I'm sorry I haven't gotten around to telling you all about Herbalife. I'm just too sick to write a lot and to focus on details.
But don't go thinking it's the herbalife that's making me sick. I love, love, love, the twice a day protein shakes. In fact, I've been so sick that if I didn't have my vitamins and shakes, I probably wouldn't be getting any nutrients.
The shake mix is vanilla. It doesn't taste that great if you don't mix anything with it, so Melynda sent me various shake recipes. It turns out Hershey's chocolate syrup is very low in fat (Thank You, God), so it's a mainstay with the vanilla shakes. Then you can toss in a little peanut butter. Or part of a protein snack bar (Melynda said to be careful about protein bars because they're high in fat; who'da thunk it?).
I made up one shake recipe myself, or at least I think I did. If I saw it on the recipe list I don't remember it. I put some frozen strawberries in the blender, add some skim milk and ice, the shake powder, and of course, Hershey's syrup.
Sooooooooooo sooooooooooooooooooo good.
You'll get more herbalife information when I feel better. I started the program ten days ago, but I didn't do everything the first few days. I kinda worked my way into it.
Also, I want to make sure you know that herbalife and/or Melynda are not compensating me in any way for writing about this. No free products. No nothin'. I told Melynda I wanted to blog about it and she thought it was a great idea. Now that's someone who believes in a program because she wasn't at all afraid of what I'd say.
I'd be afraid of me. I'd be very afraid.
Maybe the doctor will wave her magic wand over me and send me to Harry Potter World in Orlando, where I shall recover immediately.
Luminos!
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
My motto as an editor: Authors are the authority on their work. I'm a full-service editor. For a reasonable fee, I'm your writing coach from the first suggested revision to the correction of the final typo.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
WHAT? MONDAY
This question is appropriate because I still don't feel well:
What is the worst illness you have ever had?
And no, fishducky, we are not talking about your specialty: breaking bones. Naaaa. I
wanna hear about being sick, and I mean really sick.
I was quite ill when I was six and had exploratory surgery. Turned out it was my appendix.
I was also quite miserable when I was pregnant with The Hurricane. Morning sickness
24/7 for all 27 months (longest pregnancy ever) because we were in the eye of the storm
long before it hit New Orleans.
But I'll have to say my winner of an illness was when I was in the hospital for ten days with
a gallbladder infection. Didn't eat the entire time, but I had an IV, of course. What got
to me was the TV. One commercial after another for every delicious morsel of food
on Earth.
Favorite Young Man was only two years old, and Dr. X was in grad school. My parents
came to Indiana from Kansas and took FYM home with them. Pity they didn't keep him.
Ten days in the hospital is a damn long time, especially when all you do is lie
there and miss your little boy. The problem was my doctor was anti-surgery.
If a surgeon had come in and ripped out my gallbladder, I would have been
home in three days. But nooooooo. My doctor wanted to see if my gallbladder
could be healed with antibiotics.
Yes, it was, sort of. It took forever and for years afterward I had sharp pains in
my right side.
So, tell us now, please,
What is the worst illness you have ever had?
Be as gross and detailed as you want. You're with friends.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
No, Monday morning couldn't guarantee that Monday evening you'd still be here with me.
Now here's another question for you: Do you want to be Michelle with the great looks
or Cass with the great voice?
If Cass were alive, she'd be my choice. But since Michelle is the only surviving member of
group, I choose Michelle and life.
Friday, January 27, 2012
HOW GREAT THOU ART
Dear Hearts,
Some of you may recall that last summer one of my older sisters had emergency quadruple bypass surgery and then had a stroke.
She was in a coma for a while, and for the first time in my life, I thought I was going to lose a sister.
But she very slowly began to get better, though some days were tougher than others. She moved from intensive care to a regular hospital room. Some days she worked very hard at rehab, and others she slept all day.
The plan was that when she was ready to leave the hospital, she and her husband would move into a duplex at an assisted living community. I was so sad that she would never again see the beautiful Victorian house she and her husband had restored and filled with antiques.
But God had other plans.
I hadn't had an update on my sister in quite some time (information can take months to filter down to me -- the youngest). But I had a reason to text my niece -- my sister's only daughter -- this morning.
She let me know that her mom is -- drum roll, please -- AT HOME. That's right. No assisted living. In her own home with all her pretty things around her.
And to put the icing on the cake, she's back at work two afternoons each week!
I thank the Lord for this miraculous recovery.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
P.S. Dear God, Please help her to not start smoking again.
Some of you may recall that last summer one of my older sisters had emergency quadruple bypass surgery and then had a stroke.
She was in a coma for a while, and for the first time in my life, I thought I was going to lose a sister.
But she very slowly began to get better, though some days were tougher than others. She moved from intensive care to a regular hospital room. Some days she worked very hard at rehab, and others she slept all day.
The plan was that when she was ready to leave the hospital, she and her husband would move into a duplex at an assisted living community. I was so sad that she would never again see the beautiful Victorian house she and her husband had restored and filled with antiques.
But God had other plans.
I hadn't had an update on my sister in quite some time (information can take months to filter down to me -- the youngest). But I had a reason to text my niece -- my sister's only daughter -- this morning.
She let me know that her mom is -- drum roll, please -- AT HOME. That's right. No assisted living. In her own home with all her pretty things around her.
And to put the icing on the cake, she's back at work two afternoons each week!
I thank the Lord for this miraculous recovery.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
P.S. Dear God, Please help her to not start smoking again.
NO POSTS YET
I was speaking to my former in-laws earlier this evening. They said that in their winter community in Texas that many people are ill with whatever I seem to have -- exhausted, letharigic, I also have double vision when I look at anything too closely, and I have terrible body aches. I'll be back as soon as possible.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
WORDS FOR A TUESDAY
I'm sorry. I don't feel well.
I'll just say that I saw the movie Moneyball (fairly new to DVD) and liked it very much. I see Academy Awards in its future.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
Please don't knock on my door.
Don't ring the telephone.
Nobody is home, and that's me --
The living dead.
And I thought my little castle was zombie free.
I'll just say that I saw the movie Moneyball (fairly new to DVD) and liked it very much. I see Academy Awards in its future.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
Please don't knock on my door.
Don't ring the telephone.
Nobody is home, and that's me --
The living dead.
And I thought my little castle was zombie free.
Monday, January 23, 2012
BEWARE OF EMAIL FROM ME
I received an email from Melynda, and when I opened the link on it, it was to an online Canadian pharmacy. It did not have a message from Melynda, so I emailed her about it.
She just informed me that it's the result of hacking and because I opened the email, it will now be sent to everyone who follows me.
Therefore, do not open an email from me.
Janie
She just informed me that it's the result of hacking and because I opened the email, it will now be sent to everyone who follows me.
Therefore, do not open an email from me.
Janie
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
TRIALS, TRIBULATIONS & TOES
All right! It's Whoo-hoo Wednesday because Fishducky is here to entertain us with just a few of her many trials and tribulations, especially involving her toes. Be sure to comment because I know Fishducky will enjoy reading your compliments.
And now . . . HERE'S FISHDUCKY!
My main problem has been with my feet—specifically, my toes. I refuse to wear shoes unless it’s absolutely necessary. I never wear them in the house. When my kids were small & they’d see me wearing shoes, they’d ask where I was going. I used to give small dinner fancy parties with crystal, china, sterling & bare feet. I have broken several toes by bumping them into chairs.
The first time I ever broke a toe, my husband & I were playing cards at my sister and her husband’s house on a Sunday evening. My brother-in-law was a veterinarian. We decided that he would bandage my foot & I would see my doctor Monday, instead of bothering him on the weekend. Apparently, my brother-in-law used a LOT of bandage to wrap it, because when I went to my doctor the next day he asked, “Who the hell bandaged your foot? It looks like a hoof!” I said, “Funny you should mention that. My veterinarian did it.”
Another time, I had just had arthroscopic surgery on my knee. The morning after the surgery, I was in bed when the doorbell rang. My husband had gone to work. I grabbed my crutches, which I was not used to using, & started to “run” to the door. I fell & broke my toe against the wall, trying to protect my knee. My yelling woke my son, who came out to see what was happening. He helped me up & got me back into bed, then went to the front door. The UPS driver had left a package for me. In it was a beautiful new cane, hand decorated in lace, which a friend had sent me. If she hadn’t sent it, I wouldn’t have needed it! Sometimes I feel like the old joke that goes, “Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?”
I once bought an embroidered pillow for a friend. Maybe I should have gotten one for myself, too. It shows the bottom half of a cow, lying on her back, with her udder hanging to one side. It says, with the letters dragging down, towards the bottom corner, “No, really—I’m f--i--n---e…………”
And now . . . HERE'S FISHDUCKY!
Now that I’m 77, I’m becoming decrepit. Which is strange, because I don’t remember ever being crepit. Or ept. Or even ane. You look to be sympathetic. Let me tell you some of my woes.
