Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Day One

Did ya’ll miss me?

That was one hell of a trip. Let me just say that I now realize that my family and I are completely normal. And I am very concerned about the gene pool that I will be dipping from to have my children. Do I think it is a coincidence that J and I discussed adopting a child from China on the way home? NO

So Thursday. J picked me up, as planned, after work so we could go get our hair cut. I got a haircut that threw me upside down into a fit of depression because I forgot something very important. Rhonda can cut my hair. Rhonda cuts my hair fantastically. BUT. She can’t style it. Somehow I always end up looking like a cross between a poodle, an old lady and a Norwich terrier. And fuck. Thursday. Not an exception. By the time we pulled into the grocery store for supplies I was hating my hair with fevered passion usually reserve for Republican political commentators. I am getting used to it now and liked it more each day as the weekend progressed.

And damn. I had forgotten that my husband was hot. It took her over an hour to cut his hair—with clippers. That is how much of a mop he had. But once she got it off and put a little pomade on him . . .HELLO baby. How YOU doin?

We made it out of town around 8:30. Which we figured would get us to Modesto before noon the next day. We planned to stop and sleep a bit at some point even though J had slept until past noon that day. I had got up at my normal time for work (4 am) so J told me to go ahead and sleep. I am not a good car sleeper so we just stayed up and talked. And listened to this kick ass cd he made—all covers by current punk bands of songs from the seventies and sixties.

We argued about the baseball game—which isn’t easy when you listened to the whole thing on the radio and didn’t see a single pitch. We stopped for gas in the little hick town that his father and grandmother live in. Hicksville, Oregon? Something like that. I kept freaking him out by yelling, “HI CHRIS!!!” at truckers and saying things like, “HIDE! Here comes Beulah!”

At this point my hair was flat and horrifying. I gave serious thought to cutting it off in the bathroom with manicure scissors. I can’t describe how bad it was but I had to make a deal with myself not to look in a mirror again until I had showered. I also had some serious dog-breath happening. Because neither the husband or I thought to pack our toothbrushes somewhere accessible. I felt like I had been licking a hairy carpet for hours. So we had nasty breath, matted hair and wrinkle clothes—we looked like we were from Oregon.

After getting gas we had a classic need-sleep intellectual conversations:

J: “Do you think that guy was a dwarf or a midget?”

A: “What guy?”

J: “Back at the truck stop. The little guy. With the bowl haircut. And the limp.”

A: “What’s the difference between a midget and a dwarf?”

J: “Isn’t one a medical condition and the other is just the person being very short?”

A: “I thought they were the same thing. And the correct term is ‘little person’.”

J: “Well I am just wondering how the ‘little person’ took a leak. Because that urinal was really high.”

A: “They had a high urinal?”

J: “Yeah. Farther off the ground high. Not smoking the crack high.”

A: “Isn’t urinal height standardized?”

J: “This is Oregon. They don’t even have sales tax. You think that they wouldn’t buck the urinal height standard?”

A: “Maybe they have a ‘little person’ urinal step stool behind the counter.”

J: “Maybe.”

We made it past the California border before we had to stop and sleep. J insisted that we could only sleep in a rest area in California because they were cleaner and safer. I had my doubts given the state was the home of the Manson family but he was right. The rest stop was cleaner and better lit than anything we saw in Oregon. And there were enough people there that you felt ok sleeping. And apparently, the urinals were the correct height. I didn’t go check.

We only slept a couple of hours because I woke up freezing to death. We decided to get going before there was traffic. At this point it’s still only 5 am.

Once the sun came up we both felt better. First of all, we were warmer. Since we were sleepy we were afraid to heat up the car too much. Especially while it was dark. Second, the scenery was beautiful. And I could make fun of the town names that we passed. Like Corning isn’t the Cookware Town but the Olive City. Shut up. It was funny on two hours of sleep.

We did stop for breakfast. J wanted Burger King but they didn’t have his biscuit sandwich. And he got this flushed face until I offered to go somewhere else. So we went to Jack in the Box and ate greasy potatoes. We watched this tourist family from Oklahoma be fascinated that they could have either breakfast or lunch. They could even have a combo of the two. This was apparently a new concept to them as they ordered fried eggs on their hamburgers and tacos with their hash browns. They were also handing out little rolled Bible tracts. But took one look at my matted hair and smeared eye make up and decided we were beyond saving.

Maybe the haircut isn’t that bad after all.

Later: White Trash Wedding, Billy George, Unfortunate Fashion Choices, The Best Lines of the Weekend and MORE. Plus, I took pictures YA'LL . . .

7:48 a.m. :: comment ::
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