San Diego: Part Two

After an over-priced breakfast and a painful goodbye to The Madonna Inn, we continued our journey south. Later today we would be in San Diego. Well, almost San Diego. We were actually going to be staying with some very generous friends, Katie, Tim and their 2 year old daughter, Isabel. They live just outside of San Diego. And, I am not even remotely exaggerating when I say VERY generous friends. Friends who had recently returned from a trip that took them to Alaska and then Hawaii. So, the seven of us show up with bags, strollers, children, a pack-n-play, our dirty laundry (literally, not figuratively) and what has our host done?

Made us all dinner. Amazing.

Now, nearly every dish is dirty in their house thanks to us and I am having to ask Katie, who is still trying to do laundry catch up from her world tour, "Could I maybe do some laundry of my own? I mean, I realize you are up to your eyes in it, but like, I am almost out of underwear."

Don't worry, we brought them several bottles of alcohol for their trouble.

The next morning started with breakfast at Tip Top Meats.

"Going here is kind of a family tradition." Katie told us. "And for eight bucks you can get a breakfast plate with unlimited meat."

As a strong supporter of tradition (and meat) I was excited to try this place.

Katie was absolutely correct. For $7.98 you could get the "Big John Breakfast." This includes, "three eggs any style, home fried potatoes, toast and ALL* of our own delicious smokehouse bacon, pork link sausage, or polish sausage, bratwurst or ham you can eat."

You will notice the asterisk next to the word "ALL." This is indicating a footnote for what will forever be remembered as my favorite thing on a menu EVER. At the bottom of the "Big John" description is states: Sorry ALL not valid on TO GO orders (two meats).

Can you imagine the conversation that lead to that footnote?

"Thanks for calling Tip Top Meats can I take your order?"

"Yes, I will have a Big John Breakfast. Three eggs, over easy, sourdough toast, hash browns and, all the bacon in your freezer."

Although some in our party were brave enough to Big John it up, I opted for a smaller breakfast but did get one of their homemade bratwurst that was just delicious.

After breakfast was Legoland. I have been to Legoland before. It was just over 5 years ago that I went and then swore I would never return as long as I lived. It was well over 100 degrees on that godforsaken day when I asked myself on many occasions, "Why have a willingly entered Hell?" But never say never I guess, because here we are, yet again.

I have to say, this time was much more enjoyable. It was not so hot that I felt like I couldn't breathe. And I did have a child of my own this go around who I got to watch enjoy all there was to see at this wonderland of Legos. His favorite part was "Duplo Land" which is an area of the park that is designed specifically for younger kids. There were slides and climbing structures and places for parents to sit and watch their children play.

"You know, we could have just taken him to a park...for free." Grant said. He was right. I mean really, we could have taken him to an abandoned water treatment plant and called it a park and he would have had a grand ole time. But at least by paying for him to come here at just 15 months old, he won't have any fond memories or recollection of it happening at all, right??

Remind me, why did I agree to this again? Also, does Legoland serve booze?

Turns out, no. But Grant and I pretended and had our own fun.



All joking aside, anything that makes my boy and my nieces happy, makes me happy. And had we not gone, we would have missed out on this very realistic rendition of the Three Little Pigs. So there was that.


Love. The. Shades.


Right now, Charlie is thinking, "You know you could have just taken me to the park, Mom."


Look at this happy little girl. Makes it hard to stay mad at Legoland, doesn't it?


Well, if you must know, I quite enjoyed myself here today at Legoland. But then again, give me a box of raisins and a clean diaper and I can be happy pretty much anywhere.

San Diego: Part One

If you were wondering what it is like to go on a road trip to San Diego with 4 adults, 2 twin 4-year-olds and a 15 month old it falls somewhere between this:



and this:



Yes, that is a pull-up diaper on his head.

This was our first real family vacation and since driving straight through to San Diego from the Bay Area with three children under five sounds about as fun as an unmedicated appendectomy, we split the drive up into two parts.

