It was like my hair was the only thing to realize that it was back to reality. I woke up Monday morning after 10 beautiful days spent lounging on the North Carolina beaches. No straightening, no hair products - barely a brush before the side braid went in and the hair went in a messy bunch. Monday morning when I woke my hair was pin straight almost saying "see-I can do it myself. Please just let me have one more day of vacay".
My mother calls me her "beach bunny" because while at the beach that's all I want to do...lay on the beach. And thanks to my adorable little cabana that takes the patience of the dalai lama himself to set up, I can! 30 minutes out, 30 minutes in. It's beautiful. And perfect for this red head. So that's what I did. Wake up at 9, check emails, eat breakfast, head to the beach around 11, head in at 4, eat a snack, take a nap, eat dinner, start it all again. I really was meant for that life.
The trip really needed a camera crew. The time not spent on the beach was spent with my family on the screened in porch. The Kardashians have nothing on us. My soon to be 95 year old grandma's evening drink is a bourbon and water. After about 80 some years drinking this, you would think she'd have built up a tolerance or something. But no. No...not really. I think it's her second drink, the "nightcap", that does her in. Or maybe it's that she eats like a bird. Once we reach this stage, everything has to be repeated 3 times at a octave that dead people could hear....from space. Bless her heart, she's hilarious and so precious that you can't do anything but laugh at her.
My father too has taken to drinking bourbon but at a much higher price. No Virginia Gentlemen for him. He's more of a Knob Creek fan. I think he started this bourbon ritual to dull the pain of my grandma's drinking (aka talking incessantly). Unfortunately he is not so precious. You can be sitting 2 feet away from him and he can completely tune you out. I guess after 37 years of being married to my mother I would learn to tune out people as well.
Speaking of my mother, she actually was not as crazy as usual. She did give me one nugget - one morning she fixed mimosas (I heard the champagne pop around 8:30...like an alarm clock). When I went upstairs at 10am, I found her on the couch asleep. I told her it was time for the beach and she replied "I'm in a mimosa induced coma"...at 10am. She eventually did make it to the beach.
Then there is Filthy. After 6 reported shark sightings within a 2 month period, she refused to go in the water any father than her knees. This annoyed me to no end. I'm a swim past the pier kind of girl or at least go deep enough that you need to tread water. I kept telling her there was nothing to worry about as there were people always father out than we were. Then we get home to see that poor guy at the Cape paddling for dear life with the shark closing in. Ok...maybe filthy was right on this one, but I kept thinking that maybe if he bit my thigh, I could get lipo on the other and drop a couple of pounds. Sounds like a win-win for both parties.
One hilarious tid-bit from the trip...it's July 4th, the island is packed with people, and as we are hanging out on the beach a group of F-16's fly overhead in formation. Everyone on the beach stands up and applauds -which was pretty amazing - but behind them was a giant plane flanked by 2 smaller ones. All of a sudden my father jumps up and starts telling anyone within ear shot (read: everyone because he is so fucking loud) that it is Air Force One. I immediately tell him he's wrong because 1. the plane in no way resembled AFone 2. it wasn't blue and 3. had a huge 80 on the side of it. 4. was no where near the size of AFone. I also mentioned that because it was July 4th, he was probably in DC at the White House getting ready for the fireworks. Pops was adamant that he was right and actually kind of giddy, though he despises Obama. So when the plane rolled by and it was some sort of old timey bomber, I laughed out loud. What an idiot.
And so I'm back. I'll try and do a better job at keeping up the blog - no promises though.
XO,
Beach Bunny
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