Jason finally took our Florida pictures off the camera after asking me for the millionth time if I had done it yet.
And now that I see the pictures,I wish I hadn't because I'd rather being doing all of this rather than all of this (waving my hands over this blog in general):
It seems like I left for a week and my whole blogging existence changed. I thought I stayed up to date on my Twitter at the very least while I was on vacation, but while reading the written orgy that was going between those bloggers that I am closest to, I realized just how wrong I am.
Very, very wrong, but not nearly as wrong as they are. Heh.
I have a To Do list at work that reads like a list of Hugh Hefner's book of blonde conquests, neverending, but special in every way. Also? A tad ridiculous and ego inflating.
I even did a few scenes for an informercial and as it turns out, I totally missed my calling and I should be the next Billy Mays, only better looking and less facial hair. Oh and with smaller boobs. And Billy never had to tangle with an orange construction barrel like I did.
Which, I'm going to be totally pissed if that barrel gets best supporting actor, because it also turns out that I'm a method actor who had to really get in the zone to pretend like spray cleaning products suck a big one and I'm all about the disposable wipes, bitches. So to get in the spirit of it, I had to think of that commercial where the chick cleans her counters with the raw chicken because that seriously makes me gag in the most major way. Yeah, I totally turned that mother out.
We also have the cleanest microwave in the world at work now. Even though I nailed each scene in only 3 takes or less. So suck that construction barrel. Also? One of the partners in my company was running around in that very same barrel yesterday, while donning black tights because he was the smalles guy that would fit inside.
Who needs a raise when you have that mental image. Well, technically? Me, but whatever.
Finally, I thought I'd wrap up this next winner of the Caldecott Medal (yes, I know, it goes to picture books, my point exactly) with a few observations I made while on vacation:
If you stay in a hotel that is next to a tent revival that features a man named Leroy Jenkins, you are in for some of the finest people watching you could wish for.
If you think you have fat thighs, go to Disney World.
If you think your kid is sent directly from Satan and that no kid in the world could embarrass you more, then hang with my kid at the Magic Kingdom, sans nap. I've never received so much pity in my whole life.
Not even when I crapped myself at work one day.
Oh and finally, let me just put this out there, flying AirTran is for chumps and sadists.
Just so you know, when the airline says they need to check your baggage 45 minutes before your flight, they mean 45 minutes and totally not 43.
Also? When I call a jackass behind the counter at the airport a 'mother fucker', I mean he fucks his mother and totally not 'dude, you're kind of a jerk'. At least at that moment I did. In retrospect? He was just kind of not helpful and I was a tad tired.
And when they say, "sit in the airport all day waiting for standby", they mean ALL DAY and they don't care if your 21 month old is teething and your 9 year old is crying. Or that my husband's head was actually steaming or that I was seconds away from somes serious shin kicking/kung fu shanking action.
They also don't care if anyone has new client meetings for a company they are trying to launch today or if anyone has to work tomorrow.
When Jason says, "Fix it douchebag! You already changed our flights once on us." He means, "Seriously douchebag, don't make me jump across this counter and bite your nose off all crazy Hannibal Lecter style. I'm from Alberta, Canada, bitch!"
And when they concede and say they will do it, what they mean is you won't get back home until buttass late the next day.
Suckers.
And when I put that extra day on the calendar at work to recover from the trip? I had no freaking clue.
PS - Had a dream last night that I was fighting demons with Joaquin Phoenix. We had a super awesome demon fighting team and we all got new cell phones to make our demon fighting as crazy high-tech as possible.
Because obviously, cell phones are what you need to fight demons and not weapons of any kind.
Obviously.
Slowly they moved, seemingly without a thought in their heads. It seemed they had no real direction or destination.
Listlessly they groaned, bumping into one another. Even if I made a noise, would they notice me? Suddenly, I got my answer when the group, walking 5-wide in front of me stopped without notice. The mouse, the messiah had caught their flat, dead eyes. The grouping shifted direction, with a low, guttural moan they wandered away. I said, "Excuse me" as I veered around them. They paid me no mind.
