I have no qualms about saying that I am the one playing up in our marriage. And by saying that, I am by no means implying that I'm not a catch. I mean, I think I'm awesome. My mom thinks I'm awesome. I'm just lucky that found someone in Racheal that agrees with us. Nevertheless, I'm still the one playing up. My wife is hot, she's smart, she's funny, she thinks I'm funny (which is way more important), she makes good babies (not currently. She's not currently making a cute baby, but she has in the past), etc, etc. And on top of all that, my wife has a job that's willing to pay for us to stay at the Ritz Carlton on Lake Oconee in Georgia for four days. I'm still not completely sure why we were going, but I think it was something like their annual regional sales trip. Doesn't really matter why, though. She had me at the word 'free'.
So I took off of work, we packed all 5 chirren in the car (Which is a whole nother story. But we've done it so many times, I feel like telling that story would be like kicking a dead horse into the ground......kinda like keeping Michael Vick out of the NFL. Thanks T.O.), we met my parents on the other side of Atlanta, swapped cars with them, and headed to the plush 5-star resort.
Quick back story here: The only Ritz Carlton that I've ever been remotely close to is on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. I've walked past it millions of times, drank at their outdoor bar hundreds of times, snuck in to use the bathroom maybe 5 times, passed out in front of their lobby 2 times, and actually stayed there 1 time. But I don't remember when or why I stayed there. I think it was maybe for Soyez's graduation. Or maybe someone's birthday. Either way, I don't remember much about it. But the bottom line is that the Ritz is WAAAAYYYY classier of an establishment than I'm used to. I'll explain. As we were driving down to meet my parents, I was wearing my usual driving attire of camouflage shorts and a wife-beater. But! Being the planner that I am, and knowing that Rach wouldn't want me rolling up to the Ritz Carlton in a wife-beater, I kept a polo shirt in the car with me to put on when we got to the hotel. That's thinking ahead, right? Um, no. My mistake was not letting Rach look at the shirt before putting it on. She looked at me disgustedly, as if I had just licked peanut butter out of my belly button, and said, 'You're gonna wear that shirt with those shorts? Seriously? Those don't even come close to matching. You'll look retarded. Uggh! Well, I'd rather you look ghetto than retarded. Just wear your stupid wife-beater.' Did I mention how nice my wife is? Always looking out for me. She also prevented me from embarrassing myself by not letting me wear my crocs that I had brought in lieu of any pair of sandals. And by not wearing the crocs, and being forced to walk around on the rough concrete (razor-like, I think that may be a more adequate description) walkways with my bare feet, I was able to strengthen the skin on the bottoms of my feet. After the blisters went away, of course.
The night we got there, we had to go to a company dinner in one of the ballrooms at the hotel. Apparently, there were some uppity ups coming, so gave me strict instructions on who I could and could not talk to at dinner. She was hoping that, by dressing me up in my beautiful suit, I looked dapper enough to distract the uppity ups from the trashiness within. I thought I could handle that. And I had no problems with my shortened list of conversation opportunities because I know a lot of the people that Rach works with, they're all fun, and I like just about all of them. There's really only one person that she works with that I don't like (For the record, I don't like him because he's a dirty, conniving, D-bag; and he's made Rach cry before. So I'd like to see him dead), but I was pretty sure I could avoid him. And I definitely wouldn't have to sit at the same dinner table as him. (That's called foreshadowing. Look it up.) Anyway, before dinner, we were all standing around having drinks in the lobby, having a good time and whatnot. I was standing by the hors d'oeuvres table, having an approved conversation with Rach's friend Jill. I kept getting a whiff of what smelled like old feet. Nervous, and not wanting to be the smelly guest, I kept checking to make sure it wasn't me. I was smelling under my arms and inside my jacket for a couple of minutes. Finally, I realized that I was standing next to the cheese table. I was relieved, but not relieved enough to try the cheese.
