No secrets
So, I’m going to gloat a little bit. It seems like I come here a lot when I need to complain, whine, vent, verbally flay the skin off of someone who will never read this blog, etc. But I rarely come here when things are looking pretty damn good in the little corner of the world I like to call “Beegetopia“.
Like last Friday? I had a girl date with my parents’ financial planner. She’s so cool. Her oldest son is like 4 days younger than Linnea (and ooooo, he’s CUTE. He’s going to be a total hottie when he grows up). When I was prego with Nea, we lived clear out in Kans-ass, so Mom would go and visit Michelle, and then call and say, “We saw Michelle today, so now I know what you look like!” Yeah, Mom, I don’t think it works that way, but if seeing Michelle makes you feel involved with me: go for it.
When we moved here, Michelle and I started hanging out, and found we really like one another. So last Friday, she came into the store and did a “personal shopper” appointment, which really meant that she and I got to shop together and I didn’t have to worry about any other customers. Then we went to Starbucks and had some tea, and then we hit two wineries. These wineries…oh! So wonderful! The first one had great atmosphere that was immediately ruined by the crappy-ass DJ playing hits from the 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, and Today! making conversation nigh impossible. So we walked (yep, within walking distance!) to the next one. I adored this little winery. The building was crafted to really work well with the environment, and they had all sorts of little nooks and crannies where you could sit and drink wine and chat and eat outrageously priced appetizers. We found a little outside seating area that looked out over the vineyards and the mountains, and closed the place down. I got eaten alive by mosquitos and learned that I like my chardonnay oaked. I also learned that Michelle is truly one of the coolest people I know, and that she and I should go wining more often. I also learned that there is a whole list of people that I need to take to this winery, because I love it everso and want to share the goodness (Jules[both of you], Clover, Cyn: you’re on that list).
But bring bug repellant. Seriously.
In other good news: this time next week, my family will be on our annual vacation at the Oregon Coast. We go nearly every year, and it’s sort of moved out of the realm of “luxurious tradition” to a ”dammit, man, give me my beach house, man! I need it! Don’t you get it? I’ll be better in the beach house, man. Really. Just give me the damn beach house!” sort of a monkey on our backs. We stay at the same beach house every year, right on the water, with a hottub, every bedroom has an ocean view, and our bedroom has bunkbeds for the girls. It’s perfect. We cook our own meals, walk on the beach, hit the Factory Outlet stores, cook some crab, drink a lot of wine, last year we played a lot of Scruples (and let me tell you: I could have lived a long and happy life without playing that game with my drunk “boundaries schmoundaries” mother). Usually lots of cribbage, book reading, movie watching, beach combing, etc. And we all love it. Last year, Linnea pretty much summed things up for us with this prayer:
Thank you, God, for
making us stay
at the
beach house.
A-freaking-men, sister. (This was my contribution to the prayer)
Plus, this year, Mom wants to go to someplace in Portland called the Fabric Depot, and I’m totally jonesing for an Ikea run. Now we just need to win the lottery and we’ll be set. 
And, finally, to complete the “it’s good to be the Beege” trifecta: I’ve got a girls weekend coming up. Several years ago (pre-children, though I was newly and greenly pregnant with Nea at the time) a group of friends and I descended on a cabin in Idaho. A good time was had by all–even me, even though I couldn’t 1) stop wanting to throw up, 2) maintain consciousness for more than a 2 hour stretch, and 3) drink–the trip is one of my memory highlights. In fact, at one point, some of us got a shirt off of a firefighter–I’m not sure how. I’m hazy on the details, because I was sleeping. Again. But somebody came back to the cabin with sweaty fireman tshirt, which is sort of awsome, when you think about it. Anyhow, some of us are doing it again. A few of the same group, some new people, and all organized by the ubercool Clover, who has (in the intervening 5 years) managed to acquire her own cabin on her favorite lake in the whole wide world, and is throwing her doors open to us. The only rules? No men. No kids.
When I got the invite, I told her I orgasmed a little.
Plus, if you know Clover, you know that this little cabin in the woods has been a lifelong dream of hers. She grew up going to this lake like I grew up going to the Oregon Coast. She’s got memories woven into the geography of this place like you wouldn’t believe–so no matter where she’s at, she can tell a story about it. And now, she’s got her little dream cabin. I’m so happy for her, and so happy for me that she’s willing to share it with some additional hooligans. 
The local firemen better look out. Beege isn’t knocked up, this time around.
