Sure, we’ve changed a little over the last year. We lost a lovely kitten who moved to Colorado (she was a ghost writer for some secret authors, and we never found out who they were, so there’s still mystery there). We gained a dear sweet gal I know from work, and we have the enthusiastic readers along with the somewhat rebellious readers who argue month after month about the book we’ll read and who will read it. (Keep up, dolls; there’s one who doesn’t like our format and wants to read something different from everyone else each month and there are several who can’t stand ideas other than the traditional format of a traditional book club. I’m in the last camp.)

Anyway, this summer has been eventful for our No-Name book club, because – and get this because we are W-I-L-D and you could NEVER beat our wildness – we took a girls’ trip to the beach! And we drank drinks and we laid out in the sun under hats and lolled about in the water and wore pretty dresses to seafood dinners. And in August we are planning the ultimate book club field trip to the movies to see The Help. COULD NOT BE MORE EXCITED IF WE TRIED!

Lolling about the pool as any good book club does

Looking apres-sun gorgeous as any book club does

(In honor of The Help, I’ve just this second decided to do some posts about growing up in the South with help. If I remember and honor my plans, I’ll do them this week and will try not to be condescending or sugary or stereotype-y.)

(This is turning out to be quite the parenthetical post, and I’d forgotten how much fun parentheses can be. I told you: I AM WILD!)

As best I can remember, here’s the rundown of what we’ve read over the last year or so. I would love to know if you’ve read any of these and/or what you thought and/or what your recommendations are for the coming months.

1. The Help by Kathryn Stockett This is the one that became the “book club sensation!” and has been made into a movie. Rightfully so, y’all, because it’s incredible. There are generally two reactions to it: “it tells the story of my life” or “it tells the story of a place I didn’t know existed.”
2. South of Broad by Pat Conroy Right up there with the most terrible, if not the worst. Disappointing, cheesy and all the things Pat Conroy shouldn’t be known for.
3. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows Charming and delightful, to sound like a little old lady book critic. It’s a feel-good book written in letters between characters. Highly recommend.
4. The Privileges by Jonathan Dee Most people hated it; I did not. The ending will surprise.
5. The Hangman’s Daughter by Oliver Pötzsch and Lee Chadeayne This was too gory for several of us, but I really enjoyed it. If you liked The Tudors, this will remind you of it in a weird, different way.
6. Bossypants by Tina Fey Really, this needs no statement except it deserves umpteen stars.
7. Emily and Einstein by Linda Francis Lee I didn’t finish it. On purpose.
8. Mystery: An Alex Delaware Novel by Jonathan Kellerman This is one in a loooong series of psychological thrillers, and I just wanted an official excuse to buy the book. I love all of these, but they’re not for everyone.
9. Room by Emma Donoghue Eerie. Very similar to the Jaycee Dugard story, prior to her book coming out. Heartwrenching.
10. The Outer Banks House by Diann Ducharme*

*We were supposed to read this prior to the beach trip but only one person did. We’ve postponed this one until next month because August, after all, is still summer.

Incidentally, these are all Kindle e-books because I received a Kindle about halfway through last year. It honestly changed my life as much as the Keurig did. FOR THE BETTER, obvs. Are you in a book club? What’s it like? Do dish!

I also made a sudden discovery tonight: I LIKE CAMPING. I’m not sure that roughing it can be defined in only one way, so I’m going to define it MY way: camping is, not sleeping in your own bed, it’s being able to see stars/moon/sun/streetlights from your bed, and it’s taking enough food into that sleeping area, wherever it may be, that you don’t rely on trail mix and melted snow if you get lost. BURGERS, lost people, PORK CHOPS. As some of us may recall from childhood, camping was a fort in the backyard. As adults, I say we bring back the Living Room Fort. We bring it back with pillows, blankets, those old refrigerator boxes, laundry baskets, step stools, THE WHOLE SHEBANG.

