How Not to Take a Vacation

So between preparing for a new job, closing out the old one, trying to find an apartment, and quickly moving out of my old one, it was pretty much the worst time ever to take a vacation. But, seeing as the Family Shep had committed to a week visiting Dad's relatives in Maine, and seeing as this would probably be my last chance at some time off for a while, we forged ahead. It was suggested that the time away may be good for me, as I'd have a chance to chill for a bit.

This was an incorrect assessment.

You see, we never actually signed the lease for the apartment before I fled NYC for New England. Nor did we attend to little things like movers, and notifying my old apartment. So all of this had to be done from Grammy Shep's Internet-free house. This involved a lot of overnight deliveries, a lot of imposing on more tech-savvy cousins for printer use, and a lot of trips to the Augusta Staples business center, which happily and unexpectedly featured some choice Britpop and indie music on the P.A. That made things a little better. But really, if you spend the bulk of your vacation like this, you're doing it wrong.

But we did get a few Maine-type activities in, including two days lakeside where I thought it would be a good idea to hoist myself up on a rope swing over the water, and also be towed by a motorboat. And it was a GREAT idea, right up until I realized that these things take a tremendous toll on your upper body, which you happen to use a lot when you're packing and moving. So now, I kinda wanna just marinate in BenGay. That would sound pretty good. And pepperminty. We also ate lobstah. Twice. Including once in a casserole that combined both lobster and Cheez-Its, which are universally acknowledged as being two of the greatest things on earth.

So now I'm back, and getting about fours of sleep a night, and theoretically will be out of DC come Sunday. This is all subject to change of course. Really, after the craparama spectacular that was the first part of 2009, I'm still waiting for something to go horribly wrong and someone to say that there's been a big misunderstanding, and I'm actually going to be stuck in DC with terrible credit for all time. Can't be helped. Disaster's my default position these days. I'll be convinced once I'm actually situated in the new digs.

I'll leave you with some borderline tedious footage of water sports at Lake Porter. The scenery's sure pretty, and there's incidental lingering shots of my posterior in a modest, family-friendly one-piece bathing suit, if that does anything for you. En. Joy.