Vacation - Day Four

I suppose a vacation has its ebbs and flows like any other seven day period.  And if this was the "ebb", it certainly could have been much, much worse.

Rosie was nice enough to let me sleep until nine.  This is an added perk of finishing nearly every night in the pool: not only is she asleep within seconds of hitting the pillow (after her second shower of the day, of course), she will generally sleep much later than her typical schedule.  That's not to say that her waking-up routine is any different, and typically involves jumping on my stomach or poking me in the face.  Both are effective, although I prefer the latter, since my face is far less burnt.

Typical continental breakfast fare, and then off to the pool.  I think we've taken a step from "redundancy" to "repetitiveness".  The only thing that separates this afternoon from the others is what swimsuit she's wearing.  Oh, and today was the day that the hotel decided "eh, nobody really NEEDS towels."  It was in the 90s by noon, so drying off was more of a natural affair, and probably as expeditious as toweling off, anyway.

I ended up checking work e-mail for the first time since Tuesday (I held out as long as I could), and celebrated by taking a long nap.  I realize that recapping today can lead to furious bouts of jealousy, and I'm sorry (also, I'm not sorry).

Dinner was at the Bread Box, the kind of place Dad seeks out to feel like less of a tourist.  It was in an efficiency size shack just in front of a strip mall (turns out TJ Maxx has a "home decor only" store, at least in Virginia).  I had a grilled salmon with roasted potatoes, all covered in a spinach cream sauce...and it was all amazing.  Amazing.

On the way home I dropped off the parents and took Rosie to the Candy Kitchen (another staple of coastal cities everywhere), and she's now the proud owner of a gigantic candy necklace and an equally gigantic lollipop.  Since it was raining we headed to Jody's for popcorn (this is faulty logic, and more of a flimsy excuse to just pick up a bunch of junk food), where they suckered me in.  "You know, if you buy one MORE bag, you get another free!"  OH REALLY?  THAT SOUNDS GOOD TO ME.

Still raining, and Rosie's halfway through three feet of necklace (and semi-upset that I'm not letting her finish the whole thing).  Time to break out the board games, and maybe fall asleep to Archer.  Halfway through season four...and I can say with certainty that Krieger is my favorite character...of any show.

Dearth of pictures.  Sue me.  The average settlement is $6200.

Rosie-assisted selfie.  This doesn't look like me.  Does it?  I guess it has to.

At dinner. Rosie's taking a break from her horribly specific game of I Spy.

CANDY.  CANDYYYYYYY.

Vacation - Day Three

There's a repetitiveness to this vacation that does not upset me in the least.  More swimming at the pool?  More crashing into Atlantic Ocean waves?  More beer?  I think I can manage.

I had a 25 minute conversation with a girl at the pool.  It started with her asking me what I was smoking (I may never stop smoking Marlboro Blacks, as it appears to be an instant conversation starter...what on earth are those?  Are they harsher?).  It ended with her telling me that she's twenty.  It was...uncomfortable, for me at least, and it took a lot of energy to not say "you know...I have a stepson just about your age..."  The worst part is that she's saying at this hotel, which practically guarantees future uncomfortable moments...for me, at least (redundancy intentional).  She has no idea how old I am, unless she noticed the grey hair and the daughter and realized that hey...he's certainly someone I would call "sir" in a myriad of other circumstances.

Chix for dinner, which is the restaurant attached to this hotel.  Their specialty seems to be "take shrimp and crab and add it to something else."  So after the shrimp and crab nachos I had the shrimp and crab macaroni and cheese, along with some local beer, which was pretty damn tasty, despite the waitress explaining that it's "kind of hoppy".  Yeah, I'm that weirdo that doesn't like hops.  Then again, I'm that weirdo that will drink a glass of cider or ten.

Went to Starbucks afterwards for coffee, while Rosie had her first make-your-own-frozen-yogurt-sundae experience.  It was in an upscale neighborhood, which almost made me feel bad about chasing her up and down the sidewalk after she accused me of "wanting to kiss a mermaid".  I don't know why that upset me (it didn't, but I needed an excuse to burn calories after dinner).

Nothing to do with vacation, but this text conversation actually occurred.  I think I'm in a sitcom.

"How's the night going?"
"Drunk and eating frozen yogurt."
"I can't find my phone."
"I...don't understand the problem."
"They said don't leave my phone at the bar, but I can't find it."
"What are you using to text me?"
"My phone.  Duh."
"Okay!  Problem solved!"

