Bounded by Deception and Hairy Toes
Josh’s dad told us that bad things happen in threes. It was comforting at the time, because we got hit last week with three doozies. First, Maggie pulled some coffee beans off the counter and had a feast. That was an expensive trip to the doggie emergency room and a long night of worrying. Second, I ran into a door, smashing at least three toes. I’m not even really sure why I have toes. Their only purpose on my feet seems to be to either run into something or trip over it. Third, I stuck either my thumb or Josh’s cell phone antenna in his eye when, in a sleepy daze, I tried to hand his phone to him while he was rolling over to get it because some jackass was calling at six in the morning. I had to limp into the doctor’s office with him holding his eye. I’m sure that looked great to the nurses. Oh, and as a side note, I was looking around the doctor’s office with a strange sense of déjà vu, when I realized that I actually HAD been there before. It was the former office of Dr. Tooler, a.k.a. Dr. Quackler, a.k.a. Dr. This-is-Gonna-Hurt-and-That-Makes-Me-Happy. It brought back some memories. When I told my brother about it, he told me this awful story about getting a toothpick stuck in his toe for a few weeks. That’s precisely why I don’t think I should have kids. If any other kid in the world is going to end up with a toothpick in his foot, it’s going to be one with my genes.
After all that happened, Josh and I decided we were ready for some good luck. Our three bad things were out of the way. The timing was perfect because we were about to go on our anniversary mini-vacation. Josh surprised me with tickets to Nine Inch Nails, which was very sweet considering that he was going to be utterly terrified through the entire show. We planned to get there a couple hours early for munchies and beer, but
I’m not sure why I’m paying
We checked into the hotel, quickly changed, and downed a couple beers. The concert was just through our parking lot. On our way, we passed a car in the hotel lot with two naughty teenagers rolling up a joint. There were cops about 100 feet away, directing traffic. We pointed and laughed at them. I’m glad they didn’t shoot us.
The arena was filled with angst-ridden teenagers that hated their rich parents for no reason. To rebel against their minivan driving moms and dads (who were picking them up outside at 10:00 sharp… no “buts”, mister…), they dyed their hair black, wore lots of black eyeliner and black lipstick, stuffed themselves into black leather, and probably wrote poetry about the blackness of their souls. Josh quietly warned me not to start any fights.
I’m used to paying more for everything in bigger cities, but the Allstate Arena should be ashamed of itself for charging $6.75 for beers. I can get a beer that size at Third on First on Fridays for a buck fifty. Seriously. $6.75 for a beer. That’s not even right. Hell, I could probably get a twelve pack of Natty Ice for that.
Nine Inch Nails put on a hell of a show. There were some d-bags behind us in a VIP area. They actually invited a couple skanks that were sitting in our row to come up and “party” with them. The skanks were all about it, of course. They were all loud and obnoxious through most of the show, including inappropriate times like “Hurt”. They were hootin’ and hollerin’ about a baboon that had been up on the screen a few songs before. One of Josh’s bitchy coworkers actually mocked me for saying “hootin’ and hollerin’” when I was telling the story to someone else. She can kiss my BWA. As if I use that in normal conversation. I wasn’t talking to her in the first place. Wench.
The next day we were supposed to meet Lorelle in some suburb a little south and west of where we were staying. Josh decided to take a different way due to the advice of a rambling drunk man the night before. It led us through every ghetto of
We ended up fairly lost, compounded by the fact that some grizzled old cop gave us the wrong directions. Josh was going 50 mph in a 30 zone while running a red light. The cop only got him going 44, but still. Josh threw in that it was our anniversary so the cop went soft on him. Either that, or the pig was out of his jurisdiction and didn’t want to push it. We got a seatbelt violation instead. Still, $75? That’s not right.
We knew we were probably lost when we made it to I-80 and we were supposed to be up by I-88. By that time, we were forty miles south of where we were having lunch, so we just gave up and ate at a Lone Star. I wanted a sirloin with RICE but she gave me fries instead. I can see how the two can be confused. What wasn’t right was that Josh was defending her and telling me that I said fries. I definitely said “rice”. I don’t really care, because the fries were absolutely delicious, but for all I know the rice would’ve been even tastier.
