Myrtle Beach 2006, Day 6

Woke up this morning to overcast and sprinkles. Nice. Might as well be in Michigan, for pete’s sake! Fortunately, the rain was scattered and the sun did come out about half the time.

Went for a walk down the beach by myself to contemplate the shells, the ocean, and life. Mornings are very nice here at Myrtle Beach. There are a few people out on the shore, fishing or walking. Today was quite warm and humid, so some families had come out, with children to frolic in the waves. As I was returning after nearly an hour, I met my mother coming through the pool area. We passed and she disappeared into her Cell Phone World while I headed for the pool.

After about an hour, J.J. appeared at the pool in his black socks and Hanes T-shirt. He had been playing Buck Bingo at the Registration Center and again won a prize – this time a candy bar. They spare no expense here at SeaWatch Plantation. We sat in the half-sun, half-clouds for about a half hour more until finally J.J. decided he wanted to try the hot tub/Jacuzzi. He started to take off his shirt, but I put up my hands in a hurry. “WHOA THERE, hey, let’s not scare the children!” He decided to keep the t-shirt on and after removing the socks, headed for the hot tub. We only stayed in for about 10 minutes but he did say it helped his ankles (he thinks he has arthritis). By then my mom had arrived and remarked that his ankles looked swollen. I don’t know where she saw that. John doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him and as far as I could see, the size of his ankles did not seem proportionately right to support a man of his height.

After we had tired of the pool, I insisted we go to a Calabash Seafood Buffet for lunch. My husband had raved about them so I offered to treat the ‘Rents. If I had known how expensive it was, I would have suggested McDonalds instead. We ended up at Bennett’s, a place recommended by on of the Timeshare vultures. I don’t think this trough was as big as the one my husband said he went to when he was in Myrtle Beach some years ago, but it was pretty big. Every kind of seafood you could possibly imagine was available for the low, low price of $20.95 per person. Fortunately we had a coupon for $4.00 off each buffet, so I only had to take out a small loan to pay for the meal.

I was hurting by the end. So was J.J., and so was my mom, who finished off her meal with strawberry shortcake and soft-serve ice cream. I’m not sure those items are on the American Diabetes Association’s recommended foods for diabetics. But, as John pointed out, she is a diabetic of convenience. God bless her.

We dropped John back off at the condo and mom and I headed to Barefoot Landing, another huge cluster of shops a bit to the north. Not nearly as big as Broadway at the Beach, fortunately. At this point, all of the gift shops and T-shirt stores start to look the same. We did manage to score some really cheap natural stone jewelry, but I did have to drop a deuce in the public restroom, which I don’t really like doing.

Fighting was at a minimum, probably because we all went our separate ways for much of the day. Tonight it is packing for our early departure tomorrow. This will likely be my last entry. I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have. Or more.

I love my parents, I really do. But I think that when people go on vacation, they should travel with people who like to do the same things as they do, in the same way. I like to shop, but I don’t like to shop for hours upon hours in the same places. I like to take a few pictures now and then, but I don’t take my camera to the mall. I like to walk on the beach but after gathering a bag full of seashells, I’m done. I don’t need more shells every time I see sand.

In spite of my sarcasm, it has been a nice week. Though I wouldn’t do it again, I cherish the memories of J.J. sleeping on the condo couch and mom disappearing into the bathroom with her puzzle bo

Myrtle Beach 2006, Day 5

OH MY GOD, JUST KILL ME NOW.

I amend my statement from Day 1. I will NEVER go on vacation with my parents again. Period.

What compelled me to agree to go shopping all day with my mother is unknown to me. Perhaps it was too much Sudafed. Perhaps it was the undying urge to bond with she who purged me from her mommy parts, even though past history has proven time and time again that we will just never be close friends. But I did agree to go shopping. It IS like pregnancy. No matter how bad it is, eventually you just forget and go through the torture again.

