Welcome back to another I Want to Go to There Wednesday, where I pick a place on this earth I currently cannot afford to visit, and plan a trip like I have money and time to spare. Today’s post however will be a little different. Today I just want to go to a beach. Just a beach. I don’t care where. Actually, I do care. Do not take me to Texas beach. Gross. I mean, preferably an exotic beach would be nice, but really, at this point, as long as sand and a large body of water is present, I am willing to settle. While it is only Wednesday, this week has been awful. I’ve hit the point with my job that I’m willing to cash in whatever sick and vacation days I have left just to get an extended break. However, the crushing realization of knowing I’d have to go back after said time off, keeps me from calling in each morning.
So, in my down time at work, when I’m not perusing through AskReddit (people are weird, you guys) or downsizing the AskReddit tab and getting back to whatever I was supposed to be doing, I’m daydreaming that I am in a hammock, and my close friend, Sir Richard Branson, has loaned me one of his private beaches for the weekend. I have a margarita in one hand, and my other hand beckoning someone on the wait staff to bring me another. Later that night I attend a low key cocktail party with my BFF Meryl Streep. We have to FaceTime Beyonce because her demanding tour schedule kept her from attending “Girls Weekend” with us. Jake is also there, but (to appease his ideal vacation fantasy) is off golfing with…someone who is famous for playing golf. Not Tiger Woods though, because in this fantasy I am also friends with Elin Nordergren and we often to get together for brunch and talk about how terrible our past significant others were. Anyways back to my fantasy beach vacation. It probably looks something like this:
My beachfront property will have an open kitchen/living room/dining room area (courtesy of Sir Branson) that will look towards the beach. I will spend my evenings cooking with my Williams Sonoma cookware, relaxing on my porch while my robot butler tidies the mess I made from my failed attempt to make steak and lobster for Jake. Jake, meanwhile will have set up a backyard/beach projection screen so we can watch Netflix on a screen the size of a Queen, no, King, sized mattress sheet. He will suggest Lost, and I will immediately shoot him down and tell him we are marathoning all of the Christmas episodes from The Office. He’ll complain that it is June, why are we watching Christmas episodes? I will remind him that this is my beach vacation fantasy, and he can see himself out at any time. By the time we have reached the Moroccan Christmas episode, our pizza and wings have arrived. Strangely enough I was able to receive authentic Brooklyn style pizza, and Duff’s hot wings from my remote and unknown location. I promise Jake steak and lobster another time, and he nods his head with a satisfactory “oh alright” and continues on with a boneless wing. After decimating the entire meal, with zero signs of bloating and fatigue, we swim out to one of those cool bars that you, well, swim out to, and order another round of margaritas. I gaze out into the sunset, completely content with my life, and so blessed to have such rich and powerful friends, and a boyfriend who knows how to set up a projection screen. Everything is perfect.
And then my work phone rings, and it’s back to another monotonous day filled with zero surprises, and another visit to LinkedIn to update my resume. Oh well, back to work I suppose. *refreshes Reddit*
Thanks for joining me on this pretend vacation! Also, shout out to Sir Richard Branson for funding it.