The flight home

No, I don't mean we gave up and took a plane. We fled the south. After our stay at the Windam, we got up and out at around 11AM and began the final trek through Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, and, finally, Maryland.

Nothing much happened until we had a minor miscommunication about South Carolina. We agreed to take a scenic route to break up the highway driving, but it turns out the scenic route Ang pointed out did not encompass the entire northern part of the state through the Cherokee Foothills like the one I took us to. Oops.

After all the mountains, and canyons, and sierra nevadas, and lakes and whatnot, it was boring as hell. Church, church, dollar general, church, dollar tree, church, church, SCENERY! I SEE SCENERY!

[scenery] SCENERY IS SCENIC!!

At some point, I started singing. And singing. About dirt and worms, I think. Then I lost volume control and started screaming every part of my conversation. I was tired, and I knew it was going to be a 6AM arrival, and I think hysterics had set in.

There was really nothing entertaining about the drive, and we even took one pull off to Devil's Fork, which sounded interesting, but was really just a boat ramp and we both had to poop. And we paid $4 to get into the boat ramp section. And there was nowhere to poop. I think Ang had some poop tirade, but I forget it now, so maybe she'll update with it later. I took a picture of the boat ramp as we turned around.

[boat ramp] This picture cost us $4.

As we were leaving the boat ramp park, we saw a visitor center. Which meant a bathroom! You had to have a day pass to use the visitor center, which was fortunate, because it meant that for $4 we got a picture AND pooped. It's almost a deal.

Ang picked a stall, and I got in mine, and Ang's toiled flushed prematurely. And didn't stop. It just flushed and flushed and flushed endlessly as I laughed and people outside the stall snickered. She told me to shut up, and I had no idea how hard it was to poop when the toilet was splashing and distracting her. Abruptly, it stopped flushing. She ran out of the stall and informed me that we had to flee, because it had only stopped because she had finally pooped in it. We spent a lot of this trip fleeing.

Actually, now that I think about it, that might have been Ang's poop tirade. Probably not, because I doubt she wants the public to know about that story. On second thought, I don't think we care about such indecencies at this point. 

About halfway through the "scenic" drive, we looked at the map after Ang started asking how to get back to the highway. I told her there was basically no turning back, as we were only halfway, and she was all, "what the fuck is this? I meant THIS route *small gesture on map*, not THIS ROUTE! *large gesture on the map*"

I started driving after that. In the sunset. AGAIN. I swear to god, I got sunset driving and therefore night driving EVERY TIME, from day 1. Every time I bitched about how our driving schedule had turned out, she would point out that I was too busy screaming about MAH BLANKETS in the morning to drive, so she did it. It was a good point. I am not a morning person, and probably would have killed us trying to swerve over 3 lanes, a grassy median, and 3 more lanes to get to a Chevron for my precious instant sugary cappuccino.

We eventually made it back to the highway, and into North Carolina. Behold, the most interesting thing on the entire drive:

[pumpkin mobile]

The rain started somewhere around Durham, North Carolina. I was trucking along in the middle lane, and zoomed past a cop (not his car, the cop himself) helping out a wrecked vehicle in the fast lane, nearly clipping him. It was then that we decided that we needed caffeine, and a plan.

We pulled into a gas station, and looked at the weather map. Ang started whimpering, so I took a look.

Remember that time I yelled that Isaac was a pussy, way back in Louisiana? Yeah, so did Isaac, and he was NOT HAPPY. We were looking at a large swath of yellow and red colored storms directly in our path, marching in the same direction we were.

We sat there a while and I ate my last meal (chili cheesy tots), and thought about how we were probably going to die. We were both tired, the tires were probably bald at this point, and it was dark with hurricane remnants shaking their fist at us. There was no option to just sit and wait it out, because we both had work and if we waited, we would just be stuck in an even larger storm that was coming up behind us.

We said fuck it, took caffeine pills, and got back on the highway. I was going 55 in a 65, and we shook our head at everyone that zoomed past us, telling them that they had no idea what they were about to drive into.

I kept waiting for it to get bad, and the rain increase a little bit, but it was still pretty mellow.

Then, we were suddenly in Virginia, which meant we had made it above the storm.

"Can I say it yet?"
"NO. Don't you dare say it."
"How about now?"
"You bitch, I still have to drive home after Maryland. Don't you DARE."
"Fiiiine."

I muttered about Isaac being a pussy low enough that she couldn't hear me.

