Writer. Blogger. Chipmunk enthusiast.
Whoamygod. Today is [my mom] Babs’ birthday!
And because Babs is the Mommasita Extraordinaire, she’s giving YOU a gift instead.
Prepare to be amazed. Again.
Any burning questions for Babs? Did your parents perform any wizardry when you were growing up?
P.S. – You still have one more week to enter my Custom Jack-o-Lantern Giveaway Contest! It’s so easy and fun you’ll think you did something both easy and fun!
There’s something you should know about me.
I mean, just something I want to warn you about, should we ever vacation together.
I like to do things.
I’m not the Energizer bunny or anything, but to me, going on trips is more synonymous with adventure than relaxation. If you take me to the beach, I’m going to try to book one of those wave runner or zip lining excursions. If you take me to the city, I’m going to look up event calendars and comedy clubs.
And if you take me out to dinner after all of this doing of things, I’m going to drink. A lot.
And after I drink a lot, I might look around and think, “That wall should be blue. I mean, like a really classy, Nautica-looking navy blue.”
And before you know it, I’ll be painting your vacation home.
This is precisely what happened when first Hub, Peppermeister, and I, stayed in my aunt and uncle’s summer house in Long Island last week.
“Are you sure you want to PAINT on your vacation?” Peppermeister asked.
“It’ll be done before you wake up.”
“I don’t know why I asked.”
I may have made a few other adjustments…
So what do my aunt and uncle think of my impromptu makeover?
Good question.
I haven’t heard from them in days.
What kind of vacationer are you? Less is more or go-go-go? (For more of my Long Island adventures, check out how I almost died!)
Disclaimer: Though my aunt and uncle own it now, this is an old family home, and I checked with my parents before painting. It’s not as funny with the disclaimer, is it? I should’ve just let you think I was a presumptuous asshat. Dammit.
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“I can’t wait to rent a boat in Long Island!” my first husband, Peppermeister, said several times before we headed east last week.
Once again, my aunt and uncle were generously letting us stay in their vacation home for our anniversary. We had fond memories of relaxing bay side, playing mini golf and binge drinking waterfront dining.
The house was just as we’d left it. (BUT NOT FOR LONG! STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO OF MY VACATION ADVENTURES!)
“Let’s scope out this place, The Station,” Peppermeister said. “They serve food and rent boats.”
While recreating one of the menu photos…
…we noticed an entertaining boat name:
“Do you think that’s the boat they rent?” I asked.
“Nah, that one’s too nice,” Peppermeister replied. “They probably rent those.”
He pointed to the glorified row boats on either side of Butthead. I quickly let go of my mai tai drinking, bow bathing fantasies.
“We’ll come back on Monday – the weather’s supposed to be beautiful.”
And the weather finally WAS beautiful, on Wednesday. The young man preparing our boat barely put down his sandwich to attach the motor. Knowing nothing about boats, I brushed off my first thought: “Is that from a lawn mower?”
At 10:15am, we were finally ready to hit the open seas Shinnecock Bay.
In between bites, our boat hand, who shall henceforth be referred to as “Boris,” explained where to fish for fluke, and gave us a map with the emergency phone numbers on it.
We didn’t even make it out of the marina before the motor stalled and we drifted into sand. We shoved ourselves off with our one sturdy oar, and Peppermeister got us going again.
The weather was so flawless, I paid little mind to the hiccup.
We cruised steadily west while Peppermeister grabbed a beer and we tried to pick out our own marina.
About 45 minutes into our cruise, the motor cut out again.
When it happened for the third time, we Peppermeister spent 20 minutes trying to start it.
“I’m just going to call the guy to come get us. This is a waste of time.” He fished out his cell phone from the Ziploc bag in his backpack.
Here’s a summary of how that went down:
“Landmarks? …Yes, there are buildings nearby! THERE ARE HOUSES EVERYWHERE!”
…
“We’re IN THE DUNES. DRIVE by the DUNES.”