More nightswimming (deserves a quiet night), and maybe some solo karaoke still on the docket for the day.

I hope one day I become an epitath on a bench.

Nice pier.  Walking on it tomorrow.

Rosie and Papi heading back to the hotel.  Softies.

Rosie's less scared of the waves now...and more obstinate.

Long day, maybe?

"Dad? Smile!"  "I am smiling."  "...oh..." 

The Chix band covered LMFAO, so naturally Rosie had to dance.

And there's the band's asses.

Vacation - Day Two

I slept until 8:00.  8!  Those that know me know that this is a celebratory event, and I celebrated with yogurt and oatmeal at the continental breakfast (along with coffee almost too weak to even be mentioned).

Rosalie may as well sleep in a bathing suit.  I'm not sure she even managed to swallow her breakfast before she ran out to the pool and dove in.  I'm not sure if she is just remarkably friendly or if kids tend to gravitate towards other kids (or some combination), but she got out of the pool an hour later knowing the name of ANY child that was in that pool with her.  This gave her extra guilt ammunition when we packed for the beach.  "But I bet Cory's still swimming!"  "Can we stop and see if Clara is still in the pool?"

Despite yesterday's thunderstorm the waves have been pretty mild.  Every 10th or 11th was one that had the potential to knock Rosie on her ass, and when one did Dad and I inhaled sharply, worried that this would be the wave that sent her screaming back to the hotel.  But instead she laughed like a maniac and screamed "DO IT AGAIN!", as if we had control over these forces of nature.

I am kind of a wiener about ocean wildlife.  Cloudy water or mirage-esque movement leads me to believe that I'm about to get stung by a manta ray (although I believe they stick to tropical waters) or piranhas (which I believe stick to rivers).  But I have to put aside my admittedly ridiculous terrors for Rosie, because that's probably not a fear worth perpetuating.

Rosie ran from the beach back into the pool, and as I showered off the sand, that's when I realized that my back was toasted.  If you know me, you know that shirts are generally mandatory attire, and I am very proficient in cultivating a farmer's tan.  But as most of my torso and back has not been exposed to sunlight for quite some time, it retaliated by turning a nice strawberry red.  I am guessing this is not the kind of burn that fades into a tan, so I will probably do this at least a few more times to myself...because I'm so smart.

Dinner was at Waterman's, a place I picked out thanks to googling "best seafood Virginia Beach", and skipping over the white tablecloth establishments.  Ate some crab dip and a broiled mix of shrimp, crab meat, and scallops.  In addition to being delicious, Waterman's declares that all of their seafood comes from sustainable fishing, which was nice, although somewhat dubious.  Then again I know little about those sorts of things, so I guess I hope that they're true to their word.

After dinner the folks sat on a bench and people-watched while Rosie and I went to the fair, which was exactly the waste of money I had envisioned.  We rode a ferris wheel and she rode one of the kid-sized rides, and then I blew $10 on games, both of which I won.  So for $30 she got two rides, a stuffed frog (who she named Grass, for whatever reason), and one of those fiberglass light thingies.  Dessert was custard at Kohr's...a staple of east coast beaches, I think (or at least they have them at Ocean City, too).

Just got out of the pool for the second time.  That's a pretty great way to end a vacation day.  And fun to brag about!

END CARTOON OBSCENITIES!!!!

Selfie as proof that I do shave on vacation.

 Blurry Rosie on a ferris wheel (girl does not sit still).

The city from the top.

I need to get her some less embarrassing goggles.

Her first impression of a wave coming at her.

If you look closely...

Happy.

Vacation - Day One

We had successfully convinced Dad that leaving at 4:00 in the morning was pointless.  The closing argument centered around check-in time at the hotel, and how leaving hours before the sun went up would leave us homeless in Virginia Beach for a few hours.

Breezewood is far too pleasant a name for the state's largest truck stop.  It was breezy, though.  I'll give it that.  We arrived at Bob Evans just as a bus of (I believe) senior citizen casino-goers entered the restaurant. Our service was spotty.  The iced coffee was disappointing.  Dad took over driving until we made it through D.C....I think.  I slept through all of it.

The hotel room is unremarkable, with the exception of a rather large mini-fridge (semi-oxymoron intentional), but it is the only hotel in the city that has an oceanside swimming pool.  I like that I could wake up in the morning and walk 10 feet from my patio door and fall into a pool.

