When people ask me why I like living here so much, I just have too many things to say.
So I'll start with the obvious.
Get to google.
Type in "Orleans in forma pauperis concubine."
Read the selections under marital status.
THAT is why I love New Orleans today.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Vacation (II)
I thought to be really cute about the whole vacation thing, I'd let my boyfriend ask one question per day to get a clue about where it was. I got this idea from this consultant I work with sometimes, who's like 62 and looks like She-Ra and is thrice divorced so well in the position to tell me how to keep passion alive. Well, apparantly He-Man is not as sharp as my boy because on Day 3, tiring of this game but having to come up with something after I told him how lame I would think he was if I quit, he asked what the mayor's name was. Game over.
Lexington, it was.
Step two of any romantic weekend, after you pick the location and let your man discover it through the wonders of google, is to book a little romantic retreat. A home away from home, with a really large bed. Preferably historical. And that is how I came to book the bed and breakfast from hell. Because it had geese and ducks lightheartedly frolicking in the bedroom corners and I found that irresistable. It was going to be like making out in my parents' house except better because there was breakfast involved.
Lexington, it was.
Step two of any romantic weekend, after you pick the location and let your man discover it through the wonders of google, is to book a little romantic retreat. A home away from home, with a really large bed. Preferably historical. And that is how I came to book the bed and breakfast from hell. Because it had geese and ducks lightheartedly frolicking in the bedroom corners and I found that irresistable. It was going to be like making out in my parents' house except better because there was breakfast involved.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Vacation (I)
I decided to do me and BF both a favor and book a little romantic weekend in the tiny little town of Lexington, VA to get away from our crime-ridden high pressure legal existences.
Besides, I had some important unfinished business in regards to Lexington. When I was in college, my dad went on this crazy land-buying spree and we were looking at some mountain land not far from Leasburg. We stopped for the night in Lexington because they were supposed to have this uber cool "Ghost Tour," and Dad drove me and Moms out for a little pre-gaming dinner at this nice place out in the country.
Now, unbeknownst to my parents until this very moment was that my 17-year-old self had in my possession a very badly made New York State fake ID. Which I wisely decided to use at dinner that night to order a glass of wine. Thinking back, I probably did it to witness the moral debacle that ensued when my parents, ethical to a fault, had to choose between turning me into the local police or sitting there helpless as I slugged back about four glasses of red in an hour and a half. To their credit, I think they might have made me chip in for that part of the bill. But by the time we had gotten back to the car, the damage was done. I was completely and exuberantly wasted. And about 10 minutes later I really had to pee.
There we were miles from civilization and me with a full bladder. This has never stopped me before. I will pee anywhere as long as I won't get arrested. So, I asked my Dad in the most sober voice if he would just pull over so I could go make a puddle in that church parking lot.
Well, realizing his advantage, my Dad told me he wasn't going to pull over because it was my own fault that I had to pee. And so I could wait until I got back into town.
This did not go over well. I don't like having to pee when I am in a moving vehicle and my kidneys are churning out urine like Industrial Revolution mill workers. I can't think about anything else. So, once again I asked nicely, "Kind sir, might I please have a bit of a tinkle behind those scenic pine trees?"
My dad was having none of it. After all, we were "only" 25 miles from town.
I started realizing what it's like when the bear goes mad in captivity. I started kicking the back of their chairs, chanting "I have to pee! I have to pee!" It was like the car was this time machine and I was regressing at the same rate my bladder was expanding.
My father drove placidly on.
At that point, I rolled down the window and started yelling at bike riders, drivers, locals, and cows that I was being held captive in the car with these two sick people who would not let me pee, and I had to pee goddamnit "I GOT TO PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"
When we got back to town, my dad would not speak to me. The ghost tour had been completely taken out of the picture, and for some time now I'd been wanting to get back to Lexington to finish what I started. And also, I was of drinking age, although in the end, that didn't matter.
Besides, I had some important unfinished business in regards to Lexington. When I was in college, my dad went on this crazy land-buying spree and we were looking at some mountain land not far from Leasburg. We stopped for the night in Lexington because they were supposed to have this uber cool "Ghost Tour," and Dad drove me and Moms out for a little pre-gaming dinner at this nice place out in the country.
Now, unbeknownst to my parents until this very moment was that my 17-year-old self had in my possession a very badly made New York State fake ID. Which I wisely decided to use at dinner that night to order a glass of wine. Thinking back, I probably did it to witness the moral debacle that ensued when my parents, ethical to a fault, had to choose between turning me into the local police or sitting there helpless as I slugged back about four glasses of red in an hour and a half. To their credit, I think they might have made me chip in for that part of the bill. But by the time we had gotten back to the car, the damage was done. I was completely and exuberantly wasted. And about 10 minutes later I really had to pee.
There we were miles from civilization and me with a full bladder. This has never stopped me before. I will pee anywhere as long as I won't get arrested. So, I asked my Dad in the most sober voice if he would just pull over so I could go make a puddle in that church parking lot.
Well, realizing his advantage, my Dad told me he wasn't going to pull over because it was my own fault that I had to pee. And so I could wait until I got back into town.
This did not go over well. I don't like having to pee when I am in a moving vehicle and my kidneys are churning out urine like Industrial Revolution mill workers. I can't think about anything else. So, once again I asked nicely, "Kind sir, might I please have a bit of a tinkle behind those scenic pine trees?"
My dad was having none of it. After all, we were "only" 25 miles from town.
I started realizing what it's like when the bear goes mad in captivity. I started kicking the back of their chairs, chanting "I have to pee! I have to pee!" It was like the car was this time machine and I was regressing at the same rate my bladder was expanding.
My father drove placidly on.
At that point, I rolled down the window and started yelling at bike riders, drivers, locals, and cows that I was being held captive in the car with these two sick people who would not let me pee, and I had to pee goddamnit "I GOT TO PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"
When we got back to town, my dad would not speak to me. The ghost tour had been completely taken out of the picture, and for some time now I'd been wanting to get back to Lexington to finish what I started. And also, I was of drinking age, although in the end, that didn't matter.
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