are things complicated yet?

Cancun Adventure Part Three: It's the sort of thing that always looks a little tacky, no matter where you hang it

After a day and a half in the pool we decided to mix things up and go deep sea fishing.  We picked it for two solid reasons:

• Chris likes to fish
• A trip to the Mayan ruins sounded terribly boring

We were going to share a boat with 4 other people and we were supposed to be in the lobby at 630 am for the tour company to pick us up.  We were in the lobby at 620, but that didn't do us any good since they never showed up.  At 715 am the concierge called them to see what had happened.

It was pretty clear that we'd been forgotten about and that the boat probably left without us.  They end up sending a taxi and then, much to our delight, giving us our own boat with nobody else on it.  This is pretty cool since a private charter normally runs several hundred dollars an hour and we still only had to pay the shared rate.  (Which was considerably less than several hundred dollars.)  SCORE!

At 745 we hit the water.  It's already hot and muggy and the camera fogs up when we turn it on.

The great part was we didn't actually have to do any of the dirty work.  We had a crew for that.

This is Martin.  He drives the boat and hollers at the other boats on the radio.  As far as I can tell, that's all he does.

This is Luis.  Luis pretty much works his ass off the whole 6 hours we're on the boat.  He puts all the lines out, takes care of the icky bait and takes the fish off the line after we reel them in so I don't have to touch them.  Luis doesn't wear shoes even though there's a big knife and a lot of sharp, poky fish hooks on the deck.

(Also, we were not given a safety briefing before we left the dock.  They just told us where the cooler with the beer was.  I tried not to think about if there were even ANY life vests on board.  Ah, Mexico!)

Anyway, for a while it's pretty boring.  We're just tooling around, it's godawful hot, the sun is beating down and the the fumes from the exhaust are starting to make me ill.  Luis is busy putting out lines and we've got 3 or 4 sticking out the back of the boat.

Here is Luis working hard while I sit and take pictures of myself. 

After a while, I start to wonder if we're ever going to catch ANYTHING.  I mean, there's totally a possibility that we drive around for 6 hours and catch NOTHING.  It could happen.  I tell Chris there is NO WAY I can do this for 6 hours and we might have to go back early.  I am starting to think that fishing really IS as boring as I thought and that Chris was lying when he told me it can be "pretty exciting."  2 hours in and this is the exact OPPOSITE of exciting.

Finally, Luis starts messing with one of the lines and then declares that we've got something.  He hands the rod to Chris and he starts reeling it in.  To my complete surprise, I'm getting kind of excited.  It's sort of like a grab bag - what will be on the other end?  I don't know!  IT'S A SURPRISE!!!  SQUEE!!!

My excitement turned to horror though when Luis just freaking STABBED our grab bag fish with a giant hook.

He did it as easily as you stick a toothpick in a cube of cheese.  POKE.  Then he threw the fish in a cooler where it flopped around NOISILY until it perished all the way.  He also dumped a bucket of seawater on the deck to wash away the blood.  It was beyond unsettling.  (But really, how do you humanely kill a fish?  Do you pop him in the head?  What's the correct protocol here?  Clearly, I've never been fishing where you KEEP the fish.)

Before getting on the boat, nobody really told us what happens to the fish we catch.  The brochure said they'd filet them for us if we wanted to take them to our hotel and grill 'em up.  But since we didn't want to do that they never said what might happen instead.  I sort of assumed this would be a catch and release type of deal since that would obviously be the responsible thing to do.

Um, not so much.

After the tuna stops flopping around in the cooler and making it jump and shift in a really gruesome way, things start to happen that make me forget about the poor stabbed fish in the cooler.  Luis is messing with the first line and he says there's something "really big" on it.  I thought the first fish we caught was pretty freaking big so I'm curious what he means by this.

It doesn't take long to find out.  Luis and Martin practically explode with glee when they see a sailfish dance out of the water.  It's pretty exciting and we're all hollering when it jumps up because really, it's pretty impressive.  They start asking immediately if we are going to mount it.

"It's very rare! Very lucky! Not every day!!"