As if these weren’t already good enough ideas, I bombarded my mind with extra ideas it needs. (It always needs extra ideas.) My ideas are as follows:

1. Make a new friend everyday. Now admittedly, some of us don’t run into a lot of people throughout the day and that can make this task seem daunting. A new friend can be the Canada goose who poos on your sidewalk. Your new friend can be the multi-pierced fellow at the grocery store who wants to touch your produce. It doesn’t matter, y’all. You’re just looking to make ONE new friend. Pick an interesting one.
2. Be glad for one thing everyday. Today, I am glad that the people who live behind us in the weird house with the sketchy brown fence didn’t get hurt during what appeared to be, at the time, an electrical fire. Although, she’s a former art teacher, so BB and I concocted some fun, what-if stories that we’ll just share at a later date. (What if she was burning some kind of giant plastic bleach jug for an “art” project and then her family got home and was all “MOM! That’s bleach and FIRE!” And she’s all “No, kids. This is art.”)
3. Oh, my other idea. This one rocks so steady, I can’t even stand it. Here it is, are you ready?

That’s right, y’all. THROWBACK VINTAGE ’60s style MOTOR-FUCKING-LODGE! My SIL stayed for a night this weekend and absolutely fell in love with it. The little guy at the front desk flips open the book to see if there are rooms available. And if there are rooms, he will hand you a real key with a giant plastic number as he pencils in your reservation. WITH A PENCIL. And dogs are allowed and even encouraged. And I just can’t say with any certainty that it will be the finest place I ever stay in, BUT! I think we might try it Brady style. Load up the wagon, stock the kitchenette, bring our beach towels and get the sheets sandy. I mean, hello…it’s the ATLANTIS LODGE.

Bitches.

I’ve been avoiding the blog for a little while because there’s been so much going on I haven’t known where to start. Maybe I’ll start by making a list, as I do love a list better than just about anything.

1.       Brian got laid off.

2.       Brian was home for a really, really long time.

3.       I was the world’s greatest cheerleader, resume-writer and job coach. For free.

4.       I was the world’s greatest church-goer, two whole weeks in a row.

5.       Brian got hired!

6.       Brian’s first day at work was yesterday!

So week before last Brian was running around dropping his resume off anywhere that had an open door, and he decided to take one by his pre-Pepsi company just for the hell of it. Before he could get halfway home, the vice-president called him in for an interview! Can you believe it! Neither can I! Neither can he!

Last Wednesday he interviewed for a similar position as to what he did for Pepsi and they hired him ON THE SPOT. On the spot! For a job! And the sweetest deal of all is that this job is Monday through Friday. Not once in the 7 years we’ve been married has he had the same schedule as I have. We’ve been ships passing through the night, running into each other in the kitchen and occasionally one of us sees the other by sifting through laundry, searching for familiar clothes.

The last few weeks have been the best of our married lives. It’s no secret to our friends that we’ve gone through a bit of a…rough patch over the past few months. In fact, it was super rough. Like, SANDPAPER rough. And yet – YET! – he loses his job and we become blissfully happy. It’s like all the negativity of the world, all the things that beat us down over and over and over had magically disappeared. Brian’s face softened and he slept better. We laughed at stuff and marveled because we forgot what laughing sounds like.

And so this past weekend I surprised him with an overnight trip to the beach. It was amazing timing because North Carolina had its first 70-degree weather of the year and we honest-to-goodness took our beach chairs out on the sand. We snuggled in with books and short-sleeved shirts, and we walked for a little while with our toes in the water. (Which was frigid. We are obviously stupid.) We had a nice peaceful dinner, walked on the beach at night under a weird orangey moon and we slept in. We took naps and we laughed some more, because it kind of sounded good.

Now I realize all of this might come off as a little, I don’t know, cheesy maybe. And that’s true. But I’ve found myself in a new quandary, Internet, and here’s where I need your help.

For the last few years, Brian has been the primary housekeeper because he was home ALL THE TIME. He had like, a gajillion days off and so the cleaning fell on him. Now that we’re back on the same schedule, we have to rework our chore chart a little. I want there to be less clutter, obviously, but for right now I just feel like we need to spring clean for a fresh start.

I’m doing one room at the time, starting tonight with our bathroom. I’ll tackle the other stuff later. What are your best cleaning tips? What makes the whole job easier for you? I might just sweeten the comment pot with a little prize for the one cleaning tip that saves my life. YOU NEVER KNOW.

A few thoughts and observations, in no particular order, about no particular or singularly fascinating thing:

My friend called me tonight to tell me that he ran into the woman he THOUGHT he was dating, except she was having dinner with another man – her steady boyfriend. The “other man” was wearing a blue wife-beater, a camouflage hat and a gold rope chain. My friend wears tweed sport coats and those leather driving moccasins with the buckles. The irony was not lost on us.