In other news, J.J. made it home safely last night from his Diamond Casino Cruise. He lost 30 bucks but had a good time nonetheless, and did not break his other hip during the 7-hour excursion in spite of the choppy water. He said he had to hold onto the slot machines in order to move around the boat due to the high waves, and at least three women on the cruise were “very sick.” Methinks I made the right decision to not go. I would have been feeding the fish regularly for the first few hours, then rolled up in the fetal position on the floor for the last half of the excursion. I don’t need that kind of humiliation right now.

Mom and I got out of the house around 11 and left J.J. behind to relax at the condo. We headed to Broadway at the Beach, a huge outdoor shopping center about 20 minutes south of our complex. There are a myriad of attractions at BATB, including Planet Hollywood, an aquarium, mini golf, and a guy who writes your name on a piece of rice. The beach just wouldn’t be the same without the guy who writes on rice. Every other store is a T-shirt shop and every other restaurant is seafood themed. You can get crabs here for about 50 cents a pound on a good day. But only if you don’t use protection. BAH DUMP-BUMP! Than you! I’ll be at Caesar’s Palace all this week!

Mom and I definitely have different shopping styles. Don’t get me wrong…I do enjoy shopping. But we are definitely different. I can tell within 30 seconds if a store is worth browsing. Even when it is, I don’t tend to spend a lot of time in one area. Mom, on the other hand, could spend an hour in each store. One of the first shops we went into was called The Magnolia Shoppe. It was a gift store with lots of beach-themed home décor items (which is, to say, what every gift shop in Myrtle Beach has). I knew we were in trouble when she spent nearly ½ hour in there. If this is what we had to look forward to, it was going to be a very long day.

She finally emerged with several bags of shells, not unlike the kind we gathered by the hundreds on the beach except the ones from the beach were free. Several hours later, on the other side of BATB, we came across a shop called The General Store. I swear to god, it was the SAME EXACT STORE!. The same beach-themed home décor, down to the premature Christmas ornaments hanging in front. I’m sure it was the same owner, just a different name. I thought I was going to bust a nut when once again, the minutes started ticking by. It was the SAME DAMN STORE, for Pete’s Sake!

For lunch we dined at a restaurant called The Crab House. The booths were really snug and the tables were so high that my boobs rested on the edge. The table was covered with brown paper, probably to soak up the butter when people order lobster or crab legs. Either that, or there was a UPS convention in town. We had a coupon from the BATB visitor’s center for a free appetizer, so we ordered some crab dip. Divine. Very scrumptious. I had the coconut shrimp and Mom had tilapia. Both were really good but about halfway through the shrimp, I was definitely hurting. The fries kind of tasted like apple pie, so I left those alone. Nutmeg is NOT a spice I would suggest using on fried potatoes.

Later in the evening, we went to a show called “Legends,” which is basically impersonators for every over-the-top celebrity living or dead. Headlining this week were Alan Jackson, Donna Summer, Tom Jones, Whitney Houston, and Elvis. Yes, it was cheesy, but it was pretty good. All of the impersonators did their own singing, and with the exception of “Whitney,” they all sounded just like the real celebrity. When we first walked in, we even got to get our picture taken with Elvis. The photos were available for purchase during intermission at the low, low price of $20 but I passed on the deal because 20 bones is a lot of dough to pay for a picture of the King hugging a swine. But hey, wasn’t I the lucky one, because my mom struck a deal with the salesman and scored the beautiful shot of me and E.P. so I could have it as a memento. I’m burning it as soon as I get home.

The show was a lot of fun. The Tom Jones impersonator was so spot on, I almost whipped off my panties and threw them on stage. I begged my mom to throw hers but she just looked at me kind of funny, like she didn’t get it. I swear, though…you could put that guy on for the real Tom Jones and no one would know the difference. He even had a sock stuffed in his crotch…either that, or he really was hung like a donkey.

Whitney had a great voice, but the impersonator was not nearly Crack-Piped up enough to be the real Houston. She looked like she could actually pass a urine test, and therefore lost credibility with me. Elvis was amazing. The guy had the moves down to a “T.” He did both the old Elvis and the fat, bloated Elvis, although he wasn’t nearly fat or bloated enough to be accurately representative of Elvis in the prescription drug period.