The original plan for the weekend was to stay in
The B&B itself was definitely NOT bounded by water, which its name had promised. It was a full block or so from any water. That’s totally false advertising. Had it been called “Kinda Close to Some Water” like it really was, we might not have even given it a second look. It was just a drab brick building on the corner of a city block. When we walked in, no one was around. We walked around inside, calling out, but there was no response. I found the kitchen and slowly pushed the door open, half-expecting a dozen bodies strewn about and a knife-wielding psychopath crouched in the corner, but it was just a cluttered, messy kitchen. Already, I was not looking forward to the “gourmet” breakfast that the website promised.
Eventually, Josh had to just call the place and the owner came around from some secret room outside. He was a short, pudgy old hippie with ugly sandals and hairy toes. I was never an advocate of the socks-with-sandals look until I saw those things staring up at me. Now I actually encourage it. He did not offer to help us carry our bags upstairs. Instead, he took the cooler out of my hand and told us that food wasn’t allowed in the bedrooms. Josh explained that it was the top layer of our wedding cake and we were supposed to eat it since it was our first anniversary, so he just offered to serve it up in the dining area. Really. I’m sure that when that hole tradition started, they meant that on your first anniversary, you’re supposed to eat your wedding cake surrounded by other guests and a hairy-toed troll. He probably would’ve cut himself a piece, too. Pudgy trolls like cake.
Josh and I just exchanged “WTF?” glances and went upstairs. The room was the size our computer room. There was a bed and a nightstand. No Jacuzzi. Nothing. Just a window. And a bed. Josh asked Unhappy Little Man (ULM) about the Jacuzzi, and
There are several things wrong with that statement. First, how popular can the place possibly be if there has been absolutely no demand for the best room in the whole building? Second, what could he possibly be doing in that room to get it that filthy? Nothing should take four hours to clean. I need a shower just thinking about him and his hairy toes soaking in our Jacuzzi.
Eventually, he began to understand that we were going to leave, so he pulled out the big guns: a ten percent discount. Oooooooh. Nothing we were saying seemed to be getting through that thick skull, probably because his brain was still fuzzy from a lifetime of bong hits and that Mr. Piggy acid someone slipped him at
We were silent in the car for the first few minutes, but then we were able to giggle a little. After bitching and rehashing the events for a half hour or so, we decided to move on and not talk about it for the rest of the night. Josh did an amazingly good job at letting it go, at least for the evening. We brainstormed ideas to salvage our anniversary and decided we would come back to Crapids, have a few drinks and a nice dinner at a restaurant other than “Restaurant,” pick up our doggie, and go home.
I had made reservations at Vino’s for 8:00 but we got there a half hour early so we decided to hit the lounge for some serious cocktail action. We weren’t messing around. Josh had a scotch on the rocks with a little water brushed on and I got a Cosmo. Kristin’s cousin Brandon is the manager there, and while we were drowning our sorrows he asked us what the occasion was. We gave him the 30-second version, and he gave us a bottle of champagne. It was the Martini and Rossi stuff that my mom used to have around all the time. Good stuff. We took it with us to our table and had it gone before we even ordered, so we were forced to buy a bottle of Chianti. Dinner was absolutely wonderful. They were so nice to us, and it didn’t even seem like it was totally out of pity. We had a really good time and spent less on dinner and the cab ride home (yeah, we had to take a cab, so what?) than we would have spent on that craphole room.
Once we were home, we were able to eat our cake wherever the hell we wanted without creepy trolls lurking around making sure we didn’t get crumbs anywhere. It was surprisingly good after having spent a year in the freezer between the Grey Goose and Schwan’s chicken, but not good enough to eat too much of. I think we each only had a piece and threw it out a few days later. The only thing that would’ve made it any better is if we had more of those truffles. Those things were so freakin good.
If you’ve read this far, I’m impressed. This was supposed to be a 2 or 3 paragraph bitch session. How strange that I went off on tangents. That’s never happened before.
To summarize, the following may kiss my ass:
My toes
The person that called at 6:00 a.m., causing me to poke Josh’s eye out
$1.90 tolls
Oh, hell, all of
Hairy toes
Unreasonable hippie trolls
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home