It’s always better on holiday.

I can always tell when I’m about to start bleeding from a certain orifice in my body, because I get really snarky.  I suppose you could also call that bitchy.  But there you have it.  Also, I start to feel really fat.  Seriously, what the fuck is that all about?  I wonder how those of a particularly religious disposition reconcile these facts with their world view.  A benevolent creator thinks it will just be a really good joke to make every rational creature with two X chromosomes bleed for a week, think very (mean) irrational thoughts towards her friends, family and partner and feel like a veritable elephant woman, you know, just for fun.

Well, I don’t think it’s fun.  What’s worse is that I can recognize the change in my mood and demeanor, but there is nothing I can do about it.  I just walk around with a really short fuse for a week.  Maybe even two.

Still, I guess this means I’m not pregnant.  Although I didn’t really think it was a possibility, the realization that I really liked the way peanut butter and pickles tasted when I accidentally ate them in tandem the other day was slightly alarming.

Now, I’ve just learned that I’m apparently a freak.


So, yes, on to the matter at hand of this blog post.


I got my passport back the other week, and my foreign national card followed it a couple days later.  Much like the really bad picture in my passport, my picture on my foreign national card showcases one very curiously raised eyebrow.  I’m convinced this must just reflect my picture face.  When seated in front of a camera, I cock an eyebrow up in defiance, as if telepathically saying to the camera (or photographer), ‘Take my picture, and I’ll CUT you’.  


In addition to the somewhat frighteningly raised left eyebrow, I have somehow managed to competently pantomime a Polish immigrant in this picture.  It’s amazing.

But, yes, so now that I have these travel documents, we’ve been planning a trip back to Orlando for a visit.  Since we had a very short honeymoon after the wedding in December and I’m so desperate to actually take a holiday (nothing against Orlando, of course, but I don’t really see it as a holiday in the British sense of the term), I proposed taking a layover in NYC on the way back.  I did some number crunching and airfare searching and found that it would cost less than $100 per ticket for this weekend detour.  


I’ve been to NYC once in my life, and it was when I was underage and travelling with someone who was in the process of moving to Staten Island.  Therefore, I spent a lot of time drinking vodka from home-filled water bottles on the Staten Island ferry, drinking pitchers of margaritas the size of my head at a Mexican dive that would serve me in the Lower East Side and sleeping (passing out) on subway platforms in Williamsburg.  

In case it wasn’t clear, I didn’t really enjoy my visit.  Basically, I walked around NYC drunk.  The entire time.

Even though we’re going to spend an entire week in Orlando and only two days in NYC, I somehow feel guilty.  Like, my friends and family will be upset that I’m actually going on a holiday somewhere else.  The gall!  

But, for some reason, I imagine my trip to Orlando won’t transpire in the way I’m thinking it will.  Initially, I thought that we would spend our time visiting people, going from house to house, catching up.  But then I realized how lame this sounds.  Who wants to travel across the Atlantic to spend an entire week having dinners at people’s houses, talking about London, school, married life.  Not me.  That sounds lame as hell.

Instead, we’re going to just plan a normal holiday to Orlando.  Fit in some days at the theme parks, play some mini golf, take in the Orlando nightlife (HA!), attend a few dinner parties perhaps.  And, of course, I’m going to take Red to all the restaurants I love and miss, the ones I never took him to on his previous visits because they’re mostly strict vegetarian restaurants.  Ethos, Garden Cafe.  Oh, how I miss them.

I’m going to send our agenda off to all my friends and family members and tell them if they want to spend time with us that they’re going to have to come to a theme park or play some mini golf with us.  Because, save for a select few, I’m not making any special plans to just hang out in homes.  We’ll probably be spending a few nights over at Grandmommy and Bobba’s house, because I know that Grandmommy isn’t particularly mobile and, if I’m honest, one of the very main reasons I’m coming back to Orlando first thing is to see her, as she didn’t get to come to the wedding.  We’ll probably travel up to Ocala for a day to see Grandma and spend the day with my Mom and Mark.  I mean, even though my mom is mobile and could come down to Orlando to chill, my Grandma couldn’t.

We’ll probably also go over to Betsy’s for a night for some Irish Mist revelries.  Just because, well, it’s awesome and she’s my second mom.  Although she’d better hang out with us at some other point during our visit (Yeah, you, Betsy).  

I imagine perhaps that there might be a party of some sort, potentially at my dad and Lois’s place.  While that’s nice as well, I can’t express enough how I don’t want this holiday to turn into Red and me travelling from home to home sitting on people’s couches, smiling and talking about the wedding.



So, yes.  NYC.  Woo woo!

I don’t really know what we’ll do.  Last night Red talked about seeing a Yankees game, and I snapped at him (refer back to original thought of this post) and asked him if he really wanted to waste an entire one of our two days in NYC sitting in the bleachers of Yankee stadium with an annoyed wife.  I might have conceded if we were spending an entire week in New York, but we’re not.  So, a Yankees game is out of the question in my mind.

I started trolling through Yelp in NYC.  I have to say, I’m torn between whether to go full-on tourist in our two days or to seek out local haunts and activities.  I hate myself for being drawn to the former.


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