I’m diabetic, which has not been much of a problem. One time, however, I had a sore on my leg which refused to heal. My doctor thought pure oxygen would help. He had me go for treatments in a hyperbaric oxygen chamber. This is what divers use when they get the bends. This is not for those of you with claustrophobia, which I do not have. You lie in a coffin-like chamber that has a glass top & sides so you can watch TV. While you’re in there you breathe pure oxygen. It’s something “normal” people never need. The treatments take about an hour each, in a series of about 15. I usually fell asleep.
My main problem has been with my feet—specifically, my toes. I refuse to wear shoes unless it’s absolutely necessary. I never wear them in the house. When my kids were small & they’d see me wearing shoes, they’d ask where I was going. I used to give small dinner fancy parties with crystal, china, sterling & bare feet. I have broken several toes by bumping them into chairs.
The first time I ever broke a toe, my husband & I were playing cards at my sister and her husband’s house on a Sunday evening. My brother-in-law was a veterinarian. We decided that he would bandage my foot & I would see my doctor Monday, instead of bothering him on the weekend. Apparently, my brother-in-law used a LOT of bandage to wrap it, because when I went to my doctor the next day he asked, “Who the hell bandaged your foot? It looks like a hoof!” I said, “Funny you should mention that. My veterinarian did it.”
Another time, I had just had arthroscopic surgery on my knee. The morning after the surgery, I was in bed when the doorbell rang. My husband had gone to work. I grabbed my crutches, which I was not used to using, & started to “run” to the door. I fell & broke my toe against the wall, trying to protect my knee. My yelling woke my son, who came out to see what was happening. He helped me up & got me back into bed, then went to the front door. The UPS driver had left a package for me. In it was a beautiful new cane, hand decorated in lace, which a friend had sent me. If she hadn’t sent it, I wouldn’t have needed it! Sometimes I feel like the old joke that goes, “Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?”
I once bought an embroidered pillow for a friend. Maybe I should have gotten one for myself, too. It shows the bottom half of a cow, lying on her back, with her udder hanging to one side. It says, with the letters dragging down, towards the bottom corner, “No, really—I’m f--i--n---e…………”
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
YOU DON'T MESS AROUND WITH JANIE JUNEBUG
You don't tug on Joshua's cape, you don't split up Melynda and Elisa, you don't refuse Cinderita's hug, and you don't mess with Janie Junebug.
That's right, friends. Don't mess with me because I am a woman on a mission.
As of 9 p.m. EDT Monday, here are my weight loss poll results. You were supposed to guess how much weight I've lost including the 15 pounds I shed a few months ago. Four optimists said I've lost 27 pounds altogether. Three people said I remain at 15 pounds lost. Two wishful thinkers said I've lost 69 pounds, and one crummy curmudgeon said I've gained ten.
So what's the story, morning glory? Here's the word, hummingbird. I remain at 15 pounds lost. Sometimes I lose a few more and gain them back. Sometimes I gain a few and lose them again. I'm just grateful that I didn't gain weight when I had a guest during the first part of December and ate more than usual. I also didn't gain over the holidays.
But 15 pounds ain't gonna do it. I need to lose 75 more to get back to my fightin' weight.
So here's the plan, and it's already underway. I have placed myself in Drill Sergeant Melynda's gentle hands (find Melynda at http://melyndarockinthecrazy.blogspot.com/).
Melynda lost 100 pounds using Herbalife, and she's got me in cahoots with her now. I'm going to try Herbalife and Melynda is my counselor. My package of Herbalife products has arrived and Melynda will teach me how to use them. They include sensible items such as vitamins and a vanilla protein shake mix.
I was surprised when Melynda said you can make different recipes using the shakes. My day brightened considerably when she suggested adding a little peanut butter and Hershey's syrup to a vanilla shake. Sounds good. In addition to using the Herbalife products, I will also eat regular food; so no more Nutrisystem food that tastes like cardboard. I'm grateful to Nutrisystem for getting me started on portion control, but I cannot eat any more of that . . . stuff.
However, I don't want to tell you too much about the Herbalife products yet because Melynda and I need to talk about them so she can give me specific instructions.
As ordered by Melynda, here's what I'm already doing:
1. Melynda said protein is my friend. I had already cut back on carbs and I'm cutting back even more. I'm eating salmon and veggies for supper three - four times per week. Chicken and veggies works, too.
2. Melynda said her clients are required to get out of the house and do something for at least 30 minutes each day. I didn't know what to think about this requirement. If I don't HAVE to go someplace, I can happily spend the day in my jammies reading blogs and watching movies and reading books. If you've noticed that I'm not getting to your blogs as frequently as I used to, please blame Melynda.
The first day I had to get out of the house, I did something pretty darn shocking. I went to the credit union (not the shocking part), and then I had my car washed at a car wash (shocking part). I've led what you might call the sheltered life of a princess when it comes to certain areas, and one of them is taking care of my car. I know how to pump gas, but I, a 52-year-old woman, decided to take off my granny panties in favor of big girl panties and learn how to go to the car wash.
And guess what? It was no big deal. I was so scared, but the only thing that happened is I ended up with a clean car.
Then I decided to do something else even more shocking: yard work.
My mom never allowed me to touch the many flowers and plants she grew outdoors. I wanted to help Dr. X with the yard, but the one time I went out and picked up the weed whipper and asked him to teach me how to use, he said, NO! You won't do it right.
I've been hearing that "you won't do it right" crap my entire life. I was never even allowed to put a strand of tinsel on the damn Christmas tree when I was growing up because my mom said, Guess what?
YOU WON'T DO IT RIGHT!
We are now taking "you won't do it right," and we're throwing it in the trash, just like the bwoo jacket with the cockroach crap on it.
I won't know what I can do unless I try, and I have given myself permission to try, and to even fail, but then try again. I started by cleaning up about 20 percent of the leaves in my yard. Still plenty more to do, and they haven't finished falling off the tree yet.
Over the weekend, I took a gigantic step (still wearing my big girl panties). My son helped me pick out a lightweight weed whipper. My yard is so small, that if I keep after it, I think I can keep it under control with the weed whipper and not pay a yard service anymore. I'm also using hedge clippers for the first time in my life and have trimmed back my rosebush and will next use them on the vines that grow over onto the inside of the fence.
And just think about what all this raking and weed whipping and clipping is doing for me: It's exercise! I'm usually not outside for 30 minutes per day. I'm outside for about two hours almost every afternoon. One day last week I worked outside for three hours. The dogs run in and out happily as I work.
Look at what Melynda has already done for me by insisting I eat more protein and get out of the house: I'm eating more salmon, one of the healthiest foods on the planet, and I'm doing my own yard work, which makes me feel stronger, and although I had to buy a weed whipper, it cost the same as four visits from the yard service.
Now, who remembers that I told you to be excited today? And who remembers I told you to be excited because Wednesday is Fishducky Day? Yes, our favorite Fishducky will be guest posting tomorrow. Whoo-hoo!
Then on Thursday and Friday we're going to talk more about loss, but I mean the kinds of loss that cause us stress and help us get depressed. Part of this journey is that I'm going to take all the crap in my life and put it on the table, take a look at it and see where it got me, and then we're going to throw it out with the bwoo jacket and cockroach cwap.
And then I'll take that great big bright neon VICTIM sign off my forehead and throw it out, too.
And after that, we'll have to figure out how to move ahead.
Melynda assures me that Herbalife and getting my weight under control will help ease my depression. Everything is interconnected.
It's been a while since I weighed myself, so I'll go to Publix soon and step on the scale in the produce department (I am broccoli, if you must know). I'll make sure we still have 75 pounds to go and I'll report back.
Now let's get on the road.
And don't mess with Janie Junebug.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
Monday, January 16, 2012
WHAT? MONDAY
Pardon me, Sir Mix-A-Lot, But I feel compelled to disagree with you.
I really don't care much for big butts, especially if one of them is mine. Now, if YOU, Dear Readers, happen to possess and enjoy large, shapely bottoms, that's up to you. I won't make fun of you, as long as you don't make fun of me.
Because the truth is, I have a big butt, but I don't want it. I also have a big belly and much bigger boobs than I used to have. It's all because I gained weight several years ago.
And now I'm trying to lose it. Which brings us to our What? Monday question:
And if some of you answer, I eat all the time and just can't gain weight, I'll hold back the mob while you run.
I started working on weight control last spring. To help you understand the weight loss part of the journey I'm on, you might want to read this post about how I started losing weight.
At the moment, I'm kinda stuck with the weight loss stuff, though, so I'm starting something new that I'll write about tomorrow.
In the meantime, I wish you'd vote in the poll to the right of this post and guess how much weight I've lost so far (including the 15 pounds I'd lost when I wrote the post). If you really want to earn a better participation grade on this blog, then you need to start speaking up in the comments section and voting in my cute little poll.