All Chris and I can think is,

"Where the F would we put a 7-foot stuffed fish in our house? There is NO SITUATION where that does not come off as the most gaudy thing in the world. NONE."

Luis and Martin tell us that it costs about $1,500 to stuff it.  YES, ONE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED AMERICAN DOLLARS.  FOR REAL. 

But on the other hand, this is pretty cool.  I mean, it's a really rare thing!  Some guys fish their whole lives and never catch one of these!  Maybe we should?  We could put it....um....somewhere that we have 6 empty feet of wall?  Like in our bedroom?  And it would look...totally and incredibly tacky this is stupid no no no we are not going to take this stupid fish home.  Luis and Martin, that is our final answer.  No.

I just sort of assumed that since we didn't want to take him home, and that since we would not be putting him in the cooler to die alongside the tuna (since he was SEVEN FEET LONG AND ALL), there was no reason to stab him or kill him.  By saying "we don't want to mount him" we would be letting this magnificent animal live another day.

RIGHT?  That's what you'd think too if you said, "We are going to let him go."  THAT HE WOULD BE LET GO.

45 minutes later Chris finally has the sailfish reeled in and he's all sweaty and tired.  To my shock, 5-foot-tall Luis somehow lugs this sailfish on board and he's holding its pointy jaws with a rag. All I can think is,

"Oh please Lord, don't let us get Steve Irwin'd."

What I'm imagining is this fish is going to start flopping about violently when it gets short of air.  I am imagining him stabbing everyone in a crazed frenzy while we're a few miles from shore and then we all bleed out in the ocean in Mexico and Brian Williams will lead Monday night's news about "those poor tourists." 

He stays on board for about 30 seconds and I keep my distance.

We take some pictures and tell the guys we're done, toss him back in the water.  We wanted him to live a long and happy life in the ocean.  And we don't want to get stabbed.

Martin gets on the radio and calls the other boats nearby to see if anyone wants our sailfish.  I am so stupid that I thought he meant that they'd cut the line and then be like, "Ok guys, there's a sailfish RIGHT HERE IN THIS WATER so drop another line and see if you can get him too!  He's RIGHT HERE."

Oh, I'm so stupid.

Another boat comes trolling up and Luis hands him the rod.  There was some dude on that boat who wanted to put our sailfish on his wall.

You *try* and be a good person and look what happens.  Someone just steals your sailfish.

After that things went downhill.  I mean, what else was going to be more exciting?  We caught several more tuna and then we think a barracuda chomped some of our bait in half.  (See that knife?  it just rolled around down there while Luis continued to not wear shoes.)

We saw some dolphins (at first, I thought they were sharks and had a major Jaws flashback) and sea turtles and then headed back.  We took naps at the pool that afternoon and then spent the entire next day in the pool again.  I will not bore you with more of the same pictures of the pool.

When we came home I was really glad it was only a 2-hour flight and not those 8-hour flights home from Maui.  Claire was at home waiting for us and from the sound of it she really didn't miss us at all.  While that is moderately insulting, she was perfectly happy with her grandparents and I can't really ask for much more than that.

We had fun and the trip served its purpose well: three days of sleeping in and laying at the pool without having to pack diapers and toys into my purse.  Thus concludes the Cancun Adventure and our first trip without Claire.  Success all the way around - I highly recommend a few days sans baby in the first year. 

(For everyone who has asked, we stayed at Le Blanc.  It is about ten minutes from the airport and it was amazing.  I highly recommend it.  Pool, food, service - all incredible.)

Cancun Adventure Part Two: For the first time ever, I failed at ordering a cocktail

Thursday afternoon

We drop our bags in the room and skedaddle down to the pool pretty fast.  There is a swim-up bar and a dizzying display of liquor.  With the knowledge that I can order anything I want, I go big and order a...vodka tonic.

What?  I felt PRESSURED and I folded.  The idea of limitless/unlimited/anything you want is a bit paralyzing. 

I felt like I needed an iPhone app to help me think of something inventive and out of the ordinary.  I didn't want just any drink.  I wanted a Vacation Drink.  I felt ill-prepared and briefly chastised myself for not doing some research.

