Day in the Life: June 2008 Archives

Or, things I learned while spending 3 days with Hublet, The Boy, a gaggle of teenage girls (and one poor teenage boy).

• Never let a six-year-old apply your sunscreen.
• Teenagers have no concept of "refills of anything other than iced tea aren't free."  Yeah, that'll be $10.  Hope the 4 glasses of cranberry juice you just had to have were really tasty!
• Teenagers have no concept of how much a nice dinner should actually cost, unless they are excessively wealthy teenagers, in which case they have no concept of the kind of financial burden a $30 entree' for one dinner can be for some of their friends.
• Pursuant to the above, teenagers don't understand how completely inappropriate it is to go to a restaurant with $30 entrees--a restaurant which you selected and begged to go to, btw--and order off the children's menu.  (Sorry, waiter-dude!  At least the little twits tipped appropriately!  You're welcome.)
• Pursuant to pursuant to the above, when dining out with 15 people, the majority of whom are adolescents, Pizza Inn is a totally awesome option, and one that we will take advantage of in the future.
• The only thing more annoying than clique-y teenage girls is clique-y teenage girls who deny that they're being clique-y.
• Also?  I don't have a lot of patience with the pudgy outcast goth wannabes who marginalize themselves.  Repeatedly. On purpose.  And then sulk about it. (You know, I tried to be sympathetic - I remember what it was like to be self-conscious when you were stuck in the middle of a clique you didn't belong to, and I know all about the sort of aggressive overcompensation that can occur in that situation.  And no, it's not fun to be stuck chatting with the totally uncool grownups instead of the other girls.  BUT.  With the exception of one stupid little girl (see next bullet point), the girls in this group were totally willing to be social and try to get along with each other--and not in that irritating faux way that they think adults can't see through.  If Miss Thang, Goth Edition, doesn't learn how to meet these folks halfway, it's gonna be a long damn year.  For her, anyway. Here endeth the sermon.)
• Nor do I have a lot of patience with mean girl wannabes who try to spar verbally with Hublet.  That means you, blondie.
• It's called an ITINERARY.  And next year, if I am forced on this trip, there will BY GOD BE ONE.
• By the same token, they're called ROOM ASSIGNMENTS.  And RIDE ASSIGNMENTS.  And only an Act of God will change either one.
• I am so happy to be turning 40 this year you have no idea.
• The chance of a six-year-old coming down with some random illness is directly proportional to how much he's looking forward to a particular trip.

Well, that about covers it.  Except to say that after I arrived home yesterday I made a brief jaunt to the ABC store, where I procured a large bottle of Gray Goose vodka.  I may even mix it with other liquids!

UPDATE:  Want Hublet's take on the trip? It's here, and I'll bet you can guess which quote is mine pretty easily...

This is a refreshing change from the usual "gold toilet and private islands" school of "how to use up cash when you've got more money than God."

Seriously, how cool would it be to grow up in a home with adventure puzzles built in? 

Check out the slideshow.

We're back from Boston, which was a lot of fun and involved more excellent Italian food than Giada DeLaurentis can shake her stick-like arms at.

Plus we survived a canceled flight, the almost-loss of one Knuffle Bunny on a rainswept tarmac, and a metric ton of baby vomit (and its attendant aroma) while trapped inside the plane on the flight back.

I am still tired, and next week Hublet, The Boy and I will be accompanying 16 15-year-old girls to the beach for three days.

Anyone got some good "girly drink" recipes to share?  Red wine will not be strong enough to aid my recovery from these trips...

Strolling down the avenue....

I've complained previously and at length about my damn stupid sinuses and their odd tendency to freak out for no reason and condemn me to an endless cycle of snot, and Sudafed, and probably an eventual appearance on Cops for the over-purchase of said Sudafed in my attempt to gain appropriately sinus-quelling quantities.

And while the Sudafed Diet Plan is an effective one--i.e., if you're on speed and can't taste anything, you tend not to eat much and the extra twitchiness burns more calories--the dreams that come out of the Sudafed haze are not exactly restful.

Take last night as an example.  Apparently, the university had decided to send me to England to cover a policy speech by some wonky minister of the economy.  No, I have no experience in this field, nor do I have even a passing interest.  Such are the wages of Sudafed.

Anyhoo, off I went to England, to this brick building that seemed part renovated theatre, part classroom building, and part Jane Austen townhome.  I had my trusty digital recorder, but I had no "proper media credentials."  Also, I had no pants.

So there I was, clad only in underpants and my Davidson Elite 8 commemmorative t-shirt, trying desperately to "blend" with the Business Casual crowd by sitting demurely in a flowered wingback chair.  No, I don't know either.  Then I realized I had lost my digital recorder outside, whereupon a truly epic Battle Against Architecture ensued as I clambered down ladders to nowhere and navigated strange metal railings in an attempt to get outside.  I finally made it outdoors, and spent a lot of time squishing barefooted across the soggy lawn in the quest to find my recorder.  Finally, Posh Spice showed up and pointed it out to me.  Again, I have no idea.

Recorder in hand, I attempted to regain entry, only to be forced into the equivalent of a green room where I could only sit, soggy and pantsless, and watch the wonky economic minister's announcement on TV. 

Then I woke up.  I hate my sinuses.