Don't Know Much About...

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Sitting around Panera on Saturday morning with my running group, the Blueliners, my friend Thad mentioned his internet connection was down at home. 

"Ours is out too," I said. "They're coming Sunday to fix it." 

"Do you have DSL?" asked Wayne, the techie guy Thad had been talking to about the downed internet. 

I stared blankly at both of them. "My internet is down," I repeated. 

They looked at each other and grinned. "Do you know who you make your checks out to?" Wayne asked kindly. 

I hesitated. "Road Runner?" 

"You have cable," said Wayne and Thad together. 

Sometimes my lack of all things technical appalls me. God help me if something happens to Blair or he ever leaves me. It would be only a matter of days before every technical item in my life would explode in my face.

And don't even get me started on the fiscal matters. Blair has tried to interest me in portfolios and investments but I just can't gather the energy to care. Mainly because with him here, I don't have to. I know it's very "1950s housewife" of me not to take a more active role, but my eyes just start bleeding if I look at rows of numbers for too long. 

In deference to my lack of interest, we have "the notebook." The notebook is a big red binder listing our every account, account number, account contact info, and what I'm supposed to do with all these things if I'm ever left on my own. I suspect the notebook is a paper notebook because Blair doesn't trust my skill set to access the same information in an online format. 

Which is totally unfair. I could do it. 

Just so long as the cable-ABC-DSL-thingamabobbie doesn't go out. 

Cheers,

Dena

It's Good To Be Home

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Drove the 6 hours back home yesterday from Kiawah Island and was unpacked with the washing machine churning within 10 minutes of walking through the front door. How do people let suitcases sit around for days? It's beyond me. 

Had a fantastic time with best friend. Very reminiscent of our college days when we would go 5 or 6 days in a row and never be out of one another's sight for more than three minutes at a stretch. On the down (but completely expected) side, I wore maybe one-third of the clothes I packed. Big floppy hat never even made it out of the backseat of my car. While unpacking, I briefly considered giving the hat away as I haven't worn it once in over 10 years, but I'm betting the next beach vacation I'll break that baby out, so it's back on its hook in my closet. 

Came home and was welcomed by the cats and by welcomed I mean completely ignored. Blair's response was warmer - he had the house cleaned and a bag of M&M's sitting on top of my desk along with a note saying he couldn't wait to see me. Lovely man.

There was some minor frustration this morning in that our internet connection has gone down and I was having trouble getting on-line even through my AT&T 3G network.

"We'll survive," said Blair. "We'll be like the pioneers."

"Oh boy!" I said, with fake enthusiasm. "Fun!"

"Yeah, I know," said Blair. "It is getting a little 'Donner party' around here." 

I asked him if, during "Meat Week," he managed to eat a vegetable. "Yes," he said. "I had potatoes." 

Yes, everything is back to normal.

Cheers,

Dena

Chronic Overpacker

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Hello from Kiawah Island! I'm here visiting my best friend and it's nothing but sun, sand... and the three billion items I felt it imperative to bring with me from home for this four-day journey.

I have never been a good packer but I've never really taken the time to sit down and figure out why. There was a 30-mile stretch in South Carolina where I picked up nothing but screaming preachers and church music, so I had a little time to think about where I went errant in my packing ways. 

Here's my best guess: I overpack in the hopes I will transform into a completely different person while on vacation. Someone who casually throws on wide-brimmed floppy hats or knows how to layer bracelets and necklaces and look contemporary and whimsical and not like an aging late 80's Madonna wanna-be. With this me-only-better person in mind, I dig into the recesses of my closet and pull out clothes that haven't seen daylight since the Clinton years. I fully expect that once I see the beach, I'll be inspired by that strapless neon sundress or the clog shoes or the big wooden necklace I had to have and have never worn because for the life of me I can't figure out what it goes with.

I brought a bag of hair accessories because I apparently decided that once I saw ocean, I'd be transformed into someone who knows exactly what to do with a banana clip or a polka-dot headband or sparkly faux-diamond hairpins and that I would intuitively master the art of the french twist. 

That's the dream. The reality is I have spent my first two days here in a swimsuit, shorts, and a rainbow of tank tops with my hair thrown back in a ponytail. 

 The dream has not died however. A group of us are going into Charleston today. I have carefully laid out on my bed a sundress, a floppy hat, necklaces, and rhinestone barrettes. 

I can make it work. I know I can. 

Cheers,

Dena