Where to begin? I made good on my chocolate silk pie promise. Each night the routine went something like this:
My mother-in-law, my grandmother-in-law, and I would sit around the beach house reading.
Sometime between 9:00-9:30 pm I would get out of my chair and remove the chocolate silk pie from the freezer for defrosting purposes, after which I would return to my chair.
Fifteen minutes later I would announce my intentions with a simple "who's up for some pie?"
Which would result in both women exclaiming some variation on the phrase "oh, no, I couldn't!", but then both deciding at the last minute that they wanted some, but only a small piece.
Obeying orders, I would cut three hearty slices and bring them into the living room.
Then we would undergo a few rounds of "this really is a good pie, I have to admit it" "where is it from? Marie Calendar?! You don't say..."
Holden saw Chicken Run about a dozen times--in case you are wondering, we DID spend time on the actual beach, too.
I mistook the cell phone ring for an alarm clock noise at 6:00 am. I kept pounding and pounding on that clock, but the noise didn't stop until it was good and ready.
I drove around with my brights on all the time without realizing it.
Holden broke a chair in the Pacific City library while I was trying to read/write blogs, so clearly I can't ever go back there again.
I became obsessed with Gilmore Girls and started wishing that I could wear my hair like Rory's in the first season.
I stayed up till 2:00 am reading the 6th Harry Potter (dilemma solved, by the way, as they were on sale at Fred Meyer and all I had to do was walk in and buy one). I won't discuss my feelings about the book in case any yet-to-be-discovered fans are out there reading this (you know who you are, Marcy Dibbleblotts). Let's just say that, coupled with the lateness of the hour and my highly emotional and wacky state, I had to stop myself from praying about the ending when I finally calmed down enough to go to sleep.
I bought an abundance of shoes at the Lincoln City outlets. In fact, you might say that I doubled the number of shoes that were in my suitcase when I left for Oregon...
I DID NOT have any Gift From the Sea-esque insights while lounging on the beach, except that maybe the dead seagull in the sand seemed symbolic of how I felt after walking up the sand dune carrying a lawnchair and a bag full of shovels and buckets.
I made a disturbing and upsetting discovery regarding cellulite that I can't really discuss in detail.
I heard the phrase "Utah Mormon" about five times.
I had a confrontation with DMP about the whole "forged/forded" debacle and we both came out better people from the conversation.
I gave up Radcliff, who had no problem being left at what can only be described as "Dog Mecca": lots of land, goats to nip at, chickens to chase, and cats to torment. He is in heaven. And has already forgotten that I ever existed.
I read a lot of People and US magazines, and am therefore an expert on such global issues as "Brangelina," "Jen and Ben's Low-Key Wedding," and "Jennifer Anniston's recent foray into Budokon."
And finally, I obsessed over how I could blog about my trip without writing some lame list of things that I did. Alas, I am doomed to be "list girl" forever. I wish I could be like Kacy, who I call "witty prose girl," or like Marcy, who I refer to as "perfectly self-effacing girl." I'm just boring old "list girl." Urgh.