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Puttin' the FUN in dys-FUN-ctional!! It's the holidays! Time for Ding Fries Are Done! |
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So we decided to drive up to Somewhere, Tennessee for a romantic weekend alone. Rather than take the interstate, we decided it would be fun to take the top off the Jeep and take the 2-lane Highway 41 straight up into Franklin and go from there. Which was our first mistake. Or, rather, MY first mistake. See, many, many years ago I had taken a road trip and ended up in the absolutely gorgeous Franklin, TN. But when I consulted El Mappo, I got Franklin and Franklin County mixed up. I just saw the first Franklin and pointed us that-a-way. Also working against us is the fact that 41 just disappears at some point...without any warning, without a memo or a sign or a thump on the head. Just one minute you're driving up 41 on a pretty, sunny day and the next minute you're being made fun of by your husband for locking the door on a Jeep whose top is off and turning your rings inside toward your palm because you've found yourself on Gangsta Row where people --wearing more 'bling' than I've ever seen-- are openly selling drugs and carrying guns. Where every store and decent house has bars over every possible opening. Where the signs for church and God insist on hyphenating the word Je-sus. George is keeping his calm but is nervous, too, and then a guy walking down the street waves at us. Aw shit. Whaddaya do? Do you wave back? Do you ignore it? Which one WON'T get us shot and killed? George chooses the slight acknowledgement nod and half wave and tries to get us the hell out of there. Instead we end up in the housing projects. Which is a dead end. Of COURSE. So we have to turn around and drive BACK through Tennessee's version of 8 mile road. I continue locking my door and chewing my $50.00 fingernails...wondering if I look as stupidly terrified as I feel. After running several stop signs, getting honked at by the pimp-mobile that nearly hit us as we did so (soooo not a part o' town you wanna get honked at!) and pointedly NOT looking anyone in the eye, we managed to make our way to a less homicidal area and got back on track. Ahhh, the romance.
We bought a few maps (luckily one of them was actually of the part of Tennessee where we needed to be, since Dumbass Gracie picked up the wrong maps...of places hundreds of miles away) and chose a nice, pleasant, vacant mountain road that ran through a national forest with amazing views. This lovely portion of the trip was so relaxing that I had time to ponder my behavior back in Da Hood and I was ashamed. I used to be unbelievably poor and lived in the closest thing to The Projects that Cobb County, Georgia had. My husband at the time dumped me for having the nerve to get pregnant while on birth control, so I was divorced with a baby, on welfare and wildly disappointed in the choices I had made. I worked my ASS off to get out of that situation and to where I am now, and am very proud of how far I've come, but I also realized that, along with my success, I also gained some not-so-proper superiority. Gotta work on that.
No sooner had I completed my Self Work than George stopped the car to check a few of the snaps on the side of the Jeep --something was flapping against the metal-- and picked a flower for me. So sweet. And it was one of my favorite flowers from childhood...Queen Anne's Lace. When I was a kid growing up in Connecticut we used to take Queen Anne's Lace and put it in a glass half-full with water and would insert a few drops of food coloring into the water and, a day or so later, we'd have uniquely colored flowers. Ahhhh, the days before hi-tech phenomena like Pong and cable television.
This picture was taken atop The Rock O' Terror that we saw along one of these mountain roads. It looked harmless and fun and had an amazing view. You climb up about 15 steps that were carved out of this rock and there's about a 10' radius to stand on up there to enjoy the view. When you make the fatal error of looking down, as you must, you see that on the other side of this harmless-seeming rock...the one where on THIS side there's only about 20 feet to your parked car, on the OTHER side of that is a drop-off of about 100-200 feet. This is when George --who is afraid of NOTHING-- got a wee bit nauseous and Gracie (who possesses a stunning lack of depth-perception) suddenly realized that she was going to have to climb back DOWN the steps...and that she was wearing the flip-flops that had ZERO tread to grab onto the pebble-strewn rock. The only way I could do it...could make my way back down rather than making my life atop that rock...was to sit on my butt and scoot. Which is right around the time that someone opened a GATE somewhere and aaaaalll the tourists in the land chose to either drive by that spot, or to actually stop and climb said rock that Gracie was currently embedding into her ass.
And they laughed at me. Yep. Can't blame 'em...I looked like an ass...ON her ass. So what? 'Least I climbed it!
As we got back onto the road, we noticed that we were both getting a bit pink from the sun, so we pulled off at the next road to put sunscreen on ourselves. Of COURSE it was someone's driveway, of COURSE they chose THAT moment to decide to go out for the day, and of COURSE we were completely blocking their exit.
