Hang in there

“No biopsy” the doctor says,


“It’ll just leave a scar for no reason. You have Flush, and Rosacea”


“Avoid alcohol and…”


” hot yoga…”


“hot baths and everything else that makes you turn red like that. Wear sun screen, spf 70-100 summer spring winter and fall.”

“By avoid alcohol you mean…”

“At least switch from red to white and…”

*Fake choke for dramatic effect and subsequently spit on myself a little; then turn red flush with embarrassment*

“chose vodka over scotch or rye.”

“blah blah blah… if I do these things that you are telling me not to do, will it harm me physically or…”

“No, you’ll just turn red.”

*Express visible relief and make stupid joke about alcohol that is poorly received by both doctor and assistant*

I mentioned how my chest gets all red under the stage lights and makes me ugly when I perform. The doctor looked at me like I was an idiot and told me to use make-up and perform in cooler venues.

Because that’s how it works in the industry…

“Yes, I’ve considered your offer and I’m interested in the gig but I just need to know, what temperature is the venue? I see. Do you think we could turn off the heat and ask the audience members to wear parkas and and tuques because I tend to flush and…”

The doctor poked at me a little more, rambled off a few medical terms that I didn’t understand, diagnosed me with something that has the word vascular in it and handed me a prescription for 3 or 4 creams, gels and lotions that I’ll probably forget to fill.

“hang in there” he smiles.

I checked my bank account as I often do, in hopes that an anonymous deposit of thousands of dollars since I last checked, about 5 hours ago.


Still only $3.00

OK, so I have enough to either get to or home from my show but not both.

I was only a couple of blocks from the house, lugging my costume bags, 6 thousand lbs of concealer and a pair of gardening shears and negotiating with God for an angel to drive me to the venue when a man bounced out the door a mechanic garage and landed on the sidewalk in front of me.

“Can I help you with your bags?”

“Are you going to carry them all the way downtown for me?”

“No. But I’ll give you a ride. Let me go in and change real quick and grab my keys.”

While he was inside changing and potentially gathering weapons and carving tools, I gave myself a stern talking to about getting into cars with strangers.

I took a deep breath and mindfully opened myself to the surrounding energy.

Any NO feelings? No.

Because that’s pretty much all it takes to feel out a serial killer.

OK fine, I’ll ask him.

“Are you a serial killer?”

“Nope. My name is Lake and I work here” he responded all too casually, tossing my guitar into the back seat of his car.

Because, mechanics are never criminals and also, like police officers, serial killers are bound by law to identify themselves as such when asked directly if that’s who they are.

“Did god send you?”

“I’m not sure, I just saw a beautiful woman through the window, carrying bags and a guitar and she looked like she needed help. Are those curlers in your hair?”

Turns out my angel is from the Caribbean. He is a widower and enjoys films, working out at the gym and fixing expensive cars.

He asked me if I was a real musician, consequently triggering my fraud complex and launching us into a discussion about societal validation verses self gratification.

“That depends on what real means to you I guess. Note that I was hobbling to the metro with all of my gear and wondering how many hours it would take me walk home tonight, after the show.”

This led to a list of upbeat topics including passion, grief, single parenting and poverty.

We rolled up to the club. I accidentally hugged him.

“Thanks Lake, you’re an angel.”

“My pleasure Jen. Have a great show and hang in there!”

I love that there are people out there, as few and far between as they are, who are still willing to do things out of the kindness of their hearts.

I love that there are still people in the world that we can trust.

I love that once in a while, when we feel like there is no good left, somebody reminds us that we’re wrong.

I think I’ll bake Lake a batch of cookies and drop them off at his work with a note saying thank you for being one of those people.

First I’ll have to figure out where my daughter is hiding her piggy bank so I can buy some chocolate chips and also, more importantly, so I can go downtown and buy myself this poster.

Jennifer June

On Bret Michaels and dog crap…

I have a new upstairs neighbor. She called the landlady on me to complain about the volume of my television. She says it keeps her baby up.