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I went to the beach this week and it was absolutely beautiful. Fall is my favorite season anyway, and anywhere, but the beach this time of year is perfect. The crowds are gone, the air is crisp and salty and the seafood is extra fresh and comes quickly. Days are warm, nights are cool, and any time of day you can watch huge white yachts cruise by on their way to warmer climates. You really can’t beat it with a stick. True story: some giant rusty barge slammed into the side of a really shiny yacht from the British Virgin Islands while we were having lunch on a dock. It was kind of awesome. (I’m not evil; no one got hurt, except the side of the shiny expensive gigantically huge rich people’s yacht.)

I went to the beach this week because we’re on fall break and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I always lust for vacations from work because, let’s face it, I don’t like to work. I don’t like to do much of anything, really. But what always happens has happened again: I got home from my trip, have had a few days to myself and I’ve wound up couch-potato-ing the days away because I am out of my routine. I’m like a three year-old who missed a nap. When I’m out of my routine, I don’t take my crazy meds on time, I sleep too late, I take too many naps and I have chronically dirty hair. Not to mention the fact that the pantry mysteriously gets emptier and emptier. Remind me of all this two weeks from now when I’m counting the days until Thanksgiving.

What I need to do is grade papers, calculate percentage points, pay my business taxes before I get sent to jail and finish up invitation orders already. Someone tell me how YOU get motivated when there’s all this free time ahead of you, because frankly I’m stumped.

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In other news, the famed Power-Tool Pumpkin Carving Party is next weekend and as usual, we don’t have a pumpkin yet. Also as usual, I’m worried about what to wear around the 20-somethings. If I wear clogs, they’re in boots. If I wear jeans, they’re in cords. If I wear a sweater, they wear t-shirts and those infinity scarf things. If I didn’t actually care whether or not a 20-something looked my way, I’d drink more pumpkin ale.

Also in other, scarier, news…there is an arsonist loose in our neighborhood. I’m not even remotely kidding and I get terrified every time I leave the house that I’ll come back to fire trucks. Two houses that were recently vacated have burned in the last 6 weeks, and that’s just on the next street over from us. There have been other fires nearby and the police have resorted to fliers asking for leads in exchange for reward money. This is quite unsettling, and yes, we’ve checked the smoke alarm batteries.

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The Seven Year Itch. Yeah, Internet, we’re gonna talk about it. Not right now, of course, because that’s a whole other casserole in the oven. But it’s there. IT’S THERE. I’m referring of course to relationships and not a condition that requires vagina cream, if you were wondering.

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Finally, I miss – like, in my bones and my heart and my soul – my co-workers, specifically my shiny light, C. This new job is fantastic, wears me out, makes me feel challenged and yadda yadda but I don’t see her every day anymore. I actually don’t see her at all and our phone conversations are short and somewhat stilted. I love her more than life and I miss her deeply. Don’t let people fool you: your co-workers are closer to your heart than you think, whether you love them or hate them. When you leave them or vice versa, you will miss them. Mark my words.

I’m going to bed, y’all. I’m going to sleep well because the windows are open and it’s 40 something degrees out – YES, BITCHES, THE HEAT IS GONE! I AM NOT SWEATING! HALLEFLAPPINGLUJAH! – but I will dream about this blog and wonder if you’re still out there reading.

I sincerely hope you are.

We returned from our week-long family beach trip yesterday and we are happy, slightly tan and rested but exhausted, if that makes sense. We’re exhausted from visiting, from finding things to talk about with people who can’t count conversation as their strong suit, and from filling our bellies with shrimp, crab and fish. (And maybe some cheese dip and margaritas and cookies and lemon meringue pie and tomato sandwiches with real mayonnaise and ice cream…)

We are rested though, because we basically did nothing. The most exercise we got was from hauling our crap down to the beach and back up to the house, and really BB did that. We swam – a lot – and we lolled about in the sand until we got rashy and bumpy, which is an okay trade off. We played shark and pulled our nieces around in innertubes. We people-watched and criticized bathing suits and tattoos (we already know we’re hypocrites, don’t worry). We read books, had deep discussions and tried to avoid olive appetizers and bourbon slushies. (Eww and eww.)

In short, we had a really good time.

Now, though, the real world faces us, as it does everyone who returns from vacation, and for me, school will begin in a week. I will be teaching a class of 75 students (in an auditorium!) once a week, after my regular job. We will register new students, encourage the old ones and smile the smile of this-summer-wasn’t-nearly-long-enough.

