#SB2015
A 35 year-old thought I was lame.
He didn't tell me this directly, but I could feel it. We'll get back to him later--let's call him Chaz. Doug, on the other hand, didn't think I was lame.
Doug and I, by the stroke of fate, sat next to each other on my Spring Break flight to Austin. It was an intimate 2-person row next to the toilet. Doug now requests bathroom seats because of his Great Diabetes Scare. It has him drinking heinous amounts of water. If I can be so bold, I think I met my future father-in-law on that airplane.
Doug told me about his Cockapoo puppy, Sponger. He dazzled me with the story of how he proposed to his wife the first time he saw her (Doug really has a way with hook lines). And he gave me some free business/life advice. Sparknotes version: treat your employees well. In turn, I told him about my roommates. You know, the loud ones in rows 9 and 19. I shared my love of the East Coast, which he related to as a Jersey boy. And I briefed him on my #SB2015 plans.
"Just visiting a college friend who's now in law school at UT." "Yeah, it's just a coincidence we're going during SXSW."
Doug was tickled, unlike the hangry stewardess he was trying to chat up and bump elbows with. And as he skipped away--nay, limped from what looked like a bum hip--he bid us adieu with a, "now you girls don't get handcuffed, ok?" Classic Doug.
My vacation was going to be rockin'. After all, I was getting a big thumbs-up from a 60-year old. Not to mention, I was promised tacos. Like, sub-Mason-Dixon-line tacos. This was going to be great! It would be both my first time in Texas and my first quintessential "girls trip" with the roommates. As far as I knew, we were dangerously close to whipping out the tiaras, matching t-shirts and satin sashes.
Did someone say, "margaritaaaaassss?"
No. But they did say, "First Class." That's right, my little puff pastries, momma flew 1st on a stand-by ticket. And you bet I took advantage of it! I ordered myself a nice glass of apple juice and snagged that free blanket. Yep, currently in my apartment, suckers.
I was on Cloud 9. My roommate? Not so much. Ask her what she ordered on that 5 a.m. flight (care to share, Bre?). Despite our lack of sleep and my roommate's cold sweats, we made it to Austin in one piece. Now it was time to get weird. The universal Spring Break mentality is.... Well, it's hard to say. It's live-streamed videos of drunk college students by Florida hotel pools. Who needs Jersey Shore with life-affirming broadcasting like that? It's black-outs, belly-button rings and inflatable beach balls. The Holy Spring Break Trinity.
That was never the Spring Break we had planned. Don't worry, mom. But we were at least hoping to get some regrettable tats along the way. Or maybe knee piercings. We were ready to enjoy our first taste of freedom. And it was set to taste better than Tex-Mex burritos.
I have faith you're a smart reader. At this point, you hearing the upward inflection as you read. You're waiting for that nagging "but...."
BUT.
Our break was relatively calm. We rode bikes around the city. Yes, five glorious hours of concentrated sun. (Eat your hearts out, New Yorkers.) We went swimming in a sleepy, woodsy spring. We putzed around a few near-silent antique stores (which was a major liability with my roommate who's default decible setting is EXTREMELY LOUD). We went two-stepping and danced with grizzly, 'Nam-looking retirees. And the Grand Finale [drum roll]: we spent our last night eating $2 pints of ice cream and aspiring to be, "30, flirty and thriving." It was R.O.W.D.Y.
Now, I don't mean to downplay our trip. We did see a handful of free concerts, and we almost got proposed to by a staff member at 24 Diner. (He was probably trying to one-up Doug, that lil' devil.)
BUT.
Our #SB2015 wasn't full of drunken escapades or sun-induced dehydration. It was tame, much to Chaz's dismay. [enter "Chaz"]
Chaz had a sunglass neck strap that screamed, "Momma's Boy!," and cargo dress pants that said, "I'm Southern, but I can keep up with those fancy Yankees." With long locks, greased back like a Vineyard Vines model, Sir Chaz stood ready to pounce on his prey. "What prey?," you ask. Well, the 5'6", blonde prey sitting in the Emergency exit row next to him. Lucky me, Chaz was too eager to talk. He was (presumably) 35 years young--and about to get younger to impress me. Chaz: "You'll probably sleep this whole trip. I bet you need a nap after all the partying you and your friends did." Prey: "No, we didn't really 'party' in Austin. It was actually pretty... tame." Chaz: "Wait, you're being sarcastic, right?" No, Chaz, I'm not pulling your waxed leg. When you live in New York City, where walking to the subway station becomes training for an Olympic speedwalking competiton, slowing down is a luxury. Sometimes, we New Yorkers want to do something calm for a change. We want to soak in every leaf and shrub. We want to hear the birds chirpping, even if it scares us at first.
Spring Break doesn't have to be a guido-infested rave. It doesn't have to involve glow sticks or late-night nausea. So don't listen to Instagram, kids--Spring Break can be a blast, even if it's tame. You can still have fun (plenty of it) without getting burnt and turnt in Miami. I'm living proof. And if that's not a convincing argument, consider this: Chaz, in his heyday, probably went WILD on Spring Break. Don't be semi-predatorial Chaz. You're better than that.