There and Back Again: Hannah Goes to the Beach!

You know that you've hired the right house-sitter when you stumble through the door at 4 a.m. after driving 21 hours straight from Florida in a suburban with no A.C. and find it clean, whole, and a homemade gooey chocolate cake sitting on the counter, waiting for you. Not to mention hand written notes of hilarity and reassurance, a somewhat abstract picture of my family at the beach, and a sterile dog. (Long story).

  There is nothing quite like coming home after a long trip. After a week of being blown from here to there and ever rest-stop in between, I can just curl up in my own bed in my own room in my own basement. Even the smallest details are calming, like the scent of the hand soap or the sight of my dusty school books stuffed under large pieces of furniture or near the fireplace.

Oh, I should probably tell you about Florida, that flatland of seafood and palm trees where we took up hermitage in for the past several days. My most vivid thoughts on Florida:

-The condo was decorated by a man who is inspired by Pina Coladas and hawaiian shirts. 

-Sea water tastes like deluded blue pickle juice. Only with sea cucumbers, not pickles.

-Sand Dollars HURT when you step on them repeatedly. As do broken sea shells and mysterious wiggly things.

-Telenova is too entertaining for it's own good. I have no idea what they are saying, but I find myself riveted by the parade of toupees, soap opera cliches, and angry Hispanic people. Also the Spanish preachers.

-Being sick isn't usually fun. Being sick with the stomach flu is mild purgatory. Being sick with the stomach flu whilst driving down to Florida in the heat of summer and not being able to hold in anything denser than air? There are no words. 

-Relaxing in a tropical condo, spending the days jumping waves and digging for sea shells, and eating sea food so fresh it might be wriggling? There are no words.

-I don't care if you are gay or European or gay and European! There is no excuse for wearing a speedo, weirdo French men. Oh, the horror...

So, in short, it was the worst of times then the best of times. And now, it's nap time!

Boiled Peanuts and other Puzzling Things,

-Hannah

I MADE THIS FOR YOU

This post is devoted to the inspired girl extraordinaire, Mariah. My friend and fellow lover of Dr.Who, Chameleon Circuit and Co., England, and anything nerdelicious.
 Heres looking at you, kid. 

Here Comes my Baby,
-Hannah

Marmite Will Destroy the World...and has nothing to do with this post

So...I haven't written for awhile. Partially because my shoulder has been recovering from a separation a few weeks ago (my arm bone and clavical decided they needed some time apart) and partially because I've lacked inspiration. Scratch that, I've had inspiration. I was just being lazy. And recently got a facebook, a bitter-sweet black hole of time.

 

          Summer is oozing along like greased lightening. Only a few weeks of frantic activities and the school year that I left to die will come back to haunt me like a back-to-school poltergeist. The one bright cupcake in all of this is Florida. Sunny, wet, vacation destination Florida.

           

          For a week before school starts my family and I are going to take a watery vacation to Florida. The place we are staying at is known  

for being a hot-spot for lovebirds and senior citizens. I don't care if it's a breeding ground for elves, it's close to the beach! Plus, the other option was staying at the Rainbow Hotel and Inn where the queer couples of Florida go to enjoy a day in the sun. Somehow explaining what dentures are seems easier than explaining why those men are holding hands.

          My siblings and I have never been to a beach before. We've dived into pools, lakes, even unusually large puddles but never a real, honest-to-goodness ocean. The kind with white (or yellow, i'm not picky) sands, frothy aquamarine water as far as the eye can see, and pastel sea shells scattered through the sand. My longing to go to a real ocean probably has a lot to do with my childhood obsession with mermaids, Atlantis, and other underwater fairy tales. 

            Until about the age of 8 I was absolutely certain what I wanted to be when i grew up. Not a normal occupation like fireman, nurse, or eulogizer; no. I wanted to be a mermaid. I didn't worry about the details such as, oh, I don't know, somehow having a scaly tail attached to my midsection and gills installed in my neck. I just knew, one way or another, that when I was older I'd be a mermaid. 

 

            While I doubt that i'm going to have a magical transformation into a sea creature of yore (though you would be the first to know), I am looking forward to spending some quality time swimming with the fishes. And the jellyfish, sharks, squid, and other poisonous yet beautiful animals.

            Wow, I was a dense kid.

            Peanut Butter and Jellyfish,

-Hannah

          
and a wee bit of evil Marmite:

 from media.abovetopsecret.com by bad bertha