And the sky is grey…

I’ve wanted to move to California since I was 12 years old.
On my 13th birthday my friend gave me a bottle of pink champagne which she smuggled back for me from a family vacation to Hollywood.

The plan was to drink it on my 16th birthday, on our way to California in the Volkswagen Van we planned to buy with saved babysitting money. We were all psyched up to busk and (self) degrade our way to super-movie-stardom.

The Champagne lasted about 3 weeks, until the sunrise dance/pancake breakfast at our junior high school.

We didn’t actually drink it at the school, we drank it in the cemetery at 5am, watching a grade 9 girl bad-trip on acid. We called her mom to come get her and continued to the dance where Andrea proceeded to barf her guts out in front of the entire student counsel. I was called to office two hours later and suspended for contributing to the debauchery of a fellow student.

I was grounded for 3 months. Andrea.

When I was 16 I moved in with a punk rock band called the Dayglo Abortions and started an early career in alcoholism and public nudity, which overlapped effortlessly with aimless existence and disgruntled waitressing. Needless to say, my California dream was temporarily derailed.

At the tender age of 20 I inadvertently started a baby spawning business which, while leading to narrowly escaped catastrophes such as floral print blouses, embroidery and a dark and twisted postpartum obsession with Mark Humphrey/curious preoccupation with E.N.G., flourished nicely over the following few years

I continued to pine. I practiced audition monologues while washing cloth diapers and grinding homemade baby food; glued macaroni to construction paper and palm trees to my dream-board; wore Jacki O sunglasses and and took improv classes.

Somehow, somewhere along the way my life took a bunch of wrong turns and crashed into a few pylons and meridians and next thing you know I was on a plane; hauling three kids and two cats across the country and back to my birth place in Eastern Canada.

California took a back seat.

I pasted magazine cut-outs of Butterfly Beach to an over-sized coffee can and started a Cali-savings-fund. The kids would donate a percentage of their allowance from time to time along with every penny they found on the sidewalks and in the couch cushions.

Eventually all $13.67 of it was spent on toilet paper, rice and lentils.

I perused realty sites and took virtual tours of million dollar listings. I registered with agent mailing lists who diligently sent me weekly updates of residents in my $600,000.00 – $5,050,713.00 price range which I scoured thoroughly.

Life took more turns and tumbles and yes, we moved.

I was ejected from the welfare system and evicted from our apartment and we moved.

We moved and moved and moved but still… here we still are. In Montreal. Not. In. California.

It’s been 28 years since the dream was first germinated and although the chances of me becoming a mega-super-moviestar are slim, I dream on.

I dream of a Spanish style villa with a pool and garden that goes on for acres.

I dream of a winter that doesn’t last 6 months or paralyze you in a state of deep depression.

I dream of guacamole that tastes like avocados.

I fall ill with a mystery disease that seems to have no name and no cure but never-ending tests and treatments. I think about how expensive this would be in the states and wonder if I should just be thankful to be here. I wonder if I should just let go and let the dream go.

I live my life, raise my children, job-hunt, update my blogs, eat avocados that taste like cotton, check all my trackers and web site analyzers and

WHAT’S THIS?

Damn Straight it looks right!!

It looks like a sign is what it looks like!!

Even twitalyzer knows I’m supposed to be in California! I’m supposed to be in.. Wal.. what? Where the heck is walnut?

www.wikipedia.com

Walnut is a city in Los Angeles County, California, United States.

Perfect!

The population is 30,004 and…

What?

The city covers nearly nine square miles (23 sq. km) and is home to more than 32,000 people and 600 businesses.

Um… I feel like we’ve had a bit of a misunderstanding and…

The history of Walnut dates back to the Indians who were of Shoshone origin. They were called Gabrielino Indians by the Spaniards, who arrived in the early 19th century because…

Yeah yeah whatever…

One of the most notable aspects of Walnut is the Walnut Family Festival. For one day each year during the fall, several larger streets are closed in the early hours of the morning and a parade is held in which many local clubs and groups participate. Later in the afternoon, a fair with booths, games, food, and activities is held in Suzanne Park, adjacent to Suzanne Middle School.

*cries*

For every 100 females age 18 and over, there are 93.5 males.

Okay! Okay! I get it.

The per capita income for the city is $31,196.

Alright! I’m over it already!

The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department (LASD) operates the Walnut/Diamond Bar…

The what now?

station.

Oh.

You know, my mother’s parents are both French. Maybe there is a way I could get my French citizenship?
I might be able to find a quaint Spanish-style villa in the south of France…




Jennifer June

Urban Honesty… live.

