Whenever we go up to the cottage there’s always somethin. I think that’s what makes it so great up there, you have to work for it. So once you’re actually relaxing you’re all, my God, this is fantastic. This time it was the boat hoist. Broken again. It’s this super convenient electric boat hoist that requires no cranking. The only problem is, it’s never really worked. And there is no way to do it by hand, so when it shits the bed…weekly…you are screwed.

So when my family had been up there the week before they took the boat out of the water, which meant that when we got there we had to put it back in. That requires launching the boat. At the boat launch. With a trailer. Attached to the car. I could have whittled an entire canoe during the time it took my dad to explain to me all the steps involved in this process. I’ve never “launched” anything. It really seems like you should have some sort of advanced degrees to be “launching” things. And the only thing I know about boats is which seats are the best to drink beers in.

The one time I pretended to know what I was doing on a watercraft I ended up driving on the wrong side of some bouys and beached Karen and myself in a swamp leading out to Lake Ontario. So the thought of actually getting the boat in the water did not particularly appeal to me.

Getting the trailer attached to the back of the car was deceivingly easy. This, I thought? This is cake! The drive to the public launch was a bit uneasy. With a tap of the breaks it felt as though a 1,000 pound boat was about to come sailing (pun intended) through the back windshield and park itself in the backseat. That coupled with the fact that the rear bumper was about an inch and a half from the ground.

When we arrived the line wasn’t bad. There were only two cars ahead of us. Justin decided he was going to go watch others do it so he would be prepared when it was our turn. I sat in the A/C and played with my nails. Helpful, I thought. Don’t want to get in the way. But before I knew it we were blocking a car trying to get out and Justin is nowhere in site. Oh God, I thought. I have to maneuver this behemoth. Palms instantly sweaty. I jumped behind the wheel, silently cursing all leisure activities. I somehow managed to swing the boat around in a giant circle, albeit almost snapping the car in half because I turned way too sharply.

“You’re doing great,” Justin said. He had conveniently returned. “Just keep going, I’ll guide you.” The next half hour was a blur. It consisted of a shouting match made up of these few phrases:

Justin: “STRAIGHTEN IT OUT!” “PULL UP!” “STOOOOOOP!” “TURN THE WHEEL TO THE RIGHT!”

ME: “I HAAAAAATE YOUUUUUUU!”

Somewhere in the midst of all this some guy and his kids had sauntered onto the dock to marvel at our boat, as apparently he had just bought the same one. “Look, kids! Our boat! Oh man, I just bought this same boat, how old is she? Kids, get Mom. Get Mom. Get Mom.” I was concentrating on getting his dog out from underneath the passenger side tire.

I gotta say though, I launched that bitch. Yes, there was a line ten cars deep by the time I got it in, and it was less than a straight line from the tip of the car to the back of the boat, but hey, she was floating. I did it. Stress is over… I thought. While Justin drove the car and trailer back to the cottage, I was put in charge of driving the boat back. I thought I had the easier job. The channel out to the lake from the launch is very narrow, so being the genius that I am, I decided to reverse it the whole way down, thinking there wasn’t enough room to turn around.

Fisherman were literally crying they were laughing so hard as they passed me, NOT going backwards. As soon as I thought it was wide enough, I went to turn the boat around. I thought too soon. I should never think. The propellers got stuck in the mud and I was immobile. At this point, thinking I had ruined the boat and was going to have to get out into the mud and push, I was doing something that can only be described as a mix between dry heaving, sobbing and hyperventilating. Alas, I was my mother every time I have ever called her “a spaz.”

I finally got the boat dislogded, although I think the engine is shot and the motor destroyed from me just gunning it until there was no mud left for me to be stuck in. Hey fishermen, thanks for helping! I hope a pike bites your finger off. The water was choppy as hell so as my legs and arms shook violently from my nerves being shot, my stomach shook violently from the waves, and it took me a solid 40 minutes to get back to our cottage. Justin almost called the cops. I kind of wish he had.

I was half amazed at myself for having accomplished the big “launch” and half disappointed in myself for messing up at every stage of the way. But hey, we enjoyed the hell out of the boat that week, and I enjoyed the best swim of the summer so far off her stern in the middle of the lake.

So, yeah. Someone give me a cookie. And don’t tell my dad about the whole “broken engine” thing.

When I was a waitress during grad school at a BBQ joint in Times Square a customer once told me I looked like someone famous. He said he had to think about it though, so I let him mull it over while I got their drinks. Upon my return he said, “I got it… Val Kilmer.” Really? Thanks.

I’m back from vacation, a little tan, very rested (we’ll see how long that lasts) and hopefully not quite as bloated as my celebrity doppleganger. I had an amazing time. Just absolutely perfect. I miss it like crazy already. I have plenty of stories, but I think I have to wait until I can see over this stack of papers on my desk to share. I’m now officially the last person in my family to get married, and as someone so sweetly pointed out to me at the wedding, “Hey Erin, your clock is ticking.” Really? Thanks.

Stories to come, I promise. Don’t leave me.

So I’m going on vacation in two days. It’s the first time in nearly two years of working at this job that I’ve taken more than three consecutive days off. It kind of makes me realize why I’m such a miserable ninny. I mean, my employer really comes through with that whopping two weeks of vacation a year, so it’s not as though I need to use it wisely, goodness knows.

So despite the fact that this will pretty much wrap up my available time off for the rest of the year, I’m so excited I could spit. I’m about to hock a loogie of ecstatic proportions. If that makes any sense, which it does not. I’ll be heading upstate for two weddings, one of which is my little brothers. Yikes, by the way. I look forward to every one of my extended female relatives asking me when I’m getting married.

The weddings will book end a trip up to the family cottage at West Lake in Canada where Karen and her boyfriend will join us, lots of turkey burgers in tow, apparently. I don’t think I can emphasize enough how much I need this break. I will not think about anything work or computer related, I will not shower, take off my bathing suit or put on shoes unless absolutely necessary. I will not eat anything unless it has been cooked on a grill. And I will keep a beer koozie in my back pocket at all times. My heart is lit up like a Fourth of July firework, which I will be watching roof side on Wednesday. See you on the other side, suicidal and tan.