After that, we had to pee, so Angie talked about how her bladder was going to burst like that woman from hold your wee for a Wii. I told her I didn't think it was bladder bursting that killed her, so she Wikipedia'd it, and found out it was water intoxication. Then she went to a link with water intoxication stories. Then she went to a link with a list of unusual deaths.

The final 4 hours of the trip was spent with me trying to stay awake, while Ang read stories about horrific and/or weird and/or toilet-related deaths.

For the record, our favorite was about a man who jumped from a 10-story building, and got shot passing by the 9th story window. What he didn't know was that the 8th story had a net, so he wouldn't have died. He was shot by his father. He was trying to commit suicide because his mother had cut him off financially, and he had placed a bullet in a gun that his father used to threaten his mother with all the time but always had blanks in it. He had hoped that the father would shoot the mother and kill her, thinking it still had blanks. When that didn't happen, he jumped from the building. The case was ruled suicide because he had placed the bullet in the gun to begin with.

Yeah, we had to read that a few times to figure it out, too.

Random quote:

Ang: I'm bored. Do we have any snacks?
Me: Really? Fine. ::rustles through snack bag:: um, there's...expired tiramisu cakes, some fritos, a bag of suspiciously perfect sixlets (wtf?), a bag of bugles that might be from back in California, some melted trail mix, and a kippered beef jerky stick from Oregon.

Ang: I want the beef jerky.

Me: How about I distract you with a sixlet, and then we can take an exit and get snacks.

Ang: Ok.
*eats sixlet*
I'm still bored.

Me: This is why I'm the better driver and you're the better passenger. I get bored here, you get bored there.

Ang: Really? Do you remember what happened the last time you got bored?

The beef stick was rancid, by the way.

Failed Expectations

The southern states are nothing at all like we'd expected. Probably should have paid more attention in, well, geography for one because I have no idea which states are next to which. Even having been through them it still takes me a bit to remember. Or social studies or something that would have given me more an idea about what these places are like. Here's a list of our illusions and unexpected findings:

California
Expected: sun, warmth, sandy beaches, happy nice laid-back surfer dudes.
Delivered: cold, hillbillies, assholes, trailer trash and pimps

Utah
Expected: funky looking rocks
Delivered: awesome funky looking rocks, but the French Invasion

Arizona
Expected: sandy desert and seguros
Delivered: scrubby high desert, trees, but nice navajo people

Santa Fe, New Mexico
Expected: tacos
Delivered: awesomeness, but shitty tacos

Roswell, New Mexico
Expected: aliens
Delivered: disappointment

Texas
Expected: longhorns, horses, cowboys, prairies, pickup trucks
Delivered: trees, traffic accidents, pickup trucks with ballsacks (probably should have expected that one though)

San Antonio, Texas
Expected: nothing
Delivered: the beautiful Riverwalk, the Alamo

Louisiana
Expected: Cajun swamp land, a hurricane
Delivered: rapists and rainbows

Louisiana: Why were there no warnings?

Okay, seriously. Level with me here.

Why the hell didn't you tell us? Did you really think it was wise to send two semi-retarded girls into that state? Really? It didn't occur to you to just slip a small, discreet warning something along the lines of "DO NOT FUCKING GO TO LOUISIANA!" to us?

We really could have used that warning. Apparently everyone else but us is aware of the fact that the entire state is the sketchiest piece of sketch that ever did sketch. We didn't figure it out until about halfway through the state.

Me: I'm bored. Fix it.
Ang: Okay, we'll backroad it.

And with that, we took an exit, and began backroading through Louisiana. It seemed pretty nice, actually. Isaac had come through, or was supposed to be hurricaning or something, so there was a light rain that produced rainbows all over the place. I may have called Isaac a pussy. I may have also screamed it out the window, shaking my fist.

I pull into a gas station, and immediately people are looking at us. We probably should have just kept driving, but we're dumb. We go in, and I headed for the bathroom. When I came out, Ang was standing by the door, staring at me wide-eyed.

Me:"Uh, is everything okay?"
Ang, whispering: "We need to leave. NOW. LEAVING NOW. RUNNING."

So I book it to the car with her, and as she gets in, she starts yelling at me.

"YOU ARE NOT DRIVING. DRIVE FASTER. WHY ARE YOU NOT DRIVING FAST ENOUGH! I SAID FASTER! NOW!"

As we peeled out of there, she recounted the story of a guy who came in and apparently told her that she is a fine woman, asked where her husband is, told her that he'd make a better one, and rubbed her back. She was trying to buy some snacks, and kept entering her pin wrong because he was scaring her so badly. She was stuck at the register longer, and then stuck waiting for me to come out of the bathroom with the car keys. In the meantime, the lady at the register told her that she hated that guy because he does that to every woman who comes in. Lovely.

We kept on driving, and we noticed that all buildings were either a church, a dollar general, or a dollar tree. Seriously, that's all there was. Church, church, dollar tree, church, sonic!, church, church, church, church, dollar general, Church's Chicken, church.

It was all sketchtastic. The case investigator for the car accident we had called, and wanted to speak to me. Ang distracted her for a while until I pulled into a sketchy gas station. I talked to the lady, found out that all of the information that we had told the inital data person was not actually entered, and had to re-tell all of the license plates and people and insurance numbers. I had a great time with it.

Me: "T as in taco, B as in bouncy, K as in Constantinople --"
Ang: "Uh, Constantinople begins with a C, not a K."
Me: ::pointing to notebook:: "That's a C?!"
Ang: "No. That's a K. Like Kangaroo, not Constantinople."
Me: "Okay, pretend Constantinople begins with a K, and that was the letter on the license plate."

I finish up, and go into the sketchstation to poop. I peruse the beer selection for some microbrew to bring back to Jim and spot a case of something that I only remembered as Lazy Magnolia by the time I got back to Ang. I told her to go get me the beer, because she had the money, and I couldn't show my face after what I had done to the bathroom.

A while later, she gets back in the car, and glowers at me and told me that the next time I ask her to get some beer, do NOT tell her what the tiny font says on the front, tell her what the giant letters say. She had to go talk to the sketchattendant to figure out wtf beer I wanted, and it went something like this:

Ang: "Uh, my friend saw a case of beer called Lazy Magnolia. Or something. Any idea what she was looking at?"
Sketchattendant: "Ummm...no. White or black?"
Ang: "What?"
Sketchattendant: "Your friend. Is she white or black?
Ang: "...She's white."
Sketchattendant: "Whew, I don't know."
They eventually find a case of beer that says SOUTHERN PECAN ALE in giant letters, and Lazy Magnolia in tiny letters.
Sketchattendant: "Wow, nobody has ever bought that beer before."
Ang: "Yeah, sorry, we're grabbing craft beer from around the country to bring back to our boyfriends."
Sketchattendant: "Oh. Well, I hope you're not gonna cross state lines with that."
Ang: "...Why?"
Sketchattendant: "Because y'all are bootleggin'. And that's illegal."

With that, we got back on the sketchy highway, and went perfectly the speed limit. As we drove along, Ang saw a sign for Tallulah, which is mentioned in a song that she knew of. We were starving, so we pulled in to see if there was anything to eat. Google immediately popped up with numerous restaurant choices: McDonald's, Burger King, Wendy's, Sonic, Church's Chicken... Really? It was nice at first, but then we entered the town, did a square, realized the whole place was probably the murder capital of the world, and fled. Fast. Screaming. As we drove out of there, Voltaire's "Ex-Lover's Lover" started playing from the iPod, and the lyrics include a chorus of "Die, die, diediediedie, die die die, watch them die."

We realized that all of the rest areas had tiny little signs that said "NO SECURITY PROVIDED" on them, and they were completely deserted. There was ONE that said "24 HOUR ATTENDANT" and it was PACKED.

We were starving, and realized that we could not stop, or stay, or even pause anywhere in the state without being murdered. So, thanks for the warnings, guys. We probably would have eaten back in Texas and detoured above the whole state if we had known Louisiana was such a steaming pile of sketch.

We had to book a really nice hotel in Alabama to finally feel safe enough to sleep. The hotel was gorgeous, and Ang went in to check in while I grabbed our crap. She came back out, and she saw me holding the bag that contained George "Popcorn" Paddles, the cactus.

Ang: "HAHAHA. Oh my god."
Me: "What? George will be all alone if we leave him out here. Plus, I think he's moldy."
Ang: "Wait, why is he moldy?"
Me: "He looked thirsty!"
Ang: "You...watered the cactus? And then closed the bag? And then put it in the back of the car? Really?"
Me: "DON'T JUDGE US."
Ang: "Anyway. I was laughing because when they asked if we had any pets, I told him that we didn't unless he counted your cactus friend, which is probably staying in the car. Now I'll have to tell him that George is coming with us."
Me: "He bites."

We went inside, and I told him that we had to bring in the moldy cactus. I got to talking about how sketchy Louisiana is, and he told us that, "Oh, Louisiana is sketchy on a GOOD day."
"Seriously? Even you know it's sketchy?"
"Who doesn't?"

...The next morning, a different lady checked us out, and we reiterated that we had a nice stay, and needed somewhere safe away from Louisiana because it was so sketchy. Without skipping a beat she responded, "True story."

The 6-car tap dance

After leaving San Antonio, it was my turn to drive. In the sunset. Again.

We didn't make it all that far. After sitting in traffic out of San Antonio, and then hitting Austin traffic after that, the rest of the day was spent sitting in bumper-to-bumper.

As the traffic started going back to speed, I noticed that the cars in front of me had all slammed the brakes.

I managed to stop, and Ang and I held our breath watching the rear-view mirror as the guy behind us slowed, slammed brakes, and finally stopped. As we breath a sigh of relief and look back in front of us ---

SMASH SMASH SMASHSMASHSMASH

LOSS-DAMAGE-WAIVER FIVE! Yes, we actually high-fived eachother. I had managed to hold the brakes as the unknown number of cars hit eachother behind us, so we didn't add the guy in front of us to the line.

I got out (smashing the door into the jersey barrier, because at this point, fuck it) and looked behind us to see 5 other cars smashed into eachother. I called 911, and they sent ambulances and shut down the highway and the whole nine yards. I call it a 6-car pileup, but Ang calls it a 6-car tap dance. We can agree to disagree, but seeing as I was driving, I get to call it a 6-car pileup.

I had Ang go do information gathering since I was shakier than I thought I was and I'm lazy.

The people behind us were super nice, and we both agreed that we had definitely stopped on time, and he told us that the guy behind him didn't.

The guy behind him was a young kid, though I thought he was 17 or so and we found out later he was actually 22 or something. He was utterly clueless that he was at fault.

The car behind that kid was an asian looking dude who was a total dick to me. He asked for my information 3 times, and as the cops came up and told us we all needed to follow an ambulance to a gas station to get the whole mess sorted out so they could re-open the highway, he took my insurance card.

The car behind that was a nice man and a southern bitch lady.

The final car was a girl who apparently refused to give Ang her information until the officer on the case talked to her, and she eventually apologized and gave us the information.

This was my first accident, so I had no idea wtf I was supposed to do. I asked the mean asian dude when he came back to ask for my information AGAIN and to return my insurance card if I should be taking pictures, and he sneered, "Well, I would if I were you." and then demanded my license. I told him the address was wrong because I had moved to Maryland but I have a correction card. Then, I put the license on the hood of my car.

"UH. WHY does this information not match what you told me? Why did you give me wrong information? What is this?"
"...as I JUST SAID, this card does not have the correct address. HERE is the correction card."

Dick.

Anyway, we had finally wrapped all the picture taking and information gathering up, and the officer told all of us to get together for a huddle. He gave each of us a business card with the case number and the website for the police department. This is when Southern Bitch Lady lost it because she figured out they weren't going to give us a run down of who was at fault, who was not, etc. The cop assured her that the report would be available on the website in the next few days, and she continued to demand information.

When she figured out he wasn't going to talk, she yelled at him, "WELL! I am going to call my SON! Who. is. a. COP!" and threw her hand out to her husband and yelled at him to give her the phone. As she wandered off to call 1-800-USELESS or whatever, the officer tried to apologize to her husband. He waved it off, and said "oh, she's just...like that sometimes. Don't worry about it."

My mom told me that it doesn't count as my first accident because it was a rental and I wasn't at fault. :(

***

Ang took over driving and we continued on to the FIRST! motel stay of the trip, at Day's Inn or something that we booked because we wanted to get a good night's rest for the final long haul. It's a good thing that this place was pure luxury because we were so grateful just to have our OWN! beds, because otherwise this would have been a major disappointment.

It was kinda dirty, sketchy, smelled skanky, had crappy towels, various shit was falling off, the shower curtain rod was hanging by screw that was 90% ripped out, we probably contracted ghonnasyphaherpelaids, and THERE WERE NO PILLOW MINTS! I WANT MAH PILLOW MINTS!

But it was glorious. 

San Antonio: Really? The Alamo?

Once we realized that New Orleans was off the map due to hurricane/tropical depression Isaac, we had a choice. Do we cut straight across the panhandle of Texas and work Lake Arcadia in Oklahoma back in? Or do we continue south to San Antonio and wend our way through the upper part of Louisiana? Well, someone decided it would be fun to be able to say we drove from tip to tip across Texas, and San Antonio sounded way more fun than Kansas, so south we went.

We expected longhorns and cowboys, and while I didn't really think I'd find cowboys running alongside the highway, I did think there would at least be cattle. Wouldn't you? Noooope. I'm pretty sure we saw more cows in the Badlands. In fact, I know we did.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. We should have gotten off the highway if we really wanted to see anything at all. Bugger that. It was already going to be a 16-hour long drive through unrelenting heat. Damned if I was going to take us anywhere but straight to San Antonio and out again. So we drove and drove and drove and drove, making a game out of guessing what was over the next rise.

Suddenly, we were presented with nature's bosom. Each hill looked like a perfect boob, complete with nipples. It was impossible NOT to see it, so it's not just that we have dirty minds.

See? Tell me how that doesn't look like a giant tit sticking out of the ground.

Texas also apparently has a problem with hills. No, not mountains. Hills. They took the effort to cut a hole through all the hills they wanted the road to go through. It would have probably been much easier to just go AROUND the hills, or even OVER the hills, but no. This is Texas. The signs along the highway say, "Don't mess with Texas" so apparently even the landscape isn't safe.

 
At least the speed limit is 80 mph. It was great! At least until a state trooper going the opposite way used the turnabout to get onto our highway. He got behind us, and I was going 5 miles over the speed limit, so I slowed down. Then he slowed down. Then I thought he was going to pass me, but he didn't, and I had to go around another car going even slower. Then he got behind us, and slowed more, so we slowed more.

Then we freaked out and took an exit as soon as we turned a corner and he was out of sight. Only problem was that this was a side road that ran parallel to the highway, with a max speed limit of precisely the speed the cop was going. So, we were just driving next to him, after taking an exit we had no reason to be on with out of state plates, and B looking at a map to try and act lost.

We're idiots. He could have just crossed the grassy medians and pulled us over for god knows what, but, of course, he didn't. Which meant we were stuck on this side street and then a random gas station just waiting for him to get far enough ahead that we wouldn't have a repeat performance.

We made it to San Antonio and found a parking garage close to the riverwalk. By the way, everyone in Texas owns a giant pickup truck with ballsacks attached to the back, or a giant SUV. We screamed as the first massive vehicle turned the blind corner at the same time we did.

We got out and started walking down to the riverwalk. The riverwalk is actually sort of below the city, and we were stunned at how beautiful it was. Pristine walkways with an arrangement of tropical plants, various waterfalls, giant trees, and upscale restaurants surrounded the admittedly disgusting water with ducks swimming around in it.

We were walking along, and after passing a grassy set of steps leading up to La Villita, I realized that there was a stage set up across the water. Then I realized that the set of grassy steps was actually amphitheater seating. Coolest drama club set up ever!

 

I imagine it also makes it harder to throw rotten food.

The only problem with San Antonio was the heat. It was ridiculous. We haven't been drinking enough water, so both of us almost keeled over. We sat down inside the air-conditioned part of Casa Rio and ordered lunch. Delicious lemonade! Britt got an enchilada and tamales. Not sure what a tamale is, but it was like a cross of mashed potatoes and cardboard without the benefit of tasting like mashed potatoes. She liked them, but she was probably suffering from heat-stroke at the time. I got a combo plate of what ended up being fried stuff. Not the best idea on my part. My stomach took one look at it and flipped the hell out. "Seriously? You starve me, abuse me with convenience store cappuccino and taquitos, then tantalize me with the prospect of a real meal only to find out it's practically the same crap served on a plate instead of in a paper bag? No. This ends here. I've become a shrunken and pathetic shell of myself and I want a DIVORCE."

After lunch, I pulled out the city map a random tourist information person had handed to us. Huh. There's a place called the Alamo here. Even I know that's an important historic site, right? What's it doing in the middle of San Antonio? Can't be right. Maybe it's a dedication site or something, or... Shit. It's the goddamned Alamo. Two blocks away. We can't not go.

So we went to the Alamo. We got up to street level, pressed the button on for the crosswalk signal and jumped in surprise when it started talking to us. The cop across the street must have been laughing his ass off every time the thing said "WAIT". Whenever it spoke, Britt and I jumped, yelled at the crosswalk post that we were waiting, and erupted into a fit of giggles. Rinse and repeat, the entire time. Worse was when the buttons for both directions had both been pressed and the signals were competing with each other to give the pedestrians directions. Glad I'm not a blind person in San Antonio.

