In which Marilyn Monroe is compared to a nut

Last night, there was an enormous spider on Ned's wall. It was a major spider. You can imagine my manly response.

Ned got rid of it, and agreed it was a giant spider. "I think he was suicidal. He didn't even put up a fight," he said.

"I wonder what got him so depressed. Maybe he found his wife in the eight arms of another man."

 

Nothing from Ned. Bupkis. "That was good stuff, there," I pointed out. And still, Ned was Easter Island.

Screen Shot 2014-05-30 at 7.55.29 AMNed is a tough crowd. He DID laugh the other day when he asked me if Soupy Sales was Jewish and I said he was, and his real name was Soupy Wholesales.

Try the veal.

But all of this is neither here nor there. What I was really going to tell you was that I got up with my cute friend Wilma last night.

IMG_0533 IMG_0534Do you not pray to all that is merciful that you are this beautiful when, you know, time marches forward?

She also got to meet Ned, which we've all been wanting to arrange for some time, as her daughter-in-law used to date Ned. I mean, before she married Wilma's son. Otherwise, awkward. The point is, small world, wouldn't want to paint it.

IMG_0541

I just adore Wilma, and hope I can ever be half as cool. News flash: That will never happen.

IMG_0529

In other news, today is my Pal from MA's birthday. She is 82.

Screen Shot 2014-05-30 at 8.04.57 AMheeeeeee! Really, we are the same age, except she is six weeks older than me, a fact she LORDED over me each year from May 30 to July 16.

Screen Shot 2014-05-30 at 8.07.09 AM"You know, now that I'm four, I feel like I have so much firmer of a grasp on life," she'd say, shaking her hair around sophisticatedly, as though she'd seen all the love and hate and lust and horror the world had to offer since she'd turned four. As though she'd seen a million faces and she'd rocked them all.

I'd watch her, filled with envy and rage and wondering what "grasp" meant, seeing as I was three.

Dear Pal, Now that I'm still 48, I feel so spry and lively. Oh, is that a 23-year-old boy looking me over? It's because I'm still nubile at 48. At 49, I know you wouldn't understand. [shake shake shake of hair]

Anyway, happy birthday, Pal. I am sorry I did not get you a real gift, but as of last night I had $23 in checking. My life is fabulous. (And I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Ned for feeding me last night on our date with Wilma. Y'all, we got three plates of appetizers. A tomato flatbread; some ahi tuna; and a plate with various cheeses, duck breast, pate, something that looked like communion wafers and slivered almonds.)

("Slivered almonds" always sound like the sexiest almonds, to me. You got your raw, your salted, even your smoked almonds. But they can't compete with slivered. Slivered almonds are the Marilyn Monroe of almonds.)

(What is wrong with me?) Anyway, it was all delicious. Then after we said goodbye to Wilma we had to go eat again because Ned was still hungry. We did a bang-bang, which is a thing Louis CK and his brother do on Louis CK's show, where they have one full meal and get up and go to another restaurant and have a second meal. Bang-bang. That's totally what Ned did.

Do you watch that show? It is excellent.

Okay, I have to go to work, but I will catch you later, when I will still be 48.

Youthfully,

June

Apparently, the rhythm got June

The directions to my eyelash curler pads are so small I had to use a magnifying glass to read them. Photo on 5-29-14 at 8.13 AM #3No, we're not back to first-world-problem day. Still! How annoying.

I can't read anything anymore, and Ned just last night had on my reading glasses with the leopard print and sparkly sides while he perused a menu. No, I did not take a picture.

What sorts of things are happening with you as you age? I can't remember the last time I stood up and nothing hurt. Lately it's my hips because apparently I went ahead and shook my body baby, did the conga, I couldn't control myself any longer, shook my body baby did the conga, I couldn't control myself any longer.

I must have done that in my sleep, however.

Anyway, before my hips gave out on me, my feet hurt terribly, and of course my sprained ankle, which took six months to heal and is still, frankly, a little wonky.

Marvin can no longer hear anything, from playing in bands and working at concerts all his life.

What about you? What's falling apart? Tell me so I can feel better about myself. Because that's what matters.

Oh, and you're welcome for putting Gloria Estefan in your head like that.

Who goes to a Gloria Estefan concert? I'm kind of thinking the same folks who rock out to Jimmy Buffet, which you could not PAY me to attend.

Okay, I have to go.

Your old pal, literally,

Joooon

June gets her Zum on

All summer, my city is offering free workouts at parks on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. The schedule is on the refridge® at work and torments me daily. "I really should be doing these," I think, as I head for the pudding inside the refridge.

A few weeks ago, I went to Tai Chi in the park with a coworker who is actually not named Alex. Let's call her Fleeta, which I did not just find in the random name generator or anything. "Hey, Fleeta," I asked her yesterday while she toiled at her desk. "You working out tonight?"

"I'm not sure, June," she said, never looking up from her work. "You asked me last week, and I said yes, and you never showed up."

"I did?"

"Yes. You asked me twice. I went there and you were never there."

Last Tuesday is when Alex 420349393 came over and we did yoga after she couldn't find the workout locale in the park. I must have also asked Fleeta if she was doing that workout in the park, too, then forgot. Honestly, what is wrong with me? "Did I really ask you twice?" I asked Fleeta. She sighed and continued with her work. Fleeta abhors me. Imagine how delighted she'll be when she finds out I'm calling her Fleeta.

"So, you going tonight?"

Stony silence.

At 5:00, another Alex was leaving work. Let's call her Alex 5. "Hey, Alex 5, you wanna go to the workout in the park? Tonight it's Zumba!" I'm afraid I did a little Zumba-ish dance, at least what I ASSUMED would be Zumba, as I'd never gone.

Alex 5 looked at me for a long time. "I was trying to think of some reason why I can't, but I guess I can't think of any," she said.

I am super-popular at work.

She had workout clothes with her, so we just went to my house to change. You know, last week, Alex 420349393 came over to do yoga at the last minute, and she had her own yoga mat at the ready. Is this generation just prepared for anything? Had I asked Alex 5 to go ballroom dancing with me, would she have pulled out her burgundy taffeta?

"Let's hunt for grouse!" "Oh, sure! Let me whip out my orange vest."

Before we left, we did a search online for just where in the hell this particular workout was. Because the thing on the refridge was confusing. "At the trailhead!" it enthuses. Yeah, thanks. That narrows it down. When we went online, they called it The Trailhead and Under the Bridge and kind of on Spring Garden and kind of on this one other street and over yonder by the trail, there.

Finally, we decided we knew where it was and wrote down directions. I didn't want to use the work printer for personal use, as I am a scaredy cat about breaking the rules.

When we got to my house, I realized I'd left the directions at work. Son of a…We went online again, read, "At the trailhead!" Got annoyed anew, figured everything out and wrote it down. Then we got in the car, all Zumba-attired out.

