Another summer blown to Hell.
Honestly, when the vacation starts in late June, I always
have such grand hopes that it will be weeks packed with getting stuff done
around the house. Then September rolls
in, and the lament starts: I didn't get
ANYTHING done.
Well, that's not entirely accurate because I got the filing
done and the spare room 90% done, but the basement is still a mess, and I
haven't balanced my check book since the Clinton administration. I decide to take inventory of the things that
prevent me from getting my To-Do List done because this is serious business,
kids.
June 16: My friend Sally and I trek into Boston to see
the Corpse Flower at the zoo. It is
about to blossom and stink the joint up, and we don't want to miss it. We arrive days early and spend the extra time
in Boston at Whiskey Priest holding up the bar.
June 17: Sally and I drag my daughter with us to see
the Corpse flower because the idiots on the news keep saying, "It's time,
it's time!" Just Braxton Hicks
contractions. We chat with the head
horticulturalist and decide the zoo's Facebook page will tell us all. Screw the news people; what do they know
about the news?
June 20: The Corpse flower blooms and stinks during
the day. It is supposed to bloom and
stink for twenty-four to forty-eight hours.
Boston is hit with an unusually strong heat wave, and the temperatures
cause the flower to rot completely in less than two hours. By the time Sally
and I arrive, the stench has dissipated, and we must wait five to fifteen years
before we get another chance to smell its cadaverous odor. This depresses us, and we find ourselves
parallel parking near the Moakley Courthouse and sitting on the roof deck at
Whiskey Priest. Again.
June 22: I go to get my hair cut. I have not been to a hairdresser in over five
years and have hair down my back.
Hairdresser gets cold feet and only takes a few inches off. I go home, look in the mirror, and decide I
still look like me. This makes me
cry. A lot.
June 23: Go back to hair salon and have different girl
cut my hair. She dares to add bangs and
make layers. It is still fairly long and
looks fantastic… when I leave.
June 26: Cannot recreate hair style for the life of
me. Pick up a friend at her house and go
to meet other friends for lunch at a nice restaurant. We are seated next to a bunch of teens on an
outing and a large group of lactating mothers.
We order pitchers of Margaritas and pretend not to notice anyone around
us. It damn near works.
June 28: Totally pissed off that my new hairdo is a one-time-only style. Go back to first stylist and
insist that she cut it all off. She
does. Hairstyle looks like a squirrel,
but I can actually recreate the look, so it's all good. Son #2 has late lacrosse game at a school that
backs up to woods. I get eaten alive by
mosquitoes because I forget that short hair means my neck is exposed. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I live on calamine lotion for days.
June 30: Party!
Someone actually notices that I cut off all my hair. Amazing.
July 2: Another trek into The Hub for OpSail Boston
with Sally to see the tall ships.
Someone is shooting cannons off as soon as we walk to the pier. Headset goes on and I pretend I haven't had
the buhjeezus scared out of me. We meet
Son #1 for a nice evening and still somehow end up at Whiskey Priest yet
again. How does that happen?
July 8: Soccer starts for Son #2. It's a long, hot walk from the dusty, rocky
parking lot, down the stairs, across boiling fake grass. I decide that an umbrella would be a great
idea for next time because it could be used over my head to deflect the sun
above or pointed at the ground to prevent toxic heat stroke from the rubber
pellets in the turf.
July 9: Grad school starts, four nights a week, two
different classes. This process repeats
itself for the next six weeks. I live in
a fog and wonder why I have done this to myself.
July 13: Friday the 13th - Might as
well run the gauntlet and drive to Maine to spend the day with sister #2. After being insulted on our walk by old men
pretending to play golf, we float around her pool. My hair still looks good … curly and
squirrely but passable. Amazing.
July 24: Daughter has recently gotten engaged, so we
begin the dress search. Appointment #1
is today. We are relieved that our
budget actually allows her to try stuff on that doesn't look like old sheets
and togas. After about a dozen dresses,
two possibilities are on hold, but neither lights a fire, which is probably
good since a burning wedding dress might not go over really well in an enclosed
church service.
July 28: Two more bridal appointments today, one at a
nice place and one at a discount place that is a bit scary and slightly
creepy. Daughter has officially tried on
about three dozen dresses, and we are left wondering what in the hell goes on
in the minds of some of these designers.
Apparently they are designing for drag queens - not that it's a bad
thing, except not as many drag queens as young women actually buy and wear the
gowns.
August 1: Team meeting
with my teacher mates because one of them is moving away, and by team meeting I
mean we pore over some school records and pour some beer. But I can't stay because Daughter has another
bridal appointment back at place #1. She
tries on more dresses after re-trying the two on hold and decides all the
dresses here suck. We leave without a
dress, now up to about four dozen gowns tried on, but the wallet is intact.
