back to one of my first posts, in December, where I go on and on about it.

For me to not spend this certificate right away is like, well, it's like me having a gift certificate to Sephora and not using it.

Now, we COULD say that going 10 months without buying stuff like this (and screaming over to CVS to buy emergency makeup for an interview is not the same...and even that was seven months ago) maybe got me out of the habit of purchasing.

I actually think I just kind of forgot I had the dang thing because we moved 2,500 miles from our home and I had to get used to the whole lack of 2,997,000 people thing and I got all depressed and such.

But thank goodness I rallied around and went on line to that sephora.com. (Had there been one anywhere near me, I'd have gone in and savored the moment and saved on the shipping, which ate into my certificate. But we do not even have a COFFEE SHOP in this town. We do not have a YMCA. Or a movie theater. "Hey! Let's plop this high-falutin' makeup store in this dinky town, over here next to the John Deere!")

Can I just tell you? If I thought going without buying my cosmetics would make me get over the thrill? I was SO. WRONG!

I got me some nudey pink lipstick because the only color I have left now is a berry which makes me look like I should be muttering to myself and holding a Cabbage Patch doll.

Then I got me some nudey pink lip gloss, for those times when nudey pink lipstick is just...too much.

THEN I got all up in the eye shadow and I got a duo that contained a pink shadow and a tweed. I do not think that I will literally be placing tweed fabric on my eyelid; I think it was a fancy way of saying "brown."

Whose job is it to name makeup? I want that job. "Tres noir." "Tarnish." "Emotion." "Whisper." Those are the names of the makeup I have here in my bag right now. And I can tell you they are, in order, black mascara, green eye pencil, a beigy-color blush and some pale lavender eye shadow. Who gets to sit there and say, "Beigy-color blush. That sounds like 'Emotion' to me."

Anyway, the items come in one to two business days and all I can say is business in the front, party in the back. Which makes no sense unless you are really into mullets. Me and my nudey-pink lips will talk at you later.

For every jewel turn turn turn, there is a season turn turn turn.

2007-09-23T19:45:00.001-04:00

My Aunt Mary, who hails from Colorado, came to visit us this weekend.

In case you are thinking, "That Aunt Mary is some jet-setter, going from Colorado to North Carolina just for a weekend" (and if you are thinking that, are you really that big of a nerd? Is this my demographic? People who say things like "some jet-setter"?), in reality, Aunt Mary had a conference over here on this part of the earth, and she just finished up her week with us. That's all. Don't get too excited. Aunt Mary isn't gettin' on her private plane for a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich or anything.

When one is not spending, it is sort of a challenge to have a visitor. "Hey, welcome. Want to watch our four TV channels? We can't go anywhere except for 17 walks a day. Do you like Reba?"

So, one thing I did was take Aunt Mary out on the town. Which took 17 minutes. The town is three blocks long. But here's the thing about my aunt. Let's say, God forbid, that Aunt Mary fell over dead and for some reason none of us had much money for the tombstone engraving. We could save a bundle and encapsulate her like this:

Aunt Mary.
She shopped.

In fact, she has probably already bought a stone at a deep discount during "Funeral Friday" or something on QVC.

You have seriously never met anyone who shops as much as Aunt Mary. She has over 100 pairs of shoes. She recently lost weight and donated like 62 pairs of pants to charity. Her husband files for divorce twice a year, when he has to lug the winter clothes in and take the summer clothes out and vice versa.

And knickknacks? Don't get me started.

And ALL of these things were bought at 689% off. "Oh, this Chanel suit? I found it at DressBarn for $1.50." She has never paid full price for ANything, ever, in her life.

This drawn-out description was necessary so you could feel the mirth I felt when, not one hour into her visit, Aunt Mary found a STORE, in this three-block town, that I have never been to. "What's this place?!" she squealed. The woman has a divining rod in her hair or something.

And it was the cutest place! It's kind of a consignment/antique shop, and it had a ton of stuff. Most important, a cat lived at the store. She is gray and her name is Tabatha.

I guess it goes without saying that Aunt Mary bought her a little something, and even a gift for me.

For the rest of the weekend, we went to the nature preserve where we were almost stuck for the rest of our lives (which is a whole 'nother Oprah), we made dinner out of vegetables we bought at a roadside stand, we went to an antique fair which involved a long country drive and we went to the Pee Dee River, because it is just fun to say "Pee Dee."

