Recommended wine for today’s entry: Jacuzzi Arneis, a WONDERFUL, interesting white that I thoroughly enjoyed on my recent mountain getaway. This is one you need to try. As the Web site described it, “Arneis, known as the “little rascal” is an interesting variety grown in the Piemonte region of Italy and used primarily as a blender to diffuse the ruggedness of Nebbiolo. This wine has refreshing flavors of mandarin orange and lime.” If you’re bored with your old whites, give this one a try!
Ever since the girls have been away at college, I have been … heartbroken uhh productive uhh falling in love with my husband all over again … out of town. I appreciate all the sage advice I read online and in the tabloids, about reinventing myself and blooming anew, fueled by my angst over the empty nest.
But it is just so much easier to go on vacation.
So I spent a few days on a Thelma and Louise weekend with my friend Beth, driving to visit my mother in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It involved: 16 hours on the road + 6 scenic Rest Stops + 2 trips to Ye Olde General Store to stock and restock our supply of Jake and Amos Corn Salsa (wholesome goodness in a jar, just begging to be washed down with a crisp chardonnay) + 2 long, scenic boat rides + 3 leisurely meals with no one pulling each other’s hair. So that’s 16+6+2+2+3, which equals 29. And that, I think, is how many ounces of wine we each enjoyed while relaxing and watching the frenzied hummingbirds and the frenetic participants in the weekly bass fishing contest.
Ahh. And I only got yelled at for texting during dinner once, but that wasn’t my fault. There was a crisis on campus — someone needed to know where to find tofu at the grocery store — and so I stepped up to the plate, saving the day for my child, only to be admonished. Otherwise, though, I did absolutely nothing that could be construed as constructive.
And I liked it.
So I’m leaving town again, but this time my husband gets to come too! I know what you’re thinking … WAIT! Who’s going to take care of the 25 (OK that’s an exaggeration, but not much of one) pets who rely on me EVERY SINGLE DAY for food/water/medicine/entertainment/nap partnering/conversation? Well, since my husband won’t be here to follow my two-page list of instructions, we’ve enlisted Stephanie, our house sitter extraordinaire.
You may have read an old blog about instructions https://ashleyolsonrosen.wordpress.com/2009/06/09/when-hiring-a-petsitter-i-believe-in-full-disclosure/ … well, what Stephanie doesn’t know (yet) is that things are just A LITTLE more complicated now.
Now she has to be alert enough in the morning to know that if the shower floor is wet before you turn on the faucet, well, it’s probably urine from the cat who will need to be coerced to take her kidney medicine, mixed with just the teeeniest bit of tuna and its juice, and that while she’s eating it you have to sit two steps below her spot on the stair landing and fend off the other cats, who are plenty steamed that Blackie gets special food AND personal attention in the form of an armed guard and THEY just get regular crap.
Except they don’t ALL get their regular crap. Three of the six indoor cats get a special new kidney diet food; one gets the other half of Blackie’s capsule mixed into hers. Huckleberry, the one who is yanking her hair out since the kids left, well, she only likes the juice from Fancy Feast and it has to be a fresh can.
And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. We pay pretty well, because, you know, the dogs are really the high maintenance participants.
So we’re going to spend some time in Florida, including a few days in South Beach. I feel sure that the salsa dancers and Hollywood hotties and plethora o’ papparazzi are eagerly anticipating the arrival of the pasty middle-aged Kentuckians wearing sensible swimwear.
I told my husband that I was going to shop for some SO BE (cuz I am nothing if not hip) fashions so that I don’t stand out like a sore thumb, except I totally saw nothing apropos at either Target or Ann Taylor or Walmart. I googled old People magazine pics to see what Jennifer Aniston wears when she goes there, and unless I can get into a plastic surgeon before Saturday, that’s not gonna fly.
HOLD THE PRESSES.
I was just informed that Jersey Shore is filming this season in… SOUTH BEACH. If you are a loyal reader or have spent any time with me when I am drinking way too much wine, you know that I, well, I HATE FREAKING SNOOKIE. She is (and here is where I delve into my pseudo-writer mind to discern the perfect adjective/noun combo) AN ICKY, ICKY WENCH. I have a plan to Bump-It my thinning hair and stuff the bra — and maybe the gut — of my swimsuit, and give ol’ Snooks a run for her money. Not that The Situation or any of the other boys are appealing to me, but Lordy, if it shuts her up for a MINUTE, it’s worth it.
I figure I may get mocked in the next issue of US magazine, but at least I won’t have the smell of cat urine on my feet for a few days.