While the rest of the world was knocked off their BlogHer high with the immediate onslaught of screaming kids and loads of laundry that refuse to take care of themselves, I am still navigating the perilous role of The Visitor. It’s a strange place to be, especially since, until a little over a year ago, I lived my entire life within a 20 mile radius.

To say I wasn’t prepared for the mind-numbing politics that go hand in hand with the Who We Actually Make Time For in the 12 day period available to us for our hell-cation would be an understatement. There’s his side, my side, his friends, my friends, and the friends who I totally didn’t miss but feel obligated to make time for anyway. There are late nights (combined with too much sugar and the new toothpaste I stupidly purchased which is yet to be used) for Buttercup, early mornings for me and The Husband, and an ongoing game of Tug of War for our presence in a rapidly dwindling window of time.

Don’t get me wrong…we are having fun. It’s hard not to have a good time when distance and time haven’t stopped me from slipping right back into private jokes and secret punch lines with the friends who will be friends no matter the actual distance between us. But I do have to admit that there have been multiple days when I have wished multiple times that Aunt Becky had decided to go with Mommy Wants Vicodin for her twitter handle so I could change my identity to reflect my current state of mind.

I also feel it’s very important to point out that I, in fact, have eaten my willpower. I didn’t just choose a random photo to fill white space. Instead, I avoided the weird looks from store employees while snapping a few photos of clever aprons because they basically summed up which side of the bed I have been waking up on since landing in Michigan for the second time in less than two weeks.

I’m clean-eating. Or rather, I was until this whole little adventure began. And I totally thought I’d be faithful to my new eating habits while hanging in NYC with TBFF Juliette and schmoozing with my new bloggy buddies. That was before total exhaustion hit and I decided that I just didn’t give a damn anymore. Had it just been those 4 days, I would have been fine. It’s a vacation, right? A chance to let go, have fun, and eat a slice of pizza so good that there was a line out the door long after the sun had gone down?

But by the time I return to Tucson, I will have been gone for 17 days. And because PCOS, Insulin Resistance, and all the other fun little things wrong with me that make being fat so easy it should really be a hell of a good time have probably allowed my body to gain a sickening amount of weight in an amusingly short amount of time, I am perfectly aware that the Fettucini Alfredo eaten at Tio’s today or the Kickass Local Pizza we’ll be chowing on tomorrow with friends are really going to fuck screw with my plans for reinstating my MILF card sooner rather than later.

So what exactly am I doing to myself here? Am I allowing myself to enjoy my vacation or making my trip back to reality (and what The Husband likes to refer to as rabbit food) that much more of a pain in the ass? I’m gonn go out on a limb here and say it’s a Laugh and  Point because It’s Me and not You twisted little combination of both possibilities.

Until then, I’m fast, cheap, and easy.