…
“WE’RE DUE SOUTH OF TIANA BAY! DUE SOUTH! We’re IN the DUNES on the OTHER SIDE of the BAY. We’ve DRIFTED SINCE WE HAVE NO ANCHOR AND ONE OAR!”
…
“Like I said, we’re to the LEFT OF THE BRIDGE. DUE SOUTH OF TIANA BAY. We’re THE ONLY BOAT HERE.”
…
I tried to help, too.
One hour and five phone calls later, Boris arrived in none other than…
Butthead!
He, of course, managed to get our motor going, and told us to follow him back. The motor stalled a minute later, and it took him three minutes to notice we weren’t following. He circled back to tow us.
He tangled up his lines in his motor, and then attached one line to the front of our boat.
“He’s doing it wrong,” Peppermeister muttered. “You’re supposed to tow with two lines.”
We lurched forward, and Boris started swerving Butthead left to right, right to left, while we tipped from side to side in our boat.
I leaned forward and backward in the opposite direction of his swerving, trying to keep the boat level.
About halfway to the marina, the water grew increasingly choppy, as did Boris’s driving, and gallons of water sloshed into our boat. We tried bailing it out with our one bucket, a bleach bottle with the bottom cut out.
Peppermeister whistled loudly. Boris, who’d never once looked back to check on us, raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.
“Every time you turn, more water comes in! We’ve been trying to empty it this whole time!” Peppermeister shouted. “Will this boat sink?”
“No,” he replied, and kept driving, staring straight ahead.
The water rushed past our calves, almost as high as the seats.
Peppermeister whistled again and Boris stood there gawking.
Everything next happened in slow motion.
Peppermeister yelled, “You need to get off!”
With my brain still saying, “This boat’s not actually SINKING,” I grabbed our precious cargo -the backpack- and held it above my head. Suddenly, half the boat was under water. Good call on the Ziploc bags. As it capsized, my left leg got pinned beneath, allowing me to appreciate its sturdiness. Wow. No. I kicked off my flip-flops and paddled away, shouting,
“Here! The backpack! Get it on Butthead! Get it on Butthead!”
Because I’d be DAMNED if I was losing my cell phone and car keys over this little snafu.
Peppermeister threw the backpack at Boris, who let it hit his chest and slide to the floor. I swam for a second or two, watching the contents of the boat drift south (due south! Of Tiana Bay! Towards the dunes! In case you were wondering).
“Don’t worry about the boat! Don’t worry about it! Leave the stuff!” Boris called, finally looking rattled.
“Get a life jacket!” Peppermeister cried, and I grabbed the only one still within reach, passing it to him, confused.
Ooh, the water feels nice. It’s not as hard to swim in a denim jacket as I thought it would be. Bet I could swim back pretty fast. Great exercise.
“Do you need it? Put it on!” Peppermeister said frantically.
I took one look at his face and his next statement answered my unspoken question, “I’m freakin’ out a little.”
“It’s fine,” I replied. “It’s fine. We’re in a bay. You know how to swim.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “You get on first.”
Shouldn’t we get the stuff?
“Don’t worry about the stuff!” Boris called again.
“Go! Use our boat!” Peppermeister urged.
Our overturned boat was creating, I realized, a handy step up onto Butthead. Boris grabbed my arm firmly, “I got you, I got you.”
Man, I always thought that would be impossible, I thought as I tumbled onboard.
Once Peppermeister and I were safely seated, we began our 45-minute slog back to the marina. I didn’t realize why it took so long until much later.
Boris was towing our boat.
Upside down.
The Station owner was waiting for us on the dock when we returned.
“A ‘small’ problem?” he asked, glancing between Boris and his sodden passengers.
Boris stared at the ground while Peppermeister and I disembarked. Moments later, he handed us a full refund and two t-shirts.
“I’m so sorry about this,” he said.
He walked away, shoulders slumped, and I looked at Peppermeister.
“That. Was. AWESOME.”
Have you ever had any vacation mishaps?
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Get ready, Chipmunks.
The epic battle is ON.
Earlier this month, Rachel’s Table and my First Husband, Peppermeister, went head to head to see who could handle his hottest homegrown peppers.
