Monday, September 22, 2014


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

It has come to my attention that people are spreading rumors about my man, Willy Dunne Wooters. They say he had a baby with some woman.

It's not Wooters. It's that actor named Ryan Gosling:

See? This Facebook post is from before the baby was born. Here's Ryan with Eva whatever-her-name is:

The baby has been born. They had a girl. Goody for them. They don't know what they're in for.

I know Ryan Gosling and Willy Dunne Wooters look alike. The resemblance is amazing. But please keep in mind that it's this Ryan Gosling guy who had the baby, and not my WDW. This was Willy Dunne Wooters' reaction when I told him everyone thinks he is a new father:

See how shocked he is? Please stop gossiping about my man. He's so upset he had trouble rinsing the shampoo out of my hair:

Infinities of Wooters love,

Janie Junebug

P.S. Please stop by Rachel's blog to wish her a happy birthday! She's a sweet girl. Tell her I sent you so she doesn't worry about stranger danger. Her blog is When A Lion Sleeps, Let It Sleep.

Saturday, September 20, 2014


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I thank all of you who have made suggestions. I'll be looking into your advice.

I appreciate the fact that you care.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Friday, September 19, 2014


If you don't want to read profanity or know about my anger, then please don't read this post.

My friend's husband died earlier this week. He hadn't been well for quite a while. He wouldn't go to the doctor because even though he'd had pain in his side and back for weeks, he didn't think it was serious, BUT THE MAIN REASON HE WOULDN'T GO IS BECAUSE IT COSTS MONEY TO SEE A DOCTOR. They are not the kind of people to go to an ER and then say, I can't pay the bill. They wouldn't get help unless they could pay for it.

I had urged my friend to check into the Health Care Act. She said they couldn't even afford that insurance.

Now he's dead and she's on her own with a daughter who is going to give birth any day now. She wants to have her husband cremated, but it costs sixteenfuckinghundred dollars. The restaurant where she works as a server put out a jar to collect donations for her. IT HAS CHANGE IN IT. CHANGE. SOME COINS, as in people paid for their meals and got some dimes and pennies back and tossed it in the jar.

He was a veteran. She gets $100 from the VA. She gets $250 from Social Security.

Willy Dunne Wooters is coming over this weekend with money so we can make a REAL donation, but this is all just so wrong that it makes me sick and I am crying and I hardly every cry.

What is wrong with us as a country that we have people working in restaurants who don't even make minimum wage because their tips are supposed to give them a living wage? They have to pay a fifteen percent tax on their tips. Some people buy an eight dollar breakfast and leave a fucking dollar as a tip. That means my friend runs back and forth with the meal and refilling the coffee cup and getting hot sauce and extra napkins and cleaning up after people who make a fucking mess, and she gets less than a dollar for her tip.

I can't even take a check in for her because it's the 19th and my middle-of-the month check hasn't come yet. It will probably get here tomorrow when it's too late to put it in the credit union. Right now, I have $16 in the bank and some change in my wallet. I am so angry that I can't whip out my checkbook and write a check for this woman right now.

It's not that I have a bill I have to pay before Monday, when the check will PROBABLY be here, but I never know when my check will get here. I worked hard for that money. I took care of a man who was psychotic, who insisted that God told him he should divorce me and marry another woman and raise her children. A man who told me he didn't want our daughter, yet he dares to brag about her brilliance any chance he gets. A man who paid no attention to his children. A man I once found with his fist over our infant son's face.

That fucking asshole, after everything I did for him, will not set up direct deposit for me. I can't set up direct deposit myself. He has to initiate it at his bank AND HE FUCKING WILL NOT DO IT. So I always have to worry, Will the check get here? What if it gets lost? What if it gets stolen? I cannot get a fucking job. No one wants me. I have applied for hundreds of jobs. I even applied at Target although because of my broken back I'm not supposed to bend lift twist push or pull.

So here I am and I want to give money to my friend who is suffering to help her RIGHT NOW, and I don't fucking have it.

I thought about sending an email to X to ask him to please set up direct deposit, but then I thought, No, he will just call me names and threaten me.

The last time I talked to him was last year. I told him that Favorite Young Man had some problems and needed help. He said, I've tried to help him before. I'm done with him.

What kind of father is "done" with his child? What kind of man throws out his wife of 30 years with the garbage and calls her poison? What kind of man brags about the daughter he didn't want?

What kind of country doesn't provide all of its citizens--especially veterans--with medical care and cremation/burial?

If we lived in Canada, he would have seen a doctor and gotten help. If we lived in Sweden, he would have seen a doctor and gotten help. So many European countries would have taken care of my friend and her husband. But not us. Not the U.S.

And so many fucking idiots want to do away with Obamacare so that I'll go back to having no insurance at all. That's right. Just fuck me over the way my husband did. Just use me up and throw me out because I'm worthless and I don't deserve medical care.

I truly wish I could afford to move to Canada and get away from police forces like the kind that murdered Michael Brown and people like George Zimmerman who murdered Trayvon Martin and people who have medical care and don't want other people to have it because the HAVES HATE THE HAVE NOTS.

Okay. I'm glad I said all that.

I feel a little calmer now. My check will probably get here tomorrow or Monday, and then I'll be able to help my friend. Willy Dunne Wooters will help her this weekend.

But I know that if my ex-husband had his way, I would live in a cardboard box in an alley.

Thursday, September 18, 2014


Dear Hearts and Gentle People,

A friend of mine became a widow Monday night. Her husband hadn't felt well for a while, but he refused to see a doctor. Monday night he felt worse. I don't know if she drove him to the hospital or called an ambulance, but he died in the hospital. She is bereft.

