Am I crazy if vacations make me crazy?
There’s just so much to DO, so much to plan for, and so many stages at which one small factor sprung awry can unravel, undo, and downright derail the whole thing!
Deciding what to pack:
There are just so many questions to be asked and contingencies to be considered:
Where are we going, what are we doing, what will the weather be like, will we be doing a lot of walking, what will YOU be wearing, what will SHE be wearing.
Whenever I get ready to go on vacation I’m struck with sadness about being born in the wrong place at the wrong time because, with the way I “put away” the suitcases, cosmetic cases, and mini travel shampoos in my apartment, I realize I really should have been a treasure-burying pirate. Then again, I think there’s a certain element of cartography required for that life, something which I obviously have yet to master.
So I left the guest room torn absolutely asunder. The bag big enough to carry a new outfit for every day of the two months I never spent in Europe – to big. The barely-laptop-sized bag that I’ve always planned to chicly wheel behind my non-existent Italian pumps as a deplane for a Grecian Getaway Weekend – to small. The Into-Thin-Air backpack from my outdoorsy days (ahem, day) – too bohemian. The Vera Bradley weekender, perfectly printed to be stylishly recognizable yet not quite obnoxious, well am I wrong or does the bag part hold more than the strap part can suspend? – too impractical.
You know the one I need. The roller bag. Not the tiny one that could really barely hold enough stuff to get me a block away from home. The medium one. The one that’s almost too big for the overhead compartment and has co-passengers side-glancing skeptically until you masterfully flip it on its face and slide it right in (boom, in your face B26!). That’s the one. Now if I could only FIND it!
Carrying on (and on and on and on)
So you’re at the airport now, huh. Guess your troubles are over. GUESS AGAIN. To check or not to check? That is the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the prying eyes of TSA or to entrust one’s life to the prying hands of baggage checking airline staff.
Maybe you’re shaking your head in disgust at this point thinking, “Wow, it’s just a vacation, no reason to take it to a Shakespearian level!” Well, you’re probably right, but you also probably don’t have curly hair.
Some people have “hos” in different area codes. Me, I have ‘FROs in different area codes. This may seem irrelevant to the issue of travel, though I assure you it is not. It boils down to this: Do I risk my life by checking my bag (If it’s even one day late, 13 lbs of “options” were painstakingly packed for naught!) for the benefit of having exactly the hair product I need (utterly unpredictable until the moment I need it) in exactly the amount I need it (i.e. MORE than three measly ounces). Or do I blow off the hair products altogether and safely carry-on only?
You know where this is going don’t you? You know it’s going to a dark place right? It’s going to a place no woman, I mean NO woman, should ever be forced to go. It’s forcing the ultimate question of life – which is more important: clothes or hair? Well, I just can’t think about that now.
I haven’t even addressed the issues I set out to tackle in this post, namely, how in the world are you supposed to keep up with diet and exercise on vacation?
Well, scheduling your flights so close together that you only have time for a dead sprint from Gate 1 in Concourse A to Gate 75 in Concourse G, without so much as a nanosecond to consider stopping by the joint Cinnabon-TCBY counter for a Cinnabon to dip in some TCBY, that’s worked wonders for me. I mean right there you’ve got (a) diet and (b) exercise.
Also, try to fly exclusively through airports without Starbucks because, aside from hurling you into a caffeine-deprived rage causing you to stand atop your chair and welcome everyone at your gate back to the Stone Age, this will also help you skirt a few extra calories.
But really, I don’t think there are any feasible ways to keep up on a strict diet and exercise regimen while on vacation. If there is, I haven’t found it. Or if I have, I haven’t wanted to actually do it. Perhaps in the end this all adds up to the universe telling us, “It’s a vacation idiot, stop obsessing and just relax.”
So that’s what I’m doing. Catch you next week.