I must admit that we also took Aunt Mary to the drive-in theater, but in our defense, we brought our own popcorn. She also bought us dinner at the grill here in town, of which I am so enamored.

So that was how I cheated a little and mostly skirted the spending this weekend. Oh! But before I go, I wonder if you could help a sister out and comment on the following.

Last night I was trying to untangle my necklaces, and Aunt Mary said, "That reminds me. I have to get my autumn jewelry out." Her AUTUMN JEWELRY. She was as appalled at ME as I was at HER.

"Everyone has seasonal jewelry!" Home Shopping Network told me. "I mean, you don't wear a white necklace in January!"

Okay, Joan Collins, I don't OWN a white necklace. But I told her I would ask you guys, since I am sure I am right and she is sure SHE is right.

Do you have seasonal jewelry? Do tell. I won't make fun of you. Really.

I Want to Rock the Hair Dye with You...

2007-09-20T22:33:00.001-04:00

I have such exciting hair news!

I always feel bad for the five men who read this blog when I talk about my hair.

That was a poorly constructed sentence.

When I talk about my hair, I always feel bad for the five men who read this blog. There.

Actually, three of the men who I know read this are gay, so the hair talk is probably fine. ...No. My uncle is not gay that way. He is no fun at all, and should just go ahead and spit and scratch and like women, because there is NO celebrity gossip, NO decorating advice and CERTAINLY no hair interest. He is forever emailing me articles on the state of the world and cerebral crap like that.

Every time he sends me one of those dull articles from The New York Times or wherever, I make it a point to forward him an article on Tori Spelling.

So, straight and uninterested gay men, I apologize. Now I must get into the hair talk.

My lovely roots were showing again, although I have to tell you that it took longer than usual thanks to my Aunt Mary sending me that John Freida hair glaze stuff. I'll bet I got a good two weeks without dying out of that stuff. That was another poorly constructed sentence.

So last night we went to the store so I could get me some dye. Now, let me tell you what's beginning to happen. It is starting to be that we can go NOWHERE without knowing someone. We saw two of Marvin's coworkers at the grocery store the other night, and then last night I'm all loaded up on the hair dye and I hear Marvin go, "Hey!"

I met the nicest couple, the woman being another teacher at Marvin's school. Turns out the man likes Michael Jackson, and I have probably failed to mention that Marvin Gardens worked for Michael Jackson for a few years. Somehow Marvin had already MENTIONED this to his entire school, and the woman had already told her husband, and then lo and behold there we all were at the drug store.

Well, Michael Jackson wasn't.

Now, I understand that this occasion could not have been any less about me. Everyone was kind of focused on Marvin and his brush with "greatness." (He insists that Michael Jackson is not a child molester, by the way. Maybe I'll have him do a guest post, if y'all are so inclined.) But I could not help but be terribly conscious of the fact that I had not one, but TWO boxes of hair dye in my hands. "Hi! I am a fake, tarted-up woman! Got any push-up bras up in here? How about press-on nails? Any press-on nails? Do they sell grilles for your teeth in that aisle down there? And hey, where can I get my weave worked on?"

I don't know. It was just weird. I wish I had been holding something respectable, like hand towels and Lysol.

At any rate, I used an EVEN CHEAPER hair dye than before: Revlon. (I used to use L'Oreal.) AND I went crazy and bought one box of medium brown and one box of medium auburn, so I got a really dark red color that is decidedly not burgundy. Which I wanted to avoid. It just doesn't look good with my grille.

So the good news is it turned out really great! I think each box of dye cost less than $3. Now, do not get me wrong. When my year is up, I am SO going back to highlights, lowlights, light my fire, light my fanny and call me Harry, whatever. But for now I am quite pleased.

And to my uncle, next time we will discuss the primaries and the national debt, I promise.

Seventy-six (trom)bones

2007-09-19T14:36:00.000-04:00

I just deleted the "Amount We Have Saved This Year" section at right. I deleted it because we are going DOWN, folks, DOWN.

I am trying to remember what we'd saved at our peak. I want to say it was like $18,000. But does anyone remember for sure?

Anyway, now to our name we have $7,631.88. I had to pay a gigantic COBRA payment, and I don't even like snakes, and this move cost more than I thought. Plus, we are living on nearly $100,000 less than we were at the beginning of the year. So into savings we dipped.

I know I should look on the bright side. If we hadn't gone this year without spending, we'd have NO savings whatsoever, which is pretty much what we had the other nine years of our marriage. We always had like $500 or maybe a big $1,000 saved. Which as a dual-income couple with no children was inexcusable! You know it was.

