Archive for the 'Travel' Category

Published by PaintingChef on 20 Oct 2009

But how long until the rocking stops?

I’m feeling neglected. It has been several days since anyone has offered me a fruity beverage or alerted me to the existence of a buffet… I am now operating on a rum deficiency and that is a tragic way to go through life my friends. I’ve glimpsed the other side and I’m not afraid to tell you… I may chuck it all and go work for a cruise line. I can mix drinks with the best of them, I could TOTALLY be a bartender.

Patrick, of course, is not interested in the plan and does not relish the thought of becoming a single parent to two dogs and two cats so I SUPPOSE I shall make this sacrifice as I am a good wife who is willing to do things like that.

STOP LAUGHING AT ME… I can be a good wife! It’s down in there somewhere.

I don’t think I could work on a cruise ship because we got off that damn boat on Sunday morning and it’s Tuesday and I’m still a little off-kilter. And rum for breakfast has NOT helped in the least. It pairs so poorly with Cheerios and I can’t bring myself to buy the Fruit Loops it so obviously calls for.

So sad. Remember when I was here…?

These, and a certain Piano Bar featuring the most adorable and talented damn musician I’ve ever come across, are my new happy places.

Published by PaintingChef on 23 Sep 2009

I promise I didn’t intend for this one to be about my uterus and yet… here we are again.

Every couple has their strengths and their weaknesses. Patrick and I are no exception to this rule.

In my opinion we are good at entertaining as long as people don’t mind talking about our dogs or watching me wrestle a cat. Usually I am feeding them lots of wine and some cake so they don’t mind too much…

We are good at lake things and I’m coming dangerously close to dragging Patrick behind the boat without running him into a buoy or a wayward barge. Sometimes we even bring other people with us. And not once has anyone jumped overboard and made a break for it…

And we are pretty good at working together in the same office where we have to be here at the same time… all day in the same place. At the same job. TOGETHER. WITHOUT KILLING EACH OTHER. Did I mention all the FANFUCKINGTASTIC togetherness?

Ahem… moving on.

We are NOT good at traveling. We are BAD travelers. I overpack and Patrick overplans. I consider vacation the wrong time to fret over what we are spending and that makes Patrick want to stab me in the throat. I like to meander and Patrick wants to get there. He’s a planner. I’m a… well there’s no word for it really, I’m just damn lazy. I can lie on a beach and do nothing all day quite nicely thank you very much. Patrick cannot and that makes me sad for him. I feel as though his inner sloth never fully developed and despite all my fine work of teaching by example things just aren’t changing in that area any time soon.

This all conspires to make us BAD at vacation. (Are you crying inside? It’s okay… I am too.) And so because of this we have taken precious few vacations that don’t involve traveling WITH or TO someone related to us.

But soon that will all change because we? Are going on a CRUISE! I am so very excited about this trip. We are going on a cruise with some friends in about 2 weeks.

2 weeks? But Susannah! (you say) Isn’t that about how long it will be until you now if your latest round of stabby needles and angry pills and turkey basters had any effect whatsoever on your still barren and cobweb-riddled uterus?

Why yes. Thanks for asking. Exactly three days after finding out this bit of news I shall be boarding a very large boat for the Caribbean where I will either drown my sorrows in many fine, fine rum concoctions or I will nourish my GLEE (do you watch that show? do you love it?) with many many tropical fruit items and virgin strawberry daiquiris. WITH WHIPPED CREAM.

But regardless of my emotional state when we board the boat, it is going to be a well-needed vacation where neither of us have to think or plan beyond sunscreen and a deck chair.

The past 6 months have been very hard on us. I haven’t wanted to get into it on here lest this become the “all infertility all the time” network but “The Plan”? She isn’t cooperating. Things aren’t going the way I thought they would. Every cycle brings about a baby step in the right direction but at this pace… well… they probably don’t have Labor and Delivery in the nursing homes, do they?

The stress is getting to me. I find my mind wandering, my work slipping, I’m not sleeping well. My life is lived between pills and injections and IUI’s. I gauge my calendar by doctor’s appointments, blood work and ultrasounds. This trip couldn’t be coming at a better time.

We need to be good at this.