Aaaand of COURSE it was too late by the time we put the sunscreen on. We were already scorched...just didn't realize it then.
On this same road -- the one with the Queen Anne's Lace and the Rock O' Terror, the one with the cliffs and shocking lack of guard-rails -- were signs for a church, but not just any church, nope. It was called 'Jump-Off Baptist Church', perched precariously at the top of a cliff. Nice, eh? George's comment: "Guess that's what ya call a leap o' faith, huh?" As we progressed through the area, we saw many other churches and, finally, saw the marquee for Jump To Your Death For Jesus' church. It said "May God B _ S _ you more!" The letters missing from the sign made me happy. It also made the sign for 'Cliffside Realty' seem less ridiculous by comparison.
I'm sure we ALL know that, since we were driving through country towns, Gracie was unable to resist the urge to call out "Moo-Cows!" each time we passed a farm. She was also unable to comprehend the need of so many residents of these towns to place their belongings on their front lawns and offer to give these belongings to people in exchange for coins. These yard sales were everywhere. Sometimes not even in yards, but in parking lots and, in a few instances, on the shoulder of the road. It was surreal.
One building we passed was called 'Thrift Store & Ministry'. Another advertised 'Cold Beer Lottery' with no punctuation within those words, leading me to assume that they only had a limited supply of beer, COLD beer, and only a select few were lucky enough to get it by winning their contest. (Note to those tempted to email me with the rational explanataion: I know. I do. I just think it's funnier to take things at face value and run with 'em.)
My favorite was a store that was originally intended to sell scooters, but had gi-normous underwear hanging in the windows. I wasn't quite sure that I saw what I thought I saw and made George turn the car around so I could ensure that I was no crazier than we had already determined me to be. Yay! Not only was I not crazy, but we went inside and there was an entire section of the Scooter Store dedicated to Horrifically Huge Panties. And because I knew that my readers would want proof of the crazy things I saw on our adventure, I took pictures and even bought a pair of the panties. So HERE YA GO..HAVE A LOOK! (don't worry...I'm not wearin' 'em.)
Two other items I saw along the way that made me giggle:
George asked me if I had any preference as to where we would stay for the night. Did I mention that we chose not to plan the trip more than what general direction we would head toward? We were going for spontaneity. We knew we wanted to visit the Monteagle Winery...we knew we wanted to drive on mountain roads with the Jeep top off...we knew we wanted to pass through Franklin, TN. That was it. No reservations or schedule, and that sounded like heaven to me. So when he asked me where I wanted to stay that night, my only request was "anywhere, sweetie, so long as they have air conditioning. I have a feeling we're going to be a bit uncomfortable tonight with all the sun we've gotten today."
So after we took a tour of the Jack Daniels Distillery in Lynchburg (which, by the way, happens to be a 'dry' town...how cruel is THAT??) we chose a motel across the street from the Monteagle Winery that we planned to visit the next day. As I stepped out of the Jeep to check into the motel, I noticed a beautiful sunset occurring just over the roof of the winery and snapped a few pictures.
We had dinner in the Smokehouse restaurant adjacent to the motel and, as we were paying our bill, we asked the cashier about the winery hours, as there was an out-of-place-looking 'Closed' notice on the winery's sign. She casually tossed out the following explanation: "Oh, no they're closed fer GOOD. The owner's wife had him shot and she's in prison now. They won't be openin' any time soon, sugar." Whuh? We giggled and thought about how morbid a joke that was, but she didn't join our laughter. She was serious. We were surprised, to say the least, but were even MORE shocked to learn that the defendant was in her SEVENTIES. Here are two stories about the murder:
1) http://www.chattanoogan.com/articles/article_30092.asp
2) http://www.americanangst.com/apstory_monteaglemurder.html
Well, then. That took care of the winery tour we had planned. So, since we were both sunburned, (though George had it much worse than I did, as he shaves his head and refused to put sunscreen on that pate of his earlier in the day, as his wife so sweetly suggested,) we decided the best course of action was to just go back to the room, get undressed, touch nothing (including each other) other than to put aloe lotion on our burns, and watch television in our blissfully cool room. Yeah, we're romantics to the core. Soon after performing most of these actions, it became clear that Gracie's only desire...the one she stupidly spoke aloud (forcing the universe to mock her)...the one where she wished only for cool air...was not to be. The air conditioner blew muggy, damp, moldy air into the room. It was gross to say the least. Now I am one of those people who just cannot sleep without some sort of clothing on and, further, without some sort of blanket pulled tight up to my chin. Just can't. I don't feel safe without both these requirements being met. Especially in a motel. I just don't trust those flimsy locks on those flimsy doors. And hey! What if there's a FIRE? What if there's a robbery or murder or some other reason that we would be required to jump out of bed and straight out into Public?? There may not be TIME to find your clothes and make yourself presentable! And who wants to see naked Gracie with dried drool on her chin and bedhead and 35-year-old boobs bouncing about running out of her room all confused and disoriented?? Nobody, that's who. So you have to know how hard it was for me to realize that the only way I would be able to sleep without pain was to remove ALL clothing and forego the blanket as it was heavy and scratchy. Sigh.