The highlight of the evening came when I heard J.J. “singing” along with Whitney. Not Alan, not Tom, not Elvis. But Whitney Houston. It was adorable and frightening at the same time. And then there was my mom, breaking the social contract by taking both video AND a flash picture during the Elvis presentation even though the announcer said at the beginning of the show and during intermission that all photography, video, and audio were strictly forbidden. I shrank in my seat when the flash went off and prayed that the usher wouldn’t kick us out. This is why I stick up my middle finger every time my mom takes a picture.

Here is another revelation I have had this week: I will never invest in a Timeshare. You need a degree in math and several flow charts to figure out when you can use your points. God forbid you have excess points, or buy bonus points. You have to give up your first-born child in order to be able to use them, and even then, only if you book within 10 months, but not less than 60 days in advance, unless you are using the VIP service, in which you cannot even use the points, and…well, you get the picture.

Further justification is the Timeshare fighting my parents did on the way home. As I was struggling to see through the rain and darkness, J.J. and Sandy argued about how to use the bonus points that clearly warranted a Timeshare 101 class in order to figure them out.

And so Day 5 ends. The TV has finally been shut off, so the roar of 30 channels being evaluated for 2.3 seconds each has finally been silenced. J.J. went to bed at 11:30 PM, a good three hours past his normal time. My mother is reading her book in bed, eating a bag of caramel corn. The fact that she is diabetic should not surprise you. She only actually embraces her sugar problems when it gets her some attention, like when she is at a restaurant and tells the waiter, “I can’t have any dessert I’m diabetic.” Or when the guy at Shipshewana offers her a teaspoon of potato soup, and she says, “I can’t eat carbs, I’m diabetic.” But she could have the Dairy Queen vanilla soft-serve cone a few hours earlier because that…apparently…does not raise your blood sugar. Nor do cookies, caramel corn, pie, cake, or other desserts.

Tomorrow…rain. I think I'll go to bed now...er...oh great. Mom just went into the bathroom. Guess I'll just write a few pages more...

Myrtle Beach 2006, Day 4

Today’s agenda:
1. Breakfast (Me-cereal; J.J.-seven cups of black coffee; Mom-twigs, grass, and other kindling bound up into something called a “Kashi Bar”)
2. BrookGreen Sculpture Gardens for a bit of culture
3. Pawleys Island for some specialty shopping
4. Diamond Casino Cruise to win enough money so we can fly home instead of drive, therefore preventing me from having to start psychotropic medication when I get back to Michigan.

We all got up fairly early today so we could hit Brookgreen Gardens shortly after it opened at 9:30 AM. I must have had an angel watching over me because I was able to sneak into the bathroom before my mother got to page 78 of her Sudoku book (she’s up to the “Expert” section now). When I opened the bathroom door after my shower to step into the bedroom, this is what I heard:

“Well, I just thought you’d like the body stuff because you already had a plethora of umbrellas.”

“[mumble, mumble mumble]”

“I didn’t know you needed an umbrella.”

“Well, you didn’t ASK me!”

Let’s get into Mr. Peabody's Wayback Machine, shall we? Recall that last night J.J. won two prizes at bingo: an umbrella with smiley faces and a bag of Bath & Body Works lotion and a candle. He picked the smelly stuff specifically for my mom. I know this because when he returned to his bingo seat, he said, “Maybe this will earn me some brownie points!” Translation: “Maybe Mother won’t be such a bitch to me and take everything I say literally, personally, and defensively if I bring her this token of my affection.”

Silly mortal.

Apparently this morning, the discussion of the umbrella vs. the lotion/candle came up and somehow the end result of the debate was “…you didn’t ask me!” (about whether or not I had any umbrellas). Folks, the offenses just don’t get more serious than this. I can’t TELL you how many times my husband has taken for granted how many umbrellas I may or may not have. He’s damn lucky he asks me about my rain gear periodically or he’d never get “any” again. Ever.

This is the level of ridiculous that we have come to. Was I wrong to roll my eyes?