Yes.  COCKTAIL RESEARCH.

You're not supposed to go to an all-inclusive and drink stupid VODKA TONICS.  I don't drink liquor very often, so I was feeling a little lost.  I resolved to order something more snazzy next time.  Five minutes later I was horrified to hear myself order another vodka tonic, but with Peach Absolut this time.  I know.  Not much better.  Kind of more sissy, actually.

(Chris was drinking Dos Equis on draft though, so he wasn't much better.  You can get that at freaking ON THE BORDER for crying out loud.)

We ordered some snacks and lazed about in the pool.  I moved on to something called a Lime Daiquiri, which was basically a margarita with rum.  Chris commented that it "aged well" which is to say that as the ice melted it didn't taste like crap.

At dinner that night it's more of the same dazzling array of choices.  Even though I knew I COULD, I don't want to be that obnoxious person who orders 5 entrees just to flex my "because I can" muscle.  For one, that's pretty wasteful and two, our table was totally not big enough for five dinner plates.

I order Provolone Ravioli (along with a salad - I was feeling like a light dinner).  My plate shows up with three silver-dollar size raviolis.  And that was it.  (Damn. I wasn't feeling THAT LIGHT.)  I resolve to be a little more offensive and ordered at least TWO entrees the next night.  

We go to the lobby bar and I order a double Grand Marnier on the rocks.  It's delicious.  I finally feel like I ordered the right drink.

 

But the night's not over yet!  Our hotel has Entertainment de la Noche!  It's something they're calling a "Fire Show" and Chris is eager to see it.

Turns out that The Fire Show is a bunch of scantily clad young women who light things on fire and twirl them around.  Oh, all right, there were a couple of guys but the girls were totally the centerpiece of the act.  It sounds stupid, but it was weirdly entertaining.

 

Check out my awesome photography skillz wherein I do not use a flash, do not use a tripod and I end up with....pretty crappy pictures.  Oh well.  You didn't come here for Fire Show pictures anyway.

Friday

We spend the morning on the beach where a nice lady called Stefanie brings us more lime daiquiris, a club sandwich and a steady stream of chips and guacamole. 

 

There is a man on the beach (employed by the hotel) with a stack of umbrellas and a post-hole digger.  He will put an umbrella wherever you want.  Later, when the sun moves, he comes by to ask us if we need him to move the umbrella.  I die a little inside and think that I never want to leave this lounge chair on the beach where they bring me club sandwiches and lime daiquiris, no questions asked.

 

The water in Cancun was unbelievable.  Really.  People had told us that it was pretty but nothing prepared me for the fact that it was such an incredible shade of turquoise-y/aqua.  It was gorgeous.  The sand was fine and clean and looked like sugar.  I could see my toenails when I was in chest deep water.  It was cool and refreshing, but not brrr-cold like the Pacific.

Meanwhile, back in Austin, Claire is having a Grand Old Time with my parents.  They send us pictures that we pick up on the wireless network on our iPhones.  She is quite obviously not missing us.  I'm a little bit insulted, but the knowledge that she's completely happy makes it easier for us to kick back and not worry.

Cancun Adventure, Part One: We have to get out of the country first

Wednesday

My parents pick up Claire at 11 am.  I go over detailed instructions, pack her things in the car and kiss her goodbye.  She is totally oblivious ("Wheee!  A car ride!").  I am already starting to miss her even though she's still in the driveway, but I let them take her to Austin anyway.

I get the first of many, many photos a few minutes later from my mother's iPhone:

 

Nope.  She's not missing me.

I work from home for the first time in ten months that afternoon.  I get more done in 5 hours in the kitchen, totally uninterrupted, than I can tackle in three days at my desk. 

Thursday

We get to The Parking Spot at 730 am for a 1030 am flight on Wednesday.  The attendant tells us that there are spaces available on aisle V. 

There are no spaces available on aisle V.  Or any aisles actually. 

