In case you didn't know (and why would you, you're not my mom – or are you?) today I'm leaving for
While many years ago, that sentence may have meant a big going away party where I get laid a thousand times and people hug me saying things like, "Good luck in The Shit, boy," now in 2009 all it means is that I'm taking a vacation. A long, much-needed vacation.
What's that? You say I just got back from a vacation? Something about a road trip? Jesus, detective Blog Reader, you really pieced together that puzzle. Fine,
It wasn't pretty.
First, Brooke got sick. The day we were supposed to get in the car and drive the nine hours to a small coastal town on the
The entire drive would be too ambitious to tackle after work, so we planned to stop somewhere for the night. I voted for rolling the dice on Priceline for a three-star hotel along the Florida Turnpike. (I’m a gambling man.) Brooke vetoed that idea, insisting that we stay at a seedy motel to add a sense of danger to the trip. She was all excited about sex in a Motel 6 off the highway, like we were having an affair in a movie about the
We woke up bright and early the next morning, mostly in anticipation of leaving the motel room. Brooke's conditioning was worsening, though I assured her that it was a passing virus, nothing more than a 36-hour bug. Like those famous New York Times travel columns: 36 Hours in Brooke's Immune System. Before hitting the road, we stopped at McDonalds to get coffee, because that's what you do at exit 427 on the
Luckily, Brooke was somewhat fortified by our arrival at
The next morning, though, things took a turn. Apparently, Brooke is allergic to old-world charm. She got worse, not better, and fell into the depths of an Afrin addiction (seriously, I found a bottle hidden under the couch last night). She tried to power through, trooper that she is, but it was futile. The cold was winning.
By the third day, shit was hitting multiple fans. I started getting sick, too, and in a tiny town where all there is to do is eat and drink, we were two sad, pathetic people who couldn't taste food or stomach liquor. All that was left to do was hang out in our room. I'm not going to lie – Puppy suffered the most.
In fact, about the only good thing to come out of the trip (besides a new appreciation for
All in all, not the most reassuring practice vacation. But the way I see it, now that the colds are over with, our immune systems are stronger than ever. Plus I learned a valuable lesson about how to properly order an egg cream in a traditional soda shop. How this will help me in the jungles of
So I'll be gone for the next sixteen days. I won't be blogging from there because one of my life rules is "Never use sarcasm in a communist country," but I'm sure that upon my return there will be a story or two, probably one about how some Thai masseuse asks me if I am "happy at the ending of my massage" and there's some big (zing) misunderstanding.
And please, if you don't hear from me soon upon my return, assume that I have been captured and sold into the seedy underworld of human trafficking. Band together and stop at nothing to find me. Or at least make a Facebook group in my honor. Thanks, you guys are the best.