I feel rather zombie-ish. I'm going to take a little blog break. I want to help with fundraising. She is in a very difficult financial situation. Willy Dunne Wooters has already pledged $300. I love that man. He is so generous. I don't ever want to be without him.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Wednesday, September 17, 2014


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Earlier this summer, Shecky Shady, a.k.a. Shady Del Knight of Shady Dell Music & Memories, presented me with The Sunflower Blogger Award.

I was happy to accept such an honor, but I put off writing this post because I'd just gotten into mosh pits. The kind for old people, where we bump each other with our wheelchairs. I got my finger pinched one day and haven't been back to the pit.

When Sir Shady received this award, he answered a list of questions sent to him by his accusers friends, and then he created a list of questions for the bloggers on whom he bestowed the award. I'm not going to pass on the award to anyone else, unless someone wants it. In the mood for an award? It's yours.

However, I shall answer Sir Shady's questions:

* Why do you blog?

It's my therapy.
Talking to a therapist never helped me.
I'm much happier now that I dump my problems on the entire world.

* Are you an early riser or a night owl?

Sometimes I seem to be an early riser, but it's because I never went to bed.
 I like the quiet of the night.
I accomplish so much.

* What is your favorite smell?

The late, great smooth collie Faulkner had a comfort scent that can't be replicated. 
He didn't smell like a dog.
Maybe he smelled like an angel.

* When you are feeling sad what's the one song
you could play or sing to make you feel happy again?

* When you look in the mirror, what do you see?

This young girl still lives inside me.

* How would you describe your personality?

Although I believe everything happens for a reason,

* Name something difficult you accomplished 
in your life through sheer determination.

X and I moved around a lot so he could get degrees and have a career.
It took me twenty years to get my BA in English,
but I did it.
Education means a lot to me.

* What do you consider to be the most important world
or national event that has taken place in your lifetime?

The births of my children.
Other people might not think they are world or national events, 
but to me, nothing can be more important.

* If you had to spend the rest of your life in a different
century, past or future, which century would you choose?

I'm sorry.
I can't choose.
I live in the moment.
I live with my past.
I can't leave.

* If you were asked to speak extemporaneously for
one hour about anything, what topic would you pick?

My children.

So, there you have it. I done did answered the questions, and I thank Shady Del Knight for the very nice award.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Tuesday, September 16, 2014


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Willy Dunne Wooters is afraid that I don't have enough shoes, so we must embark on a shopping expedition today.

Photo courtesy of fishducky, who is a bit of a stalker.

I love the way Willy Dunne Wooters tells the salesperson what sort of shoe I'd like. WDW is such a take-charge man. Of course, I'm a take-charge woman. It makes for a feisty relationship.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Monday, September 15, 2014


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Willy Dunne Wooters took a week of his vacation time from work not long ago. For the most part, we piddled around and watched movies and talked and smooched, and then we smooched some more.

One day, WDW said, How about if we drive up A1A to St. Augustine tomorrow? I want to take you to a restaurant I like.

How can I say no to this man?

I've visited St. Augustine before and found it to be a tourist trap. It turned out WDW wasn't taking me to the touristy part. He knows where cool St. Augustine is. He turned off the road before we reached the creepy looking and expensive Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum. I thought he was lost and needed to turn around or wanted to look at the view, because the building in front of us didn't look like much. It turned out to be our destination: Matanzas Innlet Restaurant, owned by Jerry and Joni Galasso, at 8805 A1A South, Summer Haven, Florida. Technically, I guess we weren't in St. Augustine.

When I realized we had gotten where we were going, I said, Let's look at the water.

It was a beautiful, sunny day:

This is the view from the side of the restaurant that faces the water. Out on that strip of sand in the distance, some people were playing with dogs.

As we enjoyed the breeze, a server who was outside said, Here comes a manatee!

Within a few seconds, a manatee popped up to greet us. He didn't hang around long enough for me to take his photo, so I have to steal a manatee photo from the internet.

Is he cool, or what?

I couldn't hug Mr. Manatee, so I hugged Willy Dunne Wooters for bringing me to such a nice place.

Matanzas has tables outside, close to the water. WDW is like a lizard who enjoys soaking up the sun, but I'm Ms. Hot Flashes so we ate inside. Matanzas is very pleasant and comfortable, and oh my goodness, the food! Delicious!

This is a shrimp dish that WDW ordered:

I started with calimari, and then had the best mahi-mahi sandwich ever. WDW refused to try the calimari. I don't know why so many people won't eat calimari.

We also enjoyed the Matanzas sense of humor:

The next sign is kind of hard to read. It says KIDS throwing rocks in water will be made to retrieve them:

Kids throwing rocks will be fed to resident bullsharks:

My guess is that the owners are disciplinarians when it comes to kids throwing things in the water. They even urge their guests to forget about telephone and social media for a while. The bottom of the menu says, sit back, relax, we do not have wiFi, TALK TO EACH OTHER. your food will be out soon. put your cell phone away. catch up on gossip whether it's true or not. no yelling. be nice to your server. elbows off the table. sip your sweet tea. if you enjoyed your meal go to TRIPADVISOR and share it with the world. If not remember what thumper's mother said: "if you don't have something nice to say, don't say nothin' at all!"


I had such a good time. If you come to visit me, and I like you, I just might drive you up A1A to Matanzas. 

Maybe Mr. Manatee will greet you.

Or you'll spend a little time with a lover man:

That's right: Steve Buscemi is yours. Willy Dunne Wooters is mine, all mine.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

I just realized that some of you might now know that calimari is squid:

When it's deep fried, which I suppose is very unhealthy but I only eat it about once a year, it looks like this:


More yummy: