Mommy’s Got a Gun

Drove down to my son’s place in South Carolina last weekend.  You have to really love someone to drive 9 hours down I-95 South, in the rain on a Friday afternoon to help them pack their stuff into a Uhaul from a third floor apartment with no help from any burly young Naval officers.  Do it again if it meant spending 12 hours with any of my kids.  Parenthood – a synonym for insanity.

I re-learned a few other principle’s as well -

• long trips are made to feel twice as long when you don’t have a Sirius Satellite radio in your vehicle
• no cruise control sucks
• AM radio reception has the same clarity today as it did in 1973
• NPR is not a good substitute for anything
• and the further south you travel, the more country-western channels populate FM waves

Brutal.  Made worse a few hours later by driving home at 2am (I had to get the truck back to Uhaul by 12:30 pm).  I was hoping Coast to Coast AM, the delightful paranormal AM program hosted by George Noory, would have a memorable guest on.  It wasn’t George, it was Ian someone and the show was not a memorable one.  Some noteworthy Coast to Coast AM programs (at least memorable to me):

• A woman had a feral child in her basement.  She wanted to know how she could get near it and keep it.  Like a pet I presume.
• Nancy Leider and her May 2003 apocalyptic warning that Planet X was about to crash into the earth.
• Sylvia Browne’s prediction that the victims of the Sago Mine Disaster would be found alive.
• Any show where a psychic predicts what will happen in the coming year.

Sigh*  Good show.  Wish they had it on Sirius.

So, I drove to South Carolina to help Navy Son pack stuff up.  He promised to make chicken curry for dinner (it was fabulous – I need to learn how to make that stuff) and we decided to go to a local shooting range to lob a few bullets around. 

I’ve never been to a shooting range before, nor have I ever shot a gun.  The experience was entirely new.  A shooting range smells and sounds like a bowling alley -- without the balls.  Bowling balls, I mean.  The walls are plenty drenched with testosterone – I could actually feel the hormone being leeched out of me.  Handguns, pistols, bows, scopes, AK27s, even cotton candy pink rifles with knives on the end were bought and sold as a matter of course.  Word on the street was that some yahoo walked in to a shooting range one day and tried to rob the place.  He was shot 48 times.  Idiot.  Walking into a facility where milling about were men who had been waiting 35 years for just such an opportunity. 

Navy Son had an M-16 and his friend had 2 pistols – one was a 9mm Sig Sauer.  We got 2 targets – one was the typical round target and the other was a white man holding a white woman hostage while he pointed a gun at you.  I presumed she was his emotionally abused whore jacked up on meth and he was using her as a shield to escape the police.  He never would have shot her, but he knew Johnny Law would do everything he could to save her worthless life.  I shot her in the neck.

I also shot him in the neck and head, but had less luck with the testicles than I had hoped.  He wasn’t de-manned, but he sure was gonna limp out of there.  Navy son disarmed him by shooting him several times in the hand. 

I was so delighted with the 9mm that I swung it around pointing it in my face to get a closer look and I think I scared the boys a bit.  They reached for me urging me to be careful.  It was still loaded and the safety was off, my hand was on the trigger.

I did that twice. 

Still, it was a thrill that I enjoyed immensely.  Worth the 18 hour drive alone really; but then so was the chicken curry and spending altogether too brief a time with the boy. 

And then I brought home Gunner; Navy Son’s beagle.

That’s a whole other story.

Christmas Road Trip – Part II

Day 2 and 3 of my trip to New York turned out to be visiting days.

I drove to see Little Lacie of the Enormous Brain Friday morning. We were able to spend a few hours laughing and enjoying each other’s company. You would never know she had her head opened up a spare 3 weeks ago.

She swears she has an amazing XFiles clock her husband John bought at a garage sale, but she could not produce it, so I am skeptical. I worried that her zipper head might bust open and urged her to stop looking for it. We are considering sharing custody of the clock and doing a whole “Sisterhood of the Traveling Scully and Mulder Clock”. It might have many adventures. You never know…could be a whole thing…

After that, I spent a few hours with my kids at a local mall. This was a mistake since 1) it was the day after Christmas and the mall was packed and 2) I hate shopping. I have deduced that the shopping gene skipped a generation and went directly into my daughter’s DNA because I hate it.