After a thunderstorm finally coaxed Rosalie out of the pool we settled on Shorebreak for dinner, a sports bar that touts the "best pizza in Virginia Beach."  I didn't eat any of the pizza.  Pretty good french fries, though.  And Stella and Leinenkugel on tap.

All in all a pretty low-key first day, but I'm sure nine hours in a car left little room for a fun-filled afternoon.  I am exhausted, and looking forward to sleeping in (which will likely mean waking up at 7:30 instead of 7, because I'm bananas).

The shoreline, pre-thunderstorm.

Rainbow!

How Rosie spent most of our road trip.

Who needs to take selfies when you have a daughter that steals your phone?

Oh well, whoosh.

Crickets...no...a cricket...chirping away from the hedge outside of my house.  It reminds me of my childhood home.  The noise was deafening back then, especially in the summer, with the windows open and praying for a breeze.  I would stay up late and silently beg for it to stop.  Now, it's nostalgic.  Now, it's all cars that I wish were crickets.

My parents came home late tonight, long after Rosalie had gone to sleep.  As they staggered up the sidewalk I feigned worry and said and just where have you two been?  They were playing bridge.  All day.  Dad waxed poetic about Subway's breakfast options.  Mom insisted that they haven't been drinking.  They live with me, now.  A combination of financial and familial needs.  It's only been a few weeks, but it was strange to have the house so empty.

My thigh has been bothering me for weeks.  One of the many effects of being a relatively old person playing an absolutely young person's game.  It's felt like a bruise...so tender that I would wince when sitting down and my car keys would press into it.  But it did not look like a bruise.  It didn't look like anything.  Today, some purple patches have sprouted, and I can finally take my pants off and yell at people.  YOU SEE?  I WASN'T LYING!  I won't point at the bruise, though.  I'll let them decide what I wasn't lying about as they stare at my tan-less legs.  Drooling, no doubt.  My knee, despite only a very small tender spot, looks like I had sawed off my leg at the joint and then glued it back together.  If I show my leg to Mom she will probably drug me and then drive me to the hospital.  And where's the fun in that?

I am down 72 pounds since Thanksgiving.  The jeans I had bought when I hit the 50 pound mark are loose.  None of my shirts bulge in the middle when I sit down.  I might actually buy clothes from Target this weekend (and if you were never big and/or tall, you may not realize how pleasing that thought may be...unless you hate Target).  If I had to give a piece of unsolicited advice, it's this: drink water.  Water is your friend.  And try not to spend a lot of time indoors, where I tend to turn eating into an activity to pass the time.

I still smoke too much, and it seems like the solution to that is going to be to not have any money to buy cigarettes.  I'd like to thank AAA, for leveraging supply-and-demand economic theories to charge nearly double their typical cost to renew a membership if you call them on a phone with a service request.  I'd also like to thank my car for draining the battery with various sensors that not only failed, but somehow sapped up all of the electricity while failing, just to twist the knife, I suppose.  I'd like to thank the mechanic, who re-charged the battery but failed to test it and discover that some of the cells were ruined.  And I'd like to thank Auto Zone, for installing my new battery for free, but gouging me on the price.  I'd like to think some other ridiculous series of events wouldn't happen again soon, but ridiculousness follows me around like a shadow.

This summer is going to pass without a single road trip.  It's imminent.  I want to drink whiskey in a dive bar in the middle of nowhere.  I want to go somewhere where my brain would play Three Dog Night constantly. I want my cell phone to be useless.  I want to sit on a rock near a river, with a notebook and a banana.  I want my shoulders to stop aching.  I want to roll down the windows and sing songs to the highway.  I want to be alone with someone.

The drunk people that walk up my street always think they're alone.  They yell and laugh and act stupid.  And they must sense me in the peripheral...that weird notion that somebody's looking right at me.  And they fall silent.  After that, I don't hear a peep until they're far down the block.  A few of them don't care.  One out of ten, maybe, will stare straight at me and bellow whatever song they were singing, or cheerfully greet me, or ask me a question that has something to do with the conversation I was never part of.  "Why are guys so shallow?" or "This one knows what I'm talking about, don't you?"  I do.  Sure.

After dinner, Rosalie took off her shoes to play on the sidewalk.  She grabbed a water noodle from the pile of beach toys Mom had brought up in anticipation for the beach, and led an imaginary cavalry up and down the street.  It was her army against the water from our neighbor's sprinkler.  I think it ended in a stalemate.

59 e-mails left in my work inbox.  They can all wait, but I don't think I'll let them.