Our first stop landed us in San Luis Obispo, Grant's college stomping ground and a destination favorite of ours. In the past, we have always done San Luis Obispo on a budget. In college we had no choice and after college we figured it was just good sense. After all, we spent the least amount of time in the room so who cares if it was a two star hotel with a questionable housekeeping policy. But this was vacation and we would be staying with friends once we arrived in San Diego (aka: for free) so it was very easy to justify a two night stay at The Madonna Inn. Known for it's kitschy charm, our room was fairly tame, what with the over-sized, mahogany furniture, horse print curtains and two, giant oil painting of horses grazing the fields. Brittaney and Ryan's room, on the other hand was painted with purple, metallic paint and the wall paper in the bathroom was purple sequin. It is what I believe the "kids" these days refer to as "P-I-M-P."

What the Madonna Inn is also known for is the color pink. To best describe the amount of pink that could be found in the Gold Rush Steakhouse we ate at our first night there, just try to imagine what it might look like if Valentine's Day barfed. The food was really wonderful though. I had the filet that was about the circumference of my son's "95 percentile" head. But even better than our meals was the cake.

Mmmmmm. The cake. I don't really like cake but this is more than just cake. This is cake that is surely crafted by the angels from the fluffy clouds of heaven. It was the only explanation. The kids enjoyed the cake too. I know this because I think it was laced with uppers since shortly after dinner the girls went CRAZY. They were back flipping between beds, wrestling on the floor, ripping light fixtures out of the walls, biting the heads off of chickens. It was sugar INSANITY in "Purple Sparkle Time" room.

And that is when I was reminded of my childhood. A time when I couldn't understand why my parents wouldn't let me have unlimited amounts of sweets all throughout the day. I remember my Aunt Bunky who had an incurable sweet tooth. One Christmas I saw her take a piece of See's Candy from the "Nuts and Chews" box well before dinner and I said, "Why do you get to eat candy before dinner?"

"Because I am a grown-up and when you are a grown-up you can eat whatever you want too." Unlimited candy? Adulthood was sure to be awesome with the promise of an all day candy fest. Of course, she failed to mention the part about bills, a mortgage and body parts starting to "give out."

But fearing a repeat of the night before and knowing it would be our last chance to indulge in a piece of this amazing confection, we did the only logical thing there was to do. Put the kids to bed, send a "grown-up" on a mission for cake and secretly eat it outside the hotel room door in the cold. Because doing things despite your children is the point of parenthood, right?

Brittaney came back from the restaurant and we were giddy as little school girls as we dove into the cake. I didn't think we were being that loud, but apparently they heard us. Ryan went into the room to do damage control.

Madison asked, "Where did you get the coffee?"

"Mommy got it for me from the restaurant."

"The restaurant where we got the cake?"

"Well, yes."

"Well, did you get any cake?"

"No, we just have tea and coffee."

Ella chimed in,"You guys are eating something out there. We can hear it."

Oopps. I felt bad for about 3.6 seconds and then I turned my body to face the closed hotel room door the kids were sleeping in, took a huge forkful of cake and shoved it in my mouth. Why? Because I'm a grown-up who has a mortgage, a bad back and bills to pay but right now, I'm on vacation and I've waited my whole damn life for this. The ability to eat secret, late-night cake, straight out of the to-go box with plastic forks, shivering in the cold, anytime I FREAKING WANT TO!

Chomp

It is no secret that my boy likes to eat. In the beginning of this adventure into solid foods, there was little Charlie wouldn't eat. Although the kid can still put back broccoli like it is dipped in caramel sauce, he has gotten a bit more picky. With the addition of some teeth his food options have expanded from "strictly mush" to "safely chewable." The introduction of these new textures means Charlie is starting to display a finickiness that never existed before. For example, Charlie doesn't seem to like meat in actual "meat" form. He will eat a salty, processed, cut up hot dog which he calls "dog-dogs." Excellent. Rice is still good. Mexican rice is WAY better. He starts screaming and shaking like an alcoholic with the DTs if Mexican rice is not being constantly provided.



Turns out, Charlie has also developed a taste for human flesh. I know this because he bites. He got Grant once on the shoulder and me once on the stomach. He has also made several attempts to try and bite me but since I am an adult who is way smarter than him, I pull my hand away and he then proceeds to bite his own hand. Of course I don't like to see this either, so I tried to pull his hand out of his mouth and I said, "Oh no, honey, that will hurt you. Mommy doesn't want you to get...ok, wow, you really got a good grip there, son." I am not a member of the "bite back" club but I would be lying if I said I didn't look down at him chomping down on his own hand and think to myself, "Well, it's not like I was the one biting him back." Let me be very clear: his biting is not funny and I am not trying to make light of the situation at all. In fact, it is very troubling to me. Totally developmentally normal, but very troubling. That said, let me tell you why this whole thing is actually kinda funny.