When everyone went into the ballroom to sit down for dinner, I was still at the bar. (Go figure.) Once I got our drinks, I turned and walked into the ballroom. And right there at the first table, right next to the bar, I saw all of the people that I know sitting at the same table. Assuming that Rach was sitting there also, I walked towards this table; scanning all of the smiling faces, laughing, drinking, yucking it up. Then I heard a faint, 'Jeff!', from clear across the room. And sure enough, there's Rach sitting at a table on the complete opposite side of the room, along with 6 people who could all remember what it was like before cell phones and computers and gas powered engines and indoor plumbing; and she's waving me over, with the same look on her face that I can only assume she had right before she was taking her SATs. Then she saw my expression, and how confused and perplexed I was, so her gesturing changed to resemble someone who was trying to lure a mouse into a cheese filled trap.
'C'mon. C'mon, you can do it. That's right, over here. It won't hurt you. You know you want some cheese.'
Like I said, I didn't want any cheese. So when I sat down, she gave me a look that said:
'Thank you for coming over here.'
'I'm sorry about this.'
'There was nothing I can do.'
'Please act right.'
'We'll just drink heavily.'
No kidding around, that one look said all of those sentences. I'm telling you, she's amazing with some of the looks that she can give. I think it has something to do with her eyebrows. She has complete and utter control over her eyebrows. Ask the kids, they'll tell you.
Anyway, as you may have guessed, The guy that I don't like was sitting at our table directly across from me. So out of spite, I didn't laugh at any of his jokes. Not one. Yeah, he'll be feeling the sting of that one for awhile. But here's a picture of the 'fun' table. If you look close enough, you can see me attempting to gnaw off my leg in the background. (Not really. Don't try to look for it.)
All in all, dinner wasn't too bad though. (Other than occasionally looking over at the other table to see them laughing hysterically in the middle of what looked like the greatest dinner ever.) We survived because the food was good (I ate Rach's too), and after they stopped giving us free drinks I managed to 'borrow' a couple of glasses from the bar to run back to the room to make us cocktails. Otherwise we would've been paying $9.50 for weak crown and cokes. (Because underneath that nice suit, there was an angry wife-beater trying to escape.) And since this was our first night away; by ourselves; with no kids; in a nice resort; we were getting hammered. After dinner, we went to the bar out by the pool to have some drinks (don't worry, we still brought our own. Didn't want you to think that we suddenly grew some classiness after dinner.), then we went to the bar inside the hotel to have some drinks, then we went back out to the pool for more drinks and some swimming. Alcohol and water, always a good combo. Finally, we stumbled back to our room at about 3:30. Here's a picture of Brian and Brent at the hotel bar.
This photo is important because it was the last time that Racheal's friend (No Longer Pictured for Privacy Purposes)was seen in an upright position. I don't mean that in a dirty way, but that first night's drinking left everyone with some pretty nasty hangovers. For the rest of the trip, it didn't matter where we were or what we were doing, She found a place to lay down. She laid down in ant piles, sand, water, watery sand, sandy water, whatever. The next day, we went canoeing, and her only stipulation for going was that she could lay down in the canoe.
(This spot was originally reserved for a picture of Racheal's unnamed friend laying down in the canoe, but she made me take it out.)
And speaking of the canoe trip: You know you're the only guy on a trip when you're getting into a canoe with three people, two ice chests, and a couple of bags; the canoe guy asks you how many paddles you need, and both girls say, 'Oh, just one.' There wasn't even an attempt on their part to look active. It was just, 'Hey, token guy, why don't you run upstairs to the room that's about a quarter mile up that hill, up that winding rocky path with your bare feet, and grab us the ice chest. Make sure you stop to fill it up with ice before you come down so that it's really really heavy. Then you can put the ice chest in the canoe and paddle us to that island over there in the horizon. But don't paddle too fast. We're trying to take a nap.' Honestly though, I didn't mind being the gopher. That place was so peaceful and serene, we stayed relaxed the entire time. Check out the view from the pool:
We'd wake up, run 5 miles along the hiking trail through the wooded hills and out by the water, then go hang out by the pool or the lake for the rest of the day. Rach and I went through the entire trip without a single argument. Not one. Which is unprecedented. We're usually good for at least one retarded argument about taking the long way to the elevator, or losing the hotel key. But we had nothing. It must have been something about the Ritz. But it was definitely something I could get used to. It's just too bad we've got to wait for her next free trip to do it again. And next time I might even wear a shirt. Nah. Small steps.
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