The movers have begun packing up the house. I have two sick kids with fevers and vomit rockets, because of course I do. The events of the last month have wiped out all of our reserves.Thank gah for Netflix. We are officially looking towards the future and what our life will be like out from under the State Department's thumb. Awesome. That's what it's going to be like. Frickin' awesome. The free water in restaurants alone is going to be a game changer. Oh, and State-issued Drexel Heritage gold brocade sofa? You can go ahead and shove yourself right up your own ass. Whoops! Sorrynotsorry. Got a little carried away. As one does when it comes to Drexel.
It's not all beer and Belgian chocolate around here as we prepare to depart, though. I am facing a dilemma, and I need your help. I haven't lived in the U.S. for a long time, and I only know the name of one Kardashian. I've never seen a Housewives show. My friend Claire left an US Weekly behind when she breezed through Brussels last month and I didn't know anybody in it. I basically have about two items in my repertoire that I can talk about. Politics (and talking about that can get you killed these days) and how I much I hate camping, which is maybe too random. Just the other day we were watching "Wild" and Mitch was all, "We have to hike the Pacific Coast Trail!" And I was all, "Do they have a Four Seasons every few miles?" The girls were into it once they saw all the Pinterest boards for "Glamping". By the end of the conversation we had found a renovated airstream on ebay but then decided it was too much work and that was the end of that backpacking nonsense. Killer of dreams: Level-EXPERT. And apparently I am also a penis expert, according to a Buzzfeed quiz I took last week:
|Too bad I can't put this on my resume. At least for the kind of job I'm seeking.|
camping/glamping/four seasons, pacific coast trail