This Is How We Roll

My colleague, friend, co-conspirator, how-to-raise-a-son guru, and fellow make-lemonade-out-of-lemons chick, Olivia, and I got called to the middle of the woods remote, Maine on a matter.  Did I mention this place is remote?  As in, while I was trying to find the rallying point I rolled up to a gate with a guard shack at the end of the road.  The gate was closed so I was planning to ask the guard for directions (zero cell coverage) but there was no guard inside.  Just a sign that read…Canada beyond this point.  Oopsie, time to turn around.  

So, at the end of day 1 (late, dark and HOT), the entire team (about 20 people total) travel 30 minutes to the nearest hotel where our office had secured rooms for everyone.  Upon checking in, we noticed that fans are being handed out. FANS. It was easily 100 degrees out and a musty, humid 100+ indoors.  We were told the hotel is considered “rustic”, “quaint” and “charming”…code words for old without air conditioning or TVs.  We all received keys (yes, an actual key, not electronic) and went off to get some sleep.

Olivia and I met for breakfast bright and early, headed to the rallying point, got our assignments and went about our day.  On day 6 of this routine, we got an urgent message to return to the main rallying point. (At that point, our office had erected a cell tower so we could all communicate – thank goodness!)  We were told that we had to provide critical information to someone ASAP. Ok, will do.  We were on it.

We hopped into Olivia’s work car – a Chevy HHR.  Now, no offense to anyone who may have voluntarily opted for this as their car, but we HATED these cars.  They look like hearses and when you are in a job where you may be called upon to provide sad news, this is not a good look. But it was a company car and got the job done so who was I to complain? Off we rolled.  

(not our actual car but you get the idea)

Olivia was the driver, I was in charge of the GPS and keeping our boss updated as to our whereabouts and if we had accomplished our task.  A bit of pressure.  We were off to a good start as we were given an actual address (as opposed to what we had been dealing with all week, “oh, you need to go where? Ok, that’s past the old bait and tackle store…go left at the dairy barn…..that’s Jimmy’s old gas station…” etc. etc. -  none of which still had structures or addresses) AND the GPS actually had the address.

I was looking at the GPS, shouting out next steps and responding to emails/texts when Olivia asked if I was sure that we should be turning left just then.  I looked at the GPS and said yes then we travel a mile before the next turn.  She said ok, and carried on.  I continued with my emails when she asked again if she should keep going.  I said yes, the GPS says to keep going and we are in a rush so step on it.  She told me the road had turned to dirt so questioned if she keep going.  I looked up.  It was a road, just a dusty, dirt road.  Seemed normal for out in the woods, remote Maine so I said yes and we rolled on.  A minute later, Olivia stopped.  Without looking up, I told her we had to go .2 miles, turn right and we would be at the destination.  She chuckled, told me to stop emailing and look up.  We were in a cow pasture.  As in, out my window, touchable, was a cow.  We were parked on grass.  There were trees in front of us.  

Refusing to believe the GPS had steered us wrong, and in a panic that we didn’t have time to go back, find a new route, and make our deadline, we got out of the car, walked to the tree line to see if we can somehow bust through it.  Well, the trees were at the top of a steep ravine so that was a negative.  We actually contemplatedleaving the car, hiking down the ravine and walking the rest of the way.  We were already dusty, sweaty and hot so why not abandon our car, slide down a ravine and walk.  Very professional.  Not.  

Then we regained our sanity, hopped in the pseudo hearse, peeledout of the grassy pasture and found where we needed to go.  We accomplished our task, returned to our car, and started cracking up at the notion that we had actually considered ramming our car through the trees.

By that point, everyone was told that their work was done and they could go home. Everyone checked out of their rooms.  We decided to have a group dinner together then hit the road.  As dinner finished up and everyone walked to their cars, our boss said, “oh no, you two need to stick around to handle a matter in the morning”.  So we made our way back to the hotel.

We approached the front desk and the clerk said, sorry, no rooms available.  Umm, hello….20 people had checked out like 4 hours ago….what did he mean no available rooms?  He explained they put an ad on some discounted site, selling rooms for $45 for that night to fill our rooms and they sold out.  The next closest hotel was an hour away.  I tried to get on my cell but when everyone left, they took the temporary cell tower with them so I was back to no service.  

On the verge of crying and screaming.  Olivia and I begged, there must be SOMETHING they can do otherwise we were going to have to sleep in our cars.  The manager came over and said, he had 1 room.  We would have to share.  We said fine, we will take it.  He then said it is the honeymoon suite.  Lordy.  He told us it had a window air conditioner so no need for a fan…..sold.  We agreed to take it.