Around 9:00 the three of us loaded into the Ford 500 and headed down Rte 17 to Brookgreen gardens. We finally arrived about ½ hour later and immediately began to try and figure out how we would get my stepdad around the big garden complex with his bum hip. Fortunately, the garden people had some rickshaw-type vehicles that we convinced J.J. to take advantage of. After a brief but torturous movie about the gardens, in which the narrator talked about plantations, oak trees, and quoted lots of religious poetry, we headed into the heart of the gardens to see the sculptures and pretty flowers. The flowers were really pretty, and I cannot even begin to describe the beauty and majesty of the 200+ year old moss-oak trees that line many of the paths. They are truly full of character and must have been witness to many years of strife, joy, and renewal.

After our first turn around the sculpture area, we came to the Pavillion Restaurant, where we had planned on dropping J.J. so he could have cups 8, 9, and 10 of his daily coffee while Mom and I completed a larger loop in the next garden section. Unfortunately for us, the Pavillion Restaurant was experiencing some city sewage problems and they evacuated the building just as the restaurant was scheduled to be opened. My mom and I could think of nothing better to do than shop, so we headed for the gift boutique. J.J. of course, hung out on a bench outside.

After draining our bank accounts on worthless trinkets that we could buy in Walmart for a fraction of the cost, we headed toward another building in the park where we knew there to be a small snack bar. John was getting the D.T’s. from his java withdrawal, so I drove him about a block down the road so he could get his fix post haste. While he sought out refreshments, my mom and I completed our last leg of the gardens and then headed back to the snack bar area.

When we met back up with the male parental unit, he had already integrated himself into a busload of Pennsylvanians sitting at a table under an awning adjacent to the snack bar. I was hungry enough to eat the ass-end out of a rag doll, so I made a beeline for the hot dog queue while J.J. yucked it up with the tourists. As I waited in line for my all-beef wiener, the Pavillion Restaurant queen bitch P.R. rep came over and asked us to please sit "over there" on the other side of the complex in some other tables because the ones under the shaded awning area were being reserved for people who wanted to order from the menu. Apparently the restaurant had relocated due to their water issues and now expected all the little people to make way for the snobs.

I asked Ms. Silicone 2006 if there were any shady spots "over there” because my dad was not able to sit for long periods in the sun due to his blood pressure medication. I told her he might die or faint or even break his good hip because the sun made him dizzy. Okay, that was a little bit of an exaggeration. But come on! There were already a bunch of snack bar hobos eating under the awning (including J.J. and the Pennsylvanians). What was she going to do, kick them out?

I kid you not, she actually did try. After I got my dog and went over to a bench near the tourist table, Anna Nicole came over and told us she had found a nice table “over there” near a tree where there was some actual shade. When we didn’t move, she finally got the picture and went away. All I’m saying is, you don’t charge $4.95 for a hot dog and then tell people they can’t sit in the hot dog seats because the snobby tomato bisque crowd can’t take a little sunshine. That’s all I’m saying.

After the garden event, we headed further south to Pawleys Island, another resort area that happens to have a lot of local artisans and crafters who sell their wares in various shops. We spent a couple hours there and then fought traffic before arriving back at the condo. My mom and I decided to back out of the Diamond Casino Cruise originally scheduled for this evening. Mom didn’t want to stay up until 1:00 AM, and I balked at the predicted 7-foot waves. The guy at the Registration Desk had told us that if we were the least bit queasy, we should not go on the cruise if the waves were over 4 feet. I am a guaranteed puke at that level, so when I heard there would be 7-footers,k it sealed the deal. J.J. went alone anyway. I told him not to drink to much so he doesn’t fall and break the other hip. I just pray he wins the plane ticket money.

Pause for a moment to reflect. It is nearly 11:00 PM and my mother just arrived back from her walk on the beach. Cell phone in hand, using the outdoor voice. Turned on the TV at “I’m deaf” level. Kill me now.

After we dropped the stepfather off at his bus stop, Mom and I headed to the outlet mall. I knew we were in trouble when she tried to sit down to try on a pair of Sketchers and promptly fell on the floor, knocking over a pile of all-terrain sport shoes (outlet priced at $39.95). I tried to save her by grabbing her arm, but was unable to prevent the tragedy. Fortunately, no one was hurt (including the size 8 all-terrains). I walked around the store about fifteen times before coming to the conclusion that perhaps Mom and I had different outlet mall agendas and suggested we go our separate ways and then meet up in an hour.

After the hour, I had covered the entire mall while Mom had hit two stores. Fortunately, we both decided we were done outlet mall shopping, but Mom still wanted to go across the street and check out a couple of TJ Maxx-type stores. Kill me again. While I admit that under normal circumstances I would thoroughly enjoy a Marshall’s excursion, tonight my feet were killing me and I could feel the turtle poking out of the shell. By the time we got out of the second overruns store – Ross’s – I was just about touching cloth. My impatience was probably evident, but I let my mom buy yet ANOTHER shirt just the same. That’s the kind of daughter I am.

We got back home by 9 and took a quick trip to the Jacuzzi by the pool (that is, after I took the Browns to the Superbowl in overtime). The Jacuzzi was FABULOUS but soon it was time to retire to the condo. And so here we are.

Tomorrow’s agenda:
Rain
Broadway at the Beach (shopping)
Calabash buffet (all the seafood you could possibly imagine)

Myrtle Beach 2006, Day 3

I woke up this morning around 8:00 to the sound of the TV coming from outside my bedroom door. My parents are senior citizens now, you see (it’s actually kind of difficult to write this right now because the goddamn television is so freakin’ loud). J.J. was watching the CNN morning financials while my mom continued to snooze in the bed next to me.

I decided to go for a walk along the beach by myself. It was pretty quiet except for the surf and there were only a few people out fishing or walking.
I got back to the condo about an hour after I left and my mom was still sleeping. Finally we had to rouse her out of bed because we had to go meet with the timeshare people so they could try to convince my parents to become VIP Gold members and increase their points so they could plan even more vacations that my mom would either back out of or resent going on. My mom once again disappeared into the bathroom with her Sudoku book and about 25 minutes later we finally heard the shower turn on. PS: the Sudoku book is currently perched behind the little trash can next to the toilet. For convenience.

The parental fight count for the day so far is only 1 (major), and it was regarding J.J’s phone charger. My mom accused him of hiding the charger from her, when the crime he had actually committed was plugging it in behind a pile of beach towels on the counter, where she just happened to not see it. My god. What was he thinking. Fortunately, that was the only real fight they had.

The timeshare spiel was brutal, but the ‘Rents stood firm and did not sign up for the VIP Gold points. After that torture, we all headed to the pool to soak up the sun. For J.J. that meant about 20 minutes before he started to burn and had to head back up to the condo for his nap. Mom and I stayed a while until finally it was time for Timeshare Activity #2 for the day: Wine and Cheese Welcome in the Registration Center.

I will be frank. There was very little wine and the event itself was very cheesy, pun intended. The “cheese” consisted of a Cheese-Whiz-type spread with almonds and some Kraft cheddar on Ritz Crackers. Everything tastes better sitting on a Ritz, that’s probably why they used them. There were also some little Vienna sausages wrapped up in Pillsbury dough. I had a bunch of those. Nummers. The “wine” was actually a punch that reportedly had wine in it. I chose the non-alcoholic version because I prefer my Pinot Noir not mixed with Hawaiian Punch. We had to do some brain-teaser word puzzles not unlike the ones Wally makes us do in the weekly Project All Hands meeting at work. Everyone was impressed with how quickly I filled mine out. I didn’t tell them that I got practice every week. I also didn’t tell them that my brain cells were much fresher than theirs because I was the only person under 60 in the room. That would have been mean. True but mean. Yes, I know. I am going to hell.

After “wine” and “cheese” I went for another walk with my mom on the beach. The urge to gather seashells is quite overwhelming and again I found myself loading my plastic bag with worthless pieces of chitin. Hopefully my stepsons will be impressed with my bounty because I’m not sure what I’ll actually do with them.

We dined on Walmart Pizza for dinner (a true Myrtle Beach specialty) and then J.J. and I went back to the Registration Center…to play…Bingo. Bingo. Bingo. Yes, I said Bingo. We paid five bucks for the privilege of getting humiliated by not winning a single game in an hour. Okay, let me clarify. BETH was the only one who didn’t win a single game. There were 8 other people playing and all of them walked out with at least one prize. J.J. won two: a smiley face umbrella and some body lotion with a scented candle. He gave the latter to my mom when we got back. She almost acted appreciative, but remained true to her current state of mind (that being, the universe revolving around her) and was merely indifferent.

I only had to be annoyed with my mom being on the cell phone once today. She’s been pretty good about saving her phone calls for private times. However, she did get a call from her friend Stacy just before we were going to leave for our walk. I told J.J. she got five minutes and then I was leaving for the beach. Fortunately, she tied up her conversation and accompanied me on our shell-gathering trip.

So far the weather is holding up, although some choppy seas may put a damper on our plans for a casino cruise tomorrow night. Without shame I admit that yours truly won’t go on the cruise if the waves are too high because she doesn’t want her parents to be embarrassed when their daughter hurls on the deck. The ‘Rents won’t go alone together without me, so I’m hoping the winds die down.

Myrtle Beach 2006, Day 2

My mom and I woke up around 7:30 and started getting ready to hit the fabulous Motel 8 Continental Breakfast. Mom said she was taking a shower and disappeared into the bathroom. I had showered the night before, so I got dressed and hurried to put on my makeup so I wouldn’t hold my mother up when she was done. Silly mortal. She finally emerged from the lavatory after more than 20 minutes and said rather sheepishly, “I haven’t taken my shower yet!” But what she HAD done is completed at least two Sudoku puzzles while dropping a deuce. Nice.

I headed to the Continental B’fast after I saw J.J. limping past our room. Once there I feasted on stale whole wheat toast and apple juice. I need a lot of fiber when I’m on the road. Sitting for so many hours tends to bind me up. J.J. was on his fourth or fifth cup of decaf coffee, but after my mother arrived decided to go for the leaded. Uh oh. What’s this? NO REGULAR COFFEE? I thought my mom was going to have a coronary. Pretty soon, she and J.J. and a small mob had clustered around the front desk while a young, pale woman cowered in the corner. J.J. stomped his cane on the floor.

“ARE YOU FOR REAL, BITCH???”

Okay, he didn’t really say that. But he did stomp his cane, and he did say, “With the prices you charge, you don’t have real coffee??” He was just kidding, but I’m not sure the young clerk got it. She told him the real coffee machine was broken. Interesting, because apparently the decaf coffee machine worked just fine. Bizarro.

So no real coffee, but there were some really tasty raisin bagels. Want to know why? Because my mom brought them into the breakfast with her. Yes, that’s right. She brought her own food to the continental breakfast. But that’s okay. Because she pilfered enough to make up for it three times over. She stole cream cheese, peanut butter packets, hazelnut creamer, two packets of oatmeal, and I think some jelly. I used to think those urban myths about senior citizens stealing sugar packets and spoons from Big Boy were just rumors. Now I know the truth, because my mom is one of them. She probably got her Kashi granola bars from Walmart “on special.” I think I’m going to have to watch her.

We got on the road around 10 and I made the mistake of offering the keys to my mom. Fog, mountains, and mothers do not make for good driving. But fortunately she got us through and after another round of restaurant rodeo, we had lunch at Hardee’s and I took the wheel. We travelled through hundreds of miles of two-laners and Amish roads because there is no direct interstate to Myrtle Beach. I highly suggest flying this route because there are so many small towns on the backwoods roads that we were constantly having to slow down from our jet-like speeds of 55 MPG to 23 or 30 MPH. I swear a guy named Amos Yoder passed us driving a horse and buggy.

We made it to Myrtle Beach around 4 and after the keys were handed over, we were cornered by a woman who represented the timeshare my parents own. Her British accent was so bad it had to be real, and we ended up signing up for a Timeshare Seminar to be held tomorrow morning. Wow, can't TELL you how much I am looking forward to that. After check-in was finally over, we headed to our luxurious condo in Villa III on the sixth floor. I almost busted a nut trying to park the Ford 500 into parking spots clearly made for motorcycles but finally we unloaded and went up to veg.

