Monday, Jul. 26, 2004 - 4:01 P.M.

What up.

Back from the beach and re-energized, renewed and rested. Ugh, right? Yeah, really? �Cause I�m none of those things. Well, except for back from the beach. Which sucks out loud. Hard.

There are a couple of things I learned while on vacay.

--Drivers, who would otherwise not even look at each other (save for giving the universal �you�re a dipshit� look and the similarly universal hand gesture signaling �fuck off�) while tooling around their home state, will wave pleasantly and honk heartily when spotting another driver from their home state while driving through a state they are visiting. Listen y�all, my husband has a case of road rage to be reckoned with and even he, this man who shouts at drivers regularly, �Hey! Dickhead! Learn how to drive� or �You stupid son-of-a-bitch, jackleg. A blinker would�ve been nice. Prick,� gave a wave of his hand to other drivers of cars with Tennessee plates as we passed through both Georgia and South Carolina. It was bizarre. I started to wonder if pod people had gotten him. Then, someone pulled out in front of us. Yes, there's the man I love.

--My stressing and kvetching about how the long 11 hour drive was going to go with a two year old in tow was all for naught. In the end it was the two 14 year olds who bitched, moaned, groaned, complained and stank up the place. And by stank up the place I mean, have you ever been in a car with two 14-year-old boys who love potty humor and have just eaten a Mexican meal the size of Montana? Stank. Up. The. Place. Yo.

--If you listen (or, in my case, are forced to listen) to Garth Brooks� song �Two Pi�a Coladas� repeatedly, you will inevitably come to believe that having one of said adult beverage in each hand (as the song suggest) is not only a great idea but also practical for consumption purposes and practically a beach house mandate. The resulting hangover will soon slide into more of a constant catatonic state complete with pounding headache that only more alcohol will abate. Subsequently, you will find yourself wishing for death, sweet death. Or, more two-fisted Pi�a Coladas.

--Spending time with your children is overrated. Okay, mothers of America, don�t send me e-mail. Don�t unite against me. Channel that energy and hatred instead toward the writers of middle-school math books. After spending 9 days with my kids, particularly the 2 year old for whom only mommy can do anything, I was ready to kill myself. Or them. Perhaps this explains the Pi�a Coladas and not Garth Brooks? Interesting. Nonetheless, by Friday I felt as if I needed to call a 1-800 number and speak to a counselor.

I would have too. But I didn�t have a free hand.

You Give Me Fervor - Friday, Feb. 17, 2006
Revamped Sex Camp - Thursday, Jan. 26, 2006
I'm Not Dead - Tuesday, Jan. 10, 2006
Ebert And Roeper? Watch Your Backs. - Tuesday, Nov. 29, 2005
Coffee? Tea? Map? - Monday, Nov. 07, 2005

� Purplecigar

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