The entire place is full and it took us ten minutes of circling to figure this out.  However, there are tons of spots with cones in them marked "Reserved."  Chris wants to park in one of the reserved spots.  I don't want to park there because I'm afraid that we'll get in trouble when we get back.  He puts the car into a reserved spot and runs over the cone and I get all sissy on him and wring my hands and say something like, "But Chriiiiiiis.  We'll get in TROUBLE."  Exactly who I think we will be in trouble with, or what the consequences might be, I have no idea.

All I know is that I have an unreasonable desire to follow the rules.

We roll up to the attendant and inquire, ever so politely, "What. The. Fuck. No. Parking. Spaces."  She shrugs her shoulders indifferently and says that they must be full.  We leave The Parking Spot in a fit of rage - they've wasted 20 minutes of our time and it's almost 8 am now.

We end up parking at the airport where their shuttle bus drops us off 20 yards from the door (again, WTF?).  We decided to check a single bag and we have to pay $15 for it.  We are flying Sun Country.  (This will be important later.)

Chris produces a crisp $20 bill, fresh from the ATM.  The attendant look at it like he's trying to hand her Claire's dirtiest-ever diaper.  With a slight sneer, she says to him,

"I ain't got change."

Huh?  No change?  You're asking us for money to complete a transaction that you initiated and YOU DON'T HAVE CHANGE?

"No.  No change.  My supervisor has the change and she's not here and it's too early and I don't have change.  No change."

I can't decide if her statement is a sly way to ask for a $5 tip or if she's not intelligent enough to find the words to ask for alternate payment.  She just keeps refusing our $20 and doesn't ever offer any other options.  In any case, Chris produces a credit card.  We feel kind of smug about it since we know they'll have to pay an interchange fee and this ends up costing them more.  Suckers. 

We get on the plane.  We notice that the seats I selected at Travelocity are not the same seats we are sitting in.  I'm not sure if this is Sun Country's fault or Travelocity's but somehow our reservation has been jacked with.  It doesn't really matter though because the body-builder who sits in our row leaves after take off to go sit with his buddies in the back of the plane.

Phrases yelled out during the flight by other passengers:

• It's time to get DRUUUUUNK!  (we heard this one several times actually)
• Where's the drinks!?
• WOOOOO!  CANCUN BAYBEEEEEEE!
• Let's get trashed!

Chris and I raise our eyebrows at each other and really hope that these people are not staying at our hotel.

We land and go through customs without incident.  We pick up our suitcase and find that Sun Country has smashed/crushed/ripped the crap out of it.

 

The metal frame was crushed in and it ripped out the seams surrounding the zipper.  The rip spans the corner and it's about 12 inches long.  There are no Sun Country agents to be found in the baggage claim area so we head to the hotel and figure we'll deal with it later.  I'm annoyed about it (since I paid FIFTEEN BUCKS for them to take care of my bag) but I'm not going to let it ruin my day.

But still.  FIFTEEN BUCKS.  FOR THAT.  The damage is such that I'll have to put it out with bulky trash when we get home.

At the hotel though, people finally start to treat us nicely.  You know, like WE'RE PAYING THEM.  (Imagine that.) 

We are greeted with cold washcloths that smell like lemons.  The air conditioning is frigid and fantastic compared to the sweltering humidity outside.  Everything is white and minimalist.  I want to lay my head on the cool floor and take a nap for ten years.

Our room is fantastic.  It is chilly, with soft linens and a ceiling fan, the biggest bathtub I've ever seen, 7 showerheads in one single shower and a view of the ocean.  I immediately think that I could spend the entire vacation in this room and be perfectly happy.

 

And then I saw the pool and decided that no, I would rather spend the entire trip out there in a lounge chair while someone brought me drinks and sandwiches. 

Do you see the genius of this pool?  There are lounge chairs IN THE POOL.  There's a ledge about three inches deep and 10 feet long that the chairs sit on and then the pool is 1.2 meters deep everywhere else.  No kids allowed, so no shallow end needed.  The entire thing is chest deep and perfect for lounging and drinking.  They also had noodles so you could just float on one of those, sip away and gaze at the ocean.  GENIUS.