I am happy to report that no fires were set, no robberies occurred, and I did not sleepwalk out onto the sidewalk and offend anyone's senses by being naked in their presence. I didn't sleep much, due to the crappy bed (that was so NOT worth the $80 pricetag charged by the Best Western) and the utter lack of anything resembling cool air coming from the air conditioning unit...but I didn't lay awake all night, which = a good thing.
The next day, Sunday, we were driving around Tennessee trying to think of something to do since we weren't quite ready to go home yet. George had always seen the 'See Rock City and Ruby Falls' signs along the highway, but had never been. I had been once before, but apparently forgot how awful the tour and narrow pathways were, because I gleefully suggested we go. Neither of us was comforted by the road sign - printed by the local government - on the winding road leading up to the attraction that said "Bus-es Go Slow". With a dash. In the word 'buses'. Still, we entered the lot, parked the Jeep, got out and immediately overheard the conversation of the people parked next to us, who were leaving. They were obviously relatives who made this their last stop before parting ways. The child in the group, who was about 4 or 5 years old, hugged a female, and said "Byyyyye Auntie! See ya NEXT time I have a loose tooth!!"
which I couldn't help but laugh at. So cute. As we continued making our way across the parking lot toward the building, we chose to only pay minor notice to the family having a cook-out in the parking lot...out of the back of their minivan. They had a hibachi grill in use...INSIDE the van. I don't know.
The Ruby Falls tour takes you deep into the earth and down very long and VERY narrow passageways littered with hanging rock formations (almost ALL of which looked vaguely sexual to the immature Gracie.) The journey begins with an 1100-foot elevator ride down to the caverns. The elevator smells like pee and they pack about 20 people into it at a time. It's hot. It smells. It was a sign of Things to Come. I was in a pretty good mood once we exited the elevator, which meant that everyone was funny to me...the annoying kid ('bout 10 years old) who felt that he --on his first visit-- knew more than the tour guides and, more importantly, his sister (who was close in age to him) and kept shouting out little tid-bits of information he felt was vital to the tour experience. Things like how the little pond (lit with a modern-day blue light, hidden by a few rocks) was actually magic blue light thrown off by expensive jewels...and on and on and on he went. It was all funny and I couldn't stop smiling, laughing, and cracking jokes. Which should have been a clue that things would soon go Horribly Wrong.
It started when I realized that the cave floor was wet and slippery and I was laughing my ass off at something or other and was worried I would fall, so I tried to hurry up and get closer to George so I could hold his hand which would allow me to be a little more steady. Instead I walked too fast and kicked his heel. And he was wearing sandals. I felt just awful, so I grabbed onto his left arm to be loving and apologize. It was only after I had latched onto his arm that I recalled how very, very sunburned that arm was. He confirmed my memory with a yelp of pain. I apologized profusely and became irritated at myself for once again being a doofus and doing something that hurt George...a regular habit of mine.
As mentioned above, the cave is very narrow; as in only slightly more than one-person-wide. This wouldn't be too big of a deal if they didn't insist on running several tours at once. So when you are making your way through the cave walkways toward the Big Finish (the waterfall), there are several other tour groups making their way back out of the cave and toward the Pee Elevator and civilization. Because the cave is not a big loop, but rather one long walk to the falls --a dead-end-- it becomes clear that there is no other way out than the way you came. Which means that, at several points in your expedition, you and your fellow tour-mates will be required to press your body against the cold, wet, jagged cave walls --in ways your body was never intended to bend-- to allow the other tour groups to pass you by. It wasn't the slightest bit pleasant, especially in the portions of the cave where there was no lighting (which, oddly enough, tended to coincide with the sharpest points of rock) but I was still having a good time. I made jokes and comments to the exiting tour groups and to my own tour-mates. I thought I was being hilarious...most others probably did not share my view. Didn't care. With all the work stress lately, it's so very rare that I'm in a good mood and laughing, so I was savoring it.
