Vacation Part 3 - Going A-Visiting or Just Shoot Me Now

So we made it to Switzerland Colorado and the visiting was on.

Most of Bean’s friends and family are awesome, and I love them and was totally ok with going on the rounds to see everyone. Except that Bean wanted to visit Cousin Firefighter.

Now, I like Cousin Firefighter, but Mrs. Firefighter is another story entirely.

When she talks, she sounds like a bitchy five year old.

And I’m not really sure how she uses her left hand, since her rock is so big she shouldn’t be able to lift it – but she does, and also manages to flash it to great effect.

They live in a 9 bedroom house that’s about 3 times the size of my house (and my house is pretty big) and loves nothing more than to show it off with a moderately pitying expression because obviously you couldn’t afford such a wonderful home.

Two hours. That’s how long we spent there. Two fucking hours of listening to how perfect her kids are and how lovely the new house is and how hard it is for her to get motivated to do anything and on and on and on.

I wanted to either hit her or shoot myself. By the end of the evening I had no preference.

Vacation Part 1 - My InHuman Self Control

Ugh..

Well, since I’ve last been diligent with my blogging, I’ve been very busy. I’ll break it down into manageable portions for you, because it’s kind of a long story.

First of course was the trip to Switzerland Colorado.

Obviously, I didn’t die.

But the flights to and fro and all things baggage related were horrendous. We’ll start with the nightmare of just getting the bags to the airport.


Bean picked me up from work, and on the way to the airport, I got a call from Perry (ex-husband) screaming at me asking me where his bags for the weekend were.

How the fuck am I supposed to know?? I was at work all day. Why don’t you look up your ass??

No, I didn’t say that. I told him I didn’t know, and maybe he should look around.
He called back when were looking for parking and told me he thought we had his bags. I turned around and he was right.

Here’s where my superb self-control started to kick in.

Not once did I call Bean an idiot for grabbing the wrong bags. Even though I specifically told him that he had a black suitcase and Perry has a massive black duffel bag and Bean carries his little carryon bag with him to work every day. So you’d think that he would know that it’s not Perry’s laptop case.

I also did not call Perry a fucktard for putting his bags down right next to Bean’s when he knew that we were leaving for the airport that afternoon or for waiting to call until we were almost to the airport instead of right after Bean left the house.


So we turned around and went home for the bag exchange. And I shit you not, when I asked Perry to get things together for the swap, he actually asked me:


Does this suitcase need to be zipped?


And people wonder why I divorced the dickwhistle.