More Than You Need To Know, Really...

Tags: Vancouver, Vacation, and Beer.

So...

My weekend of carousing and the week-long vacation starts tonight, and I'm scrambling to get those last few things done. I've tried to be neat and tidy, but if it wasn't for the darling the place would look like a tornado (me) went through it. And why, oh why are there so many chargers and adapters and cords involved? I'm not even taking a hair dryer, but what with the cell phone and its charger, the mp3 player and its charger, the battery charger (for the camera), the collection is starting to look like Medusa's bad hair day... I'm still considering whether to bring the mp3 player or not - is it a distraction, or a necessary barrier between me and the overly-screechy kids that seem to gravitate to me on the ferry? I'll decide by the time I get home to pick up my stuff. Ah yes, the stuff..

Over the years my packing style has definitely changed - I used to carry everything (in numerous oversized bags) but now I can get it all down to a duffel, a toiletries bag, a camera bag and my knapsack. Oh - and my pillow - it's bulky, but I'd rather carry it than chance a lumpy, flat, or smelly pillow experience. That sort of thing can ruin any sunny disposition, and lately mine has been more Cranky Bear than Snow White in the mornings.

Carousing you say?
Yes, my sweet friend is getting married to an equally sweet guy, so we're off to give her a stagette this weekend. I plan on beer as the bevie and gift of choice. So enthused am I that I even went to visit the home of my favourite beer company - Granville Island Brewing.

Miss Cin's Lucious Lager:
Lick it if you want, but we'd recommend drinking it instead.

Wanna find out what your beer name would be? Go here.

And then...?
Spending the week on a local island with the honey. 7 acres of peace and quiet and nature and zen paths... and a hot tub. Of course. And possibly the resident cat.

The only downside to going on vacation is that the little criminals can't come with us. I go through withdrawal pains and guilt each time, even though they're in good hands.

I know, I know, they aren't children.

It's not like they're going to miss out on play-dates, back-to-school shopping or summer camp. I certainly don't have to worry about whether or not they're growing out of their sneakers, or if they're sneaking off with the neighbourhood bad boy, thus requiring Mamacita Cin's rendition of 'The Talk' anytime soon. But they do seem to be stuck in the toddler phase, what with getting into things they shouldn't, crashing into things and scaring themselves, eating things that make them puke, rough housing just a leeeetle too much, and surprising me by their sudden need to be cuddled and crooned over. They are, for all intents and purposes, my fur kids. And yes, that's why I'm a member of that oftimes villified set of bloggers known as catbloggers. Deal. I don't do it THAT often.

But as my darling pointed out, we know exactly what they'll do during the day...
...snooze...
...stretch...
...snarf...
...lick lick lick...
...scamper scamper...
...flop...
...snooze...zzzz...
...repeat, with potty breaks and snarly shenanigans.

And Finally..
I know I have the Celebration of Light listed in my sideblog, but this year the vacation gods have been conspiring against me, so I won't get to go at all. Maybe next year. Along with the annual Pride Parade - I've missed that 2 years running...