Monday, April 25, 2016


Hello. It is I, Penelope. With bloggers busy A to Z-ing, Mom Mom said she would teach me a new way to write.

I have learned state capital letters and fengshuition. (Note from Penelope's editor, Janie Junebug: Penelope learned about state capitols at the same time she learned about capital letters. She also learned about punctuation the same day she heard about feng shui. She is quite stubborn in her beliefs that the terms state capital letters and fengshuition are correct.).

State capital letters means I put a bigger letter at the beginning of sentences and names. See? I am Penelope.

Fengshuition means I use periods at the end of a sentence and even commas when Mom Mom reminds me. It makes my sentences look balanced and more pleasing to the eye. 

I learn so many new words!

I have a new bed. Mom Mom thought it her bed. I showed her it my bed, but I let her sleep in it with me.

I put my red kong on the bed so I have a little chew when I wake up. Mom Mom is a good bed buddy.

I am good dog.

Okay. That is all.

Wednesday, April 13, 2016


Still workin' on taxes, and the Dude abides (fishducky, if you say you hate the Coen Brothers again, I'll fly to LA and kiss you on the mouth; you might even get some tongue action).

The Junebug abides, too, doin' taxes for the whole world, with movies on while she works away. Next up is Fargo.

And yes, I can do my taxes with a movie on. The movie keeps me from going completely insane. I'm only halfway there now.

This Junebug still loves you all infinitely. Thinking about starting my own religion and writing a book about it that's blank because my religion has no rules.

My rug ties the room together.

Shut up, Donny.

Monday, March 28, 2016


Gentle Readers .  . . and Maxwell,

I offer great gratitude to all the people who visited Rachel. Please continue to show her support. She doesn't have much time to blog because she works so hard, but making a comment on a blog doesn't have to be tit for tat.

I've noticed that many people don't comment on my blog unless I comment on their blogs first. I don't worry about that. I comment when the opportunity presents itself. I haven't commented as much as usual for the past month or so. I'm bizzy as a to be or not to be.

Now here's the announcement: Janie Junebug Righting & Editing might be getting into the marketing business.

A team of entrepreneurs is working on starting a new marketing company called FlipperSmack.

The idea is to connect brands with "influencers."

Apparently, I am an influencer, one of one hundred selected by the FlipperSmack team. If all goes well, I shall assist in getting the company off the ground, starting here in Jacksonville and in nearby St. Augustine.

When I know more, I'll keep you informed. I'm excited about the possibility of working with FlipperSmack.

It's also fun to say FlipperSmack.

I am now packed to the gills with Motrin and Tylenol. I'm not as achy, and the rage is gone. I'm glad I'll see my new doctor again soon. The insurance company refuses to fill some of my prescriptions.

Bite my little pink butt, Insurance Company.

But I'm sure glad I have you, Mr. Company. I found a great new doctor, too. Carol said he was good, so I knew it was true.

I'm off to bed earlier than usual. I hope I sleep until morning. I can't get the the prescription filled for medication to help me sleep. I have horrible nightmares. I wake up frequently during the night. Between the insurance company and the pharmacy, several prescriptions haven't been filled.

But now, I'm as sleepy as Franklin:

More good news: A certain little lady doggy slept with me three nights last week. She's getting to be a habit with me.

How many times can you say FlipperSmack, one after another?

Best wishes to all you A to Z-ers. I'll stop by to read as many of your posts as I can. I have a lot of work to do, so I can't read all the posts. Besides, if I tried, I don't think I could read all the posts unless I read 24/7. The A to Z-er world is large.

Blessings to all of you.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug


Not Gentle Enough Readers . . . and Maxwell,

My beloved blog baby Rachel is going through hell because of depression. She opened up in a post at her blog, When A Lion Sleeps, Let It Sleep. She's very brave to let anyone and everyone know what a tough time she's having.

I wish I could go get her and take care of her, but I don't have any money. I'm also in too much pain because of side effects from a new medication.

I've been tweeting that Rachel needs support, and putting it on my Facebook page, and only two people have commented on this poor child's post. Now, I realize you don't all have Twitter and you don't look at my Facebook page, so I'm telling you here: YOU NEED TO GO TO RACHEL'S BLOG AND SHOW HER LOVE AND SUPPORT.

We talk about depression all over the Web, and how hard it is, and how we need to help people who are depressed and not tell them stupid things like "snap out of it." She can't snap out of it. If she could, then don't you think she would?

Please visit When A Lion Sleeps, Let It Sleep to tell Rachel you understand and you care.

In addition, today is Rita's birthday.  I don't think most of you realize what a hard life Rita has. So I also want you to get off your asses--unless you need to be on your asses to use the computer--and wish Rita a happy birthday at SoulComfort's Corner.

