Go Sanitize Your Phone, Pukey Phone People.

I’m a bit of a logistical nightmare.

By nature, I plan.  No, not just plan, I PLANNNNNNNNNNNNN to the Nth degree.  I plan the shit out of plans.  I attempt to accommodate for any and all scenarios, and those scenarios have understudy scenarios that need to be prepped and readied in the event that the star of the show comes down with unexpected (unplanned, you say???) norovirus and surprise!!  THEY’RE ON.  This level of planning involves a great number of moving parts, acquisitoning of all the things, and cooperative participants in Current Plan, the Musical!  In which I’d be played by Kristen Chenoweth.

Logistical.  Nightmare.  Fo sho.

Last week, Unicorn Boyfriend invited me up north to partake in some weekend Snowmobiling shenanigans.  Which, can we talk about the absolute ridiculous toll this particular motor sport takes on a woman’s body?  And by a woman’s body, I mean boobs.  Jiminy Cripes on a salted Cracker, the bumps.  Imagine riding a bike over ski moguls.  FOR HOURS.  Like, five. Sports bra be damned, those bumps were BRUTAL.  And, the guys who sled, in response to my comments about bouncy boob pain, are all, “When you hit the bumps just stand up.”  Oh, well ALRIGHTY THEN.  Sure!  I’ve commandeered a 1,000 pound piece of machinery and am trying to navigate through trees and make drifty, slidey turns, and avoid other people and keep the throttle engaged and don’t hit the brake too much when going down a hill, and, now let me add STANDING UP to that list to spare my body the brunt of the bumps.

Don’t mistake my bitching for a dislike of the sport.  It’s actually super fun and I like it very much, in spite of all the immense bumpiness.

I especially enjoy the tandemness of riding with Unicorn BF, and we’ve added this activity to the many things we already like doing together, like working out and cooking and drinking wine and negating all the working out we’ve done.  Synergy, people.  That’s what this is.

Anyhoo, the timeline of this getaway was tight.  Super tight.  We were trying to leave early enough to avoid some snowy stormy weather rolling into our path to snowmobile land, and we’d have to leave Vermont early enough for me to start my shift at work on Sunday night at 6pm.  The drive to and fro is approximately 5 hours under ideal conditions.  The amount of gear one needs to pack for such an outing is immense.  (Jacket, snow pants, boots, gloves, head wrappy thing that goes under a helmet, helmet…)

Here’s the kicker…no actual decision about going on this trip was made until all the info sources were consulted and it was determined snow was in adequate supply, which happened late Friday night.

Last Summer, not long after UBF and I met, we accepted an invitation to have dinner with my friend in NYC on a Saturday night.  On Friday, she excitedly texted me many emojis and said, “See you guys tonight!!”  Wait.  What?  Dinner was TOMORROW, right?  Nope.  She’d inadvertantly got her dates wrong and the dinner was that night.  I received her texts at work, where I was expected until 3pm, leaving what I thought was no time to make it to the city in time for dinner.  I contacted UBF to let him know the change in plans and make alternate arrangements.  The conversation that followed looked a little like this:

Me:  I’m sorry, but dinner is tonight in NYC, not tomorrow, and there’s not enough time to get there by 7, so what else should we do tonight?
Him: Why isn’t there enough time?
Me: Too hard.  So…plans?
Him: Not too hard.  Lots of trains on a Friday night.  Let’s figure this out.
Him: ???
Me: Uh, nevermind.  Anyhoo! You were saying???
Him: You get out of work around 3. Run home, change, pick me up by 430, we can make a train around 5ish, and make it to the restaurant by 7.
Me: Oh goodness.  Your organizational skills are on point.  Also?  HOT.
Him: Go get ready, crazypants.  See you soon.

I’m paraphrasing, of course.  But you get the idea.  He pays attention to details.  He’s calm.  He’s a good mix of planner and fly by the seat of his pantser, which does wonders to placate my OCD and nudges my rigid side to LET THINGS GO, ALREADY.

We had a fantastic time in NYC that night, thanks in no small part to his level head and my low maintenance habits that allowed me to rush home, change into acceptable attire and arrive on his doorstep in record time.  It became pretty obvious that day that not only did we have a tremendous amount of interests in common, and we found fun in one another, but we seemed to make a damn, fine set of partners in making shit happen.

This weekend proved no different.  We worked in concert to make this trip a huge success.  From coordinating pick ups, to organizing a car friendly dinner, to his hand holding through learning this new crazy sport he loves so much, to us packing early and heading back with enough extra time to spare that we stole a few moments alone and rested before I had to leave for work.

I can hear half of you reading this collectively saying, awwwwwwwwww…and the other half projectile vomiting onto your phones because GROSS SWOONY SWEETNESS, BLECH.

Whatever, lame pukey phone people.

Hashtag, bliss.

By Sherry P

Freelance writer, Momma of twins, iced coffee addict

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