Good heavens, when I took Chaucer with Dr. Ellzey, if I didn't say anything in class, my participation grade for the day was an "F". I know because my friend Julie saw Dr. Ellzey write F by our names when we didn't say anything. So I started blabbering away in class and got an "A".
I would like to give each and every one of you an "A" in participation.
So, your first task is to comment and answer the question
Your second task is to vote in the poll.
Your third task is to be here tomorrow and be very, very happy because Wednesday is Fishducky Day. That's right! I'm serving fishducky for breakfast, lunch, and supper.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
I really don't care much for big butts, especially if one of them is mine. Now, if YOU, Dear Readers, happen to possess and enjoy large, shapely bottoms, that's up to you. I won't make fun of you, as long as you don't make fun of me.
Because the truth is, I have a big butt, but I don't want it. I also have a big belly and much bigger boobs than I used to have. It's all because I gained weight several years ago.
And now I'm trying to lose it. Which brings us to our What? Monday question:
What do you do to keep your weight under control?
And if some of you answer, I eat all the time and just can't gain weight, I'll hold back the mob while you run.
I started working on weight control last spring. To help you understand the weight loss part of the journey I'm on, you might want to read this post about how I started losing weight.
At the moment, I'm kinda stuck with the weight loss stuff, though, so I'm starting something new that I'll write about tomorrow.
In the meantime, I wish you'd vote in the poll to the right of this post and guess how much weight I've lost so far (including the 15 pounds I'd lost when I wrote the post). If you really want to earn a better participation grade on this blog, then you need to start speaking up in the comments section and voting in my cute little poll.
Good heavens, when I took Chaucer with Dr. Ellzey, if I didn't say anything in class, my participation grade for the day was an "F". I know because my friend Julie saw Dr. Ellzey write F by our names when we didn't say anything. So I started blabbering away in class and got an "A".
I would like to give each and every one of you an "A" in participation.
So, your first task is to comment and answer the question
What do you do to keep your weight under control?
Your second task is to vote in the poll.
Your third task is to be here tomorrow and be very, very happy because Wednesday is Fishducky Day. That's right! I'm serving fishducky for breakfast, lunch, and supper.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
Friday, January 13, 2012
PLEASE WON'T YOU BE MY NEIGHBOR?
Dear Bloggy Neighbors,
Let's start the day off right with good news. The one, the only, the fishducky, will make a guest appearance here next week on Wednesday. Fishducky, I can already hear the applause.
Now I'm going to return to Monday's topic: neighbors. The What? Monday post didn't get much of a response this week. I think many of you were still trying to find me.
You might think it's strange that I've waited till Friday to talk about what I wrote on Monday, but my mind does not work in a linear progression. It jumps from this mountain to that molehill.
So if you don't remember Monday's post, or didn't have a chance to read it, please click here.
I want to regale you with tales of neighbors I've had over the years.
When I married Dr. X, he was a student. We lived in married student housing at a university.
Our little home was at the end of our building -- Apartment K-9. Wasn't that amazingly perfect for a dog lover?
Our very first neighbors were lovely people who had a two-year-old daughter. They were pleasant and friendly. James had been a mortician or undertaker, whatever the correct word is, but he tired of it and went back to school to take pre-med classes.
Linda explained to me that the funeral home owned their lives. Beepers and cell phones didn't exist yet, so he had to stay by the phone 24/7. She said, If we even wanted to go to Dairy Queen for ice cream, we had to find someone to come over and sit by the phone just in case someone died.
I guess the living wanted the deceased outa the house in a New York minute.
James and Linda owned a house and sold it so James could go back to school. Linda was very unhappy living in that crappy little married student apartment. Sadly, when James finished his classes, he couldn't get in to med school.
Happily, he found some other job that didn't require him to return to the penultimate resting place of the dead.
After they moved away, Linda and I wrote to each other for a couple of years. And I mean we used pens on paper.
In one letter she told me how bored she was. I responded that I just kept busy and didn't get bored.
Linda wrote back after a couple of months and said, I took your advice to keep busy and I started a children's music class. I'm so much happier.
Wow! I didn't even intend to give Linda advice. I'm so glad her mood improved, and I hope Life treated their daughter well. She had a huge red birthmark on most of her face that couldn't be removed till she was older. Starting school with a big red bumpy thing on one's face probably led to all sorts of teasing.
I hope a surgeon eradicated the birthmark (maybe laser surgery had been invented by that time, which was during the Ice Age) and she didn't spend the rest of her life as a hermit or in a convent because she once had a red map attached to her face. I think it was Europe. I kind of remember Italy hanging down like a boot, to the left of her mouth.
After James and Linda moved, we moved too: to a different almost as tiny apartment. Favorite Young Man had joined us, so we absconded to L Building, where we had two bedrooms.
Right after we moved, my friend Suzanne, who was majoring in speech pathology, called to tell me about a terrible incident at the university speech clinic, where students could be treated for free. She said they were treating a little boy and his mom, and the dad, who was huge, had caused a terrible ruckus, cursing staff members and screaming threats of violence at his wife and son. Campus Security had to come to the rescue.
Then I met our neighbors. The man was very large. The woman and the little boy had speech impediments. I called Suzanne and asked, What was the name of that little boy whose dad was such a jerk?
Ah, yes. Of course. The jerk and his speech-impaired family were my new neighbors.
We steered clear of them and they didn't really give us any trouble. One time the mom came over with a baby's blue jacket she had found stored among some other stuff. She said, The onwy thwing I cood thwink of was to give this to youw baby.
I thanked her, we chatted with some difficulty, and she left.
Then I wooked at the bwoo jacket. It had aw these weird witta bwown things on it that wooked wike popcorn husks, but were much warger (O.K. That's more than enough of the speech cwap). The brown thingies stuck to the jacket, yet could be pulled off.
When Dr. X arrived, I showed him the jacket. What are these brown thingies? I inquired.
Dr. X frowned and said, Those are from cockroaches.
Did pieces of cockroach stick to the jacket, or did they shed their backs, kind of like a snake shedding its skin?
I didn't know.
I don't want to know.
The bwoo jacket went in the twash.
So, those were my second neighbors following my marriage to Dr. X : The cockroach baby jacket people.
Long gone, but never forgotten.
Sometime in the future I'll tell you more neighborly stories. We moved a lot, so I've had more than my share of new neighbors to whom I had to adjust. And they had to adjust to my slightly offbeat sense of humor. Some of them never understood I was joking.
Remember -- fishducky on Wednesday. Mark your calendars, dear ones.
And the What? Monday post will have to do with weight. Remember how proud I was last spring when I lost 15 pounds? If I can figure out how to do it, I'll put a poll/survey in my sidebar where you can guess how much weight I've lost altogether. Hope you'll participate. I wanna know what you jokers think.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
I want to regale you with tales of neighbors I've had over the years.
When I married Dr. X, he was a student. We lived in married student housing at a university.
Our little home was at the end of our building -- Apartment K-9. Wasn't that amazingly perfect for a dog lover?
Our very first neighbors were lovely people who had a two-year-old daughter. They were pleasant and friendly. James had been a mortician or undertaker, whatever the correct word is, but he tired of it and went back to school to take pre-med classes.
Linda explained to me that the funeral home owned their lives. Beepers and cell phones didn't exist yet, so he had to stay by the phone 24/7. She said, If we even wanted to go to Dairy Queen for ice cream, we had to find someone to come over and sit by the phone just in case someone died.
I guess the living wanted the deceased outa the house in a New York minute.
James and Linda owned a house and sold it so James could go back to school. Linda was very unhappy living in that crappy little married student apartment. Sadly, when James finished his classes, he couldn't get in to med school.
Happily, he found some other job that didn't require him to return to the penultimate resting place of the dead.
After they moved away, Linda and I wrote to each other for a couple of years. And I mean we used pens on paper.
In one letter she told me how bored she was. I responded that I just kept busy and didn't get bored.
Linda wrote back after a couple of months and said, I took your advice to keep busy and I started a children's music class. I'm so much happier.
Wow! I didn't even intend to give Linda advice. I'm so glad her mood improved, and I hope Life treated their daughter well. She had a huge red birthmark on most of her face that couldn't be removed till she was older. Starting school with a big red bumpy thing on one's face probably led to all sorts of teasing.
I hope a surgeon eradicated the birthmark (maybe laser surgery had been invented by that time, which was during the Ice Age) and she didn't spend the rest of her life as a hermit or in a convent because she once had a red map attached to her face. I think it was Europe. I kind of remember Italy hanging down like a boot, to the left of her mouth.
After James and Linda moved, we moved too: to a different almost as tiny apartment. Favorite Young Man had joined us, so we absconded to L Building, where we had two bedrooms.
Right after we moved, my friend Suzanne, who was majoring in speech pathology, called to tell me about a terrible incident at the university speech clinic, where students could be treated for free. She said they were treating a little boy and his mom, and the dad, who was huge, had caused a terrible ruckus, cursing staff members and screaming threats of violence at his wife and son. Campus Security had to come to the rescue.