The thing is, Alex 5 and I got to talking about our weekend and we missed the turn. Mostly because our directions said, "Turn left on Spring Garden" but the only thing present on the road was an arrow saying "Spring Garden this way" all the way on the right. So we drove on, looking for a place to turn around, and suddenly we were on the highway headed to Charlotte.

Son of a…

We finally turned around and got back downtown, and drove around till we saw anything familiar again, and finally got back where we were and got in the right lane in order to turn left on Spring Garden, which we did and then?

There it was! You know? It was at the trailhead!

"Where do we park?" we wondered. At this point, class had started three minutes prior, but we were still determined to go. "We're just missing the instructions on how to do Zumba without breaking our necks," Alex 5 assured me. And who needs that?

Finally we parked. And got out of the car. A woman approached us. "Is this where we do Zumba?" she asked us. We said we sure thought so. She walked away, dazed. "She thinks we look like Zumba experts," said Alex 5, proudly. Yes, clearly we were Charo and Shakira, over here.

A large group of people headed toward us.

"Zumba's canceled," they all said.

How fervently do you pray that I find another punchline song some day?

The town criers who told us about class also said they were just gonna walk the trail, instead, so Alex 5 and I joined them. And by "joined" I mean we sort of creepily walked behind them and judged their tattoos. But the trail was really sort of lovely, and it was probably two miles or so. Which completely justifies the fishsticks I had for dinner.

Tonight? It's belly dancing with Faun Finley! I should totally have called Not Alex "Faun Finley."

 

(c)2014, Ned Nickerson. The term "refridge" and all its ridiculousness property of Ned Nickerson, Greensboro, NC. Any uses, mentions, or likenesses of the word "refridge" are to be credited to Ned, because it is the stupidest word invented.

Juneshana

In my continued attempts at thin-nity, I am trying to eat only half a bagel today. This is criminal. I am also eating reduced-fat cream cheese and an antique tomato, as Ned would call it. Once he was getting food, and said, "I also picked up one of those antique tomatoes and it was delicious."

I pondered this for a second. "Do you mean heirloom tomatoes?"

"Oh, I guess I do."

Antique tomatoes. Anyway, given what I ate yesterday, a half bagel and your grandmother's tomato are in order. Ned bought a grill for my house, as my last one collapsed with exhuastion and dehydration, and yesterday we had hamburgers and I made potato salad (I know! Was cheffy this weekend) and we had corn on the cob and also 3943020202 Ruffles.

IMG_0520Oh. Also? It seems my breakup with Ned is not working out. News flash: I love Ned.

After our cookout action, we went to the movies, and saw Godzilla, and I will let you guess whose idea that was, but seeing as Ned spent 700 hours of his weekend doing manual labor at my house, I said yes, Godzilla sounds magnificent. And you know it was kind of entertaining? I thought Godzilla looked a little like Talu when she's pissed off. I don't know why they keep shooting at poor Godzilla when it clearly never works.

My point is, we had JUST eaten all that stuff, and then we got to the movies and I had nachos with jalapeños. Are you impressed with my accent mark? I learned how to do that at the Apple store.

I also learned how to italicize when I'm texting.

Then I came home and watched Mad Men and ate 44924929393 strawberries. Why the stubborn pounds?

I DID do half an hour of yoga yesterday, so I'm certain I burned all of that off. While I was doing shavasana, which is the part at the end of yoga where you just lie there like a lump (it's the best part), Edsel laid down next to me and put his paw in my hand. For Edsel, every move is LoveJuneshana.

Anyway, here it is the workweek again, and we can all wear white pants now, which is what matters.

Oh! I know what else I wanted to discuss. The other day at work I complained, "My meditation-a-day page is taking forever to download." Since I work in that delightfully serene open floor plan, I put on headphones and listen to meditation music that allegedly increases concentration. But that day it wouldn't open. You know, kind of like half the time you try to open this fucking blog.

"Wow, could that be more of a first-world problem?" I asked myself. The woman who sits on the other side of me (not all the time, like she's the right hand of God. Just at work) heard me, and mentioned the other day her husband said, "This is the slowest Keurig machine I've ever seen."

Yeah. That counts.

So then I told her I once heard a woman at the grocery store say, "This is the worst-maintained olive bar in town."

What're your most ridic first-world problems? Someone listening to our conversation (and who could AVOID listening to our conversation in that private private workspace?) said, "They're still problems, even if they're first world."

No, they aren't.

So tell me. In the meantime, I really need more summer-y pants. And new eyelash-curler pads.

First-worldly,

June

P.S. Forgot to plug my Purple Clover article again. Here. They renewed my contract for another year, so could someone give me some effing topics to write about? It's getting hard to come up with topics each week. First worldly again, June.

Namaste, heifers

A disciplined woman would do yoga BEFORE blogging.

"A real woman could stop you from drinking." "It'd have to be a really big woman."

Name that movie.

Anyway, here I am blogging, not yoga-ing, and why don't you nama my fucking ste, judgy. I wanted to tell you about ALL WE ACCOMPLISHED yesterday, and it was a lot. The first thing we attempted to do was fix my screen door.

IMG_2986It was unseasonably chilly yesterday. Really, this was the only shot of the door I could find. It was all stained from Edsel jumping on it, the doorknob was gone (see prev ref to damn dog), and you can't tell, but the screen was ripped to ribbons as well. So it was like I lived outside, with the mosquitoes and flies and hawks and coyotes that came through that ripped screen.

Because Ned is Ned, we had to go to the store on Saturday, look at screen things (did you know you can select different COLORS of screens? Of COURSE there's not pink. I'd have lead with that if there were) and observe the screen tools and get a screen brochure and screen our calls and change our screen savers and go to bed and dream of screenie and think about the screen and plan. Plan plan plan.

To say I am a little more devil-may-care about projects is putting it mildly. But this is good, because Marvin put the lack in lackadaisical when we did projects. "Good enough," was always his motto, as was, "Directions are for pansies."

Marvin never said "pansies" in his life unless he was helping me plant some. I was just trying to make him sound awful. But really he hated directions.

My point is, we screened BACK to the store yesterday, having studied up on screens, and we had a list and a plan, and also part of my spline, which sounds personal but which is really this thin black round stuff you squish in to make the screen stay put. That is the official explanation, and tune in next time for more Handyman Tips from June®.

We brought with us the OLD spline to ensure the NEW spline would be the right size, which Ned learned all about in his screeny studies. He also made jokes about how I have no spline, because I have no spleen, see, and I really think he should leave the hysterical jokes to me, because let me tell you. Every time Ned looked at me when we were at the store, I was doing another funny funny thing with the spline we brought.

Photo on 5-26-14 at 12.39 PM #2I was a Glamour "Don't."

Photo on 5-26-14 at 12.41 PMSalvador Dali.

Photo on 5-26-14 at 12.41 PM #4Freida Kahlo.

"June, could you cut it out? Which color screen do you want?" asked Ned, who was so over me there isn't even a phrase for how over me he is.