So, nearly eight thousand bucks is actually pretty exciting. As long as we can LEAVE IT ALONE from here on out. Which we may not be able to do, actually.

We are living with one car, and it is not pretty. It is, in fact, ugly. For example, my one outing I have is my volunteer work at the assisted living facility. I can't walk there (I tried to chose a place I could walk to but I accidentally picked a place more than three miles away, through a terrible neighborhood. Oops.), so I have to wait, hovering, like a spider, when Marvin gets home from school. He usually gets home after 4:00, so I LEAP into the car and TEAR over to the home to play this book on tape for Miss Lilly, a blind woman. I have to get there with enough time to play the tape before dinner, which is at 5:00.

So remember how I sold my VW Bug to my mother? Turns out she is not happy with it and wants to sell it, so she is willing to sell it back to us, at whatever monthly payment we can afford. We are thinking about it, trust me.

I know that buying a CAR certainly counts as SPENDING, though. And we are trying to be really really really really strict on our policy now. Even if I did buy some red velvet creme-filled Bingles at the grocery store last night, which I do not think is a cheat, as the rule is we can only buy what we could not make ourselves, and I assure you I do not know how to make red velvet creme-filled Bingles. But OLD June, beginning-of-the-year June, would not have allowed it.

And one more thing. I really have to remember that I did not do this year of no spending in order to save money. In fact, I sincerely thought we were living within our means and that we would save nothing. So having ANY money saved is a PLUS. The POINT was to see what would HAPPEN if we didn't spend. That was it! So, maybe I should get over myself. $7,631.88 will still garner me a lot of Hello Kitty necklaces at year's end.

I hope this song won't end soon

2007-09-17T20:44:00.000-04:00

BOOM, fall is here. On Friday, the weather was as it has been since we got here on August 5th. Hot, slow, syrupy, thick. At night was the deafening chirp of nine million June bugs, which we could hear loud and clear because we slept with the bedroom window wide open and there's a tree less than a foot away.

But sometime Friday night, it got chilly. And Saturday had a definite... lightness to it. Last night we closed the window, and all that was out there were a few hagged-out crickets.

Then tonight? When we went on our walk? I had to wear my zip-up sweatshirt. And you had to kind of walk fast at first, so you wouldn't feel too chilly.

Who knows? Maybe it'll warm up again, but it feels fall-y out there now. Which is exciting for me, because I have not experienced a seasonal change since I wore long underwear as fashionable tights under cutoffs.

I moved to LA in early 1997, and I was in Seattle before that, which definitely had a change of seasons. But it's been 15 years since I lived in the land of seasons. The land known as Michigan.

Autumn to me feels so...retro. Maybe I should start wearing bodysuits again. Or not.

Today I am immensely grateful for my friends; those who have stuck with me this year even though they have not gotten any gifts, and those I have made this year while blogging. It was Marvin Garden's idea for me to blog about this year, and I poo-pooed the idea at first. Blogging. Okay. Maybe I could join one of those virtual reality worlds, too.

But I love it! Just today, I received a 1978 gossip magazine with Barry Gibb photos in it from faithful reader Kelly Garrett, who really only knows me through my blog.

My friend Dottie sent me a lovely note to cheer me, after she read here that I was blue. My sister-in-law sent me a PERFECT book, my mother just sent me beauty aids and such, because she knows I can't buy any, and my mother-in-law is sending me her hair conditioners for the same reason.

Without this blog, or bog, as Renee's mother would continue to say, I would not know dcrmom, stie, brownyn, jtcosby, kellie, fullyoperationalbattlestation, lara, Catherine, frankie -- and do you like how I have to keep everyone's names upper- or lowercase depending on how they write them in my comments? Could I be ANY BIGGER of a proofreading nerd?

Anyway. We decided to not spend for a year to see what it would be like. I had no idea it could be rewarding like this.

I leave you with this lovely photo taken at the wedding we went to earlier this year. The bride -- who I am also grateful to and who is still waiting for her gift -- just sent it to me. It encapsulates our views on dancing completely. Look at your June, there, shaking her groove thing, and those rather large hips. And then poor Marvin, thinking, "How long 'til this song is over? Will she like the next song? Are there any friends who look like they'd join her for the next number? When are her FEET gonna get sore? Will she ever stop?"

Cleanliness is next to cleanout. Go look in the dictionary.