Then I met our neighbors. The man was very large. The woman and the little boy had speech impediments. I called Suzanne and asked, What was the name of that little boy whose dad was such a jerk?
Ah, yes. Of course. The jerk and his speech-impaired family were my new neighbors.
We steered clear of them and they didn't really give us any trouble. One time the mom came over with a baby's blue jacket she had found stored among some other stuff. She said, The onwy thwing I cood thwink of was to give this to youw baby.
I thanked her, we chatted with some difficulty, and she left.
Then I wooked at the bwoo jacket. It had aw these weird witta bwown things on it that wooked wike popcorn husks, but were much warger (O.K. That's more than enough of the speech cwap). The brown thingies stuck to the jacket, yet could be pulled off.
When Dr. X arrived, I showed him the jacket. What are these brown thingies? I inquired.
Dr. X frowned and said, Those are from cockroaches.
Did pieces of cockroach stick to the jacket, or did they shed their backs, kind of like a snake shedding its skin?
I didn't know.
I don't want to know.
The bwoo jacket went in the twash.
So, those were my second neighbors following my marriage to Dr. X : The cockroach baby jacket people.
Long gone, but never forgotten.
Sometime in the future I'll tell you more neighborly stories. We moved a lot, so I've had more than my share of new neighbors to whom I had to adjust. And they had to adjust to my slightly offbeat sense of humor. Some of them never understood I was joking.
Remember -- fishducky on Wednesday. Mark your calendars, dear ones.
And the What? Monday post will have to do with weight. Remember how proud I was last spring when I lost 15 pounds? If I can figure out how to do it, I'll put a poll/survey in my sidebar where you can guess how much weight I've lost altogether. Hope you'll participate. I wanna know what you jokers think.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
HOW DO I GET TO YOUR BLOG?
Here are some answers to help members who have difficulty keeping up with the Junebug:
Baur said...
LegalMist said...
Ed said...
you are loved. it's just a new routine and we are adjusting. i'm used to having a blog link on a profile. instead i dive into my email to find the link. it's okay. it's a new routine i'm working out. you're worth it:)
From now on when I get an email that says, "I don't know how to get to your blog," I'll send the member this post.
I bookmarked the link after I accepted the invite and it works great!!!
I've left you on my blog roll even though I know no one else can click on it and get here easily (unless they are one of your invitees). So, I click on the link. If I'm not already signed in to Blogger, it makes me sign in, and then it lets me in.
It's not hard, really. Only difference is having to be signed in.
you are loved. it's just a new routine and we are adjusting. i'm used to having a blog link on a profile. instead i dive into my email to find the link. it's okay. it's a new routine i'm working out. you're worth it:)
VITAL QUESTION
A number of people are having trouble finding me now that I'm not on their blog rolls. If you visit my blog and don't experience trials and tribulations, then would you please write instructions on what you do to get here so I can share your experience with the frustrated masses?
I now know how to make a blog private, but I don't belong to any private blogs; so I don't know how you get to them easily.
Mommy is very tired and simply must try to take a little nap now. I'll be baaaack.
Love,
Janie Junebug
I now know how to make a blog private, but I don't belong to any private blogs; so I don't know how you get to them easily.
Mommy is very tired and simply must try to take a little nap now. I'll be baaaack.
Love,
Janie Junebug
WHO AM I?
Dear Therapists,
Before today's session gets underway, I recommend you pinch your nostrils shut with a clothespin, and breathe through your mouth. Apparently something crawled under my house and died.
At least I hope it's under the house and not hidden in some cabinet or closet I haven't opened lately.
The interior of my dryer absolutely reeks of dead rodent. Of course, such a stench will not remain cooped up in a dryer. The entire laundry room stinks. The family room stinks. I recognize this odor because of the mice that died in our house in Illinois. Of course, it could be dead rat. Or if it's definitely under the house, perhaps a feral cat hobbled in, seeking her final resting place.
Now, I've said this before, and I know I'll say it again, but when I write about my problems and my depression, I'm not seeking sympathy and absolutely will not tolerate the "advice," Oh, just quit thinking about it and you'll feel fine.
But I write about myself now because I'm starting a journey -- a journey to learn more about me (one of the reasons the blog is now private), the causes of my depression, and what I'm going to do to improve my feelings about myself. Melynda from http://melyndarockinthecrazy.blogspot.com/ will be my gentle companion and commander in chief on this journey. Melynda and I will tell you more about that later. Our Crazy World lady has been super busy with moving.
I don't want you to think that my feelings and what I'm doing will be the one and only topic on this blog. I'll still tell you stories about the nursing home and post my poetry and no doubt will have some reason to write about the dogs.
However, I do want to mention one problem before I get on with the show.
I'm not feeling loved. I realize you don't notice me now that my blog is private, and it's probably difficult to remember Janie Junebug. Today I have had a total of two page views and two comments. Perhaps you could get in the habit of visiting me before you go elsewhere?
And I promise that as soon as I get a few more things done around the house, I will sit down and learn to tweet and twit so you'll have daily reminders that I exist.
What I want to do now is post a poem by Maya Angelou. When I Think About Myself has Janie Junebug written all over it -- figuratively. When you read this poem, please don't think I feel this way all the time, but I do feel this way far too often (certain lines that relate the black experience in a white world tend to express my feelings about being a woman in one man's world).
When I think about myself,
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big joke,
A dance that's walked,
A song that's spoke,
I laugh so hard I almost choke,
When I think about myself.
Sixty years in these folks' world,
The child I works for calls me girl,
I say "Yes ma'am" for working's sake.
Too proud to bend,
Too poor to break,
I laugh until my stomach ache,
When I think about myself.
My folks can make me split my side,
I laughed so hard I nearly died,
The tales they tell sound just like lying,
They grow the fruit,
But eat the rind,
I laugh until I start to crying,
When I think about my folks.
Tomorrow I plan to post another poem by Maya Angelou, but it will express how I WANT to feel.
Infinities of love,
Janie
Before today's session gets underway, I recommend you pinch your nostrils shut with a clothespin, and breathe through your mouth. Apparently something crawled under my house and died.
At least I hope it's under the house and not hidden in some cabinet or closet I haven't opened lately.
The interior of my dryer absolutely reeks of dead rodent. Of course, such a stench will not remain cooped up in a dryer. The entire laundry room stinks. The family room stinks. I recognize this odor because of the mice that died in our house in Illinois. Of course, it could be dead rat. Or if it's definitely under the house, perhaps a feral cat hobbled in, seeking her final resting place.
Now, I've said this before, and I know I'll say it again, but when I write about my problems and my depression, I'm not seeking sympathy and absolutely will not tolerate the "advice," Oh, just quit thinking about it and you'll feel fine.
But I write about myself now because I'm starting a journey -- a journey to learn more about me (one of the reasons the blog is now private), the causes of my depression, and what I'm going to do to improve my feelings about myself. Melynda from http://melyndarockinthecrazy.blogspot.com/ will be my gentle companion and commander in chief on this journey. Melynda and I will tell you more about that later. Our Crazy World lady has been super busy with moving.
I don't want you to think that my feelings and what I'm doing will be the one and only topic on this blog. I'll still tell you stories about the nursing home and post my poetry and no doubt will have some reason to write about the dogs.
However, I do want to mention one problem before I get on with the show.
I'm not feeling loved. I realize you don't notice me now that my blog is private, and it's probably difficult to remember Janie Junebug. Today I have had a total of two page views and two comments. Perhaps you could get in the habit of visiting me before you go elsewhere?
What I want to do now is post a poem by Maya Angelou. When I Think About Myself has Janie Junebug written all over it -- figuratively. When you read this poem, please don't think I feel this way all the time, but I do feel this way far too often (certain lines that relate the black experience in a white world tend to express my feelings about being a woman in one man's world).
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big joke,
A dance that's walked,
A song that's spoke,
I laugh so hard I almost choke,
When I think about myself.
Sixty years in these folks' world,
The child I works for calls me girl,
I say "Yes ma'am" for working's sake.
Too proud to bend,
Too poor to break,
I laugh until my stomach ache,
When I think about myself.
My folks can make me split my side,
I laughed so hard I nearly died,
The tales they tell sound just like lying,
They grow the fruit,
But eat the rind,
I laugh until I start to crying,
When I think about my folks.
Tomorrow I plan to post another poem by Maya Angelou, but it will express how I WANT to feel.
Infinities of love,
Janie
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
I GOT A HANGOVER AND DIDN'T EVEN GET DRUNK
Dear Friends,
If you are a fan of the movie Hangover II (recently released on DVD), then I'm sorry, but you may have a deformed sense-of-humor gene.
I liked the first Hangover movie a little tiny bit. Mike Tyson and the tiger were kind of funny. And both movies have one attraction that I'll discuss in just a minute.
But the second movie is practically a remake of the first: Let's put the doofus guys in a different location and have them get in trouble so they barely make it to the wedding.
