1.5 MINI-PIECES OF DARK CHOCOLATE or IS THERE AN AGE LIMIT HERE? . . .

SATURDAY
7:50 a.m. There's really nothing like an early-morning call for an impending 3.5-hour drive. S, J and I hit the road. After stopping for coffee and bagels, of course. The weather is crappy. We discuss our devotion to the roller-coaster, and whether we will be brave enough to ride in the rain upon our arrival at Hershey Park. Unlikely. Our kookiness does not include being cold and wet.

8:30 a.m. I'm already dozing. Yes, I'm a morning person, but not when I'm comfortably ensconced in a warm little car with soothing music piping through the speakers and the light patter of rain drops drumming in the background. I struggle to stay awake, but then think to myself, "I'm not shot-gunning. I have no responsibilities here." I go to sleep and hope I don't drool.

9:30 a.m. I wake up. Really, car-sleeping is not that comfortable. Also, I'm beginning to have to pee. Poor J -- she must be bored. We are still in New Jersey. Have passed much cattle, and towns with names such as Pluckimen, Kutztown and Ft. Indiantown Gap. What a mouthful. Also listening to some very pleasant old-school Pet Shop Boys. J has a cool little iPod that holds a zillion songs, and then some. Very fun.

10:30 a.m. We're in Pennsylvania, finally. We roll into a rest area, only to discover at the last moment that it really is only a rest area. Read: pull your car over and REST. Don't eat. Don't pee. Just REST. We hit the road again.

10:35 a.m. Pay toll, head to the Pennsylvania Welcome Center. Use the facilities. Rejoice that we only have about an hour to go. Wonder at all the white people around us. I'm sorry, but after being in the metro-New York area for so long, any other non-urban center is a bit of a culture shock. Thankfully, no one is STARING at us (all Asian-American women) like they did in New Orleans.

11:30 a.m. Arrive at the Hotel Hershey. Marvel at the die-hards riding the coasters in the drippy mist. Are impressed at the imaginative road names: Chocolate Road. Hotel Road. Hersheypark Drive. "Very creative," we declare. There is even a sign: "Crosswalk." However, we miss the turn into the Hotel, because, well, there is no sign for the Hotel. Go figure.

11:40 p.m. We've checked in and met up with K and R, the rest of our party. Our room hasn't been cleaned yet, so we dump our bags in K & R's room, then all lay on the king-size bed. So typical of the Little Old Ladies: go on vacation, arrive, lay in bed all day chatting. But, no, we determine to make the most of our time in Hershey, so we head out to explore the Hotel complex and the town.

11:50 p.m. We've seen the Spa (stay tuned), the Fitness Center and the Indoor Pool. Lovely. But really, we're starving and food is ALWAYS the priority. Off we go to Hershey's Chocolate World, the tour and LUNCH.

12:06 p.m., our parking ticket's stamp says. We have two hours to spend before getting charged a parking fee. We must hurry.

12:16 p.m. THERE ARE CHILDREN EVERYWHERE. Crying children, whimpering children, laughing children, children running wild, children not caring that they're running wild into other people. Hmmm. Impending headache. I used to really enjoy children. Until I started spending time with them. (NOTE: the whole town does not smell like chocolate. While I am glad, I am still somewhat disappointed. The hype has let me down.)

1:10 p.m. Done with lunch, during which we were frightened out of our wits by a life-sized Reeses Pieces chocolate cup: big head, big eyes, totally does not belong in nature. After recovering, we haul our satiated selves to the Chocolate World Virtual Tour. Now, I thought we were going to be given little plastic hairnets and paper booties and led through the actual factory where we could see little Hershey people at work mass-producing the 33 million Kisses that Hershey puts out DAILY. But no. They put us in these haunted-house shells (seats 6 comfortably) that are motored through the virtual process of chocolate production. Yes, this means many cheesy voiceovers, papier-mache farmhouses, velvet-covered "cows" and shameless product placement. In the middle, one is inundated with the overpowering aroma of pure chocolate -- gag reflex kicks in with a vengeance. All I can think is "how embarrassing would it be if I were the first person EVER to get sick on this 3 mph ride through a virtual tour of the Hershey factory." Resist urge to puke. They also take our photos at the end of the ride -- available for purchase, naturally. At least we get a free chocolate bar at the end, AND they dump us right out into the gift shop.

1:20 p.m. THE GIFT SHOP. Very large. Very crowded. Very loud. Very scary, what with all the weird little stuffed chocolate bars they sell. Chocolate bars should not have eyes, legs, mouths and arms (with big white 3-fingered hands attached). Again, unnatural. I am attacked on all sides by: adult men and women carrying baskets (note the plural) full of candy bars (you know, because you can't buy them anywhere else); strollers the size of small Cadillacs (which are being used to hold the baskets of candy, NOT the actual babies); very cheery Hershey employees (hey, I'm from New York -- I'm suspicious if you're nice to me); children who have had TOO MUCH SUGAR. I lose my compatriots several times and wonder if I should ask a cheery employee to page them for me -- no use. No one would ever hear the announcement. I find S and wonder aloud to her about American human behavior -- how easily we are swayed by seemingly cheaper prices, how much candy we consume, why people would ever buy a Christmas ornament that says "Have a Hershey Christmas, 2002," and how strange it is that we need to purchase souvenirs every where we go. I buy a Hershey shot glass.

2:03 p.m. We escape Chocolate World with minimal bruising and only 28% hearing loss. A few of us vow never to have children. All of us decide that the five of us should be the ones to determine who may and may not have children. I privately mull the prevalence of the mullet among Chocolate World visitors. However, no time to dwell on that -- we have to get our car out of the lot in 3 minutes.

2:14 p.m. Another classic Little Old Ladies occurrence: we're at an outlet mall. Yes, we KNOW it's the middle of Pennsylvania, and we KNOW we're here on vacation. It doesn't matter. It's like the mothership has called us home. At least we are here with a purpose: to purchase swimsuits for J and K. Neither of them purchase one, but S -- who bought one Friday night when she came to stay with me -- buys another one. She collects swimsuits like most people collect spare change.

3:20 p.m. Back at the Hotel, our room is ready for check-in. We discover that we have been provided with only one set of bath amenities. Totally unacceptable. S and I stalk the hallways for the housekeeping cart to see if we can stea -- no, obtain a few more. The housekeeper we find speaks nominal English, so we help ourselves to her cart, with her smiling at us agreeably. Then we call Housekeeping Headquarters, and request a few more. We love luxury hotels.

3:35 p.m. Little Old Ladies moment: the television has been turned on. This usually rings a death knell for the rest of whatever plans have been made. You could drop us in the middle of an awesome once-in-a-lifetime African safari, but if a television (especially one with VH1 and free HBO) is activated, the wild animals will be forgotten. S and I, with soaring ambitions to work out in the Fitness Center and hang out in the pool jacuzzi, lay on the bed with J and K (R is sick, sleeping) and settle in to watch "Spiderman."

4:05 p.m. It's the do-or-die instant: either S and I get our ambitiously athletic-garbed butts out of bed and head downstairs, or we fall asleep to Tobey Maguire saving the day. Reluctantly and sleepily, we leave the room. J and K promise to meet us in the pool room. I give them about a 6% chance of staying awake until dinnertime.

4:55 p.m. S and I are exercised and feeling great. The Fitness Center is lovely, and overlooks the impeccably landscaped grounds behind the Hotel. I could absolutely live here for a week and not be bored. We explore the locker room and shower rooms, then sink into the pool jacuzzi. It's much like Chocolate World: screaming children everywhere. S's hopes of swimming laps is dashed. Ain't no way she's getting into water that is God-knows-how-many-parts kiddie urine. We lounge instead in the hot tub, commiserate a little bit about whether we are susceptible to over-heating, listen in as a father berates his 7-year-old son about not crying in front of little girls (see 2:03 p.m.: this man would not have passed our committee's test for procreatability), fall victim as his 12-year-old daughter inappropriately jumps into the hot tub, and loudly agree with him when he scolds her by saying "that is why they don't allow children in hot tubs." He doesn't bat an eye. (See 5/22/03, "You Vex Me When You Are Clueless.")

6:15 p.m. S and I have just taken advantage of the gym's showers. I usually never shower anywhere other than my house or some other certifiably clean bathroom. But Hershey property just has this inexplicable lure. I want to use all their products, wash with all their water, dry off with all their fluffy towels, etc. It's just fabulous. Much better than my own bathroom, actually. Unfortunately, we have forgotten a clean change of clothes, so we rush commando back to our rooms. The feeling is only slightly liberating. I don't know why men enjoy it so much.

6:45 p.m. We have once again all fallen victim to the television. This time, VH1's series on the 80s keeps our rapt and devoted attention. Remember Bobby Brown and "Every Little Step I Take"? Soleil Moon Frye? Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker? Peter Cetera and Amy Grant's "Next Time I Fall"? Good times . . .

7:05 p.m. We are put on a waiting list -- allegedly an hour long -- for dinner at a casual cafe that informed us that reservations were not taken, and indeed, unnecessary. So, we head to the nearby lounge for cocktails and appetizers. Predictably, we fill up on those, so dinner is actually a nominal event, but for the loud children at the next table. Will we never be free of them? But joy of joys -- we get carded for ordering wine.

9:30 p.m. R hauls his still-sick self to bed, whilst the rest of us ladies sit in the lobby lounge and chit-chat. You know, boy talk. 'Nuff said.

