Posts Tagged ‘vacation’

Senior year of college, I had my first “real” Spring Break. I went to South Beach with Cla, BNB, Hansell, and Foodie. It had all the best elements of a vacation: drinks, sunny beaches and table dancing. And lots and lots of naked time.


Dancing on the table at the Greek restaurant. What? You didn't think you were getting naked time pictures, did you?

Now, me, I love me some naked time any time. In fact, it’s part of what I adore about living alone. But on this trip, naked time served a bit of a higher purpose.

You see, the first day of our trip, I got sunburned pretty bad (not that it stopped me from going to the beach for the rest of the week). Yes, I wore sunscreen, but to no avail. I had lovely pink streaks all down the front and backs of my legs, and they just emanated heat. Getting dressed after the beach was not high on the list of things I wanted to do. In fact, my first priority when getting back from the beach? Get someone to aloe me up. I would lie face down on the bed and Cla would lather it on, as I basked in the coolness of the gel.

Sweet, *sweet* relief. What would I do without you?

Sweet, *sweet* relief. What would I do without you?

One afternoon, I came back early from the beach and, finding it difficult to properly aloe myself, decided to just take a cool naked nap. I was kind – I left a note so the girls wouldn’t be startled, but everyone was pretty comfortable with naked. All except BNB.

When I woke up, I wasn’t sure if anyone was back yet, or not, but I still ventured out of the bedroom. I didn’t see any of the girls at first – until BNB opened the door of the other room.

She took one look at me, in all my full frontal glory, and shrieked. And promptly turned and ran back into the room.


I’ve caused several reactions before, but that was my first scream and bolt.

Thanks, BNB.

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While I’m technically back from my Argentine adventures, I’m pretty sure my brain is still on vacation. And my body’s still reconciling the fact that it went from 80 degree weather to snow, over the course of a couple days. (I know, I know – my life’s really hard.) There will be more stories to come, but I have one picture to share that I just couldn’t resist.

If you have a snow delay today, you’re probably already in a good mood, and this should just add to it. If not, well, hopefully this will make your Monday just a little brighter.

Maxie, baby, this mullet’s for you:


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I wrote once about how skiing and I don’t get along. Or, as I like to say, how I skied on my face. And yet, I’m at it again, heading out of town this weekend to face potential disaster. Why, you might ask, am I doing something that I’ve had so little previous success in? Three reasons:

1) PiC is making me and I’m an excellent friend. She and her boyfriend had already rented the house and offered demanded that I and another friend join them. She’s pretty feisty, trust me; you wouldn’t want to cross her either.

2) There’s still a chance that we could possibly go tubing instead of skiing! Much less chance of injury. (Plus PiC told me I could bring my flask. Although, would that increase the risk of injury? Hmm.) I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

3) Regardless, even if we neither ski nor tube, it’s still a weekend away from the city, doing something different. (And by “different” I mean drinking with friends from home in the Poconos instead of with friends in DC. See? Two completely different things.)

If the snow gods are smiling, I’ll spend my weekend doing this:

cube_snow_tubing_01And NOT come back like this:


I mean, the smile’s fine. The swollen eye, however, might be a pain in the ass, and really doesn’t go with the whole business casual look I sport during the week.

Wish me luck!

Ed. Note: The picture of the swollen eye is NOT me. Promise. But thanks for everyone’s concern!

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I’m not exactly what you’d call an impulsive person. And by not exactly, I mean not at all. I’m a planner to the highest degree. When I was in 8th grade, we received a course catalog for high school – the first time we got to choose our own classes. Well, not only did I choose all my classes for freshman year, but I mapped my schedule for the rest of high school. (It’s something I’ve been working on, but you can’t really plan to be spontaneous, now can you?) I generally chalk it up to my CDO that I like things in a perfect or specific order. Which is why last week’s turn of events was so shocking.

I was gchatting with Cla last Tuesday when she suggested taking a trip.

24 hours later, I had booked a ticket for Buenos Aires.

And we leave in just over a month. What?! I have never EVER planned a trip in this short a time span. And especially not without budgeting thoroughly in advance. But I’m treating myself; I’m long overdue for a real vacation.

So, toward the end of February, I will be leaving the cold, gray, dreariness that is D.C. in the winter, for the sunny, 80 degree days of Buenos Aires. You can be jealous, it’s okay, I’ll understand. But as much as I’d like to just go and enjoy my mental health break, the planner in me has a few goals:

1) I will use my Spanish every chance I get, and NOT resort to “but everyone speaks English!”

2) I will soak up the sun and come back with a healthy glow. No more pasty winter white!

3) I will attempt to learn to tango (or at least go see a show). Every site I’ve looked at has mentioned the Argentine tango, and frankly, I’d kind of love an excuse to wear an outfit like either of these:



I think I’m partial to the one on the left, but we’ll just have to see.

In 37 days!

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Just as a preface, before you get too disappointed, this is NOT another “screamer” story. I’m more than that. So much more. At least for this week.

So, that being said…

Let me paint you a picture. It’s the summer of 1993 and my family and I are in California for a couple weeks before school starts back up. We started out visiting my aunt and uncle in L.A., which was nice and all, but my little eight-year-old self couldn’t wait to get to the good stuff: Disneyland!

Sure, we went to Sea World first, which was awesome, but in my mind nothing could compare with breathless_mahoneySpace Mountain. (I wonder if I’d be disappointed if I rode it now…) While we were at the park, I started to feel a little less than stellar. I chalked it up to the heat, drank some water, whined A LOT, and was determined not to let it ruin my day. Because I hadn’t even gotten to the best part of Disneyland yet: the live show of Dick Tracy! I’m not sure when it started, but I distinctly remember wanting to be Madonna’s character, Breathless Mahoney (who I mistakenly called Breathless Miami for a long time).

What a role model, right?

Anyway, by the time the show rolled around, I was really starting to feel queasy. We sat in the very last row of the amphitheater, so we could make a quick getaway if I thought I was going to boot.

And then I felt *it* and knew we weren’t getting out of there in time. I spewed my little guts out, right on the concrete floor of the theater where my feet had just been. (I may have gotten my brother a wee bit – I can’t be sure at this point.) This would have been bad enough (I mean, who throws up at Disneyland NOT in conjunction with a ride?), but don’t worry, there’s more.

The very design of an amphitheater demands that the seats in the back are higher than those in the front. That is, the floor is sloped. You with me? Yeah, that nice puddle of vomit started oozing its way down underneath the bench in front of us. Where there was another family. Who my parents had to warn to pick up their feet (or, ideally, choose a new seat).

I was mortified beyond belief, and even more so when the dad in front of us turned around to console me: “It’s okay, sweetie, we’ve all been there.”

Really? Gross.

(Note: We found out later that I’d actually had sun poisoning, and it was worse than it should have been because it came right on the heels of the Lyme disease I’d had earlier that summer. Awesome.)

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