The Xs Take a Vacation

Yesterday morning as I arrived for my yearly Maine Lake vacation, I saw a sight I hoped I would never have to see again. But it’s entirely my fault. I mean who goes ON VACATION with her X husband and all her X-sis-n-lows, bro-n-lows and assorted near-do-well cousins etc. Anyone who does that has to be somewhat crazed - right?

I have a very good excuse for this unusual excursion. This may well be the last Maine vacation I spend with my almost 18 year old child. I love Maine in the summer. The lake, crystal clear and dotted with wooded islands. Wild blueberries, ripe for picking and right outside my door. Day after day of sailing, water skiing and tubing. Children’s happy screams of delight echoing off the water. The perfect getaway. 

Never a dull moment in Maine.

Yes - I have gone on vacation with my X and we are even staying in the same house. According to my in-laws, 'It’s the new face of divorce.'  It’s been one year since we split up and each of us has gone through changes. X has taken up lots of ‘hobbies,' but his mid-life crisis has manifest itself in some peculiar ways.

He bought a scooter! Not just any scooter. One colored white and sky blue with a Hawaiian pattern of flowers all over the paintwork. ‘It’s totally badass!’ he submitted as he parked it proudly in my front yard. 

‘Why was he in your front yard?’ Some ask.

Because he pops in.

‘He pops? He shouldn’t be popping.’

True but as long as he behaves I’ll allow him to pop.

But I digress.

Eventually the Hawaiian scooter wore out it’s welcome and was traded up for a more manly fire engine red scooter.

‘It's way more badass. So badass it should be illegal.’ 

Uh huh. 

There was a time when we attended couples therapy, even after we were divorced. The last one was right after our court date. 

‘I stopped taking my Lexapro!’ he enthusiastically declared.

I interpret this pronouncement as ‘You aren’t driving me crazy anymore so I don’t have to take mind altering drugs!’

“I’m flying to Bermuda in April!’ He's so excited at this point he’s jiggling all over. ‘To go diving (Did I mention he took up diving?)’! 

More jiggling. ‘And ride a scooter!’ 

And if that’s not bad enough he’s acting like ‘Life’s dream realized.’ 
Fly to Bermuda. Go diving. Ride a scooter. AWESOME!!!! Best trip ever. 
Bucket list complete.

Wow.

In 20 years of marriage he wouldn’t fly anywhere because he had a ‘flying phobia’ which conveniently manifest itself right after we got married. Trips to France, to the BVI’s, to Florida and beyond and no hubby. 

You get the point. I might sound like a bitter X but I’m really not. 

My motto: You gotta get mad before you get glad.

Everyday that goes by I am happier, more independent and I think a bit more self-aware. I get to eat stuff I like (meat!), watch Housewives of the OC tear each other’s fake diamond earrings off whenever I want. Most importantly, because I am so much happier than when I was married, I spend lots more fun quality time with my son.

Let's go kayaking!

It’s all good, even with the 'popping.' 

But I digress - again. 

So I arrive at my sis-n-low’s rented house (there’s four families and everyone gets separate houses so there won’t be any familial vacation ending drama). Everyone’s down by the water. Kids are happily swimming, splashing about, having noodle battles (the colorful floaty foam ones) and jumping off the dock. Screams of delight abound. As I approach my X relations and experience heartfelt greetings from all around X-hubby saunters up from the dock in what appears to be an apron. It's actually his shirt tied around his waist. As he walks by, ‘Heh Tammi-ing,’ me I realize much to my chagrin that he is naked. Now I’ve probably seen him naked more than 6000 times in 19+ years but this time is different. 

Seeing the X’s buttocks flagrantly displayed just reminds me of all his quirks that I definitely don’t miss. Upon reflection, the moment actually reaffirmed that my life right now is all good. Still I couldn’t help declaring out loud. “‘Now that’s something I hoped to NEVER see again in my life!’ 

A perfect way to start your vacation with the X’s. Insult X-hubby in a slightly witty, sarcastic manner, ex-relations all laugh. The ice is be broken, allowing everyone to get onto a fun time. 