That is all.

Carry on. I am your Queen of Grammar, and you WILL do as I say. One of the side effects of this medication is RAGE.

Not as much love as usual,

Janie Junebug

Saturday, March 26, 2016


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Today is my favorite young man's birthday. I'm not telling you how old he is because it might lead you to suspect that I am very old.

I was an immature and not particularly good parent, but he continues to tolerate me.

The rest of this post is a newspaper column I wrote about my boy back when I was a reporter, about a hundred years ago. I posted this once before, I think.

When I took my little red-haired boy to preschool, we met the teachers and looked at the toys. We sang some songs. Then it was time for me to leave.

The boy threw his arms around my knees and cried, "But I want to stay with you!"

I reminded him that we had talked about going to preschool. I reminded him that he needed to spend time with other kids, that I would return soon and we would spend the rest of the day together.

He kissed me good-bye and went off to build a tower of blocks with his new classmates. I rushed out the door, thankful we had just taken the first successful step toward his independence. 

But the boy needed to learn to dress himself. Every morning, he sat down, pulled his pants over his legs and tried to stand up before they were over his feet.

"I'll have to go to college with him to dress him," I grumbled.

With practice, though, he learned to dress himself. Another step toward independence.

The boy went to kindergarten. I removed the training wheels from his first bike. He rode around the block alone. He stopped asking me to marry him. He learned how to read.

I stood on a basketball court for hours while he threw ball after ball up and toward the hoop. None went through. I passed the ball back to him and waited while he threw it again. One day the ball finally went through the hoop.

He played basketball with the other boys. He didn't need me to rebound for him anymore. I breathed a sigh of relief. More steps.

Fourth grade and he started to play the trombone. The sound hurt. I helped him learn to read music. I played the piano; he played along on the trombone. The sound improved. He didn't need my help with the trombone.

Middle school years, and someone on the school bus teased a girl. She blamed the boy and put gum in his hair. The bus driver gave the boy's name to the principal. We practiced at home so the boy knew how to explain to the principal. The principal let the boy go. I didn't have to visit the school. A big step.

High school: Clear the roads -- he's learned how to drive. I felt frightened, then happy. He didn't need me to be his chauffeur. I could go where I wanted, when I wanted.

But so could he. More independence for him and more worries for me.

He had his ears pierced -- six times. He seemed to have trouble pulling up his pants again but he didn't ask for help with his clothes or with anything else.

I fought to stay involved in his life. Could this independence thing really be a good idea?

"Aren't you glad you know I'm independent and I don't listen to you?" he asked me one day as I was trying to gain his cooperation in some endeavor such as cleaning up his bedroom.

"Yeah, I'm glad you don't listen to me," I answered. I laughed, but I really was glad. Wasn't his independence what I had sought all along? Wasn't it what I had raised him to seek?

I insisted he hold down a job and pay for his own car insurance if he wanted to drive. He played on basketball teams, chose his own clothes, spoke up for himself, even became a trombonist in a ska band. And he did it all without me.

We went to college orientation and picked up our name tags. "Students to the right; parents to the left," a young woman told us.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Students go to a meeting in the room to the right and parents go to a meeting in the room to the left."

They were splitting us up.

I threw my arms around his waist and cried, "But I want to stay with you!"

"You'll be OK with the other parents. I'll be back soon and we'll spend the rest of the day together," he reminded me.

He hugged me. Then he walked away to be with the other students. I went to the meting with the parents, but not to build a tower. I had already built one. It was six-feet three inches tall and had red hair. 

On Jan. 15, he stood at the altar of a church. He didn't hold my hand; I didn't hold his. He took the hand of the most beautiful bride I've ever seen and vowed to be her husband for the rest of his life. I sat -- an onlooker in the drama of his life, missing him, but grateful for his independence.

Note: Sadly, the marriage ended after ten years. His ex-wife remains my Facebook friend. I love her very much and will always miss her.


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

You are great with the reviews of Woman on the Verge of Puberty Ecstasy Slut Shaming Paradise by Robyn Alana Engel, my new partner in hilariousness.

Robyn wants fifty reviews on Amazon so Jeff Bezos will promote her book. He promised to do it himself. I asked him. He capitulated after a nice blow job (notice I never said I provided the BJ). If he doesn't come through with the promotion, we'll never shop on Amazon again.

That oughta scare him.

Here's the big news: Robyn is up to forty-eight reviews.

And more reviews are coming in.

Robyn will give you a copy of Woman on the Verge of losing her virginity Paradise in exchange for an honest review posted on Amazon.

You can find Robyn at her adorable blog, Life By Chocolate. Click on the link, if you dare, and request a book.

Thank you for making Robyn's dream come true.

I wish you a blessed Easter.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug