May 23, 2005
So off I went this morning to the State Farm office in my (apparently uninsured) car. The nice lady in the very big mu-mu (yes, some people actually wear those here) typed up all the necessary forms. While she was typing, we had the following conversation:
Insurance lady: [peering at a form] Does you or your husband have the birthdate of July 29, 1977 [not the actual date]?
Me: Oh, that's my birthday.
Lady: Oh, we're the same sign!
Me: [blank look. What sign?] Um, okay.
Lady: [leaning in and whispering conspiratorialy] We Leos really like to be the boss, don't we?
Me: Oh, um, yeah. I guess.
Lady: So, your husband's birthday is April 27?
Lady: Wow, that is so uncanny! My husband and I were just like that--he was an Aries and I was a Leo. Just like you guys!
Me: Oh, that's nice.
Lady: Of course, we're divorced now.
May 18, 2005
They say that life moves more slowly in places like Alabama and Mississippi. I have discovered that this is because EVERY SINGLE ROAD IN THOSE STATES IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION. I am not kidding. We drove for five hundred miles on a four-lane highway that had been narrowed to two, so our nine-hour trip took twelve hours instead. We amused ourselves most of the way through Alabama by saying, "Greenbow, Alabama," and "Jenny: The most beautiful name in the whole world," in a Forrest Gump accent over and over again.
Mississippi is the same as Alabama, only with even worse roads. Also, the water is brown, and I don't mean the water in Old Man River. We stopped at a Hardees and the water was absolutely terrifying. I'm fairly sure that washing my hands in the bathroom actually made them dirtier.
We spent three days in New Orleans. They were wonderful days, and I was very happy to get to visit, and I was equally happy to get to leave. New Orleans is just too much of all the good stuff--too much good food, too much alcohol, too much river-and-weeping-willows-and-soft-jazz-playing-on-the-street. It was a little overwhelming. I did buy a very cool tee-shirt that says "Born Again Wiccan" on it, although I haven't been brave enough to wear it yet. I was seriously tempted to wear it in front of the King's family in Georgia, but I was afraid some of them would lynch me, particularly his cousin, who is a snake-handling, fundamentalist preacher as well as a world-champion, Olympic-level bow hunter. He can hit a deer at 500 yards, so he can sure as hell hit me.
If you happen to be going to New Orleans, I have only one recommendation--Mena's Palace. Of all the great food in that city, it's the best. It's a tiny hole in the wall, cash only please, next to a fabulous used bookstore in the Quarter. Get the shrimp po'boy. Trust me.
May 17, 2005
The catch is, the buyer wants, and I quote, deeply serious literary work, "like Tom Clancy."
That's right, Tom Clancy. If the publishing industry now considers Tom Clancy's books to be serious literature, I might as well just stab myself in the eye with my pen and be done with it right now.
Seriously, there's just not a lot there. We drove for like six freaking hours through South Carolina, and only saw four people. And seventeen million trees. We arrived at the King's father's house for an overnight visit. The King's dad took off when he was about six months old and never came back. They've only seen each other a handful of times in his entire life, and the King's dad remarried three times after divorcing his mom. Despite that, and despite the sheer excruciating boringness that is South Carolina, we had a good time. The King's dad was extremely welcoming and friendly, and I ate shrimp that had been pulled from the Charleston River only hours before, and the King and I stood on the banks of the river just as the sun went down, watching the shrimp boats sail in, and kissed. It was like a scene out of the Prince of Tides, only without the rape and violent physical abuse and stuff. Oh, and I ate my first boiled peanut.*
* It was better than you'd think, really.
May 13, 2005
Also, I discovered why the King and I are soulmates: When we order bacon cheese fries, I let him have all the bacony ones, and he lets me have all the cheesy ones.
Finally, there is a very special restaurant in North Carolina called the Risque Cafe. I haven't actually eaten there, but I'm sure it's something very unique. You see, it's a combination porn shop and eatery. That's right, stop in for a club sandwich and a side of fries, get a naked lady on your lap. It's just off I-95, so if you're ever down that way, do stop in and let me know if it's as terrifying inside as it appears to be from the outside, and if the naked ladies actually serve the food, or if that's against some sort of North Carolinian health code.
May 12, 2005
So, um, I can't read Grrl's comments because there's a bad word in them, but you're perfectly happy to show me what that word is? So, like, if my hypothetical kid* were trying to get to a dirty page, she'd be blocked, but you'd be happy to tell her that the page includes "hot chocolate scat enema stories?"** Righto.
* Ha! Hypothetical kid. Like that's ever going to happen. Ha ha.
** No doubt I'm going to get some very cool keyword hits off that last paragraph. For all of you that got here looking for enema stories, believe me, I like them as much as the next girl, but I just don't have anything for you.
May 11, 2005
We saw a billboard that said, "North Carolina: We Support the Military More Than Any Other State." I immediately thought, "North Carolina: We Like to Kill People Too!" Perhaps that was uncharitable of me.
We drove through North Carolina quickly, stopping only once, to see the Girl Who Is Prettier Than Me. When I was in junior high and high school, I had two best friends, Caroline and Anne. Caroline was the pretty one, Anne was the daredevil, and I was the smart one. Every guy we ever met would have killed to get with Caroline, and she could have given a rat's ass about any of them--she just wasn't that interested. But for all that, she got knocked up when we were seventeen, and I lost track of her during college. I admit I was secretly a little happy when she got pregnant--she might be gorgeous, but at least I got to go to college.
So anyway, I hadn't seen her for ten years, and then about a month ago, Anne told me she had moved to North Carolina. I wrote her, and we arranged to get together for lunch. It was good to see her, but I was rather bitter by the end. You see, not only is she still the Girl Who's Prettier Than Me, but she is happily married and has not only one, but two beautiful daughters. Looks like I really did waste my fertile years getting an education. Damn it, and damn that pretty girl.