P.S. – If picking a winner’s too tough, feel free to compliment my multi-camera editing skillz instead.
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What day is it again? Where am I? Who are you? (Just kidding – I’ll never let go, Chipmunks.)
I’ve been living it up vacation style, and just wanted to pop in to let you know that both my liver and I are still alive and kicking.
How do I know I’m doin’ this time off thing right?
For starters, leisurely breakfasts have consisted of no fewer than 3 of the following: Croissants, coffee, champagne, cheese, fresh fruit, and/or BACON.
I’ve stopped to smell the roses (or whatever the hell these are) on my morning walks.
There’s been double rainbow ogling.
Stops at the bank when I’ve run out of singles for the strip club.
Or, you know, the local farm stand.
I’ve loaded up on all the fresh seafood I can get my claws on.
I’ve done my new Fitbit (pedometer) proud and hit the trails with Uncle Jesse. (Note: Your own vacation success should not ride on this particular activity.)
I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time in the kitchen, making things like homemade mid-east feasts.
And of course, there’s been booze. Lots and lots of booze.
But the real reason I know I’m on vacation? I’ve only turned on my computer once.
The very best part? It’s not over yet! Today First Hub, Peppermeister, and I celebrate our 5th anniversary, and have another week of this to look forward to:
But just so ya know, it’s not all smooches and sunsets. We like to exchange meaningful gifts, too.
Stay tuned next week for the much-anticipated Peppermeister Roulette, where Rachel’s Table and Peppermeister go head to head to see who can handle his hottest homegrown peppers.
What does vacation success look like to you? It wouldn’t be a vacation without _____?
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It’s that time of year again, Snookums.
When I can’t come up with a damn thing to write about.
Time for a very short blogging hiatus. Now, now. Dry your wee little chipmunk tears. I’ll be back next week!
Psst: This Friday at the Go Jules Go compound, it’s Peppermeister (Hub #1) vs. Rachel’s Table. That’s right. Those two are finally going head to head in a Spicy Pepper-Off to see who can handle the hottest homegrowns! I’ll have plenty to report next week.
If you want a delicious sampling of what’s in store, check out Rache’s fantastic “Peppermeister Roulette” videos (video one and video two)!
Don’t have too much fun without me. I love you.
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A year and a half ago, I cheekily called a favorite blogger, The Byronic Man, my BFF.
I thought it was hilarious. To call a blogging acquaintance -whose real name I’d only learned a month earlier- my Best Friend Forever?
Ha!
Be careful what you wish for, Chipmunks. Since then, The Byronic Man has become not only one of my closest friends, but the people’s choice for Third Husband.
Happy birthday, 
. And, ah, sorry about all of this:
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So what are you waiting for? Quick! Leave links to your favorite meme images and/or birthday well wishes in the comments section below, before we find The Byronic Man opening for Carrot Top!
If you have any trouble posting links in the comments section, feel free to email me your images and I’ll do it for you! Julie.Davidoski@yahoo.com.
To see the first installment of Drunk Girl and Byronic Man, click here.
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Oh blogging.
How I love you.
Even when your cursor blinks blankly and your Stats page laughs in my face, I come crawling back for more.
Yes. You, much like sweet, sweet, blog giveaway swag, always manage to turn my frowns upside-down.
Speaking of! I’ve been saving a couple of giveaway items for a rainy day, and, well:
So let’s get down to it, shall we?
1) Finding Water (part of one of my favorite series, The Artist’s Way) by Julia Cameron.
2) Amazing Fred pens, clever enough to trick anyone into thinking you frequent places like Verdant Fields Nudist Camp or Stuffed With Love Taxidermy.
Simply leave a comment describing your unreasonable attachment to any person, pet, place or object. Who or what controls you? That’s right. This Independence Day, we’re celebrating codependency! As usual, I’ll oh-so-subjectively pick a winner based on humor and originality.
If you have any trouble leaving a comment below, feel free to email me: Julie.Davidoski@yahoo.com.