I’m kind of with the kindergarten mothers: I’m not ready to let go, even though it’s time this weather cooled the hell off already. I’m also ready for football and for daylight to go away before bedtime. When you live here though, the seasons don’t change quickly, or on time.

Some days I’m really surprised that I’m not in charge of the world. I really am.

Those weather people. So creative.

I’ll go ahead and warn you up front: this entire post is a long, drawn out complaint about the heat. Ready? Here goes:

1. It’s so hot that my ass sticks to everything.

2. It’s so hot that pipes can’t produce cold water.

3. It’s so hot that birds don’t have the energy to shit on my car.

4. It’s so hot that my deodorant doesn’t work anymore; I stink by 9am.

5. It’s so hot here that no one is at the pool.

6. It’s so hot that being naked won’t even cool you off.

7. It’s too hot to eat.

8. It’s too hot to sleep.

9. It’s almost too hot to type.

10. It’s so hot my cactus plants are dying.

11. It’s hot enough to melt my jewelry.

12. It’s so hot my coworker’s windshield exploded. True story.

I would write more, but frankly, it’s just too hot. And this is enough complaining for one afternoon. I wish you all a wonderful, cool weekend. I will be packing for my beach trip, going to see my shrink, having lunch with a friend, and sleeping in the freezer.

Anyway, our annual Beachsplosion adventure starts next week and as you may recall from last year, I expected it to be a nightmare of epic proportions and it really turned out not so bad. Granted, there were a lot of people, and granted, there were some meltdowns but all in all it was tolerable and at some points, enjoyable!

We're staying here. How bad could it be?

We leave next Tuesday, but this time there are a few twists and turns. One, part of BB’s family we will miss altogether, as they will have come and gone before we ever get there. Two, my MIL’s boyfriend is coming – not new – and bringing one of his children. TOTALLY NEW. There’s a little bit of a stink about this. I’m waiting to see what happens, because at the least, it should be entertaining.

So here’s my packing list from last year, compared to this year:

1. 5 lbs. of homemade chicken salad Pick up a half gallon from the bbq place.

2. 4 cases of Pepsi products A couple bottles of water.

3. 7 pairs of shoes Beach flip flops and dressier flip flops.

4. Laptop, iPod speakers, chargers, portable DVD player, DVDs Two Droids and some headphones.

5. 20 lbs. worth of hardback bestsellers Couple of paperbacks, Kindle for Droid app.

6. Enough clothes to outfit Paris Hilton Bathing suit, perhaps some pajamas.

7. Snacks. A lot of snacks. Tequila.

8. Pasta, cereal, bread, farm veggies, casseroles Debit card for the grocery store and takeout.

9. Effort, energy and pleasantness Apathy, appetite, lazy bone.

I’m sure BB will have a great time being around his family, away from Pepsi and reading the fat Stephen King novel I bought him. And I’m sure I’ll just be drunk.

You know, typical family vacation.

2000:

I ring in the new millennium with my “best friend” in DC.

We graduate college in May, I start my first job June 1.

I report the stories, the breaking news, but mostly the boring features.

I go to LA, interview hometown boy working on hit show “Survivor.”

I spend most afternoons with my grandparents, glad to have time with them.

I make new friends, try new drinks, live at home with my parents, trying new rules.

2001:

12:01, New Year’s Day. I lose my Nana, the first love of my life.

I spend more and more time with my grandfather, less and less time caring about reporting.

June 1, last day of work. Off to Europe with old friend, new again, to find myself. (Finding myself apparently means collecting designer handbags and drinking my way through 8 countries.)

August, home from Europe, no jobs to be found, must toil away in retail again.

Labor Day, I meet the second love of my life.

September 11^th, the towers fall on what would have been my Nana’s birthday. My friends flee New York. I flee to my boyfriend’s apartment. Still living at home, still breaking unspoken rules.

October 28^th, I kiss my grandfather goodbye, promise to make “that boy” be good to me, and tell him I love him for the last time.

One year, two devastating losses. Still crying, even now.

2002:

No work in retail, no work at all. Boyfriend thinks I make bad job decisions, parents think I make bad life decisions. Smoking nearly a pack a day, living on the sex diet. Maybe they’re all right.