2007-09-16T10:03:00.000-04:00

Good morgen! As they would sort of say in Germany!! It is Sunday and it is CLEANING DAY. WHOOOOOOO! WHOO!

Okay, trying to get excited about stupid cleaning day.

I know I have mentioned this to you before, but the last time I mentioned it was January, and perhaps you have -- I don't know -- lived your life since then and you have forgotten, so I will reiterate.

Because I can no longer just call the cleaning lady, I have been doing the Martha Stewart cleaning technique from her Homekeeping Handbook. Go get this book if you want to know how to do anything in your house. Need to know how to have a lovely entryway? Which just sounded dirty but I meant your vestibule? Look at the Martha Stewart Homekeeping book! How long to keep your cosmetics? I think you know where to look.

So I am going to do each step of her Weekly Cleaning techniques and report back to you, so that (a) I have someone reading this and keeping track of me and (2) (...I never cease to think it's funny to say "a" then "2." When does my hilarity stop?) you can see what a fine, not-at-all never-ending time it is.

First, old Mart has six things you are supposed to do every day, like make the bed. I usually do none of those six things. Then she has these weekly tasks, then monthly, seasonal, SPRING (I am not kidding), then specific fall jobs. You know that heifer is doing none of these. Her staff has to do them, and they all want to bitch slap her.

Today I am only doing the weekly tasks. And I promise it'll take all dang day. Here we go:

10:29 a.m. I am starting with wiping everything in the kitchen.

10:31 a.m. I cannot find ANY rags. I find 8,945 towels, but no rags. Marvin is in there eating a watermelon while standing over the sink, and he says towels and cleaning rags are the same thing. I am already annoyed with him because he is getting pits everywhere. I am using an old t-shirt as a rag.

11:06 a.m. Seriously. That's how long that took me. I wiped cupboards, appliances, the oven, the furniture, you name it. My only distraction was when I cut the t-shirt into more manageable pieces and also when I was wiping an old mason jar and thought, "Wouldn't it be pretty if I gathered up all the sea glass and put it in this jar" which I did. Okay. Next I have to wipe the INSIDES (geez) of everything and flush the drain with boiling water.

11:39 a.m. Waiting for the STUPID water to boil, I managed the next three steps, including (yes) washing inside and outside the trash can.

[Two cleaning tips from June -- and yes, it is frightening that you would take cleaning tips from June -- if you boil your water in the microwave, it's then easier to clean inside said microwave. Also, a way to clean the trash can? Take the bag out and use it as the pail for washing the floor.]

11:57 a.m. The kitchen? It is done. Only 78 rooms to go.

12:21 p.m. Floors everywhere? Swept. Used the Swiffer-type thing (which my mother always. always calls a "Swifter" no matter how many times I correct her) AND the vacuum. Am disgusted at size of dust bunnies given that we have only lived here five weeks and that I have "Swiftered" before. Also increasingly annoyed that Marvin G. has apparently become centipede, as he has left 12 pairs of shoes in each room.

12:37 p.m. Have managed to take perfectly lovely, shiny tiles in kitchen and hallway and by washing them with Dawn dishwashing liquid, turn then into the dullest floors imaginable. It is like your 8th grade algebra teacher were the floor. The floors are comparable to a statistics book, advanced edition. I mean dull.

I am going to eat something, because I feel weak and shaky and realized all I have consumed today is black coffee.

12:54 p.m. Feeling emboldened by lasagna and a peach grown right here in our town, I soldier on to dust and to vacuum living room furniture.

1:24 p.m. Enter living room to find Marvin and our cat Francis luxuriating on couch. Both scatter, horrified, when I come stomping in with my Old English. Why, whyyyyyyyy do we own so much wood? In that room there are two bookshelves, an old chest used as coffee table, a Victrola, a PIANO, and an old radio that is four feet tall, which Winston hangs out in (see visual aid). Next up? Bathroom.

2:23 p.m. Have cleaned toilet, bathtub, sink, mirror and floor. I have dusted the light fixture and am laundering all throw rugs and blankets in house. Am beginning to detest Martha Stewart. Am beginning to wonder if this book is why she went to prison. Would love 10 minutes in prison with Martha and a shiv.

2:51 p.m. Dusted in dining room. If you think I moved the 4,756 knickknacks to dust under them, you would be wrong. Upon entering guest room to write in blog, find Marvin napping on guest bed. Think again of shiv.

