As it turns out, I won’t be headed to Cumberland this weekend after all.

One of the girls boss’ is a complete asshat, and has decided that despite the entire company being given Monday off as an added holiday, he needs her and her team to run some last minute numbers in preparation for a presentation on Wednesday. It’s not an ER, they’re not saving lives, they’re not keeping a nuclear reactor cool, they’re running NUMBERS. They’re significant numbers, sure, but we’vehadthisfrackingvacationonthebookssinceFebruary! *sigh*. No use fighting The Man, he’s too strong for me.

All for one and one for all, we’ll try to reschedule for September, and head back for the glory that is the Rock Shrimp Festival…our anniversary of the three hour tour.

Any-hoe, in my mourning of the vacation that wasn’t going to be, I did what anyone would do. I went for a manicure and pedicure.

The ole mani-pedi is a treat I haven’t afforded myself or been able to afford since the impromptu condo purchase, and it was sooooooo the right thing to do. I love my sketchy little nail salon by the “murder Kroger”. I love that I walk in and I get a sincere greeting in charming broken English noting exactly how long it’s been and confirming I still have a clear/clear preference and I love that the woman who takes care of me doesn’t bother to try to make polite conversation as I bury my nose in a trashy detective novel and relish in the joy that is foot scrapeage, she just laughs when I wiggle because it tickles. Man. I’ve missed that. As if my outlook and my attitude hadn’t improved enough, she totally bonused me out with a shoulder rub. Did she know how stressed I was? Was my lack of movement that obvious? Does it matter? It was good stuff and confirmed my love.

Also on the bright side, the condo is clean (I hate coming home to chores), The Mc has been out of town all week and comes home Saturday – so I’ll get to see him early-ish, and my writing session with Aaron that had to be canceled last night can take place tonight.

I still believe everything happens for a reason, and who knows? Maybe – just maybe – that boss-man/chicken fucker will be responsible for the kink finally coming out of my neck.

I’m still writing over here, too…in case you want to read about random Atlanta stuff since all I can seem to do on this site lately is whine.

The SmartCar is coming, the SmartCar is coming! It’s no G-Wiz, but it’ll do and damn it, I want one.

Day 3 of the stiff neck begins, despite sleeping with a prescription pain relief patch on my neck the discomfort has actually reached new levels. If only other bits of me were as ambitious as my nerves and their joint rebellions with my muscle. There’s a civil war happening from the base of my skull, down my right shoulder and half way down my back. Ungrateful frackin’ body parts.

Suck.

There are a lot of things I’d rather do than look at this computer right now and pretend to care about writing. Like going back to bed…which I can’t do.

Suck.

So now maybe I make polite conversation. Big plans for the weekend?

Friday after work the girls and I will pile into the Griswold family truckster for another adventure on Cumberland Island.

Having learned from our mistakes last year, this year I’m bringing:
~ 1 bottle of Captian Morgan
~ Sunscreen (Eucerin, 30spf)
~ GPS
~ Batsignal
~ Snorkle (for the swamp)
~ Dart gun w/tranquilizers (for intermittent hysteria or wild animals)
~ 1 swimsuit
~ 2 pairs of shorts
~ 3 tees/tanks

What am I forgetting?

I have no idea where I packed the gnome, so he won’t be making the trip. In his place will be Mary Frances, a stuffed armadillo.

Related posts:
Let the Games Begin
The Long Drive In
The Road Less Traveled (a must read!)
Trying New Things
Making New Friends
I’m Back
The X Files

I had hoped another 10 hours of sleep would loosen the muscles in my neck. I was wrong. I look like the dancing girl in the neck brace from 16 Candles…minus the neck brace. And braces. And long hair. You get the picture. It’s fracking killing me.