I love that I just gave myself a minor scare. Totally forgot I changed up the scheme on the blog yesterday. Then opened it today and couldn’t figure out what I was looking at. Is that a sign of aging? Or just forgetfulness?
You can tell when I’m really lacking on things to share when I start playing with the layout instead of doing any actual writing. Hence the new scheme.
I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t have any life lessons to share this week.
July is dragging along. Literally dragging. Next week is a beach week – so obviously this week seems to be taking a month to get through. Remember I have that problem that most five-year-olds have – the one where you get excited about something, so at night you can’t sleep just thinking about it. Yeah. I’m there again – ready for a vacation and laying in bed at night willing the days to go by faster. If I could figure out a way to make my actual vacation days go as slow as these ones, I’d really be in business.
We’re having seven people at the beach this year. An actual crowd. A gaggle even. Enough people to where it will take two cars to get us anywhere. That’s how you know you’re big time – when you start traveling like an entourage.
We’ll be that annoying group that takes forever to get anywhere. You remember what that’s like – remember dorm living? And trying to get a half dozen people out the door? And how it took at least an hour to get everyone ready to go at the exact same time. Sure – you could offer a go-time “7pm”. Oh wait, this is college I’m referring to, so that would be more like “10pm”. And at 10pm, two out of six people would be milling about, ready to roll. Then at ten after, another would be ready. Then one more at quarter past. Then one of the first two would see what the fourth was wearing and need to go back to change her outfit. Then the fifth would be ready – who is really the fourth ready because the first ready is back changing. The first would come out all anew but the sixth person would still be missing. All five would crowd into her room to offer moral support at which point persons three and four would disappear to reapply something or other. Finally number six would be done and that group would be off to find three and four. Well, you get the picture. By the time anyone left the dorm it was nearing eleven thirty.
Somewhere along the line I should have learned not to be the first one to be ready. Maybe that should be my new goal habit.
I have developed the no-need-to-be-on-time habit. This is from years of re-conditioning by my *ahem* tardy friends. I’m now starting to keep them in categories. If I’m meeting someone from Category O, I know that I should be on time – or even a little early. If I’m meeting someone from Category L, I know that it’s okay to dawdle a bit as there will be an explanatory phone call within minutes of our scheduled arrival time offering details of the revised time. I realized that arriving on time and being annoyed for the Category L’s was just stupid. Better to take my time, not stress and still arrive before them.
We’ll also be that annoying group at the restaurant who can never seem to get it together. The group that servers want to dash from. Because no matter how many times we’re asked, “Are you ready to order?,” somebody won’t be. It’s the trick of the numbers again. When you get seven people together at a table – it’s almost impossible to get a quick order. Because you’re first choice will go to the wayside when you hear what everyone else is getting. Then you’ll start worrying about having food envy and hem and haw over what the heck to get. It’ll turn into a near panic where you’d almost rather not order at all just so you know you didn’t mess up and order the wrong thing.
And then the server will have to list the side choices seven times because God forbid we all listen and memorize the list of three things the first time.
My mother plays this game well – she started collecting menus from our regular haunts. This gives us days to plan our meals. Well done.
We’ll also be the group playing miniature golf in the pouring rain. Each year we have the World Championship of Mini Golf tournament and each year it pours in the middle. I’m not sure why. It could be dry as a bone all week long. All week. Not a spit. Except for the hour in which we are on the course. You’d think we’d stop. Especially if said rain involves lightening. I mean, there’s nothing smarter than standing around in a storm with a lightening rod in your hand. I thank you for considering us a smart bunch. The tournament runs much like the post office – rain, sleet, snow – we will find our winner. And it generally won’t be me. Although I do talk a good game.
We’ll be the group out deep sea fishing begging our stomachs not to betray us with weakness. Last year, we were the group that refused our mother’s call for Dramamine. Then we were the group on the boat that didn’t know you could bring things along like: a cooler of beverages, sunscreen, bait or towels. Then we were the group who had one member turning a suspicious shade of green towards the end of our trip. This year we’ll be the group which has taken their Dramamine and brought along a basket of essentials. Play smarter, not harder.
In the meantime – I’m just the girl sitting here wondering how to make time go a little faster. Rumor on the streets is that my mother is doing the same thing. And up north, my nephew is working out how to get all his dude-stuff to the beach (what with those pesky airline rules against bringing more than four ounces of anything).
In the category of things I never saw coming – we had a bit of texting between the two of us as I’ll be needing to pick up some Axe for him. As if he could go a week without smelling good. When I asked what scent – he said “Vice. Or whatever you (meaning me) thinks smells good”.
I’m not really sure why he’s trying to pick up 40 year old ladies…but there you have it. Something to kill time with.