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.

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


  1. Thank you eveyone. This was great reading while I was feeding my baby in the middle of the night. I really hope Marvin reads this!


  2. Amish Annie, I can’t stop laughing over your computerisms up there! You are a genius with words!


  3. I haven’t decided on the playlist for my funeral, but when I was taking the (f-ing) birthing class, the coach asked what music we would like to hear during the births of our babies. People were naming classical pieces and smarmy lovey stuff and all I could think of was “Play That Funky Music, White Boy.”


  4. Oh, I think whoever committed that crime had a clue. Unless they had the wrong house. Then they would be clueless.


  5. Paula, you must be.
    Beverly, I have not heard that about the headless guy. What happened to his wife? My heart goes out to their family and friends. If I lived in that community I would be extremely concerned that someone could commit such a terrible crime without a clue.


  6. GODDAMNIT with this job, though I do love it. Still. I missed EVERYTHING.
    And am I H&B again??


  7. June, I know I was one of the people whose comments got lost, but after the fourth one I just quit trying to comment until Jeanie told me it was fixed. I hated to bother you, mostly because I thought it was my fault for spilling tea on my keyboard.
    Lovely post (I originally typed poist, which reminded me of moist, everyone’s favorite word). Congratulations on remembering the sunscreen.


  8. Dear Marvin,
    Can we invite Norton and McAfee to join us sometime? They’ll come with protection.


  9. Oh girl, she would have to be Mother Teresa or Mother Mary not to read your blog. If she doesn’t, guaranteed, her friends do and report back.


  10. Am I the only one playing by myself here? I feel lost. Like everyone disappeared. It’s embarrassing. I’ll recover, though.


  11. It’s okay Marvin, it happens to everyone. Don’t worry, I have a battery backup.


  12. NOOOO. I looked on Typepad and under Comments, there were 42 comments marked as spam. Many of them were people, and I honestly don't recall who, leaving comment after comment that said, "Where are my comments going?" which was useless, because I wasn't seeing them. Which is why I say email me if you don't see your comment after a few hours.


  13. I’m confused. If you got 42 emails from me, they weren’t really from me. I have sent you 0.0 emails, ever. Perhaps someone is engaging in shenanigans or general douchebaggery and spoofing you with my name.


  14. You know there is also speculation that the beheading is mob related because he owned businesses in New Jersey a while back (Beverly: offending everyone from New Jersey since today). My theory is someone had to prove they killed the guy so they took his head because, you know, that would be pretty good proof.


  15. Dear Marvin,
    Let’s get graphic.
    Dear Marvin,
    I get GUI over you.
    Dear Marvin,
    You know why it’s called a joystick…


  16. I’ve been gone most of the afternoon and missed all these comments. SUN!!!! Not son!
    That head situation here in GA has stumped the sheriff in that little county. They have called in the FBI. I have a theory if the wife has been kidnapped, they cut his head off and took it with them just to torture her. How awful would that be? My best friend from high school thinks she cut his head off and just ran off into the woods, (or she could have jumped into the lake with his head and drown). The DNR has been using sonar to look for her in the lake. It’s a big lake and very deep down where they lived.
    Okay, I’m off to read the rest of the comments.


  17. The “Dear Marvin’s” are cracking me up.
    Dear Marvin,
    Massage my Data
    (It’s the best I can do.)


  18. I have no idea. But if he does, this would be like the time I was having a meeting in LA, at our house, and everyone attending said meeting happened to be young and hot. Marvin came home early and was all, Heyyyyy! How YOU doin'?
    Hey, Marvin. How YOU doin'?


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