Chicken With It’s Head Cut Off

That is what I resemble right now.  Why is it that prepping for a vacation or trip makes me bat-shit crazy insane?  Why must I let my need for total order and organization turn me into a certified loony bird and drive my non-order-seeking family members just as crazy as I am? 

 

So, we leave on Sunday morning for a week in Nashville for the International Barbershop Harmony Society Convention and Competition.  It is an annual even that we attend and Dave usually has a chorus and quartet in the competition.  He will also have some official meetings to attend and what not but for me, it is a week to see all of my friends from all across the country that I only see once a year.  Oh, and drink my face off.

 

For me, the prep leading up to the trip is very stressful.  Most days clothing/beauty is not really something high on my priority list.  I have a uniform I wear to work and the rest of the time I’m in cutoff sweats and t-shirts or jeans.  I put my hair up or wear a hat and am not really that much of a girly-girl when it comes to primping and make-up and crap like that.  I mean I shower regularly and I’m usually don’t stink, but I’m not one to take hours in the bathroom on a daily basis.  I actually can usually be ready faster than my husband. 

 

But I digress . . .

 

For some reason this week brings it out in me and I make up for the entire year in one week.  You can only imagine the level of pressure I put on myself to make up for an entire year of “being pretty” in one week.  The outfits, the jewlrey, the hair, the makeup and . . .

 

The shoes!  Don’t even get me started on the shoes.   There is usually copious walking involved in this week, but come on now, a girl has to have cute shoes.  Finding cute sandals that also don’t create monster blisters on your feet can be tricky. 

 

So, my insanity level now is very high.  Like Red on the Homeland Security Scale (or Put On the Fucking Hat on Ron White’s Homeland Security Scale).  I have a list of days and am frantically trying to match up tops and bottoms and shoes and other shit for each of those days.  I also have my daughter going with us this year and I am THANKING THE EVERLOVING TEENAGE GODS that she is taking an interest in her own appearance for once in her life and is also almost as freaked out as I am right now.  Because that is just less freaking out that I will have to do. 

 

My one saving grace this year is this:  My In-Laws.  Yes.  That just happened.   Our son stays with them this week every year and usually we take him to them.  Now it is only about an hour trip one way, but we always end up hanging out for a while and it seriously cuts into my going-insane time.  But, this year, they are (do you hear the angels?) coming to pick him up tomorrow morning!  Halle-fricken-lulah!  I just needed to wash everything he owns and toss it in a bag and he will be out the door and I will have more free time to pack and get pedicures and go shoe shopping and less time watching the really funny part on Skunk Fu where the Skunk-lets-his-stink-knock-over-all-the-ninja-monkeys-so-that-the-Pig-can-go-in-the-magic-temple-and-then-he-makes-fun-of-the-Bunny’s-crush-on-the-Fox-and-the-Baboon-sings-a-song-and-what-the-fuck-ever.

 

 

My stress and insanity and excitement have me higher than Amy Winehouse right now.  We have a new camera . . . (again with the angels!) . . .

I have new hair . . .

 

 

and my daughter has new hair . . .

 

and I have nearly two days sans 7-year old boy to pack and get ready.  Once I am done with work today I can truly rejoice and get my crazy-packing-prepping on.  Fo’ Shizzle.