Its Monday…well, Monday night and I’m drinking a well-deserved martini. Three of four kiddos are in bed, one is happily traveling back from his own Memorial Day vacation with his friend and I have, once again, survived a road trip with the kids. I can’t take all of the credit this time (for once!) because I had my trusty sidekick, Freedom, helping to wrangle the masses. Mr. Amazing strikes again, yo.
We ended up leaving on Friday night because, well, there really wasn’t a reason to hang out here until Saturday (except, oh, maybe… sleep, but that’s entirely overrated). I credit my inability to completely unpack from previous trips as the saving grace to packing up five people in under an hour, in one suitcase. I am Virgo, hear me roar. We made it to VA Beach by midnight, piled in to bed, and slept. For the record, that stretch between the DC beltway and Richmond is just as mind-numbingly boring at night as it is during the day.
Saturday, we met up with my dear friend, Durrah, for some pre-Hafla festivities and lunch. The “Benny Hafla” was the reason for the trip. It was advertised as a “Comedic Belly Dance Variety Show”… and while there was SOME belly dancing, it was quite possibly the funniest show I’ve seen in a long, long time. There was a drag queen (…”watch the cord! Drag queen on the floor!) a “dirty” belly dancer (“milk, milk, lemonade”) and the Serenity Tribal crew did their hilarious version of “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse (totally my favorite act, and yes, I am biased, but they were fabulous). I also have to do a quick shout out to Mab, Just Mab because she is the greatest MC I’ve ever seen… regardless of (or because of) her balloon animal fetish. It was amazing to watch it all come together, and I came out of it knowing that whenever I get the To Be Named Center up and running, our grand opening will be completely dazzled by a similar “Benny Hafla” event. Seriously. Aside from the dancers, who were incredible and hilarious, during intermission, we were treated to an improv drummer (later, a duo) and I watched as a dozen women (and maybe a man or two) just danced and celebrated. It. Was. Amazing. Be jealous you weren’t there. Seriously. Kick your own ass.
It will be mine. Oh, yes, it will be mine.
After the Hafla, Freedom and I collected the children from Nadira’s house, headed back to the hotel and passed out. On Sunday, we all headed to the beach (three adults, five kids) and frolicked in the ocean. We even got to see a small pod of dolphins swimming (sooooo freaking awesome!) before we packed up and headed to lunch at a little cafe in which the owner (a tiny, and very loud Greek man) may have cursed the genitals of a couple who “stole” his bathrooms and walked out without actually paying for anything.
Now, there comes a moment in every parent’s life when they have reached their limit of “kid fun” and just want to throw the kids in bed, in front of a TV, or on a bus going elsewhere. One would think that after 1.5 days of quality time (not to mention the entire, oh, six months of QT prior to this moment) the parental figures would just say, “let’s call it a day.” No, not us. We were like parents on meth with a side of crack-coated mini-thins. LET’S GO TO THE ZOO!
Yes, yes, we went there. Literally. We went to the Norfolk Zoo. At 3pm, when it was 6 million degrees and we’d already been playing super parents. I have a sneaking suspicion that had it been just Durrah and myself, we would have headed back to her house for rum. Lots and lots of rum. But, no! We hit the zoo, instead! It was hot! It was really, really fucking hot! At one point, I may have considered leaving the kids with the ostrich-with-an-attitude (poor giraffe), but I didn’t, mostly because I would have to blog that and then I’m fairly certain I’d be arrested… or applauded mocked by the online world.
(One martini down)
After the zoo, we went back to the hotel, showered (removed the sand from our various crevices), had dinner, came back and were accosted by a freakish zombie who denies any knowledge of his zombieness. Little does he know, the markings on his foot prove he was, indeed, a zombie. That, and the flesh falling from his face. I just didn’t want to mention that, because its fucking gross.
Oh, and we got tattoos. Fo’ sho’
Next up… July. One month until the supreme, ultimate road trip of horrors and delight begins. Why? Because our pools suck, its hot, and there’s so much more to blog about when one is on the road, driving for hours and hours, with no apparent destination in mind. Its kind of like “Where’s Waldo” only, not. Just different. Fun. And I may actually post pics.
(Annnnd, that’s two martinis.)
Morals of the weekend: belly dancers are awesome. Dolphins are incredible. The beach is amazing and even a hotel without a pool can make one’s kids squeal with joy.
P.S. Grammar police, be gentle. I’m kinda done for the day. Smoochies!