Photo on 5-26-14 at 12.45 PM #3"I don't care what color, I just really don't want to look at the mousetraps," I said, then fell to the ground in hysterics.

"Look, here's pet-resistant screen. We should probably get that," said Ned, pretending I wasn't me.

Photo on 5-26-14 at 12.48 PM"Would you like a peanut?" I asked him, spitting up.

"That one was pretty good," said Ned.

We DID get the pet-resistant screen, and we took the door down, cleaned it, sanded it, painted it, chanted over it, and finally put in the new screen, with our new spline. "Luuuucyyy, you have some spline-ing to do!" I said. Honestly, if there were a drive-thru wedding chapel in Greensboro, yesterday would've been the day I finally took myself there.

While the paint was drying on the door, Ned and I whacked weeds in my back yard, which he did very manfully for awhile before I said, "I want to do it!" And it was really extra fun for about five minutes, when I very distinctly started feeling like Careen and Suellen in Gone With the Wind when they had to pick cotton for the first time in their pampered lives. Oh, my arms were aching and I was sweating and geez, was that my BACK yelling at me? But I persevered, as I had insisted Ned give me the whacker because it looked so fun, and after a good 15 minutes Ned offered to continue, and I acted like I had something important to do, so I gave him the whacky thing and sat gingerly on the deck, wondering if you could die of sweat.

We also painted my metal chair.

6a00e54f9367fb883401157016f863970b-800wiHere's how it was a few years ago, and Marvin painted it pink in 2009. I looked back at my blog to see if I showed it after, painted all pink, but what I DID find was a kitten picture of Henry, my cat that Marvin got in the divorce.

6a00e54f9367fb883401156f50d220970c-800wiSQUEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! That was the very first photo I ever took of him, and let me tell you. That cat never took a bad picture from then on. He was a model kitty.

Anyway, yesterday I cleaned and sanded and painted and chanted over my chair, and right now it looks like this:

IMG_0513I'm hoping to find some kind of finish-y thing to make it more glossy, but I like the color.

Here, also, are my dogs celebrating the new door and chair and weedlessness.

IMG_0508if edz do not get off lu, she report to HR.

Oh, and here!

IMG_0500
TA DAAAAAAA! Some of the dumb wooden decorative parts are gone forever (see above re stupid Edsel), but what're you gonna do? We looked for replacements in the store, to no avail. Still, isn't it so much better?

In all, we worked on stuff for seven hours, and we went out for pizza after, and you have never seen two people pounce on a pizza the way Ned and I did that evening. "Is it just me, or is this the best pizza you've ever eaten in your life?" asked Ned, who did not get an answer because I was chawing. I even ate the crust, which never happens. Crust is for pansies.

I have to go, and allegedly do yoga now, to work off the HORRIBLE LACTIC ACID that has taken residence in my arms and also hips, which do not lie. Gyms should offer weed whacking classes. No one would be fat again.

I'll let you know when Edsel breaks the new screen.

Handily,

June

Old flame

I spilled a bag of peanuts into the dogs' bag of food, so now every meal is packed with peanuts. Kibble really satisfies. And if you think my dogs are persnickety about peanuts in the shell being in their kibble, you must be new.

Anyway, I had been wanting to tell you about going to pet therapy with Faithful Reader Happy, below. IMG_0489
IMG_0480(I like how pet therapy is supposed to be for the elderly, and there I was up in some dog's grille. Step aside, old lady. You think you got problems?)

We went on Thursday. I did not bring my dogs, as I did not want to have to explain to any family why gramma turned into Tallulah's afternoon tea.

100_0534Scone gramma do be delishus.

Anyway, we had ourselves a time, and one old guy turned out to be a sort-of-famous musician, and I took a movie of him off in the corner playing piano, and when I get time, I will You Tube it and put it up for you.

On Friday, I had dinner with Ned. I know. We talk talk talked, and it must have gone well, because at 3:00 in the morning we found ourselves at the park, sitting on chairs watching the meteor shower. As soon as we sat down, a really dramatic one shot across the sky. "WOW!" we both said, excited for our meteor shower.

Half an hour later, Ned said, "Well, we saw one."

Ten minutes after that, Ned said, "Well, we saw that one. It was a good one."

Finally another meteor shot across.

"Well, that's two."

"Are you going to be the town crier about each star?" I asked him.

A few minutes later, Ned said, "Well, we saw two."

What I am saying to you is, it was not so much a shower as kind of a sprinkle. And nothing makes you feel better than going to sleep at 4:00.

Yesterday, Ned and I scraped my goddamn ceiling, which lemme tell you is a pain in my ass.

IMG_0493 IMG_0492Ned was there when the chips were down.

If that weren't lighthearted enough, we went to Lowe's, where no one else was on a holiday weekend, and selected a weed whacker, replacement screening for my door, and bug spray. Because, bugs. Neither of us knows the first thing about replacing a screen, at least we didn't yesterday. Now we're screen experts.

"Today we're going to find out the diameter of your spline, and get some of that," said Ned, just a while ago, and then he said, "You know what I never thought I'd hear myself say? 'The diameter of your spline.' But there it is."

So, obviously Ned and I are spending some time together, and he said if we don't reunite, at least my house will be fixed and my weeds will be gone.

Would you like to know what I am not asking for, here? Advice. That is what I am not asking for. Just keeping you abreast, as it were.

Oh! But I AM asking for advice on this.

How, in the name of all that is fucking sacred, do you change the goddamn light bulbs on this light fixture?

IMG_0498I don't even LIKE this light fixture. Who am I, an old plantation owner, calling in the slaves? Why do I even HAVE this light fixture? Oh, welcome to my carriage house, y'all. Let me get you a julep. What the fuck. And to add insult to injury, I CAN'T EVEN USE IT because the light bulbs are burnt out.

Neither the top or bottom things unscrew in any helpful way, by the by. I have tugged and screwed and pulled and sweated, but enough about reuniting with Ned.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Really. Do you own this light fixture? If so, nice taste. Secondly, what the fuck do you do when you have to change bulbs? Also, I can't get enough of that shape bulb. Oooo, it's a real flame! Your lamp, your Civil War carriage house lamp, is on FI-YA! I'm burning up!

Okay, I'm going. Ned keeps saying we need to "seize the day" and get all this shit done at my house. Seventy times he's said it. Oh, and when he came over to scrape my ceiling yesterday, he said, "So, have you made a plan for how we're going to go about this?"

I blinked at him for awhile. A plan. I shook his hand. "Hi, I'm June. It's so nice to meet you." A plan. So last night, Ned made a list of all the things we have to do today, and I am assuming he is also creating a, you know, plan. I did ask if we had a plan on where we were going to eat lunch when we broke from all the seizing of the day. I thought it was a legitimate question but whatever.

Okay. Here I go.

June, seizing.

I know this is stupid

but I live near a busy street, and just now a squirrel got hit by a car. It happens all the time on that dumb road. My cat Roger was killed on that road, and Tallulah was hit there, too. She's just too tough of a no-nonsense Pit to let a minor thing like a car bother her. Much.

