A Weekend Away.

Did you pack the camera?

For what?

I don’t know, in case we want to take pictures?

But, the kids aren’t going.

Right, but we can take pictures of other things.

Like trees?

I don’t know, what did we take pictures of before we had kids?

Mostly us, either drunk or naked. Or other people drunk and naked. Or people I thought looked like Robin Williams.

We spent the weekend in Westlake, Ohio. It doesn’t sound incredibly romantic, but he picked it because it had a Trader Joes and a Cheesecake Factory, and he knows I adore both.

Want to get in my pants? Feed me cheesecake and shrimp. I’m not Alcatraz.

(Was Alcatraz really hard to get in and out of, or did we just all make that up for Nicholas Cage?)

We didn’t have hotel reservations, but that was part of the adventure, assuming there wasn’t some sort of taxidermy convention going on, booking every thing solid. But, dude, I’d sleep in my car for a good deal on a bear skin rug, because that would give so much credit to my story about seeing a bear in Kentucky that mouthed the words “November 8th” to me.

I know, I have no idea what that means either, that bear was super cryptic.

Now, if you follow me on Facebook, you know the trip got off to a bumpy start when I remembered an hour into the car ride that I had left my clothes in the dryer, which would have been less of a problem if I didn’t insist on traveling in what I call, my automobile pants.

(A pair of faded black leggings, cropped so they don’t touch any public restroom floors, and stretchy so I can pull them up above my belly button and feel skinnier with a seat belt on.)

A last minute run to buy clothes and do some quick shopping set us back, and we missed our dinner reservation, which placed us at a very romantic TGI Fridays.

It would have been awful if it wasn’t positively hilarious, mostly because I had semi-talked Andy into pretending I was his non-English speaking mail order bride trying American cuisine for the first time. It was actually a lot funnier to me than to Andy, but he’s horrible at improv. It was like Meryl Streep acting next to any actor in The Happening.

By the time we reached a hotel, I was exhausted and regretting everything I had eaten.

And what kind of room did you want?

One with a king size bed.

Alright.

And far away from, like, any kids.

Hmmmm…ok….

I like them and I’m totally legally allowed to be around them and all that, it’s just…ugh, right?

I pregnant with our first, so…

Oh dude, we have three at home, we just want to pretend we don’t have any right now, if that makes sense?

We were given a ground floor room next to the pool.  There could not have been more kids in that pool if it had been filled with ADHD medicine.

Do you know how hard it is to watch Boardwalk Empire on free HBO with your husband, when a gaggle of pre-teen boys are running up and down the hall, knocking on doors, fighting, and making, what I am guessing were supposed to be, sex sounds?

I made Andy call the front desk. Twice. They were really polite, but super busy, so nothing happened.

More stomping down halls, pounding on doors and yelling, plus I am 99% sure one of them peed on the carpet at some point, and the rest of them were daring each other to touch it and then screaming faggot at each other.

I gave Andy my annnnnnnd enough look and walked to the door.

I just do not understand that in 2012, when we have robot maps inside our cell phones, parents are still letting their kids act like assholes in public and use words like faggot.

Hey guys! I just called the front desk to complain, plus I’m about to have really loud, gross sex with my husband, and if you beat on my door again, you’re paying for my room.

blink, blink

Also, something like 1 in 10 people are gay, and there are like, 12 of you, sooooo…..stop saying that word. Jesus hates it.

I’ll probably never go to a Holiday Inn again, but the Trader Joes Chocolate Covered Potato Chips? Worthsies.