The Dirt Field

When I first left my job, I had big plans for how much fun Bobby and I were going to have together. There was talk of making a list of fifty “must-do” activities, and we planned to make each day our own version of a summer vacation. That didn’t happen. There were some good times, but more often than not the days would either creep by in a swamp of apathetic boredom or fly by in a whirlwind of crossing off to-do list items. The lack of money also scared us into trying to be cheap.

Once I found a job and had an official start date, though, we got serious and decided to go all out for my last week of not working. Each day was going to have an agenda and we were going to cram as much excitement into that week as two people reasonably could. The promise of future income also encouraged me to cash in my savings to help us enjoy the week without restraint (or responsibility).

In the end, it was a wonderful week. We had only intended to “vacation” from Monday through Friday, but with Bobby’s birthday falling on the following Monday, it ended up feeling like a Monday through Monday party. The one remarkable thing about the whole experience was how much eating we did; every fun activity was bookended by a meal and every meal was another excuse to indulge and celebrate our vacation. As a result, I had to add a third wheel to my bicycle and a second mortgage to my house.

Now the vacation is done and I’m back in suits and high heels, sitting in a cubicle under glaring flourescent lights. In order to remember the epic Staycation of 2009, I’ve documented each day so that they can be remembered fondly when work has carved my fragile soul into shreds.

Monday
The week started with a trip to the Reston Zoo, a small, local collection of generally non-carnivorous creatures formerly known as the Pet-a-Pet Farm. Bobby and I were invited to join my friend Mary and her adorable 18-month-old daughter who, as it turned out, was not a big fan of any animals that moved or made noise. I also discovered that motherhood means always having a delicious buffet of food in your purse and being willing to wipe goose shit off a small pink shoe with a single baby wipe. The animals were interesting, especially the mating tortoises and the camel that chased down and aggressively mouthed the upper arm of a grumpy old man.

Later that afternoon, we met up with several members of the Log Posse for a ride. I was only supposed to be doing a recovery ride, which I used as an excuse for being lazy and going painfully slowly. Arne waxed poetic about how Wakefield Park smelled like trash, Bobby kept trying to go back to the car, Mike rode like he was training for the Olympics, and Steve scared a deer away from a major highway by being uncharacteristically (ha!) loud. A good time was had by all.

I capped off that night by staying up far too late watching a movie starring Hilary Duff that I am ashamed to have ever seen.

Tuesday
I was on my own today and had made plans to have lunch with friends, but then got an email from my mother saying that my grandmother was still in the hospital and was not doing well. I changed plans immediately and instead drove into downtown DC (using directions my mom gave me that I’m certain were actually intended to lead to Ohio) to see my grandma. As expected, she was very weak and sick, but could still manage her characteristic grace and dry, snarky zip, especially with the priest who was also visiting her and sharing stories about all of the people in their congregation who had recently died.

After she kicked me out for the day, I met my father for a shopping trip at Performance Bike. He’s gotten into biking recently and wanted assistance in choosing some new clothes for riding. We shopped, I made him try on every single article of clothing in the store as well as a handlebar or two, and he left with two nice looking, sporty, non-spandex outfits. I then met my mom for dinner, where I reaffirmed that (1) her new BlackBerry Storm touch screen is a nightmare for anyone with real fingers and (2) my mother can make anyone do anything just by talking to them enough. It’s an impressive skill; I’ll have her call you and by the time you two hang up the phone, her mortgage will be in your name and you’ll be paying it.

The night ended with another embarrassingly stupid movie starring absolutely nobody noteworthy, compliments of i-Tunes’ weekly $.99 rental offer. That was ninety minutes of my life I’ll never get back.

Wednesday
This day was supposed to start bright and early with a perky breakfast and a happy trip into DC to see the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History; instead Bobby and I woke up groggy and then bickered for an hour. Once I was done holding a grudge and hiding under the bedspread, we headed downtown and decided to begin our visit by having lunch. After debating between Teaism (new to us, healthy, packed) or Oyamel (our favorite, delicious, packed), we settled on Oyamel and had a fantastic lunch with amazingly crappy service yet again. Seriously, what is it about us that says “Please seat us at a wafer-sized table in a mosh pit and then ignore us”?

We made it to the Natural History Museum just in time to catch the last two IMAX 3D shows, “Dinosaurs: Giants of Patagonia” and “Deep Sea 3D”. The former was entertaining because the 3D effect meant the dinosaurs were literally ripping apart flesh in your face, but wasn’t nearly long enough. Evidently actual film footage of dinosaurs is in short supply. The deep sea show was excellent, with extensive ocean video, adorable snapping scallops, and delightful fish swimming right past our noses. Less excellent was the way every child in the audience felt the need to “grab” the schools of 3D creatures, resulting in a sea of tiny flapping arms and flailing toddlers. Revenge came in the form of three-dimensional angry, aggressive squid scaring the shit out of every fidgety little person.

After spending approximately ninety minutes taking in several extensive floors of natural history, Bobby and I were sufficiently bored and left in search of food. Because, you know, like six minutes had passed since I felt full to the point of queasiness. We settled on grabbing a snack at Teaism, which morphed quickly into grabbing a full dinner and dessert, not because we were actually hungry but rather because there was a menu with food on it. Our day in DC ended just in time to enjoy the climax of rush-hour traffic.