Pay no mind to how she trembles if a car comes too near us on our walks.

Anyway, I saw the squirrel on the road, and then I saw it move its tail. Oh, no. Was that just the wind from cars passing it? Another car went by and his tail did blow in the wind.

But then he lifted his head.

"Oh NO," I said, and ran to the road.

He was alive, and trying to get up. "No problem here. Squirrel feel absolutely well. Just few scratches."

I considered getting a shovel and getting him out of the road that way, but I was worried I'd hurt him. I called Animal Control, and they weren't going to be open till 8:00. It was 7:44. I squatted down near the squirrel. "I'm going to stay here with you till Animal Control can get here. It'll be okay, little squirrel."

He lifted his head and looked at me, dazed. "Don't be scared," I told him, but he probably was.

I stood there like a crazy woman (I mean. "Like" a crazy woman might be a bit of a stretch.) Every time a car whizzed by, I'd cringe. Maybe I really should get that shovel.

Just then, a white SUV careened down the road and hit my little squirrel. I screamed, and dropped my phone, and hid my eyes.

Oh, how I've cried for that squirrel today. He'd just been minding his own business, doing ridiculous squirrel things, and this happened. And the last thing he saw was my crazy-eyed self, talking to him in squirrel baby talk.

I called Ned, crying hysterically. Shut up. I told Ned the story and he got weepy, too. He offered to come over, but I have to go to work and act like a normal person who doesn't get hysterical about a rodent in the street.

Rest in peace, little squirrel. I hope you did not suffer much, that you were in shock and barely noticed the woman with all the hair. I hope if you did notice her, you felt comforted in some way. I hope you're in a teensy squirrel heaven filled with bird feeders you can raid to your heart's content.

Love, your insane human friend, June.

Coffee soup is good food

The good news is, I keep forgetting to buy detergent for the dishwasher, so am currently drinking coffee out of soup bowl. My life just gets fabulouser.

I have a friend who is extra-super-annoyingly fit, and she and her man have recently damned indecision and cursed it right, as well. Yesterday she said to me, "I'm gonna go work out. I mean, it'll rid me of this anxiety, and besides, I have to get all hot again."

News flash: She is already 10 times hotter than all of us combined.

Last night I was taking a bath in epsom salts, soaking and thinking of opening a nice wrist, when she texted me. She text me.

"I just ate an entire carrot cake," she wrote. You know, I've never heard of the carrot cake workout. I feel like I could STICK to that one. I should ask my doc what's up with that diet. I could have my cake workout and…eat it, too. Orange you glad Ima try this workout?

It is no wonder I can't keep a man.

The only other thing I have to tell you is that

Oh my god. I've completely forgotten what the other thing was. Oh, geez Louise. This is not good. I guess, then, I'll explain why I bathed in epsom salts. Yesterday at work I was working very intently on one project all day, and I was hunched over trying to read fine print, and guess what, I think my 2.0 reading glasses prescription has officially crapped out on me. Now I have to go get 5.9s or something.

Anyway, I had a headache when I got home, and I never get headaches, I just get migraines, and this was seeming like it was careening over to migraine territory. My cousin Katie, who is a natural-fibers-loving hippie, said when SHE gets a migraine she bathes in epsom salts with a little lavender essential oil, which, oddly, I also had on hand.

I got out the epsom salts Ned gave me when I sprained my ankle last November. I added the oil. And while I was lying there, I noticed the carton of salts read "Good until 12/99."

TWELVE NINETY-NINE! The epsom salts expired FIFTEEN YEARS AGO. So now I probably have epsom salt poisoning and this will be the last you'll hear from me. I just recovered from that yogurt poisoning of yesterday.

In summary, I need to stop dealing with expired things.

June, who was good until 5/14.

Yogurt, furnaces, the Greeks, bawls

The yogurt I'm eating expires today, so if I begin to die, please tell that to the paramedics so they can treat me for expired-yogurt disease. Thank you.

Remember when we all ate Dannon like it was a thing? Stirred the fruit up from the bottom? I never liked doing that–too much effort. When I was 15 and 16, and visiting my father all summer in Dallas, I'd get up and eat half a Dannon blueberry yogurt for breakfast and half for lunch. Then a sensible dinner of nachos or something. I weighed 115 pounds all through high school.

Now I'm depressed.

Anyway. Now we're all chawing on the Greek yogurt like we're Socrates or something. He was famous for enjoying him the Greek yogurt. I never trusted any of those philosophers because they all wore such stupid sandals. If they can't even be trusted to pick out a nice shoe, how are we supposed to believe, for example, that  the unexamined life is not worth living? Examine your strappy sandals, there, dude.

I seem to have gotten off on a tangent.

Last night, I came home and was immediately covered in cats, which is what happens at this house.

IMG_0460I'd been mulling going to last night's Fitness in the Park thing, but this time it was circuit training, and that sounded hard, and because I am a Greek philosopher with cute shoes, my philosophy is the hard things in life are worth ignoring. Besides, I'd been planning to go with Alex #42016798 and she begged off.

But then I got a text from her. "I decided to go after all!" I wrote her back that it was too late for me to get there and I was covered in cats. A few minutes later…

"I can't find this @##&$* place where the fitness is gonna be. I've driven everywhere." So I asked if she wanted to come do yoga, because that's what I'd been planning to do: a little yoga time with my Gurpmaloni Fonda DVD. What was his real name, again? He told me and I told you, but now I just call him Gurpmaloni Fonda. I feel like that's not right.

Tamal Dodge. I just looked on the DVD case. Okay, I was close, at least.

Anyway, Alex 42016798 said she'd be right over. I pushed all the furniture out the way and decided she could have my yoga mat and strap and I'd use a towel and a towel. This yoga workout calls for a strap, which might be a nice thing to tell us before we order it but whatever. I had lying around blocks and straps from the LAST time I tried to do yoga. I couldn't believe I actually found the strap I'd purchased in 2008, but there it was in the living room closet.

Alex 42016798 brought her own yoga mat, because apparently she's the kind of person who gallops around town expecting bring-your-own-yoga-mat situations. And seeing as she just walked in and did this, maybe she runs into those situations more often than you and I.

IMG_0464lu appall

So we laid our mats side-by-side and I handed her the yoga strap. "This isn't a yoga strap, this is a dog leash," she said, only she's from Jersey so she said dawg leash."No, it–oh, God, is it?" I asked.

For the last few weeks, I've been yoga-ing with a dog leash. That's not even kinky. It's just depressing.

IMG_0465Anyway, we got centered and released our hips (my friend The Poet does yoga at work, and one day she returned from class and said they'd worked on releasing their hips, and if her hips don't come back to her they were never really hers anyway) and I tried not to look at ALL THE DOG HAIR EVERYWHERE.

Gurpmaloni Dodge was going to town on his poses, throwing his legs this way and that. "Gawd, look at his bawls," said Alex 42016798, and then I giggled like I was 12, which I am, other than my unreleased hips.

