Cowboys and Outlaws

Our first clue that the Cowboy Bar and Restaurant was going to be fabulous was that the door handle was a rifle. The place itself was pretty big inside, with a bar, a juke box and some tables up front, some more tables and a pool table in the back. The bartender was probably in his early to mid thirties (though it's hard to tell--people get weathered up here real fast). His name, amazingly, was Rex, and as we interrogated him, we learned that he was originally from Tennessee, but moved up here to be a ranch hand. What exactly was Rex's job as a ranch hand, you ask? Well, Lizzie asked, and she kept asking, and eventually our dear Rex blurted out that he inseminated the cows. Lizzie required a more indepth description of his duties, and apparently there isn't much romance, but a series of vaccines to bring the animal into heat, and then some turkey baster action. Rex administers the shots, and it's up to the ranch owner to do what Rex called the "Tail end of the job". I'll say. Anyway, Rex turned thirteen shades of red while telling us all this, but it didn't keep him from making our drinks strong. Then again, maybe he made them strong to shut us up, as if that would work (note, I asked for a whiskey sour, and he was confused and said 'we have margarita mix', so I just mixed it with tonic water instead. Yeowza).

As we continued to converse, Rex alluded to some fugitive action that had gone down recently (apparently the Cowboy bar and grill was also where Butch Cassidy was arrested years ago for horse theft), and Craig Johnson had also mentioned it, so we asked for the details. My Dad is going to love this. So apparently one of the three fugitives (referred to as the newish Bonnie and Clyde) after stabbing a man 51 times ("Fifty-one times," said Rex, "That' s so...so much rage...it's so..." "Personal?" I add) escaped to Meeteeste, and ate in THIS VERY BAR. He was sitting in the seat Lizzie was in, and Rex couldn't get over how lucky they all were, because this guy could've easily killed them all. He had asked Rex not about cow insemination, but rather about how many folks in the bar were carrying fire arms (all) and had tipped well after getting smashed and not eating all of his chili burger. He went to church on Sunday, singing and all, and was arrested the next day outside the Cowboy Bar and Grill. Rex thinks he was tired of running, but was grateful he hadn't decided to shoot him in the back of the head and rob the till. We are too, Rex.

We continued to chat (and drink) and toward the end of the night, after playing some awesome music on the jukebox (my favorite being Elvira by the Oakridge Boys), we decided it was time to leave. Our friend Rex took this opportunity to tell us that there had been tons of bears around, and to be careful walking the block home (it was around midnight now). We joked and said "So, if we see a bear we run?" and he said "No! Never run! Try to make yourselves look big!" Not a problem after the myriad of fries I'd eaten that day. We shook hands with Rex (who was still shaken up about the fugitive not shooting him) and took off into the dark. When we got to our motel, I being the more sober of the two of us (for once), got the key ready. I saw a small black furry thing running away (it was about dog-sized) and said "at least it's not a bear" but then, because I shouldn't say things like that, saw a GIANT BLACK FURRY THING coming toward us from the woods. We didn't wait to find out what it was (Elk? Bear? Mountain Man?) and we pushed in and shut the door behind us.

Phew.

Sunday morning we did not, unfortunately, go to church, but rather had breakfast at Lucille's, Lucille, in her time, was enamored of ferrets, because her diner was full of ferret decorations including a taxidermied ferret. Mmm. Made my oatmeal go down so much better. After Lucille's, we hit the road, and after 7 hours of driving through some pretty treacherous weather, we arrived in Salt Lake city. At one point the rain was coming down horizontally--it looked like snow. Our flight leaves early tomorrow morning, and we land in Boston sometime after 8, if everything goes well. See you all soon!

Midnight at the Oasis

Adventures! So Saturday morning we left Bozeman, none too soon because it was oddly pretentious, and the attitude we were getting from some of the residents was giving me the rage. We stopped in Columbus, MT for lunch. Columbus was on fire. Not all of it, but there was a huge wild fire going to town on a parched mountain off the highway. The pine trees looked petrified. (ha ha). Columbus is a teeny tiny town, population of like, fifty, four of whom were in the "steak house" we stopped at. There was a Father and Daughter at one table across from us, and behind them were two men. They all knew each other, and were chatting, and Lizzie and I eavesdropped as we nommed our delicious burgers. When Dad (who was about 75) went to go to the bathroom, we learned from Daughter that she was upset because her Dad had taken up with the local ho, Modine. Apparently Modine was having Dad drive her around, and even drove Dad's truck without a license! Shame on you, Modine! Daughter is trying to get Dad to leave his apartment and move to assisted living to get away from that tramp. God speed, daughter. On another important note, the young man acting as manager of the "steak house" had a giantic belt buckle on that said "Git R Done", which was magical.

We escaped Columbus (and that ho, Modine) and made it to Wyoming. We drove into Cody, which is an adorable little western town named after, of course, Buffalo Bill Cody. Here you could buy a pair of cowboy boots for the low, low price of $3500, try on some chaps, and drink your iced coffee so fast you get a stomach ache. Guess which one of the three Lizzie and I did? After Cody we made our way to Meeteetse, as an author Lizzie fancies (Craig Johnson) was giving a reading.

Meeteetse is another teeny little town, population 350, on the Greybull river. It boasts two motels, the one we stayed at being the above pictured "Oasis" (the other was "Vision Quest". Yikes). Also within its one-block downtown is a couple of restaurants, and an oddly out of place fancy chocolate/coffee shop, called "The Chocolatier", where the reading was.

The Chocolatier is apparently a big deal, and is run by a rather fetching cowboy looking chap, though he seemed a little too into his own big-fish-in-little-pond status. The reading was fun, the author a good story teller, and very charming. We met his wife, who is, oddly, from Connecticut, and who went to Wellesley College. One of the characters in Craig Johnson's books is a woman who swears like a sailor, and that particular trait is based on his wife. Us New Englanders like to cuss.

After the reading, we went to the gas station/convenience store to pick some stuff up, and the clerk asked us if we were staying at one of the ranches. We said no, and she said "Apparently two English girls took a puppy from around the corner" and we were bemused that she thought us English. Then we were like "Who takes a puppy?" Anyway, there wasn't time to dwell, as the Cowboy Bar/Restaurant across the street was calling us. It requires its own post...

This Tree is Petrified

Don't be scared, ancient redwood tree...

Waterfalls and Hot Springs and Bears, Oh My!

Hello dearies! We're in scenic Bozeman, Montana, kicking back with some delicious Bacardi Silver Raz procured from the local CVS. That's right, friends, out here in the Wild Wild West, one can buy booze at the CVS.

We started the day in less delicious circumstances. We had stayed in Yellowstone Park at the Pioneer Cabin (hmm) and for some reason the heater wasn't working, and I froze my metaphorical balls off. It was probably 45 degrees out overnight, and the tile floor was so cold I couldn't walk on it in bare feet. Lizzie and I threw our things together as quickly as possible, sadly motivated more by the desire to escape the cold than by our can-do attitude. We had breakfast at the lodge, and then made our way up towards the north end of Yellowstone. Everything was so beautiful it was sort of ridiculous. More stunning canyons, unbelievable vistas, pristine lakes, as if nature was going to the prom all the time or something. We stopped at Tower Falls, which was gorgeous. Unfortunately we couldn't hike to the bottom, because of some flood damage, but what

we were able to see was killer. After Tower falls we hit the Calcite springs, which were super cool as well. Our last stop in Yellowstone was Mammoth Hot springs, which is at the north entrance. It's another geothermic formation, with all sorts of cool looking terraces carved out by the steaming water. Despite my stupid cold, I managed to climb up to the tippity top (mouth-breathing for part of it, but hopefully no one noticed) and sadly for me, the view at the bottom was more interesting than the view at the top, and there was a parking lot at the top terrace, which is cheating if you ask me. After the springs, we were ready to head up to Montana, but I went the wrong way and we drove west for 20 miles instead of North for 5. On the upside, on our little detour we got to see this pretty cool bear. Rarr.

We did eventually make it to Montana, and Bozeman is adorable. It thinks it's quite a bit hipper than it really is, with its coffee shops with free wifi, but hey, any city where you can buy toilet paper and alcohol in the same store is pretty urbane.

Did someone ask for pictures of dioramas?

$6.66 and bargains with the devil

So here’s something unsettling for someone who is vaguely superstitious. Twice on this trip, I have bought some items at a store, and my total has come up to $6.66. First it was band-aids and beverages at a Rite-Aid in Utah, and today it was more beverages (it’s dry here) at the Old Faithful cafeteria. Does this mean that the super volcano is in fact getting ready to take us out? Is it my magic elbow (see New Orleans trip) up to no good? In any case, Lizzie and I were driving to our in-park lodgings, and I said “we’d better see some animals” in a (what I thought was humorous) threatening manner, and as I uttered the words, there was a train of cars pulled over on one side of the road (Elk) and then about ten feet further down the road (moose) and then about another fifty feet down the road on the other side. I said, again being klassy, “If that is a bison I will shit” and guess what? Bison. Luckily I didn’t say “I will shit now”, and I had some time to fulfill my bargain with the universe. One shouldn’t make promises one isn’t ready to keep. Anyway the bison was adorable, and we took some pictures of/with it, fearing that we’d be gored at any minute. I actually said “They’re so scary!” and this dude laughed at me and said “Did you say they were scary?”, all patronizing and shit. Yes, jackass, any animal which could gore you is scary. I feel a little bad because he’s probably going to get killed by a buffalo now, but that’s what he gets for being arrogant in front of the magic elbow. Related, Lizzie and I promised all sorts of exciting bathroom compromises if we get to see wolves and bears, so we’ll keep you posted. We did see some more Bison on our journey to our cabin, one which small children were playing near/around (gore city), two which were sauntering down the side of the road (the first of which had a NASTY head cold, much like myself. There was some epic snot drippage. I hate nature) and one in a pretty yellow meadow. Also, she says, sort of guiltily, we saw one from the restaurant we were eating in (it was walking around in the parking lot near the loading dock) as we enjoyed our Bison Asada. So tasty. Hope we didn’t eat the snotting buffalo. Also, Lizzie and I were discussing why some animals ventured closer to the traffic, and I decided that the park hires animal actors to engage the tourists. When Lizzie asked me what they paid in, I said Buffalo Nickles. I’ll be here all week, folks!! Or at least until tomorrow.

The Earth has Gas

Old Faithful, obviously excited by our arrival, blew just as we were walking from the parking lot to the viewing area, so we missed the big show, and would have to wait at least 90 minutes for the next eruption. We walked around the geyser basin, and saw all kinds of crazy stuff. There were mud pots, burbling geysers of all shapes and sizes, emerald blue pools filled with scalding water, and small, cavernous holes in the ground which I referred to as “Earth Vaginas”, just to gross out the passersby. I am klassi (speaking of—we get very few radio stations up here, but my favorite by far is KLSCE, Klassy radio, which is all soft rock and love songs, just like Delilah back home. Stay Klassy, Wyoming!) Many of the smaller geysers have names, such as the lion trio (which apparently give a low roaring sound when they’re about to blow), beehive geyser (looks like a beehive) Ear geyser (shaped like an ear) and Infant geyser (where you throw in your infants). There were signs everywhere telling you not to toss stuff into the geysers, and underneath those signs were signs saying not to bring your pets to the SUPER GEOTHERMIC CALDERA (YAY! SUPER VOLCANO!) and Lizzie and I conflated the two signs and for a minute thought it said not to throw your pets in the geysers, which was disturbing for a minute. We thought we were going to see Poodle Geyser (where you throw in your poodles). Infant geyser is real, by the way. I made up the infant tossing part (I hope) but that is the actual name of a geyser. Some of the geysers were nameless, and I wish I could supply the names, because then we’d have “Smells like a fart geyser” “Sorry I just ate Mexican geyser” and “Diaper Change Needed geyser”. The smell was pretty atrocious in some places, and we also learned that, should the smell of the boiling geyser not be a deterrent to sticking your face in it, you can also get meningitis and/or legionnaires disease from the bacteria-laden steam.

We went back to the Old Faithful viewing area about 20 minutes before it was about to blow, and we sat next to this cute brother/sister pair, who were probably in their early 20s. The brother asked to borrow a coat from his parents (when the sun went behind the clouds it was chilly) on the condition that the coat not obscure the awesomeness of his howling wolf t-shirt, and the sister pointed out this terrifying digger-wasp which was, well, digging through the soil off of the viewing platform, probably looking for some innocent bug so it could lay eggs in his head. Unfortunately, our amusement at our neighbors was short lived, because this god-awful couple from Idaho descended upon us, Grandchildren in tow, and Grandma managed to sustain the most inane, yappy conversation for the entirety of the time we were waiting for the geyser. And guess what? Old Faithful was not as faithful as it could’ve been. The grandkids were whining the whole time that they were bored, and wanted to go, and Grandma was yapping over them about how she wished she could predict the geyser’s explosion, because boy wouldn’t that be easier for all of them, but Old Faithful was probably tired, and not ready to erupt, but when it did, boy, wouldn’t you know it because there’d be steam and water, and it’d go really really high. No, really high, but boy, I think Old Faithful is tired and SHUT UP!! ONLY ONE GEYSER CAN ERUPT AT A TIME, AND OLD FAITHFUL WILL NOT ERUPT UNTIL YOU STOP YAMMERING!

Finally, thank god, Old Faithful did its thing, and it was super cool. I read in this Bill Bryson book that eventually Yellowstone, which is a super volcano, could blow up and take out most of the western hemisphere, but should that happen, I’m taking some solace in the fact that it will finally put an end to that woman’s incessant yammering once and for all. I just hope I go in the first explosion, because I am not much a fan of volcanic winter. Too cold, and not enough sun.

Grand Tetons are Grand

Wyoming! We left Jackson in the morning, heading up to Yellowstone. Turns out to get to Yellowstone from the south, you first need to pass through the Grand Teton National Park. The mountains popped up seemingly out of nowhere (or out of complex geological maneuverings over eons) and Lizzie and I were pleasantly surprised to have such fabulous scenery on our way to more fabulous scenery. We stopped to take some pictures, and as soon as we pulled in, a huge bus full of tourists descended upon us, which was irksome. We took off in our Maudelet (confession: We’ve been driving poor little Maudelet in third gear up until today. Her rpms were off the chain, and we just thought it was the way of the Yaris, but it turns out it’s the way of the Yaris only if the drivers can’t figure out the gear shift in a timely fashion) and found a better vista with fewer people, and it was lovely. About 70 or so miles after leaving Jackson, we made it to Yellowstone, and it’s just as stunning as everyone told me it would be. Our first stop was Lewis lake, which was shimmery and blue and surrounded by these awesome coniferous trees which were bare all the way up to their tip tops, where finally they had a toupee of pine needles. Turns out there are quite a few of these forests of bare-trunked trees, and they’re really quite interesting. Lots of trees had been knocked down, too, whether by the wind or some other force I don’t know (Lizzie and I want to kidnap a ranger and stick him in our backseat so he can answer all our numerous questions). Anyway there were some killer deep canyons, cold-looking rivers, and also an amazing waterfall, which we found just as it started to rain. Boo, rain. I got in a few pictures, but the rain was freeeeezing so we had to flee back to Maudelet, who gets much better gas mileage when in regular drive, rather than third gear, in case you were wondering. After the waterfall, we went to Grant Village for snackage, and the cashier gave me three forks with my veggie burger. I used zero forks, but it was good to know that I had options. After lunch (which was at 2) we walked over to the lake, where suddenly we realized the air was thinner than we’re used to. Breathing was not as easy as it could’ve been, and it’s not just because I’m still sick, which is annoying as all hell. I have a box of Nana tissues in the back seat of the car, and have probably taken out the equivalent of at least one of those crazy-tall pine trees. Sniff. After lunch, we decided to go to Old Faithful, because geysers are awesome.

You have died of Cholera

Post-Blackfoot, we headed south east to Soda Springs, ID. Show of hands--who spent many a happy hour playing the Oregon trail in elementary school? As many of you know, the Oregon trail game was designed to give young people an opportunity to name members of their party after people they hated so that they could kill them along the strenuous trip west. If you don't know who my sign is referring to, I seriously can't believe I haven't told you yet, and next time you see me, ask and I'll clue you in. In any case, we eventually found the Soda Springs geyeser, which turns out is man made, and goes off every hour. It smells of rotten eggs, and I am evil and hoped that the pigeons sitting on the rock would get owned when the geyeser erupted, but they're smarter than that. Sigh. Well, it was fun driving the "Pioneer History Byway", and we even got to caulk and float Maudelet over the Snake River. Lizzie wanted to ford it, and we might have been able to make it, but the word caulk is fun, so why fight it? After Soda Springs, we drove through the mountains, the foliage slowly changing from desert scrub brush to lush forest as we made our way to Wyoming, which is where we are right now. We saw some fawns and their Momma, but were glad they decided to stay on the side of the road rather than take on Maudelet, because she would've lost, hard. Also, we passed a series of roads called "China Hat ct, China Hat ln, China Hat st" etc, which was creepy.

A short story about dinner. We ate at this fabulous bistro in Jackson, WY called the Rendezvous, and I wish my friend Bendta could've magically transported to join us, because her talent at describing delicious, delicious food is legendary. Lizzie and I both had soup (she a cold cucumber and avacodo, me a spicy tortilla number) and thai pork lettuce wraps, which wer emade of awesome. We both contemplated licking our plates, but we didn't want to embarass ourselves so we can come back if we pass through here again. We both also had cocktails, me a mango-coconut martini, Lizzie a delightful bellini. Oh, maybe I also had a chocolate espresso martini too. Note: The tables at this bistro are covered in butcher paper the patrons can color on, so Lizzie and I played hangman. Lizzie is a total cheater, and would draw multiple limbs when I would get one letter wrong. I am sorry that I am a hangman rock star, and didn't get executed once, but pretending the little guy on the gallows has genetic disorders that fused his two arms into one doesn't cut it.

Also, this is the first place I've ever been that served frog's legs. They were apparently fried in a buttermilk batter. No thanks.

Potatoes! Potatoes! Potatoes!

Hello dearies! So this morning, we left Utah (after borrowing some wifi from the local McDonalds) and started the trek up to Idaho. We went to Blackfoot, ID, for a tour of the potato museum. The southern part of Idaho looks desperately thirsty, but is still lovely, all greens and yellows with hills eventually rolling into to mountains dotted with scrub brush. Ranch and farmland surrounded the highway, and there were quite a few signs reminding us that we were on an open range, so over the next hill there could be potential hamburger.

We got to Blackfoot around 2:30, and paid our $2.50 (thanks, AAA discount!) to explore the wonders of the Idaho Potato museum. My verdict? Meh. I know, what was I expecting, right? A little more than a display of various Mister Potato Heads and the world's biggest potato chip. Okay, the potato signed by Dan Quayle was pretty cool, but even the gift shop was sort of sad, and I tried really hard to engage the clerk in conversation but she wasn't having it. I really wanted to know what kind of person decides to work at the potato museum, and I guess the answer is an apathetic 20-something who is moving to Orlando in two days. I really wish there'd been more potato fun facts, but I did learn that potatoes originated in South America. I'd assumed they'd fallen like manna from heaven. Shows what I know. Not to be thwarted by our potato museum experience, however, Lizzie and I went to a nearby diner and had some pretty fabulous potato salad. We also went to another really depressing museum which showcased a diorama of the Lewis and Clark expedition. Man, I love dioramas.

The Mysteries of Egypt

I feel the need to revisit the inn Lizzie and I stayed in last night. It's apparently for couples, and the inn supplies a little book where you can write messages to future occupants. Most were about doin' it, of course, but this one made me worry about the future of this couple. If you went to the inn for your wedding night, and all you have to say is "good breakfast", then maybe you're doing something wrong, especially since "the breakfast" was a giant scone. Mine and Lizzie's messages were much more entertaining, being completely fabricated. Also, I believe I mentioned that I hit my head on the low ceiling a million times? Well I smashed the crap out of my foot coming out of the toilet-vault this morning, and responded with a string of expletives heretofore unheard of in Utah. This is another reason why I can't understand how people could possibly find this tomb romantic. It is full of dangerous, hurty surfaces which will result in numerous broken bones. But hey, y'know, breakfast.

Heartburn: A photographic essay

We found this purportedly delicious snack, and I knew I had to try it. It tasted like a stale chocolate donut full of sour kahlua wrapped in shame. Barf. I had two bites and heart burn for two hours.

The Great Salt Lake is Great

The folks here are into beehives, and when I first saw the beehive on the road sign, I was like “Is that a pile of crap? Why would someone have a pile of crap as their logo?” Then I realized that I was tired, and needed to get my mind out of the gutter. We drove out to Antelope Island, which is a national park out in the Great Salt Lake, and it was stunning. It was a little hazy, but the way the mountains reflected in the water was a total Bob Ross painting, except for the happy trees. There were happy buffalo, antelope (AND GIANT GIANT SPIDERS) instead. We drove up to buffalo point for a nice vista, and then down to the beach, because I didn’t want to go all the way to the Great Salt lake and not touch it. I like touching stuff. It was one helluva trek from the parking lot to the beach, and the texture of the sand changed from calf-deep quick sand to crusty, salty crust to rocky tetnus bombs. We persevered, though, because we are stubborn and enjoy the occasional death march, and when we finally made it to the salt flat before the beach WE WERE ASSAULTED BY LEGIONS OF NASTY NASTY FLIES! There were tons of (European, oddly—wonder if they know about the Olive Garden?) people swimming in the water, and no one else seemed to take note of the huge clouds of flies which seemed to move as if they shared a single central nervous system, and if we hadn’t just walked 20 minutes over treacherous terrain to get to the damn water, we would’ve run the other way screaming, but instead we braved the bugs (and the smell of rotting…whatever) and stuck our feet in. It was nice. And then we ran away screaming. Anyway, totally touched the Great Salt Lake. All I could think of was how grossed out my sister Danielle would have been. At this point it was near 8pm, 10pm EST, and we decided it would be best to head to our hotel, which is shaped like an Egyptian tomb. It’s apparently an anniversary inn, and if my sweetie took me here, I would seriously reconsider the relationship. The walls are all super hard, and I’ve hit my head on the low ceiling about a million times. Also, the toilet is in a tomb. Apparently taking care of biological imperatives is not romantic. Also, part 2, snake for a shower. So archetypal. As I’ve said, if I wake up and my guts are in canopic jars, I’m going to be super pissed.
Well dears, it is seriously past my bed time. Idaho tomorrow! (Well, today now).

Temple Square

We were starving by the time we got to Temple square (which is a huge block of Salt Lake City devoted to all things LDS), so we parked Maudelet, our Toyota Yaris, and walked to the nearest foodage, which was the Olive Garden. You know what was weird about this Olive Garden? It was staffed by and full of Italian people. Do they know it’s a chain? Is this the most authentic Italian you get in Utah? So many questions.

After foodage, we wandered down to the temple/Latter Day Saints visiting area.

So I feel like a bad person saying this, but it was so creepy. The architecture was beautiful, and the history is interesting, but the Saints were all dressed alike, women with blonde hair in mid-calf length skirts and blouses, the men in black slacks and white button-down shirts. They wore name tags, and like all the other Mormons I’ve met were very nice, but then we went into their bookstore, and they were shilling Glen Beck, and I remember how they used massive funding to fund prop 8 in California, and I can’t help but get bad feelings for a religion which aggressively maneuvers for political power and the degradation of basic human rights.  I think faith is an amazing thing, and the sacrifices the early Mormon pioneers made to found their religion could be admirable, but how about not persecuting, ye who have been persecuted.
My soap box. I has one.

Gilgal Garden

I read about this on the internets, and we totally had to go. The place was littered with sculptures, and also an eclectic group of proverbs, quotes and bad poetry (oh noetry!) engraved on stone slabs. There were lots from the bible, the book of Mormon, and oddly the Declaration of Independence and probably someone’s Mom or something. More body parts sculptures, please! Kissies for Joseph Smith!

The Witching Hour

This is something available for purchase from Sky Mall. Did no one tell them their logo looks like sperm? Seriously? Someone needs a new design firm.

Greetings from Salt Lake City!
So right now it’s about 9pm Rocky Mountain time, which is 11pm Eastern Standard Time, and this lady has been up since 3am, Eastern Standard time. The wireless at the place we’re staying is down, so we’ll be publishing this Wednesday morning, but now is the best time to collect my thoughts, before I forget important details, like the creepy strip club we saw that serves free pizza until 7pm. Mmmm! I’ll take half pepperoni, half onion, and all nekkid ladies all the time!

As aforementioned, it’s been a long day. Our flight was at 6:25am (what idiot would book a flight for that ridiculous hour in the morning? Oh, wait, I did that) so I got up at 3, as the car taking us to the airport was picking me up at 4. Sure enough, Harold and his Lincoln town car were waiting for me when I dragged my sorry ass and my awesome suitcase down my windy stairs into the pitch blackness of a Massachusetts OH GOD WHY IS ANYONE AWAKE NOW morning. Ahem. Anyway, we left to pick up Lizzie, and I’ve had a nasty cold for the past few weeks (and if you haven’t flown while congested I definitely recommend it. It felt like someone had replaced my brain with a body builder crushing a squeaky toy. I couldn’t hear for three hours after landing) so I spent the beginning part of the ride trying not to frighten Harold with my hacking cough, and the middle part employing my spectacular female socialization by not embarrassing him by pointing out that he missed his turn about a million times. We got Lizzie by 4:30, and then went to Logan, flew first to Phoenix, and then to Salt Lake City. On the way to Phoenix, the woman sitting next to me was so quiet that I was worried that she was dead, and then I’d be a news story like “Woman sits next to dead passenger and doesn’t even notice!” so I stared at her pretty intently for a few minutes until she felt creeped out enough to wake up and look back at me. Anyway I’m sort of a hero.I have quite a few pictures already, so I’m going to break down our day into several posts so it’s more manageable. Onward to the Gilgal Garden!

Why I will Win the Bear Dance-off

Because I learned my moves from my Grandpa.
Prepare to be told, Bear.

Spooky Tree's Travel Advice

Spooky tree says doooonn't forgettt your usb cable this time...OooOoh! Also snaccccks!

Thanks Spooky Tree! If you want to visit the wise and all-knowing spooky tree, you should go to Moose Hill sanctuary in Sharon. If you want to get lost while there and trip a lot, you should go with me and my sister. Well, friends, Lizzie and I will be heading out bright and early tomorrow for our adventures. We're going to be hitting Utah, Idaho (no, U da ho), Wyoming and hopefully a wee bit of Montana. I, personally, am excited about the potato museum, and also seeing those dancing bears my father used to talk about all the time when my sisters and I would complain about being bored as kids. I assume they live in Yellowstone. I am totally challenging one to a dance off, with the caveat that there is to be no skull-gnawing while the dancing is taking place. Ground rules are important.

You're leaving tomooooorrow at 4am anddddd you still haven't paccckkeed. What's wroonngg with you? Whatttt if you're outttt of somethinnnnggg you'll neeeed to picckkk up at the stoooreee before you goooooo?

Thanks for the lecture, spooky tree, but they have stores in Utah.

Faaaaammouusss lasssst wooorrrddddsss!

It's not like I haven't made a list or anything--I even cleaned my bathroom so if I lose the dance off (I assume the winner gets to kill the loser) my family and friends won't know how long it'd been since I scrubbed my tub...

Isssss itttt goingg to killll you tooooo be preparrrrrred aheaaaad of timeee for onceeeee? Brrrinnggg sun bloocccck....it's 95 degreeesss in Salllt Laaaake. Also bring a sweatshirt. It's 65 degreeeesss in Wyoooming and nooooo onee wants to hearrrr you complaaaain!

Good advice as always, spooky tree. See you in Utah!!

Brrrrinnggg meeee the heeeaddd of Russssh Limbaugh! I shall feast upon his evil and become more powwweerrfulll than ever!!!!

That's rather incongruous. How about a post-card from Idaho instead?

That'd be okay toooooooo.

Battle of the Bands: Important Poll Info

As with any voting situation, it is important to be fully educated about the candidates up for selection. To help you in your decision-making process, I've found the following from the internets. Voting is open until 8/20!

Creed (and friends)


Nickelback



Spindoctors (this video plays at my gym all the time. P.S. Two Princess? Sweet Typo)

Destination 2010 Has Been Selected

Guess where we are going this year!
Hint: This potato will not be smiling when we are done with it and all of its delicious, delicious friends...

