Beach Bound? As I usually do two weeks before we head off for vacation, I am trying to get everything in order - my finances and my father. The first involves making a pretty strict budget and sticking with it. The second involves just running the man down! I finally did catch up with him, last night actually, after my sister called to tell me he was trying to call me. The man must have stealth down to an art since despite my answering machine and called ID, I didn't even know he had tried. So, I decided to call HIM if only to save myself the trouble of forcing myself to stay awake when he finally DID call me at 11:00 at night. It appears that despite all the ranting about how he'd never let another soul who wasn't "family" stay at the camper...he did, indeed, do just that. So now Chrissie and her husband are down there and there's no way to get hold of them and the Sponge is off snarking in the background about how she never gets to take her grandchildren anywhere (hello?) and my dad just wants to, obviously, shut her up. Now I have to admit, I have gotten increasingly nervous about our own reservation for a week at the end of August. It's pretty apparant that the Sponge is out to destroy any and all holiday plans made by me. My sister has told me as much for the past six weeks to be frank. I guess all those times the Sponge went with my dad to the camper for weeks on end she didn't realize she'd never included her skanky granddaughters and now that time is running out on the summer, she feels that well, just by virtue of her being HER and all, she should be able to trump my vacation plans so HER grandchildren can get a week in for free at my dad's place. If you are starting to suspect I have a problem with this, you're right on target. My frequent flyers here at the Tomato are aware of how badly I Jones for the beach. It starts earlier and earlier each year...in fact, this year I was pulling up www.ococean.com in February! We scrimp, we save, we fantasize. And it is all way too important for a whole lot of reasons to be shot down merely because she forgot to take the granddaughters who have spent nearly every weekend this summer with the two of them. My dad assures me that this is not the case as I delicately ask, "It IS okay that we go isn't it?" Since I am not supposed to know he bitches about the Sponge on a daily basis or that she bitches about ME equally as often. No, he says it's all set. The plans so far are to go to WV on Thursday, August 19 and spend some time with them and then leave bright and early for the beach. Although now he's squawking about how maybe they'll go THAT week and we'll pass on the Bay Bridge. Whatever. Just make sure I can find the keys. The really sad part is that it's been a year now and I miss my dad. This woman won't let him talk to me and our once-monthly visits are down to thrice-yearly visits now. My mom's pictures are gone to G-d-knows-where and now suddenly all the shelves are filling up with pictures of her daughters, granddaughters and grandson. Pictures of me and my sister and our kids are slowly disappearing. My dad, who was once so devoted to my little nephew Trever, now doesn't even see him anymore - for a lot of reasons least of which is that she thinks he is icky. WTF? I mean, don't get me wrong, my Dad isn't blameless in Trever-gate but she certainly isn't either. Now he doesn't even call PJ and the kid used to worship the ground he walks on. Even Evan sits around sometimes and cries about how much he misses Grandpa. It's pathetic. And I am not especially looking forward to her calls in September trying to guilt me into a visit during High Holidays...which always makes me really wonder since they don't ask any OTHER time, why suddenly does the middle of September become prime time? And when I refuse, why do I suddenly become slightly less than Cruella de Ville?