Croatia Bound

All signs point to Croatia.

Ever since The Breakup, things in my life have been pointing to Croatia. Lisa and I need to book our tickets ASAP before life whips us up in its big mixing bowl and we get drowned in the mixture of work and parties and vacation days and money lost.

I was invited to a big writer's benefit next week for a Los Angeles organization that mentors teenage girls and holds writing workshops for them (yup, I'm signing up!). The writer of Juno was supposed to be there and several other cool people whose names I offhand don't know. But that's not the point. Ironically, that same night, my writer's group is scheduled to meet and since I'm the one that started the group, I can't bail now.

So I walked into this woman's office today to kindly return the nice printed cocktail party invitation, and she asked me where I'm from. I thought she was going to say I have a bit of an accent, as I've been told. (My doctor told me I have a twang. Not sure if I like that word...twang). But she asked about my skin, instead, telling me it's beautiful. Am I from the midwest, she asked. Nope. But where? I told her I'm CROATIAN and she immediately agreed and understood and said, "Yes, yes, I can see that now..." and other such things.

She spent a month there last year. She said she kayaked every day. The waters are clear and blue, the people are kind (English is their second language, French their first...good think I speak French...er, used to!). She said she found rooms ranging from $20 to $50 a night; that she's never seen a place more beautiful than Croatia, even Italy and Greece. I told her London was on our agenda too but she said, "Oh, skip London! Stay in Croatia!" She showed me images of her trip, of the islands and white sands and drool-worthy tan and hard-bodied kayak instructors.

We're booking the trip. This weekend. Mother Country, get ready for JoMamma!