We took our key and entered the honeymoon suite. We knew it is the honeymoon suite because there was a big sign above the door and it was just off the lobby.   It smelled.  There was shag carpet.  Pink shag carpet.  A dresser sat in one corner.  It had a mirrored front and the rest was covered in the pink shag carpet.  There was a heart shaped Jacuzzi tub next to the bed.  The bed.  Oh, the bed.  It was up 3 small shag covered stairs, like on a pedestal in the middle of the room.  It was round. A faux fur bedspread covered it.  We flopped down on it LAUGHING and looked up to see a giant mirror above the bed.   

When morning arrived, we stepped out of the honeymoon suite to find people smiling and nodding at us.  It was odd but we figure it was because our place of work was emblazoned on our shirts.   And then, as I sipped coffee and ate French toast, an elderly woman came up to us and said how lovely to see us “in all our unashamed glory” and that she supported love of any kind.  That is when Olivia and I realized, people thought we were newlyweds. And even though we weren't it was refreshing to know that the people out here, in the middle of the woods, remote Maine, would have been accepting of us.

Homeward Bound

As I pulled into my parent's driveway, they were waiting for me and came rushing out, arms open, thrilled that their baby girl was home for winter break.  My Dad opened the trunk to grab my suitcase and upon seeing my television, area rug, radio, telephone etc., he said, "hun, you didn't have to pack up your dorm room to come home for break.  Your stuff would have been safe in your room."  My Mom started chuckling along with my Dad and they were shaking their heads at "all the extra packing and unpacking" I'd have to do.  They were laughing and in a good mood so I figured, aw, what the heck, I will lay it on them now....


All bright eyes and bushy tailed, still in the driveway turn around I blurted it out, "I was going to wait but I'm so excited, I might as well tell you now...Tracy and I withdrew from school, packed up our stuff, and at the end of holiday break, we aren't going back to school, we are going to drive cross country and experience life. How awesome does THAT sound?!?!"


30 seconds of silence followed by my Mom looking at my Dad and saying, "you deal with this" and he did. I quote, "What car do you plan to take? I own 'your' car. Who is going to pay your health insurance? I cover you now but you'll be dropped if not in school and no child of mine will go without health insurance. How will you eat? How will you pay for gas? Where will you sleep? Exactly how do you plan to pay for your fancy moisturizers, lotions and potions you so love? Who will buy your clothes? Contact lenses? Shoes? Pedicures? Sunscreen? Advil? Magazines? Doctor co-pays?"


Umm, hello, Daddy Downer.


All I said was, "Well Tracy and I heard that the first 6 rows of all crops were public domain so we just thought we would live off the land and become vegetarians or something."  I swear, I honestly said that.  Wisely, my Dad ignored that and simply kept on tailing, "Starting tomorrow, finding a new University that will take you after this holiday break will become a full time job for you." What?!?!? "But Dad, once I decided to 'withdraw' I kinda stopped going to class and like none of my grades are like, um, good, as in I barely passed anything this semester."


"Well, we all know you are a master bullshitter so you better get cracking with the admissions officers." I was starting to get pouty and angry when, as he walked into the house, still clutching my suitcase, he muttered, "I'm so disappointed.  What did I do wrong that she would think this was ok." Crap, my Dad was disappointed. He has never said that to me. Never. And worse yet, he thinks this screw up is somehow his fault.  Double crap.  I had to make this right.


The rest of the day was awkward but we got through dinner, watched some Jeopardy! and then I went out with some friends to catch up after a long semester scattered at various colleges. Finally, sleep in my old bed. Pure comfort.


But then, a rather loud knock on my door awoke me. The clock read 6 am. What the flip is that all about? Then a booming voice, my father, "CeeCee, time to get up.  THe work day has begun and you've got a busy day ahead of you." HOLY CRAP. Dad meant business when he said finding a school was going to be a full time job for me.


I poked my head out and he said, take a shower, get dressed - in a suit, the one you wore when you interviewed with Dean of Universities last year is still in your closet. Coffee and breakfast at 6:30." I showered, dressed and ragged myself to the kitchen.  He had the desk where my Mom usually wrote the household bills out, set up for me with the computer, stapler, legal pad, an appointment calendar, pens, the college book I used when originally looking for a school, along with various odds and ends."  We ate breakfast and he left for work.  He would call and check on me, came home during my hour lunch break and cracked the whip until 5 pm.