Charlie has seven teeth, three on the bottom and four on top. My son is without a doubt the most perfect little boy in every way (in my unbiased opinion). Now, I am not trying to say that there is anything wrong with his teeth, but for whatever reason the teeth that flank his two front teeth hang down just a touch bit lower than the two in the middle. Sometimes, it looks a bit like he has fangs. It's freaking adorable but now you see why the biting thing is just a tiny bit comical. Although, he has yet to go in for my neck.

Vampire jokes aside, I started doing a little research on how to deal with a 15 month old who bites. I sought out the advice of friends and did a quick search on the internet only to find an article on www.babyzone.com called "Month 15 Worry: Is My Biting Toddler Normal?" How fitting for my son who turned 15 months old just a few days ago. I am still not done with my research and I am not quite sure exactly how our family is going to deal with this new development. One thing that I probably have been doing wrong though is drawing too much attention to it by yelping from the pain and surprise of the bite and raising my voice in anger. (But I'm sorry, did you not hear me? My son has fangs!) The article was helpful though and reassured me that there is nothing wrong with my boy. And then I read this particular quote and nearly fell out of my chair:

"Knowing that your child is not biting simply because he loves the taste of blood may be reassuring."

Well....I wouldn't be so sure about that. Have you seen my kid?

B of C

We had plans to go on a date that night. We had a sitter lined up. We were going to get dressed up, have some cocktails and some adult conversation which means sentences that were longer than 3 words and don't involve poop or boogers. We had just finished breakfast and I put a very content and full Charlie into his play area while I started in on the dishes. And just as the garage door shut and Grant pulled the car out of the driveway, I heard a sound come out of my son that I have never heard before. It was not a good sound.

I rounded the corner to find my sweet baby boy covered in his own vomit. It was the first time this had happened and he had no idea what was going on. I didn't have any idea what to do. He was crying and I imagine if he had the ability to vocalize his thoughts he would have said something like, "Hey crazy lady in the pajamas, quit running around and pick my up out of my own vomit!" Of course, that is what I did, in addition to wiping him down, giving him a bath and then dousing his clothes in rubbing alcohol and lighting a match.

He only threw up once that day but it turns out, that is the exact amount of times it takes to ruin a date night. And thus began the downward spiral that has been the past month (roughly.) Charlie's shared his little bug with us and it made its way through our bodies fairly quickly, which was good since we were to be headed down to Southern California for my sister Jessie's graduation the following week. A few days before we left, I developed a wretched head cold that plugged up all the holes in my face and I'm pretty sure was trying to push my eyeballs out of their sockets. It was very uncomfortable and terribly annoying but we managed to have a good time. This had less to do with how proud of I was of my little sis and more to do with the amount of margaritas we consumed over the course of 4 days.


Here we all are after watching my sister be presented with her honors medal you see that she is wearing around her neck. I am very proud, even though this basically meant sitting through two very long ceremonies. She now owes me a day of babysitting, on a day Charlie hasn't napped and has the flu.


This was the day of the actual graduation. We were either a little drunk or one of us made a fart joke. Possibly both.

We returned home from LA and the cold was behind me and I was ready to be healthy again. Then, out of nowhere, I swallowed and thought, "Hmmm, my ear hurts and so does my throat." Thinking I had an ear infection, I went to the doctor with fingers crossed that with some antibiotics and approximately 24 hours I would be good as new. I was told by the doctor that I might be developing an ear infection and to only fill the prescription if I got worse. So I didn't fill it. By that night, after the pharmacy was closed of course, I had a fever, the chills, body aches and my entire throat was on fire. It was a sore throat unlike anything I have ever experienced. It felt like someone poured acid down my throat and then was making me swallow knives. Nothing took the pain away. That night I was up at least every hour because the simple act of swallowing awoke me. I finally figured out that if I just laid on my back and turned my head to the side and opened my mouth, I would drool out any accumulated spit and I wouldn't have to swallow it. It really is a wonder my husband still finds me even remotely attractive.