Ocean?  Pool?  Ocean?  Pool?  I just can't tell the difference.

 

Yes!  Another Club Sandwich please!

 

This is just my starter list. I have many, many more lists after this one.

Things I should be doing:

• Packing Claire for a week with Grammie and Colonel

• Selecting toys
• Selecting outfits
• Corralling hair bows that match all her outfits.  (You know, important stuff.)

• Printing the "Everything about Claire" 5-page novel I typed up last night in a fit of OCD

• Locating passports

• Doing laundry

• Organizing my clothes so I don't forget to pack something important, like my bathing suit and hat

• Decide if I am going to pay to check my bag or carry it on so I can begin creating tiny travel sizes of my toiletries in those stupid tiny plastic bottles from Target.

• Clearing the memory cards on my cameras.

• Figuring out if I need to turn my iPhone off so I don't get a bill for a million dollars (probably yes)

• Brushing up on key phrases in Spanish

• I would like another club sandwich please
• I would like another margarita/pina colada/beer please.
• Yes, of course I want two desserts.
• What time is my massage appointment at?

Things I am doing instead:

• Watching Season 4 of Weeds.  (Thanks Netflix!)

• Drinking a beer

• Wasting time on the internet

• Considering going to Wendy's for a Frosty.

Yeah, I'm TOTALLY going to panic pack tomorrow night.  I would put money on that one.

Flying with a baby? Not so bad. Flying with American Airlines? Now, THAT really sucks.

I would like to be able to tell you that our trip to Maui was flawless and that my baby was just darling and so well-behaved that total strangers commented on it and she slept the entire trip because we planned it for naptime.  But, uh, that would be a lie.

Because I am eager to get to the beach this morning, I present our trip this far as a series of neat and tidy bullet points.

• We left the house on time, ran into no traffic, got checked in and through security without problems.  We stopped for lunch across from our gate. I was drinking iced tea with Claire in my lap and that wily child took her tiny hands, grabbed my glass and tipped the contents of it into my lap.  She managed to soak her right arm.  We journeyed to the bathroom to change clothes and put Claire into outfit #2 for the day.

• At the gate.  Baby playing on blanket on the floor.  Very happy.  Suddenly, my poopy-diaper-radar goes off.  Secretly, I'm glad about this - it means we're getting all the messy stuff out of the way before we board the plane.  However, in the bathroom I discover that this is honestly The Mother Of All Blowouts.  There is poop all over my child.  All over her outfit.  All over the changing pad I have her lying on.  And Claire is spreading it around and getting her FEET in it now because she is so wiggly and excited to be naked.  I sigh and say a silent prayer that we have 30 minutes before the plane boards BECAUSE I WILL NEED IT.

• I use almost every single wipe I have to clean her up and we put on outfit #3 for the day.  I briefly glance at the soiled onesie and wonder what to do with it?  It's one of my favorites...and yet...the thought of rinsing it and putting it in the diaper bag for the next ten hours disgusts me.  I drop it into the trash without another second of consideration.  Everyone, please say goodbye to this outfit:

• Our flight was delayed an hour for a mechanical problem, but Claire played happily in the airport the entire time. We got situated on the plane and Claire went to sleep pretty fast.  She woke up about an hour later.  I fed her.  We played with some toys.  She went back to sleep.  She was a GREAT baby on the plane.  She got fussy for small snippets of time but it was easily remedied with a toy, food, distraction or walking.  She slept the last 4 hours of the flight. 

• Me on the other hand?  MOST MISERABLE FLIGHT EVER. 

• The man in front of me was in the bulkhead row.  He would place his feet on the bulkhead and lock his knees so that he was pushing his entire, considerable, weight on his chair to force maximum recline.  For the entire flight I had 6 inches between my arm rest and his chair.  I could not drink a bottle of water without the bottle knocking into his chair. I could not cross my knees.  And, because I am more than 6 inches wide, I could not exit my seat without giving his chair an enormous FUCK YOU shove to let him know that I AM MISERABLE ASSHOLE.

