Do I Even Need to Say it???

ONE DAY.

The day before vacation always ends up being a weird day. You really want to throw on flip flops and a tank top, but instead you must dress up, go to work, and pretend all is normal. That your hair will not be braided in cornrows, that you will not be wearing a bra, and that you will not be drunk on margaritas and music the very next day. So today I made a compromise. A dressed up version of flip flops, no life sucking pantyhose, and a summer dress. I feel like a gooney.

I have to tell you all, I have the best brother ever made. Remember the sweet little doggy I have?



I'm a horrible, horrible, TERRIBLE pet owner. He doesn't have his last rabies shot (The doggie, not my brother. Judging by the looks of him, I just haven't been to worried about rabies) Hence, no doggie sitter wants to watch my baby while I'm on vacation. And between that and my really really bad procrastination I was left with few options. I called and begged my parents, but between watching Mr. Drake & having 3 boxers of their own they weren't up to protecting my darling doggie also.

So onto other family members. My parents had four of us for a reason other than washing dishes, right? I figured I'd better start with the most responsible one, and after asking for a huge favor he said yes, not even quite sure what he was signing up for. I told him the whole story, and what a crappy pet owner I am. He laughed, asked if he poops in the house, what he does all day (sleep) and said sure, no problem. I LOVE MY BROTHER.

Now I can leave on vacation knowing all my responsibilities will still be alive and kicking when I return. Life is good.

Well, except for the working, cleaning, cooking dinner part, which can be forgiven because it's not going to happen for a few days during vacation.

The hubby was smart enough to take today off also, bastard. While I am slaving away in my crappy half summer/half work outfit he is out playing frisbee golf with friends. Not just his friends, either. Nope, our mutual friends. I feel so left out. It doesn't matter that I can't throw a frisbee more than 5 feet, and never in the right direction. Nor that when I join in the game takes about 2 hours longer than usual. I am so jealous.

He should be at home doing the loads of laundry that need done before we can leave. How is it that every single freaking one of my bras is dirty? Explain that one to me. Hence, the bra-less comment above. Who needs them anyway, right?

Goodbye all! When I get back I will most likely be burned to a crisp by the unforgiving evil sun, have hair that circles my head in a giant fro once the cornrows are taken out, and hopefully have massive knitting done. I'll let you know. And maybe take a few pictures.