I definitely finished out the old year and jumped right into the new in the true spirit of this blog: I went to my parents' house and did not write a thing for close to a month.
A month! I don't even know if I know how to write anymore. What is this thing I am banging on with my fingers? A keyboard? What IS that?
Instead of writing, I ate. And ate and ate and ate meat and bread and banana pudding and candy and chicken salad and cheese, all topped off with beer, wine and eggnog. Bad decisions, to be sure. I think I gave myself gout. I definitely gave myself a stomachache, and, like a truly crazy person, refused to learn from my gourmet mistakes, instead making new ones every day.
Even on the ride home - a bad decision all on its own, for reasons I will describe shortly - I could not tame the eating beast that I had cultivated throughout my ill-deserved vacation. We ate at Sonic (bacon cheeseburger AND chocolate cream pie shake), then we ate at Wendy's, then we ate beef jerky and sour patch kids and Pepsi. And we didn't move for 20 hours.
Yes, twenty. Being the incredibly wise and forward-thinking people that we are, we (Gerard, the dog and I) decided about half-way through our trip that we were not going to stop in DC, as planned, but, instead, would drive all the way to New Jersey in one crazy road adventure.
This was stupid on two, maybe three, counts:
1) Not stopping in DC meant we would not get to see the lovely Alejandro, who I had just called the day before to drop the last-minute bomb that we would be invading his house. I had to call him back and even-more-last-minute cancel, probably ruining his plans for the evening and being an all-around terrible friend.
2) Twenty hours is long and exhausting for even the most well-rested and alert of drivers. We were not well-rested and alert. We had gone to a wine-tasting/ridiculous-fest with my family the night before and were driving on 6.5 hours of sleep and the slowly dissipating remnants of 6 glasses of wine in our bellies.
3) Snow happened. AGAIN. "The blizzard of '09" struck the night before I was supposed to ship out of New Jersey to get home, and even after having to shovel myself out of a driveway and make my first attempt at snow-driving alone, I did not learn to plan my travel around the weather. Just after passing DC (where we could have stopped!) on the drive home, the snow showers started up. We had to make he rest of the trip puttering along below the speed limit, unable to see more than a few feet in front of us.
We made it home (well, to NJ) at 3:45 AM.
We are now back in Brooklyn, where our new year will really get up and running. School starts back in a few days (Monday for Gerard, the next week for me), I go back to the admissions office tomorrow, I have faith that one day I will actually get assigned to teach a Kaplan class, and the great "stop Lauren from eating so much" experiment will begin. I feel that this year will give me much to write about, especially once I begin my student teaching in February. Stay tuned.
Showing posts with label vacation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vacation. Show all posts
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Saturday, August 29, 2009
The last hurrah
We went on a week-long camping trip last week -- my last paid vacation time before unemployment and permanent, unpaid loafing commences.
It started out well -- equipped with a GPS system, fully-stocked iPod and 5 pound bag of Sourpatch Kids riding shotgun, Gerard, the dog and I cruised up to Maine in just over the time estimated by the good folks at Garmin International. We were staying at my aunt's, in neighborhood a cross between the middle of nowhere and luxury golf community -- the type of place where people never lock their mansion doors.
The idyllic atmosphere did not keep a local villain from robbing us the night before we left. The Garmin and fully-stocked iPod were no longer ours, although the thief had kindly left the complementing plugs, our stereo, my purse and everything else we owned.
Bummed out, but not deterred, we set out for Acadia with borrowed maps and some Google directions, which kept us in line during that quick, two-hour trip. A few days later, when we left on an estimated 6 hour drive for Vermont, things did not go so smoothly.
The robbery really did us in on this leg of the trip. The missing iPod was bad enough, as it forced us to choose between 8 country music stations (in Maine? Yes.) and Rush Limbaugh for most of the trip. The missing Garmin was simply disastrous. Thanks to horrible Google directions, we started off going about an hour in the wrong direction. Google had, you see, mistaken route 1 for route 1A. And once we actually did get into Vermont, Google pretty much gave up on us. The instructions to the campsite were along the lines of, "Go over a mountain, or something, and, uh, you should see it."
If Google has enough satellite power to practically peer into my windows, how can it possibly not know where Vermont is in relation to the Maine coast? Why, when we have done our due diligence and printed out Google directions before embarking, should we have to rely on our wits, AAA maps and the vague instructions of a convenience store owner?
It is a main peeve of mine when things do not accomplish the one objective for which they are designed. Google's failure to get us where we needed to be was akin to the Mets' utter inability to win baseball games or Comedy Central's strong aversion to comedy. Shoot, I can get you lost or strike out or make bad jokes for half of what these frequent offenders are making. Especially if you pay me in Garmins.
It started out well -- equipped with a GPS system, fully-stocked iPod and 5 pound bag of Sourpatch Kids riding shotgun, Gerard, the dog and I cruised up to Maine in just over the time estimated by the good folks at Garmin International. We were staying at my aunt's, in neighborhood a cross between the middle of nowhere and luxury golf community -- the type of place where people never lock their mansion doors.
The idyllic atmosphere did not keep a local villain from robbing us the night before we left. The Garmin and fully-stocked iPod were no longer ours, although the thief had kindly left the complementing plugs, our stereo, my purse and everything else we owned.
Bummed out, but not deterred, we set out for Acadia with borrowed maps and some Google directions, which kept us in line during that quick, two-hour trip. A few days later, when we left on an estimated 6 hour drive for Vermont, things did not go so smoothly.
The robbery really did us in on this leg of the trip. The missing iPod was bad enough, as it forced us to choose between 8 country music stations (in Maine? Yes.) and Rush Limbaugh for most of the trip. The missing Garmin was simply disastrous. Thanks to horrible Google directions, we started off going about an hour in the wrong direction. Google had, you see, mistaken route 1 for route 1A. And once we actually did get into Vermont, Google pretty much gave up on us. The instructions to the campsite were along the lines of, "Go over a mountain, or something, and, uh, you should see it."
If Google has enough satellite power to practically peer into my windows, how can it possibly not know where Vermont is in relation to the Maine coast? Why, when we have done our due diligence and printed out Google directions before embarking, should we have to rely on our wits, AAA maps and the vague instructions of a convenience store owner?
It is a main peeve of mine when things do not accomplish the one objective for which they are designed. Google's failure to get us where we needed to be was akin to the Mets' utter inability to win baseball games or Comedy Central's strong aversion to comedy. Shoot, I can get you lost or strike out or make bad jokes for half of what these frequent offenders are making. Especially if you pay me in Garmins.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)