By the next day, my prescription was filled but the throat pain was relentless. I was literally delirious from pain. At one point I thought that laying down on the tile bathroom floor would make me feel better. After being down there for what could have been 5 minutes or 5 days, I have no clue, I looked up at my bathroom ceiling and thought, "What the hell am I doing on the floor?" If it is not obvious now, my little ear infection turned out to be strep. The ladies out there might disagree with me but this pain comes second to childbirth. Seriously.

But the worst part was I couldn't go near Charlie. I was petrified that he would get it; I mean, I am 30 years old and obviously not handling this well (See: bathroom floor mentioned above). How is my 14 month old going to be able to handle that kind of pain? So for three days Grant did everything. Which means for three days I would hear my baby wake up, Grant would go into his room to get him and I would hear, "Mama? Mama? Mama?" Each one becoming more panicked and desperate than the next. It was awful.

Even though I would not have believed you on day two of the ordeal, I did survive strep and ready to return to rowing and begin the summer. But it was on my first day back to rowing that we were putting the boat back on the rack and I felt that all too familiar electric twinge in my low back. As the day progressed it got tighter and tighter and I got twistier and twistier. (Is "twistier" even a word? Well, it is now. Especially when your spine is in the shape of an "S.")

But this has to be the end right? Because it can't possibly get worse than right now. I mean, it's not like I'm going to break out in hives or anything. Wait, why are my legs itchy? Turns out, I'm having a reaction to the antibiotic. Glorious. I'll spare you any pictures of that.

Thankfully, I had left over muscle relaxers and Vicodin from the last time I did this WHICH WAS ONLY SIX FREAKING MONTHS AGO. But whose counting? I also went to the chiropractor for the first time. That may have been a new experience but this back issue is not. I've been doing this to myself since I was about 13. Every once and awhile so I would have an episode that put me out for a day or two. As I've gotten older that's turned into a few days or in this case, almost a week. I went to various doctors when I was growing up and tried some physical therapy and had an MRI to rule out cancer, tumors or any back-muscle-eating gremlin that might be living in there but basically, my prescription was to strengthen my core. But as an adolescent who sang in the choir and found running or breaking a sweat to be bothersome, I never really followed through. After all, it didn't really effect anyone else but me.

Until now.

After Charlie was born taking care of myself became drastically more important. I began exercising and joined a rowing team. I thought I was doing everything right. But now, twice since he has been born I have hurt my back. When I'm like this, I can do almost nothing for him. I feel like a useless lump of flesh. (and I look like one too since I can't properly do my make or blow dry my hair.) Grant keeps reminding me that I'm going to get better but on the heels of all my other illnesses I've just about had it. Of course I'll get better but right now I can't do my job. I can't play with my boy, change his diaper or put him down for a nap. I can't pick him up if he falls or take him for a walk. And while I'm not doing these things, I'm not getting paid. I realize my payment doesn't come in the form of money direct deposited into my bank account but payment from Charlie fills my heart and soul. A heart and soul that's feeling terribly depleted. I'm not going to lie, Vicodin is fun. But I could sure use a paycheck from the BofC right now. (Bank of Charlie)

School Lunches, a Decade or Two Later

By Melia Dicker

A couple of years ago, my dear friend Melia made the amazing and brave decision to go back to school. As in start over from kindergarten. I'm sure your initial reaction is "Well that sounds easy!" but you and I both know that you would be out of the game at 3rd-grade Geometry and you are absolutely not smarter than a 5th grader. But her ambition and dedication to this project are not the only reasons I love Melia. This is a woman who never turns down a costume party or an SF Mission taco crawl. She can also school anyone in a game of early 90s trivia. I asked her to share some of her experiences with school lunch here, and she graciously obliged.

With all the national attention that healthy school lunches are getting these days, you might wonder how the lunches at your own schools have changed since you were a student. I wondered the same thing, and a couple of years ago I happened to have a chance to find out.

I committed the fall of 2008 to a “do-over” of my schooling, like Billy Madison but for real. I got permission to spend a week in each of my old school classrooms in the San Francisco Bay Area: kindergarten, first grade, and so on, all the way through college. The project was called Reschool Yourself, and its goal was for me to make peace with 17 years of school that I had found did not prepare me for life. (You can read more about the project here.)

Along the way, I dedicated myself to “method lunching,” eating cafeteria food with my fellow students. If there were options that had been on the menu when I was enrolled the first time around, I ordered those and assessed how they stacked up. Here are some highlights from my school lunch adventures.