1) I don’t watch TV every day.
2) When I do, I watch about an hour or two max
3) I have the volume on 2 (I can barely hear it myself)
4) Throw down a rug
5) You just moved in 5 minutes ago and there are 3 bedrooms up there. Move your kid.

One of the nights she complained, the TV wasn’t even on. I was just hanging out with a copy of Stephen Colbert’s I am a America And So Can You and a lb or 2 of chocolate. OK, fine. There may have been a small vibrator involved but only for a few minutes.

Wait till real sex happens on a night that crankypants is doing her routine check on me, laying there with her ear pressed to the floor. She’s going to flippin’ hate me.

Is she going to call the landlady for that too?

In an attempt to annoy the woman upstairs even further while soothing my relentless despair and loneliness I have taken up late night television. Yeah. I wasn’t kidding.

Well, by late night I mean 11:00pm and by taken up I mean 3 nights in a row.

I’ve already given it up. It’s depressing and quite frankly only makes me feel that much more alone.

Look, I’m a mom. I don’t want to keep anybody’s baby up but honestly, if your 2 year old can’t sleep through the murmur of the neighbor’s television a couple nights a week you need to start vacuuming at nap time or something.

If you want to let that kid run your whole damn life (and he will if you keep this nonsense up) that’s your choice, but mama don’t play dat with her own kids so she sure as hell ain’t playing it with yours.

Also, I can’t handle much more of this 11pm TV garbage. It pretty much consists re-runs of Cake Boss, The Biggest Loser and Rock of Love.

And of you know what’s sexier than watching Bret Michaels’ revolting face cramming it’s snake-like tongue into the face of desperate bimbos with no self esteem?

Watching my dog eat her own shit, barf it up and eat it again.

Jennifer June

I wanted you until I wanted to be you until…

Once in a while, like every few years or so, I convince myself that I am desperately and shamelessly head over heals in love with a celebrity.
No joke
I plan our wedding, our children, our joint-career endeavors and our garden…

Jimmy Fallon was relatively short lived and perhaps not very well thought out but I was still young at this and he was clearly a rebound from Adam Sandler. Besides, there wasn’t much accounting for taste in the 1990′s now was there?

Rather than stage interventions, my family welcomes my obsessions with open arms and often even enables me.

I think I still have the pillow case with Jimmy’s face printed on it (thanks mom) that I received for Christmas one year…

I had the children trained to refer to Jack Black as Dad for the years and years and yeeears that our affair lasted.

At first I threw myself whole-heartedly into the fantasy, spending hours upon hours daydreaming without limitation or self-speculation.

Sadly, I have a tendency to be a tad over analytical and after my dad pointed out that maybe it wasn’t so much a crush on Rick Mercer I was suffering from as the desire to be Rick Mercer the wheels in my mind started painfully and reluctantly grinding.

This can’t be true can it? My love devalued? I mean, why on earth would I want to be a wealthy satirist/comedian/screenwriter/actor married to a talented and handsome T.V. producer? Actually I have no idea if Gerald Lunz is handsome or not because when I google-imaged him all that came up were photos of Rick Mercer.

Can I just say, being as possessive as I am, that I wouldn’t complain one bit if every time a chick googled my boyfriend their desktop was instantly littered with pictures of me.


The thing is, after watching every episode of Tenacious D’s HBO special 65 times, stalking Jack Black daily for years, running to the theater on opening day for each and every one of his films (if I couldn’t find an illegal copy of a bootleg pre-screening on the internet)
and selling sexual favours my soul for a hot copy of Heat Vision and Jack
I started to realize that maybe, MAYBE, there was a grain of truth to this theory.

I’ve dreamed of being on Saturday Night Live since I was 10 years old… Jimmy.

Have wanted almost nothing more my whole life than to be a multi-talented, musically inclined comedienne with an awesome vocal range, impeccable comedic timing and the best facial expressions ever… Jack.