February, the bottom falls out. Broke, in horrific debt, ashamed of myself. Get back to work in retail and suck it up, for now.

Spend the summer at the beach, soaking up the sun and all the Coronas I can hold.

October 28^th, one year since losing one wonderful man. Another wonderful man has mercy on me, hires me despite my inexperience and a new life begins.

2003:

Atlanta, MLK weekend. Panic attacks resurface as old friend gets married, start looking at engagement rings for myself. Hard to believe, harder not to believe.

February, “best friend” embarrasses me in front of my family, devastates me by going after my almost-fiancé.

Valentine’s Day: I say yes! We set the date for a year and a half later.

Finally I put my big-girl panties on and move out. Live exactly one year with my new best friend. Both of them.

Summer spent at the beach, making wedding plans, attending friends’ weddings, thinking that a wedding is too much trouble.

Fall brings the advent of graduate school. Who knew it would take so long to finish one damn degree? Will 2010 be the year?

2004:

Future father-in-law is getting worse; will the cancer let him make it to our wedding?

Super Bowl Sunday, first night in new house. We are homeowners! The bank is crazy.

Whirlwind spring, wedding coming soon. Parties, dresses, pearls, weekends in DC, thinking that I made the best decision ever – would almost rather marry bridesmaids, they are so wonderful.

May 15^th, amidst worst panic attack of my life, I say “I do.” And I mean it. Pure joy overcomes me, only to be thwarted by Mexican sunburn. At least we’ll remember it, we say.

Father’s Day, we celebrate by rescuing Lucy and Charlie, the two new loves of our lives.

Summer at the beach again, only this time Pepsi calls. Long road trips to and from Nags Head, alone in my Honda.

September, the doctors tell us it won’t be long. They are right. Panic gets worse, finally see a doctor myself. Medication to soothe, but it doesn’t work for shit.

October 10^th, we lose him. We sit with him as we tell him it’s okay to go. I hold his ankle as I watch my new husband weep next to his father. I continue to touch him as life leaves him. Most heartbreaking moment of my life.

Christmas comes, our hearts are heavy. Not sure we can celebrate.

2005:

Long hours at Pepsi, long nights alone for me. More trips alone to the beach, this time to comfort grieving mother-in-law.

Trying to settle in, this new marriage thing so difficult. Friends are having babies now, we decide it could be for us, too.

Five year reunion at Sweet Briar, can’t believe it’s been that long since I’ve seen these girls. Next five will surely go slower.

Summer brings me a new co-worker, thankful for a kindred spirit who doesn’t instill panic. At the beach yet again, bringing friends becoming a tradition.

Happy 1^st birthday, Lucy and Charlie! Your party is a hit and quickly becomes the talk of the town. Who knew a birthday party for two cats would turn out such a crowd?

Fall brings with it World War 3 featuring my in-laws. If marriage is this hard, I’m not sure I want to do it. I do, however, want to show off the new Volvo.

At Christmas, we are estranged from one side of the family. We refuse to mend fences; by “we,” I mean me.

2006:

I start grad school again. I join the Episcopal Church. Getting confirmed breaks the ice, sister-in-law is speaking again.

Teaching is my second job, though I think I want it to be my first. Banner year at work, moving into new offices, helping new students, keeps my mind off other things.

Summer at the beach for the last time?

We throw my parents a 30^th anniversary party, my “debut” on the party circuit in town. It’s a hit, my mother sends me a thank-you plant. Haven’t killed it…yet.

10 year high school reunion, but I don’t go. Too busy, too self-involved, too panicked?

Weekend trips here and there, feel like I’m forgetting something. Oh yes, World War 4 at Thanksgiving.

Another holiday of not speaking. 2006 isn’t very memorable, unless you count the visits from girlfriends, and I do.

2007:

Beach house is sold, we spend Spring Break in the snow.

Another banner year at work, but not so much at Pepsi. He makes a move, one town to another, we hope for better days.

Friends still getting married, friends still having babies. Showers for this, showers for that, where is my money?

This summer we crowd into a beach house with three other families; too many children, too many days, too little air conditioning. We are grateful for vacation being over.

Fall Break and we head to the mountains. Blog life is born! I call it “The New Adventures of the Ol’ Bakers” and post pictures of our trips.

Plans begin for my 30^th year – 2008 is MINE, I say!