We walked down the block, turned the corner, and BAM! Have an Alamo. No lead up, it's just there. Thought there would be a park around it with an entrance to the protected historic site. Nope. It is the entrance. When I asked Britt what her thoughts on the Alamo were, she said:

Oh my God, it's so hot. Can we go now? Look, a rock. Did you take a picture of it? Good. Let's go. Ooo! A gift shop! A PRESSED PENNY MACHINE!!

After the Alamo -- I'm sorry, was that too quick for you? Didn't you read earlier that we are the WORST tourists ever? -- we went back through the Riverwalk to our cars. We wandered through a few gift shops, and I decided I wanted a T-shirt. At the Ripley's Believe It Or Not shop, I saw one that caught my eye and carried it around with me through the store. It just said "San Antonio, Est. 1691" in a fancy font, but then I realized that I must be more overheated than I thought, because it was bright pink with sparkly blue letters. So I picked up a different one, except it said that San Antonio was established in 1718. Confused, I brought them both to the girl at the counter and asked when the city was established. She didn't know. Can't blame her. I mean, who the hell actually knows that kind of thing off the top of their head? Except, because the second shirt also said Ripley's Believe It Or Not on it, she tried to tell me that maybe 1718 was went Ripley's was established.

Seriously?

We found a Five and Dime with a ton of T-shirts for sale, only to be more confused than ever. We found shirts saying 1691, 1718, 1824, 1845, 1846, and this foolishness:

I give up.

Then there were these:

 

Not sure why overt demonstrations of religion bother me, but they do. Is it because I always feel a little impure and guilty? Is it because they're all so very, very tacky? Or is it because they emanate a holy radiance of fanaticism that I find a little disturbing? I don't know. Chalk it up to the mystery of life, I suppose.

We sat under a bridge to get out of the sun and watch the numerous ducks paddle their way down the river. A nearby maintenance worker was singing to music coming from the restaurant, so Britt started bobbing her head to it too. He laughed and came over to chat. When we told him about the San Antonio date of establishment dilemma, he got on his radio and asked someone for us. Wikipedia states 1691, but there are a lot of historic moments that correspond to the dates we saw on the shirts. Radio-voice told us one number then gave another a little while later (neither being any that we saw), cementing the idea that nobody actually knows.

I'm not sure how we led into the next part of the conversation. Pretty sure there was no lead up, but my brain just wants to pretend people don't just jump into things like this. Kenneth, the maintenance worker, said that he had half a handlebar the night before and it was the best time of his life. Everything and everyone was funny and he was drooling, but he was happy. Britt and I nodded our heads at the appropriate times, thinking that maybe a handlebar is a mixed drink or something? Nope. It's a pill. I really think the DARE programs in schools need to explain more about the different street names for drugs. Or give us little wallet cards with synonyms on them or something. I think this might be important information somehow. There have been way too many times that people started talking and I have no idea what they're going on about, so I just smile and nod. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY NO TO DRUGS IF I DON'T EVEN KNOW WE'RE TALKING ABOUT THEM?!

Kenneth: I got home late and my girlfriend wanted sex, but I just passed out. So she's slapping me. Slap! Slap! SLAP! Just slapping me. But I took care of her later. Where are you girls from?
Britt: We're on a road trip from Massachusetts. Passing through here on out way home.
Kenneth: Shit, you guys must be rich to do that kind of thing.
Me: No, not so much. We've been camping or sleeping in rest areas mostly.
Kenneth: You could always sleep at my place.
Britt: Thanks anyway, but we're heading out soon.
Kenneth: I came here on vacation too, four years ago.
Me: Liked it so much you never left?
Kenneth: At the time, I thought it was paradise. Now all I want to do is shoot that duck. *finger-pistol motion towards nearest duck* They leave huge shit piles on the sidewalk and I have to get up early to clean them up for the tourists. But if I don't, the city doesn't make money and neither do I. So you're just going around the country fucking men in all the cities?
Britt: Uh, no.
Kenneth: You should stick around and get a drink. That place down there has magaritas to-go.
Me: I saw that! Pretty tempting. We haven't been able to drink on this trip. No time.
Kenneth: You could sleep at my place. My girlfriend might be pissed, but whatever.
Britt: No time. We have to be back to work on Tuesday.
Kenneth: Shit, you have a long way ahead of you, huh?
Us: Yuuuup.
Kenneth: And you can't even get a drink?
Us: Noooope.
Kenneth: That sucks.
Us: Yuuuup.
Kenneth: ... You guys twins?
Us: Noooope. (Really?)
Kenneth: ... You guys sisters?
Us: Noooope.
Kenneth: You guys are weird.
Us: Yuuuup.

