Sunday, July 31, 2005

meet me in st. louise, louiee (final-i promise)

so my wife got sick. again. and we had to take her to the er. again. i unceremoniously and rather callously informed her we were not taking any more vacations. ever.

despite all that, we got to spend alot of time with my sister and niece, and the niece's kids. i haven't seen any of them since i got married (six years ago, 28th of aug), and it was actually nice to be able to spend some time with them. i actually got some alone time with my niece and was able to talk to her and resolve some things i was feeling guilty about (backstory: when my niece was 13, and i was married to the X, she was in a bad place, i told my sister, "gee that sucks", X said "tell your sis we'll take your niece", i said, "wtf?", but ultimately ended up doing what she wanted, cum ce, cum ca, six months later, X and i are getting divorced (not niece's fault), and X is sending niece to live with some family in utah instead of back to my sister. when i look back on that time, i wonder how i lost so much control of my own life that none of that went down the way i would've liked it.), niece tells me "no big deal, it all worked out", and i tell her if it had been up to me the entire situation would've gone completely differently. all resolved.

wife felt good enough after a few days to visit friends of ours stationed at scott afb in illinois, so we leave my mom with my sis, and off we go for a night. it was nice to see s again, and meet his wife k, and their daughter, a (stream of concious sidenote: i do not put people's names in my blog, unless their name is already available, i.e. rick at kill cupid, because i feel it potentially invades their privacy. i realize that this may make it hard for you, the ghostlike nonexistant reader, to keep some of this straight in your head. suffice to say that my repeat friends you might need to keep track of: my high school buddy s, and his wife k, their son k. not to be confused with our friends at scott. and my buddy from work, and hopefully soon-to-be music partner, m. maybe a few others. anyways, confused? good.), and hang out with them, and grill, and drink, just like old times.

then home. my mom coerces us (by repeatedly calling us "boring") into taking a different way home than the way we came, so we take 63 north through missouri. many toothless inbred kids with banjos on porches abounded (not really, but alot of the area felt very deliverance-y), and we noticed that every farm house seemed to have a pond near it. "pond" "i see" "pond" "yeah" "hey, that's a nice house" "yeah!" "wait, no pond? well, fuck that then"

into iowa. we stopped in newton, where customer service was stupendous at every place we went to. then on to des moines, where we needed to stop at target to reload on supplies, and someone accused me of being a child abuser.

let me splain, no, no, there is too much. let me sum up. no. 1 is being bratty at target. daddy takes him outside, as he is tired of no. 1's shit. puts no. 1 in car seat. no. 1 escapes from car seat. this is behavior that cannot be allowed to continue, for no. 1's own safety. so daddy runs around van and puts no. 1 back in seat. meanwhile, no. 1 is screaming at top of lungs, and attempting to flip himself out of seat, daddy is leaning on no. 1 to keep him in seat while hooking up seat belts. daddy is using loud angry voice (not yelling, but loud, angry voice), to say such things as: "you need to calm down" and "get control of yourself" and "get in your seat" no cussing, which is actually really rare. daddy gets no. 1 in seat, and, sweat dripping in eyes, looks up from child to see woman with busybody written all over her standing in empty parking space next to van, cell phone to ear, mouth open in ohmygod!, eyes bugged out as if viewing war atrocities first hand. daddy thinks, "you have got to be fucking kidding me" and starts to walk around van to sit back down in drivers seat. ms busybody begins to move away rapidly, cell phone still to ear, with repeated backward looks. daddy stares at her as she walks away. then mommy and grammy show up with no. 2. if you think daddy paints scary picture when tired, and angry and talking in loud, angry voice, you should see mommy. mommy would scare devil himself back into hell. mommy notices retreating, staring busybody, and says, "take a picture, it lasts longer!", whereupon, ms busybody says, "it's called abuse!" "it's called a tantrum!!" "well, i'm dialing 911!" "go ahead!" followed by ms busybody getting into car, AND DRIVING OFF!!! yes, i said she drove off. pretty fucking concerned about my child's welfare, eh? yeah, well, sod her, the twat, she obviously never had kids.

back on the road, my wife asks me what shirt i happen to be wearing. she cracks up like crazy when i say, "my clockwork orange one."

we wait a bit for the cops to show, they never do, though mall security does a drive-by (by then, both kids are calm, and my wife and mom are loading car), and then leave.

iowa becomes nebraska, becomes wyoming, where we had to hole up in casper (the friendly ghost-town--and if you even remotely get that joke, you're old), due to a rainstorm so bad the freeway became a pool, and we couldn't see five feet in front of the car. to montana, through coeur d'elane, and finally, home.

some notes from the road: while there were several contenders, the award for the state with the most trucks (like ford and dodge, not semis) goes to montana. apparently, in montana, if you want to be a real man, you must own a large truck.

semis should again be confined to one lane, and maybe they could add a big wall between us and them. i know that without semitrucks none of the stuff we love would get here, but fucking come on, these guys drive like they are gods and we should part like the red sea in front of them.

kansas, nebraska, iowa all pretty much look the same: green fields near the freeway, brown rolling hills farther out, but wyoming takes it to a whole new and completely amped-up level. wyoming is like fields and brown rolling hills on crack!

and, finally, if you're buying property in northern missouri, make sure you get a pond!

darth sardonic


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