Reappropriation and Nerve Gas

So everyone here is on Island time, which is fine with me, because I am always on Island time. We woke up late, and by we, I mean me, because Lizzie was working hard for most of the day. Once I was alert enough to eat (grogginess is a choking hazard) we went down to the breakfast, which was SO EXPENSIVE. HOLY CRAP. It was a "buffet". There was really no reason for me to put that in scare quotes, but for some reason it seems necessary. The "full" breakfast was $23, and the continental was $15. I got the continental, because all I really wanted was some oatmeal. Mmm. $15 oatmeal. However, being the clever ladies we are, we used the buffet stylings to appropriate some food for later consumption. I grabbed four mini boxes of cereal (two granola, one mini wheats, one kashi) and two bowls, and took the cereal out of the boxes, and then Lizzie put the plastic wrapped beauties into her purse. I then poured some sugar crumbs into our bowls so it looked like we had consumed our fibrous goodness with sugar on top (WE ARE AMERICAN! RAR) and we took off with our contraband. I am totally ready to mastermind a heist. For reals.

After breakfast we hung out by one of the three pools, and I read my book about phosphorous while Lizzie did some editing. Then there was a change of venue to the beach, and then to another pool, and then I went swimming. In another pool. There are a lot to keep track of. After swimming was a pina coloda on the beach, and more reading, and more editing, and then dinner, where I had some kick ass seafood risotto. Holy crap, that was so good it was almost worth the kidney I had to sell to afford it. Twas washed down with a glass of inferior Savignon Blanc, but hey, what does one expect for a lousy $8.50? Haha. Anyway there's a band playing at the telegraph bar tonight, which is in our hotel, and my problem with the telegraph bar, in case you were wondering, is that it has a picture of a telephone as their logo. That is misleading, telegraph bar. We are going to see the band, and hope that our Canadian friends are not there. There seems to have been an influx of Colts fans over the past 12 hours. Who on earth can route for the Colts against the Saints? Seriously?

Also, with regards to my book about phosphorous--AWESOME. I AM IN NERD-VANA! (Which is the highest level of ascension any nerd can acheive). I am learning all sorts of awesome stuff, like for instance that this particular British scientist/author refers to flatulence as "Human Wind". Neat. It was of note in the book because phosphorous in the gut ignited by, er, the methane in Human Wind (needs capitalization) is one of the theories suggested as the cause of spontaneous human combustion. Let's test this! Any volunteers? They could find plenty, turns out, for the phosphorous nerve gas experiments. You know that guy was lied to.

Scientist: We're conducting an experiment
Dude: On what?
Scientist: This new formula which will make mumbles under breath and points to dude's junk just get absolutely measures a foot distance between his two hands you know...
Dude: I'm in

And now the dude is dead, and we find out that nerve gas will kill you. End scene.

Winter Blahamas!

WOOOOOoooOooOoooo!! Greetings from Nassau. So this year, instead of giving each other the usual kitty-cat Christmas sweaters, Lizzie and I decided to save our time and money for a mid-winter trip somewhere warm. We decided on February, the most depressing month of all, weather-wise, in Boston, to head out to the Bahamas. We of course have an airplane story, but first, a brief comparison of circumstances now at 3:42pm EST, versus 5:30am EST, when I hauled my pasty arse out of my apartment to go pick Lizzie up.

5:30am: Ambient Temperature--20 degrees F. Ground covering--snow Layers of Clothing: 4
3:42 pm: Ambient Temperature--80 degrees F. Ground covering--trees and stuff Layers of Clothing: 1 1/2.

I am currently shoeless (FREEDOM FOR FEET) sitting by our balcony which looks over construction, uh, and the beach depending on how you lean, thinking about how I'm not going to have to whine about how cold it is for three and a half whole days! Think of the energy I'll save in bitching alone, which can be used for much more constructive things, like sighing contentedly.

So that picture, above, is one I took of Lizzie speeding away in our speedboat, which we will later use as an escape vehicle for our international diamond heist, or, alternately, I didn't pack my camera cable and I stole that picture from the internet. God bless the internet.

Pool time!