After about the fourth or fifth exiting tour group passed us and my feet had been unceremoniously stomped on and my boobs rudely smashed into, I promised myself that, when it was OUR turn to be the Exiting Tour Group, *I* would be more polite. I would do my best not to touch anyone we were passing, I would watch where I was going, and --most importantly-- I would move quickly so that the people shoving themselves into the rock formations for us wouldn't have to feel the same back spasms we felt due to the lazy, lackadaisical walking style of the assheads before us.
See...that was a mistake. One I will never, EVER make again. Screw them all from now on. Why? WHY would Ms. Etiquette Police Captain Gracie decide that being polite isn't the best course of action? Perhaps it's because after we saw the less-than-stellar waterfall and then became the Leavers of the Cave, I recalled the discomfort felt earlier in the tour and stuck to my Self Agreement and walked quickly and without touching anyone. I was ducking down, also, because the caves are narrow and I didn't want to smash into anyone's head. I was holding George's hand and I was giggling and still making jokes and funny comments to the groups we passed and I started mentally writing this entry; specifically the part where I grabbed George's sunburned arm and he yelped in pain. I decided that 'yelped in pain', while a good, descriptive phrase, was still less funny than 'squealed in pain'. And the thought of a grown man such as my George 'squealing' in pain just made me lose my shit laughing. I can't explain why. It just did. So I'm ducking, walking fast, have NO idea where we are or what's around because it's pitch black at this part...absolutely no light, and I'm still laughing like a hyena and then....
I never took cartoons seriously until right then. But when you hit your head THAT hard on a jagged rock? Ya really do see stars. I was not proud of the fact that, in the presence of strangers and children, the first thing that escaped my mouth after smashing my head into the cave-knife, was "God DAMN!" and I was even less pleased with the second sentence, uttered immediately following the first: "Fuckin' OW-SHIT!"
George said later that he knew we were in trouble when he heard the THWOK! sound and then my cursing. He pulled me along to an area with lights to examine my wound. I was pissed off when he declared that I wasn't oozing blood and dying. How could something hit you THAT hard and hurt THAT much and NOT kill you and/or drench you with gallons of blood?? So I tried not to cry (not very successfully, I gotta tell ya) and kept rubbing the spot where I hit my head, wrongly assuming that it would make it feel better, and found that I was no longer in the mood to laugh. I was also not pleased that the tour guide nor other employees felt the need to check on me and my wound or to even ask if I was okay, and mentally tabulated the money I would receive from my lawsuit against them all.
The wait for the elevator that would bring us out of that hellish cave took what seemed like an hour (but was only about 10-15 minutes), the wait made longer by the few tour-mates who noticed that I hit my head (several of whom whisper-yelled "OOO! OW!" when I smacked into the rock...the others apparently thinking that I was just a dork who gets her kicks cursing in the presence of children) asking if I was okay...totally embarrassing me (and confirming to myself that a lawsuit would SO not be in the works, because I would be required to explain my own actions and idiocy and lack of grace.)
Side note: George tried his best not to laugh at me when we were driving around town recently and saw a billboard for Ruby Falls and I instinctively flung my hand out the window and gave it the finger.
As we left the building and I had a chance to sit down for a few minutes to keep from passing out, we finally made our way to the Jeep to get the hell outta there. I was very busy mentally cursing and swearing off any and all future tourist attractions when the universe decided to apologize to me for it's cruel joke by presenting us with a most hilarious vision:
At first I was grasping for straws and needed something to take my mind off the blinding pain of my head wound and focused on an indian woman wearing a Sari that was just beautiful (and utterly ruined by the dingy tennis shoes and BLACK men's socks she was wearing with it.) I was thinking to myself about aaaall the other shoes that would have gone so well with the outfit (and would have still been comfortable) when George started snorting. He was doing his best to keep from bursting out laughing, and I thought it was because he was noticing the ridiculous tennis shoes and black socks this woman was wearing, totally marring the beauty of her full indian regalia. I said, mostly to myself, "Why bother? Why would you bother going to all the trouble of donning such an outfit, such a beautiful outfit, and RUIN it with those hideous shoes and black socks?? Why?" But he was laughing a lot harder than the image --and my comment-- warranted, so as we got farther away from the woman (read: out of ear-shot) I asked him what he was laughing at. He looked at me, wide-eyed, and said "You didn't SEE that?"
