We were in Maui last week and while we did get a couple days of consistent rain, Hawaii rain is warm. Like, yes your sundress is now soaked, but it’s somehow pleasant, or at least not actively unpleasant, unlike the cold-ass downpour I received yesterday while loading eight thousand grocery bags into my car. There’s something specifically vacation’s over, motherfucker about having to immediately re-stock your entire kitchen while Mt. Laundry looms moistly in the background, isn’t there?

I can’t complain about being home, though; we had a really great time and a week felt about right. Any longer and I would have maybe had to start cutting back on the number of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts I was eating each day and I think we have discussed my issues with moderation.

Some cool things we did: ziplining, which was surprisingly not as terrifying as I thought it would be, at least after the first “training” line; an escape room, something I’ve always wanted to try which ended up being a wildly entertaining distraction on the rainiest day (we successfully completed the challenge, which was to defuse a bomb, although I admit the staff ended up giving us several clues and also extended our time by a few minutes); a fair amount of snorkeling, which Riley really got into; some truly memorable meals at delicious restaurants, one of which was a DIY pancake place called Slappy Cakes which apparently has a location in Portland too (roooooad trip!).

Also cool: this super-boss shirt Dylan picked out.

Less cool: what is up with people who stand two inches upwind of you and empty, like, an entire bottle of spray sunscreen onto their kids or themselves? Bruh. If your attempts to mist your squirming toddler results in the stranger next to you getting a surprise coating of SPF for their trachea, you are breaking the social contract. I am pro-sun protection but not pro-accidentally-inhaling twelve chemical ounces of Banana Boat, why is it so hard for people to check their surroundings and walk their ass down the beach a few feet in order to unleash the aerosol?

Spray etiquette aside, Maui is an excellent place to visit and so relaxing. I think the overall island vibe can be summed up by this random cat we came across:

I know next to nothing about Olympics sports or athletes but it has been great fun being able to tune in now and then and instantly become deeply invested in whatever’s currently happening. It’s an interesting phenomenon, really: one minute none of us have given a single thought to, say, women’s slalom skiing, the next we’re all hanging on every gate turn and offering our in-depth opinions about their technical scores. John mentioned that it would be awesome if you could choose your commentary track — like, you can pick the discipline expert sportscaster who carefully explains all the mechanics and mishaps unfolding onscreen, OR you can choose to listen to a couple of drunk guys trying to figure out curling.

I have been watching an unusual amount of TV lately because my back went from “hmmm” to “NOPE” and so I spent several days in a recliner with a heating pad which was just as exciting as it sounds. I didn’t even have a good book on hand and ended up reading a bunch of dirty Sherlock/Watson slashfic on my phone, so if you have any questions about how Sherlock’s legendary powers of observation might impact his lovemaking skills I am FULL of useful information.

My back has slowly been improving but in a bid to hurry up a return to normalcy I got a deep tissue massage yesterday. The therapist was a birdlike wisp of a woman who nonetheless had the grip of a bench vise, I have no idea how one small human can wield that much power from her fingertips but I had to go to my happy place (the bottom of a bag of Sweet n’ Salty Boom Chicka Pop) and stay there for the entire hour. She zeroed in on every tender, resistant square inch of flesh and dug in like she was trying to find a buried piece of bubble wrap. I was too embarrassed to request that she lighten her touch from “the atmospheric pressure on the surface of Saturn” to “something that doesn’t actively clear out my sinuses,” but after enduring sixty minutes of her Gitmo tactics I had to admit I felt much more relaxed and loosened up, like a wrung-out dishrag. Or possibly I was just relieved to be done?

My favorite part about watching the world’s highest level of sports performances from my invalid-chair is how it seems like every other athlete is competing despite some god-awful injury they endured less than a year ago. NBC invariably trots out the photo of them lying in a hospital bed, recuperating from some accident where their actual spleen came out their eyesocket, and now here they are hurtling down an ice-covered hill at 85 MPH. It’s enough to make a person feel a tiny bit self-conscious about spending days parked unmoving in front of the TV because “Ermm, I stood up funny.”

Not too self-conscious to continually critique their techniques, though. Heck, this is even more fun than when I used to act like I knew what I was watching on So You Think You Can Dance. I mean did you SEE that guy bobble the rails? Amateur hour. *stuffs another pretzel in mouth, knowledgeably*

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