The plan for Thursday was a trip to the beach and, after a quick examination of my closet showed I had nothing appropriate in which to swim, we went to Target so I could try on every unflattering bikini in stock. When Bobby vetoed the very best option, an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, unattractive blue bikini, I settled on a cute $7.98 bikini bottom that I could reasonably pair with a black sports bra. The night ended with a rushed trip to get lattes from Starbucks before they closed so we could read in Barnes & Noble before they too closed. Why must these places close for the night?! Didn’t they know I was unemployed and had all the time in the world to sleep later?

Thursday
After checking the weather for Rehoboth Beach on Wednesday night and seeing that Thursday looked stormy, we moved the beach trip to Friday. The plan for Friday had been a movie day to help us recover from our beach trip, but with nothing from which to recover, I wasn’t about to make Thursday movie day and plant my butt on the couch for the twelve hours. Bobby didn’t mind the change of plans, except for the part where he kept sighing, “So much for movie day…”

The morning was spent doing…nothing, maybe? I can’t recall doing anything remarkable. There was a recovery ride somewhere in there, and I know I showered and even *gasp* blow-dried my hair. Then I dragged Bobby to the bike shop so I could get my bike checked out for the millionth time this season. After that, we got frozen yogurt and decided to kill some time before going to pick up the pizza we were getting for dinner. My choice of activity was to get a glass of wine at Passionfish, a fancy new seafood restaurant with comfortable outdoor seating. Bobby was inordinately full from his frozen yogurt and perched uncomfortably on an armchair the whole time, grimacing at me and refusing to order anything. (His version of the story would probably go something like, “Lindsay ignored what I wanted to do, made me sit in the blazing sun, and spent money she didn’t have on wine and ceviche she didn’t need in order to spoil her appetite for dinner.” But if he wants to tell that version, maybe he should start his own website.)

After Passionfish, we picked up the pizza I was no longer hungry for and went home to watch “Bart Got A Room”, a random indie movie that turned out to be adorable. I also read a trashy novel called “Daddy’s Girls” that my mother gave me, but in retrospect, that admission should probably be saved for a time when I am at gunpoint.

Friday
Kobe had some, um, stomach issues on Thursday night (problems Bobby described as “explosive”), so it came as no surprise when I woke up at 6:30am to see that Kobe had “issued” all over the bedroom carpet. Horrified but exhausted, I pointed out the mess to Bobby and then the two of us went back to sleep for another thirty minutes. Gross, I know, but we needed sleep before our long day and it’s not like the poop was going to, like, run around and make a bigger mess while it waited for us.

We got on the road to the beach at 10am, an hour later than planned, and I spent the entire drive making Bobby reassure me that we would still have time to have fun. I whined as we crossed the Bay Bridge, as we stopped at a gas station where I refused to use the Port-o-John, and as we crawled through downtown Rehoboth towards the beach. I didn’t stop fussing until just after 2pm, when I stuck a toe in the ocean, lost it to hypothermia, realized there was no way I would ever need a full day to be in that frigid water, and promptly shut up.

The beach was completely packed, probably because I had us set up on the sand along the busiest stretch of the Boardwalk, but once we settled in it was actually quite nice. The water took some getting used to and never really warmed up, but I’m proud to say Bobby and I went in all the way on two different occasions. We also laid in the sun reading (hel-LO “Daddy’s Girls”!) and strolled around the Rehoboth Avenue shops on our trips to feed hundreds of quarters into the parking meter. I bought a foam football to toss around in the water, which was cool except for the part where it filled up with water and felt like a sack of bricks slamming into my hands. To stay warm and avoid the pain of catching the ball, I had Bobby throw it 15 feet away from me so I could swim frantically to grab it. You know, like a Labrador Retriever.

After spending the afternoon on the beach, we changed clothes and had dinner at a decent restaurant. Our waiter was a friendly guy in his twenties with the intellect of a stapler; he tried to list the beer options, couldn’t remember more than a few, excused hemself to go find out, came back out to recite them, and promptly forgot them all again. It bcame a running joke that ran on for the fifteen years it took for him to remember to bring us our food and eventually our check.

The last thing I wanted to make sure we did at the beach was visit the two Boardwalk rides I loved as a kid: the Haunted Mansion and the Sea Dragon. We waited in line for thirty minutes to see the campy but entertaining haunted house, and then spent another ten minutes waiting to get a good seat on the Sea Dragon. That one was a delightful scream-inducer that made me want to puke afterwards. Not enough, however, to keep me from capping off the night with a Kohr Bros dip-top frozen custard and a final walk on the beach.

We left Rehoboth an hour later than planned, putting us on the road at 11pm and home, sandy and sunburned, at a painful 2am. Then we went out and danced the night away. HA! Who am I kidding? We passed out immediately and slept until 10am the next day.

Since this post is already epically long, I will summarize the events of Saturday, Sunday, and Monday as succinctly as possible: We ate, there was a Log Posse incident with an inflatable rocket, we ate, Bobby turned 27, and we ate. I also recovered from the sunburn that had scorched the middle of my back during our trip to the beach, which was coincidentally the only section I’d asked Bobby to cover with sunscreen. I wiped my butt on his birthday card in return.

This week was not the trip to Costa Rica I wish I could have taken and it didn’t involve anything particularly wild or extravagant, but looking back on it now, it makes me pretty damn happy to think about all the good times. Three cheers for Staycation 2009!