Published by PaintingChef on 19 May 2009

Vacation Planning is Fun For EVERYONE!! Now with MORE CAPS for EMPHASIS!

Look! This is the only think my brain can wrap its little… brain (?) around…

Hi.

Hello.

Sadly my brain needs to be on the massive number of things that it needs to be figuring out a way to get them done so that it can be blissfully vacationing on the beach. Things like… I don’t know… PACKING. Taking Archie to the vet because we don’t yet trust him not to take off down the beach and never come back.

Who me?

Yes… you.

Did I mention packing? And did I mention that I have still have three swimsuits in a box that I haven’t tried on yet as I ordered them with the intention of keeping ONE and sending the others back because I REFUSE to try on swimsuits in a store as I am not a masochist? Also did I mention the awesome-ly perfect beach dress that Target.com-slash-UPS is holding hostage with it’s “estimated delivery date of May 22” which is when I’LL ALREADY BE AT THE BEACH EVEN THOUGH I ORDERED IT A WEEK AGO YOU STUPID TARGET SHIPPING PEOPLE (and your perfect dresses only available online)? But then did I mention the EMERGENCY REPLACEMENT dress that I ordered from Old Navy this morning with overnight shipping and how it probably won’t get here either?

Since when am I a DOUBLE FAIL! at shopping?

I also should be getting payroll done at work. (Something I need to be doing right this second. Yet… here we are… )

Straightening up my desk for the temp.

So she can find the phone to answer it.

Because that was a problem this morning…

Taking the cats to my parents’ house.

Vacuuming the house.

Hey. Did I mention that I’m probably not pregnant? But things in that “area”… they are a-coming right along. Perhaps I shall update you on the less-punk-assy-ness of the ovaries when I return. Because all I can think about right now are brown legs, crab legs and sangria.

Published by PaintingChef on 27 Apr 2009

Bittersweet

I may joke that the whole “Project Pregnancy” thing was just a sneaky way to try and get out of the Grand Canyon Nature and Outdoor Extravaganza that was looming ominously on my calendar at the end of July. And in that panicked car ride from my parents’ house back home on Christmas Day, I assure you that I was desperately clutching for ways to get out of the trip. And aside from alien abduction, arranging for my kidnapping and faking my own death, finding myself in a knocked up state was at the top of the list.

That was back in December (thank you captain obvious) and so much has happened since then. Most notably… the loss of my grandmother and the desire to have children that it suddenly made oh so pressing. Fast forward to Dr. Fabulous and her perfect bedside manner and uber-encouraging methods. (And for the record… I have no idea what effects the fertility drugs are having on me because I cannot feel ANYTHING OTHER THAN THE MUCUS!!! FUCK YOU MUCUS!!! Although I do know that my husband is still in one piece, bought me a bunch of plants this weekend and swears that he has not once feared for his life.)

But what I didn’t tell any of you (because it’s much more fun to dramatically moan and wail about the woes of being forced against my will to venture into nature and sleep on the ground and WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN’T WEAR A SUNDRESS!?!?) was that I had kind of made peace with the trip. Fine… I hadn’t yet signed the single most ambiguous waiver form that ever existed and actually contained the language “otherwise unknown or unnamed risks” and mailed it in but I was working up to it. And by the time July showed up I had figured that I probably would only cry at night while we were there as opposed to every second of every day. In my world? That is totally an improvement.

(I had also told my mother that if I got pregnant there was no way I was going and she had said that was fine. So let’s be honest… I was still hoping to use the pregnancy excuse…)

I would go. It would be fine. There would be Stories. And Experiences. And Adventures. And I would probably be Just Fine.

But then my dad had to be a Grown Up. He had to think about his company (which is also my company and Patrick’s company in that we work here too…) and he had to think about the people who work for him. He had to think about being around to make sure that there were projects for those people to work on. And long story longer short… he decided that the trip should be cancelled and that we would do something all together at a later time this year.

(And that it would be better if I chose not to start a conversation about this with my mother as she is PISSED OFF and kind of stabby right now.)

