For the future ones: I've discovered all-inclusive vacations.

To all of you,

So May was probably my busiest month in awhile. Someone should find the guy who invented the academic calendar, so we can take him out back and shoot him. Right next to the dumbass who said APRIL SHOWERS BRING MAY FLOWERS. What about May showers? 'Cause we've sure seen a lot of those.

I reached the end of my second year at Whitworth, which basically means things went a lot smoother this time around. Let no one say I don't learn from trial and error. I'm a frickin' mastermind. But what I never seem to be prepared for, are the goodbye lunches and coffees and breakfasts, the seemingly endless trail of notes and HAVE A NICE LIFE's and promises of I WILL SO COME BACK AND SEE YOU! And of course, gifts. Like the garden gnome who now travels with my students to conferences. His name is Orlando. He had a plush lawn and several picturesque backgrounds but I think those were thrown out during a rare fit of rage that resulted in some impromptu spring cleaning. Those don't happen often, but watch out when they do. My job is so stress-free it should be illegal, but my last week of work had me stomping around and slamming drawers. It's amazing how therapeutic that is. Free entertainment for my faculty, who know my smiling face to be the only one I have. 

CYT's show opened and closed in a week and a half's time, a delightful rendition of 'Alice in Wonderland' except with more music and less hookah. Those kids amaze me. Period. I have come to love long hours spent at the theater, and can count on a handful of colorful experiences. Like the drunk who tried to get in by pounding on the windows, much to the dismay of the 9-year-old standing on the other side, whose mother tried to play it off like YOU'VE NEVER HEARD THAT WORD? WHAT? then ran off in search of someone who could tell her what in God's name kind of operation do we think we're running here.

The moral of this story is thank God for double-paned windows. Also, you're never going outside. You can stay indoors until you're 18, which won't be any detriment to your complexion because unless I marry a hot Latino, you're getting pasty white skin anyway. As in Twilight vampire white, minus the sparkles. You're welcome. 

My parents celebrated 35 years of marriage on May 29th, so we ordered a sinful amount of fry bread and plopped it on the table family-style. The out-of-towners were visiting, and for a short time we were all together. As such, we can always be certain of a few things: sarcasm, spilled drinks, and somebody making fun of your Aunt Erica for that time she used to be in a sorority. You should ask her about that someday. Really. The last time Dad laughed that hard it was in reference to my sister, age 6, executing a Peter Pan off the swingset which, thank God, was caught on tape. (It's the gift that keeps on giving.)

And then. THEN I went to Mexico. Cabo San Lucas, to be exact. You get a lot of wide-eyed stares when people find out you're  vacationing in Mexico, of all places. Kind of a dangerous place to be these days. Dad said AREN'T THEY SHOOTING TOURISTS THERE? and I thought that was almost as good as when I backpacked Europe and people kept asking if I'd ever seen the movie Taken. 


This was my first all-inclusive vacation, and it was positively divine. My days (doesn't matter which one, they were all the same) looked like this:


- Wake up
- Go to breakfast
- Lay by the pool
- Go to lunch
- Lay by the pool
- Go to dinner

Here's a photo diary:

There were a few extracurriculars, such as water volleyball (I took a dig to the face, it was really fun), movies on the beach at night, and taking pictures of our food. Like the heart-shaped raspberry mousse, because isn't that what three single girls need? To be perfectly honest, if given the choice of vacationing with my celebrity crush versus the two girls I went with, I'd choose the latter. Girlfriends are good for the soul. We read books, watched movies, made great conversation, ran around in our underwear, and took the occasional field trip along the beach where I was almost swept away by the giant undertow. Not a joke. Very serious. Your mother has a mortal fear of open water. It would be unwise to read any humor into that statement.

I've decided that there's nothing wrong with taking a vacation just because you can. Most people don't ever go all-out because there's not enough reason, but I say to hell with that, relaxation does the body good and it might as well be poolside with a posse of good-looking, coiffed young men who call themselves the Entertainment Team and have an inordinate amount of confidence in their milkshake's ability to bring all the girls to the yard.


However, and call me crazy, but I was ready to come home. I am a worker bee, and I enjoy what I do. It's my first week on the summer job, incidentally, at the firm I used to work at. It's a great blessing, I have tremendous love and respect for the people there. My trove of memories includes chair races and practical jokes, a severe hatred for Microsoft Office...  It's there that I first learned how to read minds, and could tell from the way my boss said my name, exactly what he needed and when. And then there's the time a client made me cry, aka the day I became a man. Shit. I can admit to being an emotional time bomb but this was out of control. My boss was so upset, she called him right back and said he could take his Devil Wears Prada dragon-lady act somewhere else, oh and P.S., HELL CALLED, THEY WANT THEIR GOLDEN BOY BACK. 


Ok, that's not true. But she did get upset, and I never had to talk to that guy again. Good thing too, 'cause I might've played the martyr and said WHY YES, LET ME BUST MY ASS FOR YOU. ALSO, I'M SORRY YOU DIDN'T GET ENOUGH LOVE AS A KID.

My co-workers were (and are) dear friends. For all of their madness, they virtually raised me. I started there at 17, left at 23. They still create drama, still try to marry me off, and still count me one of their own. Although, I am beginning to realize most of the craziness may have been caused by me. When I began to feel the need to move on, I got so anxious over leaving them even though I knew it was right. My last week there, I was so stressed and altogether sentimental, sleepless nights and somebody-get-that-girl-a-Valium, I holed myself up in the bathroom an average of 5 times a day and cried my eyes out. They must've known, but nobody let on.


We're going to hope for less tears this time around. Cross your fingers.


What I'm trying to say is, I'm substantially better because of them. I don't think I knew it when I started out, but by the time it was all over I knew I'd been a part of something much bigger. I would encourage you to listen with a still heart, to know where the Lord is guiding you. Don't make up your mind that understanding is a must, you will never acquire it and are better off just trusting (as we love to say that we do, and so often don't) that it is right.


And that's another thing: defining 'right'. It's amazing what you can learn with a little shift in perspective. 'Right' becomes less important when you consider experience as more valuable. In fact, 'right' means little -- 'good' means more. 


No matter what, it's all better when there's work involved.


And chair races and practical jokes.


Love,
Me