I then drove up to visit an old high school friend and was regaled with a host of marvelous tales. I am going to call my friend “Namid”, this is not her real name, but it’s very apropos – it means “Star Dancer” in Hopi. Nami (I’ve already shortened it) and her husband “Takoda”
(“Friend to Everyone” in Sioux) have met with dozens of celebrities – not just spotted, but the hand shaking, have a drink with me, “Hey Koda!! Come get a picture with us!” kind of meet that has a fabulous story every single time. Hopefully I will get to share some of them in the future.

Day 3 was icy. We stayed in and played Rock Band – I kicked some vocalist ass if I may say so and had a wonderful time. Went to mass, visited with the priest for a bit – very dear to us – he was really good to my kids while they were growing up. Went home, bed early, which was good because I was plenty tired.

Our final day started peacefully; the kids sat out in the kitchen talking and laughing while I caught up on my Korean Drama. My sister and her family came by and I enjoyed every minute. We visited for a few hours and then it was time to go.

The ride back was uneventful, save for some traffic in Pennsylvania. The trip was made pleasant by Kasey Kasem’s American Top 100 for the Year 1984 . We got home at 7:30 pm and I was in bed by 9pm.

It’s never enough time, but it’s always good getting home.

Christmas Road Trip

My best laid plan was to give my cousins a sweetly placed Merry Christmas kiss, be home by 8pm, pack the car, bedded down by 10pm, sugar plums dancing in my head. I would then self-awaken fully rested by 4:00 am, walk the Immortal, gently nudge my daughter into morning and be on the road by 4:30 am.

By the time we got out of mass on Christmas Eve, it was 7pm, I had to clean out my car, grab the gifts for my cousins, and gas up the car. A martini and some champagne later, I was settled in for a rousing game of Seinfeld Scene It with the family. We got home at 10:30. No way I was going to pack at 10:30 and ruin the lovely little buzz I had going.

Woke up at 5, walked the dog, checked the email, packed, got the daughter up, and we were on the road by 6:30 am. Not bad all things considered. However, it is important to note that nothing is open Christmas Day (aren’t there any atheists operating a Starbucks? And why do atheists take the day off? Isn’t that antithetical to who they are? HEY! Atheists! Yoo hoo! Keep those Dunkin’ Donuts open and deposit your barrels full of money in the bank while taking advantage of we stupid Christian sheeple who are offending your very senses by celebrating the birth of our Lord and God! That’ll show us!) so we had to forgo the traditional Road Trip Start coffee.

Another tradition demands that we start the trip listening to Radio Classics on the Sirius satellite radio. We were enormously diverted by the warm fuzzy Christmas stories – the tale of how the song “Silent Night” came to be, “The Whistler” and his Christmas morality play of murder most foul, as well as “Sgt. Preston of the Yukon”. We listened to “The Bells of St. Mary’s” and a touching little piece Jimmy Stewart did in 1957 as part of “The Six Shooter” series, which was a western take off on “A Christmas Carol”.

Warm and fuzzy ~ until Dragnet came on that is. “.22 Rifle for Christmas”. 10 year old finds the rifle his parents have lovingly wrapped a rifle as a happy gift to celebrate the day our Lord was born. He and his 8 year old buddy find it, play with it, 8 year old accidentally shoots self, horrified 10 year old puts him in his little red wagon, drags him to a cave, prays to God for a Christmas miracle to save 8 year old. Kid’s dead. The last line of the program, “Don’t give your kids a rifle for Christmas”. That was just awful. Merry Christmas Jimmy, you’re dead.

Other than that weep fest, our drive up was a good one. The weather was fine and gas is cheaper than it’s been in 5 years. What’s not to love? My son and his wife had a wonderful dinner on the table and we had a wonderful afternoon.

Most fun for the day was driving up to see my Mom. I hadn’t told her I was coming up for Christmas, so when I got to her house, I shusshed my sister and walked into Mom’s room. The surprise on her face – I wish I could have captured it. Having learned my older sister got an engagement ring for Christmas I pressed her into coming to Mom’s so we could celebrate and hear all about it. My big sister has had it tough for a long time and it’s her turn to be happy. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am!

It was a really joyful evening and worth the 6.5 drive up.

Road Trip - Hi Moms Dinner

I remark all the time what great kids I have. My kids also have the benefit of belonging to a splendid family.

On the drive up, I imagined cars from the entire east coast converging toward Newport. We had family and friends from New York, Virginia, South Carolina, and Florida all driving together to celebrate Adam's achievement.