Honestly!! An Urban Dictionary? For what? Our language is going to hell in a hand-basket and there are real live humans who actually believe that it is a reliable source of legitimate information. What kind of humanity leads to literary chaos so powerful that even the Oxford English Dictionary is bullied into granting ‘trolleyed’, ‘jazz hands’, Tanorexia and ‘sexting’ entry?

Wait a minute…

“Jenny
An amazing, beautiful, caring, creative girl. She is the epitome of a goddess, and anyone would kill to have her. She can do anything she sets her mind to, and she’s wonderful.”

“Jennifer
She has the most beautiful eyes and hair.
She smells that of a fall evening, and her voice will typically seranade you.”

Urban Dictionary, how did you… are you… could it be that I have judged you too hastily?

Psssst… it’s serenade.

Jennifer June

Dirty Laundry

In response to my recent facebook announcement:

“live porn in the theater plan foiled by full house. who would have thought so many people wanted to see a movie about 8 old monks?”

my boyfriend stated that I air too much of our personal business via my facebook status so I’m moving my laundry hamper to The Lady’s Lounge:

Announcement!!
François Djmutante Robichaud hasn’t done the dishes in days and also his bathroom floor is damp. Also, his cat barfed on the duvet. Plus we kissed in the theater over a jumbo bag of greasy popcorn. Immediately afterward he stated, as I gazed lovingly into his eyes,

“We’re tacky”

Jennifer June

My Vagina + Household cleaner = Unconditional love

When we see the news we are often taken aback by the stories of stupidity and wonder what the hell is wrong with somebody who leaves their baby alone in the car for hours but it’s kind of hard to blame them when you see some of the messages they get when they watch television or read a newspaper.

Sure, people who believe everything they see on T.V. or read in a magazine are probably living somewhere on the simpler side of the neighborhood.

Sure, people who believe that if there were anything wrong with feeding their kids froot-loops for breakfast or that it’s actually part of a balanced meal (froot people, not fruit) because “If it was bad for you they wouldn’t advertise it on T.V.” might not have the HUGEST brains in the world but they do represent the average consumer so…

For some reason we are slightly less shocked when it’s a vintage add from the 40′s or 50′s as though it was Okay to be stupid then.

My Vagina + Household cleaner = Unconditional love

If you can’t afford an exorcism a glass of breast milk and slab of raw ham will clear things up in a jiffy!


Thankfully we evolved so much by the 90′s…

Racism = Awesome

And if it's coming from National Geographic well...

Plastic= Saving the world


Do I even need to…

And the 2000′s…


Mexican’s are stupid enough to believe that if they drink Swedish vodka they will reconquer California? And Texas? Or…? I don’t.. I can’t… I’m not even…

Sometimes I’m just embarrassed to be human. Plain. And. Simple.

Jennifer June

The miracle of life… and couple’s colonics

Jen: I’ve been on call for weeks for the birth of a baby and she’s threatening to come today so I have to go check on Mama at noon. If it looks like a false alarm I’ll text you after and see if there is still time for coffee today.
Does that work for you?

D:
sounds good, luva!!
xoxox

Jen: Looks like baby means business. Mom is napping but some of the contractions are 10 minutes apart. We’ll have to do this a different day.

D: No problemo my love!! I’m just quietly editing.

Jen: I’m excited for the baby but I was looking forward to seeing you.

Jen: That sounded really gay-adult. I’m sorry

D: Like Lezbo adult or like ‘Excuse me while I be all professional-adult-like”? Either way, I totally didn’t notice

Jen: Like professional middle-aged lesbo yoga instructor/adoptive mother of an imported baby… adult.

D: Oh. Like Jann from accounting who is a divorced single mother with adult children who just bought a fixer upper house with her dear friend Carla. They demo the house on the weekends, make stew in the crock-pot, garden and share a bed?

Jen:Jann still breastfeeds the son she bought 5 years ago and seems relatively androgynous except for that she and Carla put the (adult) kids to bed early on Sunday nights and vagazzle each other in front of the fireplace, over a bottle of wine or 3…

D:
Yes. Yes, I got you. So you felt like you were being a bit like that Yes, now that I re-read your sentence I see that clear as day. I should pay more attention to you like Shaman Ronald discussed with us during our sessions. I’m sorry Jann… er I mean Jenn.

Jen: So we’re still on for couple’s colonics this week then?

D: Yes. And anal bleaching. I heard of this new place that uses completely organic bleach. Louise says it’s fantastic. She swears by it!

Jen: I love your guts so much that if it wasn’t gross I’d eat them.

*I ❤ Lesbians, gardening and crock-pots. All couple’s-colonic loving, fire-front-vagazzlers can forward hatemail to:
jenniferjune @ theladyslounge . com

Jennifer June