I’m home

After a week filled with dear friends both old and new, a new dog you’re all lucky I didn’t dognap, favorite haunts, new museums, historical learnings that I’m still processing, a 5K along a gorgeous ocean boardwalk, delicious cooking, gallons of Diet Coke, the endless magical convenience of Uber in an unfamiliar city, and a Charlotte-to-Cedar-Rapids flight that looped over to Omaha to avoid what looks to have been an epic storm, I am home and happy and thankful and sleepy and ready to resume my regularly scheduled adventures at dawn. Good night!

We’re celebrating our last evening in Rehoboth Beach eating sushi on couchy things at a restaurant named after a fish BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT THE OCEAN SET DOES

I’m so legendary here that they’ve named a closed seafood restaurant after me

BEHOLD MY OMEGAWESOMENESS:

It’s not a delicious beach-house-vacation nap unless you have a seashells pillow and moons-and-stars sheets

Please remember to use your inside voices.

I have one requirement when I visit Rehoboth Beach: crème brûlée french toast at GreenMan

Because it’s insanely yummy. And because it gives me a reason to use diacritics on my blog. Which in turn gives me a reason to say diacritics on my blog.

Bonus: We got porch seating, which is good because we’re sweaty pigs. Sweaty pigs who eat crème brûlée french toast.

We finished the race. But I haven’t finished my banana. If you know what I mean.

I of course need to photographically document the fact that I’m wearing my official licensed Jake’s Summer Of Running Away From Being 50 shirt for today’s beach boardwalk 5K before I get it too sweaty and gross to be in a respectable selfie

5K along the ocean!

from the left: guest gay, token chick, homo host, shirt sherpa, opportunistic photobomber, opportunistic photobomber

I just ate corn on the cob rubbed with lime instead of rolled in butter with grilled peaches for dessert. I AM SO CORRUPTED BY WEIRD EAST COAST VALUES.

Also: HOW MUCH DO WE ALL LOVE THIS DOG? (answer: more than can possibly be measured)

CO-IOWANS REPRESENTIN’ IN FRONT OF A GENUINE SEAFARIN’ REHOBOTH BEACH LIGHTHOUSE THAT’S TOTALLY NOT AN OCEANSIDE ROOFTOP PUTT-PUTT GOLF COURSE CHALLENGE, YO

Seriously

Aside from the fact that the Lusitania and the U-20 submarine—which is down to just three torpedoes—are now in the same waters off the Irish coast, could this be any more perfect?

Margo is sitting on my lap!

Well, OK—she’s sitting NEAR my lap. But that’s way more dog affection than I get from herds-not-cuddles Bridget. So I’ll take it.

They do both share a complete inability to look at a camera on command though. So I get THAT continuity.

Fun fact: Kellyanne Conway has given elevator eyes in a State Department hallway to someone on this porch

Other fun fact: We all ran for a Silkwood scrub the second we learned of this unholy horror.

Margo’s selfie game isn’t terribly strong

but her power for stealing all the love in a room when the cameras aren’t handy is spot-on.

Yeah

That would be the moon over the Atlantic shining behind us as we stroll along the ocean-breezy boardwalk. Life is good.

The house across the street from my reading porch is new and stately and handsome and suitably-New-England-architecturey, but it seems to have an epic design flaw:

How the hell are they going to replace the shingles between those smooshed-together dormers?

Also: The Lusitania has FINALLY set sail. Its safe passage to Liverpool is secured!

I’m finally here: my favorite porch in the world! Let the relaxing begin ...

WHEELS DOWN! At the correct airport! Whose name is just NATIONAL, damnit!

The Lusitania is still afloat! My watch is still on Iowa time! Saying WHEELS DOWN just made me sound like a seasoned aviator!

Let the beachhousities begin!

My last vacation adventure started with a 19-hour-four-airport-plus-an-impromptu-four-hour-drive-with-total-strangers nightmare commute

This vacation adventure is starting with no Diet Coke in the you’re-trapped-here-and-this-is-your-only-option-I-hate-my-job-so-I’m-going-to-mumble-at-you-that’ll-be-shrvkorsln-dollars-please airport-gate kiosk.

I don’t know which is worse. All I can say is the damn Lusitania better not sink at the end of this book.

Also: Our gate agent just told us we have “free wi-fi available for purchase” on our flight.

Plus she just said we’re now boarding for our flight to Charlotte O’Hare.

Plus she pronounces it conci-air.

This commute is immeasurably worse.

My entire six-day DC/Rehoboth Beach vacation is somehow fitting into these two gym bags

But we all know the real reason I’m posting this photo is to show everyone my gorgeous on-clearance-ten-years-ago rug that I love so much I’m still hesitant to walk on it. Plus to show you that I’ve laid out my IOWA NATIVE T-shirt to wear on the plane to REPRESENT! Plus to give everyone a peek-a-boo look at the underpants I’m going to wear too. Because we all love saying underpants. Plus maybe to brag that I’m starting a six-day DC/Rehoboth Beach vacation tomorrow while you’ll continue to live your mousy-gray-blah lives of quiet desperation. Underpants!