August 3: Another bridal appointment, and this time Daughter
goes through at least another dozen dresses (we are up to about sixty-five
rejected gowns now, and they are all worthy of said rejection). The place requires brides to ring a bell when
they choose a gown. A little old lady
chases Daughter down with the bell on a puffy pillow, all the while screaming, "RING
THE BELL, BITCH, RING THE DAMN BELL!!!!"
We are terrified and run away.
The only thing that saves us is some other poor girl who sacrifices
herself. We see her smiling and ringing
the bell. Honestly, the dress she chose
looks like crap on her, but I jump behind the steering wheel and navigate us to
safety.
August 5-6: Soccer tournament; bloody hot; I get heat
stroke; boys play well; I feel like the Ancient Mariner in search of water; in
all the years I have been attending sporting events in this weather, I have
never felt so horrid. Life is good.
August 7: We have been searching for the perfect
wedding gown and think we may have found it.
It is only available at a small boutique we'd never heard of, but we take a
chance. After another dozen gowns, we
are down to the last one, the one we came to see. We are ready, steeled for that stomach-pit of
disappointment. The curtain parts, my
eyes are covered with my hands. I cannot
look. Do NOT make me look. I finally peek. Clouds part, sun streaks across the salon,
and somewhere angels are singing: This
IS the dress. My check book whips out
faster than an exhibitionist's junk, and we seal the deal. Life is good, only this time, I truly mean
it.
August 8: Beach Day.
Now, some may wonder why I hadn't gone to the beach before this when I
am a beach addict. Well, we seem to be having
a little shark problem around here. All
right, it's not so little. The sharks
are great whites and have already stalked a kayaker and bitten a man's legs,
all in shallow water. I decide to go in
up to my knees and keep an eye out for fins.
August 9-10: Lunch days with friends. After hiding and doing so much homework for
my grad classes, it's a wonder I have any friends left. Maybe they're just doing their civic duty of
taking a shut-in out in public. Either
way, I thank them profusely.
August 14: Beach Day #2. I have grad school finals this week, but I
need a mental health break. We go in the
water, float around, and forget to worry about sharks. We find out later there is a shark sighting
mere miles north of where we have been swimming. We are idiots, but our limbs are intact. We collect lots of rocks to bring home for a
friend's garden. We consider it weight
training and feel good about ourselves.
August 15-16: I pull an all-nighter partially because it
keeps thundering all night and also because I have to finish my final
portfolio. After sleeping for about
three hours and working for hours more, I decide the only thing that will help
me is an Oreo Coolatta. After my final
presentation, I am still wired. The
caffeine doesn't wear off for twenty-four hours. When I finally do crash, I
sleep for something like five days, though I have it written down that I attend
dinner and a party or two in that time.
I have no recollection of August 17-22, but my date book says I had a
wonderful time.
August 23: I awaken from my coma and spend another day
at the beach. The beach is empty, for
the most part, but people still feel the need to set up right on top of where
we are sitting. We are fly paper for
freaks. One family is so close that we
can all hold hands and sing Kumbaya. When they go to the water to frolic, we put
crackers and cheese under their chairs.
The seagulls go nuts and start attacking their stuff. Serves them right. We gather more rocks, partially for the
garden and partially to defend ourselves from the angry beach-goers who return
to find bird crap all over their stuff.
August 27: Fun day of accompanying youngest to get
all of his necessary shots, tests, check-ups, and fillings before he returns to
college (why no, I am not counting the days … yes I am). His car needs tires, so we go hang out at the
tire place in Lawrence. I decide to go the
back way home and realize the city kids are already in school. The end of summer hits me right between the
eyes, which is a lot safer than having a student hit my windshield because he
crossed the street when I wasn't looking.
Damnit. The countdown is on.
August 30: Open House at school. I wake up deathly ill with what feels like
another bout of pneumonia. I go to
school anyway and spread my germs around like a responsible adult. This really is the last hurrah. I think I need one more road trip.
August 31: Road trip to Maine for a day of games, food,
and Christmas shopping. Yes, you read
that right. What summer is complete
without Christmas shopping? What's wrong with you people, anyway?! After all, it is the most wonderful time of the year.
Sept. 3: Drive Son #2 back to college. Enjoy a few hours of freedom.
September 4: Back to work at my school, back to grad
school, and back into the grind.
I am so depressed. I
mean, seriously. I didn't have time to
do ANYTHING this summer on my household To-Do List. Thank goodness for that.