Adam and I had been working on a list for graduation for several weeks. In the end we had the largest crowd of family and friends at graduation - 14 - which I know meant a lot to him. Rain was forecast which sorely disappointed the boy; he had so much wanted to run in cadence with his brother and his friend William. There was also a whole PT thing that got canceled.

There were only 10 chairs per table and being the rebellious lot were were, we broke some protocol by stealing chairs and place settings from another table. We all wanted to sit together. It worked, our table was the most fun. The Long Island Iced Tea didn't hurt. We were regaled with stories about his War Spoon, and methods used by the Marine Drill Instructors to whip the soon-to-be-officers into shape. Adam is a wonderful storyteller - something he gets from his Dad. He had us laughing all evening.

When we got a look at Adam's DI, everyone at the table started saying, "Mayo! I want you D.O.R.!" "I got no place else to gooooooooo....I got....nuthin'!" We are not very original, but we are fun. The DI did make the class do push ups while yelling, (down) "When the mind fails to comprehend! (up) The body must be punished!" The class loved it. They loved him. Though I suspect that if they met him as a civilian on the street, even outranking him, they will never be able to look him in the eye.

It was the night I realized that not much else awaits me but grandchildren and death. Here I was - my kids and their friends all wanted me to go out drinking with them. How many parents get that compliment? And how I wanted to - but I had a dog doped up in my hotel room and bless me, I was just tired. Blah blah appendicitis blah blah drove 9 hours blah blah let the kids have fun blaaaaahhhhh blahhhhhh I should have gone.

I learned the next day that the kids headed to some bar where Eddie Money was apparently playing - time hasn't been particularly kind to Eddie, so I'm told. But what the hell? Me either. Adam was enjoying the attentions of some Eddie groupies; one who could rival Hallmark's "Maxine" for crusty nicotine throat and the other younger one - well, let's just say that Adam's brother tore him away before he needed a layered course of antibiotics for the rest of his life.

The kids had fun, got in early (about 11:30 pm I'd say; not late at all). We all got a good night sleep.

Road Trip - Ensign

With all the belly-drama the week before, concern had been expressed by friends and neighbors about the wisdom of driving 9 hours to see my son graduate from Officer Candidate School. I wasn't going to miss this - would have gone there crawling if I had to.

I had planned on driving up Wednesday - graduation ceremonies were on Friday - but Dame Fate smote me with appendicitis forcing me to use up the remainder of my meager sick AND vacation allowance. I decided to leave Thursday.

I had it all planned out; Monday I would start to straighten the house. Tuesday; laundry. Wednesday; pack the car. Thursday; leave at 4am getting into Newport at 1pm. On your mark; get set; PARTY.

You remember Monday was my first day back in the office after the appendix fest. Crashed. Too tired and in too much pain to breathe. Well I still had Tuesday and Wednesday.

Tuesday I got slammed at work, I was just as exhausted when I got home, but I had no choice - if I didn't start prepping now there would be no way I would be ready to leave Thursday morning. I got home and started to walk Buddy and began thinking

about-everything-I-still-had-to
get-done-and-how-I-had-no-energy
to-do-it-and-whythehelldid-I just-come-home-Monday-night-and-do-nothing
because-now-I-had-to-do-everything
and-Meg-was so-busy-and-I couldn't-aska-her-and-I-didn't-know
how-I-was-going-to-get-it-all-done-and
-I-was-starting-to-pa-nic.

Meggie pulled in from play rehearsals and started her typical jabberjabberjabber about school. She noted my wired face and offered to clean the whole apartment that night.

I burst into tears. Meg looked on in horror. Neither of us was expecting that.

What can I say - I was tired.

Anyway, Meg got it all done. So much and so well that all I had to do was throw in some laundry. She's a good girl and I am blessed.

Every road trip, I plan on packing the car the night before. Every road trip, I leave everything until the last minute and am usually still looking for clothes to wash. Every road trip, I leave 1.5 hours behind schedule.

This time, we packed the car completely Wednesday night, went to bed at 10pm, vowed to get up at 4am and hit the road.

4:20 am broke silent and condemning. F******************CK! Up I jump, wake up Meg, tell her to walk the dog while I get dressed and ensure everything is packed and ready to go. Something to be said for racing around at the last minute - the adrenaline sure flows.