Gracie: "The woman in '70s k-mart striped tennis shoes and men's black socks?? Yeah...?"
George: "Oooh ho ho ho NOOOO, not HER. HIM."
And I was hurt. There was something funnier than the woman and I MISSED it??" Of course I whipped my head around, totally conspicuously, and tried to see but I couldn't...he was blocked by the cars in the parking lot.
Gracie: "Dude! What was it?? Whadd-I-miss? WHAAAAD-IIII-MIIISS??"
And he explained it to me. That the woman was accompanied by a guy (somewhere between 17 and 22 years of age) wearing a full-on, totally disco 1970's leisure suit, 100% polyester, slicked back hair, silver (SILVER!) pants and matching gray velcro sneakers with the 3 stripes...the ones from k-mart just like his mom/sister/dancing partner. Yep. And I just couldn't believe it. No WAY someone would dress that way without cameras following them and an announcer in the background explaining that this was a challenge the young man was performing for a prize of mammoth proportions.
Way. WAY. No cameras, no challenges, no bug-eating or silly dancing. They were oblivious and hey...more power to 'em.
But just DAMN.
The pi�ce de r�sistance of our trip deserves its own section here. As we were driving home, back down 41, we were just enjoying the scenery (and Gracie was doing her best not to whine about the pain in her head) when, up ahead, George caught sight of someone walking along the side of the road. He assumed it was a heavy-set woman wearing an all-white muumuu. He decided to be funny and said "Look! It's Jesus!" and Gracie laughed appropriately. Until...we got closer and passed the person and realized...that it was...Friggin' Jesus. I swear. It was not a heavy-set woman in a white muumuu, but was in fact a very heavy-set man. And ohhhh, it wasn't just ANY man, no no. It was JESUS. He was wearing white robes with a little brown rope-tie thingy around his waist. He was wearing sandals. He had a blanket draped over one arm and was carrying a bible. George and I stared at the man, jaws dropped, as we passed, then looked at each other...still slack-jawed. We blinked at each other several times, then looked out the back window to see if we had really just seen...what we thought we had seen. Yep. We both faced forward again and didn't speak for a moment. Then I turned to George, while absently fondling my head-wound and asked, in all seriousness, "Um?"
George: "Yeah..."
Gracie: "Did you...just..did...WE..just..see..."
George: "Deeeuhhh"
Gracie: "Buh Wuh?"
George: "Ah-ah-ah-Iiiiieeee, you know, I was just..."
Gracie: "Flioleemung?"
George: "Kidding. I was just KIDDING! I thought it was a big woman in a white dress! I...I didn't know..."
Gracie: "Am I dead?"
George: "WHAT?"
Gracie: "You know..dead. Am I dead?"
George: *Looks blankly at Gracie*
Gracie: "Back at the cave...when I hit my head...did I die? I did, didn't I? I'm still back at the cave...dead..."
George: "You're not dead."
Gracie: "Well how do you know?"
George: "....."
Gracie: "See??"
George: "Cause I saw it too!"
Gracie: "No, see, cause I'm dead, maybe I am traumatized by it and conjured you up and am imaging that you're here..."
George: "You don't conjure stuff up when you're dead. When you're dead you're dead."
Gracie: "So you saw Jesus too right?"
George: "DUH."
Gracie: "And not a MILE from the big panty store!"
George: "Is it just me...or did Jesus look kinda fat?"
Gracie: "Heh. Jesus needs a treadmill."
George: "Least we know where all the Jim Bakker money goes to...to buy Jesus STEAK!"
Gracie: "Heh."
George: *Mimics Televangelist Money Hungry spiel* "Jesus is only a size 56! We're pushin' for 58 in 2006! Your Jesus needs a new pair o' robes!"
Gracie: "Apparently they didn't have Twinkies in...you know...BC..."
George: "It's baby fat! Just a little winter weight!"
Around this time we got to the stoplight in the center of town and I noticed it had one of those cameras atop it.
Gracie: "...wonder if they caught him on tape??"
George: "I doubt it...in the shape HE was in, I doubt he would have come down this far..."
Gracie: *Laughing...grabs head* "Owww! It friggin' HURTS when I laugh that hard!"
George: "Heh...Sorry...Guess they're fluffin' my pillows in hell right about now, eh?"
Gracie: "Well...at least we'll be together there."
George: "No shit!"