3:06 p.m. Fluffed sofa pillows, threw away old catalogs and sorted the mail. Began putting away clean throw rugs and pillows, if they are dry. Swept front porch and walkway. Begin thinking of great-grandmother, who had a cleaning problem. She used to scrub the sidewalks, and my grandfather said if you got up to pee in the night, when you came back she had already made the bed. Wonder if she was this miserable. Wonder why I didn't inherit her need to clean.

Wonder why I was ever born.

3:21 p.m. Dusted spines and tops of all books, all ceiling fans and electronic equipment. Remember, this bitch expects you to do all this EVERY WEEK. What the hell is WRONG with this Nazi? If I were an Indian goddess with eight arms AND I was on speed, I could not do all of this. As I am dusting the phone, it rings. Marvin, taking his microwave popcorn out, yells, "PHONE!"

I being wondering if any of my old boyfriends are still single.

3:36 p.m. She STILL expects me to change and launder sheets and pillowcases in each bedroom, DUST in each bedroom and clean all the windows. Oh, and vacuum all the vents. I have been working for FIVE HOURS. I am sweaty, and decidedly cranky. I am giving up on this stupid woman and her stupid, stupid book. After all, tomorrow is another day.

Havin' a Flashback

2007-09-14T00:54:00.000-04:00

Now that I have been gone from my job in LA for almost two months, I feel it is safe to tell you something that I have wanted to tell you since February. It is a chilling tale. It is

JUNE'S BIGGEST CHEAT THIS YEAR!!

I wish I had that dramatic chipmunk music. Have you seen that video on YouTube? Can I put it on here or will I get sued? Dcrmom hates it when people put YouTube on their blogs.

Okay. I'm gonna say it again, and then you click on the video. It'll be so dramatic.

It's JUNE'S BIGGEST CHEAT THIS YEAR!

And yes, I know it is a prairie dog and not a chipmunk. I didn't name the stupid thing.

The story begins back in November of 2006, before you knew me. Remember those heady days, when "Marvin Gardens" was just a piece of Monopoly property?

I had been at my job nine months. I liked it there. Then one night, out of the blue, during Entertainment Tonight and The Insider, my phone rang. It was this fancy finance company that I had interviewed with in 2005. They had another copy editor position coming up, and did I want it?

You guys, they pursued me. They called, they cajoled, they stood outside my window and played "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel. I mean, this company wanted me.

Finally, in FEBRUARY, three months later, I decided to go there for an interview. It was way closer than my current job -- a drive of 15 minutes rather than an hour. Plus, they paid seventy million dollars a week, they gave you three weeks' vacation your first year, two bonuses, and all those ridiculous government holidays off, just like my stepsister the librarian has. That chick is never at work. "It's Arbor Day. We have the day off." Whatever with her.

So I took a personal day from the job I liked. When I woke up the morning of the interview, I was putting on the one suit I own and have had since 2002 when I realized...(maybe you should go replay the dramatic music)

I HAD LEFT MY MAKEUP AT WORK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Because my commute was so terrible, and as a result I got there reallyreallyreallyreally early to avoid traffic, I would put my makeup on when I arrived. Do not ask me why I took ALL of it to work. I guess because it was all in this cute brown train case, and it was just easier to throw that in my car rather than pick through it and decide what came to work and what didn't.

But you guys. This was an interview for a fancy-ass job and yours truly is no spring chicken. I could NOT go there with zero makeup. I would not look fresh-faced. I would look like Merle Haggard.

So here's what I had to do. I had to scream over to CVS, crying in my suit, and buy all new makeup. Now fortunately, given my love for the cosmetics, I had basically been training for this event since I was nine. I was able to get foundation, eye shadow, an eyebrow brush, eyeliner, mascara and lipstick in about 27 seconds. When I got to the counter, the CVS worker said, "Would you like to apply for a CVS card today?! You'll save --"

"I HAVE A HUGE INTERVIEW IN HALF AN HOUR AND I HAVE NO MAKEUP!" I screamed. She shut up and put everything in a bag.

Anyway, they did offer me the job, after making me go there three times and interview with more than 10 people, but I turned it down. And every day I have to look at that illegal makeup, and I have been unable to tell you about it because I didn't want to get in trouble at what used to be my current job.

I think I spent like $37 on that makeup, and it was all Maybelline or some lowbrow brand. And you know I have used it all year? I used up the lipstick totally, and the eye shadow is low and the eye pencil is gone, too. I have virtually ignored my expensive makeup, sitting fancy and angry at the bottom of that train case.