To our credit, we were on the road by 4:34 am. We turned on the borrowed GPS system, which was amusingly programmed to the Korean language, thank you Guest Blogger and as is our tradition, we turned on Sirius Radio Classics and enjoyed "Sgt. Preston of the Yukon" and a drama called "The Empty Chair" that starred Agnes Moorehead.

The ride was perfect. We stopped in PA to stretch ourselves and Buddy and enjoyed the crisp cooler air of the north. We reached RI by 2pm - found our hotel with some difficulty. Adam came out to meet us in his dress whites.

I choked up. It wasn't going to be the last time I did that.

I Want to Go Home

At the Naval Base, inside the compound.

I was treading above the surface in a sea of shorn Officer Candidates in tan uniform. My senses were bombarded by the sights and sounds of men and women greedily consuming coffee and goodies from Dunkin’Donuts. The young men all looked the same, but my mother-eyes searched for my son. He wasn’t in the room. I waited.

He finally came in at roughly 8:30 am. He seemed eager to introduce me to his particular friends; the officer candidate that helps him fold his clothes, the other young men in his class who endured the same Drill Instructors, those same officer candidates who had not passed first inspection either. I listened to stories of boot camp, what this D.I. said, how that recruit had a melt down and left and I watched my always-conscious-of-his-fat-intake son drink 8 large cups of coffee and eat 2 ice cream bars, half a dozen donuts, one yogurt bar and three homemade chocolate chip cookies.

We talked about how he loves what he’s doing, how he’s excited about his future and what it all means, how he’s part of something much bigger than he and how it fills him with awe. I let him use my cell phone to call his friends allowing him to touch base with people who’s friendship and affection have a new meaning from where he now sits.

My visit with Adam was fleeting, wonderful and worth every hour of the drive up. But the ride home was a &*^%$ nightmare.

Upon leaving at 11:30 am, I stopped at a nearby Mexican restaurant just on the other side of the traffic circle, ordered a quesadilla, charged my phone for the long ride home, and changed my clothes. Clara and I talked about the ride back. I consulted my mapquested directions, which concurred with Clara's suggestion. I was to drive I-95 N, then S through Rhode Island, Connecticut, NYC, New Jersey, Maryland and then on to Virginia.

Anyway, the &*^%$ nightmare. Once I got on 95 it started raining hard – a glorious thunderstorm with dramatic lightening and sheets of rain. A storm that backed up traffic. At least I thought that was what backed it up. Until I maintained speed at 25 mph through Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York City and New Jersey. Stop and go the whole time with occasional bursts of 0.8 miles long at 40mph. Kill. My. Self.

I had to stop once for gasoline – a full service station where 20 cars were lined up along the five rows of pumps they had going. Once I reached the pump, though gasoline jockeys were in evidence everywhere, no one came my aid, so taking matters into my own hands, I got out to fill up. I swiped my card…tic…tic…tic…tic…system is thinking…..I didn’t mind, I was enjoying standing up and moving around actually.

Then a skinny employee gave me the crazy-eye and decided to welcome me to his beautiful State of New Jersey in the way of his people. He pushed his face into mine and declared firmly; “If you put an American Express in there it won’t work!"

Quick as the lightening that decorated my drive thus far, out of my bra I whipped out my visa and flashed it at him; “It was a Visa."

Frustration wafted from his every pore. “WELL THE G-D SYSTEM’S DOWN!” and he started dry humping my gas pump and beating it's top in an effort to spur the pump into life. No lie. After 3 very long seconds of humping and as I watched in horror, he stormed the perimeter of his world shouting, “System’s down!”. Fortunately my pump started working. Perhaps it had been seduced by the hump.

I pumped my gas, and as my receipt printed, my aggravated little friend came back over to declare: “System’s still down!” I left.

10:30 pm. Ten hours. Ten hours it took me to get home. Home, finally, Sunday night, exhausted and sore and knowing full well that I’ll never, with the full consent of my will, drive on I-95 again. I walked in the door, hugged my daughter and went to bed.

Nineteen hours of driving. I saw a movie, I saw my friend, and I spent three hours with my son. I’d do it again in a second.

I'd just book a hotel room in advance...and I'll never stop in New Jersey again.

I Want to See My Son

After a leisurely lunch, and a spirited drive around Moosic, Pennsylvania looking for a gasoline station, Brain Tail and I subsequently filled up on gasoline and Starbucks Coffee. My part in the drama was next; the transfer of the Shiner Bock from my trunk to Lacie's. We bid our adieus; she back to her upstate New York home, I to Newport, Rhode Island.