Let me tell you, my number one mission was to find a freaking school, fast.  My winter break was disappearing before my eyes.  I started calling area Universities. Thank God that NJ is full of good schools, close by.  I would book appointments, meet with admissions' staff, tell my story of woe, and lay upon my sword and tell them that I had screwed up, disappointed the man I admire most and that if only their school would look past my crappy first semester grades and at my high school record, they would know that I was a good candidate for their University and I would dig myself out of this hole.  By the end of the week, I had 7 universities offering me positions in their winter semester.


Over dinner, Mom, Dad, and I would discuss what school was best suited for me and we decided upon the Madison campus of:

My Mom and Dad were pleased. I was thrilled and determined to regain their trust in me. I got my winter break back. At every opportunity, I traveled far and wide, still do.  I never did make the drive cross country but everyone needs a dream and that one isn't dead.


My plan had always been to transfer out of there to another school but something amazing happened at FDU, I found that when I got to choose the courses that interested me, I liked school after all. By the time I graduated, I was sad to leave school behind and would eventually return (much to the shock of my parents) to grad school.


ps.  While all of this was going on, I thought for sure, my best friend Tracy would be mad that I was bailing on our plan. Turns out, she was in the same host I was and found a different school and went to graduate, with honors, as a nurse.  Beauty school drop outs made good after all.

Beauty School Drop Out?

I hated school. I mean, I really hated school - from day one. In the first grade, I found out that pre-K and kindergarden weren't legally required.  At the end of the day, I stormed through the door and demanded to know why my Mom would send me to school before she legally had to. And my dislike of school grew from there. I had plenty of friends, liked my teachers, enjoyed school sports, did okay in my classes but for whatever reason, I never liked school.  As for my studies, if I could do minimal work and get a B or C, that was good enough for me - to the frustration of my parents. I studied with the radio on, did school readings while chatting on the phone with friends, and completed homework during the 5 minutes between classes.


Again, this frustrated my parents to no end, especially since Big Bro put in plenty of study time and excelled in class.  He was a great role model - scholar, athlete, social kid, in fact, he would have received the perfect attendance award in school if I hadn't begged him to play hooky senior year and take me skiing.  Meanwhile, I had zero interest in school and faked every illness to get out of going.


Similar to finding out that pre-K and kindergarten weren't legally required, the day came when I realized college wasn't grade 13 - it was a voluntary choice that cost a ton of money.  Well, I came home one day and declared, "college is a choice and I choose not to go."  To which my parents calmly my replied, "college is not a choice for you. You will go. We don't care what you get a degree in and we don't care what you ultimately decide to do for work but we will send you into the world debt free with a 4 year degree.  If you screw up your life after that, it is on you, not us. Period."  And that was that.


The time finally came for me to go to grade 13, err, college.  I decided on......

Why did I decide on URI? Was it because of the vast education opportunities? No. The tennis team I planned to play on? No. Was it because it is the unofficial state university of NJ as so many New Jersians go there? No. It was because it was close to the beach and a short drive to my beloved Cape Cod.  Also, my best friend, Tracy, was attending UMASS - Amherst, which wasn't too far so all in all, URI would do.


I was miserable at URI. My classes were too big for me. The campus was huge. Freshmen weren't allowed to have cars on campus (which foiled my beach and Cape Cod plans), my roommate actively practiced voodoo in our dorm room...the list goes on and on.  Every time I called my parents I would say, "I can't believe you are paying money for me to be in this prison." A bit dramatic, I know.  They told me to just gut out the first year and it would get better.


Lucky for me, Tracy was unhappy at UMASS so we would cut classes and chat on the phone all afternoon.  Or, we would hop on a train and meet up with one another.  Our favorite way to avoid school was to go to the Cape for extended weekends.  We would talk about what we would be doing if our parents hadn't forced us to get an advanced degree.  We always came up with driving cross country, no schedules, no set plans, just 2 girls in a car, living off the land wherever the road took us.  By the end of the fist semester, a plan was hatched.....we would withdraw from school, spend the holidays with our families, and then hit the open road for a year. That Christmas vacation, I packed up my car and headed to Mom and Dad's (to fill up on good food and tell them all about my exciting plan).........


Stay tuned........

I'm A Georgia Peach, Honest, I Am

Abraham and I met through work though our offices were an hour and a half apart. When we first started dating, we knew we could see each other on the weekends but it would be difficult to see each other during the week, unless.....Unless something happened near Abraham's office that required me to head out that way to do my job - be nice to people. Right from the get-go, I knew I really liked this guy but I had a little pit of fear that separation would not make the heart grow fonder. So, I hoped that I would have a reason to work out his way during the week - and soon.