So that's the tale. Oh, it's a relief to be truthful.

I could have been Jennifer on WKRP

2007-09-12T20:59:00.001-04:00

Seriously. WHO told me I could proofread for a living? I made the BIGGEST mistake yesterday and had to spend the whole day sweatily fixing it. WHY did I think this was a job I was good at?

I am a flibbertygibbet. I think that goes without saying. I think no one ever wants to hear the word "flibbertygibbet" again anyway, so we're set. But really, I am a... you know. I should be a CRUISE director, or a movie star, or a princess. But a quiet, introverted job like proofreader? WHYYYYYY?

Anyway, I currently have no other choice, so I guess I'll proof the reading or read the proofs or whatever again tomorrow. Girlfriend has to bring home the sixteen dollars an hour or whatever sad sum she is currently dragging home.

You know, I was once a receptionist. I chose this profession when I first moved to Seattle, based mostly on the fact that there was a bar on the first floor of the building. This career worked for me. I dated FedEx delivery men, I chatted with the guy who came in to water the plants, I wrote funny things on people's messages. ("Jerry from WINK TV called. Said he had his EYE on you!")

But when I started dating Marvin Gardens, he got all self-esTEEm building on my ass. "Why are you doing this for a living? I see you doing so much MORE." Marvin was never much of a drinker. The whole bar-in-the-building thing did not sway him.

So that's why I proofread today. It is all Marvin's fault. HE should have been the one perspiring and tensing and cursing and mewling at this very desk all day.

But he can't cause he isn't here. And that is why I have gathered you all here today. Marvin had to go out of town, somewhere cool, for the night, for work. Could I have crammed more commas into that last sentence? His trip was paid for by his work, and he wanted me to come along. Have a swell time at the Holiday Inn or whatever. But you know what I did? I stayed here. I stayed here because it would have COST MONEY, and we are NOT SPENDING.

So it's just me, a can of Pringles, and eight episodes of Gray's Anatomy from Netflix. We are allowed Netflix because it is an expense we already had. Shut up.

McFlibbertygibbet out.

Clothes make the man really silly looking

2007-09-11T11:03:00.000-04:00

I have a 17-page paper on research committees to proofread, and it was written by someone with an Ø in their name, so you know it's gonna be screwy English. And I have to get it done in the next four hours, because as soon as Marvin gets home we are OUT the door, and he's gonna be Mr. CrankerTrousers if he gets home and I had all day to proofread and yet I'm not done and what did I DO all day.

Nevertheless, dcrmom sent me a meme. So I must do it. I must do it now.

No one in blogworld knows what "meme" means. I love it that someone completely made up a word and we are all saying it. I am going to try that. I officially make up the word...sparklefraffle.

All words should have "sparkle" somewhere in them.

Okay, so my meme is, I have to list five of my clothing pet peeves. I know I am being deep on September 11th. Here we go:

Holiday sweaters. I am going to offend all of my female relatives, but cut it out with the seasonal sweaters. We know what holiday it is. We don't also need to see that shamrock in 3-D on your midsection.

Holiday socks. See above. Replace "midsection" with "instep." I have now been disowned. I will have to go in the basement and drink beer with the men in my family, because no one is lettin' me in the kitchen anymore. Not that I tried to help out in that kitchen so often.

Ill-fitting clothes. Now, this is a teenager thing and I know I am old because I do not get it. WHY is showing your muffin top acceptable? And do not get me wrong. I think women can be beautiful at all sizes. Give me Marilyn Monroe's body over Cameron Diaz's any day. But you didn't see Marilyn in low-hung pants and a short short T. Actually, she probably could have pulled that off.

I feel the same way about baggy clothes. With the underwear showing. When did I turn 147?

Irony. Yes, it's hilARious that you are hip AND you have on a redneck hat. Ooo! Somebody stop you! It's been done. Move on.

Men in flip-flops. This never bothered me until I met Marvin Gardens who canNOT stand feet. Oh, he gets sick at the sight of them. We have often joked that his worst job ever would be fitting people for toe rings on Venice Beach. So now, just like how I no longer drink anything with carbonation, I am also bothered by exposed feet -- but only on men. Somehow it skeeves me out.

I certainly hope no man is reading this in his holiday sweater, socks, flip flops and ironic hat with his muffin top hanging out, cause man, did I just lose a reader. And by the way, I am writing this in sweats from Target and the tank top I slept in. So I am one to talk.

Sparklefraffle!