Gracie: "Oooo! OOOoo! Let's turn around!"
George: "Naaah"
Gracie: "Dude. We HAVE to go back. I want his autograph!"
George: *Looks at Gracie like she's high*
Gracie: "And you can take my picture with him!"
George: "No."
Gracie: "Hey! You KNOW how this shit goes...NOBODY will believe that we saw Jesus walking down the street!"
George: "FAT Jesus"
Gracie: "Whatever. Go back!"
George: "No. We are not going to bother Jesus today"
Gracie: "Yes! Dammit, I have a LOT of questions and we are not going home until he and I talk and I have some answers!"
George: *Sighs and pulls into parking lot to turn around*
Gracie: *Claps hands like idiot* "Weeee're goin' to see JEEEE-zus!"
George: "You're not well."
Gracie: "You did see him, right?"
George: "Yes. Yes I did."
Gracie: "Okay. Hurry! Faster!"
George: "The two people who need to see Him the most and whaddoo we do? We mock him."
Gracie: "And called him fat. Don't forget fat."
George: "Ooo! *I* have a question for him!"
Gracie: "Yeah? What?"
George: "How much?"
Gracie: "What??"
George: "How much!"
Gracie: "The HELL are you talking about?"
George: "People always say 'Jesus Saves'...I wanna know how much!"
Gracie: "Oh, you are evil."
George: "Hey! Jesus! How much ya got, dude? It says ya SAVE! How. Much. You. GOT?"
Gracie: "Heh"
George: "Also, what's this week's lottery number?"
Gracie: "Sweetie...WHY are we going so slow?? We're gonna MISS HIM!"
George: *Begins singing song to the tune of Frera Jacque* "Whhheeere is Jeeee-zus? Whheeerrrree is Jeee-zus?"
Gracie: "Ooo! Also we could ask him if he prefers his name hyphenated like that sign back in the Scary 'Hood!"
George: "Or like the Ruby Falls sign! Bus-es go slow!"
Gracie: "See? SO many questions! Faster faster!"
George: "This is such a weird trip. We've seen turkeys walking down the street..."
Gracie: "Turtles in the road."
George: "Skunks"
Gracie: "Deer running along side us."
George: "Aaaaand...the son o' god."
Gracie: "Where IS he??"
George: "I don't know..."
Gracie: "Wasn't it right here??"
George: "Yeah...we passed him just before that church there. And we've already passed that. He couldn't have gone far..."
Gracie: "Cause he's fat."
George: "Yeah. Right."
Gracie: "Where could he have GONE??"
George: "I don't. Know."
Gracie: "What if he was kidnapped??"
George: "WHO would steal JESUS??"
Gracie: "Potheads! Or someone on acid! Maybe they saw him too and they ALSO knew nobody would believe 'em and they couldn't afford a camera so they TOOK 'im!"
George: "Nobody stole Jesus."
Gracie: "They HAD to! Where else could he BE? We've been all through the neighborhoods and there's no stores or anything and it wasn't THAT long ago that we passed him!"
George: "This is fucked. Up."
Gracie: "Maybe we should never speak of this again."
George: "Yeah right"
Gracie: "I could not talk about it..."
George: "As if!"
Gracie: "I could SO not talk about this..."
George: "Then stop writing everything we say in your notebook"
Gracie: "Fuck that. We saw Jesus near the Giant Panty store. People HAVE to hear that."
George: "See?"
Gracie: "Be nice or I'll tell Jesus on you"
George: "Dork"
We never found him again. But not for lack of trying. We spent a good half hour searching for our Chubby God Man, to no avail. We pondered stopping along the highway and having George take my picture where I acted like I had my arm around someone and giving the ooooooglee explanation that I had TOTALLY been standing next to someone, but they just didn't show up on film! oo! But soon concluded that that would be stupid. So we headed home. But every now and then one of us would turn to the other and say something along the lines of "...you DID see..." and the other would answer "YES. I saw Jesus!" and then we'd both go "the HELL?"
Y'all have GOT to come out with us sometime...the things you'd see....
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my father, my stalker [you people freak me out.]
Last 5 Entries:
How Much Are YOU Worth? - Sunday, Jan. 08, 2006 Perfume and Lazy Bastards.... - Wednesday, Jan. 04, 2006 Like Poop Through a Goose.... - Saturday, Dec. 31, 2005 Bling and Bullets.... - Thursday, Dec. 29, 2005 Get Into The Frickin Spirit.... - Friday, Dec. 23, 2005
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