I hadn't planned. Not a jot. As I told you before, Lace had skillfully pre-planned our day trip to see "X-Files: I Want to Believe". Me? I just drove. I suppose part of me was on a Kerouacian journey, the spontaneous prose of travel. But the weather was fine, just me and my Honda man.

Aaaand a borrowed GPS system.
Aaaand a satellite radio.

Yeah free and cruising on the open road. Windows were open, Miklos Rozsa's beautiful score to Ben Hur was turned up. I was mistress of my own fate and I reveled in it.

Until I got closer to Newport. Did you know that Rhode Island is called "The Ocean State"? Yeah, I forgot:

• And it was July
• And it was Saturday
• And it was 9:30 at night
• And I didn't have a hotel room

My borrowed finery, that lovely GPS system, sported a nice lady's voice (with whom I bonded and named Clara). Clara guided me to a cemetery and provided me with a list of lodgers in the locale. Twenty calls later, still with no hotel room in my name, alternative plans were forming

Plan B: Go back over big $2 toll bridge, head north on 95, look for a hotel room

Plan C: Go back over big $2 toll bridge, head north on 95, find rest stop and sleep in parking lot (as Guest Blogger said later – this was not a bad plan; since only pedophiles and homosexual men cruised those parking lots, a 43 year old woman would be safe.)

Plan D: Save $2 toll, stay in cemetery, sleep in car, devise excuse for Rhode Island law enforcement official when Johnny Law came knocking on my door at 1:37 am

Plan E: Go back over big $2 toll bridge, head north on 95, don't stop until I reach home, disappoint my son, emotionally self-flagellate for own stupidity, never tell another soul. Live with the secret shame of my failure as a parent and Kerouacian traveler.

I decided that if the gettin' was good anywhere, it was across that $2 bridge. I drove and drove, took an exit here, a ramp there, ran in to some road work and eventually drove 30 miles for what I discovered the next day was really about 7 (Clara couldn't tell from road work). I found a Wendy's; I needed to pee and eat food. After doing both, I decided to sit in the parking lot and see if I could make Plan B viable.

Oh, yeah, and I prayed a lot.

"All things work good toward those who love God" which Google tells me is from the book of Romans. My prayers were answered, I found a hotel. I was fully prepared to spend $300 a night for a clean room and a shower. I was so desperate I would have spent that amount of money for a room at Flowered Schmonson's Hexpress if it had a lock and credibly hot water (which after that last experience, we all know are not guaranteed amenities for the Hexpress). Thankfully, I did not have to place myself in Schmonson's Peril; The Hampton Inn had one smoking room left, for $159 a night. I scooped it up, threw down my chicken sandwich and asked Clara how to get there.

By 10:30 pm, I was in a room that, while it reeked of cigarette smoke (I would have taken up the vice had it been a requirement) was clean, with lots of fluffy white pillows and bed linens. The water was hot, bathroom coffee maker was in evidence and while the radio didn't work, the television did. Not that it mattered; I checked in at 10;30, got to my 6^th floor room, showered, established a comfortable room temperature, crawled into bed, saw nothing was on and was asleep by 11:10 pm.

Up at 5:30 am, I drank bathroom coffee maker coffee, got dressed and was on the road by 6:00 am. I eventually discovered the fatal error in my directions-to-chapel, typed in the address of the Naval Base from my memory (all those cards and letters I've mailed) and got to where I needed to be.

I got to see my boy.

I Want to See My Friend

Brain Tail and I had been planning to meet since Chris Carter announced plans to film the second movie in the X-Files series. God Bless Brain Tail, she did all the foot work; decided upon a date, determined the half way point, found a theatre, googled showing times, and established the location of the closest Starbucks.

I offered to bring Shiner Bock.

Decisions were made, plans were finalized. We would reach our destination at 10am so we could lounge over Starbucks coffee and do some immediate catch up. We would then catch the ultra-early 11:15 am show so that we could lunch casually and then dissect the movie. After which, I would transfer all the Shiner Bock I purchased into her car and we would go our separate ways – me to Rhode Island, she home. Flawless.

