What I Did On My Summer Of Margaritas Vacation

I’m going to be the first to say it. I can’t believe it’s almost August. There. We got that over with.

Last year at this time, I was recuperating from firing my Lady Parts for the last time a Hysterectomy and preparing myself to go back to work soon. I reminisced about writing those essays in school where they ask you to talk about what you did on your summer vacation and wrote a post outlining what my summer looked like last year. You can read that post here.

Well, it’s getting to be that time again. As hard as it is to believe, Shane will be starting half days at his Tech school in about two weeks and then half days for his Junior year of high school a week after that. The grandkids are all getting ready to go back to school too and Brookie, our youngest grand, is starting Pre-K.

Wait. I need to do this really quick.

How is our baby already starting school????

Anyway…here’s a little update on how my summer vacation has gone.

What I Did On My Summer of Margaritas Vacation

Well…I drank margaritas. A lot of them. But let’s start from the beginning.

Spring sort of monsooned into Summer this year in Northeastern Oklahoma. To be fair, it only rained twice. Once for fifteen days and another time for twenty-two. Half the state floated away. The other half blew away in tornadoes. The other half did both.

Yes, I’m aware you can’t have three halfs. My mother, the math teacher, is rolling over in her grave.

Once we got the weather under control, the heat and humidity came along with a stench that can only be described as Eau de Caca.

Never heard of Eau de Caca? Why it’s the brand new fragrance brought to you by the Arkansas River! It features melodious tones of poo water, dead animals, and fragrant notes of hepatitis.

Eventually, though, all the Oklahoma red dirt dried out and we were able to focus on the bane of my existence: our above ground pool. I know I’ve ranted about the pool before. You can read that rant here.

Every year with this pool, there’s something that goes wrong. The first year, we didn’t have the proper outlet and kept blowing breakers in the breaker box. It took us until the next year to the get the electrical situation worked out.

Two years ago, we went to open the pool and there was no power. Turns out the GFCI was dead. The culprit? Ants. All the freakin’ ants we’ve been fighting for years all over the house apparently took residence inside our outlet by the pool pump.

And last year? Last year my uterus decided to grow a fibroid baby and so a hysterectomy sidelined me from the chlorinated pond in the backyard.

So, as you can imagine, I was looking forward this year to finally enjoying some time in the crystal clear water with a drink in my hand.

Guess what wasn’t working?

If you guessed the pump, you would be correct.

Our friends, the ants, again.

Thankfully, we got that sorted out and I got to working on my tan.

Well…maybe not a tan.

Let’s face it. I’m caucasian as fuck. I don’t tan so much as my freckles just get bigger and run together, thus giving me the appearance of a summer glow.

Really, though, my favorite part of summer is the food. What is it about summer that makes food taste so much better? Is there anything better than ice cold watermelon on a hot day? There’s something about burgers and dogs on the grill that just can’t be matched.

Or maybe it’s just because The Husband Dude is standing out there shirtless in front of the grill, trying to make his chest as dark as the City Worker tan he has going on with his arms and legs. He’s singing the theme to The Jeffersons at the top of his lungs.

Sorry, Ladies. He’s taken.

The only thing I don’t like about when THD grills is that we have to open and close the door a bunch as we go back and forth. This inevitably leads to flies in the house.

There’s something you need to know about me. Flies in the house enrage me. They lead to me running around like a crazy woman, swinging a fly swatter like Babe Ruth in the bottom of the ninth.

That is, if Babe Ruth had a mouth like Samuel L. Jackson.

Finally, some of you have been asking for updates on my porch pets. As you recall, last summer I was caring for a menagerie of feral cats, an opossum, a raccoon, and one bad ass spider named Carmela.

The ferals still come and go and I’m pretty sure my new little fur baby, Lucy, is related. Sometimes I catch her looking out the window at them and I wonder if she is recognizing her Uncle Daddy or Sister Cousin.

Randy the Raccoon and Polly the Opossum still come eat cat food off the front porch and leave a huge mess. I don’t mind. It’s fun to watch.

As you know, Carmela went over the Rainbow Web after leaving a bunch of egg sacs for us to remember her by. I watched the corner by the front door where she spun her web all summer last year and never saw another arachnid set up shop. Then, one afternoon as I walked up onto the front porch toward the front door, the sun reflected on something in the big, black wash pot that belonged to my grandmother.

I moved closer, and there, spinning an intricate silk web, was another Carmela. Right inside the cast iron pot. It kind of made me happy.

Especially when I thought about those stupid flies.

I’ll try to get a picture of her soon. Until then…

Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring.