I’m not dead. Just really relaxed. Promise.

Just wanted you to know I’m not dead. No, really. I’m not. I promise. I am not blogging from beyond the grave.

I have, however, managed to relax to the point of almost becoming boneless. Like a chicken finger. I don’t even want to get up to make or get food. I’m just that relaxed.

The past couple of days have consisted of reading (6 books and part of a seventh in 6 days); watching a LOT of television (I’m trying very hard to catch up on my television for the next season…it’s not going well, as I’m still watching episodes from March); spending inordinate amounts of time on elaborate manicures because I never get to do that in real life (it’s very hard to blog with wet nails, or any of the other millions of things I have to do at home); sleeping (not as much as planned, as I’m up all hours reading amazing books); and random other things like email and internetty things and actually some work things, because, surprisingly, life doesn’t end when you go on vacation. I KNOW! Shock! Awe!

I have many photos to share but this app is just the worst for that. Just the utter worst. I will make you a photo-laden post when I get back to the world.

Today, my brother and I went on a trip with The Nephew. We went to lunch (more Chinese buffet, which is my brother’s favorite…I think I will never want Chinese food again after this trip); the mall (so The Nephew could have some new toys at the learning toy store, which I heartily approve of; I also found some false mustaches, and was all “BROTHER BROTHER WE NEED THESE TO MAKE QUICK GETAWAYS” and he was all, “They are $4. Our heists will have to be more than $4.” I assured him they would be and he STILL didn’t buy them, HARRUMPH!); then to the movies.

Dad got free movie passes and concessions for buying tires (yeah, I don’t know, either) and The Nephew REALLY wanted to see Turbo. Turbo is a movie about a snail that, through the magic of cartoonery, ingests chemicals through a street-racing incident and, rather than dying, becomes super-fast so he can go like 225 miles per hour. He then runs afoul of a taco-truck proprietor who enrolls him in the Indy 500 to get publicity for his business. I think it’s probably totally based on a real story. It stars Samuel L. Jackson as an angry snail named Ripcord or something like that and some other people I’ve already forgotten. It was actually quite enjoyable and I laughed more than once and cannot confirm or deny that there might have been some tears near the end of the movie.

Halfway through, The Nephew snuck his little hand into mine and so my heart melted and I kissed him on his little crewcutted head. He also held my hand without being prompted every time we crossed a parking lot or walked anywhere and said “Aunt Amy, guess what?” a lot. (He also told me and my brother we were talking too much in the car. “You are making me TIRED!” he said. Heh. We did talk a lot. I don’t see my brother a lot. We have lots to say.)

Then it was time for a long drive home where we took the MOST prestigious photo below. Background: we took a little teeny-tiny back road to the town with the movie theater, where there are lots of lakes and camps and trees (it’s very pretty back there.) We saw the sign below on the way, and both IMMEDIATELY said “On the way back, we’re stopping to take photos with that.”


We obviously then did. And called each other “fishholes” the rest of the day.

It’s a most excellent euphemism.

Tomorrow, Dad and I are taking a road trip to a top-secret location which I’m sure you will find out soon enough. There will be souvenir-purchasing. I’ve already discussed potential souvenirs with people, as getting the best gifts = my most favorite thing ever.

Time for more things like relaxing and reading and possibly drinking beverages. Oh, and remember how hot it was at home? It’s totally in the 50s here and I’m wearing a hoodie. And it’s supposed to get to the 40s tonight.

This is a very good vacation.

About lucysfootball

I'm not the girl with the most cake. Someday. SOMEDAY. View all posts by lucysfootball

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