The condo is really nice. Two bedrooms, two baths, and the view is really pretty. It’s warm here today, mid-80’s I’d say. Even with the ocean breeze it was quite humid. We settled into our condo and what’s the first thing my parents did? Reconciled their checkbooks for the past few week’s worth of spending. I’m telling you, they know how to have a rockin’ time!

My mom and I walked along the beach this evening picking up shells and it was really beautiful. Even though the sea air smelled like rotten tilapia, it was still nice. We tried to walk down a pier about ½ mile from the condo but they were charging a buck and frankly, we are cheap. My parents save their McDonalds “Senior Coffee” cups because some McDonalds will refill them for free. A buck is a buck.

So now here we are at the end of day 2, finally settled into our vacation. Tomorrow: sun, beach, ocean, pool…timeshare seminar…bickering…and bingo at night. Can’t wait! Oh no...it's 10:30 PM, I need to brush my teeth, and the sMother just disappeared into the bathroom with her Sudoku book. NOOOOOOOO!!!!

Myrtle Beach 2006, Day 1

Here is a frightening picture: Driving through the mountains at 70 MPH in a maroon Ford 500 rented in my name with my mother at the wheel. Holy White Knuckles, Batman!

Let me just say here and now that I will never go on vacation with my parents again, unless my husband or some other familiar person under the age of 50 goes with us. Why do I never learn? Vacationing with the 'Rents is like pregnancy...long after the fact, the memory fades and I forget how bad it really was.

Okay, it's only day one but the 12 hours we spent on the road today were brutal. My stepfather John (J.J.) is recovering from a broken hip, so even though he got behind the wheel of his own car within two weeks of his surgery, I still don’t feel comfortable letting him drive the rental (look, if we even get a SCRATCH, I have to pay the damn deductible). Plus, he’s been in so much pain lately that he’s been mumbling “oxycotin” in his sleep. J.J. is a great guy, but he’s been through a lot and needs his rest. At least, that’s my story if anyone asks.

My mom is a different story altogether. Vibrant and healthy and a wonderful woman altogether, her driving skills have been highly suspect ever since she rolled the ’72 Vega back in 1976 with three of her children inside. Miraculously, we all walked away from that one alive (well, really we climbed UP a steep embankment after crawling out of the tiniest car ever known to humans…I have known toddlers with plastic Playschool Crazy Coupes bigger than a ’72 Vega). Mom has been in more accidents than I can count. Fortunately, I was only involved in the one, but my siblings have not been so lucky, although amazingly no one has ever been badly hurt.

What is even MORE amazing is that she hasn’t gotten into more accidents when you consider how badly she drives. My mom can’t keep the car in one lane to save her life, (she actually got pulled over by a cop once for driving in two lanes). And in spite of being a woman, she is unable to multitask at the most basic level. Case and point, her trying to find the headlight knob as we careen down the freeway at astronomical speeds in a morning mountain fog. “Left…now down…careful...CAR...no, the OTHER left…almost….up…WATCH OUT!...up…THERE!”

I would just as soon they let me do all the driving, as tiring as it is. Both of them need regular afternoon naps anyway, so they aren’t much good after 2:00 PM. It must be all that bickering that tires them out. I knew we were in for a long, LONG haul when they got into their first tiff in Adrian. ADRIAN. For those of you who may not be familiar, Adrian is about a half hour from where my parents live. Thirty minutes into the drive. J.J. was telling me about his stocks (J.J. spends half of every day in the library doing financial research…what do you expect him to talk about…the weather???). He told me he made some changes after he retired so he and the sMother would earn more income rather than increase their capital. He was in a pretty jovial mood and remarked that now my mom could have enough money in her account to “buy more trinkets for Katrina. Heh!”

Let's pause here for a moment to reflect. "...trinkets for Katrina." It's an expression, one of many "J.J.-isms" we have come to know and love. As far as I know, my mom doesn't even know anyone named Katrina.

