Category Archives: Beach

Because it wasn’t fun enough already

Posted by Elizabeth in Beach, Daily

Okay, this is a quickie because it’s my night to cook supper and I’m between baked potatoes and a casserole. Here’s the rundown so far on how The Vacation’s going:

  • It’s so windy here right now that our umbrella has blown away three times and twice we didn’t even notice until it was too late.
  • My SIL came down with the stomach flu yesterday and my niece got sick last night. We’re overrun with ginger ale and saltines. And Lysol and Clorox wipes.
  • Somehow I twisted my knee in the ocean…waist deep. I wish I had a super cool story about how I was dodging some 10-footer or something, but the truth is that I was standing still watching my nieces in the waves. It’s so not funny that I can’t even try to make it funny.
  • Brian’s been to the grocery store three times in 24 hours and he’s in hog heaven. Also, he’s been listening to Bob Seger and now we all have “Night Moves” stuck in our head.
  • I’ve only read one book and have only mooched a half-bottle of wine so far. There is still work to be done on this trip!

Tomorrow the masses show up and we celebrate a certain someone’s 71st birthday. More reports to come – stay tuned.

By the numbers

Posted by Elizabeth in Anxiety, Beach, Listing, Lucille & Charles, Muse, WTF?

Tomorrow we leave for the beach for a week. I’ve been talking this up for several reasons, not the least of which is that it’s the first time I’ll be spending a week with my in-laws since…ever. We’ve done long weekends, short weekends, overnights, but never a whole big fat solid week. It will be interesting. Also it’s the first time in the five years since we’ve been married that ALL the peeps will be together as one. For at least one night, all of us big and small will gather under one roof, celebrate a birthday and wake up the next day in the same house.

So. Here it is…by the numbers.

30: The number of people that will have drinks at our shrimp boil porch party.

24: The number of pounds my suitcase will most likely weigh.

17: The number of people on the most crowded night in the house.

12: The number of two-liter drinks BB has purchased.

12: The number of two-liter drinks BB has purchased that have both caffeine and sugar.

7: The number of nights we’re staying. (We think.)

4: The number of pork tenderloins it will take to feed half our group.

8: The number of wine bottles accompanying me on the trip.

11: The number of books I plan to read on the sand.

45: The SPF on our six bottles of sunscreen. (It won’t be enough. Expect another post about sunburn.)

6: The number of children we’ll have running amongst us.

2: The number of hours it will take us to get there. (It’s not enough.)

2: The number of cats that will have shred our furniture to pieces because we left them for a week.

1: The number of people I would actually do all this for. You’re a lucky duck, BB!

9 Things To Do On Vacation

Posted by Elizabeth in Addiction to, Anxiety, Beach, Daily, Listing, Muse, WTF?

This is in honor of the fact that in (almost) a week, Beebs and I will be prone on a beach towel. Drunk. Hopefully not sunburned.

Beach

9. Bring enough stuff with you that it looks like you’re moving in for a month. Threaten to stay for a month. Also threaten to not pay for the extra three weeks.

8. Make a bunch of yummy desserts and bring-along things like chicken and pasta salad, then label the containers with masking tape that says “Mine! Don’t touch! I said PUT IT DOWN!” Encourage others in your beach house to help themselves.

7. If the first to wake up, offer to make the coffee. Substitute decaf for regular (or vice versa for the old people), add some Kahlua, sit back and enjoy. Alternately, add a Xanax to the sugar bowl. Sit back and enjoy the newly-chill atmosphere.

6. Bring all the scary DVDs you can find. Tell the children that these are “remakes” of their favorites, but that they are secret and special and must never be watched. Leave DVDs conveniently next to the television. Head out for dinner.

5. Offer your bag of books to the crowd. Suggested titles to bring: The Joy of Sex, Dr. Ruth’s Guide to Guilt-Free Love, How to Handle Awkward Situations, The Family Vacation for the Anti-Social Family Member, Why Children Could be a Mistake for Your Relationship.

4. Start up a card game. When someone mentions Uno, politely remind them that it’s strip poker or no poker. Unless of course, they brought $100 bills to play Uno with instead.

3. Use the phone for long distance calls home to check on the animals. Agree to hold while your cat sitter heads to your house to check on the water bowl level.