Well, the stars aligned and something happened where someone needed me to be nice to them. It would take a couple of days of early mornings through late nights of being nice and my agency didn't want me driving back and forth so they approved me a hotel room. So, I called Abraham and told him I would be in the office mid week and if he was around, let's grab dinner. I was cool. I was hip. I wasn't rushing anything. I was scared crapless that he'd be like, "listen nutter butter, we had plans this weekend and now you are popping up at my office on Wednesday. Stalker...."

But no, Abraham sounded psyched and told me to meet him at the office when I was done and he would show me where the hotel was since it was in a fairly shady area. Also, he told me that we could do dinner whenever I was done woking, he'd wait for me and was looking forward to seeing me. The pit in my stomach turned to excited butterflies.


When my work was finished, I headed back to the office.  Abraham carried my bag as we walked over to the hotel.  As we walked, we chatted about what to have for dinner, our day, etc.  Knowing that I would be seeing Abraham, I had put a little effort into my look, skirt, nice top, cute little black kitten heels. I had actually done my hair and put on more makeup than the usual chap stick.  I was feeling pretty good.  My feet were a little sore from the heels but that is the price you pay for looking cute.  Abraham and I are making a plan for the evening, he said he'd wait in the lobby while I bring my bag up and then we will head out.  I am trying to be so cool and relaxed as I breezily toss my hair aside, look back over my shoulder and say, "see you in a few".  


That's when I feel it, something wet and gloppy coming over the tops of my cute open toed heels. And I feel like I am sinking.  What's going on? I see Abraham looking down and suppressing a smile.  That's when I look down and see that somehow, despite the caution tape, I have sauntered through a patch of fresh, wet cement.

Everyone in the lobby and the front desk is looking at me. All I can think to say is, "I bet y'all would never guess I'm a Southern Belle.  Born in Georgia.  This is the move of a Georgia Peach."  I did not make the South proud with that move!

The Griswolds - Jersey Style

So, if you don’t actually know my family by now, some of my previous blogs have given you a sense of the characters I’ve grown up among.

Our family is a creature of habit. If we find something we like, we stick with it. Food, clothes, car makers, vacation destinations. For 15 years, every April vacation, we would return to the same tropical destination. The resort staff knew us, knew where we liked to set up our chairs on the beach, that we like extra towels, that Big Bro is a surfer, I’m a beach reader, Mom is a people watcher, Dad a beach sleeper. When Big Bro got married, my sister-in-law got to join the routine. She’s a People magazine reader mixed in with a daily swim in the ocean kind of girl. We are all, end the beach day-in the hot tub-watching the sun set-while drinking mud slides, kind of people.

This story is before my nieces and nephew were on the scene and added extra entertainment on trips….

The five of us (yes, per usual, I was the odd woman out. The deal has always been that you couldn’t bring anyone on these trips unless you were married to the person. Even the year Big Bro and Sis-in-Law were engaged, Big Bro came without her) head off to the land of fruity drinks, tropical weather, and 3 meals a day eaten beachside. By day 3 of relaxing bliss, Big Bro decides he will go to the other side of the island and go surfing. He takes the rental and disappears for the day.

If you’re reading this, you know Big bro likes to push his luck and get that one last set in – even if it means being late for dinner. So, upon his return to the resort, we were all showered and ready to hit up dinner. He jumped in the shower, got dressed (my Dad impatiently waiting and regularly checking his watch – in matters of being on time – son is NOT like father). Off we rush to dinner where we have a lovely meal. Big Bro is a bit fidgety but really, that’s not that unusual.

What is unusual is that after dinner we are debating whether or not to go hang on the beach, read on the balcony, or maybe hit up the bar when Big Bro says he needs to get back to the room, something is wrong.

Naturally, we are a family of nosey bodies and follow hot on his heels. We huddle into the room and ask a hundred questions. Well, in the light of the room, we see he is covered in HUNDREDS of welts and he’s itching up a storm. Ewww….

Remember, it is late at night and we are in a foreign country. We call the front desk who connects us to an “on-call” doctor. Big Bro explains the welts, surfing, itching etc. The “doctor” says to meet him out front, he will have medication. He pulls up, takes $20 cash and hands over a bottle. Never looks at the spots. The bottle has a scull and cross bones on it and contains some milky liquid. Through his thick accent, he says to apply it to each spot and “wait for it to die”. To die? Huh? Wait for what to die?!?!? Ah, wait for the sea lice to die, he tells us.