As I'm writing this, I realize how awful it all sounds on paper, but it wasn't. He wasn't creepy, we weren't weirded out, no warning bells were sounding in our heads. He was just conversational. Granted it was a strange conversation, but he wasn't being all close and molesty. More like, eh, worth a shot, no? Oh, okay, have a nice trip girls, enjoy the city. Watch out for the duck shit.

He also mentioned that he had run into a group of people that had fled New Orleans. We'd been keeping tabs on Isaac, but that sealed the deal. New Orleans would be a definite no-go.

:(

Roswell: Where are all the aliens at?

We entered Roswell as the sun was beginning to set and immediately started looking for tacky tourist traps with UFO and alien paraphernalia. There weren't any. The only alien that greeted us was this guy:

But then I saw a Hobby Lobby!

Hobby Lobby! HobbyLobby!! ::flail:: I WANT HOBBY LOBBY! Britt jerked the car across three lanes of traffic to take an immediate left, pulled in the parking lot and just stared at me before ranting that we have a Hobby Lobby at home, and that I really just made her do that. Then it was pointed out that we needed containers for our illicit sand collection and a proper pot for George "Popcorn" Paddles, so we went it. We failed on both accounts, but we did walk away with that eerie feeling you get in a chain store, the one where you're pretty sure that if you pretend hard enough, you'll exit from the store you always go to instead of this one, miles and miles away from home.

We left and started Googling someplace interesting to eat at. NOTHING. Oh, there was Sonic, Church's Chicken and McDonald's, but nothing that seemed particularly extraterrestrial. In fact, this whole city seemed rather normal. Target, AutoZone, Ace Hardware, Home Depot... WTF, Roswell?

As we drove down the main road, eyes peeled for anything green and spacey looking, I realized that we were passing places we'd already seen before. There were two Dollar Trees, two Dollar Generals, two Sonics, Church's Chickens, McDonalds, AutoZones, and Best Western Inns, but STILL. NO. ALIENS. It was a little creepy. I mean, it's a big city for the middle of nowhere, but not so big that everything needed to be duplicated unless there really are aliens and there's some type of segregation happening here that no one is willing to advertise to out-of-towners.

Eventually we came upon some sad looking street lamps that had alien faces on them, and two (two) souvenir shops across the street from each other. We wandered in, bought some magnets, complained that their city was too perfect and not kitschy enough, and left.

 

We were pretty hungry by then, so we gave up hopes of finding anything interesting and headed back to the Applebee's we'd seen near the beginning of town. The waitress had a terrible headcut that made the back of her head look kinda like an alien. It's the closest we got. She couldn't figure out the layout of her own restaurant and parked us somewhere near the back. We took a while picking what we wanted, and sat there. And sat there. Eventually we realized that ten minutes had gone by without anyone taking out drink order and that, even though other waiters had passed us, we had no waiter of our own and were being ignored.

We left our menus at the table and rushed out. Britt tossed a sarcastic "So sorry, we have time constraints." over her shoulder, while I pointedly exclaimed "Are you apologizing?!" in whatever indignant voice I could. The waitress didn't even get it. She just said "Oh, it's okay!"

We left the car where is was and walked down to the Whataburger. I've decided that anyone with pencil thin eyebrows working at a fast food joint is probably not going to care about ANYTHING. Case in point, the lady who took our order. No biggie. I'd probably want to shoot myself if I heard "Whataburger" as many times a day as she did. The burger was actually pretty good. Not so much with the Whatachicken.

As we drove through town on our way out we passed another Sonic, and I went ballistic.

What the fuck! That's a third Sonic! Roswell has three! Three. THREE SONICS! You know how many I have? NONE. Why? Because ROSWELL STOLE ALL MY GODDAMNED SONICS. THEY HAVE THREE! (At this point, I'm practically leaning over Britt to yell at the people in the car next to us at the red light.) THERE ARE THREE SONICS IN THIS ONE CITY WHILE I CAN'T GET ONE FOR OVER THREE STATES. THOSE MOTHER-FUCKING ALIENS STOLE ALL THE GODDAMNED SONICS! ASSHOLES!

Roswell, New Mexico, ladies and gentlemen. All Sonics, no aliens. We're done here.

Santa Fe: Who knew?

Here, have a random New Mexico sunset.