2. Take “couples” showers in the outdoor shower next to where the beach chairs are kept. Bathing suits and forewarning your housemates: optional.

1. Before leaving home, print out a Diet Coke label. Attach it to the bottle of Jose Cuervo. Take it with you everywhere you go, especially the movies, proclaiming that you never “travel without my Diet Coke fix!”

These are merely suggestions, of course, for enjoying a vacation properly. Feel free to share your own tips.

On toilet paper and sand

Posted by Elizabeth in Anxiety, Beach, Lamenting, Muse, Shopping, WTF?

DISCLAIMER: If you are related to me and find this, or any other post offensive in any way, PLEASE STOP READING NOW. It would do more damage than good for you to continue reading and discover that I am not actually who you think I am. I’m sorry. Go finish the sudoku – it’s a much more useful way to spend your time.

Well…I think it might be time to lower my expectations. You know how I’ve been complaining for, I don’t know, YEARS that I’m burned out, need a vakay immediately, oh boy I can’t wait for the beach in just two weeks? Yeah. Huh.

I talked to my MIL last night for a while and got a handle on how this Family Beach Vacation is going to shake out. It seems that it can be broken down sensibly into the number of bodies spending the night each night, which I have done in painstaking detail on my dry erase calendar in the kitchen. Logistics: There are 17 of us total, but only 15 of us can come (there are two extremely brilliant husbands who can’t get off work, the LUCKY BASTARDS), and of that 15, 6 are children. There are four bedrooms, three and a half baths, and an outdoor shower. Here’s how it’s gonna go (according to number of people sleeping in the house at a given moment):

Sunday-Wednesday: 5

Wednesday-Friday: 9

Friday-Saturday: 11

Saturday-Sunday: 9

Sunday-Tuesday: 6

Tuesday-Wednesday: 3

Wednesday-Sunday: I don’t care because I won’t be there anymore.

I tried to tell my MIL that I’m taking a tote bag full of books and a case of wine and a few fifths of tequila and maybe a carton of cigarettes, and if that wasn’t kosher with the rest of the crowd then I’d be glad to drive my car onto the sand and tough it out in the way-back of the station wagon. She reassured me with the news that there’s WiFi and lots of DVD players for Brian to watch “The Hulk” and “Hawaii Five-O” at all hours. Then I asked her about the bathroom situation (do we or do we not have to share?) and she said she’d have to wait and see until she gets to the house.

Internet, I might have to SHARE A BATHROOM.

Here’s how that works in my house: I have what one might call an exceptionally sensitive gag reflex. Like, the slightest mention of vomit (oh my god I don’t even think I can write this without puking all over my glamorous HP Pavilion DV6) sends me into waves of nausea not unlike a tsunami. So – and I’m NOT NAMING NAMES HERE – when there are people with whom I co-exist that like to dribble toothpaste and whiskers and mouthwash all over the counter and sink, I can barely wash my face without wanting to hurl. (We clean it, I swear we do, but then it’s dirty again in, like, an hour. Do you sympathize, Internet? Do you really?) In fact, our shower is so old and moldy-tiled that about six months ago I hauled my crap into the guest bathroom and now I shower there. Out of sight, out of mind. Anyway, none of this is taking into account the toilet paper issue (why is the extra never where it should be? how can we be out of rolls already?) and so now do you see why I might be more than just a little apprehensive about sharing a bathroom with more than one other person? Where am I going to store my toothbrush and my contacts case? Whose grubby hands (and other things) will have last touched the fixtures? Why am I thinking about this?

So I have concluded that if I arm myself with Janet Evanovich and Brad Thor and maybe some “Editors on Editing” and a enough tequila to make a bar in Cancun proud, I should be okay. In actuality, it’ll just be nice to be out of the office and the house, and to have my “toes in the water, ass in the sand” (thanks, Zac Brown). I’ll get to see all the girls, who grow and change every month it seems like, and I’ll be able to take afternoon naps and drink at eleven in the morning and not really feel guilty about it at all.

All of this won’t go down for another two weeks, but don’t worry: I’m taking my laptop (for school purposes, dammitall) and will bog and tweet on location.

You lucky ducks.

Coming Soon: A Costco shopping list that beats all shopping lists. Maybe.

