Orange you glad I stopped drinking?

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.