2008:

School year is half over, is graduation on the horizon? We are both in school now, he for his MBA. We are “smart” and “ambitious,” we tell ourselves. Really, we are poor as church mice and nerdily stay home on the weekends.

Scrape together some money and force my three friends to join me on a cruise to the Bahamas. Excuse is that it’s an early 30^th birthday gift. Sure. Cruise is magnificent, at least to some. Fab Four moniker is born.

More beach trips, this time tagging along with friends. Spend part of August in Hilton Head, get back just in time for Clues to begin. (Read the archives if you really want to know.)

September 15^th, black balloons at work. Recovering from surprise party weekend – best party of my life, have mother and husband to thank.

New Orleans to see one of my bestest get married, catch up with another bestest, making it through an entire weekend of traveling alone without a panic attack.

Birthdays continue into October and December, with 80s costumes, more surprise parties and not so much focus on school. Cousin gets engaged, Egyptians are here, throw a New Year’s party for less than a few people.

2009:

This year will be quieter, we say. The economy will make us stay home, save our money. We borrow from Peter to pay tuition, life savings slipping through our hands.

Six months into “Half Baked, Twice as Good.” Making new friends in the blogosphere, realizing that this little side project could be my calling. For real?

No vacations this year, no fun to be had, we think. Vandals break into our beloved farm, we have oyster roast to retaliate.

Cousin is married in April, bringing entire family together for a fun weekend. Drink too much, reveal long lost hidden secrets. Ramifications? Not yet.

June, I am robbed at work for the second time in a year. Panic is back, so bad I can barely leave the house. Work is a monster, I am frightened by everything.

July, blog is thriving. Panic is worse. Is there a correlation? Head to family vacation with the in-laws for over a week; magically, it is painless. MIL’s new boyfriend to thank?

Birthday comes and goes, unable to enjoy it – my favorite holiday – because of panic. Two shocking deaths, two beautifully sad funerals. Therapist sends me to specialist, finally. Blood pressure sky high, newly-minted nurse scares me to death. Almost.

New meds, new day. At first. Long road, I am told. Work gets better, mostly because holiday vacations are up next. Thanksgiving a success, thanks to doctors and lots upon lots of medication.

More parties this fall, join Cotillion, head out into society, again have meds to thank.

Uncle gets worse, breaks our hearts, we prepare ourselves. Sickness sidelines us at Christmas, we have new name for New Year’s: Peace the Fuck Out Already, 2009. The “Aughts” are over, almost a decade as one-half of a couple.

Ten hardest years of my life, wouldn’t trade them for the world. Unless the next ten are better.

Check out Anna, the original list maker.

So me and my…posse…go out and have wine and sangria and yummy salads and the most deliciously buttery, warm, fresh grouper in the whole world, which just happens to be covered in, oh yes, golden smooth bearnaise with just a hint of heat. After this orgasmic meal we’re all sitting back in our chairs, fat and happy, eyes glazed over in ecstasy when suddenly I hear next to me:

“SHIT! Shit, shit SHIT!”

And at first it doesn’t register, you know? You don’t really equate someone screaming “shit!” with a nice restaurant. You don’t automatically think, Yes, that’s something that totally happens here all the time, when you see the woman that gave birth to you your dinner partner leap from her chair at the table and scramble over top of you to get out and away. Away from what, you ask?

Away from the cockroach.

This nice establishment, it seems, has a little problem with bugs. Now granted, I’ll be the first to admit that we live in the extremely hot and humid South, where roaches (or water bugs or Palmetto bugs or whatever you want to call them) like to hang out. In fact, I’ll also admit right here on The Interwebs that we’ve found a handful in our house on occasion. Roaches like to either a) come in out of the rain to find a nice dry spot or b) come in out of the dry miserable heat to find some water. Odds are likely that if you live here and your house isn’t brand new and built on a concrete slab you’re gonna encounter one of these things at some point in your life.

But I bet you didn’t figure you’d find one RUNNING OVER YOUR FOOT in a swanky eatery. Me neither, and my table mate didn’t think so apparently, what with the SHIT SCREAMING SHE DID.