We all freak as he explains it is common that time of year if you swim through seaweed to catch tropical sea lice (jellyfish larvae). Big Bro caught it on the far side of the island where there is lots of warmer waters with seaweed. Ewww, ewww, eww.

With the help of my saintly sis-in-law, Big Bro applies this stuff, to each of his hundreds of spots. The next day, he’s fine. It is like nothing happened...except for the fact that our family can’t help but to discuss it on the beach.

The sun is shining, sunscreen applied, steamy day, waves crashing, beach full of tourists like us – except we are Jersey loud. We are talk/screaming over the sound of the waves about Big Bro’s sea lice and Big Bro is saying how he doesn’t want to talk about it (sure he’ll be thrilled with this blog) because it grosses him out. My Mom then screams, loud and clear for all to hear, “you SHOULD be grossed out. Last night you had an ORGASM living and growing inside you. And then it died. An ORGASM!” As the entire beach looks in horror at us, my Dad calmly says, “I think you mean he had an ORGANISM living in him last night.”

Sound the Alarm

I lost my keys. I take pride in the fact that I don’t lose anything…not my wallet, not my jacket, not my hair ties, not my sunglasses, not my mind and certainly not my keys.

I need to get to work and can’t put my hands on my keys. Ugh! Abraham “misplaces” many things frequently, especially his keys, but luckily, I can usually find them for him. Of course, as I find his stuff for him, I heckle and ask where he left them while bragging how I never misplace anything. As a result, today he stands ready to arm our alarm with a smirk on his face asking if I’m ready yet. I'm frantic. A crazed loon looking in the same places, over and over again...coming up empty handed.

I fling the door open to retrace my steps from when I pulled in from work the night before. Maybe I left them in the mailbox as I gathered mail? I’m starting to lose my mind and this worries me as I never lose anything and in 1 morning I'm going to lose my keys and my mind!?!? Yikes.

But hold on....as the door flies open......I hear a jingle. It is my keys. They are hanging in the doorknob. I left them in the door. That’s right, all night my car and house keys hung in our door. I look up at Abraham, who is stifling a laugh and simply says, “see, you didn’t lose your keys, they were right where you left them.”

Touche.

Arctic Adventure

Recently, I had dinner with my nieces, nephew, and sister-in-law. I was complaining how cold it had become when Jess reminded me that it wasn’t “nearly as cold as our Artic Adventure” which reminded me of our fun trip…

As you may have read in previous blog posts, my sister-in-law and I took my nieces, Ella and Jess, to Sea World in Florida a few months ago. On our first day at the park, it poured rain. There was still a lot to see so we bought slickers and headed out anyway. It was nice because there were no lines anywhere and few people crazy enough to trudge through ankle deep puddles on a random Thursday but there we were. By mid afternoon, we needed to escape the downpour so we headed over to the Arctic Adventure exhibit.

Little Jess was just the right height to get onto the “helicopter” ride that would take us to the polar bears and ice hut. We explained the ride, and buckled in. The “pilot” told us to keep our items on our laps as it may be a bumpy ride. Jess commented, “I like keeping my backpack on my lap, better than when we flew in the plane down to Florida. This way, if I want to color on the trip, it is right here.” I started to think that maybe Jess didn’t understand the concept of this “helicopter” ride. I looked over at Ella who heard Jess’s comment, and being older and wiser, Ella shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes. The “helicopter” jolted us in our seats, tossed and turned. Jess whispered, “Is this bumpiness normal?” I explained that it was. “Oh good,” she says, “it is kind of fun.” People around us just smiled.

Then images of the frozen tundra started whirling by us on large screens and cool air swirled at our feet. Jess started to look around frantically. She questioned, “Do you think we will see Santa? I mean, I know he is really busy making toys but it would be neat to at least see him and his house.” Seriously, you can’t make this stuff up. To stinking cute.

Suddenly, the “helicopter” lands and Jess declares, “humph, I thought the trip to the North Pole would be longer than our trip to Florida. Who knew Santa lived so close?” People chucked and so did big sister Ella who whispered in my ear, “she doesn’t get that it’s not real but that’s ok.” Well bat-ear-Jess heard Ella declare the ride fake just as we stepped into the exhibit. Jess touched an iceberg and pointed at a large, very real polar bear, and argued, “oh yea, this is ice and that’s a polar bear. It could eat your head. That is for real?!?!”

No arguing with that logic.