I started writing about my trip to the beach. Oddly enough, the more I wrote, the more it sounded like 'A Very Special Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolfe Thanksgiving'. So rather than expose you to that sturm und drang, let this suffice. I got to spend more time with my dad than I have in years. I read five novels over the week, generally not too good, but only two of them sucked. I didn't kill any of my stepmom's family (Thank God for my steely resolve. And I should point out that I don't include my stepmom in that group. Love her, but her family makes me crazy). Bought two pairs of Sketchers. I ate enough food to play the entire front row next season (got to hit the gym). Listened to the ocean and the wind every night. Enjoyed myself a great deal. And really, isn't that what a holiday is all about.

That being said, when I go to Trinidad, I hope to come back with tales of wild island debauchery.