1. Elementary School: Hot Dogs
El Verano Elementary School, Sonoma, CA



When I was a kid, the only day that I’d buy lunch instead of brown bagging it was Friday, because it was Pizza Day. Miraculously, 23 years later, Friday was still Pizza Day, so I planned to buy “hot lunch” from the school cafeteria on that day of the week.

Imagine my disappointment when I saw hot dogs instead. “We barbecue the first and last weeks of school,” said the lunch lady. “It’s a special occasion.”

At least they were chicken dogs. Here’s what I wrote about my lunch that day (read the full post):

The principal, who was graciously helping serve lunch that day, gave me an extra helping of peppered macaroni salad, a slice of watermelon, and a chocolate chip cookie. At the end of the counter there were bowls of fresh fruit, mini bags of carrots, and boxes of raisins, all for the taking; I was happy to see a broader, healthier selection than we’d had in the 80s…

I (was) surprised that the food tasted so good, the buttery cookie in particular. The hot dog wasn’t half bad, especially with relish and ketchup, and the pepper in the macaroni salad gave it an original flavor. The flailing arms of the (kindergarteners) had slid my watermelon wedge onto the table, and I left it untouched, following one of the cardinal rules in education: No matter how hungry you are, never eat anything that has touched kids’ fingers or their tabletops.

The best part of the meal was the chocolate milk, that thick, rich chocolatey goodness packed into a tiny carton. Turns out that the secret to the thickness is….corn starch. Yum. I drank half, enjoying it thoroughly, and pitched the rest.

2. Middle School: Turkey Sandwich
Altimira Middle School, Sonoma, CA



The deli turkey sandwich on a French roll came in a plastic bag with a white tie, the kind that’s sealed flat and forces you to rip the whole bag open. The sandwich was as gloppy and delicious as I had remembered it having been a decade and a half before. It contained thin slices of textured turkey, not the slimy processed and packaged mystery meat. Here’s an excerpt from the blog about it (read the full post):

I think those sandwiches are responsible for my little sister’s passionate hatred of mayonnaise, given the globs laden on the sandwiches that used to squirt out of the sides of the bread. My sandwich last week actually tasted great, its bread and turkey fresh, and its mayo now in proportion.

Disappointingly, the cafeteria had run out of burritos from La Casa, a local Mexican restaurant, which I remember as being delicious. I hope to get one tomorrow. I’m stunned at how inexpensive the food is — $0.75 for half a cream cheese bagel, $2.50 for the most quality sandwiches and burritos. I’m used to paying three times as much for similar items in San Francisco cafes and airports.

3. High School: Cheese Pizza
St. Vincent de Paul High School, Petaluma, CA



I didn’t document my high school lunch on the blog, probably because it was tasty but unremarkable. I ordered lunches from the “snack shack” a couple of times during my return to high school and remember them being fairly healthy, reasonably cheap, and satisfying. I think it may have come from a pizzeria chain, maybe Domino’s. The slice of cheese pizza was triangular, unlike the thick, square slices that some school cafeterias serve. The cheese, sauce, and crust were all just fine – not great enough or bad enough to leave a lasting memory.

4. College: Veggie Sandwich
Santa Clara University, Santa Clara, CA



When I was a student, Aramark ran Santa Clara University’s dining services, but Bon Appetit has since replaced them. The dining commons have been updated and now (unfortunately) have flat-screen TVs mounted above some of the tables. Oddly enough, the woman who rang up my meal had worked there when I was a student, and she remembered me. The veggie deli sandwich I ordered during my reschooling was nothing to write home about, but it I enjoyed the fresh bread, honey mustard, and pickles (read the full post).

At lunchtime on Saturday, I (ate) during peak hours. Actually, on weekends Benson (the student center) seems to be bustling all day, as students roll out of bed and into the dining commons in sweats. I had hoped to order a burrito, which used to be my favorite lunchtime option. Sadly, the burrito bar was closed by the time I got there, so I settled for a deli sandwich. … I reminded myself to get a vegetarian option, since I didn’t eat meat from the ages of 13 to 23. (Traveling in Germany after college broke me of the habit.) I’ve always found the good selection of food at Santa Clara to be fresh and of high quality, and this hasn’t changed.