That purse behind Alex 42016798 is left over from Saturday, when Ned, boyfriend fmr. and I went to see Marvin's band play. I was so caught up in my life's drama that I never told you about it, and now it seems kind of posthumous, but I will show you photos from that night anyway.

IMG_0440My dang flash on my camera still doesn't work, but here's Marvin pretending to strangle Ned. Good times!

IMG_0438Here we have Marvin with alcohol and Ned with water, which, wait. Marvin has alcohol? It's not a beer. Don't be silly. He's drinking a hard wine cooler, or something. 

I also met Marvin's fiancee, and she was a lovely person. I know! I'd been such a nutbar when Marvin got a girlfriend EIGHT SECONDS after he moved out, but, you know, time marches on. She was very kind to me, and no, I did not say, "Hey! Lemme get a photo of you so I can show it to tens of readers!"

IMG_0442I also captured on film–and HOW DO YOU FIX THE FUCKING FLASH ALREADY?–Marvin jamming out on stage.

And Ned, boyfriend fmr., took pictures of me at dinner before we hung our goats high watching Marvin.

IMG_0433
IMG_0436 IMG_0431See? It's not just me. It's hard to take unblurry pictures, especially when you HAVE NO FLASH. You want excellent photos? Go on over to Pioneer Woman. See if I care.

I like that furnace-filter shirt. I had a similar furnace-filter skirt in the '80s, but it was magenta. I could not wear a furnace-filter skirt now, as it would look like some sort of mishap happened with your heating and cooling system. A mishap has happened with mine.

Okay, I'm off to work. Tonight I have therapy, and the good news is tonight she will not be bored. Last time I saw her she kept having to do the "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?" thing because I had nuthin'. Just the general Hi-I'm-crazy stuff, and that gets old fast. So.

June, unfiltered.

Nothing a little pineapple Hello Kitty can’t cure

Thank you all for your kind comments yesterday for the 8 minutes that fucking Typepad was up. They're under another attack and working to keep this dang site functioning. I'd like to take that HeartBleed bastard and smack him right in his medulla.

Despite the fact that Typepad was up for .00002 seconds yesterday, people in my real life got the news fast. All day I was getting the texts and the calls and the personal appearances and the skywriting. It's nice that people like me in real life, although I have no idea why they do.

My Pal From MA called me while I was sitting at my desk, 100% exposed to the world in our delightful open floor plan.

"I'M SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU," she screeched.

"I'm fine," I said.

"THIS IS AWFUL!!" she screeched.

"I know," I said.

"IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO??"

"You can hang up, because 30 people are listening to me right now." The whole room laughed.

My workspace. Private, and also private.

My boss has met Ned, and likes him, and they had plans to play pool together one day. Do you "play" pool? I have no idea. They had plans to participate in pool one day. I told him the news, which was obvious given how often my phone was exploding.

"You know, there's an economic theory," he began.

"I feel like this is going to be super-romantic advice," I told him.

"I forget who came up with the theory," he continued, ignoring me. He talked about three-wheeled cars, and I am pleased to tell you he sent me photos of three-wheeled cars, then he told me about how some people like a three-wheeled car and some need four wheels.

"Okay, Grasshopper. I'm waxing on and waxing off, here, and I have no idea what you mean. I should date a three-wheeled car? Dating is like being run over by a car? You're TIREd of hearing about my love life? What?"

I still have no idea what he was getting at. But now I know there are three-wheeled cars.

At lunch, The Poet was kind enough to offer to have lunch with me. I'd really planned on going home for chicken salad and pain.

IMG_0452Lunch with The Poet was far superior. And tandoori chicken! Of which I had four bites, because heartbreak.

When I got home at the end of the day, I had a note on my door. My sweet friend Dot had sent me something, and it was next door at my neighbor's. (I already told this story to Faithful Reader LaUral, and she said, "I thought your neighbor was Peg." "Yes, she IS my neighbor," I told her, "but the Earth doesn't just FALL OFF after my house. Someone also lives on the other side of me.")IMG_0454The point is, HELLO KITTY FRUIT! Look. HELLO KITTY PINEAPPLE HEAD!

I was busily admiring the Hello Kitty pineapple head, because who wouldn't. "Thanks for minding my fruit. Would you like a piece?" I asked my neighbor.

"No. Is it your birthday?"

"Nope. I broke up with someone. My friend sent this because she feels bad for me."

"The guy with the car?"

The guy with the car. Yes, as opposed to that Amish man who was often here with his buggy. Plow my fields, Jedediah.

"Yes, the guy with the car."

"I just broke up with someone too. I always knew she'd break up with me."

We gave each other the "What're ya gonna do?" nod for a minute.

"You should come sit in my hot tub one day, have a few drinks," he said.

"Yeah, okay." I was turning Hello Kitty head to and fro. I was halfway through my yard when it occured to me, was my neighbor hitting on me?

His HOT TUB?

What is this, 1979?

His hot tub?

I had my student after work, so I screamed over to the library. Sometimes what I do is tell her about my day, and then she picks out any time she hears hyperbole, pun, personification, metaphor and simile. You can imagine the richness of these in a story from me ("my heart is a used-up wrapper scurrying alone across the deserted fairgrounds").

My student looked at me for a minute, after my dramatic telling of my day. "I've got breakup songs on my iPod. Write these down. And tell him to stop acting like a doo-doo bug."

"THAT WAS A SIMILE! Sort of!" I shouted gleefully.

 

She also got me another cell phone case. A few weeks back she gave me a sparkly one. Last night I got this.

IMG_0457"Orange you glad I'm so annoying?" I asked.

"Pun," she sighed, resigned.

About an hour later, we were both looking at my phone screen, because we'd Googled examples of something. She'd read a passage, or I would. Pal From MA texted me. I don't know about you, but when I get a text, it pops up on whatever screen I have up.

I'M SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU, screeched her text.

I LOVE YOU. Was her follow-up screech.

MY MOM IS WORRIED TOO.

Dawgs, after the SIXTH TEXT, I wrote her back. Thanks for worrying, Pal, but I'm with my student and we're using my phone right now. Talk to you.

OKAY, she texted back. Does she set her phone to screech font, or…?

I REALLY HOPE YOU'RE OKAY, she texted again.

"Oh my goodness. Do you need to leave?" asked my student.

When our not-at-all chaotic session came to a close, I got to my car and there was a note on my windshield. Oh, great. What had I done wrong now?

IMG_0458You guys. Someone had dinged my door with theirs, and gave me $20 to repair it. How nice is that? I couldn't even SEE any damage.

It's good to know that even though your heart is an old wrapper scurrying dustily along a deserted fairground or whatever, that there are still good people in the world.

It's good to know that some people need three-wheeled cars.

It's good to know your screechy pal from Massachusetts cares.

It's good to have friends.

Alone again. Naturally.

