First, for the news: She is in the hospital. She fell a few days ago at home. They think she had a minor cardiac problem but can't exactly pinpoint when. They are going to get her physical therapy but I'm not sure what for (I don't think she sustained any big injury when she fell). She will probably be in the hospital for a few more days, then the good people of Hospice will work with her at home.
Second, for the rage: SHE WAS FINE AT CHRISTMAS and GREAT AT THANKSGIVING. WTF kind of disease does this to someone so fucking quickly?
I have been talking about Namibia – and the starving children of – since looooong before Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt moved there. OK, for a long time I thought the country was called "Nambibia", but still…I should totally get some credit for my geographical knowledge.
I found this article thanks to Dave Barry's blog. The part I find the most disturbing…hmm. Actually, there are two parts that bug me: 1) the dopey poem Britney wrote (I mean, it doesn't rhyme – surely she doesn't consider herself a master of non-rhyming poetry?) 2) That she was apparently able to post it to her website at all.
Does this mean that she is more comfortable using (for instance) FrontPage than using her kid's carseat? Yes, yes, I know. Gene calls me a "hata" too (hate-er). IMHO, if some (other) crackwhore did this, I'd be OK to hate but I can't be…troubled (?)…by this one? Seriously…car flips over…now what?
The boys have gone to two movies. I think they're seeing Poseidon and something else. Hooray! Alone time!
Is it seriously only Monday?
But I don't WANT to go to work tomorrow!!! Please let me stay home. I'll be SOOOO good, I promise!
Sorry….still a little fuzzy. I think that Tuesday was the first day that the boy and I went out on the ocean. He boogie boarded. I stood in the surf and watched him. (Hilarity ensues a few days later when he gets in too deep and I rescue him, fully dressed and in water up to my chin).
Oooh, oooh ooooh! I know what I’m forgetting…and I’m a day late to tell you this:
Guess who had her baby? YES! My best friend Brandy. She is a MOMMY now. She had her daughter on 5/8 (she was so sweet, she left me a voicemail on my cell phone to say “Hey, let’s talk” because they had a csection planned and then another voicemail “Hey biotch, I’m going to have a baby soon, call me!”). I won’t give out the name, of course, but the baby was born 7 lbs. 10 oz and 20 inches long.
I was so excited when I got her on the phone (2 hours after the csection – wtf? What kind of pioneer woman is this??) that I cried.
This is where it all gets a little fuzzy. Was it Monday or Tuesday that I went to bed at midnight and woke up around 11 in the morning? What day did we go to Uncle Bubba's Oyster House? It was the same day we went to Olde Savannah, but what day was it?
I really, truly fucking love vacations. I love the staying up late (and not staying up late so I could finish folding laundry or websurfing), I love the getting up egregiously late (I did the whole sleeping until 9 AM or later thing at least twice).
So for the sake of argument, let's just say that Monday was the day I did all of the above. I remember eating seafood au gratin at a seafood restaurant in Old Savannah and then being miserably full all the way back to the beach house, and inwardly cringing when BIL said "Hey, let's go to Uncle Bubba's tonight!"
Why didn't the Ohio gang just stay at our house?
That was actually the original plan, but it proved to be unfeasible for a # of reasons:
1) I realized I'd have to clean the house (including bathrooms)
2) Not enough beds (the boy's room is upstairs and I didn't want Blanche to have to go up stairs) and not enough sheets
My theory: this is why we have Marriott points, to get me out of having to clean the house shortly before leaving on vacation. I'm embarassed to admit it, but between the two weeklong trips in a month and the cold I've caught, cleaning has really gone to the bottom of my list of things to do.
That is to say, the first Saturday of vacation.
The previous day, we retrieved the boy from his mom’s house. She packed for him again. While she’s not my favorite person, I cannot tell you all how much of a luxury it is to not have to worry about finding an entire week’s worth of clothes for the boy.
Anyway, this enabled us to leave for the beach extra early on Saturday. As in, we were tooling down the main road of our subdivision by 6:45 AM. (YES, AM). On the brighter side, this eventually meant we hit the beach by noon. Well, the beach house anyway. And this beach house, yea it was phat. OMG, yes. With a PH. Indeeeeeedy. 5 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, kitchen with stainless steel appliances, big deck that leads (after only a minor Bhataan Death March) to the ocean. We get inside the house and informally assign bedrooms (Gene and I nabbed the bedroom with the canopy bed and the deck w/ hot tub, ha ha ha), and, practically crazed with our good fortune, realize that the rest of our par-tay hasn’t arrived.
(They were coming from Ohio, which is only 12 hours further than Cheesecake City).
We unpacked and figured out the hot tub. Gene and I even got in, although it was coooold because it hadn’t been turned on in nearly a week. After a relaxing soak, we hit a restaurant called the Crab Shack (no relation to Joe’s) for dinner. The boys split the “Sampler Platter for 2”, but I think the menu writer left off the word “Armies” because it was a serious amount of food. I stuck w/ boiled shrimp and stealing some of the boys food when they weren’t looking. The restaurant was smack dab on the water and the most interesting feature was that the restaurant was full of cats. Did you know: Not even seafood crazed cats will eat crawfish.
Then, a return to the house and the hot tub, which was hot and bubbly. Mmmm!