We weren't able to go to Sedona after the Grand Canyon because it would be dark by the time we got there. The reason I wanted to go at was for a natural water slide they have, but it wasn't on the itinerary to begin with so I guess I'll get over it. Maybe. We have followed our itinerary fairly closely, which is surprising. Apparently we need to give ourselves more kudos for planning than we thought, but I won't hold my breath on it as I still need to be back to work on Tuesday and it's still Arizona.

We slept at a rest stop just inside Arizona, and when we woke up, New Mexico was only a few minutes away. We grabbed coffee, and decided we loved how tacky the state was. Everyone calls you "mum" instead of "ma'am" and the chili cheesy tots are EVEN BETTER and everyone is nice! Like Oregon! Too bad they're so far apart. Except New Mexico is HOT. So hot that we were stuck in traffic around Albuquerque screaming "I'M BURNING! I'M BURNNNNINGGGGGG!!" and wondering why the hell we decided we wanted to go to the desert. It was apparently only 86 or something but that was a lie because it was so damn hot and burny. Our AC can't keep up with the heat. We have a black car with a black interior, so it's fairly miserable, especially when you leave it for a while and burn yourself on the seats and all the bits of silvery trim.

We decided to check out Santa Fe since we saved time by not going to Sedona and we're going to skip Carlsbad because it will be night by the time we get there.

Santa Fe is filled with really short buildings. It didn't really look like a city, and we went to the center plaza, which is a nice-looking condensed shopping area that looks extra un-city like. We parked, and walked into a store that touted native american crafts and fetishes. We wondered if they had some headdresses and stone carvings next to whips and chains, but apparently fetishes ARE the stone carvings. Lesson learned. The lady in the store said that all the glass cabinets were unlocked because apparently we don't choose the figurines, they choose us. We must have failed to meet their standards because we left empty-handed.

We grabbed some chocolates from a chocolatier, and they were good, but not as good as the place in Napa. The whole plaza is filled with store after store of native american crafts, and after browsing for a bit, we realized that there is a closed-off street where some some 30 or more native american vendors who have their crafts laid out on the ground. We kicked ourselves for buying anything else besides their stuff, because it was all gorgeous. All of it. And native american crafts aren't even really my thing, but there's something there for everybody. And they're all SO nice! I purchased a gift for someone, and the man asked how far it was going. I told him Massachussetts, and he thanked me and shook my hand. They're insanely nice, and I doubt they're all nice just so you'll buy their crafts because it was EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON.

We bought way too many shiny things, and I looked up yelp reviews for a Mexican restaurant. Yelp failed me. It was terrible. My chili was just a can of beans, some over-cooked meat thrown in, and a can of tomato sauce dumped in with some hot sauce for some kind of "flavor". Ang's chicken quesadilla was runny, greasy, squishy, and tasted wrong. We haven't eaten at sit-down restaurants on this trip much, so it's extra disappointing to get shitty food when we do. But, again, people were nice so we didn't really care.

There's a small park in the center of the plaza, so Ang and I decided to sit down out of the sun and chill for a bit. A guy in a wheelchair was playing a really big harp, although we weren't quite sure how he managed to move that thing around on his own.

Next to him, some crazy person was doing some weird kind of inverted juggling which consisted of him bouncing three balls on the ground while listening to his headphones. Then he got lower and lower until he was picking them up off the ground and placing them down again. The next time we looked over, he had one larger ball that he was rolling around his hand and up and down his arm. It might have been worth watching if he was wearing a David Bowie outfit, but only then.

Behind us was what appeared to be the biggest, fattest pigeon either of us had ever seen, so we stopped paying attention to the weird man with the ball fetish, and watched the bird dance around instead. After a while it occurred to us that we were probably watching a mating ritual between him and a nearby female pigeon.

Male: Look! Look! I can turn in circles! Look at me! See my pretty circles! Ooh! I can go the other way too! Are you looking? CIRCLES!
Female: *peck, peck* I like grass. *peck*
Male: Yes, yes, I like grass too. *peck, peck* But did you see my circles? Here's another one. Wooooo!! CIRCLE TIME!
Female: Yeah... I still like the grass better. *peck*

He abandoned that fruitless endeavor and twirled himself over to the next nearest female.

Male: Hey! Hey! Did you just see that double twirl I did? It was all for you. Just for you. Not her, I swear.
Second Female: *peck, ignore, peck*
Male: I'M GETTING DIZZY OVER HERE! PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEE!!!
Second Female: *peck, ignore, peck*
Male: *sigh*

Eventually he gave up, smoothed his neck feathers, and wandered away looking like a normal pigeon again. Better luck next time, man-whore.

Fuck all y'all! ...Please?