Bor - ring.
I'm not a big fan of physical comedy, anyway, and this movie sorely lacks amusing dialog. Not even Ed Helms is funny, and I think he's rejuvenated The Office as the new district manager at Dunder Mifflin.
I am especially sick of Ken Jeong, who plays Mr. Chow. His voice reminds me of Roseanne Barr's in that it sounds like fingernails on a chalk board.
I'm not posting the trailer for the movie because I think it would be copyright infringement, but you can go to this link to watch it.
You can't miss Ken Jeong as Mr. Chow, who says, We had a sick night, bitches.
Blah, blah, and more blah.
So what's the one thing both Hangover movies have going for them?
The view.
And I don't mean the setting.
We're talkin' Bradley Cooper. The man is eye candy.
Oh yeah. Bradley Cooper. The man looks like one sweet ride to me.
But you're better off skipping The Hangover Part Two, and if you haven't seen the first Hangover movie, don't bother. Simply stare at photos of Bradley Cooper.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
If you are a fan of the movie Hangover II (recently released on DVD), then I'm sorry, but you may have a deformed sense-of-humor gene.
I liked the first Hangover movie a little tiny bit. Mike Tyson and the tiger were kind of funny. And both movies have one attraction that I'll discuss in just a minute.
But the second movie is practically a remake of the first: Let's put the doofus guys in a different location and have them get in trouble so they barely make it to the wedding.
Bor - ring.
I'm not a big fan of physical comedy, anyway, and this movie sorely lacks amusing dialog. Not even Ed Helms is funny, and I think he's rejuvenated The Office as the new district manager at Dunder Mifflin.
I am especially sick of Ken Jeong, who plays Mr. Chow. His voice reminds me of Roseanne Barr's in that it sounds like fingernails on a chalk board.
I'm not posting the trailer for the movie because I think it would be copyright infringement, but you can go to this link to watch it.
You can't miss Ken Jeong as Mr. Chow, who says, We had a sick night, bitches.
Blah, blah, and more blah.
So what's the one thing both Hangover movies have going for them?
The view.
And I don't mean the setting.
We're talkin' Bradley Cooper. The man is eye candy.
Oh yeah. Bradley Cooper. The man looks like one sweet ride to me.
But you're better off skipping The Hangover Part Two, and if you haven't seen the first Hangover movie, don't bother. Simply stare at photos of Bradley Cooper.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
Monday, January 9, 2012
WHAT? MONDAY
Dear Readers,
Today's What? Monday question is
What kind of neighbors do you have? Also, have you had neighbors at any time who were especially strange or sweet? Please share your stories with us.
I hope Bouncin' Barb feels better because she's told some hilarious stories about her neighbors.
When I moved to Florida, having neighbors was new to me. I hadn't had neighbors in almost 20 years. We lived in Western Maryland for 12 years. The lots in our neighborhood were very large. I could look outside and see other houses, but it's not as if my neighbors would be out wandering around and cross through my yard. It was kind of nice that they were there, but I seldom had to deal with them (which ended up being a good thing because a number of moms had jealousy issues when The Hurricane experienced success in school).
After Maryland, we lived in the country in Illinois. It was pretty isolated. We saw people around in their pickup trucks (rural area, lots of farming going on), but we didn't actually have neighbors. I learned to do the farmer wave when I was out in my car, which means waving to everyone you see just in case it's someone you know. If it's someone you know and you don't wave, the person will be offended.
Oh, and if you came across real farmers driving their pickup trucks, they didn't lift their hands to wave. Rather, they lifted one finger (and no, they weren't flipping us the bird; they lifted the index finger) from the steering wheel. The true farmer wave was a joke enjoyed by people who lived in the bustling metropolis of Springfield.
Then I moved to Florida, where I live in an actual neighborhood. I waved to everyone on my street. I said, What's wrong with these people? No one waves back.
Favorite Young Man said, Mom, people don't do that here.
Well, all righty then.
The lots in our neighborhood aren't very big so the houses are close together. At first I would look outside and think, Oh Dear Lord, I can see someone from the window! What shall I do?
But gradually, I got used to seeing creatures wandering around, including lots of feral cats and many dogs because my neighborhood is filled with dog lovers. And now, I LOVE MY NEIGHBORS!
On one side of my house I have Kurt and Kitty, who are very quiet and seldom seen. Kitty is in a motorized wheel chair. I've spoken to her two or three times (her daughter Sandra said she's not very sociable). Just before Christmas 2010, Kurt came over and introduced himself and gave me fudge. I think it was homemade and OH MY GOODNESS it was so delicious.
The first 18 months I was here, Sandra, her husband who has no discernible name, and their daughter Hannah lived with Kurt and Kitty. Sandra helped me so much with the dogs. Harper was going through his dig under the fence phase and that would take him to Kurt and Kitty's yard, and he would take off from there. Sandra started keeping their gate closed so if Harper went under the fence, he was stuck in their yard. Then Sandra would ring my door bell and say, Are you missing a dog?
I put paving bricks and concrete along the bottom of the fence to keep Harper home. Even though I didn't need Sandra's help anymore, I was sorry when she and Hannah and No Name moved out. Sandra was super nice and friendly.
Next to Kurt and Kitty is the stupendous Suzanne who took the dead dove out of my house when Harper brought it to me as an offering. I baked lots of chocolate chip cookies for Suzanne after that. She has two cute young children and yet another husband named No Name.
On the other side of my house, I have dear, sweet Allison and Anthony. They are so pleasant and friendly and tell me all the time that if I need anything to let them know. Well, just in case they end up requesting an invitation to this blog, I'm telling them what I want: Allison, I like you, but go away. I want Hot Young Anthony in my bed. Allison, you are young enough and pretty enough to find another man. Demonstrate how neighborly you are, Allison, by disappearing and leaving Anthony with me.
I love it so much when Anthony takes his shirt off while working in his yard. What a cheap thrill. I like his slender body and very large muscles -- muscles that could be put to such good use in my bed.
But the best part of all is that Anthony is so friendly. He's nice to my dogs. He goes out of his way to chat with me when we both happen to be outside (sometimes a coincidence planned on my part because I see him start some yard work and all of a sudden I realize, I have to go someplace). So out I go and Anthony calls, Hello! How are you?
Obviously, "Hello! How are you?" actually means, I want my wife to run away from home so I can love you and only you forever, Janie. Anthony and what's her name have a cute little dog. He could join my pack. I think Anthony would fit in
Hot, hot young Anthony. How I do adore thee.
I also have a number of other kind neighbors who, if they are at home, will hurry out to help if the dogs get out of the yard. I thank God for such good neighbors.
So now I'm accustomed to having neighbors and no one on my street is loud or nasty. I hope you can say the same. So please tell us
What kind of neighbors do you have? Also, have you had neighbors at any time who were especially strange or sweet? Please share your stories with us.
Later in the week I might tell you a bit more about neighbors I've had in other places.
Bon voyage.
Infinities of love,
Janie
P.S. Do you get the feeling from my description of Anthony that Lola is not completely dead and gone? I can channel her from time to time.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
NOT HAVIN' SUCH A GOOD DAY
I'm sorry, but you're still not going to learn today why I killed Lola. It's not as if anyone is begging to find out anyway.
I'm not up to writing about that wench tonight.
I usually don't eat bacon, but today I decided to fix some to put in an omelet. Apparently, someone set the temperature too high under the pan, and within minutes the house was full of smoke. I put the pan in the sink -- grateful I hadn't started a fire -- turned on the exhaust fan, and opened the back door. The dogs were out and Franklin would not come in because the smoke was so thick.
And yesterday I discovered a leak in a bag of frozen fruit that I was thawing out in the refrigerator. Sticky fruit juice had run down the back of the refrigerator and onto the produce drawers. I took out the produce drawers and cleaned them, and then I cleaned the interior of the refrigerator. I decided to let everything dry overnight.
So I went to put the drawers back in and discovered that their glass-covered tops were not attached to their frames. They were taped together. I could see it was time for new tape, so I used packing tape on the first one and placed in in the refrigerator. All well and good.
Then I picked up the second top and it slipped out of my hands and shattered like my heart, Blondie.
Glass everywhere. All over the counter, in the sink, on the floor. It was the most broken glass I'd seen since I was in high school and students from our rival school threw water balloons at my car while they were speeding and I was in motion, but not speeding (it's true; I wasn't). You might not think water balloons could do much damage, but when vehicles are in motion, it adds to the force of the impact.
My windshield shattered, but fortunately it didn't fall in on me completely.
I felt pretty weepy after I broke the glass. I called my son and he came right over to help me. I know I'll probably find some small fragments of glass for the next few days, but I think we got most of it. Beloved Son also found the replacement cover and helped me order it. He was so kind.
I'm also feeling pretty sad right now because I just read Ed Pilolla's post. As with everything Ed writes, it's open and honest and well done. Ed opened up about the time he spent working in a kennel when he was young. He owns up to what he did wrong and takes responsibility for it. He also taught me something I didn't know and reminded me of something I already knew.