So… what? With all the hours and energy I devoted to complaining about this trip and being scared about this trip and scheming ways to avoid this trip and now it’s just… cancelled? Shouldn’t I be happier? I mean… I’m not crying. I’m not devastated. But I’m a little… bummed. I was feeling so optimistic that I would be pregnant and not end up going anyway and that was fine. But everyone else as REALLY excited and I kind of hate that they aren’t going now.

Is that a… mature reaction? Surely not…

Published by PaintingChef on 04 Aug 2008

Mexican Thirty May Lead to Domestic Disturbances.

It already feels like a foggy memory. That whole “Hey! I went to Mexico!” thing. It could be the alcohol that I didn’t take full advantage of what with me um… apparently chugging a gallon of water while either brushing my teeth or showering and falling prey to… that thing that happens when you ingest Mexican water… or maybe the fogginess could be due to the condition of every picture I took. Humidity, no? She’s a bitch. Of course we kept our (fabulous) room at 68 degrees and it was roughly 4000 degrees outside so the camera lenses were not thrilled when they were taken outside… which I seldom did because I didn’t want the camera to float in the pool with me. There was a big drunk guy doing belly flops off the bar into the pool. He was loud and hairy and he frightened me.

What this boils down to is that pictures like this are crap. Look! Patrick is kayaking! In the non-blue, non-sparkly Mexican water (I only point this out because it looks suspiciously blue and sparkly in some of these pictures)! Which he did excellently. So well, in fact, that he now speaks of purchasing a couple (TWO! SEND HELP!) kayaks and roaming around on the lake in them. I am… troubled as this sounds labor-intensive and not at all involving cake. As far as I can tell… kayaking has two strikes against it. But on the plus side… he looks REALLY cute…

Unlike my parents who were nearly washed away on a sailboat. My mother swears she just wanted to go to Cozumel. That’s mother-speak for “Oh sweet jesus I thought we were goners and I just wanted my chair and my book and my tequila but I couldn’t say anything because there was NO PANICKING or ASKING QUESTIONS on the sailboat.”

But silly pictures like this one? Where they decorated our room for Patrick’s birthday? Look lovely.

Now about that birthday. I promised him that birthdays that happened in Mexico didn’t count and he was not, in fact, really going to have to be thirty. I have since amended that statement because I am mean and nasty and can do things like that. Patrick is “Mexican 30.” It’s like pesos. And it means he is REALLY, REALLY old.

He finds this very un-funny. Which makes me squee and snort with laughter even more. (For the record? This is what not amused looks like. You know… if you have to be not amused while laying on the beach in Mexico.)

Other things you find in Mexico? Cuban cigars. And drunken girls puffing said cigars for a forced photo op. With drink straws that look dangerously like wandering bra straps and VERY unattractive faux-cigar puffing faces. Now with super frizzy hair at no extra cost! You are welcome. (Note to self… Cute haircut. When styled appropriately. Something that isn’t possibly in Mexico where the walls bleed with humidity and perspiration.)

Also? Husbands of sisters. Birthday boys even. Who may or may not have been the Cuban cigar instigators.

Eventually we went home. There was a tropical storm coming. I know this not because I understood the Spanish on the television weather but because while we were at the Cancun airport waiting on our plane a damn tropical storm hit. And then I came home and they were all TROPICAL STORM! HURRICANE DOLLY!

And I was all… bitch please. Look at this…

Then we had to come home. And Patrick was detained by airport police because his vehicle fit the description of someone they were looking for on suspicion of a domestic disturbance. (He drives a white Tahoe. What? You have a crazed soccer mom on the loose?). This is what he was busy doing while my parents and I were all inquiring about our lost luggage. Which may or may not have contained a bottle of tequila with a slow leak in the cork. Of course PATRICK’S luggage showed up. (Thank god I ran out of room in my bag and stashed my toiletries in his when he wasn’t looking). I guess that’s what you get when you’re Mexican 30. You get YOUR LUGGAGE.

And a wife who, when asked by the airport police about the possibility of domestic disturbances in her husband’s soccer mom-mobile will possibly say something along the lines of “I’ve been on a bumpy airplane from Mexico. I accidentally drank the water and now my luggage is missing. You want a domestic disturbance? Hop in asshole.”

Should you ever need to know… a soccer mom-mobile WILL peel out of airport parking lot like it was born to do just such a thing.

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