My desktop on my computer is not what you'd call tidy, necessarily. I saw this tiny picture and clicked on it. Has it been here since June, when I went on this trip?
That's me, this past summer, after I'd just gotten off my hog on the left, there.
You know, one time I was walking this older woman out of a building, I can't remember if it was somewhere I worked or what, but we came upon this huge motorcycle, and I thought I was hilarious when I said, "Well, here's your hog."
And then she strapped on her helmet and got on it! Oh, I liked to have died. I sincerely in a million years did not think it was really her hog. Do you wish I'd stop saying "hog" now?
And look! The Swedish Chef was also staying at the glamorous Sea Foam motel!
Did I ever tell y'all how I came to stay at this motel? First of all, if you just tuned in, last summer my old friend Sleeping Beauty and I decided to meet in North Carolina's outer banks for many days of lying motionless on the beach.
Which we did.
But originally, I was supposed to stay at this big house Sleeping had rented with a bunch of her friends.
The morning of the trip, my phone rang early. It was Sleeping Beauty.
"I've been walking up and down the beach for an hour, debating whether I should tell you," she said. "But I had to call and tell you. There's throwing up at this house." Then she added, "I just saw a dolphin! [Insert hatred for Sleeping Beauty here, as I obsessively combed the waters for hours and never even saw anything close to a dolphin.]"
One of the kids staying at the house had been throwing up all morning. Not because of the dolphin.
Well.
You know how I am. I have a phobia. No, really. A phobia. You know how you say, "Oh, I HATE throwing up! I hate it!" Yeah, you hate it. But did you remove the vow "in sickness and in health" from your wedding ceremony, because in fact you will NOT be there in sickness? Marvin and I have a vomit evacuation plan. If he gets barf sick, I evacuate. Immediately.
I have not barfed since 1982, and at that juncture I was drunk on Andre pink champagne, because nothing but the best for my 17-year-old self, and the point is I was half out of it in a corn field and riding in my friend Kim's car, so who cares? But since that time, I have obsessively tried not to barf. And I have succeeded.
[knock wood]
Sleeping Beauty knew this about me. Hell, everyone knows it about me, as I have abandoned many a sick pal in their hour of need. I am not proud.
So I got on the phone and found this '50s-looking motel a mile down from Sleeping Beauty's barfy rental house, and you know it worked out great? I had a little kitchen in my room, so there was coffee and cheese and peaches, which pretty much is all I need to stay happy. Oh, and strawberries.
This whole post is making me wish it were summer. I mean, you know, a summer without nausea.