Back to Adrian: OH, GOD NO! DON’T MAKE A COMMENT ABOUT MY MOTHER AND SHOPPING (theoretical or otherwise). My mother had apparently taken her defensive pills earlier in the morning because she shot back, “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???? I HAVEN’T BOUGHT ANY ‘TRINKETS’ IN MONTHS!”

Oh…my…god.

The man was just making small talk. Folks…this was just the beginning. Imagine if Hitler and Steven Spielberg had been forced to take a trip across the country together, trapped in the same car for 12 hours. Spielberg would likely have responded in the same way to everything Hitler said. The underlying loathing would be apparent. Same thing.

Driving with the ‘Rents is a wondrous experience and a lesson in patience. God forbid we just make a decision. On anything. Routes. Speed. Temperature. Restaurants. Christ, the restaurants. Look, it’s FOOD. When my husband and I are on the road, we basically subsist on Little Debbie’s and diet Coke from the nearest gas station. When we do settle down to a proper meal, it’s not a difficult decision. “There’s a Wendy’s up ahead.” “Sounds good to me.” And we are there.

Deciding on a place to dine with the ‘Rents goes something like this:

“There’s a Hardee’s up ahead.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Or we could wait and find a Shoney’s, those are pretty good.”

“Works for me, anything will do.”

“Or would you rather eat someplace nicer? We have time.”

“It really doesn’t matter. Look, there’s a McDonalds next exit.”

(monotone) “McDonalds. Sure. We can do McDonalds. If that’s what you really want.”

“Whatever you want, it really doesn’t matter. I’m just hungry.”

“Well, what do you want to do? Do you want me to do McDonalds? There’s a Shoney’s at Exit 41.”

“Fine, let’s go to Shoney’s. I really have to pee.”

“No, let’s just go to McDonalds. That’s what you both want.”

“My god, I really don’t care. Just pick a place!”

“Well, what do you want? McDonald’s? Or Shoney’s? Or we could wait for a Wendy’s?”

“Jesus, it doesn’t matter!”

“Oh, great, we just missed the McDonald’s Exit!”

We ended up doing Shoney’s, which I really don’t recommend, unless you like rubbery bacon, soggy pancakes, and stale French toast. And waitresses that like to tell perfect strangers their life story. I hope Joannie's son had a good time at the concert tonight.

It was indeed a long ride but finally we decided to stop for the night in Wytheville, VA. My parents don’t believe in making reservations, so we took our chances at the Comfort Inn. Oh, GREAT. There is a convention in town so the only room they had available was a king-sized smoker's. Uh, I think not. Even my MOM doesn't sleep in the same room as J.J. at home because he snores louder than a bulldozer with a bum muffler. My grandma used to snore that loudly and it would wake me up in the middle of the night and scare me really badly. While John definitely smells better than Grandma did, I just can't relive that.

So we left the Comfort Inn and headed to Motel 8 next door. At the front desk we found a wayward trucker who had broken down a half mile or so down the road. He offered us the use of his AAA card for a discount if we gave him a ride to his rig. As I was thinking TWO WOMEN FOUND MURDERED IN FORD 500, my wonderful, kind-hearted mother told him yes. But then the stupid hick hotel clerk refused to let us use his discount. The trucker insisted that my mom was his Aunt Mabel, but she didn’t believe him. But hey, no problem! We had about sixty travel coupon books from the Virginia Welcome Center. My mom thrust a coupon into the Motel 8 clerk’s face and told her we wanted the $44.95 special. The clerk told her quietly that the coupon was for a Motel 8 in Tennessee, not Virginia. So we ended up paying full price anyway, but that was okay because I was really, really tired and kind of hungry (stale French Toast doesn’t fill you up for long).

My mom settled into our room while J.J. and I walked across the parking lot to a restaurant called “Sagebrush.” Don’t go there. The floor was greasy, the service horrible, and the food was worse than the cafeteria at my work. Hey, I like onion rings. But I prefer that the cooks actually slice the onion and don’t try to fry half of one into one ring. It was like chewing on a tapeworm. I don’t think we will go back there, and I don’t recommend you do either.

And so I survived until the end of day 1. Barely.