All in all, during my visits I found the food at my old schools to be good for my health, my palate, and my wallet. A decade or two after I’d graduated, I enjoyed my cafeteria lunches as much as, if not more than, when I ate them the first time around.

On Mother's Day and Fiddlehead Ferns

It was Mother's Day yesterday and I have to say it was definitely up there in my top two Mother's Days of all time. I am happy to celebrate the day for myself and for my mother and all the other mothers in the world who came before me but honestly, I have mixed emotions about this day. That's because, when it takes you longer than your original life plan to become a mother (because I don't know if you know this, but apparently, your mind can't control the future) every time Mother's Day comes around what you actually want to do is give it two giant middle fingers and cry into an entire pint of ice cream.

But then my son was born proving to me that even after all the strife and heartache it was all worth it, blah, blah, blah. That said, last year was pretty cool and incidentally, still involved ice cream but with none of the tears, so win-win.

So last year I was a first-time-mom but this year I bought fiddlehead ferns at the Ferry Building in San Francisco so....there is really know connection here. It was the best segue I could come up with. Anyway, HOW COOL ARE THESE THINGS?!?!





According to their Wikipedia page they are "available in the market for only a few weeks in springtime, and are fairly expensive." Since the basket of this very seasonal item was only five dollars, I thought to myself "I'm willing to risk the possibility of disappointment for a mere five bucks." They also seemed easy enough to prepare: saute in butter, olive oil and garlic for 3 to 4 minutes. So, home they came with me.



My father's reaction when he saw them was "What are those? Worms?"

"Um, no Dad. They are ferns." (Because eating the worlds most popular plant found in silk variety is way more normal.)

"And you are going to eat those?"

"We, Dad. We are going to eat those."

The verdict was they were good. Not great, but good. I found them to be a bit bland and need quite a bit of salt. But I blame my novice approach to cooking them more than the actually quality of the ferns and I would absolutely try them again. But really, ferns or not, it doesn't take much for me to find an excuse to go to the Ferry Building.

NOH8

My best friend Brittaney is a lot of things. She is the mother of twins, a full-time high school science teacher, a member of a competitive rowing team and on the side, she is getting her Ph.D. Yes, that is what I said: P-H-D. Among other things, Brittaney is an awesome cook, can knit a mean scarf and tears up any wedding dance floor if given the opportunity. She inspires me daily and is a constant reminder you can do anything you want in life. And yes, there are times when she makes me feel a tiny bit guilty as I think to myself, "Maybe there is something slightly more productive you could be doings besides watching 'Real Housewives of New Jersey' reruns." Like, for example, write an awesome letter like the one she wrote below. You know, in all her free time.

Dear ProtectMarriage,

Thank you so much for requesting that Judge Vaughn Walker's ruling on Proposition 8 be set aside. You are so right, as a gay man who will surely be affected by the decision of Proposition 8, his ruling cannot be taken seriously. However, I think you stopped short of following your claim to its logical conclusion:

1. Judge Walker cannot be allowed to rule on legislation that will directly effect him as he will not be impartial.

2. On your website you state that, "the benefits to society of traditional marriage are overwhelming." Therefore, it can be deduced that the legalization of gay marriage will negate these "benefits."

3. It follows then, that heterosexual couples also have a stake in this debate and, just as Judge Walker, all heterosexual individuals who are either married, or have a desire to one day become married, should be barred from ruling on Proposition 8 as well.

4. Therefore, only asexual judges with neither positive nor negative views about marriage should be chosen to rule over this issue.

5. Although, that still leaves this sticky situation: Since civil rights issues by definition effect society as a whole, no individual that is a member of our society should be allowed to rule on issues of civil rights. After all, they will be affected by their choice and cannot be considered impartial.

Get ready America--we have a lot of legislative rulings to review. Wouldn't it be so much easier if we just required judges to take an oath to uphold the law, regardless of their personal beliefs? I propose something like this:

"I, ______, do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will administer justice without respect to persons, and do equal right to the poor and to the rich, and that I will faithfully and impartially discharge and perform all the duties incumbent upon me as _____ under the Constitution and laws of the United States. So help me God."

We could call it something catchy like "United States Code, Title 28, Part 1, Chapter 21, Section 453."

Sincerely,

Brittaney Meyer



My best friend Brittaney and I on vacation together, likely discussing something too inappropriate to repeat.