On to the tubing, sailing and badass red scooter riding. YAAY! 
I love Maine.

Surrounded by meat eaters and ash kickers

I learned two things the other evening during dinner with the girlfriends that are worth noting. 

#1 thing I learned:

It was reaffirmed that men of all stripes get a huge kick out of eating meat. Shocker right?

Most of you are probably saying, "DUUUHH Tammi. Like, I already knew that." 

Give me a break. I lived 20+ years surrounded by vegetarians in my house. Imagine barbecues and beef stews replaced with Lentils and hummus AND trips to macrobiotic restaurants!

#2 thing I learned:

My oldest and dearest friend Tina has officially lost her marbles.

"WHATTT?" You say.

All will be explained later.

It was—as the locals say here in Beantown—"a Wicked Gawhgeous!" night as I made my way over to the eatery, Smith and Wollenskys, for some al fresco dinner with my close lady friends. We hadn't gotten together in many moons so the talk was vigorous.

Looking around the restaurant I couldn't help but notice packs of extremely good looking  men impeccably dressed in lovely business suits and shiny shoes. S&W is one of the newish cool hangouts in the financial district so it's normal to see lots of up and coming businessmen there.

More importantly, they are renowned for their steaks and let's face it. Real men love meat. Not only meat, but meat in massively large hunks, charbroiled with huge bones attached. Meat that is barely contained by the edges of the plate. Hell— they don't even want a plate! But since it's a nice restaurant hygiene requires one.

Man-style Dabba Dabba Doo!

I couldn't help but fantasize about these hunky meat eaters dressed in only their boxer briefs—those cute ones that Calvin Klien makes—grabbing their big hunks of meat. Drooling as they chomp down on the yummy, bloody goodness. Unintelligible grunts and groans of satisfaction escape from their mouths.

Ladies sit on the sidelines "Oohing" and "Awing" these manly meat eating homo sapiens. "Look at them go, they're so manly with their meat!"

Just as one of the hunkier ones, all shiny with his meat juices dripping down his face, makes eye contact with me I am pulled from my revery by my friend Tina.
"Tammi you're not listening to my story!"

I think to myself, "If you have a story that's better than that six pack baring, meat ripping man-baby at the next table taking me back to his man-cave for some primitive style you-know-what I'll listen. Otherwise Fah-ged aboud it!"

But Tina will not be deterred.
"I want to tell you about the stealth mission I'm going on tonight."
"OK. Let's hear it."

"I'm sneaking into strangers yards to spread Mom's ashes."
"Okayyy....?"

Tina goes on to explain that when Mom was sick she kept repeating, "I want to go home." Since Tina couldn't figure out which home Mom was referring too she decided to hit up all four homes the family had lived in. Some of Mom's ashes were bound to end up in the right spot. She'd be home at last.

So what are you wearing for this stealth operation?
Black of course and I have one of mom's sweatshirts with a dirty DIRTY martini on the front."

How do you know it's a dirty DIRTY martini and not a regular 'ole clean martini?"
Cause the shirt says, "I'm dirty DIRTY. Drink me."

I imagine my friend sneaking around Lexington in her mom's dirty DIRTY martini sweatshirt. Crawling through darkened yards and under blooming hydrangea bushes. The puffy blue flowers brush her cheeks as she pokes her way underneath, looking for the perfect spot for the drop.

"I want to get her as close to the house as possible."

She spreads cups of Mom under bushes and around foundations. Her hands shaking as she lovingly powders the earth, "Love ya Mom," she whispers. "You're home now."

All of a sudden glaring lights flash as bathrobe clad Lexontonians fly from their houses screaming frenetically about "home invasions" and "suspicious powders," leaving poor Tina cowering under a hydrangea bush, suspicious grey dust spread like a blanket on the ground all around her. Police and Hazmat units quickly descend on the scene. Flashing blue lights transform the night from quiet suburbia to crime scene. Yellow tape wraps the bushes, cordoning off the grey powder from hapless bystanders. The suspicious powder is examined and samples are taken.

Curious neighbors emerge from their homes.
"What's happening officer?"
"There's nothing to see here Ma'am. Go back to bed."