So here we are, drunk on mostly wine but also some food, and the other four of us are looking around quite befuddled because we don’t exactly know what’s going on. I mean, we know my mother this woman has abandoned our table and run for the hills but at first we aren’t quite sure why, and then we hear her saying something about a roach and can someone please get the manager and then the next thing I know, my aunt another one of our nameless table mates has pulled the maitre d’ to the side to start asking for the bearnaise recipe and Oh, don’t worry about her, it was just a little Palmetto bug and so tell me will you, did Chef use this or that in his sauce and do you see, Elizabeth, do you see how I’m distracting everyone from this minor little scene with my recipe request, do you see how no one NO ONE AT ALL notices what’s going on here? and so then I walk out the front door because my cell phone is ringing and I think someone else paid for my meal but I’m not sure because in the all the hubbub I might’ve yelled at the table next to us with its rubberneckers and therefore wasn’t paying attention to the bill and LOOK! Here comes the crowd! And they’re acting like it didn’t happen.

Seriously.

We get in the car to go back to the beach house AND NO ONE SAYS A WORD. Someone points out the pretty white lights on the water, someone else points out our friends’ beach house and would ya looky there it seems they’re home this weekend but NO ONE MENTIONS THE SPECTACLE.

This, Internet, is why I love being part of a Southern crazy go nuts family group of people. Shit like this happens. Maybe. On the one hand, the liquor might have made you hallucinate a little, but on the other hand, probably it did happen. Until you mention it later and people are like, Huh? What are you talking about? I recall nothing of the sort. And so then you’re left to wonder whether you’re actually crazy and all that, er, stuff you did in college is coming back to haunt you or whether all the other people are crazy and you’re the only normal one.

But then I get a text message saying that there’s an INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT! at the farm, except that I’m two hours away and so I call my dad to find out what’s up only to get his voicemail and so should I worry about it? Well yeah, maybe, so I call my brother only he’s not answering his phone either and WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH MY FAMILY TONIGHT? It’s all good the next day, though, when I get the message from my dad that says, in all its Southern accent glory, “There was an intrudah at the fahm, honey, and that intrudah…was me.”

So yeah, whatever notion I had that maybe I’m the normal one was either totally confirmed or completely debunked, whichever way you look at it.

First, the Good:

Brian had probably the most fun he’s had in, oh, forever. He chilled out, slept in, grew a beard and drank some beer. He made jokes, he laughed, he grocery-shopped and he told stories about his dad. It was one of the most heartwarming sights I’ve seen in a long time…watching him unwind and de-stress and get back to the person I married. I would give anything to keep it that way, but he goes back to work tomorrow.

I have to say that we truly enjoyed (most) of the time we spent with his family. I know I was a little utterly terrified apprehensive about the sheer volume of people we were going to share a house with, but it was a three-story house with a lot of bedrooms and living spaces and it (mostly) worked out just fine.

Next, the Bad:

My SIL got a stomach bug approximately 45 minutes after we got to the beach house. I didn’t take offense right away, especially when my niece came down with it that night, my MIL’s boyfriend got it and then I fell victim 24 hours later. We went through a lot of Gatorade and Clorox wipes, but then it was all good and we were happy campers once again.

I wouldn’t necessarily call this part bad so much as I would call it THIS IS WHY I’M NEVER HAVING CHILDREN. We took all the kids to the aquarium one day, and on the surface it was an alright outing. There were no screaming fits, no real fistfights, nothing major. But the underlying theme of the entire past week was “I want it and I want it NOW and if you don’t bring it to me/buy it for me/make it appear immediately I will whine and stomp and possibly cry and I don’t care how gray your hair gets because I’M GOING TO GET WHAT I WANT.” At the aquarium, my MIL and Brian and I made a hasty undercover exit at the gift shop because I knew the whining would go up about 37 notches and none of us could take it. I adore my nieces, really I do, but there’s only so much a girl can take.

Finally, the Ugly:

I realized some things about myself on this trip (most of which I’ll discuss at a later date) that I’m not proud of. The first clue was when my 10 year-old niece cocked her head to the side one day and said, “Do you beg Brian a lot?” Oh, yeah, go ahead and laugh; we all did. And it was hilarious up until I started thinking that maybe I do beg a lot, and for what really?

And then I looked around at this family, most of whom are incredibly loving people, and I thought about all the shit that’s gone down between us and all the years I’ve spent talking shit about them and I realized that maybe, just maybe, I’m wrong. Maybe I’m the weird one. Maybe I’m the one who needs an attitude adjustment.

But then I cracked open another Corona, took a big long swig and decided that NOPE, I’m never wrong, and I”m not going to start being wrong now.