Starting tomorrow, the family is going on vacation. Yes, another one. But with parents and siblings this time instead of cousins. Work this week has seen somewhat pointless, as having just gotten back from a long weekend, a sun preamble, I was all, hello, why are you making me be here pretending to be productive when I have a vacation to attend.

Now I do love my family, and it’s vacation so I really shouldn’t complain AT ALL, but fuck, it’s going to be a lot of family time. A lot of closeness and bonding and … activities. And, oh God, I don’t even want to think about all the questions. I’m bringing my laptop and eight books. I hope that’s enough. We have not gone on a family vacation for YEARS. A whole lot of years. Like, twelve or something ridiculous. And I think that one involved twenty hours in the Volvo station wagon, museums and constant requests that The Brother stop giving his sisters bunny-ears in all the pictures.

This one should be remarkably different. I’m overall pretty excited.

NOTE: Our vacation destination is two hours away from The Kid. Ha! Irony! What a sick, sick world! When I was explaining this to my little Mexican sous-chef at The Wine Bar, he worriedly asked if I was planning on “getting too drunk and maybe calling and saying hello I am drunk and only a little bit away” and I said, “no, he doesn’t know, well, ok, maybe he knows, but I maybe hinted that I was going with a friend” –not necessarily my family (because I am evil?). My little Mexican then comically shoved an imaginary knife into his chest and fell to the floor. When the restaurant closes, I am going to miss him so much.