I wanted to be as funny and brilliant as John Stewart, and as articulate, charming, courageous and quick witted as
Russell Brand…

Rusell Brand… Russell has a beautiful voice, stars in movies, had his own T.V. show and radio show and writes a book every five minutes! Oh Russell…

This makes their coupling *cough cough* even more confusing.

First I have to live with the rejection and the jealousy and then, living vicariously through them, the identity issues provoked by their bizarre taste in women.

When Jack Black and I first fell in unrequited stalkeresque love, he was dating Laura Kightlinger which was almost totally cool with me. Except, of course, for the me hating her because she was doing it with my dream man part.

I may have called her names and willed Jack to leave her on account of my irrational jealousy but the competition was worthy. She’s hot, interesting and hilarious.

But then what does my man go and pull behind my unsuspecting back?

Marries and impregnates Tanya Hayden. What?? Yes. Sure, she’s cute from some angles and she plays (my favorite instrument on earth) the Cello but I heard (and by heard I mean saw in a back stage video of a quick clip of a conversation) Tanya say to somebody “I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have a nanny and had to take care of Sam all by myself”

Um… parent your child?

And what did Jack do without my permission? Had ANOTHER baby with her.

What’s that sound?
Oh that, just my heart shattering into a billion pieces.

By the time the crazy glue started to dry the universe was kind enough to plop Russell Brand in my unsuspecting lap.

But, Russell, being rather notoriously impulsive, walked out on me mere moments after setting up house.

No sooner had I downloaded his entire radio show, watched both his television series six times in a row, re-watched Get him to the Greek and Forgetting Sarah Marshall and everything else he’s whispered a line in, plus bought, read and re-read his Booky Wook 2,000X had he proposed to and promptly thereafter married none other than singer “songwriter” Katy Perry.


Ur so Gay


The first line in the song is:

“I hope you hang yourself with your H&M scarf
While jacking off listening to Mozart”

Oh! Is that what gay people do Katy? And also, has anyone you’ve known ever hung themselves? I’m guessing no.

Speaking gay…

I kissed a Girl. Hard core annoying.

First of all, Katy, most girls have kissed a girl at some point between adolescence and mid-life crisis.

Secondly, Chapstick smells good but it tastes like wax, even if it’s cherry flavoured.

Thirdly, why do you say I Liked It as though there would be any reason not to?

Girls are awesome kissers. In fact, in my experience, girls are almost always better kissers than guys. Maybe you should have kissed a few more before you wrote that song.

Then came California Girls.

Katy please, stop. I’ll give you this. The video would make a pretty cool framework for an awesome burlesque video but it’s entirely irrelevant to the terrible song it accessorizes.

Me: ” Do you think she is actually smart and just putting out this god-awful music as a way to laugh in our faces and say – Look! I’m making money off of the stupidity of the average consumer! Or do you think she is actually a moron and Russel Brand has finally lost his mind for good?”

: “Why do you need to hate her so much? Do you honestly take it personally that Russell Brand married her?”

Me: “Answer the questions honestly, it’s important to me.”

Boyfriend: “I think she is smart”

: *insert sound of crickets and a blank blinky stare*

When I was finished feeling the sting of being simultaneously rejected by both my boyfriends for stupid Katy Perry I gave myself a talk and came out of it deciding to give Katy a second chance.

I listened to her album, fought the nausea and decided she’s smart and Russell did good *cough* picking a cute girl with a great sense of humor, *wheeze* a giant bank account and, most importantly, great clothes.

Then I saw this:

“I’m talking about zits here people!”

I totally give up.
Now who am I going to be?

Jennifer June

Make a wish…

I keep getting these emails from Sri Vishwanath (aka Vish Writer), author of various bestsellers including How to Make The Secret work.

At first I was annoyed because I never subscribed to “Sri’s” daily newsletters and updates. Then I was smug because “Sri” keeps thanking me for commenting on videos that I haven’t watched.

Then I was humbled by the realization that these emails accomplished exactly what they had set out to.