The Marilyn Monroe version

Posted by Elizabeth in Beach, Daily, Listing, Muse, Politics, The Almighty TV

What’s up, Internet? It’s been a crazy few days, so my List Monday is now a List Tuesday. Here’s my weekend + one day recap:

1. My recipe for white sangria is for sure fabulous, but it’s also for sure dangerous. You can’t taste the two bottles of wine in it, and this proves a challenge for later on in the night when you’re trying to speak intelligently to your dinner guests.

2. I love it when my friends stop by unannounced. But only some of my friends. Others of you should never drop by unannounced because a) my house will be too dirty for you, b) I won’t have the kind of wine you like and c) you will undoubtedly be offended by my bare feet, sweatpants and ponytail. It’s the way I roll.

3. When I tell you to be ready for me to pick you up for the beach at 9am, that does not mean WAKE UP AT NINE. It means TO BE READY ALREADY. And then, when I drive you all the way to the beach so that you can see the Atlantic Ocean before you go back home to Egypt, it’s probablynot a good idea to let me buy you lunch. Because that lunch costs $51. And that’s $51 I need for my tuition next week. And THEN, then when it rains and you can’t actually see the ocean, try to remember that it’s not my fault. I control a lot of things, but weather isn’t one of them. So now I’m down a tank of gas, an entire Sunday and $51 of fresh fish that went down your craw instead of mine.

4. It takes a certain amount of skill and talent to time a road trip juuuust right so that when you pull up into the baseball stadium, park your car, get your hot dog and are almost ready to get in your seat, the bottom falls out and it starts raining cats and dogs. This could be a problem for some people. For me it was a gift: a gift of a two-hour nap in the comfort of my own home after I “attended” the work baseball outing yesterday. Yeehaw.

5. If you are elected as a commissioner in this county, probably you should show up on time and act interested when 200 people from the local community college show up to protest your proposed budget cuts. Also, you should turn down the air and provide chairs for said community college people. There’s not enough room in the hallway for everyone to have a wall to lean on. However, the mob scene did make for great pictures in the local newspaper. And I can promise you one thing, Commissioners: if, after we stood in that hot hallway last night, shifting from foot to foot and straining to hear your stupid questions, you decide to cut our budget anyway, you’re getting crank calls in the middle of the night.

6. Dear Jillian The Bachelorette: If you can’t see that Wes is a snake in the grass, then you are too stupid to be on this show and you deserve a life of skeeve with Foot Fetish Guy. Love, Annoyed Viewer in NC. PS: If you ever need a snugglebunny with whom you can travel to Whistler and/or a glacier and/or snowmobiling and/or the Fontainbleau Lodge, feel free to call me and/or my husband. We are available separately or as a package deal. We don’t, however, put out on the first date. Sorry.

7. Dear Brenda Lee Johnson aka The Closer: My sincerest condolences on the loss of one of your viewers last night. To be honest, I got so caught up in the drama of Ed leaving Jillian for his job in Chicago because his boss was so mean and he would be letting down like 6 or 7 people as opposed to one person and Jillian crying and the Will You Marry Me proposals in the commercials that I completely forgot you were on. I pledge, from now on, to set some kind of alarm on Monday nights to remind me that it’s time to stop watching the trash and turn it to the treasure. Or something. Either way, I hope that your Neilson ratings are partly based on DVRs, because in that case, I’m your girl.

8. Apparently it doesn’t matter that everywhere I turn there are reminders that Father’s Day is this Sunday. No amount of emails, billboards, greeting cards or restaurant table ads can apparently make me remember to call my dad and check on him while my mom is out of town. I’m pretty sure that makes me a bad daughter, and I’m pretty sure I”ll be baking some kind of diabetic no-no to make up for it this weekend. Sorry, Dad.

9. When my husband comes home from work with a knot the size of a baseball lodged under his calf muscle, I can’t help but want to call 1-800-Pepsi-Sucks-Ass. Pallets shouldn’t fall on your employees, Pepsi. Get it together.

10. Finally, if and when it’s your birthday, there is a very small chance that I, for a fee, will be willing to sing you my Marilyn Monroe version of Happy Birthday. It’s a very good version; however, when you make me sing it louder and it attracts the attention of the couple sitting at the table next to us, I am no longer amenable to singing like Marilyn Monroe. In fact, I am no longer wishing you a happy birthday at all. NO MORE SINGING!