• The flight attendants we downright surly.  American Airlines is truly a horrible business that hates its customers and I will find it very difficult to give them any money in the future.  We traveled on miles this time.

• Remember the call button?  The one you pushed if you needed a pillow or another coke or had a question about when we were going to fly over the Grand Canyon?  Yeah, they don't want you pushing it any more.  It's called an "Emergency" button and the entire plane was chastised before takeoff NOT TO PUSH THE BUTTON unless you had an EMERGENCY OF THE MOST SERIOUS SORT.  Looks like flight attendants don't want to take care of passenger needs unless someone is actively dying.
  • Of course, someone knocked the button accidentally with their knee and when the guy came over he had a, "WELL?  What's your damn emergency?" look on his face.  The befuddled passengers had no idea what was going on.  He pointed at the button with ire.  They still had no clue.  He exasperatedly showed them the button and told them not to push it again.  Nice.

• The plane was filthy.  FILTHY BEYOND WORDS.  Memo to American Airlines:  Just picking up the newspapers and cups does not equal "cleaning the plane."  I wanted to take some swabs of surfaces like they do on Dateline - I'm sure the plane was crawling with ten kinds of flesh eating viruses.

• Once we touched down things started turning around.  Maui is gorgeous.  We're having a great time.  I've been to the beach, had a giant tuna steak, something called a "Bahama Mama" that came with an umbrella, slathered myself in sunscreen and still managed to get pink and sent postcards home.  I think if I could find someone to adopt Jake I might never come home.

• (Just kidding Jake.  We love you too.  However, you can't wear pink and yellow outfits on the beach.  It's tough to compete with this.)

Alooooooha! And, Mahaaaaaaaalo!

After spending the entire weekend packing we are finally ready to go to Maui.  I mean that in the most literal way possible:  I spent the entire weekend packing.  THE ENTIRE THING.

There was quite a bit of strategizing involved.  First off, how little can we get away with packing?  Because I do not want to bust the 50 lb limit on any of my bags.  I REFUSE to pay extra to transport my shampoo.  I am an elite member with the airline we are flying, so Chris and I both get ONE checked bag for free.

I am determined to make those bags count.  I will not give sucky American Airlines any more of my hard-earned money than I have to.  Obviously.

Oh, did I mention?  That we are taking the baby? 

We are taking the baby. 

But not in a suitcase.  She is a ticketed passenger and everything. (In fact, we signed her up for an Aadvantage account today.  6 months old and earning miles already.  I'm not sure what that says about us.)  Claire will be spending the 8-hour flight slumbering peacefully in her car seat.  Well, that's what we hope at least.  More on that later.

We're also taking my parents and my crazy-ass hilarious brother.  It's a family vacation of the best sort and I couldn't be more excited.  We are staying at the same B&B that I rented out for our wedding, going to the same beaches we always have, eating awesome tuna steaks at the same ocean-front restaurants and sunning my SPF 55-slathered self in the same Pacific sunshine.

Please let me wax poetically about this B&B. It's a 2-bedroom, 1 bath, full kitchen, living room with a TV and DVD player, gas grill on the patio, guest house.  $215/night, overlooking Kihei/Wailea.  Nicest guys ever who own the place, super nice, have known them for years.  It's cheaper than any hotel you'll find.  They have a saltwater pool and hot tub.  And only 4 other rooms, 8 other people MAX that you have to share it with.  It's never crowded.

And also? In addition to the rad accommodations?   We are going to have date night, several nights, because WE ARE BRINGING BABY SITTERS.  How smart are we?

DAAAAATE NIIIIIGHT!!!

Many date nights.  It's like...a miracle.

I have dinner reservations planned.  Dresses to wear.  Shoes that match.  Perfume I wore on our wedding day.  It's nothing short of amazing.

Maui.  HERE WE COME.

No time for blogging; too busy skiing

We're in Canada!  It's really a delightful neighbor-country to visit.  Everyone says "Cheers!" and Top Gun is on television all the time (which I think is fabulous after a day on the slopes), and everyone has a British accent which is unexpected but is nonetheless fun to listen to.