Monday, July 8, 2013, midnight EST. Winner announced Thursday, July 11, 2013, 6am EST.
Can’t wait to read your entries, Chipmunks! Now if you’ll excuse me. Vodka dependency calls.
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Having a pool sounds great, doesn’t it? Especially this time of year, when it’s nearing 90-degrees Fahrenheit (and 1,000% humidity) in New Jersey.
Hub #1, Peppermeister, and I were thrilled when we purchased our first home in 2010 – there was an in-ground pool in the backyard! We knew nothing about pools, and weren’t sure what lay beneath the forest green tarp, but hoped it was salvageable. We scraped together our last hopes, dreams, blood, sweat and pennies to open the pool that summer. We assumed things would get easier after that.
Here’s a brief recount of the last month.
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EXT. GO JULES GO’S HOUSE – DAY 1
JULES: We need to do all of the shrubbery trimming BEFORE we take off the pool cover this year.
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INT. GO JULES GO’S HOUSE – DAYS 2-5
JULES: I just dumped another $100 of shock in, and emptied the vacuum 12 times, but it’s not going to get clean if we can’t keep the filter running.
PEPPERMEISTER: I’ll replace the <blah blah whosiwhatsit widget gauge thingamajig blah blah>. For the third time.
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EXT. GO JULES GO’S HOUSE – DAY 6
PEPPERMEISTER: Filter still not working. I called Pool Company #1.
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EXT. GO JULES GO’S HOUSE – DAY 12
PEPPERMEISTER: Did Pool Company #2 come? You made sure to ask them what they did this time, right?
JULES: Yes, they think we need to replace the handle thingy? And you need to call Hector.
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EXT. GO JULES GO’S HOUSE – DAY 20
PEPPERMEISTER: So it turns out all of those problems with the filter were because…we needed a new filter.
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EXT. GO JULES GO’S HOUSE – DAY 27
JULES: I got the backwash to work, but can’t get the filter back on.
PEPPERMEISTER: Where did you put the DE powder?
JULES: In the skimmer basket by the pump.
PEPPERMEISTER: That’s not where it’s supposed to go.
JULES: But I watched three YouTube videos! THREE!
PEPPERMEISTER (dialing Pool Company #2): Yeah… uh-huh…okay… yeah… we’ll try that. (adjusts black knobby thing by one of the pipes) Well, now it’s working. But clearly it wasn’t a problem with the filter.
JULES: You’ll have to show me how to do that.
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INT. POOL STORE – DAY 29
CLERK: Can I help you?
JULES: Yes… I need alkaline.
CLERK: How low is it?
JULES: Umm… 6.8?
CLERK: That would be your PH, not your alkaline.
JULES: Oh right, right, of course! The alkaline is like a greenish-yellow on the test strip. Maybe more like a baby puke.
CLERK: How many gallons is your pool?
JULES: Does 50,000 sound like WAY too much?
CLERK: Well just how big is your pool?
JULES: Pool-sized?
CLERK: You probably have 20,000. You’re going to need to balance the alkalinity first, then the pH. You’ll need 1 lb of this for every 10,000 gallons.
JULES (to self): Well played, math and science. Well played.
CLERK: You’re gonna wanna add half this bag, then wait an hour, then the other half, wait an hour. Then add half of the second bag, wait an hour, then the other half, wait an hour. Keep the filter running the whole time. Tomorrow morning, test the water, then add half of this pH. So you won’t be swimming today.
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EXT. GO JULES GO’S HOUSE – TODAY
JULES: I tested the water. The alkaline is baby puke color again.
PEPPERMEISTER: I think I’m done with the pool.
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What are your summer peeves and/or pay-offs?
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When my BFF, Jenn, asked how things were going in Plural Marriage-ville, she was surprised by my answer.
Here’s a taste of why.
Have you ever been in a band, or wish you had been? Any groupies out there?
P.S. – Special thanks to Jenn, and to those of you who suggested The Hubs form a band. Less special thanks to Hubs 1 through 3. Now cut that sh*t out.
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Go Jules Go 