Category Archives: Beach

Hell called. It wants its heat back.

Posted by Elizabeth in Anxiety, Beach, Lamenting, Listing, WTF?

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.

They’re not MY family

Posted by Elizabeth in Anxiety, Beach, Daily, Family, Listing, Muse, Totally normal

Okay, well maybe they are. This post is a little bit in bad taste because I’m going to complain about my in-laws. Some of them are “online” but heaven only knows how many of them actually know this here blog exists. I’m hoping it’s none.

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.

10 years in 10 minutes (or less)

Posted by Elizabeth in Addiction to, Anxiety, Beach, Daily, Family, Farm, Good Stuff, Lamenting, Listing, Lucille & Charles, Random Shit, Rejoicing, Shopping, Totally normal, WTF?

If there were ever a time for lists, I think this would be it.

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 11th, 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 28th, 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 28th, 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 15th, 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 10th, 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 1st 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 30th 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 30th 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 30th 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 15th, 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.
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This may or may not be a true story

Posted by Elizabeth in Anxiety, Beach, Family, Farm, Totally normal, WTF?

I went to the beach this past weekend with…some people. And while I was there, these…people and I decided to go out to dinner at a fairly nice restaurant in town. I’d eaten there before and was glad to go back, because after all, most everything on the menu is fresh seafood smothered in some kind of rich delectable sauce. What’s not to love?

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.

Regularly scheduled broadcasting has resumed

Posted by Elizabeth in Anxiety, Beach, Daily, Muse

Aren’t you excited? I knew you would be. I am back, peeps! Back at work, back in the real world, back to opening the window at 4am to let the cats in, back to feeling anxious in my office. I really intended to do some blogging while we were gone, but OH MY GOD THE DISTRACTIONS.

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.