11:10 p.m. Back in our room, we debate the worthiness and merits of ordering the pay-per-view movie "Drumline." $9.99 for a bad teenie-bopper movie about battling marching bands? We are SO tempted, but we surf the television channels just in case we're missing some good free programming, and come across . . . CH! And old classmate from our days at hallowed Columbia is cheerily chattering back at us as a weekend anchorwoman for the WHP-TV 11 o'clock news. So weird. So surreal. It's all S's fault -- anywhere in the world she goes, she sees or meets someone she knows from her past. A personality on television, in the middle of the fields of Pennsylvania, informing us of the local Harrisburg news, is clearly not exempt from the full S experience.

11:30 p.m. We can't believe we just watched 20 minutes of local Harrisburg, PA news. And they broadcasted a bit about Giuliani's wedding to Judith Nathan (Judy, what were you wearing?!). Weird.

12:38 a.m. We're actually kind of elderly, so we go to sleep.

SUNDAY
8:35 a.m. J has gone to her spa treatments, so S and I loll in bed and talk about how strange it must be to be pregnant.

8:44 a.m. Housekeeping knocks on our door to see if the room is ready to be cleaned. WHAT?! Do you know what TIME it is?!

9:08 a.m. I head to my spa treatments. I am SO EXCITED. I know I always feel like this, but I really need a massage. Also, I am anticipating some very impressive locker and shower facilities, and I am not disappointed. It's so stupid, but I can't wait to take a shower at the Spa.

9:45 a.m. I'm chowing on complimentary coffee and muffins when Zoi comes in to get me for my "Hershey Rainshower." Little I know that I'm about to enter the worst nightmare of my life. While wearing a bathing suit, I am to step into a little stall, where they will spray many, many jets of water at me. There is also a huge showerhead above me, raining down big fat droplets onto my head. This is all lovely and probably would have been quite relaxing had I not possessed an irrational fear of deep water and drowning. See, the water jets are not positioned for one standing only 5'2" tall. My head technically should have risen above the highest set of jets. Instead, I am getting water pulsed INTO MY EARS and NOSTRILS. I am inundated. I am being drowned alive and am conscious the entire time. Jeez. Instead of reveling in the comfort of the hard water jets, I must concentrate on breathing through my mouth so as not to die. Lovely.

10:05 a.m. Really, thank God for heated and DRY massage tables. Cocoa lotion me up, baby, because now I REALLY need a massage.

11:00 a.m. I fell asleep and had to be awakened by Matt, my therapist. How embarrassing. I hope I didn't snore, although I probably did because I was so congested from nearly drowning.

11:40 a.m. Once again having used the lovely shower facilities and fluffy towels, I stroll commando (when am I going to learn?!) back to the main Hotel. I don't know why putting underwear on isn't a priority, but I take a turn around the Hotel gift shop and chat with the front desk before heading upstairs to our room. Am I a man?

12:35 p.m. Check out. I'm faint from hunger. Still slightly traumatized by my near-death experience. Am thankful that I am a human and not a fish. I would be a very bad fish.

2:30 p.m. Lunch was lovely, and I had my first 1.5 mini-pieces of chocolate of the entire trip. I'm sated. J, S and I are on the road again, heading back towards urbanity. But first, a detour to see JHK -- SKK's 2-day-old son -- the newest addition to the L.O.L. family. We listen to television soundtracks and theme songs stored on J's iPod. It's slightly dismaying AND damn impressive to realize exactly how much television I watched as a child, and recognize our uncanny ability to remember unimportant things like which theme song belongs to which television show. Surely our brain cells can be put to better use, but why?

5:30 p.m. JHK has a lot of hair and froggy legs. LBK, his older brother by 1 1/2 years, is oblivious to the fact that he has a little brother. LBK is also learning the meaning of the few words he says; when asked for a hug and kiss, he vehemently shouts "NO WAAAAAAY!" and laughs diabolically. I would ignore him, but he has such an adorably square head. Also, he is unlike the children at Hershey Chocolate World, thus is still lovable.

8:15 p.m. I arrive home. J and S come in to use the potty. My brother's weekend-long fest is still going on. I doubt he and his friends have been sober at all since Saturday afternoon. In fact, Saturday night/Sunday morning, a neighbor called the police and two officers came to our home. Lovely. But now I'm home and I shall rule with an iron fist. Hershey seems so long ago.

IN SUM
I highly recommend Hershey, PA. Some tips:
1. Do not go if you do not enjoy children.
2. Plan ahead to swim either at 5 o'clock in the morning or 11 o'clock at night. Any other time, you will have your head kicked in by a flailing 5-year-old.
3. Wear body armor and earplugs when entering Chocolate World.
4. Nautica, at the outlet mall, has great swimsuit sales.
5. Everyone is really nice. Leave your New Yorkiness at home.
6. Be prepared to accept free chocolate wherever you go. There's even a bowl of Kisses for you to delve into as you exit the gym.
7. Do not make an appointment for the Hershey Rainshower if you are under 5'3" or fear death by drowning.

See you there next time . . .