Thursday, July 28, 2005

meet me in st. louise, louiee (part 1)

alright, just back from yet another vacation this summer (yes, it's been a busy summer visiting people, and no, i'm not complaining overall), to visit my sister and niece in st. louise, and friends of ours in illinois. my mom went on this road trip with us (we actually took her van), which made it even more interesting than it would've been, in lots of ways.

the first leg of the trip took us through southern idaho, utah, colorado (the rockies were gorgeous, though mom's van is apparently not as readily equipped for tackling the ups as my passport is), and kansas.

in denver, we wanted to stop and eat. my idea of "stop-and-eat" is drive-thru at whatever fast and cheap, and most likely greasy and deep-fried place that i see ten feet from the freeway. my wife's idea of "stop-and-eat" is somewhere nice, with good food (greasy and deep-fried are not good, in my wife's book), preferably asian, where we will sit down, and it will take at least an hour-and-a-half from the time we sit down until we have paid the check and are back on the road. my mom's idea of "stop-and-eat" is to say "whatever you guys want" and then be "helpful" by reading every goddamn sign that we pass: "oh, there's dody's coin-op laundry down that way. and lincoln street is coming up next. there's a comfort inn, there's almost always places to eat by hotels." (the key word in that last sentence is "almost"--we drove a grand total of three miles out of our way in search of the elusive restaurants that "almost always" lurk near the hotels. we also managed to end up in a rather dubious part of denver, where my wife snottily proclaimed, "darth can always put us in the 'nice' parts of town!" followed by me flipping an immediate u-ey, and getting back on 70, and getting the fuck out of denver, and by god we'll fucking eat at whatever shithole greasy spoon ma and pa place i find in whatever god-forsaken burg happens to be located on 70 past denver!

i actually relenquished the wheel after my wife and mother teased me incessantly about being a control freak. (i figured it out later on the return trip--i'm not the control freak, i just like to drive, it's theraputic for me. my wife is the control freak, because she was trying to drive even when i was at the wheel), and apparently i was taking a nap in the back and my wife was driving while we went through the worst rain-and-lightning storm in kansas. my wife was white-knuckling it, and desperately needed a cigarette when we stopped for gas.

my mother knows or has relatives or dead people buried in every town in the us. every time we stopped for gas, food, a piss, mom would pipe up with, "your cousin larry lives here." or "my friends sid and nancy live here." or "my uncle is buried in this town." it became our mission, early in the trip, to find a city that mom didn't have anyone, living or dead, in. we stopped for dinner in salina, ks, and my mom said, "i don't know anyone in salina." oh my god! so while salina is barely worth visiting, if you do drive through it, or stop there, just remember, it's the only place we found where my mom doesn't know anyone. matter of fact, i think they are adding it to their welcome sign.

no. 1 spent the trip honing his angel-to-linda-blair-in-.006-seconds abilities: "i want jay-jay jet plane." "not right now." "jay-jay jetplane!" "wait a few." "JAY-JAY JETPLANE!" "i need an old priest and a young priest."

when we arrived in st. louise, our trip had only just begun, as you will see tomorrow. stay tuned, when uncle darth explains why you shouldn't even bother with reservations, and why we should all boycott anything owned by hilton, and should start staying at places owned by marriott.


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