Dogs should always be euthanized in a vein in the front leg. Don't ever let a vet get away with telling you that another method is all right. A shot in or near the heart is not even acceptable. I've had two dogs euthanized and I'm grateful that the vets used the vein in the front leg. Both dogs had peaceful deaths. I hope I go that easily.
The reminder -- at least to me, you might feel differently -- was to never board my dogs in a kennel. Not ever. No matter what.
To top off the day, I have a friend who is sad, and I can't help.
Let's pray for a better day tomorrow. I'm continuing to invite people to follow this new blog, and you're gradually trickling in. I'm grateful to have you.
Infinities of love,
Janie
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Oi!
So much about this new blog is driving me insane. Still can't get Janie Junebug's Journal to show up at the top left corner of the photo. So I tried to get it above the photo. It went pretty much where I wanted it, but the letters were white and virtually impossible to see. I am following myself and can't make me go away (so many people have that problem). Yesterday the double contributors thing had gone away, and I thought, Ahhhhh! One problem solved.
But today it's back as Click Here To View My Complete Profile and it's still there twice. Why twice? I keep looking at HELP and can't figure out a blessed thing. OI! RAISE YOUR DOMINANT HAND UP HIGH!
It's difficult to get in touch with my loyal, faithful followers so they can follow me here.
Or maybe they see this as the perfect opportunity to get rid of me. : (
But the good news is that my daughter, the charming hurricane that wreaked havoc on New Orleans and so many other cities, has revived the blog she wrote while living in England. She's writing some rather amusing posts about her current experiences in France. You may find her at mathkatrina.blogspot.com
You have her permission to follow if you like, and you may comment if you are careful about what you say. Do not mention Lola or Lola's former blog, or even better, anything at all about me. It's better to pretend that little Katrina was orphaned the minute she was born.
She said that you commented, Elisa, and it was "O.K." Such high praise doesn't come from the hurricane very often.
I think if you take a look at her writing, you'll find the apple doesn't fall very far from the tree (except she writes a little more formally than I do and doesn't sneak in all the double entendre).
And of course, the little brat is smarter than I am.
Love,
Janie Junebug, still smarting from the inability to make everything on the new blog perfecto
But today it's back as Click Here To View My Complete Profile and it's still there twice. Why twice? I keep looking at HELP and can't figure out a blessed thing. OI! RAISE YOUR DOMINANT HAND UP HIGH!
It's difficult to get in touch with my loyal, faithful followers so they can follow me here.
Or maybe they see this as the perfect opportunity to get rid of me. : (
But the good news is that my daughter, the charming hurricane that wreaked havoc on New Orleans and so many other cities, has revived the blog she wrote while living in England. She's writing some rather amusing posts about her current experiences in France. You may find her at mathkatrina.blogspot.com
You have her permission to follow if you like, and you may comment if you are careful about what you say. Do not mention Lola or Lola's former blog, or even better, anything at all about me. It's better to pretend that little Katrina was orphaned the minute she was born.
She said that you commented, Elisa, and it was "O.K." Such high praise doesn't come from the hurricane very often.
I think if you take a look at her writing, you'll find the apple doesn't fall very far from the tree (except she writes a little more formally than I do and doesn't sneak in all the double entendre).
And of course, the little brat is smarter than I am.
Love,
Janie Junebug, still smarting from the inability to make everything on the new blog perfecto
WHO IS THIS JANIE JUNEBUG?
Dear Readers,
I know I promised you that my next post would be about Lola's demise, but I'm stilllaughing so hard about how easy it was to get rid of the cops so choked up about losing her that I'm not yet ready to tell you the sordid details of her death by puncture wound.
Before I tell you about Janie Junebug, I'd like to point out something about Catch the Snitch. I don't know if the police have picked up Elisa yet, but don't you think she'd look absolutely adorable in an orange jumpsuit that says PRISONER across the back? If anyone can carry off that look, it's Elisa. And can you just imagine how cute her mug shot will be? Maybe something like this:
Oh, dear. Jail does add years to a woman's face. But it's your own fault, Elisa. You shouldn't have called the police to accuse me of murdering a blow up doll.
Now, on to brighter and happier topics. Who is Janie Junebug?
Me, of course, you sillies!
My legal name is Jane L. Goltz (Goltz is a German name that has no translation into English). Most of my life, I have been called Janie, which I prefer. When I became a reporter, for some reason I thought Janie wasn't a truly professional name. So I called myself Jane Honigs. Naturally, I thought my (now ex) husband and friends would continue to call me Janie. But they didn't. They started calling me Jane. I didn't like it, especially because of the increasingly smug way that X said Jaaaaaaane.
So when I moved to Florida, I asked everyone I know to call me Janie, although they are also welcome to call me Junebug or the Junebug or Janie Junebug -- additional nicknames. I also used to work with someone who called me June. And it wasn't because she didn't know my real name. She thought I seemed like a June Cleaver type -- someone who would vacuum and dust and cook and then go to tea wearing the same dress, heels, and pearls she had worn while doing her housework.
But, whoa! I just thought of something. If you really want to get on my good side, call me The Dude. Or The Dudester. heheheheheheh Pardon me. Now I must dash out to the store wearing my bathrobe to pick up the ingredients for my White Russians.
Oh, and I know my profile says I live north of Havana, North Dakota. I didn't want to say where I really lived because at first I was trying to keep my blog a secret from X. So I picked a way cool name -- Lola -- and placed her north of Havana because of the Barry Manilow song. I know Manilow's Lola is north of Havana, Cuba, but I went with Havana, North Dakota, because my dad was from the North Dakota Havana.
I actually live in northern Florida -- in Jacksonville, which is the largest city (geographically) in the United States. I know that because of the many times I've gotten lost in Jax.
I decided to call this new, ultra-secret invite coveting blog Janie Junebug's Journal because it popped into my head at the moment I needed to type a title. I might change it later. I dunno. But Lola is dead and gone, and after I get more of my old followers over here, I am definitely changing the email address. Dumped first wife seemed funny at first. Now I think it's just negative, and it brings me down. Franklin agrees.
I also used the name Janie Junebug because that's the name of my writing and editing business that is going away, or at least the Web site is going away. Its last day is supposed to be January 13th, 2012. If you'd like to see it before it disappears, please go to www.janiejunebugwritingandediting.com
I think it's a pretty nice site. I did it all by myself. But I ain't earned no money from it, so we just gotta nip that baby in the bud, or throw it out with the bathwater, or something. It isn't that I won't write and edit for people. I will. But I guess they'll have to find me through the blog or by word of mouth.
Man, I just don't know what I'm gonna do with all those Janie Junebug business cards with the address of the Web site on them. I think I have about 400 left. Maybe use them to start fires? But I'm not talkin' fireplaces. Oh, no.
And keep that mouth of yours shut, Elisa, if you know what's good for ya. I got gonnegtions in da slammer and they'll do anything I ask. They want something for their kids: a little Katrina calculus tutoring.
Love,
Janie
Maude Lebowski: What do you do for recreation? The Dude: Oh, the usual. I bowl. Drive around. The occasional acid flashback.
The Dude: Yeah, well. The Dude abides. The Stranger: The Dude abides. I don't know about you but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there. The Dude. Takin' 'er easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. I sure hope he makes the finals.
The Dude: Let me explain something to you. Um, I am not "Mr. Lebowski". You're Mr. Lebowski. I'm the Dude. So that's what you call me. You know, that or, uh, His Dudeness, or uh, Duder, or El Duderino if you're not into the whole brevity thing.
The Stranger: I guess that's the way the whole durned human comedy keeps perpetuatin' itself.
I know I promised you that my next post would be about Lola's demise, but I'm still
Before I tell you about Janie Junebug, I'd like to point out something about Catch the Snitch. I don't know if the police have picked up Elisa yet, but don't you think she'd look absolutely adorable in an orange jumpsuit that says PRISONER across the back? If anyone can carry off that look, it's Elisa. And can you just imagine how cute her mug shot will be? Maybe something like this:
Now, on to brighter and happier topics. Who is Janie Junebug?
Me, of course, you sillies!
My legal name is Jane L. Goltz (Goltz is a German name that has no translation into English). Most of my life, I have been called Janie, which I prefer. When I became a reporter, for some reason I thought Janie wasn't a truly professional name. So I called myself Jane Honigs. Naturally, I thought my (now ex) husband and friends would continue to call me Janie. But they didn't. They started calling me Jane. I didn't like it, especially because of the increasingly smug way that X said Jaaaaaaane.
So when I moved to Florida, I asked everyone I know to call me Janie, although they are also welcome to call me Junebug or the Junebug or Janie Junebug -- additional nicknames. I also used to work with someone who called me June. And it wasn't because she didn't know my real name. She thought I seemed like a June Cleaver type -- someone who would vacuum and dust and cook and then go to tea wearing the same dress, heels, and pearls she had worn while doing her housework.
