Working Further Backwards

All the way back to the actual vacation. It was extremely awesome once I got there. Getting there was only kind of awesome. First thing we had to do was take the dogs to the kennel. We have two big dogs, Oscar and Phoebe. They are great dogs, wonderful dogs, but they are not good dogs, and certainly not good-smelling dogs. It's not their fault--I'm pretty sure I'd start to stink too if I didn't shower every day, and I don't have the benefit of carrying dead birds in my mouth or rolling around in raccoon poop. So these two big stinky slobbery dog-beasts knew something was up--I was home, suitcases were laying around, everyone was up early packing the cars--their primitive dog-minds could not quite wrap around the situation, but they knew they must run and jump and slobber with utmost urgency and enthusiasm. Getting them into the car was an ordeal which I cannot even write about. Ever got your ass whooped by a golden retriever? It was funny in Air Bud; in real life it just wounds your pride and your body. Once we had them in the back, they really started freaking out, lunging at my mother in the driver's seat with the apparent intention of killing us all, so I had to go sit bitch and put my arms around them in such a manner that, if they had been two fine ladies, would have caused me to do that lip thing white guys do when they're being studly and say awwwwwwwwwww yeeeaaaaaaa. But they were not two fine ladies, they were two 100lb stinky slobber machines suffering under the delusion that they are lap dogs. Oscar just sat there staring at me, panting hot breath directly into my face and visibly shedding. It was gross. Real gross. Phoebe could not be consoled, I'm afraid, and just started running around in circles. How can a 100lb dog run around in circles in the back seat of a Honda while constrained in my grasp? I don't know. I was there and I have no freaking idea. I only know that it is so. Well, enough about dogs.

The drive down was an adventure. I drove with my dad. God decided to kick me in the nuts and make the rainclouds follow us all the way to NC. Thank God my wiper blades had gone bad. That helped a lot. Also getting pulled over at 68 in a 55 was pretty pleasant. Right at the border of Ohio--almost made it. I don't even know what happened. I'm a pretty safe driver, 2, 3 mph over the speed limit in general, right lane kind of guy--I was going down a hill, oblivious to my speed until I saw the trooper car pass, then looked down--shit. So he turned around, pulled me over, I said "sir" a lot, and--bizarrely--he told me to come sit in his cruiser while he checked out my information. Whaaaat? That's not normal, is it? What'd my car come up stolen or something? So I looked at my dad, and he shrugged, and the cop was already walking away, so what could I do but follow? I kind of did this awkward finger wiggling motion like, front seat or back seat? He laughed at pointed to the front seat, so that was reassuring. He saw my plates, obviously, so he sat there chatting about the upcoming football season while he wrote out all my information. He was quite a friendly fellow, I think he just wanted to talk some football. I had only been pulled over once before, in Indiana, and that guy was a real dick, so score one for Meigs County, OH. My phone rang, and he said I could go ahead and answer it--it turned out to be a text from Lizett saying she hoped my trip was going well so far. By then we were BFF so I showed him the text and he goes--I swear this is true--"...Mother of God." No, it's not true, I just wanted to give you that split second of happiness. He really did burst out laughing though--apparently the irony of receiving that particular message in a police cruiser tickled him too. But not enough to let me off with a warning. 100 bucks! Balls.

Well, I haven't gotten to actual vacationing yet, but this is long. Next time.