Saturday dawned bright and fine. A three hour drive was nothing, a walk in the park, a jaunt, a delight ~ splendid ~ if you will. I walked my dog, checked my email, made a pot of coffee, showered, lightly packed a bag, curled up with my daughter and kissed her goodbye. The gas tank was full, I had water in the front seat, the GPS was turned on, and back up mapquest directions were at hand. I glanced at the printed directions; lo and behold, my end of the drive was 3 hours 59 minutes. The first time I looked at them, all I saw was the 3 hours part. Well, crap. That meant I wasn’t going to get there in time for coffee and a chat, I was going to get to the theatre just in time to sit down and watch the movie.

Maybe I could make up time.

Nope, didn’t work. For the first hour, I got stuck behind someone I am convinced practiced rigid hypermiling techniques while I was determined to practice aggressive driving methods. Then I discovered that Pennsylvania is STILL making improvements to I-81N. In my 30 year experience, I-81 north and south has always been under construction. I’m told by my Uncle that for the 30 years before that it was under construction too. Whatever…it was putting me behind. I get a call from my friend who of all things left early and reached our destination at 9:30am. Well, crap again. I wasn’t going to get there much before 11am.

I got there just in time to get tickets and find seats; there really wasn’t a line at 11:00 am. We were two of about six people in the theatre. You know, if you were a diehard fan back in the day, it would really have been fun to sit in a crowd with other back-in-the-day-diehard fans. The shout outs to the fans were not too in your face and fun. Made us want to clap and shout “wooooo” which would have been ridiculous given the number of people in the theater. We left after all the credits stopped rolling.

I didn’t expect the film to overwhelm me with cinematic excellence. I was going because I had invested 9 years in the characters. I invested some amount of money in seasons 1-6 on DVD (blech – 7 – 9 – just blech). But mostly because I had invested years of friendship in the little Brain Tail friend I have.

Movie, lunch, catch-up, laughter, Starbucks, more laughter. A perfect day so far.

Next up: I Want to Believe

Splendid

Someone said the word splendid to me recently and I liked it. It's not used enough.

A splendid day today ~ slept well, I got in to work obscenely early as my attempts to hypermile continue, caffeinated coffee is brewing. I got letter #3 in the mail to Adam. Life is fine. Really fine.

A friend with whom I occasionally car pool showed me a non-trafficked back road home the other night; this delights me as it is fewer miles and avoids the foul foul traffic on 28S. I went to Guest Blogger’s for dinner; we did a crossword and finished – a night time rarity; we are rarely on point in the evening and crosswords suffer in the attempt. We are both of us morning folk.

This weekend, road trip! Going to meet up with the Brain Tail to watch the new XFiles movie “I Want to Believe”. Our plan is to meet up at 10am, find a Starbucks (nothing else will do; Starbuck was Scully’s nickname given to her by her father) chat ourselves stupid, then go to a noon showing. I'm bringing Shiner Bock up for Lacie's husband to enjoy later. Shiner Bock was consumed on an XFiles episode. I'm an obnoxious font of mindless trivia having spent a few years lounging in the OBSSE Abbey.

After that, I’m going on a solo adventure, driving to the Naval base to see my son on Sunday morning. Then, I will sob my way home, eight hours. Know what? Every mile, every tank of gasoline will be worth it. I’m going to see my incredibly brave friend who is facing still more surgery with grace and faith and courage. And then I’m going to see my boy. I’d do it twice.

Splendid. It's all splendid.

Road Trip Nightmare

No. NO. NO! Must. Stay. In. Fetal. Position.

It was awful. I think the only way it could have been worse was had we been slaughtered and ground up for sausage.

I speak of this past Saturday night in Fayetteville, NC.

Let me back up. My cousin is being deployed to Iraq in the next few weeks. His wife and family planned a get together in Maxton, NC. Two of my cousins (cousin #2 and cousin #3) and I planned and were excited about the road trip down. Let me say right now, we had a wonderful time! Lovely home, truly beautiful people, terrific barbeque and you can’t beat getting together with family, reminiscing, and just laughing yourself stupid.

We had originally made reservations at a hotel room more south than we thought we needed to be and so at the last minute, decided to book a room further up the interstate to ease our Sunday morning haul back home. We thought Fayetteville seemed like a good spot. We prudently passed by roughly eleven barren lifeless motor hotels and responsibly decided to engage a reliable and established motel chain. I refuse to name the chain here, but will give you a hint; it rhymes with Flowered Schmonson Hexpress.

