Guess where I was all weekend!
I was valentine-ing in a luxury hotel with my hub and my cubs on the other side of the island.
Neither my husband or I can take credit for planning the delightful weekend, we were merely the benefactors of a dear friend's romantic misfortunes.
In short, our dear friend was handed lemons, which he passed on to us to make s'mores.
Is it bad that I had a delightful time making s'mores out of our dear friend's lemons?
Would it make it any better if I said it wasn't all delightful, it was also little bit insightful?
Remember in my last post I confessed that I am, as of late, a non-functioning non-depressive. (I can't seem to get anything done, even though I'm emotionally fine and dandy.)
(Of course I blame this--and all of my other problems--on my hair, because taming the shrew takes a lot of energy).
If you too are suffering in silence as a non-functioning non-depressive, here's a mind blowing tip: Go chillax in a luxury hotel. There's no functioning required in a luxury hotel. The whole concept is set up so as to allow you to be non-functional.
It's pure genius!
Besides this insightful epiphany, I was also able to confront and embrace three truths about myself while chillaxin at the luxury hotel.
Truth #1: So I ain't gots no class (DEAL WITH IT!)
Truth #2: So I ain't gots no shiny straight hair (DEAL WITH IT!)
Truth #3: So I ain't gots to spill truth #3 cuz it ain't none of your beeswax! (DEAL WITH IT!)
(It's really liberating to confront and embrace truths.)
I have had issues with truth #1 for a long long time--ever since my MIL made me pull a ratty cooler full of POP, as she calls it, through the lobby of this very same hotel several years ago. (Note: This very same hotel where we've sat poolside with Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey.)
I have an aversion to looking like trailer trash around beautiful rich people. I think it may have something to do with my inner wounded child being dropped off at school in a station wagon held together with duct tape.
But this weekend I realized that class is a state of mind.
So what if I don't have dazzling diamond necklaces dripping into enthusiastic bronze cleavage!
So what if my kids sneak their own Ritz crackers and bite-size Snicker bars to the pool while I'm drooling on the lounge chairs!
So what if my boys do Nacho Libre leaps through the lobby and stop, drop and roll into the elevators!
So what if we eat at Burger King on valentines day with the other two lame-o couples on the island!
Truthfully, I don't eat there for the food, I eat there for the wrappers. Have you ever read the wrappers at Burger King?
Sometimes I order everything on the menu just to read the hee-sterical descriptions of each food item.
When I grow up I want to write for Burger King. Either that or I want to marry the writer for Burger King so he can make me laugh AND make me feel like I'm having it my way. (Such an attractive quality in a man.)
To our credit, we also took our kids to Chilis for the all-you-can-eat chips and salsa.
Again, I don't go to Chilis for the food, I go for their playlist. They really know how to pump up the jam, especially in their restrooms, which I personally think is a brilliant idea.
Yesterday my husband asked me why I was spending so much time in the restroom and I told him I thought I might have the stomach flu, but actually I was listening to the Counting Crows and Foo Fighters.
But shucks, I digress.
More about my delightful insightful weekend tomorrow. For now I gotsta go pretend to be functional.
(DEAL WITH IT!)