Last night, Ned and I broke up. And what makes me a completely unlikable person is that I can take my agony and reduce it to a scene from Sex and the City.

 

Except I'm in Greensboro. In a '50s ranch. Still. You get my drift.

The point is, this is awful. I feel awful. I can't imagine I look unawful.

No one say anything bad about Ned, please, in the comments, because I did love him so. We just had very different styles, and in the end it was not right for either of us. So now I have to walk around housed in pain, because that's how these things go. Unlike Carrie Bradshaw up there, Mr. Big is not waiting for me in the lobby. Mostly because I don't have a lobby.

Sadly, June

P.S. The other unlikable thing about me is I can take my agony and still push my Purple Clover articles. Here is the newest one, about candy. I was kind of hoping this whole scenario would become a little weight loss plan, but now I am craving a Choco'Lite.

Goddammit.

Dig if you will a picture

Oh my GOD, I just spent hours–hours!!–with Apple, but my PHONE IS FIXED-DED! I am so happy. I have to go get ready, because Ned and I are headed to (wait for it) Winston-Salem to see Marvin's band play. I know, man. We are all the height of sophistication. It's like we're French.

But to celebrate the Return of June's Phone, I went around the house and made everyone pose with me, even though I just did yoga with Gurpmaloni Fonda or whatever his name is and I look like hell.

IMG_0416It's not nice to mock people's flaws. But come on.

IMG_0417Say, who do'ya suppose is 100% over mom and her calm yoga hair? Who?

IMG_0418lilee TRYEENG to hab dinnur. god, hellacoptur mom.

IMG_0421Iris was outside, because Killing Season.

IMG_0422She's the kind of cat who always flops over welcomingly when she sees you. Well. "Sees."

IMG_0420But I picked her up and made her selfie with me anyway. Am so cramping her street cred.

Anyway, I will let you know how it goes with Marvin and his band. Do you think he and Ned will get in a fist fight or anything? Who would win, if it came to blows? Maybe the fight will be, "Ohmygod, you take her." "No, YOU take her!" poundpoundpound.

Won't you enjoy my fight onomatopoeia?

Boom,

June

In which Ned does not wish to kick off his Sunday shoes. Also, FREEEK EEE Friday!

I might have been a little dramatic about the Freaky Friday story, but it will show up at the end of this post. So all you have to do is slog through the crap Ima blog about and then you get a nice creepy story. You're welcome.

There are a few Ned stories I've been meaning to tell you, and I get distracted, which is not like me. The first one I will tell you is, well. You know how mostly up till now you've been liking Ned? This may change you, and I'm sorry. I know I had him being all likable, and now Ima turn him into Jack Berger.

The first person to smugly say, "I've never watched Sex and the City, June" gets an indifferent look from me.

Okay, Ned's not Jack Berger. But here's what happened. Brace yourself.

Ned refused to watch Footloose with me.

I KNOW!

We were looking to see what was on, and I said, "Oooo! Footloose!" and Ned said, "I've never seen Footloose, as you can imagine." Really? Just because it's mainstream and doesn't make you want to take your life and the lives of every other theater-goer when the credits go up? Just for that, you're saying it's not the movie for you?

"But it has Sarah Jessica Parker in it," I told him. "And dreamy Kevin Bacon when he was still dreamy." What do he and Kira Sedgwick do, over there? Do they split one leaf of lettuce a week? They are the world's most undernourished couple. I mean, other than actual couples in actual countries where there is no, you know, food. But I'm referring to couples we actually think about, such as celebrity couples.

So we turned on Footloose, and we got to see the slutty preacher's daughter straddle two cars, and what a jerk that girl was. She spends the entire movie posing so that if she were naked, we could give her a full gynocological exam on the spot. Sexy. Feminine.

ObgynAnyway, Ned watched it until we got to this scene.

"Okay, no. I cannot," said Ned, who seems to have an issue with men dancing in warehouses, like that never happens in real life or something. "I mean, once he saw this in the script, he wasn't able to say 'Nuh-uh, nope. Give this role to someone else.' He couldn't do that?"

So, I understand if you no longer like Ned. I'm trying to concentrate on his other redeeming qualities.

Oh, and the other thing I wanted to tell you was that the other night I was on the horn with Ned. Ned comes home, works out for like TWO HOURS, I am not even kidding you, then if we don't see each other, he calls me. He is usually cooking something when he calls me, and eats at 9:00 like he's from Madrid or something.

So the other night Ned was starving, the way he always is after WORKING OUT FOR TWO HOURS, and he said he had a sweet potato in the oven. Yes, I know he needs more protein, I tell him that all the time. Anyway, he noted his sweet potato needed an hour and a half to cook.

"There is no way I could live like that," I told him. "I'd be so starved after working out that I'd be hangry, and then if you told me I had to wait for a goddamn sweet potato to cook, I'd just go to a drive-thru."

Say, June, why the cholesterol?

"It'll be done soon enough," said Ned. "And I have green beans, too!"

The next morning, Ned emailed me. "Last night, after waiting an hour and a half for my sweet potato to finish baking, I opened the oven to discover that I had never turned it on. This was not welcome news. Any normal person might have noted the lack of baking sweet potato scent wafting through the apartment, but I, however, did not. As a result, I had green beans for dinner last night, and, currently, I AM STARVING."

Poor Ned. And does it make me the world's worst middle-aged-woman friend that I found that fucking hilarious?

Also, my advice to Ned was to get something dreadful out of the vending machine at his work, and I am certain he ignored me.

I can't go around hungry like that. I mean, I just can't. I get too angry, really.

Okay, those are my Ned stories. Remind me to tell you about how he and I went out to eat last night and my throat closed up. It's a fun story!

Here, as your reward for slogging, is Freaky Friday, from Becky.

I think I may have shared this once in the comments but thought I would submit it anyway.
 
In 2008, my husband went to India for a few weeks because his dad was in a diabetic coma. One night, around midnight, Lizzy, my 3-year-old, came into my room and asked, "Who is that man standing in the corner in my room?" I quickly slammed my bedroom door (you know, to protect us from the ghost), grabbed her into bed with me, and hid under the covers. My other daughter was sleeping down the hall, and I love her, but apparently not enough to go past Lizzy's room to get to her.
I don't know if she really saw anything or if she dreamed it. She never had dreams like that before or after, so I kind of like to think that it was her grandfather she had never met, saying goodbye. I called my husband to make sure that he hadn't passed that night and he was still in a coma. He died about two weeks later, never having woken up to ask him about it.

June Tais One On

A few weeks ago at work, someone put a flyer on the refrigerator, or "refridge," as Ned likes to call it.

(Once he referred to "the refridge" and then he said, "Why did I just call it that? I've never said 'refridge' in my life." So now naturally that's all we ever call that thing that stands empty in my kitchen.)

(Also, in my family, someone once said "big-boneded" and now that's all we say.)

(OH MY GOD with the straying from the point.)