But, whoa! I just thought of something. If you really want to get on my good side, call me The Dude. Or The Dudester. heheheheheheh Pardon me. Now I must dash out to the store wearing my bathrobe to pick up the ingredients for my White Russians.
Oh, and I know my profile says I live north of Havana, North Dakota. I didn't want to say where I really lived because at first I was trying to keep my blog a secret from X. So I picked a way cool name -- Lola -- and placed her north of Havana because of the Barry Manilow song. I know Manilow's Lola is north of Havana, Cuba, but I went with Havana, North Dakota, because my dad was from the North Dakota Havana.
I actually live in northern Florida -- in Jacksonville, which is the largest city (geographically) in the United States. I know that because of the many times I've gotten lost in Jax.
I decided to call this new, ultra-secret invite coveting blog Janie Junebug's Journal because it popped into my head at the moment I needed to type a title. I might change it later. I dunno. But Lola is dead and gone, and after I get more of my old followers over here, I am definitely changing the email address. Dumped first wife seemed funny at first. Now I think it's just negative, and it brings me down. Franklin agrees.
I also used the name Janie Junebug because that's the name of my writing and editing business that is going away, or at least the Web site is going away. Its last day is supposed to be January 13th, 2012. If you'd like to see it before it disappears, please go to www.janiejunebugwritingandediting.com
I think it's a pretty nice site. I did it all by myself. But I ain't earned no money from it, so we just gotta nip that baby in the bud, or throw it out with the bathwater, or something. It isn't that I won't write and edit for people. I will. But I guess they'll have to find me through the blog or by word of mouth.
Man, I just don't know what I'm gonna do with all those Janie Junebug business cards with the address of the Web site on them. I think I have about 400 left. Maybe use them to start fires? But I'm not talkin' fireplaces. Oh, no.
And keep that mouth of yours shut, Elisa, if you know what's good for ya. I got gonnegtions in da slammer and they'll do anything I ask. They want something for their kids: a little Katrina calculus tutoring.
Love,
Janie
Maude Lebowski: What do you do for recreation? The Dude: Oh, the usual. I bowl. Drive around. The occasional acid flashback.
The Dude: Yeah, well. The Dude abides. The Stranger: The Dude abides. I don't know about you but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there. The Dude. Takin' 'er easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. I sure hope he makes the finals.
The Dude: Let me explain something to you. Um, I am not "Mr. Lebowski". You're Mr. Lebowski. I'm the Dude. So that's what you call me. You know, that or, uh, His Dudeness, or uh, Duder, or El Duderino if you're not into the whole brevity thing.
The Stranger: I guess that's the way the whole durned human comedy keeps perpetuatin' itself.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
CATCH THE SNITCH
Dear Readers, with the exception of one snitch,
The cops almost hauled me in today. They know about Lola. They found her deflated body while making routine garbage checks for uneaten pastries.
I told no one except you, you, and YOU what I had done to her. Obviously, someone is a snitch, a rat, a tattle-tale, an informer, a squealer, a blabbermouth, a stool pigeon. And yes, I used my Roget's Super Thesaurus to find all those synonyms because I am a word-loving woman.
My first guess for the rat's identity: She who appears the most innocent.
Now who might that be?
I was talking to Melynda earlier this evening about a cute little bundle of energy and joy we know. That person's name starts with "E." She shortened her name from Elisabeth to the highly suspicious Elisa. I fell in love with her the minute I knew she used my Norwegian grandmother's name. She is the only other Elisa I have ever met. I think she shortened her name to throw me off balance, catch me off guard, just plain fool me into thinking she could be as sweet as my little Nana was the last time I saw her in a nursing home -- before she died.
Now I'm even more suspicious. Did Elisa steal Nana's identity?
I don't have time to investigate her completely right now, but the woman claims she's been a homeless street musician. Yeah, right. And she gives birth every ten months, yet she looks perfect. Whose children are those, Elisa?
And have you ever seen a cuter avatar?
But wait, look at this actual photo from her Facebook page:
It's always the pretty one. She was probably a cheerleader in high school.
Oh, the horror I experienced today when they broke into my house. "You'll never take me alive, Coppers," I screamed. "How'd you get past the guard dogs?"
"The door was open," the chubby one with Dunkin' Donuts chocolate smeared on his mouth said. "The black and white dog invited us in."
Oh, Franklin, how could you? You must be in league with a devil's food cake, and that cute little cake is named Elisa.
She's tried to fool us all, but the jig is up Elisa. I told thepigs police officers about you. One of them is divorced from a former head cheerleader and homeless street musician. He took my side immediately.
"Obviously the good-lookin' dame is trying to frame our sweet little Janie here," the tall, good-looking gentleman of an officer said. "Now don't you worry, ma'am. We would never arrest the Queen of Grammar. After all, your son repairs our automobiles for free. Our motors purr after we visit David. And your daughter helps our kids with their math homework. We couldn't possibly do algebra. We're dependent on Katrina. "
I sighed with relief. I was safe thanks to cars that sound like kittens and the astonishing ineptitude of the police to figure out which train will arrive in Philadelphia first. They wouldn't know a polynomial if it slapped them in the face.
But Elisa?
Sam Spade: I hope they don't hang you, precious, by that sweet neck. Yes, angel, I'm gonna send you over. The chances are you'll get off with life. That means if you're a good girl, you'll be out in 20 years. I'll be waiting for you. If they hang you, I'll always remember you.
Baby, you can run, but you can't hide. You'd better come up with a story, a very good story about why you decided to be a naughty tattle-tale.
And tomorrow, I'll try to explain why I had to kill Lola.
Detective Tom Polhaus: [picks up the falcon] Heavy. What is it?
Sam Spade: The, uh, stuff that dreams are made of.
Detective Tom Polhaus: Huh?
Love,
Velma Noir a.k.a. The Junebug
The cops almost hauled me in today. They know about Lola. They found her deflated body while making routine garbage checks for uneaten pastries.
I told no one except you, you, and YOU what I had done to her. Obviously, someone is a snitch, a rat, a tattle-tale, an informer, a squealer, a blabbermouth, a stool pigeon. And yes, I used my Roget's Super Thesaurus to find all those synonyms because I am a word-loving woman.
My first guess for the rat's identity: She who appears the most innocent.
Now who might that be?
I was talking to Melynda earlier this evening about a cute little bundle of energy and joy we know. That person's name starts with "E." She shortened her name from Elisabeth to the highly suspicious Elisa. I fell in love with her the minute I knew she used my Norwegian grandmother's name. She is the only other Elisa I have ever met. I think she shortened her name to throw me off balance, catch me off guard, just plain fool me into thinking she could be as sweet as my little Nana was the last time I saw her in a nursing home -- before she died.
Now I'm even more suspicious. Did Elisa steal Nana's identity?
I don't have time to investigate her completely right now, but the woman claims she's been a homeless street musician. Yeah, right. And she gives birth every ten months, yet she looks perfect. Whose children are those, Elisa?
And have you ever seen a cuter avatar?
But wait, look at this actual photo from her Facebook page:
Oh, the horror I experienced today when they broke into my house. "You'll never take me alive, Coppers," I screamed. "How'd you get past the guard dogs?"
"The door was open," the chubby one with Dunkin' Donuts chocolate smeared on his mouth said. "The black and white dog invited us in."
Oh, Franklin, how could you? You must be in league with a devil's food cake, and that cute little cake is named Elisa.
She's tried to fool us all, but the jig is up Elisa. I told the
"Obviously the good-lookin' dame is trying to frame our sweet little Janie here," the tall, good-looking gentleman of an officer said. "Now don't you worry, ma'am. We would never arrest the Queen of Grammar. After all, your son repairs our automobiles for free. Our motors purr after we visit David. And your daughter helps our kids with their math homework. We couldn't possibly do algebra. We're dependent on Katrina. "
I sighed with relief. I was safe thanks to cars that sound like kittens and the astonishing ineptitude of the police to figure out which train will arrive in Philadelphia first. They wouldn't know a polynomial if it slapped them in the face.
But Elisa?
Sam Spade: I hope they don't hang you, precious, by that sweet neck. Yes, angel, I'm gonna send you over. The chances are you'll get off with life. That means if you're a good girl, you'll be out in 20 years. I'll be waiting for you. If they hang you, I'll always remember you.
Baby, you can run, but you can't hide. You'd better come up with a story, a very good story about why you decided to be a naughty tattle-tale.
And tomorrow, I'll try to explain why I had to kill Lola.
Detective Tom Polhaus: [picks up the falcon] Heavy. What is it?
Sam Spade: The, uh, stuff that dreams are made of.
Detective Tom Polhaus: Huh?
Love,
Velma Noir a.k.a. The Junebug
Monday, January 2, 2012
QUESTIONS? CAN ANYONE HELP?
And yes, friends, I've already tried to figure out the answers to my questions. First, underneath the photo of the back of my head at City Lights Bookstore, it says Janie Junebug's Journal is tiny letters and then Please join me on my journey in equally tiny letters. I want large black letters across the top of the picture for the title and Please join me on my journey in large black letters under the photo. I've looked at "help" and no one seems to have an understandable (understandable to me, that is) answer to my question.
Then there are two box shaped thingies below Please join me on my journey. If you click on them you go to my profile. I don't want two and I can't make one go away. And I'd rather have it say Click here to view my profile.
If anyone has brilliant advice, please email me. If you have stupid advice, tell your spouse. That's why most of you have spice.
I've decided spice is the plural of spouse, just like mice is the plural of mouse.
Love,
Janie
Hey look at that! I figured out how to make the letters larger for Janie Junebug's Journal and Please join me on my journey. That's some progress. Now I want Janie Junebug's Journal to go across the top of the photo on the left side. I'm too tired to fool with it more now and the dogs want supper. I might look at it again in a bit.
Then there are two box shaped thingies below Please join me on my journey. If you click on them you go to my profile. I don't want two and I can't make one go away. And I'd rather have it say Click here to view my profile.
If anyone has brilliant advice, please email me. If you have stupid advice, tell your spouse. That's why most of you have spice.
I've decided spice is the plural of spouse, just like mice is the plural of mouse.
Love,
Janie
Hey look at that! I figured out how to make the letters larger for Janie Junebug's Journal and Please join me on my journey. That's some progress. Now I want Janie Junebug's Journal to go across the top of the photo on the left side. I'm too tired to fool with it more now and the dogs want supper. I might look at it again in a bit.
NEW POSTS
Friends,
Apparently you will no longer receive any kind of notification that says I've posted something new. It that's the case, I will try to learn how to tweet or twit or whatever it is to let you know when I have a new post.
Additionally, you can pretty much count on me to post Monday - Friday quite early in the morning. So if you have time to check me out each day, I should be here.
Love,
Janie, who has no idea what she's doing
Apparently you will no longer receive any kind of notification that says I've posted something new. It that's the case, I will try to learn how to tweet or twit or whatever it is to let you know when I have a new post.
Additionally, you can pretty much count on me to post Monday - Friday quite early in the morning. So if you have time to check me out each day, I should be here.
Love,
Janie, who has no idea what she's doing
WHAT? MONDAY
Dear Readers,
What did you do to welcome the New Year?
I did something I have never done before: I committed murder.
No, your eyes are not deceiving you. It was much easier than I thought it would be.
I killed Lola. Since she was a blow up doll, all I had to do was take a nice big needle and puncture her in a few places.
Please forgive me for leaving her chest uncovered in this photo. She isn't all that realistic-looking, so I wasn't too worried about covering her up.
Lola didn't suit me anymore.
I want to explore my identity without Lola hanging around. I want to find out who I am.
Yes, it's true: I am 52 years old, and I don't know who I am. I've had many identities, but I don't know if any of them were me. I made them up in acts of avoidance, such as avoiding abuse. Recently, I tried on a new identity. I thought she fit me perfectly. I thought at long last I knew who I was. I made her the best of me.
But she wasn't good enough. Now I'm lost again.
And I'm not going to find myself in a blow up doll box.
So that's what I did at midnight. I poked Lola full of holes and threw her in the trash. The demise of Lola does not mean we'll never enjoy her sense of humor again or marvel at her quirkiness. But the aspects of her personality that we like will have to come from within me.
So, what did you do to welcome the New Year? Please don't tell me you killed someone unless you also had an unwanted Lola.
Infinities of love,
Janie
What did you do to welcome the New Year?
I did something I have never done before: I committed murder.
No, your eyes are not deceiving you. It was much easier than I thought it would be.
Please forgive me for leaving her chest uncovered in this photo. She isn't all that realistic-looking, so I wasn't too worried about covering her up.
Lola didn't suit me anymore.
I want to explore my identity without Lola hanging around. I want to find out who I am.
Yes, it's true: I am 52 years old, and I don't know who I am. I've had many identities, but I don't know if any of them were me. I made them up in acts of avoidance, such as avoiding abuse. Recently, I tried on a new identity. I thought she fit me perfectly. I thought at long last I knew who I was. I made her the best of me.
But she wasn't good enough. Now I'm lost again.
And I'm not going to find myself in a blow up doll box.
So, what did you do to welcome the New Year? Please don't tell me you killed someone unless you also had an unwanted Lola.
Infinities of love,
Janie
Sunday, January 1, 2012
COMMENTS. INTIMACY. LOVE.
Dear Readers,
I'm sorry. I'm exhausted from my efforts to change my blog, and I've only just begun (thank you Carpenters,
as in Karen and Richard).
I've received messages from a couple of readers saying they can access Janie Junebug's Journal, but they can't leave messages. I ask that you be patient with me until I figure out what's going on. Perhaps I did something wrong with the settings. Anyway, I'd appreciate it if you would try to leave a comment, saying anything you darn well please, and we'll see if the comments work for anybody. Let me know what happens, please.
As for my post today on INTIMACY
I appreciated your comments. Jess, Fran, Julie, Coffey, NFO -- you are all so wise. Jess, I especially like your words about the silver cord.
The good news is that our pal Bouncin' Barb has agreed to write a guest post on love. She had a wonderful marriage with her late husband, Rich. And I know many of you have great marriages or satisfying long-term relationships. I would appreciate it so much if more of you would tell me what intimacy means to you and what love feels like to you. It doesn't have to be a long post. A paragraph or two will do. Barb does not yet know when she'll write her post, but I'll let you know later when you can expect it.
Here I am, 52 years old. I thought I knew what love felt like. I guess I don't know after all. I only hope to be in love. I certainly do not know what it is to be loved. I am a skeleton woman, with a skeleton man. We hold hands. But how can these bony creatures be in love? Their heads are empty. They stand on pedestals and cannot turn toward one another. Their insides may be on display, but that's it. They represent a man and woman who touch but have no feelings.
I think I have more I want to say, but I don't know what it is. I'm having difficulty keeping my eyes open. I will explain to you, perhaps gradually, why I have changed my blog, who I am, and perhaps provide a little background information.
In the meantime, those of you who feel love, keep it up. Don't let it go. But as soon as you feel humiliated even once by the person you love, kick his or her ass out. Or better yet, give the person one more chance after explaining what has gone wrong for you. Forgiveness is very important. However, please don't put yourself in the position of needing to forgive constantly, or of begging for forgiveness all the time when you did nothing wrong.
Love,
Janie Lola
INTIMACY
Please note that as of tomorrow, or perhaps even this evening, WOMEN: WE SHALL OVERCOME is going underground. Or, in other words, it's going to become a private blog you have to enter as a member. I am too tired of anonymous comments to put up with it anymore. The content of the blog will also change somewhat. I want to spend more time experimenting with my fiction -- fiction that has not been written by Lola. If you prefer not to accompany me on this endeavor, I understand completely, but I'll miss you.
Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
Are you in what you believe to be a true partnership? Married or unmarried. Gay or straight.
Do you think the other person spends time with you out of a desire to be with you or does that person deign to spend time with you because you complain about a lack of togetherness?
Do you feel you have true intimacy with another person?
Have you ever felt you had true intimacy with another person?
If you have or have had a true partnership or if you have or have had true intimacy with someone, please tell me how it feels. I would love to know. Perhaps someone would even be willing to guest post and tell me what's it's like.
The closest thing I have to a partnership is with My Kathy, but she lives a million miles away and it's not sexual. But we can have a conversation, not see each other for years, and then get together and pick up exactly where we left off. I have never felt that My Kathy forced herself to tolerate me. We laugh uproariously at the same ridiculous and inappropriate things.
The closest thing I have to an intimate relationship (non-sexual, of course) is with my daughter. But I'm not really sure how she feels about me.
But would you tell me, please: What's it like to be loved?
This is my first big question of 2012.
Infinities of love,
Lola
Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
Are you in what you believe to be a true partnership? Married or unmarried. Gay or straight.
Do you think the other person spends time with you out of a desire to be with you or does that person deign to spend time with you because you complain about a lack of togetherness?
Do you feel you have true intimacy with another person?
Have you ever felt you had true intimacy with another person?
If you have or have had a true partnership or if you have or have had true intimacy with someone, please tell me how it feels. I would love to know. Perhaps someone would even be willing to guest post and tell me what's it's like.
The closest thing I have to a partnership is with My Kathy, but she lives a million miles away and it's not sexual. But we can have a conversation, not see each other for years, and then get together and pick up exactly where we left off. I have never felt that My Kathy forced herself to tolerate me. We laugh uproariously at the same ridiculous and inappropriate things.
The closest thing I have to an intimate relationship (non-sexual, of course) is with my daughter. But I'm not really sure how she feels about me.
But would you tell me, please: What's it like to be loved?
This is my first big question of 2012.
Infinities of love,
Lola