Jul
19

Staycation All I Ever Wanted.

Four years ago today, I posted a faux interview with Barbara Walters, my very first entry. I am entering my fifth year of inchoate navel gazing, here at Flotsam. It frankly astounds me that I have managed to keep it up this long, my work ethic being what it isn’t, and I was so impressed with myself that Scott and I celebrated with a mini vacation.

Well, that’s not precisely true. We happened to have a free night at an unbearably fancy hotel downtown, thanks to our March of for Babies fundraising. And my mother happened to be visiting. And Saturday she happened to be available to watch Simone.

So there is really no connection at all between our vacation and this website’s birthday, but segues are hard, and I am tired, so let’s pretend.
Sky
ViewScott
It was wonderful. My proposal went out to editors on Thursday, and if ever I needed relaxation, well…YES. The bed, besides being luxuriously baby free, was fluffy and strewn with fat down pillows, and I somehow slept until 9:00 this morning, which I haven’t done in maybe a year or two. And I could have kept going! Why, I am pretty sure that if I’d put my mind to it, I could still be asleep right now.

But gracious, hotels are expensive. We ate as frugally as possible from the room service menu—two grilled cheese sandwiches, one lobster bisque, one glass wine, one soda—and dinner still totaled $70. I had toyed with the idea of a cocktail, but I was pretty sure my credit score wasn’t high enough. Granted, the grilled cheese sandwiches had ancient cheddar, tomato jam, and truffle honey, but still, it was grilled cheese. I would hate to see what they charge for fishsticks.

The minibar was sorely tempting, and if the prices had been less shocking I would have snatched up an adorable miniaturized bottle of something to take home. Less adorable and more…bizarre, were the two “intimacy kits” available for purchase, one of which came in a plastic case the size of a credit card emblazoned with the phrase “INTIMACY KIT” and containing, along with condoms and lube, “two obstetrical towelettes.” (Obstetrical, no less!) The second kit, according to the price list, was in fact a “Female Intimacy Kit,” (emphasis mine), and comprised condoms, lubrication, and a small, stoutly phallic vibrator, all zippered up in a palm sized nylon box. I had no idea.

Also bizarre, but delightfully so, was the program guide on the gigantic television. After the title of each movie or show was a short description, and by short, I mean about two words. We found these endlessly amusing, and when I finally managed to stop gasping with laughter, I decided I would like to be the person whose job it is to think these up.

Here is Fight Club:
Men Foment Anarchy

And an episode of House:
House
(In the above you will also notice that My Big Fat Greek Wedding is described simply as “Family Upset.”)

Others included “Pollock: Troubled painter,” “Terms of Endearment: Mother and daughter,” and my favorite:
Meet the Flintstones

Now I feel refreshed, and full of zeal, or zest, or something with a “z” that means “ready to make a whole lot of lists and maybe clean out a drawer or two.” I must finish unpacking the suitcase from my trip to Switzerland (yes, the one I took in early May), so that I can pack it for BlogHer, which is only four days from now. I ought to do laundry, and attempt to get the stain out of my favorite shirt. In the morning Simone goes back to the ophthalmologist, where I shall try valiantly to distract the doctor from the bite marks all over my baby’s lenses. I get my hair cut on Wednesday, and Simone has an appointment with the pediatrician for her S-H-O-T-S. And, of course, I have a lot of book-related pacing and fretting to do.
A busy week all around.

By Alexa | Posted in Ceci N'est Pas Une Ecrivaine |