They sell gas in liters so if you're bad at math you have no clue what you're paying for a gallon of the stuff.  The money is colorful and simple to spend (just like Monopoly!) and the scenery....it's amazing.  If you've never been to the Canadian Rockies I highly recommend it.

Just to make you hate me, here's where we skied yesterday -

Here's how hotcha- hotcha I look with my ski gear on.  Oh baby.  It's a good thing I'm married is all I'm sayin'.

I'm turning 29 tomorrow; I think this is a fine way to kick off the last year I'll spend in my twenties.  Gah, am I already here?  29?!  UGH.  I am sure there will be more on that later. 

I plan to spend the day in a pair of uncomfortable rented ski boots (which are at least red and not too ugly) and I'll try not to fall down too much (yesterday I fell 4 times; I will be happy with any number smaller than that).  I'll finish off with something hot to drink by a fire and a grand birthday dinner with the husband, complete with my very own dessert (no, I will not share my birthday dessert - are you crazy?).

Yes, Happy Birthday to ME.

What would Jackie do?

Did you know that Jacqueline and John Kennedy honeymooned in Acapulco? 

They did.  Back in the fifties, this place was HOT!  It was trendy and hip and unaffected.  It was remote and peaceful and delightfully foreign.  I think I would have liked Acapulco back then.  It was the perfect place to wear big sunglasses, kick back a vodka tonic and watch the sun go down in peace and quiet.

But now it's a crazy concrete jungle, with giant billboards, honking taxis, discotheques the play Shania Twain (surely Jackie would have disapproved) and many other un-relaxing things.  I am glad that I am here for work because Acapulco is the sort of place that if I had paid out of my own pocket to visit, I would be sorely disappointed.

I probably won't ever return because cities like this only tend to get bigger and not smaller.  I can't imagine this place more nutty than it already is.

Today we journeyed to the opposite side of Mexico and the difference is amazing.  We're staying in a small hotel with a charming courtyard and garden.  I can see all kinds of tropical flowers from my window and there's a church across the street that I can hear the bells at. 

It's quiet, beautiful and very...authentic here.  There is no forced mariachi music or plethora of people who are painfully reliant on visitors from abroad. 

Being here makes me realize anew just why visiting new countries and cultures can be so very rewarding.  Removing yourself from the touristy areas and going in search of something more genuine might be more work, but it's certainly worth the effort.

And that, I feel certain, is why Jackie honeymooned in Acapulco in 1953.  It was once just like this.

How to have an AWESOME family reunion

I've just returned from a week-long trip to visit with family.  It was a Family Reunion but really, that's such a dirty word isn't it? 

You tell people, "I'm going to a Family Reunion!" and they sort of wince in pain and say things like "I'm sorry," "Ohhhhhh," and "Yipes,"  as if somebody died and you're going to be suffering.

No, no, no.  My family is awesome.  They're fun and adventurous and after a few days it's obvious where my snarky, tell-it-like-it-is streak comes from. 

We spend resources, we travel and we make time, every two years, to spend a weekend together.  For that short snippet of time we don't have to fuss with anyone else and we can revel in our selfish genetic homogeneity and laugh at pictures of my Dad from the fifties.  Oh, those fifties fashions!  What a hoot.

In the spirit of making family reunions fun again, here are a couple of ways that we've figured out how to make a weekend of chit chat not so painfully boring as you might think.

Ten Ways to a Fabulous Family Reunion

1.  Don't call it a "Family Reunion."  Everyone knows that those suck and are boring.  Call it something fun like "Sportsfest" and make the entire thing a friendly competition between families and individuals.   Encourage trash talking, matching uniforms, trophies and mockeries of stuffy Olympic ceremonies.

2.  Have fun contests that family members of all ages can enjoy.  We do bowling and mini-golf each and every year.  However, don't' forget that inside activities are important as it can be blistering HOT outside in the summer and I know very few people who enjoy being hot.  So, things like darts, ping-pong, billiards, cards, etc are also nice.  If you want to be crazy throw in something intellectual like a crossword puzzle or trivia.  Everyone likes trivia.  Just ask Regis.  He's made a fortune off of that notion.

