4 posts tagged “christmas vacay 07”
I'm relieved to be able to say that it's balls hot outside today. When I was in the states I kept wanting to say something like that. I would form the sentence in my head, but the phrase doesn't really go with the winter weather, because, you know, unless there is something severely wrong in the crotchal region, balls aren't cold. Or, at least, I don't think so - it's been a while since I've been in the naked presence of any. Ahhh, anyways, yes - it's just as hot here as it was cold in H-ville and DC. Which brings me in a very wide and looping way to my whole point - DC, and the New Year's Eve trip.
Visiting K was... interesting. I arrived at her house the Saturday before the holiday, and we immediately departed for parts more convivial and populated. We arrived at he who spawned the camel's house, and it was wonderful to see the old and some new people, a complete hodgepodge of all kinds, just like back in the day. It was like I had slipped on a previous life like a comfy pair of shoes that I found forgotten in the back of my closet. A couple of the girlfriends gave me the hairy eyeball at first, but I think that was due to the fact that I was new and a single girl rather than because of fabulous me, so I didn't let it impugn on the evening's beginning. The night just got better from there on in. K cubed and I journeyed on to a lovely little Italian restaurant and sat next to a cozy TV fire while we sucked down seven dollar martinis and pasta. I thought that I was okay, pretty sober, but it did occur to me as we left that the four of us seemed to be having a lot more fun than anyone else in the place. Their loss!
Having travelled that day, I could have gone home at that point (but of course I didn't). Instead we went to DC's answer to Connie's - Tommy Joe's. God, they even have similar names! We had oodles of fun making pacts and dancing wildly and talking to real actual strangers, you know, a standard marvelous weekend night. K and K were drinking "slim pirates," while I was sticking to beer (in a bottle - it never ceases to amaze). After a while, though, I thought a slim pirate sounded good, because, clearly, I needed a stronger drink. Not water or anything. Pshaw. So, thinking nothing of it, I went to the bar and tried to order a slim pirate. I couldn't figure out why she looked at me like I was crazy (I get that look a lot), but I accepted that she didn't know what I was talking about and just got another beer. Well, she, like many others, had a very good reason to think me a little funny in the upper story. It turns out that "slim pirate" is just a made up private joke name for a captain and coke!! I'm an asshole. Trust me to be asking a bartender something so totally idiotic. I find it truly hilarious that I continue to do silly things like this again and again. Yes, folks, it's the walking, talking comedy routine! LIVE! UNINTENTIONAL! Step right up and have a good laugh.
The party didn't stop until Monday, either. After waking up from sleeping sitting up, on P's couch looking like three day old roadkill and heading to the fantastic Irish bar, Ri Ra, the weekend degenerated into yelling at the Redskins to being annoyed by randos to flirting with randos to borderline lying about my sports affiliations to just a lot of drunken douchebaggery and amusement. Hello, my normal life, nice to see you again.
Here's the funny thing, though; this mini vacay within a vacay morphed from feeling like a comfy pair of well loved shoes to a sweater with just enough wool content to make it unbearably itchy. You know, you think it will be okay, but by the end of the night, you realize you're just really, really uncomfortable and want to get home so you can rip it off and get back to the stuff you truly love. I don't mean to say that I didn't have loads of fun, or that I wasn't glad to see my girl, K. Not at all. But, I just, well, felt a little out of place. Maybe it was the Redskins night, or it could have been the next day spent alone, or any number of things that were just a leetle off.
I'm slowly coming to the realization that moving home to New Jersey is going to be just as hard as moving here was three years ago. It's a good idea in reverse, something that needs to be done. I know, for certain sure, that I'll eventually be glad that I did it, and wonderful things will come of it, but that doesn't make it an easy thing to do. I thought that because I already had a "life" in Jerz that this would be an easier move. Well, guess what? Things really do change in three years, people grow and mature, and I'm going to have to get to know myself in that context instead of slithering back into some imagined Jersey Girl routine. It doesn't exist anymore, not in the way I knew it. People have gotten married, knocked up (and not necessarily in that order), parents have passed away - life changing stuff. That doesn't make my new prospective life bad, but it does make it very different. It was delusional to think that I had some perfect little chocolate boxy existence to go back to; it's just not that easy. In the end, that's okay, though it would have been nice.
