There’s no doubt if you’re on my Facebook…personal page or blog one…you have heard enough of my yammering on my vacation.
(I mean, I figure if “I” have…then you probably have.)
The new fam flew to DC for 3 days, then Amtrak’d it to NYC for 3 days.
(Lots of together time.)
(Lots of together time.)
(Lots of together time.)
I used to fly professionally so I got that flying gig down. Cayla had never been on a plane. So, at 15 years old this was a whole new world for her.
“Do I reeeeally need to take my shoes off or are you just wanting me to look stupid in front of all these people?”
(Yes, dear. I’m standing here barefooted on this swamp ass floor and my main concern is to make you look stupid.)
“Do we go to baggage claim before we go to the gate?”
(Do we go to baggage claim BEFORE WE GO TO THE GATE?) (Scrunch your forehead up, say it again jutting your head forward and voila’…you’re me.)
“Did that security dude touch your boob?”
(Don’t judge me, child. And get out of the way, I’m circling back through.)
It was one of those vacations where you never stopped, but then feel like you missed out on doing so much.
Let me break that down for you on our DC portion of the trip.
On our very first night in DC, we took off headed to the sites.
(By foot.) (OK…feet.) (Well pedicured and pretty feet, mind you.)
At one point, (and by “at one point” I mean 6 hours and 93 miles later) we were walking through that big, gigantic mall thing with the reflecting pool and the monuments and the muggers.
(I say muggers because it was dark and I saw shady characters walking. Really fast. Or maybe jogging. Possibly exercising.)
(I don’t know.)
My feet had to be bloody stumps at this point but I was sweating so much I was afraid to look down for fear of my face falling off.
But Keith was walking like his ass was on fire. He wouldn’t slow down and was trying to take in as much as he could before I demanded to head back to the hotel.
I prayed that I would soon be mugged because then I could lay down and rest. I found myself lurching in front of anyone who looked remotely criminal-ish. Or human. And even some who didn’t.
I didn’t care if my purse was taken. Hell, I could have had my kidney in it and I would have gladly given it up just to lay down, get that damn pebble out of my shoe and stop moving for 7 minutes.
Day #2 in DC was about the same. Walking and sweating.
(And I ate a hot dog on the street.)
(Let’s keep that right here between us.)
(Best damn hot dog ever.)
Here they are in front of some monument.
(I am so monument-ed out by this point, we could be standing in front of a giant moon pie factory and I wouldn’t know.)
Here’s Keith at the National Law Enforcement Memorial. He worked with a deputy who was killed in the line of duty. We found his name on the wall.
(I ‘thought’ I had an uncle from way back in the day who was killed in the line of duty, so I called mom to get his name so I could look for it.)
(Needless to say, he was crooked. Of course he was. I’m from a line of criminals. Thanks, mom.)
On a serious note, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the Marine Barracks were the highlights for me.
Next, we Amtrak’d it to NYC.
Miss Mary Mac, Mac, Mac
All dressed in black, black, black
With silver buttons, buttons, buttons
All down her back, back, back.
Why do I give you those lyrics, you ask?
Because I sat on a train and listened to a grandma and her granddaughter sing the whoooole friggin’ song for three hours.
Right there across the aisle. From me.
(Three hours. Uh, huh. Threeeeee hours, people.)
NYC was fabulous. We did the typical NYC stuff…Times Square, shopping, eating, people watching, Broadway shows.
And of course, more walking but a little less sweating.
On to some NYC sightseeing.
(It’ll be better with photos than my endless yammering.)
Johnny Depp will sleep better now that he has a photo with me.
(Why hello, Redneck.)
(What the hell is up with that?)
Here we’ll find a couple of hot cops.
(One said, “Yo” when we chatted.) (I swear.) (Yo.) (It wasn’t mine.)
Now let me tell you.
I can get all over a Papa Murphy’s pizza like white on rice. I’m talking rolling around and wrapping up in it.
(Not literally.) (Ok, sometimes.)
But this pizza, was by far the best food to ever pass through my shiney red lipsticked up lips.
I could have easily embarrassed myself with it.
And maybe I did. Afterall, this IS a vacation.
Again. Best trip ever. The fam was fantastic. We all got along great.
(Except for when I barked out “It’s too early, get back to sleep!”)
(At 9:30 am on morning #2.)
(Well, and except for when I teeth-gritted at Keith, “You’re outta your mind!” after he said we had walked less than a mile when my feet had been moving for over 6 hours and I was drenched in my own sweaty-ass sweat in places sweat should never, ever be found.)
(And, well except for when I said, “Oh my GOD…enough, dude!” after the 76th time Keith said, “Fuhgeddaboutit!” when we were in Little Italy.) (To people we didn’t know.) (I ain’t kidding.)
We tried all kinds of food. We laughed at all kinds of stuff…and each other.
There was hand-holding, winks and lots of smiles.
My husband is the best travel partner ever. He never once rushed us or got frustrated. He always asked us what we wanted to do….never demanded or expected anything for himself.
My girl is the best teenager ever. No attitude. No back-talk. No eye rolling. (OK…maybe a tad.) Always willing to do more than we asked. And she always had a smile.
Me? The best southern, redheaded cab-hailer you’ll find this side of the Mason-Dixon line.
Let me leave you with this little photo.
This little photo sums me up. To a tee.
I will walk and I will sweat. But somebody must pay.