They had no mind to pay.
Theme-park zombies care not for others.
After we hit the theme restaurant with the moving gorillas and leopards, the rodent and princess store with all their "sale" items and the mega store of all that is hot and of the musical variety we had virtually left 1/2 an arm behind.
I quickly bought myself a mouse backscratcher, mouse toothbrush and mouse flash drive and fashioned them into a shiv like I was a fairytale McGuyver. I grabbed a fluorescent pink mouse bandana and tied it around my head like I was John Rambo. With the one full arm I had left I fought my way to the parking lot, shanking and slashing mindless, money dropping zombies left and right. Somehow I managed to hold on to my precious purchases, still in their brightly colored bags.
As I climbed into my American-made rental car, screaming child in tow, I looked in the mirror at my own flat, dead eyes. In the backseat my kids screamed, blood-curdling again. Suddenly, a stuffed mouse smacks me in the head and whines, "Dreams really do come truuuuuuuue."
Mother fucker.
Tomorrow, we hit the kingdom that boasts of all it's awesome magicalness.
Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.
Crazyman has been possessed by the spirit of Stuart. Which has really made vacation super enjoyable.
"Do you want breakfast?"
"Nooooooo."
"Can we change your diaper?"
"eeeeeeehhhhhhh"
"Can I throw you to the sharks?"
"Noooooo, let me do it!"
I have fantasized about throwing myself off our balcony just enough times to be considered really unhealthy.
He has yanked pictures off the walls, pulled drawers out onto the floor, thrown his sippy cup at the blinds, broken the latch on the entertainment center, taken the Playstation apart and nearly put it back together again.
Nearly.
He's so bored inside the condo he just walks around swinging his arm back and forth looking for the next thing to fuck with. Mostly, he just makes sport out of carrying my laptop around using only one hand, over the tile floor.
His sister has created her own entertainment by making sure we know that this entire thing is just so incredibly stupid and I, most certainly, am a complete lamewad.
The good news is that despite my lamewaddiness, I found a place across the street that has giant wine freeze slushies. I bought the cup and have unlimited refills.
Ooooh, I have to run. The bathroom just opened up. I've got to use my 5 alotted minutes wisely.
PS - the guys are at Home Depot getting a new ceiling tile. I might have been air punching a little too emphatically during a wine induced brain freeze.
Our condo? Florida tacky awesome.
Mr. Booms' behavior on the first night? Canada tacky awesome.
The kids crashed hard after a full day of travel and Crazyman never napped. Somehow, he still managed to get up at 6:00 this morning, thus putting the cap on my fantastic hangover. The canned beer hangover comes after playing "I am the ruler" on some poor, unsuspecting kid's sand castle in the middle of the night.
I awoke in my sandy bed this morning and recalled one of my best vacation memories ever.
Last night, Jason and I walked hand in hand, out of the sand and saw the condo pool with it's cover on it.
Me: Wow, what time does the pool close?
J: 10:30, but for me? Never.
Me: Oh. Wait. What?
J: Yeah, never closes for me.
And with that? Jason pulls off his pants, climbs the fence, pulls back the pool cover and hops in. I swear to you, the last drop from is awesome splash didn't even hit before one of the residents was out on her balcony, inspecting the scene.
Resident: Hey! What are you doing?
J: Swimming. What does it look like?
R: The pool is closed. Do you live here?
J: Me? I'm from Alberta, Canada.
With that? I started walking towards the elevator in the recesses of the shadows.
R: How did you get in here?
J: I'm 6 feet tall lady, the fence is 3 feet, you do the math?
R (totally stummped): Um, okay, can you put the cover back on the pool.
J: Sure lady, no problem.
He does just that, and heads towards the elevator where I'm hiding.
Me: Alberta, Canada?
Jason just grinned at me.
Me: Hoser.