So, I looked at the flyer, and it offered free fitness classes on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesdays at the park downtown, by the fountain. I like how I clarify that for you, as if you live here. "Ohhhh, by the fountain! Thanks, June!"

"You guys! We should do this!" I screeched to the Alexes at work. "This sounds so great!"

"I don't know, Jooon…"

"OH COME ON! We can go after work, it'll be outside, it's FREEEEE! Look! On Monday it's circuit training! Tuesday has Zumba! Come on and Zoom Zoom Zoomba Zoom!"

No one got it, as Zoom was a thing when their parents were zygotes. Remember when they sang the zip code? Ohhh two onnnne three fourrrr.

Finally I got people to agree to go to damn fitness in the park by the fountain, and I was all excited, then Monday came.

"Oh, I can't go. I tutor my student on Monday," I said.

On Tuesday, Ned and I were going to the movies. Guess who abhors me. Is it every Alex at work?

So FINALLY, last night I went to tai chi, and I was really hoping we'd be taking a class to learn how to straighten our hair, seeing as the word "chi" was involved.

See. I kid in my hilarious way. I know all about the chi, because I lived in Los Angeles, and you could literally go to a tea shop and tell the tea bartender your woes, and he'd blend a tea for you based on what part of your chi was blocked. God forbid you just want a little Red Zinger.

Once I went to an acupuncturist, and one thing Marvin was quite tolerant of was all my appointments to get cupping and detoxified and so on. So I came home from acupuncture and he pretended to care. "How was your appointment? What'd the 'doctor' say?" he rolled his eyes at 'doctor.'

"Well, I'll tell you, but I really want you to cut it out. Chinese medicine is a real thing, and just because you're a white man from the Midwest doesn't mean you have to be so closed-minded. Can I tell you what he said, and you won't act like a dick?"

Marvin promised he wouldn't act like a dick.

"He said my liver chi is out of whack. And that makes total sense because…" I forget now why I thought it made total sense, other than that I am the world's most gullible person. So I went on and on about my liver chi, and how I needed to fix my liver chi, and when I was done, Marvin said, "I just have one question and don't get mad."

"What."

"What's liver cheese?"

Sigh.

Anyway, I went to get my chi on last night with NonAlex.

Screen Shot 2014-05-15 at 7.50.40 AMDudes. Why did I bring a yoga mat to tai chi? Do you have any idea? Jesus.

Anyway, there were probably 30 of us, and our leader was 107 years old. YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE SHIT HE COULD DO. He could bend and squat and hold his leg out for 47 minutes and TAI CHI WAS REALLY HARD. Who knew? Also, my ankle that I sprained in November is still screwed up. It really is.

So I will go to more workouts at the fountain, with Alexes or not. It was delightful. Oh, and you might want to hold on to your hat, because afterward I went to the pretentious hippie coop and got hippie baked chicken, vegetarian jambalaya and curried cauliflower. I KNOW. Then I got a migraine.

Sigh.

June, tai-ing and chi-ing out

Shower Curtain Rod Stewart

Thanks for the shower-curtain-rod advice yesterday. I don't have drywall, I have tile, and the damn thing fell again yesterday. Ned and his engineering degree say that my shower curtain is too heavy, but believe it or not my shower curtain is not beaded and sequined and fur-lined, although it would be if they made such a thing. But now I'm living with just having the liner up, and really they should have some kind of telethon to avert these kinds of tragedies.

But my shower curtain rod is not why I've gathered you all here today. This is.

10295229_10152405730588850_2012390568323934351_oheeeee! My old friend Hometown Horselady, and who even knows why her parents named her that, sent me this photo of us via the Facebook yesterday. This was exactly 20 years ago, and what's sad about that is in this picture, I'm STILL older than most of the people I work with. I was 28.

That photo was in Denver, where my friend Gertrude and her love of sunflowers had moved, and a bunch of us and my hair descended on her for a weekend. It was a bring-your-own-thigh-highs situation. I am fairly certain I topped off that look with some clunky black Doc Martens. Feminine.

Do you see all her CDs? Those were stolen from that ground-floor apartment, hundreds of them. You can't see them all here, but trust me, hundreds of them. A lot of Cure CDs hit a dirty old blanket somewhere, to be sold for the drugs. Or maybe the person just stole them and rocked out to the Cure.

dust my lemon eyes
with powder pink and sweet
the day I stop
is the you change
and fly away from meeeee

Oh, don't you love the Cure?

I remember that my old boyfriend Michael bought me that dress, which had to be taken off the mannequin because all the dresses hanging up were too large. I'm leaving to kill myself now. Talk to you from the Great Beyond. And by "Great Beyond" I mean Old Pitch and I will chat at you later.

Anyway. Moving back to the present, where my friend Hometown Horselady is still that size and I am featured at the circus. My friend Hometown Horselady runs every day. Every. Day. In Michigan. Where it is often below zero. She just straps on her cold-weather gear and goes. Every day. Did I mention she does that daily? And we are pushing 50? She also rides her horse, which I hear is good exercise but I am too busy inspecting Fritos to know that firsthand.

She also has chickens and two cute dogs and many rescue cats, and in summary, bitch stole my look.

MOVING BACK TO THE PRESENT, last night Ned and I saw the Vivian Maier movie, and you should put down the Fritos and go.

23MAIER1-master675 FindingVivianMaier_Vivian_M 009_vivian_maier_verve-magazineVivian Maier was a nanny in Chicago for most of her life, and she didn't like to call attention to herself at all. She was forever taking pictures with her box camera, but no one ever saw them. Then she died, alone and sort of crazy, and after her death her stuff was sold and some young guy found them and said, Hey, what do I have here? And the rest is history.

Now her photos are being shown in London and New York and everyone's all berserk about them. Which is exactly what's going to happen to my photographs, 6a00e54f9367fb88340133ed975e4d970b-800wias you all have told me time and again.

Okay, I'm off. I have to go copy edit things and worry about my shower curtain. And possibly look into a few Fritos.

Mostly I just like to say, “Solange.”

Sorry I'm late today. I was super busy beating up my brother-in-law in an elevator.

By now I hope you've seen the delightful and riveting video of Beyonce's sister, Solange, beating up poor Jay Z, who always struck me as a normal person but what do I know? I thought Lamar Odom was normal, too, and it turns out he's all hooked on phonics or hair-oyn or something. Of course, if I had to be married to Khloe Kardashian, the Horse might be looking mighty tempting to me, too. I might be all "I been through the desert on a horse with no name."

Do you enjoy my heroin references? Are you reeling at how hep I am? I once knew someone who was getting off the hair-oyn, and I know you wish I'd keep pronouncing it that way, and he said, "The monkey is off my back, but the circus is still in town." I loved that guy. 

Anyway, Beyonce. And her delightful family. I said yesterday on Facebook, where I discuss all the crucial News of the Day, that my theory was Solange really, really wanted to be the one to push the button. I tell you what, something was chapping her hide, anyway.

