Procrastination.

Things I'm doing instead of blogging about our Orlando trip:

Enjoying the recently-reduced heat and humidity (we'd finally gotten about two weeks' worth of real summer, and I'm totally over it--no more sweating in the subway, please).
Trying on clothes I can't afford.
Repeatedly enjoying the amazing hilarity that is Heidi Montag's Miss Universe performance.
Playing Word Warp on my iPhone.
Watching Mad Men.
Being jealous of my friend's awesome new apartment on the Upper East Side (and eating takeout in said apartment while "helping" her move in).
Going to Ellis Island.
Re-reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
Looking up airfare to London, Sydney, and the Bahamas.
Anticipating my parents' visit next month.
Eating popcorn.

35 years.

For their 30th anniversary, they took us to Kauai. For their 35th, they took us to DisneyWorld. I'm already looking into a Mediterranean cruise for 2014. But besides taking us on bitchin' vacays, my parents have spent the last 35 years building a family, and showing us a wonderful example of what a marriage should be. I know that my family's great relationships and the fun we always have together--whether sailing off the Na Pali Coast or sitting around eating popcorn--is a credit to Mark and Wanda. So Happy Anniversary, mom and dad, and thanks for everything. Especially the bitchin' vacays.

Excitement.

Am I too old to have had trouble sleeping the night before a vacation to Disneyworld? In a few hours, 15 Ostlers will converge on Orlando, including a niece whose 4th birthday party will be a lunch with the princesses at Magic Kingdom.

We're going to have some fun.

Pappy.

Do you know what this is?


It may look like a plain yellow legal pad to you. But anyone in my family knows that in the hands of my dad, it becomes magical.

My dad has probably used thousands of these during his lifetime--often for work or keeping track of daily tasks. But there is another, wondrous thing that he uses it for: planning. Anytime there's a holiday or trip coming up, you can find one of these bad boys filled with my dad's scrawling handwriting. Pages of lists, excursion ideas, sites, charts, timetables, possibly even diagrams designed to maximize the enjoyment of everyone involved. He loves coming up with great ideas that ensure everyone has fun. In my family, when you see the yellow pad, you know amazing things are about to happen.

Today I wish a happy birthday to my favorite travel agent (and career advisor, and trivia guru, and hug provider, and arch nemesis), knowing that any enjoyment he gets out of his celebrations today likely pales in comparison to the pleasure he is currently finding in finishing up the planning for our upcoming family vacation extravaganza.


It commences in just 3 days, and the excitement is palpable.

Temptation.

Sometimes I think the Mister Softee guy knowingly parks his truck in the most enticing spot on my run--at the top of a mile-long steady incline--purely to torment me.

Two thumbs up.

Dear Fox Searchlight,

You produce good movies. (And apparently are also behind the upcoming Arrested Development movie. I approve.) This one was no exception:

The only problem is that now I have an almost uncontrollable urge to cut my bangs again. But I'm pretty sure I still won't look like Zooey Deschanel.

Thrill ride.

My trip home was lovely. By 3am PDT on Wednesday I had been up for almost 48 hours, with a cumulative 5 hours of sleep in the interim. Totally worth it. The rest of the week was spent lazing around, eating lots of red meat (thanks Mom!), shopping, and being silly with the fam.

As if to make up for my previous experience, my flight home on Sunday went swimmingly. I had a window seat, the movie was enjoyable, I had brought plenty of snacks, and we landed a half hour early. I had booked a seat on a SuperShuttle to take me home, since we were originally supposed to land at 10:30pm. And given my track record with air travel, I wanted an alternative to the 2+ hour subway ride home that wasn't a $60 cab ride.

My driver, a small Senegalese man, picked up myself and another passenger at our gate. Though we spent the next half hour driving from terminal to terminal picking up 8 more people (four of whom spoke animated French with the driver), I thought that as long as I was home by midnight, it would be worth it.

And then we hit the Van Wyck. They say nobody's ever beaten the Van Wyck, but our driver came as close as anyone ever has. He was weaving across lanes, swerving out to the shoulder to bypass lanes of traffic. He was cutting around cars turning onto off-ramps, and veering back into traffic mere inches in front of another car's bumper. My fellow passengers gasped and clutched their seat belts as tightly as possible. The French guy next to me was swearing under his breath and documenting everything on his camcorder. I can only hope the video is now somewhere on YouTube.

Being the farthest uptown, I was the last passenger dropped off. We pulled up to my building at 12:03am. Touché, SuperShuttle.