“Pfft! What videos? I never commented on … *CLICK* How to Meditate Like A Zen Monk And Easily Attract Abundance In Your Life? Hmmm… nice music. Calming.”


These emails weren’t intended to calm me. They were intended to bait me.

Bravo “Sri”.

Also, pretty cheap to attract me with the title How To Achieve *Big BreakThroughs* In Your Life In Less Than 30 Days Flat..
to what is actually a video called How To Attract Your Soul Mate.

What if I don’t want to attract my soul mate?

What if I find that me at 3:00am watching Rock of Love, dubbed in French, in my dirty pajamas with only the company of my cat and a 2 day old bottle of wine a perfectly lovely way to end the evening (thank you very much)?

What if he/she is boring and mature and believes in The law of attraction Secret?

What then?

The movie sucked by the way. I’m saying this as an especially open minded all embracing person.

There was no secret in The law of attraction Secret and the implications that people have been greedily hiding The law of attraction Secret from us all these years is just creepy weird.

The law of attraction Secret has been a general and public philosophy for many many maaaaaaaaaany years.

I’m not going to lie. The law of attraction Secret some how managed to motivate me despite how annoying it was and how ridiculous the quotes were.

I wrote myself a 2 million dollar check and carried it in my wallet for 3 years.

I wrote a list.

I asked.

I believed. OH how I believed.

I did not receive.

How cool would it be if there was a wish foundation for everyday people who asked, believed and did not receive?

I know, there’s freecycle and free stuff on craigslist but I mean something bigger than getting somebody’s previously owned but mostly functional laptop power cable “as-is”.

I mean a real make a wish thing where worthy people (like me) with small wishes and enormous life long dreams that they are just not in any position to grant themselves, get their wishes fulfilled by anonymous (or not) fairy godmothers/godfathers who get off on feeling needed/important/all powerful etc… (like me).

I know a pile of amazing and deserving people who can’t afford toilet paper let alone a trip to Fiji.

I know single parents who bust their buts from here to next Tuesday every single week who can barely afford to clothe their kids let alone buy them expensive Christmas presents or take them to the Devil’s playground Disneyland.

I know youth protection workers who have never had a massage and teachers who can’t afford their kids’ school fees, writers who can’t afford pens and paper and OH THE IRONY!!!!

They asked.

They believed.

Oh Sri.. it’s not The law of attraction Secret that saved you is it? It’s Rhonda Byrne’s book/movie The law of attraction Secret that’s making you a shitload of money.

You’re making money because wrote a book about the book!!


Don’t ignore me Vish! I know you google yourself and I made sure to throw both your names in the post tags to best facilitate your trip to this blog. Open up your steel cold heart for just a moment and hear me out.

I seriously think you should consider founding a wish granting organization, making yourself look like a real hero, write a book about it and rake in the millions. Hell! You could start a flippin’ reality show!! But only if I can be on it because it was my idea.

Sri Vishwanath’s Ask and You Shall Receive (for real) has a lovely ring to it doesn’t it?

Here, I’ll get the first episode rolling for you.

Dear Sri,
I am a broke-ass single mom of 3 with a (don’t let my poor grammar and spelling mistakes fool you) boatload of talent, charm and ambition.
I am having one hell of a time finding a job and could really use a wish (or 5) granted so what do you say you hook a sister up?

I’m asking you personally (the link to my paypal is right there on the side where it says Support This Site) for $6,000 to chip away at some debt, pay off some of the hydro bill and buy my kids bus passes this month. I’m also asking you for a gift certificate for a professional massage and a 4 year supply of toilet paper ( I have three daughters and I think they eat it ).
Oh what the hell, let’s throw in a recording contract and a big fat publishing deal while we’re at it shall we?

I am asking.
I believe.
I am prepared to receive.

Readers, what will you wish for on your episode?



And um… hopefully a rich sugar daddy with nothing but time to sign checks on his hands Sri will make good on the promise that you shall receive.

Jennifer June