The change of background is completely misleading, because here in the states it's as cold as a witch's tit! Oh, sure, some people who live in CONUS call it "mild" or even "light jacket weather." Yeah, riiiight. I think not. Those of us who live in perpetual summer know differently. I can feel the sub-arctic temps cutting though my clothes like I'm up on the northern tundra. I mean, okay, I do get to wear winter clothes (bonus!), but even fashion cannot totally make up for the inhospitable temps. To make everything worse, I'm having tons of trouble getting everything on my list. A shopper's work is never done. Still, big sigh, Christmas and the holidays have been great. Wii and Guitar Hero III great, that's right!
But, yes, about the vacation. I adore staying up until three AM and then getting up late to do really fun things all day. I love getting to hang with the fam (even though the togetherness can get a leetle cloying at times). Blah, blah, blah - you know me, I consider myself lucky to have my family. I could go on in a sickly sweet manner, but I'll skip on ahead for you people who are prone to cavities. More importantly - I WANT TO GO OUT. wah. Maybe I'm just too old to be with the folks this much, or to live under their roof, but I'm definitely itching for some non-family friendly fun. It's not even the adult beverage part, either. I just fuckin' want to swear and say terrible things and yes, get a little shitty, and play cards all night and...and, god, I can't wait to get to DC. I think I'm becoming too independent for my own good. Can one be too independent? I think no work means that I have time to think entirely too much.
Tomorrow I prepare for the all out grudge match that will be waged between my body and I in our nation's capital this weekend. I have to look pretty to withstand that, after all.
Dudes - I have reached the depths of fashion despair. No joke. I have zed fashionable shoes that are suitable for winter. I mean, for god's sake; I wore new ballet flats for a trip from Hawaii to Alabama. It was just because the toes are closed, and so help me, because they are super cute. I wore them in public the other day with a sock - a SOCK with ballet flats - because I am so vain, and so unprepared. Aside: It's kind of okay, though, my jeans were covering all traces of the sock, but I still knew. I was the one to feel the stain of it on my soul.
Still, this leaves me with something of a dilemma (the no shoes thing, not the fact that they're adorable beyond all belief), because now I'm going to be heading to DC to hang with my very fashionable friend, K. Clearly the situation is going to deteriorate if the lack of shoes continues (see mention of shameful sock incident). My solution - GO SHOPPING!
It's almost always the right solution for anything.
Well, so far getting off the rock has been superb. What with R and I starting things off right by banging down shots of absinthe at the Majuro airport, how could it turn out any other way? And even though I only had a little time in Hawaii, I communed with my favorite mall to my heart's content. Ahh, shopping. But inevitably, with the good goes hand and hand with the bad. Alas, along with the delights of rampant commercialism come the chores that you have to do back here in civilization.
Most of it is trifling stuff, you know, stock up on deodorant, get some new pants, that kind of thing. Less trifling are the doctor's appointments. I always have to go to about a million different ones because, hey, any hospital that lets someone get gangrene, call me crazy - I don't trust 'em! Anyway, today's appointment was one of my least favorite of them all - the lady parts doctor. Otherwise known as some strange person that's going to be up close and personal with my special no-no place. Normally I need quite a few drinks before I let that happen.
Ordinarily this person would be a woman, because going to a male gynecologist is like going to a mechanic who doesn't own a car, right? That's my opinion, but my mother convinced me different this time. Her doctor is apparently soo good. Well, I'll admit the dude was personable, until he got down to the nitty gritty of the examination. I won't get too graphic, don't worry, but I'll for sure be going to a woman next time and every time after that. This MAN sat down, and with little to no warning shoved cold metal right up in there. I mean, he stuck that speculum in like a drunken frat boy going for the glory. Uncomfortable, to say the least. I felt like reaching over, grabbing him by the balls and yanking hard without warning. How's that feel, buddy? You might feel a slight pinch!! Luckily for him (and his balls) I have better restraint than that. I won't even cover anything else - I have the heebie jeebies just thinking about it. Buuuuhhhuh.
Maybe Kwaj life isn't too bad - at least I don't have to let strangers grope my crotch - unless it's for fun.