3.  Limit the outdoor time to no more than one hour per day.  More than that is TOO MUCH TIME OUTSIDE and you will end up with a family that has insect bites, is sweating, dehydrated and cranky.  Emphasis on cranky.

4.  Set expectations.  Send out a schedule and agenda of what is going on each day so family members can pack appropriately and be prepared for 6 hours with the family on certain days.  That takes mental readiness.  Do not surprise people with a marathon afternoon of chit chat.  Especially if that marathon will be outside.  That is just cruel.  Be kind enough to tell them in advance what the plan is.  Everyone likes to be prepared.

5.  Provide alcohol in large quantities.  Especially if you cannot follow rules 3 and 4 due to unforeseen circumstances.

6.  Be sure that you have a cousin in the family who has a catering business.  Then you will be assured of delicious meals that do not involve "foods" like Kraft singles.  Oh singles, how I hate thee.  We feasted on pork tenderloin, mixed green salads, strawberry shortcake, crispy asparagus and other summer delights. 

7. Options are nice.  Provide options in all price ranges for hotel accommodations.  Do not offer only the lowest cost property and assume all will be happy with a moderately moldy bathtub.  A "little bit of mold" to you is "toxic waste dump" to me.

8.  Remember that schedule you shared with everyone before we arrived?  Make sure it has plenty of FREE TIME in it.  Build in a few hours every day to rest and have alone time.  We aren't all extreme social butterflies and sometimes we need alone time to meditate with ourselves.  In the air conditioning.

9.  Maintain the spirit of togetherness.  Even though it's a contest, make sure that everyone gets an award, no matter how serious or silly.  We all like to belong and seeing what kind of crazy awards are handed out is part of the fun.  For instance, I won the award for "Best Hat" this year.  Does this mean I am slightly un-athletic?  Yes.

10.  It's not called a "Family Reunion" but, it is.  We're all related and we are all crazy  and mouthy, but we're family.

I'm happy and grateful to be blessed with such a clever, wild, rambunctious and wonderful group of people with so many varied talents.

Thanks family.  It was an awesome Sportsfest X.  Here's to ten more years.

We're Home. Thank God.

We're home from New York.

*Deep Breath*

What is it that people just looooooovvvvvveeeee about New York?  Because I am very much NOT UNDERSTANDING IT.  I am not loving it.

All the people.  The trash.  The chain-smoking.  The rude-ness.  The curt looks.  The puddles of disgusting water.  The bad driving.  The noise, oh the constant noise.  Sirens at all hours. (How are that many people in trouble, ALL THE TIME?)

The blatant price-gouging.  The obnoxious hotel tax.  The smells.  The dirt and grime and most of all....the people.  If you visit most places, people are at least nice and look at you and smile and say hello but I guess people in New York are too busy for basic manners.  Judith Martin surely hates New Yorkers.

Maybe if you put out that nasty cigarette or turned off your freaking iPod you'd have time to, you know, interact with fellow human beings but whatever, I understand that this is where psychopaths come from and they have to develop somewhere and maybe you're Psychopath New York 2015 in the making.  It's gotta be someone, right?

Perhaps I'm being too sensitive and a bit too Miss Manners, but isn't it always appropriate to BE NICE TO PEOPLE?  When did New Yorkers take a certain amount of pride in being a jackass?  And what idiots out there are leading them to believe this is appropriate behavior?

As Judith said:

You can deny all you want that there is etiquette, and a lot of people do in everyday life. But if you behave in a way that offends the people you're trying to deal with, they will stop dealing with you.

I think I'm finished dealing with cities.

After the San Francisco Trip From Hell it's painfully clear that I'm not a city girl.  I never will be.  I just don't relish the urban lifestyle or think it's exciting to be around all those people and places at the same time.  To be honest, I find it a bit terrifying really. 

I'm officially boycotting big cities for vacations.  Beaches only from now on, where people infused with island fever can't help but have fun and smile a lot.   

And rum probably helps in that too but whatever, island rum is GOOD.