Screen Shot 2014-05-13 at 7.52.38 AM

Anyway, this is just the sort of thing that's right up my alley. I love drama, I love celebrities, and you bring me celebrity drama, my whole day is complete. And there's nothing more perfect than the fact that his signature song is I Got 99 Problems But a Bitch Ain't One. It's just all too perfect.

I know as a world-famous blogger celebrity I should be on his side. You never know when some relative might backhand me on an escalator at Belk.

Did anyone watch that Jay Z video? I want to go in and kiss those Pit Bills. I got 99 problems but a lip ain't one.

Oh, and speaking of Pit Bulls, I went to dog daycare yesterday at lunch and retrieved my curs, who summered there while I was at the beach this weekend. Let me tell you something. When those dogs have had four days of nothing but play, when they emerge from that room and into the lobby, they're what you might call keyed up. When the poor 15-pound girl they hired to retrieve your personal pet comes out of there all pulled by dogs like she's doing her Ouiser impression, I always think, "Man. Maybe I should have just, you know, never come to get them."

But I could never do that, because while I pay with two bucking lunatics pulling my wrist off, the sounds emanating from Edsel are ridiculous, and if I ever abandoned him at day care he'd just expire of a broken heart.

Yesterday he whined and squealed and cried and looked up at me with weepy eyes and presented me with a poem on the drive home.

POE-UM FOR MOM

Rozes red

Viol--LOVE MOM SO BAD EDSUL DO! LOVE MOM! EDZ LOVE MOM! MOM

So that was nice.

Last night I slept with 100 pounds of dog, and tripped over 100 pounds of dog on my way to the bathroom, and shared my teensy tiny small bathroom with two dog heads, and everything is back to normal over here. 

Oh, and does anyone have any theories about why I cannot keep a goddamn shower curtain rod up? No matter what I do it keeps falling and I'm ready to borrow Karen Silkwood's shower, I'm getting so annoyed. Let me know your thoughts.

Solange,

June

Ned does not really wear an orange caftan. I can just see some yahoo taking that seriously.

This weekend, Ned and I schlepped to see his mom, who lives at the beach, which is not too shabby. Ned and his mom stayed up talking till 2:00 in the morning on Friday, and his entire family must think I'm a peanut farmer, what with my going to bed nine hours before everyone else.

I have no idea why I selected "peanut farmer" instead of, say, a tomato farmer. Is there even such a thing as a tomato farmer? I guess there must be, or else how do we all get tomatoes?

The point is, we got up relatively early on Saturday, considering those two rock and rolled all night and partied every day, and we got everything together to go to the beach. We gathered books and reading glasses and bathing suit coverups (Ned lives for his orange caftan) and a big umbrella you screw into the sand and sunscreen and a cooler with water and grapes in it and beach chairs and towels.

Then we loaded into the car the books and reading glasses and bathing suit coverups (Ned lives for his orange caftan) and a big umbrella you screw into the sand and sunscreen and a cooler with water and grapes in it and beach chairs and towels, and headed to not the beach right where Ned's mom lives, but drove to one a little further out, that's less populated.

We found parking, and unloaded the books and reading glasses and bathing suit coverups (Ned lives for his orange caftan) and a big umbrella you screw into the sand and sunscreen and a cooler with water and grapes in it and beach chairs and towels from the car, then headed to the beach.

IMG_0405Ned's mom, in her beach coverup with her beach chair.

We got just the right spot on the sand, which by the way took Ned and his mom much longer to decide on than it would have taken me, who would have  plopped down anywhere and that's why I can't have anything nice, but then once we found a good spot we set out all the books and reading glasses and bathing suit coverups (Ned lives for his orange caftan) and screwed the big umbrella into the sand.

I sat down in my beach chair, looked out at the water.

And immediately had to pee.

Son of a…

"I'm going to find somewhere to go to the bathroom," I announced, and I guess I really am related to my Aunt Kathy, who has to announce everything.

"Where are you going to go? You'll never find a place," fretted Ned, who probably did something plan-y like go before we left.

But you know, right up the stairs off the beach was a lovely deli, and I ended up having an everything bagel with a slice of tomato, and all was right in my world. And yes, I remembered to pee.

IMG_0400Ned and me, being beachy. I sure hope someone says something hilarious like "Life's a beach."

I am pleased to announce to you that I put on sunscreen, which I never ever do, and I emerged from the beach not at all burned. You have no idea what progress this is for me.

IMG_0403 2
I got a seafoam pedicure for the occasion. I picked seafoam because I asked one of the Alexes at work, "What color should I get?" and she said, "How about seafoam?" Also, because Ned had said, "Why not an ocean blue?" and clearly I discuss my pedicures with too many people, when we should be discussing world events or novels or exchanging recipes or something. But there you go.

In the late afternoon, more of Ned's relatives came to see Ned's mom, including Ned's 14-year-old nephew, who I told you in sideways-picture form the other day is my people. All weekend, whenever anyone was deciding what we should eat, he would pipe up with some 14-year-old-boy idea. "Why don't we all get in the car and go to that hot dog place and get seven hot dogs apiece with cole slaw on them?"

And I'd think, madre de dios, that sounds delicious.

IMG_0407
Really, any time he had a food idea, I was all up in it, and he's the one who several months back showed me the joys of ordering a Coke with grenadine in it, so I guess what I am saying to you is, I have the diet of a 14-year-old boy. Which I guess we pretty much all knew.

Ned got his mom a book for Mother's Day, and when I was at the grocery store trying to find a cure for his clogged ear, I got flowers for his mom, as well. I convinced Ned that putting hydrogen peroxide in his ear would cure him, and now he has no hearing in that ear at all. Dear Ned, You are welcome. Your loving medical girlfriend, June.

IMG_0409Say, I wonder who's over me.

We didn't get home on time to get the dogs, so we took a scenic way home, which was lovely. I stopped and got strawberries for the drive, and they were those perfect strawberries that you hope you're going to get every time you buy strawberries and you hardly ever get in real life. It's kind of like when you buy a new lipstick, and you convince yourself this will be the lipstick that completes you. And then? You put it on, and you're usually still incomplete after.

This morning I got up and it was so weird. I didn't have to reach over 100 pounds of dog to turn off the alarm. There was just one little cat head in the bed with me. I mean, the rest of her was there, too, or else I would have lead with that.

Then I walked to the bathroom and didn't have to trip over those same 100 pounds of dog. I had the bathroom to myself. I didn't have to let anyone out who was champing at any bit at the back door. The cats already had food in their bowls, because, cats.

Oh, it's awful and empty here. Ned and I talked on the drive home last night about how Talu is probably convincing Eds that I'm never coming back, just to be a bitch. she tell me she leeving foreber, eds. you not heer her say dat?

At any rate, that sums up my weekend. Now I must return to work sans sunburn, so no one will believe I went anywhere. Talk at you tomorrow. Oh, go read my Purple Clover article where I plan my funeral. I like that one.

Your loving medical blogger friend, June