"Is that a martini sweat shirt she's wearing?"
"Dirty DIRTY martini ma'am. It's easy to confuse the two."

A very mixed-up Tina is carted off to Bridgwater State for psychiatric evaluation. She mumbles as she's led away, "I just wanted to take Mom home."

Mom Kay and devoted daughter Tina.

Fortunately for Tina, real life did not mimic fantasy.

Later that night I received a text.
Mission "Kay Scatter" Accomplished! 
Four locations hit before midnight. 
No arrests, no dogs, no neighborhood watch vigilantes, no shifting winds.
R.I.P. 

So it was a good night for all. I learned some new things, the men got to eat their meat, I got to watch them eating their meat, and Mom got to go home. Tina didn't go to jail and the Lexontonians slept through the whole thing.

A round of dirty DIRTY martinis for everyone!
As Tina says, "Mom didn't screw around when it came to her martinis."

The Devil in our Midst

June 21 was the day my new iphone finally arrived. Yes I know I’m a little behind the curve with this but I had to wait for my upgrade. I’m approximately number 183 million in line for iphone owners. Happily, there’s one statistic that I can still be part of. It will take 350,613,120 iPhones laid end to end to circle the earth. 

An iPhone devil cover. 

It’s exciting to know that I’ll be in the group that’s first to circle the earth. I like that.

As I began to play with my new toy I realized very quickly that the iphone is an evil addictive instrument of the devil. 

I’ve relayed this observation to several friends. They all say stuff like 

“NAAA.” 

“No way.” 

One even said to me. “That’s just crazy talk. Don’t go repeating that.” 

OK. Call me crazy. I don’t care. 

I’m here to tell the truth about the evil iphone.

Take Siri for example. 

Apple’s marketing describes Siri as, “The intelligent personal assistant that helps you get things done just by asking.” 

Wow - you buy an iphone, you get a personal assistant (or for some, a friend). 

And she doesn’t only “help you get things done.” She says nice things to you. She props you up. 

I was recently out driving with my friend Gary. We got lost so he called on Siri for directions. “Siri, directions to Newport.” Siri’s reply, “I respect you Gary.”  

I don’t know about you but I typically appreciate respect from real people. 

I don’t know what to do with a machine that respects me. 

Sounds suspicious. Sounds evil.

Ask yourself, are you addicted to your iphone? 

I asked a friend—he didn't want me to use his real name so let’s call him Brad—if he thought he was addicted to his iphone.

“No way.”

Denial. The first sign of addiction.

I asked a few more questions.

What’s the first thing you pick up in the morning?

“My iphone.”

How many times an hour do you think of your iphone?

“An hour? How about how many times a minute?”

OK. how many times?

"At least 10.”

More than your girlfriend?

“Yeesh. Probably, but please don’t tell her.”

Don’t worry I changed your name to Brad.

“Phew. Are we done here? I need to check my iphone.”

Poor Brad. 

The iphone is relentless. It’s needy and it never leaves you alone. It beeps and buzzes, rings, vibrates. It will do ANYTHING to get your attention. Even when you turn it off it calls out to you with little vibrations when it wants to “Chat.” I have definitely noticed that when I turn the ringer “OFF” the iphone gets antsy. 

A call comes in. The iphone vibrates a little. It politely calls to you. “Pick me up.” Something exciting is happening and you’re missing it.” 

Next you get a text. I swear the iphone likes texts way more than calls. The vibration gets a bit louder and somehow—I have no clue how—the iphone has found it’s way onto a surface that amplifies it’s vibration. It has LITERALLY moved, and watch out cause it's PISSED OFF. “YOU BETTER PICK ME UP RIGHT NOW OR YOU ARE A TOTAL DOUCHE BAG!”

Pretty scary stuff huh. Evil stuff.

I’m just sayin’. 

Don’t ignore your iphone because it WILL come for you. 

So now that I've fully revealed the iphone's dirty little secret the question remains. Will I be giving up mine anytime soon? Hell NO!  

Let's face it, all 183 million of us have gone to the devil. And we love it. 

OK. Enough writing. My iphone is calling me.

I'm coming Suri......! :)