We made a few mistakes. #1 In our naiveté, we never thought a billboard advertising “Recently Renovated” could possibly be a lie. To be fair, it might not have been a lie...back in 1972. #2 We also did not weigh heavily enough the fact that a Juvenile Detention Facility was located nearby. Had we applied sufficient import to those two issues, we may have reconsidered. But this was Flowered Schmonson Hexpress! Surely we could trust the name and its newly renovated status!

We hopped out of the car, booked and paid for the room, then drove around the buildings looking for our overnight accommodation. Scary Motel Clue #3; when they place you waaaay in the back and on the bottom floor, it is probably so they can’t hear your screams.

Our non-smoking room smelled. But not of smoke. We were unable to identify the smell; it might have had something to do with the rotting tile in the bathroom; or perhaps with the dirt on the walls in the front area. We did not have time to think about it; we were already an hour late and still had about a half hour to go to get to the party. We were only going to sleep there, so we maneuvered around the streaky slime covered mirror to apply our makeup, freshened ourselves and got out on the road again. Not before I noted the staples located near the ceiling around the circumference of the room, however. I thought that maybe someone had a little birthday celebration in there and stapled up some festive, brightly colored streamers. Cousin #2 decided it had something to do with tarps, donkeys, and video cameras.

We couldn’t get out fast enough. But as I said, once we got to the party, we were able to forget about the room, spending a few wonderful hours with family.

Clue #4 – when curious family members ask where you are staying, it is not a good sign when their skin becomes sallow, the back of their hand covers their mouth and they whisper; “Not Fayetteville!” . In fact, before leaving, when we mentioned to the assemblage where we were staying, an uncomfortable quiet settled upon the room. Hindsight being what it is, I imagine they didn’t expect to ever see us again. Telephone numbers were exchanged, promises to respond to emergency calls were committed to.

We got back to the Hexpress at 10:30 pm. I neglected to mention that when we arrived, there were no cars in the parking lot, no doubt lulling us into a sense of security. When we returned, however, a few more guests had taken advantage of the chain’s hospitality. Like 30. All in the back where we were.

Couldn't help but see the fella who shared the room next to ours. He was a large gentleman who we can only assume had some voyeuristic tendencies, as his curtains were wide open exposing his ample man breasts as he watched television.

We ran into our room. Surely we’d be safe in there?

Not so safe as you would think. The extra lock on the door was broken. To ensure that the door fastened securely, I bravely ran outside to test. Our neighbor immediately pressed his cleavage against his window to locate the source of the action. Horrified, I began pounding on our door. Fortunately, screaming panic had not yet settled in before the girls frantically pulled me inside.

A closer examination suggested there was more DNA in that room than on an episode of CSI. We were glad we did not have a black light and luminol in our possession.

There was no cover on the bathroom light fixture, and our fertile minds suggested that a camera could easily be employed to the delight of cyber-creeps everywhere. Not saying it was, just saying we have very active imaginations. But who knows, some urine-phile may be watching me online right now.

We then found what may have been the origin of some of the smells in the room; when pulling back the covers on one bed, the sick stank of dirty feet filled the room. And just as we thought it couldn’t get any worse, a closer inspection of the sheets noted several varietals of hair. It was at that point that I think we all wanted to throw up.

We turned the heat on before bed, little knowing the level of anxiety that the sound of the fan would minimize. It got warm in the night and we shut the fan off. Immediately, a cacophony of noises and voices assailed us from nearby our room. “Baby! Baby! Don’t go! Baby!” a man pleaded in the night. Something seemed to hit the pavement outside our room. A car engine revved, tires squealed. Eventually, quiet settled on the night.

Yes. We stayed there. We wore lots of clothes, hoped that there were no bed bugs, prayed that we would not contract an STD or become a statistic. We made it through the night. Upon waking, Cousin #3, allergic to animal hair, announced that she was certain a creature or other had spent some time in the room since her lungs had filled up in the unmistakable way of the frighteningly allergic. This of course, gave credence to the tarp, donkey, video camera initiative suggested earlier.

In the cold light of day, we noticed that someone had scribbled “I want” on our front door. We told ourselves it had been scratched in before our stay, not during. There was also an unsettling amount of some sort of dried fluid on the pavement outside our room that could have come either from a long discarded cola, or blood, the amount of which suggested a head wound. We recalled the disturbing thud on our pavement in the middle of the night. We looked up. Man-Boobs was sprawled on his bed watching a Steven Segal movie.

We left. I’m home now. I have showered. I have no sores. But I am scarred. Oh yes. I am scarred.